Category Archives: Questions From Readers

And Then It Was Monday

Hi, kids. We haven’t had a catch-up chat for a while, have we?
I’d love to have something brilliant to write for you today. Really. I got nothing. So you can leave now if it’s profundity you seek. For you, good lasses and sirs, I offer a serving of vapidity.
See, I spent my whole weekend huffing Lysol, questing to kill bugs, and doing one of the deepest apartment cleans ever (but there’s still more work to do — the storage unit, cleaning the oven… does it ever end?). Mental faculties? Not so much.
I do, however, have a faint eau de sterilized green apple Lysol-ly scent wafting off me this morning. I’m fresh AND germ-free! And I think I still hear braincells popping off to their chemically-induced deaths in the back of my cerebellum. “No, Lenny! Don’t jump! The air’s clearing, really!”
Curse you, bugs, for the damage thou hath wrought upon me!
And despite wanting to turtle naked and lazily under my blankie as the warm sun beats down on me in bed as the should-be ease of this day washes over me, the reality is, I’m pretty close to hopping on my bike to suffer another 45 minutes of labour as I moan and groan my way up the steep-ass hills of this town on my way in to what will finally be some PAID work. For seven hours. Followed by more cycling.
Today could well be the last hot day of the year. Hopefully not. But it’d be wrong to let it pass by without sucking the marrow from it and enjoying every last bead of sweat I can muster out of this late-season gift .
My “kicking ass and taking names” summer became derailed after July 17th, when I came down with bad bronchitis that kept me from cardio for nearly a month. I had one valiant week then where I cycled four times in mid-August, but then I got insomnia, where I had 40 hours sleep in about 15 nights, followed by a week at work with overtime. Needless to say, I haven’t found my rhythm in weeks.
I did get a good cycling week in last week but had aimed for four days of it, but saw Mr. Cockroach on Thursday night and resolved to do the Molly Maid/Rambo thing this weekend instead. Again, derailed. Three’s good, though, and I can make this week a second in a row.
It’s Monday now, a whole new week, and no matter how much it kills me, it’s on, baby. Music’s recharging, cycle bag’s packed, sun’s stoking the fire. It’s a great day for it.
I found myself thinking a lot about when I did a cleaning frenzy like this in March, though, when I totally gutted and cleaned my place, and resolved to spend the next six months being very active. I did a pretty good job of it — the cleaning and the six months. So I found myself perceiving my weekend as a setting of the stage upon which the next six months of life will unfold.
It’s a pretty great way to get perspective on blowing away one of the nicest sunny September weekends I ever recall in Vancouver.
Vancouver, for those who don’t know, vacillates between a sunshiney Eden and the downpours of the most urban rainforest in the world. Surrounded by impressive mountains yielding insane snowboarding within 10 minutes of downtown, the local geography hems in any rainclouds — the weather amassed from the long journey over the Pacific, usually up from Hawaii, falls down on this often-soggy urban jewel before the clouds weaken and leave the for the Prairies, which will be left arid, on their travels eastward. “September” is often something not to be banked upon in this town — make sure your travel agent knows. Summer ostensibly ends August 25th because the rain can come early and hard, and stay for months. If you think that’s writerly hyperbole, then go look up the definition of “temperate rainforest”, by which should be a picture of southwest British Columbia.
Today? Sunny and 24/80 degrees. Tomorrow, a little cooler. By Thursday, rain. Will sun return? A Vancouverite never knows. Hope, however, we collectively practice.
So, today I ride. Carpe diem.
I’m consciously getting my game back on over the next couple weeks. My 35th birthday’s on the 29th. You should donate a birthday gift to my PayPal account so I can buy some wine and panties. Priorities being what they are and all. 🙂
Love your blogger! Feed her! Get her drunk! One reader claims to be sending me BDSM toys. I say, bring it on!
I do digress! Anyhow. Dating: I actually have more men in the wings these days, about four or five, and with this great late September weather, I’m not interested in dating at all. I want to get my mojo back, feel like I’m back on my path to fitness. But the question is, can I string ’em along? Should I? Dare I? Usually doesn’t work well. But perhaps I’m not the only one not wanting to squander these last days of summer.
It’s a shame I’ve forsaken such a blissful 48 hours in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But I feel like this place I’m in this morning, this verge I’m on with what seems to be another exciting chapter of life about to unfold, is a place I’d have gladly paid money to get to. Instead, admission was a fevered weekend of cleaning. C’est la vie.
And if you’re wondering where I’m at with weight? No clue. I don’t care. Once I’m back on path, I’ll check it out. I don’t feel like I’ve gained or lost. I think I’m in limbo. Considering all the chorizo and goat’s cheese I enjoyed on the weekend, “limbo” has been working for me. 🙂
Happy Monday, y’all. Why don’t you, too, try to suck the marrow out of your day in some way? Take five to do something you deserve. Life’s too fucking short. Even on Mondays.
PS: Unfortunately, people really are THIS stupid.

My Reader, Oraless-For-25-Years, is Getting Oral!

So, remember the reader who wrote me a couple weeks back to say that her hubby sucked ass at oral, and had for 25 years?
Now, a bunch of guys wrote comments, saying, “Well, maybe it’s not all his fault”, but what I’d neglected to say was that we’d exchanged about a half-dozen emails or so about the topic before I posted. I don’t like commenting when I don’t know the shit, ‘cos it’s so easy to hear 12 facts and think you can offer a solution. I actually like dialogues, so when people email me a question, they can expect that I’ll clarify points, and to respect people’s privacy and my blog space, I truncate in posts.
Well, the dear reader wrote me back today! Good news! We LOVES good news!
Turns out, she decided everything else in the relationship was fine but she was fed up with the bullshit. She told him his rules were stupid and that he completely sucked at it and it wasn’t worth the hassle and emotional turmoil it put her through to ask for it. She said, “I told him I never, ever wanted it again.”
I guess that was the reality-check he needed — he shaved his facial hair to show her that he wanted to try harder, and went down on her, breaking his own rules about how long since intercourse — and it was apparently fantastic! He said it became a matter of pride, and now he’s proud of himself for reducing her to orgasmic puddle of bliss. She says he’s strutting around like a peacock, going, “I knew I could do it!”
As she says:

He told me that I smelled clean, and also KISSED me afterward. I think there’s an alien in my hubby’s body, but he can stay!

And, you know, I’m just over the moon that it worked out. I’m thrilled she got back to me and filled me in. I’ve asked her to let me know a few weeks down the line if he’s keeping up with it.
This is why I love getting emails back afterward, though. Because it goes to show you that, there’s only so far all this nice, polite, please-and-thank-you shit goes. Life’s too fucking short. Sometimes, you just have to say bluntly that they ain’t getting the job done. If you’ve tried and tried, but you’ve always been nice, it’s time to get rid of the tact and diplomacy, and throw down.
Like Jack commented last week on a posting about the guilt after disappointing sex, he was surprised I didn’t call out the fuckhead who failed to give me the knee-quaking sex I so richly deserve.
Yeah, I was totally surprised too. What a total lack of character for me. I figger it’s only because I’d gone so long without a good shagging that I had this surreal, “Did I imagine all that good sex?” But I also confused the issue — I thought, “Well, he’s a nice guy, just…” But then it clued in the next day. No, he’s a selfish lover.
And it was a good learning lesson. But if I’d said something, I might’ve stuck with that fellow, and I’m hoping this Quest For Good Sex can be much, much better than I think he’d have mustered anytime soon, even with all my willingness to help.
(I’m tired of edumacatin’ the boys. I want me a good sexual equal. So, I’m holding out and scoping still, dates loom. I am NOT settling.)
Be blunt. Embrace the power of speech. Say what you really, really want.
Hell, you might just get it.
Image found on Chagrin/Tumblr.

Unprotected Sex: What if Condoms Make the Guy "Soft"

I am militant now, in my “old” age, about protection during sex. The question is, why isn’t everyone?
The images, albeit creepy and disturbing, are some very effective AIDS-awareness posters from France. I thought they illustrated this posting well.
A reader named Helen left a great comment today on a posting I think everyone should read, personally, called Getting Laid, Getting Tested, Getting AIDS,* that I wrote two years ago.
(Proof that I see every single comment I get, so start commenting more, peeples!)
Helen wrote:

What really irritates me is that guys still ask for [sex] ‘without a condom’. As soon as I hear that now, it’s such a big turn-off, as I know they’ve done that before, and probably don’t give it the concern I do. Even if we use condoms, yes there’s still a risk of herpes, warts, there’s still contact. And I end up thinking about that too much. Why do they ask?
Of course, the worst is the guys I know who seem to lose it as soon as the condom is on. You’re all turned on, gasping for it, and it’s gone. It’s like being held to ransom. He’s feeling bad, you want sex, it’s all too easy to give in and make it alright. Do you have any tips for this? Because it drives me crazy. I know it sounds weird, but can’t they try to masturbate with them, or somehow try to associate them with sex? I know it doesn’t feel as good, but there’s clearly a mental element too that they could work on.
I just wish they found the prospect of HIV as much of a turn-off as me.

And condoms can break, so even then you’re not guaranteed protection, which is why I “sleep around” very, very objectively, even with condoms. 99% ain’t 100%.
I had a sexual “professional” in the escort biz email me once to say she’d used a condom EVERY SINGLE TIME she had ever had sex, and somehow wound up pregnant. This development left her absolutely terrified to continue in her profession.
As for Helen’s example, I’ve had that happen, that when a guy puts a condom on, he suddenly deflates. He tried to use the “Yeah, well, I’ve been in a relationship for the last 11 years, so I just can’t get used to it” bullshit excuse.
And that’s MY problem, how? “Wear the fucking condom, or we don’t fuck. You can’t wear it? Your loss. I have vibrators. I’m better off without fucking someone like you, anyhow, because now I can’t trust you,” was my response to him, and the night came to a very premature close.
My advice, Helen? Stay the course. If men want to argue against wearing condoms, then fine, let them. But don’t give in. Never, ever give in. It takes ONCE. Just once. See my addendum at the end, because my friend who knows the night he was infected, he’s dying as a result. From once, just once.
You’re absolutely right — the ones who ask for bareback ARE the ones who’ve done it with others. They’re the ones to be concerned about. Just because they’re charming and got that far with you doesn’t mean they’re safe. It’s the excessively charming guys that worry me more, to be frank.
I have a male friend who just recently decided a couple months of seeing this chick meant it was a nice, committed relationship, and he felt he could trust her. They had unprotected sex, and the next day, literally, he happened to see a text message on her cellphone in which a guy texted her “BTW I think I came in you the other night. Too late for a morning-after pill?”
My friend told me he ran to the washroom and vomitted, since he’s never been a promiscuous guy and only recently got out of his 12-year marriage, and has been just gutted with worry the last month.
The day BEFORE he told me that, I’d been to my doctor and was talking about getting tested again, for my bi-annual test, whether I’m sexually active or not. Doc told me rather darkly that he’d just finished testifying in a court case in which a FEMALE patient of his KNOWINGLY infected a male patient of his with HIV.
We want to believe everyone’s as ethical as we are. We want to believe they’re not fucking with skanky people who use no safe practices. But that’s just naivety at its finest.
There are untrustworthy people out there. There are mean people out there. There are people with no scruples nor standards. There are destructive people out there.
Vigilance is the only thing we have to protect ourselves with, aside from condoms, and neither are 100%.
God, since the late ’80s we’ve heard the slogan “No glove, no love” and you’d think people would get it by now. Particularly these men who want to keep asking for bareback sex.
You think condomless sex doesn’t feel better for women, too? Of COURSE it feels better. I LOVE BAREBACK SEX. Love, love, LOVE. I just never have it. Why? Because it’s so fucking 1970, man. Jesus.
Women have more at risk than our random male shags might. We could get pregnant — which often is a greater motivation than protecting oneself against AIDS and other STDs, and is stupid, but there you have it. If that’s what it takes for women — who are the fastest-growing demographic for new AIDS & HIV infections — to start forcing partners to wear condoms religiously, then I’ll take it.
Guys, if you’re one of these selfish pricks who has a fucking problem wearing a condom, THEN GET OVER IT. Whiners.
It’s a MENTAL problem and YOU need to deal with it, not US. If it means jacking off with condoms as practice, then do that. I don’t know what you but-I-can’t-wear-a-condom, you-can-trust-me men need to do, but you got to fucking figure it out. We’re your lovers, not your mothers, so figure your shit out without burdening us with the hassle.
And to all the men who are religious about wearing condoms: We love you men for making this easier for us. You have no idea the bullshit every single woman has dealt with over the years from those ignorant, dumb-ass men who are selfishly thinking only of getting off, and not taking our well-being (or theirs) into consideration.
AIDS isn’t over. In fact, the picture is even less rosy than it was just weeks ago. Why? The CDC in America has released a study in which they report that they think their estimates for new annual AIDS/HIV infections are a whopping 40% TOO LOW. Instead of 40,000 new cases a year, it’s 56,000, and growing.
In fact, Ronald Johnson, the AIDS Action Deputy Director, says, “This is not just another set of statistics. There are people behind these numbers. People are becoming infected with a disease that is preventable. We know how to prevent HIV, but we have been fighting this epidemic with one hand tied behind our back, reflecting a disturbing dismissal of HIV-prevention as a public health priority. The new, higher estimate is yet one more wake-up call to our national leaders that they need to do more, starting with developing and implementing a real national AIDS strategy.”
I’m gonna guess that strategy is that of educating ignorant people about wearing condoms.
Personally, I think that, even if you’re in a longterm committed relationship, and you even THINK your partner is cheating on you, you should demand condoms be used. Ain’t a conversation I’d be keen to initiate, but when your life’s literally at stake and trust isn’t what it used to be, that’s a conversation that needs having.
What can I say? The lack of sexual responsibility used by some segments of society leave me absolutely paranoid about who it is I should or should not sleep with, and as much as I trust my instinct… I’m no fool.
Neither should any of you be. Why chance it?
*NB: The friend I’ve mentioned that contracted AIDS from a night he could pinpoint is not doing as well as he was in the posting I originally mentioned. He’s now made a will, has become incredibly depressed, has isolated himself, and his health is spiralling downwards, filling fear in us all, because we think he doesn’t want to fight. While life can be sustained longer than ever with the drug cocktails now prescribed for AIDS, the quality of life is often difficult.
As I wrote in that original posting, a little too presciently for my comfort, “The virus is not the same in everyone. It is a living, breathing thing, and like all evolutionary beings, it can – and will – adapt to new and different environments. Some people will be to HIV like a match is to a stick of dynamite. You really think you’re invulnerable? Go ahead. Roll that dice. But every risk you take, you subject another to, and, that, you have no right to do.”

So Why The Hell Do I Write About Sex Anyhow?

I weighed myself this morning, and I’m officially down FORTY-SEVEN pounds. Whoop, there it went! But… I’m only half-way to my goal of losing 100 pounds. And that’s okay. I promised myself I’d do it slowly and in a sustainable way, and I am.
Let’s talk about wanker’s comment again (on this post), which isn’t worth the time for me to go back and check, but one of my nicer readers, Griffin, left an inquisitive comment yesterday challenging wanker’s comment:

I’m not sure I understand what point Anonymous was trying to make. I mean, is he/she suggesting that one is entitled to self-confidence only when one is thin — or paired? Would he/she find Steff’s confidence more acceptable if she looked or lived differently? That seems very odd, indeed.

Yeah, I’m confused too.
But I guess the point the silly man was trying to make had something to do with the fact that if I’m fat, not getting laid, don’t write about my friends, yet spout off all this stuff, then clearly I’m just a liar because none of this “washes”.
Apparently overweight people have no confidence, can’t attract lovers, and have no common sense to impart to others. Who knew?
You want to know the deal on me? There’s a meme circulating a little, I guess, that Ellie Lumpesse started by writing about what got her into writing about sex.
What got me into it? Well, I’m definitely cut from a different cloth than most of the so-called writers on sex out there, because a) I write about it less, and b) I don’t tell you much at all about my encounters. None of anyone’s business what literally happens in my bedroom, and on my floor, and in backseats. I mean, really. I get the whole being-a-voyeur thing in the reading realm, but I figure there are enough writers writing on those dirty shagging events.
I started this blog in 2005, when I had a bit of a moment watching the movie Kinsey.
Long story short — I was raised in a very uptight household. Catholicism ruled the roost. Sex was dirty and amoral. Having sex before marriage was wrong, and even if it was love, if I did it, I’d be thought of as a whore.
I did the waiting-for-the-one thing. I thought he was a lifelong love. I thought he’d be everything I’d need. And I was wrong. We slept together, had a relationship mostly based on sex that spanned the better part of seven years, and then we ended. Would I have stayed with him as long if I’d not had the Catholic indoctrination of sex = love = a bond you can’t break? I doubt it.
After that, I had a lot of hang-ups. I didn’t want to be “promiscuous”. I didn’t want to be perceived as a whore. I didn’t want to be thought of as a bad person because I got laid.
Writing this blog was a way of me getting through the intellectual problems I had with sex, and connecting with the emotional needs I wanted from sex. I’ve learned a lot about myself in the three/four years I’ve written this bloggie, and I like what I’ve learned.
This blog will never, ever be a fly-on-the-wall perspective on my personal sex life. I’ll write about a moment here, a moment there, something said during the frolic of sex, conversations thereafter, experiences and the perceptions thereof… but blow-by-blow, suck-by-suck accounts of my sex? Never, ever going to happen.
I’m a deeply private person that way, ironically. And in other ways. I don’t bore you with the day-to-day struggles of mine with finances or the headgames that are waged daily/weekly in this Reinventing of Steff passage of mine. I have limits of what I want to share. You don’t fucking need to know, it’s not ABOUT that.
But, mostly why I wanted to write this blog is, I’ve had a lot of anger over my life for being made to feel ashamed about sex, for being made to feel that giving of myself and my affections to someone I perceive to be deserving of them is WRONG. I’m outraged that we still have very religious ideas on something that, when I’m having it, when I’m sharing it with someone I love to partner with, makes me feel like an incredible person. Being a sexual person makes me feel like a BETTER person. How is THAT wrong?
I wanted to tackle the philosophical side of hang-ups, the psychological side of sex. I wanted to write about insecurities and headgames and how to intellectually deal with affection. I wanted to make sure I posited an argument in the affirmative about how good sex is for who we are inside.
Writing about dripping hard cocks and marathon sexual encounters is fun — for other writers. For me, the meat of sexuality lies in our biggest organ — our brains. Everyone else can tackle sex as how they see fit.
Me, I prefer to be outside the box. And am I a scholarly expert on the matter? Fuck, no. Have I even taken biology or sexual studies at school? No. Have I read all the right books? No. This is me, my take, my thoughts, my wishes, and nothing more. After being a librarian for a couple years and working in a bookstore where the manager was a huge fan of sex studies, I began reading on the subject of sex and slowly broadening my mind and asking questions of myself.
And maybe, just maybe, if I’d been some waif-thin woman with an ass you can bounce quarters off, instead of a heavy girl with insecurities back in the day (but I still have insecurities — we all do) I might never have began thinking more psychologically and philosophically about sex.
So isn’t it just fucking awesome that I was overweight?
But assholes like tha gutless turd Anonymous, who doesn’t have the balls to sign his name, just want to perpetuate the myth that one must look perfect to have anything to share with others.
Know what? He is, always was, and always will be, flat-out wrong.
Because I’m not perfect, because I’ve never been perfect, because I never will be perfect… what I have to share is as authentic as the day is long. Sometimes, authentic is all you can really hope for. And it’s what I got.

A Few Thoughts on Comments, And Sugasm 142

Despite stupidity rearing its head last night in the form of yet another asshole comment by yet another asshole, and the rise of a would-be stalker, for the time being I’m going to hold off on comment moderation despite my first instinct to start regulating them.
Why? Well, for starters, I really love the dialogue that takes place in comments sometimes. It’s exciting to see people argue each other about something I’ve read, or pat me on the back, whatever. I have a life and don’t want to have to have the stress of checking for comments and publishing them, because that messes with the flow of it all, and when posts only really have a shelf-life of a few days, that gets in the way of the flow, no?
Besides, I believe strongly in free speech. I’ll let you have your say, but don’t think I’m going to bend over and take it when I think you’re out of line, or just plain stupid and mean like the guy from last night. And I’m not going to be polite about it.
I must have been drunk when I said I was going to be a kinder, gentler Steff. Oh, right, I was drunk. That explains that. No, you know what I’m going to be? Myself. For all the good and bad of it, I’m going to be myself. With all my swear words, all my attitude, and all my humour, I’m gonna be myself and just say what comes to mind. That should be fun. So say what you want, but know I’m not shy about responding.
After all, while I think some mouths are better off left shut, mine is not one of them. Why? Because it’s MY blog. Duh. 😛
Here, eat some Sugasm. You’ll feel better. I’m behind the game by two weeks with Sugasm, so here’s a truncated list for #142, and the full juicy 143 will be up in the next few days.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.
This Week’s Picks
Interludes – part 3
“He winds the rope around his hands, smoothing the kinks, and I stand there, breathing a little faster, conscious of all those eyes upon me.”

Hurts So Good
“I want you to wear the badges of sweet distress for days.”

Shower fantasy
“You don’t want to admit it, but you want me.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Why I haven’t blogged about the Mosley case

More Sugasm

Reader Says:He's Hated Giving Me Oral for 25 Years

Oh, dear, oh, dear. Ohh. Sigh.
So here’s a letter I received today–

We’ve been married 25 years, intercourse has always been great. Hubby has never learned to be good with his hands but orally he’s a dunce. I gave up many years ago. I have dropped 60 lbs and my libido went up, so has my old wish for good oral from him. I printed out “how to eat pussy” lessons I found on the net. He attacks the pussy like it’s diseased. Scrunches up his face and makes it look like he’s going to hate it. The lessons… well, he just couldn’t put it together.

He’s given me a list of “needs” to prepare for this.

1- must shave the area (fine with me, but he won’t assist.)
2- must wash 10 minutes before doing act
3- must be more than 5 days past period
4- must be more than 5 days from getting period
5- must be more than 3 days since last intercourse (we have sex 2 or 3 times a week, he ALWAYS cums inside)

He hates even looking at a vagina, and has had no clue in 26 years what a clit does. All the teaching I attempted in our early years was a waste as he just has no innate ability to figure out what to do, and won’t listen to my body. I am about ready to go man hunting for good oral.

SHOULD I GIVE UP ON HIM?

Shit. See, this is one of those “I’m not going to enjoy this” questions. It happens. Normally I’d remove more of the specifics, but it’s obvious he doesn’t read blogs like this. And even if he did, he deserves to recognize himself.
Reader, you need to say, “Look, I know YOU have a problem with this, but the majority of this country, men LOVE diving into snatch. YOU have a problem with it. YOU are the exception. YOU having a problem with it makes ME feel like YOU have a problem with MY snatch. This makes ME feel like a loser. This makes ME feel like maybe there’s someone out there, in the majority of the country, that feels differently about ME than YOU do. I’m tired of being rejected. It’s threatening our marriage. And the power is in your hands to change it. And if you don’t, I will.” Continue reading

On Oral, A Reader Asks: Can I Really Tease Her For More Than An Hour?

some days are clean slates, just waiting for some input, a spark, a suggestion. some days are lazy days of slack, and on such a day, it’s nice to receive a great email from a snazzy reader, especially when it’s something worth spending a little time writing on. if you have something you think i could shed some light on, you just wanna say hi, or you just wanna wind me up and watch me go, here’s where to send it: smuttysteff(at)gmail(dot)com.
just a reminder, though: this isn’t a gig that pays my rent, so real life often (and rudely) interferes, and if i forget to respond to you or I fail to post a response I say I’ll post, please, please, write me back and remind me — like this reader did! yay, reader!

__________________________

A young lesbian reader has written after reading my three-part (evidently not so) Man’s Guide to Cunnilingus (click here to read: part one, part two, part three). I may have to change the name of that. How hetero of me. Shame!
Awwright, let’s start off with the 18-year-old girl’s question:

In your cunnilingus post, pt.3, you exhort to torturously delay her cumming in order to give her one “mind-boggling” orgasm. That is exactly my question, how do you do it? Because, in order to do so, if I start varying the rhythm of my tongue or even stop for a moment to lick other spots I’m afraid her orgasm might vanish.
In your post “Giving Great Head” you say that your “record” for delivering oral on a guy was over an hour and that his reaction was mind-blowing. Is it possible to do the same to a chick?

-Eager Beaver
Excellent question!
Let’s all just take a deep breath for a second here and think on the basics that everyone needs to know about sex:
First, orgasms don’t just up and vanish into thin air. It’s not like a Hogwart’s class on spellcasting or something here. Don’t be so scared of failing to bring an orgasm that you don’t explore the realms of human enjoyment, all right? It’s not about achieving orgasm in 18.67 minutes. There’s no time-limit involved. Taking the slow scenic route may mean you need to build back up to a cadence that’ll yield an orgasm, but so what?
The fact is, one of the best things a woman can do to increase her orgasm potential for later in the evening is to masturbate to the brink of orgasm, then stop, denied, before showering and/or getting ready for her plans/date. If she knows she’s getting laid later, she’ll typically have a better, more fulfilling orgasm because of “masturbatus-interruptus“. Same thing as if you get interrupted during sex, can’t finish, and then finish later, it’s a much hotter orgasm, isn’t it?
So, if worse come to worse and the arousal should dampen, which it often can and will, just take charge and take her right back to where you want her. Who cares if it takes a while? What’s your rush?
Spending an hour on oral means semi-constantly making sure you’re somehow stimulating her vaginal areas, whether it’s tracing a finger over her and just lightly toying with her, or during a more overt clitoral rub to heighten things, or working her as part of your oral arts. Always be aware and be conscious of her vagina. You can detour away for a few seconds here or there, but make a grand return by kissing your way down her torso or introducing a sex toy into the equation.
There are no rules, get creative. Think “If I were a vagina, how would I like to be toyed with” and get creative about finding items you can tease her with over the course of an hour or two. Spend an afternoon sometime when you’re by yourself just going through your place and finding unusual items (that need to be clean) for teasing a body with. A feather, a powderpuff, a silk tassel, sex toys… use props, put the “play” back into playing with each other.
If you’re talking about stimulating your lover for an hour, two hours, or more, mostly via oral, you have to remember that you can absolutely pull back and just lightly toy with them, using a finger or a small prop, for a few minutes to take a break. God, even just hovering over her vagina (or over a man’s cock), an inch away, and breathing hot and hard against her vagina will be arousing, and you have to do nothing but breathe, so that’s a good “breather” to take as well. Just try to keep them in a light state of arousal throughout, and when you’re recharged a bit, go back to your pleasure-giving duties.
Understand, everybody, you are NOT going to kill orgasms! Not usually You are going to ENHANCE them. Yes. Yes, you are. That’s what it’s about. The longer someone is aroused and the longer that pleasure is denied, the greater the orgasm will be. Do we understand now? Making them wait is a good thing. It’s the difference between an “ohh…” orgasm and an “ohh!” orgasm, all right?
You’re not the first person to not realize this, Eager Beaver, and, god help me, you ain’t going to be the last. But overcome the fear of “losing the orgasm” and adopt the confidence of giving the orgasm on yer own damned timetable, all right?
Besides, again it’s all becoming about the orgasm, when it really isn’t about that. Sex, oral and otherwise, is about so much more than just blowing our loads.
It’s about showing your lover they’re worth you spending an hour or more of your time literally just making them feel great. It’s about enjoying the mingling of human saltiness and sweetness on your tongue and the millions of crazy nerves firing off inside yer lucky lover, beneath your touch, as they squirm and groan softly as you playfully dart here and there, licking and kissing and nibbling and sucking.
The orgasm is just the briefest of moments, and, in the end, it’s never really the orgasm we remember anyways, is it? It’s the delightful tortured waiting in which we think this fury of feeling we’ve got is going to explode from within us if we don’t get to orgasm soon, isn’t it? That feeling’s so fucking hot. THAT is the feeling you want to work to create. That place between heaven and hell that we could all spend an eternity in, provided we get release every now and again.
You won’t lose the orgasm.
You will, however, find a whole new definition to what it means to please your lover. Trust me.

Reader: Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

I had a reader question a week or so ago. Pretty short and sweet:

I was wondering what your take is on couples who have a peaceful, mutual breakup (stay good friends) and continue living together until their lease is up.

What, in a nutshell?
“Good luck with that” is about what I think. Good fucking luck.
Yeah, okay, somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds sing and rivers are made of chocolate, and couples who break up really truly can be friends. Yes, Toto, they can! Even in Kansas!
In my twisted little worldview, though, friends after breakup is a whole lot easier said than done. There’s all those weird little remembrances you have to get over. Like, “watching a movie” means a whole other thing if you’re “just friends.”
“You mean I can’t start nibbling your torso when there’s a boring bit?”
Well, there’s always popcorn, honey.
We’re human beings. We’re silly things with opposable thumbs and convoluted ideas on what constitutes civilization. We want to pretend we’re all smart and brilliant when it comes to problem resolution. The problem is, this ain’t no problem to resolve. The death of a relationship is, well, a death.
It dies. Six feet down, all bets off. It’s not a simple change of state. It’s a change of being. You used to fuck in frenzies. You told each other everything. You had dreams and goals and plans. And then, one day, it all went poof in a little whisp of smoke. You sorta saw it coming, yet there you stood still in a state of utter disbelief.
Because that’s how it all goes.
Now you want to think that a little piece of paper that says you have a lease is going to be enough to keep it on an even keel. Let’s hope you’re right. In my world, it just doesn’t tend to work out that well.
I’m a smart person with big brains and long memory, and pushing aside a past in order to have a present seems to be one of those equations I have a difficult time solving. Not that I wouldn’t try to solve it.
But surprises happens. Luck tends to play its hand. And sometimes odds get defied. Me, I err on the side of probability and statistics. Numbers meaning what they do and all.

Where are the manners?

Every now and then an email comes in that’s the exact right email for what’s going on in my life. That happened Friday. I’d had an incident earlier in the day that had me seething with rage, and his email hit right home. So, first, the email, then I’ll tell you what happened, and then you’ll get my two cents. Sounds like a plan, no?

I was wondering if there was a certain age where teenagers or adults realise that manners are important and can learn to appreciate them? Because I’ve been trying my whole life (I’m still a teenager, but still) to be a gentleman (opening doors for others, asking if the elderly need help, speaking politely, etc.) and to be helpful as much as possible, but it seems that it is not appreciated at all. So far throughout a few years of high school, I’ve tried to help others boost their marks with assistance on their homework, but they can’t seem to understand that others have morals and won’t cheat for them. (again, turning into a rant i suppose..)
I guess I’m really just sending this email to ask another’s opinion about manners and whether or not it is truly appreciated in today’s society. I’ve asked a few teenage girl friends and they say that it is good to have manners and it’s something important they look for, yet I see them going out with lowlife guys who are despicable and need to learn manners. Is this just a teenage thing to do that you overcome later on and realise it’s importance and learn to be grateful for it? Or is it completely dependant on the people’s standards they’ve set.

Now, what happened to me the other day was when I was riding over to my brother’s place. He and I live in absolute opposite ends of the city — he in the most northeastern section, I in the most northwestern section. I work smack dab in the middle, downtown, and between there and my brother’s is 30-square blocks of what’s essentially some of the poorest and most underprivileged in Canada. If you know where to avoid, you can go without ever seeing any of these people.
I don’t try to avoid it, I just go through. I always see really tragic things when I do and it keeps me appreciating the little I have. This time, though, I was stopped at a light and this old guy, about 70, was in a wheelchair, completely unable to use his hands, and could only pull himself forward using the toes on his right foot. He was literally moving about 2 feet a minute. Naturally, the light turned red with him in the middle of the street, and I got a solid green light to go. Meanwhile, he’s stopped, looks like he’s about to cry from exhaustion, just can’t go any further, and all these fucking people are walking past, ignoring him.
I was in a RAGE. I pulled my scooter over, got off, cursed, “You people ought to fucking help! Where the hell are manners gone?” Then I leaned over to the man and said, “May I push you across the street, sir?” And he went soft with relief. He just sighed, “Please?”
I had a bit of an argument with a couple punks on the corner after that, who seemed to think I was flaming them, and yeah, you know, I was. Just fucking standing there, doing nothing.
When I got over to my brother’s place, I saw my nephew standing there, and I sat him down. I said, “If you ever see a little old lady or a little old man who can’t get across the street or they’re taking too long, you HELP them. You hear me?”
I made sure he knew the distinction between “stranger danger” and helping a senior citizen who really does need the help. After all, that’s how I was taught.
In MY world, I was raised to help people. I was raised to give a hand and do the right thing. I was taught to say please and thank you, and I was told to hold doors open for others.
And I KNOW life moves fast, and I KNOW people are more rushed than they used to be. You know what? I don’t give a fuck. *I* find the time to still be polite. I find the time to thank people and make pleasant small talk. Why the hell don’t they?
So, kid, I say keep going. The thing about being a polite person and not behaving politely just because you’re not getting it in return is that you start to get bitter about it. It changes you. Cynicism finds you and apathy makes a home in you. Stay true to the person you are. Help others, be polite. You’ll one day be surrounded by a better class of people, by people who appreciate that in who you are. It will be a deciding factor on the kinds of engagements you’re invited to and the kinds of experiences you have. You’re still a kid, you’re in high school, and you’re stuck in a social world you have little say in. In a few years, that all changes.
I know I will not date a man who has no manners. I will watch how he behaves and treats others, and I’ll note whether he expresses gratitude for the little things I say and do for him, and if I don’t like what I see, I will walk.
Life’s too short to be with people who just don’t understand basic human decency. I figure that eliminates about 60% of the world from eligibility for my bed, but whatever. I’m fine with having high standards. Are you?

You asked? Some thoughts on "cuckolding"

I was asked a while back what my take on cuckolding is.
I didn’t ask what the reader’s interpretation of the word is, but there’s a historical definition of it meaning that the male in a relationship is faithful while the woman can do whatever or whomever she likes. It’s, I guess, a sample of “reverse” sexual dominance played out in a social manner.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m old-fashioned. I’m a one-guy/one-gal kind of chick and I don’t foresee that changing. Relationships are hard enough for me without throwing potential mind-fucks into the equation.
That being said, whatever the hell gets your rocks off, man. If you’re in a relationship and you’ve set ground rules that state Sunday nights you have mashed potatoes, Mondays are for football, and, oh, yeah, you can fuck whoever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with your plans as a couple, then so be it.
I don’t really see where my opinion matters one damned bit. I’m sure there are people who make lifestyle choices and then feel awkward for living outside the norm and that they’d like someone like me to come along and say “Hurrah for individuality!” but the fact is, you got to find your approval from within, and what I think, or anyone else for that matter, shouldn’t impact you in the least. So don’t take offense but I think it’s all bullshit, myself.
I will never buy into polyamory as a lifestyle. I don’t think I could ever forgive a man for cheating on me. I have never cheated on a man – not even a kiss or a flirtatious email has passed from me when I’m dedicated to a lover. I will do everything in my power to ensure I remain faithful in any relationship I’m in. I believe in monogamy, and I think monogamy fucking rocks.
That being said, relationships are hard. There are times when they cause nothing but heartbreak, and times when being with that person can take you lower than you’d have thought possible, but that’s just more of what life really is. It’s adversity that’s occasionally peppered with greatness.
I think swinging, polyamory, and all that shit are ways people have conceived of to take the sting out of the difficulty that comes with monogamy. I believe they probably truly do love the primary person in their relationship, but that the hard times overwhelm them, so incorporating others into the relationship is their way of minimizing the emotional intensity. I think some people have issues with monogamy. I think some people simply have what society deems as loose morals. I think some people are just scared to be with one person, ‘cos if that person ups and walks, then what would they be left with? And naturally, some people are just scared of being alone.
Am I oversimplifying things? Oh, probably. But that’s what those of us who’ll never, ever understand it do. Am I judging them? I suppose you could make the argument that I am, but I’m not. I simply don’t understand those lifestyle choices and never will. I don’t think I need to apologize for my lack of comprehension, and I certainly won’t pretend to understand it when I can’t.
I’m no idealist. I don’t believe there’s only one person who’s right for me. I’m sure that with a little compromise and a lot of understanding that there are a lot of men I could make a life with. There is no one kind of man I fall for, and there’s not just one fit for me. I’ve fallen hard for more than one man in my life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t commit to just one.
I think monogamy’s a pretty sexy journey – getting to know the little things that make someone tick can be a fun and interesting trip to take. And I’ve had my heart broken. Some days I feel like my heart’s been broken so often that I’m simply broke, and other days I feel like I’ve somehow Krazy-Glued it back together enough that it’s got some bounce in it. And yet I’m still willing to put all my eggs in one basket. I’ll take that chance.
I’ll tell you one thing, though. It bothers me there’s a term for a relationship in which a woman is the one who sleeps around and not the man. I was talking about the duplicity of women’s sexuality the other night with a chick and we reached consensus about just how much we both despised the word “cougar,” for example.
If you’ve been locked in a closet these many years, a Cougar is said to be a woman who seeks out younger men. I think it’s bullshit. Men are seldom ever called “dirty old men” unless they more than double the woman’s age. Otherwise it’s accepted practice that an older man sees a younger woman.
When I was aggressively playing the dating game last summer, fall, and winter, I definitely hooked up with some younger guys. (The funniest account is here.) I’m 32 for a few more weeks, and I got it on with a couple guys in their mid-20s, and I was labeled a cougar. What the fuck? A five-year age spread and I’m somehow some amoral woman with little regard for age?
Fuck you and your urban dictionary, buddy boy. I’m sick of sexual terms that distinguish women as being somehow amoral for engaging in the same acts that men have been committing for centuries.
Equality’s come a hell of a long way, but some things still need to change. This is the first and last time you’ve heard the words cuckolding and cougar on this site, people. Women are sexual creatures and it’s time we stopped apologizing for it.