Masked

Masked
F/F
R


***

Honestly, you’d think that at my age I wouldn’t be surprised at the foolish shit I find myself doing. I’m old enough to say no or even to lie my way politely out of things when I know they aren’t my cup of tea. Yet here I am wandering around in the dense undergrowth of a National Park in the Pacific Northwest looking for a port-o-potty.

I should probably back up.
    
My college roommate, Siobhan, moved to the wilds of Oregon about ten years ago. Her husband is a Park Ranger and that’s where he was assigned. Since she was married in her home town of St. Louis I’d never visited the new home. A conference brought me out to Portland and I figured it’d be pretty rude of me not to try and get together. If I was already traveling all that way from Baltimore what was another couple hundred miles? When I heard how excited she was that I’d be coming I felt pretty good about myself. I might even have bordered on the smug. I’m an idiot.

A week before my trip she calls me up. “Hey, just wanted to give you a heads up that the night you’re coming to visit is our big Halloween party. A whole bunch of us get together in a local park, we wear costumes, there’s great food and wine. You’ll love it! So pack a costume!”

Somehow, I didn’t manage to reschedule the visit. Never once did I hear myself say, “You know what, that’s just not me.” even though I was thinking it so hard I think I strained my cerebellum. The best I could do, apparently, was to negotiate my way out of bringing my own costume. It turns out that Siobhan had an extensive costume closet and she’d find something perfect for me.

As ridiculous as the whole evening felt, especially while negotiating a portable toilet on the edge of a forest, I had to admit she had found something perfect. I’m not much for elaborate fantasies but when I do find my mind wandering it’s always to the ancient Greeks. Siobhan had a flowing Grecian dress in ice blue with a little gold detailing and a sparely designed feather mask that covered my eyes and nose and dressed up my hair. She’d pulled that up loosely so it wasn’t overpowered by the feathers, slapped some lipstick on me, tossed over a pair of the most comfortable sandals I’ve ever worn in my life and called me done. I felt gorgeous. Then I felt ridiculous for feeling that way.

Coming out of the port-o-john I had the dress unattractively bunched around my thighs. I didn’t want the light fabric swishing bathroom floor filth onto my ankles for the rest of the night. I tried to shake it out while reaching up for my drink, stashed in the crook of a tree.

“That’s fucking brilliant.” a quiet voice behind me observed.

I jumped, “Whoa, didn’t know anyone was out here.”

“Sorry, I’ve got these super soft boots on. I forget how silent they are.” she explained. The boots in question were ankle height and suede with a gently pointed toe and flat heel. I’d have been tempted to steal them but they went perfectly with her Robin Hood costume. It actually had a hood on the cape in addition to the mask so I couldn’t even tell what her hair was like.

“No worries,” I reassured. “I’m just not from around here. Not used to all the...nature.”

“It does take some acclimating, I suppose. If you need an escort back to the festivities I’d be happy to help you.”

I’d gotten here on my own. I could get back just fine. “That would be nice.” I accepted.

“Just let me do what I came to do, won’t be a minute.”

“Can I hold your drink?”

“Nah,” she demurred, “I’ll just put it here.” With that she walked right up to me, standing near enough to touch, and reached up into the crook of that tree to set her drink down. I could feel her breath on my neck she was so close. “Be right back.” she whispered in my ear.

I sipped my locally grown organic wine from its compostable cup and thought about just sneaking away. Before I could decide how rude that might be she was back. My nerves made me step away so she could reach her drink without touching me.

“Wow, that was quick.”

“Secret weapon,” she smirked, lifting the hem of her tunic enough to show me that what I had thought were leggings were actually thigh high tights.

“Brilliant? Body glue?”

“Little bit, it might get chilly later. Shall we?” Robin Hood gestured toward the party and I fell into step with her. We walked quietly for a hundred feet or so, breaking through the tree line with a growing sense of companionship. When I could see the party, though, my fingers tensed on my cup and I stopped walking.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just...don’t really feel like heading back. I was kind of using the bathroom run as a time out.”

“Ah the party time out. That’s a favorite of mine. Were you very naughty to deserve one?” she smiled when she said it and her eyes actually sparkled. That’s total bullshit, who has eyes that really sparkle? Sparkling eyes are a movie trick.

“Not yet.” Huh, so I guess along with the sparkling eyes the whole mouth with a mind of its own thing is real, too. That was a new one on me!

Robin Hood took a breath and pivoted her body back toward the flickering torches ringing the party space for a moment. Cocking her head she spoke low but clear, “Would you like to be?”

I laughed, although it was more of an accidental snort, and she took a step forward, her shoulders squared away from me. I opened my mouth to speak, choked on my own tongue for a second and finally got out, “What did you have in mind?”

“Seriously?” she demanded.

I swallowed hard, “Yes.”

She held a hand out and I took it. From there we took a different path back into the trees. Visions swam in my head of Sherwood Forest with shelters made of branches and hideouts camouflaged beneath leaf-covered rocks.

A minute later we arrived at a picnic table. The ground around it was littered with matches, rolling papers, beer cans and hamburger wrappers. Not a merry man in sight, though. Gently sweeping some of the debris out of the way with those fabulous boots my Robin Hood hopped up to sit on the table top, pulling me carefully forward. Keeping me close with the pressure of her knees on my hips she reached up to pull back the voluminous hood.

“Don’t...” I started.

“Just the hood.” she assured me.

I helped her smooth it back the rest of the way. Her hair turned out to be thick and not quite curly, more deeply waved. It hung just below her shoulders and had been pulled off her face with a head band. It might have been brown or auburn but I couldn’t make out specifics in the moonlight. Fortunately I could sink my hands in it and feel it sliding silkily over my fingers.

“Mmmmm, nice,” she encouraged, tilting her head back slightly. When I leaned over to run my fingers right to the ends of her locks she was in a perfect position to kiss my neck. She didn’t, though, she licked it. Short little strokes like a cat lapping up milk. It tickled in the most delightful way. I kept working with my hands but tipped my neck off to the side to give her more canvas.

Suddenly she bit down, hard, right near my collar bone. I yelped and felt her chuckle a moment before she sucked the bite. I smoothed my hands along her shoulders and enjoyed the feel of her bare skin all warm from the cloak. Her tunic had short sleeves and wide arm holes that invited my inquisitive little fingers in.

Meanwhile she was moving lower to take advantage of the deep neckline of my dress. I’ve always been impatient and had wormed my way under what felt like a camisole to home right in on one of her nipples. It was only beginning to harden so I ran a fingernail over it, a little harder than was perhaps polite. She twitched ever so slightly but didn’t stop me so I started in from the other side.

She did, however, take that as permission to up the ante. She hooked just a finger into one side of the casually pleated bodice of my gown and pulled it aside. Then she licked my breast in one wide stripe across the nipple and pulled back to watch it harden. Moving back took her out of my reach so we both watched. I could have cut glass and it felt fantastic. So I pulled the other half aside.

“Do it again.” I commanded.

She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Please?”

She obliged.

Somehow that centered my brain just a bit and I remembered the not-leggings. Bending a little to one side I grasped the bottom of Ms. Hood’s tunic and raised it, tucking the hem into her belt.

“So that’s the real secret, eh?” I asked. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. I pressed her shoulder a little to get her to lean back. She tossed a look behind her just to make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous back there and propped herself up on her hands.

At first I just lay one hand on each thigh. I wanted to feel how warm they were. Then I pressed them open and tried to move out of the way of the light to see what she was offering. Her hair was closely trimmed and formed into a  comfortably wide triangle. I could see the lips of her.

Stepping closer I hovered over Robin Hood, face to face with my hands still calm on her thighs. Her chin tilted up a little but I think it was instinctive rather than a choice. I brushed my nose against hers, sniffed her neck and finally kissed her. Our closed mouths melted together until she reached up and grabbed the back of my head. That was the signal to open and taste more deeply. The way she pulled challenged my balance, so as I shifted to one foot I palmed her between the legs almost to catch myself before I fell over.

She was sizzling hot but still unopened. As she traced my lips with her tongue I drew my hand upward, dipping my middle finger into the folds below. It came out wet just at the tip. “Mmrr,” I heard her say.

Pulling back a fraction of an inch I asked, “What?”

“More!” and her legs opened wide.

Down again and then up I let that middle finger sink in enough to release the juices from her. Now I could rub them up and down, making her deliciously slippery and coaxing her clitoris from its hood.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

Everything stopped.

“You OK?” she asked as I swore.

“Hang on, sorry.” I had to scramble in a very unladylike way to haul all the folds and flutters of that stupid dress up and get to my cell phone, vibrating in a holster on my thigh. “Hello? Hello?” I was breathless.

“Oh no, it’s OK, I’m fine Siobhan.”

Robin Hood wasn’t moving, she just watched me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, I did go to the bathroom but there...was a line and I got to...talking to someone,” that eyebrow raised in my direction again, “and I just didn’t realize I’d been gone so long.”

“I’ll be back soon, promise. Just want to wrap things up here.”

Hood giggled. It was cuter than I thought it would be.

“I am, Siobhan, honest. I am.”

I hung up and stared at the artfully disheveled party girl before me.

She smiled indulgently. I smiled back, more embarrassed than anything. “My friend. She brought me here. This is her dress actually. I’m just visiting fro...”

“You are what?”

“Visiting, I said, sorry...”

“No, you told her ‘I am, honest, I am.’ You are what?”

“Oh,” I looked down at my phone. I had to look at Ms. Hood to tell her, though, “She asked if I was having a good time.”

Old Friends, New Information

Way back in the 80s I moved to New York City to go to college. I was attending a small drama school within NYU. My core classes had, at most, 15 people in them. It was difficult and glorious and completely weird but I'll never forget those people, that's for sure. A year or so ago one of them was in town and we were shooting the breeze about his life in the Bay Area. He'd been accidentally stumbling upon old schoolmates of ours here and there and mentioned he'd seen Mollena. She had a web site. I might be interested.

I was. I am. I was flabbergasted to see what she'd been up to since she disappeared from my limited vision almost twenty years ago. Mollena was Ms. San Francisco Leather 2009, she's International Ms. Leather 2010 and she's got the same kind of fuzzy hat with ears she used to wear with this long teal coat as we stumbled through the Port Authority far too early every Friday morning of our freshman year. She has been active in the Leather and BDSM communities since 1996 and, even from reading her blog for so short a time, I can tell she's highly respected in all of those communities.

Full disclosure, if that was all there was to it I'd recommend her to you anyway. She's a friend and she's lovely and she's got a lot of information that you might want to have. I wrote her an email last week, after reading her blog for nearly a year, and was nervous that hearing from me would be awkward. Her swift and sure response was to tell me I made her day. Come on, who wouldn't promote the shit out of an old friend like that? Also, what a great time to tell you about the time we were both cast in a dramatization of A Handmaid's Tale. Mollena played the woman who owned the handmaid. The whole sex scene from that play takes on an entirely different sheen now.

But there's more. The girl I knew way back in the way back machine was brash and bold and wouldn't take no for an answer. She held all the reins in both hands and she was driving toward wherever the light was brightest and I always felt a little foolish for not being sure I wanted to be on the trip with her. I have control issues, I'm sure we've established that. Flash forward lo these many years and I tumble face first into Mollena's blog to hear that she's active in the BDSM community as a submissive. Really? I thought I was going to find that really hard to resolve with my memories of her. Fortunately I did what I always do in situations like that, I just kept reading.

The bold, brash, rein-holding girl is still there, of course. She's spending her life now, though, navigating those entwined desires for control and for the complete release of it. Which, you have to know, is something I struggle with all the time. How do you write about being sex positive and urge other people to be confident in their choices and clear in their boundaries while knowing that, deep in your heart, when the clothes come off you want someone else to take the reins? Mollena knows the answer to that question and she's honoring it with her writing, her speaking and her living every day.

Thank heavens I found her again.

Once Is Enough

I’ve recommended Vix to you all. According to her Twitter stream, after a period of playing the field her pendulum has swung again and she is looking for a relationship. No more of the one night stands or the swing lifestyle, she wants one person for night after night.

How can she do this to me?! I was studying her. She was my prep class!

Or something.

Here’s the thing, I’ve never picked someone up in a bar or at a sporting event or wherever and gone home with them. I’ve slept with someone once and then never again but never the first time I met them. For all I’m fine with talking about sex all the time I have some relatively deep-seated trust issues. I have to really know you before I’ll get naked. Hilarious considering the shit people I trusted have pulled while I’ve been naked but nevertheless the truth.

Don’t get me wrong, I am clear that I don’t have to have a one night stand in order to call my life complete. However, I wonder if I’m missing opportunities. Also, part of me thinks that fulfilling the stranger fantasy would be thrilling. Crowded room, eyes meet, pleasantries exchanged and you’re home before dawn. What could be better? Another part of me knows how abominable I am at making a first impression. I don’t know that I’d ever be able to relax enough to manage it on my end but I also can’t imagine, given how I tend to come across at first blush (just ask MistiRidiculous) I think it’d be a long shot that anyone would think, “Yeah, let’s get busy with the aloof, judgmental, neurotic chick! Right now!”

The reality is that I don’t know because I haven’t tried. I have no idea how these things work. The fact that I jump and apply the stink eye the minute a stranger speaks to me doesn't help my research. But I figure you all are a great resource so I’m asking. Have you ever picked someone up in a bar, had a one night stand, fulfilled the #1 female fantasy* according to Nancy Friday? What’s that like? Inquiring minds (and other anatomical features) want to know.

*I frequently mistype fantasy and fantasTy. It’s a whole different word but I think I like it. Sounds titillating.

Sixteen Flights

Sixteen Flights
M/F
R

***

Dear Diary,

There were too many people in the apartment. The perils of dating a man with roommates. It would have been too weird to slip into his bedroom and screw wildly. It turns out I can be kind of loud.

Disappointed but sort of resigned we headed out, joking about fucking in the stairwell, slowly making our way down sixteen flights kissing, laughing, talking fondling. He would have been perfectly content to fuck in the stairwell. I was squeamish about it. He offered to lay his coat down on a landing for me. I was thinking more along the lines of facing a wall and being taken from behind. Somehow with the sounds of apartment doors and elevators opening and closing I couldn't quite get myself to agree.

I ended up giving him a blow job. He was backed up against an entrance door and I had been stroking his cock so it was already out of his pants. I just knelt down and put my mouth on it. I haven't had much practice so we've been working on it. Together. I stroked his shaft with my hand, sometimes taking his whole penis in my mouth and sometimes just the head so I could use my tongue on the ridge and his hole. He pumped in and out of my mouth. I like it when it bumps the back of my throat. Is that weird? When he came his knees slowly started to bend then to buckle. I thought he might fall down but he just saved himself.

I don't swallow so it got all over us and we laughed and laughed. There was cum covering both of my hands and dripping into my jacket sleeves, some on my chin and drips on my scarf. It was funny and fun.

Tired now. Night.

xo
Me

The Children Actually Are Our Future

Edited a/o 10/10/20 1:55pm

A few weeks ago I mentioned a great site for sex information for teens, Scarleteen. Directly on the heels of that I discovered that the site relies entirely on donations to "provide comprehensive, inclusive and original sex education for millions of young adults each year." No ads**, no sponsors, no obligations to anyone but the people they serve. For more information on what they need in order to serve their readers go here. Last Friday kicked off three weeks of fund raising via a "Blog Carnival" with bloggers writing about Scarleteen and all that it does for Sex Education.

One thing I regret about my earlier endorsement of Scarleteen is not having enough examples of how their work helps people. AAG has collected a list of links to all the posts that are part of the carnival. She's also been posting particularly important excerpts from posts and the more I read the more it's reinforced for me that we are kneecapping the children of the world by not doing everything we can to educate them about this vital and pervasive part of our lives. Here are just a couple of links to posts AAG has highlighted.

• An older sibling finds out that her younger brother has been given blatantly false contraception information in a sexual education class, probably as a perceived plug for abstinence.
• What would happen if we handled financial education the way we do sex education?
• Sometimes it's important for even the most progressive and open parents to have someone else who is trustworthy for their kids to talk to about sex.

You all know that I started this site in part because women were saying they had no one to talk to about questions, concerns and curiosities. If we have ever felt underinformed, isolated or confused regarding sex and sexuality doesn't it make sense that we should be the ones keeping our children from feeling the same way? Perhaps it could even help prevent them from repeating our missteps. There are no guarantees in life but what would we be if we didn't even try. We have to try. Even Lyle Lovett says so.

Scarleteen and its founder, Heather Corinna, work tirelessly to make sure that every young person who comes to them (and plenty of older people, too) gets honest, accurate, constructive answers. This week alone the Twitter stream reminded young men who don't want to be fathers that refusing to wear condoms was contradictory to that agenda and reinforced for all young people that we make mistakes and it's part of learning. The learning is the important part and Scarleteen needs our support to continue to teach this lessons. Will you please help?

** Just got a note from Heather Corinna via AAG to correct a mistake on my part. HC says, "We aren't ad-free. We do use Google ads when we don't have paying adverts, which is almost always, and we're very selective about advertisers, but yeah, we have ads." I apologize for the misinformation and thank the ladies for clearing up my gaffe.

I'll Try Anything Twice

Strangely enough for a person who is so afraid of new situations there's a whole host of things I'd like to try. Writing a sex column once a week for over a year means that I learn more every day about new things. I want to try a lot of them. Not having a partner for the past few years means I need to keep the list of desires up to date and close by in case I ever get a chance to whittle it down.

I wanted to try anal sex for a long while before I finally did. In my heart I wanted to but when a partner presented it to me I still balked. Like I said, afraid of the new. I kept thinking about it. We kept talking. Eventually we tried it and it was...not great. It was awkward and scary and, frankly, kind of uncool. After some more discussion and thought, preparation and plenty of time we tried again and, I gotta tell you, I'm into it. I liked it. I wanted to do it again. It's not something I'd do with just anyone, it's not something I'd do right away with anyone at all but I'd sure do it again with the right person. If you've read my fiction (and the stats indicate that some of you have) then you know I have nothing against the ass play.

Recent research has suggested I'd like to try wearing pasties. Actually three years of marching in the Mermaid Day Parade have suggested that. I priced them while I was shopping for temporary tattoos this year. Damn, they're expensive! But The Beautiful Kind posted pictures of these beauties and my practical side got a swift boot to the head. Perhaps if I save my pennies I'll be sporting some of those next June.

Maybe I'm wrong but I'll bet that anyone who's ever seen Risky Business has thought about having sex on public transportation. I thought it was hot then, I think it's hot now. I've passed many a boring commute by working out the logistics of intercourse on those ugly, plastic seats. Apparently some other New Yorkers were so intrigued they just went for it. Didn't even stop when other passengers got on the train! I don't think I've got that kind of chutzpah but maybe in the heat of the moment having an audience (with cell phone cameras) wouldn't bother me. We may never know.

The thing that's really crowding into my mind these days, though, is fisting. When I first heard about it I couldn't even imagine what that would look like. It seemed aggressive and painful and frightening, in an intriguing sort of way. As time passed I learned that it wasn't so much a fist and it was something you built up to with someone you trust, much like I did with the anal sex. A few weeks ago there was some discussion somewhere, either at AAG's blog or at The Beautiful Kind about whether fisting would stretch out the vagina into a gaping, frictionless abyss. TBK was so angry about the implication that she built something wonderful out of it. She set up a photo shoot of herself being fisted and blogged the results, complete with a before and after shot of her vagina, no gaping at all. I wish there were more photos of the process. I absolutely want to try that. I really need to write my list of desires down and put it in a safe place.

Hell, I really need to be more proactive about finding a partner to share this list with. 

Do you have a list? Will you share some of the desires that are on it? I'd love to hear.

Like The First Time

Like The First Time
M/F
R

***

The kissing was already out of hand. Then they tripped. Stubbed toes and wobbly ankles they sat down hard on the sofa of the plush hotel room. Side by side and breathing hard they leaned back and rested a moment, groping for fingers to lace together. He scooted around to face her, she rolled her head to the side and they rested inches from each other.

He reached up and stroked some stray pieces of hair from her cheek, "Do you feel like this is supposed to be...I don't know, different?"

"Being married?"

"Well, yeah, of course, but I meant...you know?"

"Having sex with a married woman?"

He smiled, "A woman married to me, yeah."

"Yes, I think it's supposed to be different...somehow. I don't see how, though."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she rolled her eyes in response. Their heads lolled back again and they sighed.

"I'm kinda nervous." he whispered, not looking at her.

She smiled and looked at him. This was the only man she would make love to for the rest of her life. When you put it that way she got nervous, too. She lifted her full skirt and rolled over to straddle him, "How about you just kiss me some more?"

"I think I can handle that."

She leaned into him, cradling his face in her hands. he kissed her soft lips, trailed down to her clavicle then back up to lick those lips again. He wanted to grab her head and press it hard to him but tortured himself, fingers gripping and releasing her tulle-clad hips convulsively.

When they broke this time she swiped his bottom lip with her thumb and sat back to smile at her husband, "I'm getting crinoline ass."

"Pardon?"

"The crinoline is all scratchy and it's imprinting itself on my ass."

"Ooo, can I see?"

"Oh jeez. Only if you help me out of this dress."

"Not a problem."

He helped her up to standing and she pulled him up to join her. He held her face, kissed her strongly then slid his arms behind her to negotiate the long zipper down the back of her gown. Ever since he was a kid the sound of a dress being unzipped made him hard. Like unwrapping a present but better than any Christmas he'd ever had.

Resting one hand on her shoulder he traced up her newly exposed spine with the other to see her shiver and feel her stand tall. Then he turned her within the circle of his arms. With both hands on her shoulders he took a deep breath before sliding the sleeveless bodice off her arms. The whisper of the fabric covered his ragged sigh. Using a hand on her hip to steady her he held the dress so she could step carefully out of the circle of the skirt and back toward him. Holding her to him with a palm to her stomach he leaned forward to toss the dress over the back of the sofa.

That's when he noticed her lingerie. It was some sort of tight, satiny corset affair. It pushed her handfuls of breasts up but didn't cover them and stopped just below her navel. As his hands slid up toward her pinkening nipples she stopped him.

It took her a few moments to master the mechanism of his cuff link.  When she got the first one off she dropped it into his open hand. When she turned to the other cuff he cupped the cool metal between his palm and her nipple. She jumped back against him, gasping and giggling. His deep, satsified chuckle in her ear sounded warm and fun, free and easy, just the way she imagined life to be married to him.

After she managed the second cuff link he leaned aside to drop them safely into the candy bowl on the end table. Meanwhile she turned again to face him, beginning immediately to unbutton his crisp, white shirt. Not wasting any time  she let him shed the shirt while she unfastened his trousers. She ran her fingers through his hair as he bent to step out of them then knelt at her feet. The garters held no challenged for him. His hands felt heavenly, a light, teasing touch to roll the stockings down to her ankles. His touch was loving as he stroked them off the tips of her toes. Those hands slid smoothly back up her legs to her hips and he looked into her eyes as his fingers hooked the sides of her panties. She couldn't help but smile shyly. This was new and different in some inexplicable way just as they'd suspected.

After she'd stepped out of the pale blue undergarments he sat back and looked at her a moment then led her into the bedroom and made love to her like it was the very first time.

Problem. Solution.

While I have, of course, many things to recommend I have arrived at the nooning of the Wednesday, Resource Room Day, with nothing written, nothing coming to mind, a lost list and much actual work to do at my actual job. How dare they, right?

My favorite piece of advice from my mentor is, "Make the problem your solution." My degree is in theatre so usually that meant realizing you didn't have enough money for a spot light so giving the actors borrowed flashlights and pointing them at each other instead or something of the that ilk.


Here, today it means asking a question instead of giving an answer. Because I know that we're a community of great knowledge and you know things that I want to know, you just haven't told me yet. So, what do you recommend I take a look at? Films, toys, stories, websites, people, pictures, fads, anything at all. Tell me something I don't know.

Please?

Revisiting To Tell The Truth

As many of you know, the inspiration for our Monday conversations comes from a column I wrote at The Women's Colony. I plan to reprint all those posts over time. Here's another one. For the record Parenthood is in its second season now and it's just as good as the first! Also, I left in a joke that was specific to the time this was written. I don't know if Gary is still reading here but I hope so.

Are you watching this new show, Parenthood? I was skeptical at first but with a creative team (Ron Howard, Brian Grazer) and a cast (Lauren Graham, Peter Krause, Dax Shepherd, Bonnie Bedelia, Craig T. Nelson, Joy Bryant, Erika Christensen, etc.) it's not a huge surprise that they're knocking it out of the park already. And this week, heaven bless the little punks, they gave me something to talk about here.

Last Tuesday they tackled, among other things, faking orgasm.

(Insert loud minor chord played on, of course, the organ.)

I've never faked. Which is not to say I haven't thought about it. Usually after the fact. My timing routinely sucks donkey balls. I get a head rush when I come, flush bright red like a tomato from my chest right to the roots of my hair, so any guy who knows me and gives a crap would easily be able to tell if I was lying and any guy who didn't care probably wouldn't be someone whose feelings I'd give much of a damn about.

I have on more than one occasion said, "You know, this just isn't happening." or "Thanks but I'm done, even though I'm not...done, you know?" and probably at least once, "Please. Just stop. Now. Yes, now." It's always awkward but, to be perfectly frank, the idea of faking never came to me, if you will. By the time I put the brakes on I was so uncomfortable and tense and annoyed that honesty was the only option that popped into my head.

Given both of these facts I can't really say whether it's a good or a bad idea to fake. I've found honesty to be a good policy. Most of the guys I've known have put a high premium on making sure I got...all the way to the Emerald City, as it were, and while getting them to understand that I'd rather stay in Kansas for an evening was a little upsetting, I believe I reaped enormous rewards in the long run. If at first you don't succeed try try again, just, you know, later.

I'll let the Parenthood team speak for the pro-acting argument. Krause's character asks his sister (Graham) how he can tell if someone is faking orgasm. She replies, "You can't tell, honey, it's fake... You just put on a happy face and better luck next time... It's an act of generosity, a gift."

Krause questions, "A gift? How is faking it a gift?"

And Graham brings it home, "Because it says to you, 'Thank you so much for trying, please come again soon. Come again as soon as you possibly...'"

Now, as is our custom, I turn the question to you, ladies (and Gary*). Are you pro or con faking orgasm? Why?

*I hope that we have more than one male reader but, in the spirit of honesty, I want to say that if one of them begins to comment regularly I'm going to be sad to see the end of the (and Gary) joke. Thanks for reading Gary!

I Try

I Try
M/F
R to NC-17

***

She tried quickly to lock the door but felt his fingers in her hair, tangled and urgent and wasn't sure she turned the button. He turned her roughly, molding his palm to her cheek and moved her close to him. Not kissing, not touching, if the lights had been on they would have been staring at each other's pupils. She flicked her tongue out, trying to reach him and in a flash he rotated his hand from her cheek. It was tight on her throat, not choking but he brooked no refusal, no further initiative from her. So she waited, desperate, heart pounding, hands on his strong forearms until he yanked her in close and kissed her with bruising force, teeth on lips and strong tongues. Her hands dropped quickly to his thighs. Stroking up from knee to groin. Not touching his penis maddened him. His grip on her hair tightened and released with each stroke. Finally he jammed a leg between her thighs and let her ride, loving the sound of her gasps in his ear.  She should  know his belt by now but her trembling hands made her fumble. She reached into his pants and they sighed in unison with relief when she finally held him. He was hot and oozing pre-come already. She used one hand to hold him straight and the flat of her other open palm to spread the liquid over his head. He stopped kissing and rested his forehead against hers, panting.

"Margaret."

Her cunt pulsed.

She kissed and nipped his neck while pumping him surely in her fist and he groaned deeply. She made the barest dip of her knees. Not remembering or caring or maybe even realizing where they were just needing to taste him now. He pulled her up harshly.

"No!"

"I want to." 

Looking around in the vague orange light of the exit sign he saw the toilet had a lid, put it down and stood on it. While he balanced himself with his arms on the wall. She was free to take him in her mouth. Slowly at first with the longest strokes her throat would allow, stopping to feel him pulse in her full mouth. Then licking him with a broad, wet, flat tongue so he could feel the cool air on his wet cock and finally engulfing him again for the faster strokes aided by her fist at his root until his knees buckled and his loud groan told her to swallow.

He held her shoulders to shakily step down from his perch then folded her to his chest in a bear hug.

"Oh, Margaret."

"Yes?"

"You are amazing."

"Thanks. I try."

Enter!

Many of the people, places and things I have in the pipeline for The Resource Room I first learned about at Blogher back in August. In the tumble of information that happened after the conference I wound up following Epiphora on Twitter and then put her blog, Hey Epiphora, in my reader. (I know all the cool kids don't use readers anymore they just read when someone pimps an entry on Twitter but I can't do that, it messes with my Twitter rhythm. I'm content sticking here in the mud.) So I haven't "known" her very long but here is what I know.

She's funny and honest and you don't want to make her angry. She knows what she likes and she knows how to get it. She reviews porn and sex toys and she doesn't do it lightly. If something isn't working for her she doesn't dismiss it out of hand (or cunt) she tries again and tells you the (nearly) scientific results of her experiments. Her Jack Off Journals are not to be missed! I wish there was one every week.

I chose to bump this recommendation up in the queue because her web site is having its 2nd Anniversary and she's doing a huge, HUGE, giveaway to celebrate. (Full disclosure, I can and will use this blog post as an entry in the contest. If that bothers you I think you'll forgive me when you see all the amazing stuff she's got for the giveaway.) I urge you to blog, tweet, comment, pat your head and rub your belly, bat your eyelashes, whatever you need to do to enter.

But before you do, take a spin around Hey Epiphora. You might just see something you never knew you wanted until she showed you. That's what happened to me.

*Photo is from Flickr Commons and is not associated with Hey Epiphora in any way except that I enjoyed it as a graphic for this post.

Tiaras & Liberty

So, I've already told you that I had the good fortune to have coffee with Tony Comstock last week. We had a good, if short, conversation that left my wheels turning full speed. If you think I understand everything that Tony is fighting for in terms of the internet and algorithms and censorship you give me too much credit. On the other hand, the more we talk the more I understand. I think that's the way it's supposed to work. Right? I had two breakthroughs in my understanding last week and I want to share.

The first is why what Tony is doing is important to you.

When I talk about Kizz & Tell I tell people about how the G Spot column started and that the one thing I heard repeatedly from readers was, "No one ever talks about this." It applied to everything from menstruation to manipulation, from vibe toys to emotional vibes, from bondage to blow jobs and I was amazed every time. No, not amazed, kind of angry actually. Sure, I don't talk about these subjects with everyone (well, not until now) but I have always had people I could talk to or internet sites I could check or, if I'm feeling old school, books I could read. To be told over and over that some people either don't have these tools or are feeling shamed about using them is irksome in the extreme.

At their basest level the algorithms that search engines use to filter results are not a bad idea. There's a lot of information out there and we all need help getting to the one result we really want. When these fancy calculations are pointed toward censorship it's also not a terrible idea. I mean, no one wants a kid to be looking up Disney Princesses and stumbling across home video of Walt Disney in nothing but a tiara. However, the filtering is clumsy making the execution of this not so terrible idea truly horrible.

While they are preventing the aforementioned Disney debacle they're also preventing you from coming across other people who want to talk about the subjects you find interesting (like me!). Every time people get naked it's not porn. Every time someone uses the word cunt it's not obscene. You and Tony and I all know this. I think most regular folks do. Somewhere in the morass of information are all the things you want and deserve to discuss. But, without the battle cries of the Tony Comstocks of the world, the time may come when you're not allowed to find them unless you already know where they are.

I'm guessing that won't do you much good at all.*

OK, now second, is an interesting question I want to answer. At a certain point every movement needs a front person. Tony repeatedly brought up Rosa Parks while we sipped our Big Machine beverages. She appeared at the fore of the civil rights movement because she did something courageous but also because she was a woman the leaders if the charge could feel good about shining a light on. She was a woman of untarnished reputation and high ethical standards. Maybe also because she was a woman of a certain age with a certain level of stability.

We are moving toward sex being a positive thing. We're moving toward a society where we aren't using sex just for sales or shame or procreation, toward a world where we admit that sex is something that pretty much everyone participates in to one degree or another. It's not shameful or upsetting or blameworthy. It's wonderful and we're lucky when it's going well and it's not good to hide it, in point of fact it's the hiding that's crippling us.

So, the question of today is, who would you put at the forefront of this movement? What poster person would you have represent all that healthy, open, varied, real sex? It might be a celebrity or it might be your grandma. Could be your neighbor or your state representative. Heck, maybe it's you! I'm going to wait until we get the conversation going before I throw out my choice...s. Partly I don't want to sway your answers but also because I'm having a hard time choosing. I'll meet you in the comments section when I've landed on someone.

So to speak.



*What can you do to help and support Tony's efforts? You can purchase his wares which helps fund the fight and let sellers know that his work is in demand. You can go over to his blog, read and comment. Getting more people into the conversation is vital. He also told me that the company could really be boosted by some more reviews on Amazon. So if you're familiar with the Comstocks' work and could write a review that would be awesome. (Also stay tuned for a Comstock giveaway in this space, I want to share the bounty I received.) Last but not least Tony has cut together You Tube compliant versions of a couple of their titles. If you're interested in viewing those please also leave a comment or I believe there's some sort of like button you could hit, too. I myself, am not particularly You Tube compliant so I'm not up on the details. Thanks for asking!

By The Light

By The Light
M/F
NC-17


***

They’d been so young.


After movie night he’d invite her to his room to listen to a piece of music or hear a passage from a book. They’d both play along with this pretense, too, except that he’d shut the door. 


Eventually, after repeated, torturous listenings to the song or words in question he’d kiss her. Over a month, or maybe more, it escalated until they finally made love. Just the lights from the stereo illuminated tanned teenage bodies. 


That was the first time he’d tasted her. It as addictive. For both of them. She was always so wet. There was a dangerous feeling, like he might drown. And she lost herself when he hit just the right spot. From the very beginning he was good at doing that. Not too much direct pressure on her clit, long, slow, flat tongued lapping to get her started. Two fingers inside her to keep her full. Her hands grabbed at anything; his hair, the sheets, her own flesh and she’d plant her feet firmly on the bed, pressing herself to his mouth. His tongue moved light and quick as hummingbird’s wing on her bud, making her leg muscles quiver and she’d come, choking back a scream under her palm. 


He kissed her cunt gently, laid a flat hand on her concave belly and slid alongside her. She kissed him gratefully, surpised to learn what she tasted like and that he was covered in her juice from nose to chin but he didn’t mind. 


While she kissed him he entered her slowly then stopped so he could see the look in her eye. 


“What does it feel like?” he rasped out.


“What?”


“Tell me what it feels like to have me inside you.” he insisted.


“Umm...full. Uh, as though...I don’t know how o describe it. Good.”


“That’s it?”


“What does it feel like to be inside me?”


He smiled. “It’s like being wrapped tightly in warm, wet velvet.” Clearly he’d been working on that phrasing for a while.


She squeezed down on him. 


He groaned and thrust until he came, yelling into her hair and the pillow.


In the years that they were apart she thought about his question often, refining her answer, hoping he’d ask her again.