Currently Browsing: Personal
Sep 21, 2013
When I saw this week’s Kink of the Week topic was fellatio, I knew I had to participate. While looking through some of the other posts, I was inspired by Rebel and decided to write up a Q&A based on Jade’s questions about fellatio in the prompt:
So to start…Everyone loves a blow job, right?
Obviously, no. I have met and talked to various people who don’t like giving blow jobs, or who don’t like any kind of oral sex.
Do you? Is giving or receiving a blow job a particular kink of yours? Or is it a pleasant activity, but one you can do with or without?
Yes, I love sucking cock. Especially Jake’s cock. (But not only Jake’s cock.) I’m not sure whether or not it’s exactly a kink per say (I’ll get to that later), but it’s not something I want to ever do without.
So, why do I love sucking cock so much?
Firstly, I love it for the physical act in itself. The sensory experience, my tongue teasing his head, feeling him grow in my mouth, spit sliding down the corners of my mouth, looking up at him from below, sliding his cock across my face, teasing…
But I also love a lot of other things about it that go beyond the physical.
I love the abandon in straight up, I’m going to give you a blow job and that’s it, fellatio. Don’t get me wrong, I love penis-in-vagina sex or orgasms for myself. Both are amazing. But one of the things I love about giving straight up fellatio-only-sex is that I don’t have to worry about me. There is no multi-tasking, no balancing of reaching out for my own orgasm while simultaneously trying to make him feel as good as I do. Not that I don’t combine blow jobs with other foreplay like fingering, sex toys, etc., because I do, and that’s fun too.
But sometimes I want to just focus on one thing—giving him pleasure. I enjoy being full of him, his cock in my mouth, my hands on his balls, my face sticky and wet. For that time, I exist in the hot space between his legs. I am his mouth, his hands, his eyes gazing up, his to feel and enjoy. And at the same time, he’s mine. It might be one sided if you’re thinking in terms of orgasms only, but it’s not one sided. It’s me, giving him my full attention, and him, receiving it.
But I also love fellatio during foreplay. While sometimes giving my all to a blow job is delicious all on its own, I also like the struggle of balancing each other’s pleasure, like when I’m trying to concentrate on sucking his cock while his fingers pull on my g-spot in just the right way, or while a vibrator is pressed against my clit, and he says, gently but firmly, “keep sucking,” when he’s slipped from my mouth as I’m consumed with my own sensations.
Are blow jobs kinky?
Yes, I think they certainly can be, for me, though obviously what one person considers kinky may seem vanilla to others and vice versa. I don’t think blow jobs are always kinky, sometimes they’re just “ordinary” oral sex, but when I’m lying on my back, head leaned back over the edge of the bed, and he’s thrusting into me while holding down my arms, and I’m deep throating him, there’s power and trust involved. I find “face fucking,” when he controls the thrusting, and I assume more of a submissive role, incredibly sexy, when I’m in the mood.
I think simultaneous cock sucking and fucking can also be kinky, which is something we enjoy occasionally in real life as well as in fantasy play. I like the idea of being completely full of cock—mouth, cunt, ass, maybe even hands, though I haven’t pushed it quite that far in reality yet, I like to fantasize about it.
Which brings me back to the earlier question, are blow jobs a particular kink of mine? I think the answer is yes. For all of the reasons I’ve stated above, and for the fact that I sometimes suck cock while solo masturbating. As in, using a dildo. Or if I don’t have one around and am thinking about it, I’ll open my mouth as if it were full. I don’t do it super often, but sometimes I want to feel like my mouth is really full of cock, even when Jake isn’t around, or when he’s already filling me elsewhere.
Is giving a blow job a submissive act? Or is the person doing it actually the one with the power?
In the scenarios I just mentioned, like face fucking and rough oral, I think it’s a submissive act. But when I’m giving a blow job, and I’m controlling the pace and flow, I feel like I have the power. It definitely depends on the situation.
Are you a blow job expert? Do you have secret tips and tricks that you use to get your partner off?
I am pretty proud of my cock sucking abilities, but I hesitate in claiming that I’m a blow job expert, since every person has different desires, and what works for one person won’t always work for another. I’m definitely an expert at sucking Jake’s cock. I’ve had 5 years of practice, after all. And he’s said before that he thought I was good at it when we first met, and that I’m amazing at it now.
I think it’s all relative though. I remember giving a guy a blow job for the first time in High School and he was all, “oh my god I can’t believe you’ve never done this before you’re amazing.” Maybe I was, for him, at that time, who knows. But I’m confident that I’m about a billion times better at it now than then.
As far as secret tips and tricks? I don’t think there are really any secret tricks that get everyone (or anyone) off all the time. I think the most important thing is to adapt to the person, situation, and mood, and figure out what’s working in that moment.
And now here’s the REAL question? Do you deep throat.
Yep, I sure do, with Jake at least.
Aug 29, 2013
The second time I went into a sex shop, when I was of legal age to actually buy something, was the summer after my senior year of High School. My boyfriend wanted to buy me a “real” vibrator (I already had a “back” massager) since we were going to try a long distance relationship while I was off at college.
The store had big open windows and was bright and not intimidating, which was comforting, considering I was a little nervous this time around. There was one girl working, and when I asked for her opinion on a good toy, she walked me to the rabbit section. She wasn’t very helpful, but I don’t think she really could be, since this was before sex toys were legal in Texas & the products were supposedly for “educational” purposes.
I had my eye on a $100 rabbit, but my boyfriend only wanted to spend $50 or less, and after scanning the boxes I somehow I ended up with a blue Ultimate Beaver Vibrator, AKA the grossest thing I’ve ever put inside of my vagina. My experience trying to use it was unsettling to say the least.
Evil, vagina hating beaver.
It smelled funky, it was sticky, and the rotation confused me and felt incredibly weird and not in a good way. In more of a wtf is this, I am never buying a “real” vibrator again kind of way. On top of all that, it had a fucking cartoon face on the “head” and a fucking beaver attached to the shaft. Even more disturbingly, the beaver, whose tail is supposed to tickle your clit, seemed to be simultaneously giving the weird cartoon person oral. What the fuck was I thinking? I can’t believe I bought that toy, and I can’t believe you can still buy it online if you decide you want to frighten and possibly poison your vagina. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that it was a jelly/PVC beaver from hell that probably leaked phthalates and who knows what other mystery chemicals into my poor tutu.
Yes, I just referred to my vag as a tutu. Orange is the New Black is the shit, and it’s cute and a hell of a lot better than beaver, muff, cooter, vajayjay or whatever else. Plus, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention…
Anyways, that toy was nasty, and I’m lucky that using it was only emotionally damaging and not so much physically, since many women experience painful reactions when using jelly vibes, and all I felt was mild disgust and discomfort. Still, the beaver experience turned me off of internal sex toys for a long time. The next one I tried was about 4 years later, when I started working at a sex shop. And even after trying a few, I didn’t find any that I liked much until I’d already been working there for a couple of years.
Looking back though, I think the dildo gods were in my favor, since my somewhat traumatizing experience with the evil, vagina hating beaver saved me from years of potentially using more dangerous sex toys before I learned more about them and knew better.
And if we want to go along with that theory, I guess the dildo gods chose me to work at a sex store for a reason—so I could attempt to help guide other people’s orifices away from jelly and towards fun and safe materials like silicone and glass. Who knows though, I’m not going to pretend I understand the mysterious ways of the dildo gods.
*In case you don’t know which sex toys are potentially dangerous & which aren’t, check out these past posts:
-Buying a Sex Toy: What You Need to Know
-Dildology & Safe Sex Toys
P.S. If you have this vibrator and somehow like it, I’m sorry. Not for offending you, for your vagina.
*I wrote this story to support the Superhero Sex Shop Tour Indigogo campaign*
Aug 27, 2013
Bored one night at age 16, I came up with a brilliantly scandalous idea: to go check out one of the local sex shops with a couple of my friends. And by check out, I actually mean ooooh and aaaah at all of the Kama Sutra brand massage oils that, get this, actually cool and tingle when you blow on them! (How sexy!) and giggle at everything penis shaped.
In this particular store, there was a separate section in the back, I think it had an 18+ warning sign but honestly can’t remember, where they hid all of the intense stuff, like dildos, vibrators, and all of the secrets of sex and everything mysterious in the world. My friend Nathan went back there, and when he told me there were flavored condoms, I knew I had to get some. I mean come on, they were flavored. Flavored things that wrap around penises. I was on a mission.
I told Nathan to go get some from the back so I could buy them. So he went back there again all nonchalant, came back out, handed me the condoms, and I strolled up to the checkout counter ready to go home and brag to all my friends about my new fancy chocolate, banana, and strawberry rubbers.
In my mind I figured it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Were they really paying attention to who went back to that room to get what? I didn’t need to be 18 to buy condoms, right? It’s not like I was trying to buy a vibrator or something crazy, they were just condoms, and I’d already bought some myself at Target before.
“I’m gonna need to see your ID,” said the punky looking sex store lady with spiked hair, aka my new-found enemy/anti-safe-flavored-sex witch.
“Oh, I forgot mine, but my friend has his,” I said, trying to look cool and about two years older.
Nathan, looking embarrassed already, started to pull out his, when punky sex store lady, louder this time, said, “I need to see your ID, or you can’t buy those.”
“I don’t have it,” I muttered, my teenybopper anger bubbling.
I walked away from the counter, still clutching the condoms, to convene with my friends in the far corner of the store to decide on a new strategy. There was no way I was going to not buy those condoms. What was the big fucking deal anyways? They were just condoms, with some added flavor. I could probably slather some banana mush on a regular condom and make my own (don’t actually try that), but at this point it was about the principle of the thing. I was a sexually active free person, and I deserved to have protection, flavored or not!
We weighed the possibilities. I asked Nathan to buy them for me, but he didn’t have any money. My friend Mary who was with us wasn’t 18 either. I could just give Nathan cash, but I didn’t have any. Things were not looking good. The only thing I could think of was to give Nathan my debit card and hope the punky sex shop lady would either not notice or let it slide that it wasn’t his card.
But the only things she let slide were all of my hopes and dignity.
“You can’t use her card, she doesn’t have an ID,” mean sex store lady said with a smirk. It might have been the teen rage, but I swear even her nose ring seemed to taunt me.
“Come on, I just want to practice safe sex!” I whined.
“I’m sorry, but I could lose my job,” she said with an attitude.
Then she got that look on her face like she was about to kick us out, but I wasn’t about to let her have the satisfaction.
“Fine, but I am getting those condoms somehow!” I screeched as I pivoted away from the counter, embarrassed and defeated, “let’s go!” I said, as if my friends needed that confirmation.
Outside, I grumbled and complained about how she was the meanest sex store lady ever and how unfair it was that I couldn’t buy the condoms I wanted. It’s as if she wanted me to have boring, latex flavored sex, or even worse, regular sex with STD and BABY flavor.
What if my teenage hormones, which we all known are practically uncontrollable, decided to take over my body at that moment, and I grabbed Nathan and had sex with him right there in the parking lot, and thanks to her, without a banana condom? I would definitely leave the bastard child on her doorstep, along with some flavored condoms (so she’d know it was my baby, of course.)
Luckily I was irrationally afraid of babies and not that attracted to Nathan, so my revenge plan was unnecessary. Regardless, my life was miserable. I was humiliated.
I did get those condoms, eventually. I think I had Nathan or someone else go back and get them. And sadly, they weren’t everything I thought they’d be. In fact, I can’t even remember if I ever used them. But still, it was the principle of the thing.
Actual photo of said condoms, taken with my 1st digital camera. Notice the (barely) visible strawberry label. Yep.
Fast forward 6 regular years and about 100 maturity years later, and I’m the mean, punky looking sex store lady. Except not at all punky looking, and more like the blonde girl next door in a v-neck t-shirt sex store lady.
I probably should have known not to work in a sex toy store after I’d given off that bad bratty sex shop karma. But I did, and although I didn’t have to deal with 16 year olds since we didn’t let them in, I had to deal with plenty of other annoying shit. Like grown women laughing like hyenas at the big veiny dildos and penis shaped lollicocks. Or creepy men asking me which toy’s I’ve tried. Or drunk people. Or penis pump guy. But I’ll save those fun stories for another time.
For now, my point if that if time warp were possible, and somehow both my 16 and 22 year old selves were in the same universe, and I was the sex shop lady dealing with my 16 year old self, I probably would have slapped myself in the face. I was being a brat, and it wasn’t the sex store lady’s fault.
But then I probably would have felt bad about it and slipped myself some flavored condoms. Because even though my 16 year old self was quite irritating, I still think you should be able to buy or have access to condoms, flavored or not, at whatever age it is that you start having sex.
—Stay tuned for part 2, in which I describe my first time of legal age in a sex shop.
*I wrote this story to support the Superhero Sex Shop Tour Indigogo campaign*
Jun 18, 2013
After drinks and dancing with friends on 6th street all night, I texted Jake to see if he was working and could give me a ride home. We’d only met a few nights before when I wrote down my number on a napkin at the pizza shop where he worked, but he seemed interested.
When we got to the parking lot at my apartment, he kissed me for the first time, his tongue swirling with mine as I softly gripped his face. He was overwhelming sexy with curly blonde hair, rough hands, and sincere confidence, and I wanted to invite him up, to have sex with him that night, but I was on my period, and I told him that. I wondered if he thought I was making it up as an excuse to wait, and I told him that as well. He said he believed me.
We sat in his Jeep talking for what seemed like hours. He told me he was from New York, he had moved to Austin about 4 years before, and had spent the majority of that time in a relationship that ended a few months prior. It didn’t seem like he was hung-up on her or dwelling in the past, it just seemed honest. I told him about how I moved here around the same time he did to go to UT, and how I’d recently returned from an unforgettable trip studying abroad in Argentina.
We talked music, and I lifted my black dress up to show him my Chili Peppers tattoo. I only later realized that he got a good look at my blue panties. The way he openly offered information and stories from his past made me feel like there must be deeper layers that he didn’t share so easily. We kissed goodnight, and I went upstairs alone.
The next day we went out to eat at Pluckers, a wing bar in walking distance of my apartment, and he told me more stories from New York, about how people often picked fights there and how everyone seems easier going in Texas. Our faces and fingers were messy with sauce the whole time; neither of us cared.
This time I invited him up afterwards, but I told him I was still on my period. I wondered if he thought I was weird for continuously bringing up, but I honestly just really wanted to have sex with him already and didn’t want the first time to be a bloody mess. He didn’t seem to mind.
After lots of making out and a few glasses of Fernet, he came up from behind me, one hand holding my chin and the other touching softly over my skirt. I moaned into him, wrapping my arms back around him, warmth budding between my legs at the thought of his fingers on my skin. I felt his own excitement growing beneath his jeans. He pulled my skirt up, tracing my lips over my cotton thong and pulling my mouth to his. As we kissed he moved beneath my panties, and everything faded except his fingers on my clit and his hot breath on my ear.
My orgasm came easily, as if it had been waiting patiently all along, and he was simply coaxing it out from inside of me. I was beyond impressed with his skill as well as my body’s deep response to his touch. I wanted more, and I wanted to return the favor. The blowjob I gave him on the futon after was rushed but thrilling since my roommate could come home at any moment and catch us.
A few days later I got a text from him inviting me to go watch a movie at his place. And this time my period was finally over…
This story was written in response to the “Memories” prompt for Wicked Wednesday.
Jun 10, 2013
1. Do you have more sex or less when on vacation?
It depends on the situation. When I was in Spain for a month last summer without Jake, I didn’t have any sex (besides masturbating), so that was obviously less. Jake and I have also gone on trips with family and had less sex than usual because of the circumstances. But the one time we were alone on a trip, we had plenty of sex. We took advantage of the huge mirrors on the hotel wall, of course.
2. Do you plan a vacation so that you will have an opportunity to have
So far I’ve never had a need to. Jake and I live together without anyone else and have plenty of opportunities for uninterrupted sex.
3. Have you ever planned a vacation in order to meet someone for sex?
No, not yet. But I’d say Jake and I are open to the idea.
4. Have you ever gone on a singles’ cruise or some other
No, but it’s something Jake and I would consider.
5. Have you had sex on a means of transportation other than a car: bus, train, airplane, cruise ship?
6. Have you had outdoor sex on camping, hiking, skiing, boating
I had sex with an ex while camping at Coachella when we were there to see Rage Against the Machine. Two of our friends were asleep in the tent, and we could hear police helicopters above us. As it turns out, there were riots going on.
Bonus: Do you pack sex toys, lubes (3.4 oz. bottles or less), etc. when you fly? Do you think about TSA finding them? Has TSA ever found them and questioned you about your sexual aids or displayed them? Tell us about it.
Yes, I pack sex toys when I fly, although so far I’ve only brought small vibrators. I brought a bullet vibe to Argentina, and Lelo Mia to Spain and Mexico. The TSA has never questioned me about them or displayed them. I did wonder what would happen if they found Mia while airport workers were looking through my bag in Mexico, but they didn’t take it out and nothing happened. Mia looks like a lipstick or USB drive, so I’m usually not very worried about it.