Tag Archives: dark

Things I Masturbate To

This poem was inspired by Harmony Eichsteadt’s poem “Things I Have Masturbated To” from the Bedpost Confessions Postcast 9, as well as Harper Elliot, a sex writer who wrote a similar poem. Here is my version.

Things I Masturbate To

Of course there’s the obvious.

My boyfriend’s long curly hair tickling

my thighs as his mouth worships my every

fold, and his thick fingers pulling me to life

from inside out, and then his hard, tall

cock filling me up until I’m overflowing,

until I’m empty of all the come

and sweat and breath I possess.

 

And there are others, those who don’t

realize they exist naked in my head, like

the girl at the dentist’s who cleaned my teeth,

her thick lips hovering above mine like a spaceship,

ready to suck me up, or my friend’s shy roommate,

an old co-worker, a vanilla girlfriend, my Spanish professor,

and the guy who works at 7-Eleven.

 

Often, it’s more abstract, a group of people

whose faces I can’t see, a thousand hands on

my every exposed inch, a crowd cheering,

another couple watching, or even just a hot

mouth stuck on me, requiring only

my come to survive.

 

Sometimes it’s light hearted, wandering

fingers while the TV laughs with me, or my

cat eyeing me curiously on the couch, as I pant

and heave and moan my way

across the finish line.

 

Fiction occasionally joins me as well,

my favorite characters coming to life, dicks

and limbs rising like the dead from my

twisted head, sometimes cold fingers

and fangs or a vicious killer at my neck, my current

favorites are Tate and Dexter, even better

fucking me together.

 

And then there are the stranger ones, alien

tentacles probing and sucking, beastly

creatures with multiple members, headless

figures, and cold lifeless bodies, the burning

grip of the devil incarnate, and ghosts or

demons, but usually not zombies.

 

The hardest to admit, are the ones who could care

less about my consent, dark shadowy figures that

push me down and tie me up. They strike

me and shame me, but I always enjoy it.

These have been with me as long as I can remember,

even as a young girl, pretending to be kidnapped, arms

pulled back at mattress edges, eyes wide and lips

pressed, warmth growing between my little

legs as I am alone with the part of me

that always hides.

 

And sometimes, as someone who reviews

sex toys, it’s just something on my To-do list.

I’m a pioneer for research, thinking rather

un-sexy, almost clinical things like,

how sticky is this lube, and what is that light taste,

citrus? Or I really wish this had a longer

handle, or a wider girth or more texture, or

ow! oh god this thing is murdering my clit,

or I’m fucking glad this toy is waterproof

because I’m about to squirt

all over it.

 

Other times, it’s not really sexual at all, I’m

a blank sheet of paper, my mind

folds into itself, there are no thoughts and no

fantasies, no expectations or how do I look in this position,

or requirements or to-do lists or cleaning

the kitty litter or work or stress, only

 

the steady whiz of my Hitachi, or the quiet

circling of my fingers, only my breath whispering

to itself, my lips and clit blossoming, and the

quickening pace of my blood is enough,

the soft, warm, blanketing feeling,

the simple comfort of balance and equilibrium,

and remembering that my body is not a

separate entity, of holding on and then

most importantly,

of learning to let go again.

 

TMI Tuesday: Fantasy Anyone?

Spoiler Alert: If you watch American Horror Story or Dexter and haven’t seen episodes from the latest seasons, you may want to skip this post or at least question #3.

1. Do you think that acting out a fantasy can sometimes cause damage to a relationship?

I’m sure it could, if someone involved isn’t comfortable with the fantasy or how it’s played out, but I think that can be avoided with open and honest communication before, during, and after acting out the fantasy. For me, fantasies are a fun and important way to keep things sexy and exciting.

2. Some couples role play their fantasies rather than introducing another person into the relationship to live out their fantasies. Do you think that this is an acceptable substitute?

Sure, why not? It all depends on how the people involved feel about it. I can see why some people would rather stick to role play and why others would rather have the real thing, and personally I’m open to both.

3. Is there a particular movie or TV series or character from a movie or TV series that you fantasize about?

Lately I’ve been fantasizing a lot about dark characters, specifically Kit/Tate from American Horror Story and Dexter Morgan. The Kit and Grace sex scene in Asylum drove me absolutely crazy.  I love the idea of lusting after someone dark, and the danger involved in not knowing if they are a brutal killer or not. I also love scenes in movies/TV shows when the lovers accept each other no matter what their partner has done, and when Grace says, “I don’t care what you are,” right before they fuck…so hot! In Dexter’s case, when Hannah has sex with him right after he was going to kill her? Again, fucking hot! Tate’s character and appeal is more complicated, but I think it boils down to the fact that I think the idea of someone who is so evil yet still capable of love is a turn on as well. Oh yea, and Evan Peters completely covered in latex? That may have something to do with it…

4. Apart from the obvious things like child abuse, are there some things that are ‘off limits’ for a fantasy e.g. incest fantasies, age play, rape fantasies. Why/ why not?

No, not really. I think it’s fine to fantasize about whatever you want, especially because you can’t really control your thoughts/fantasies. You can control actions though, and I certainly have limits as far as what I’ll actually do.

5. What is the most taboo thing you have ever fantasized about doing?

Rape fantasies are probably some of the most taboo ones that I have. Also, fucking serial killers/dangerous men/dead people(as in ghosts, not corpses)/aliens/ beasts/the “devil,” to name a few…

6. Tell us about a fantasy that you have that you don’t ever see yourself actually acting out. Why do you think you will never act it out?

I can’t think of a fantasy I have that I wouldn’t even think of acting out at the moment.

7. Have you ever pretended the person you were having sex with was someone else without telling them?

Not that I can recall.

8. Have you ever tried to make a fantasy a reality only to have it fail miserably? What happened?

I’ve had some situations when I’ve tried to act out a fantasy, and it didn’t happen exactly how I wanted, but I wouldn’t go as far as saying anything has failed miserably.

Bonus: Tell us about your most cherished fantasy. Did you ever live it out? Please give us all the juicy details because that is the kind of people we are.

Honestly I have a lot of different fantasies, and I’m not sure which is my most cherished. I definitely have more fantasies that I haven’t lived out yet than ones that I have, but that’s mostly because I’m constantly coming up with new ones…

The First Time

We planned it like witches,

the ragged cut off shorts that cling

to my thighs like hands

and the soft white cloth

 

that adorns my virgin flesh like fresh

paint, lightly covering

a shiny new house.

We prepared the potions,

 

the stew of wine and blood and twigs,

and the yellow of tequila that shall drip

down our stomachs like honey to be licked

and devoured by greedy bees mouths.

 

The whispers will crescendo to loud chants,

and he will hold me from behind, circling

my ripe waist with his clenching

hands. We will repeat our ritual until it becomes

 

Alive and real as a doll, black eyes blinking

and voice crying, “hello, will you play?”

without pulling the string. Once she is alive,

the ritual pulls us instead, we lay still

 

as she strips her clothes and laughs, dancing

and stomping her bare feet around the fire, she breathes

beast like urges between our little legs

until we run on our hands and knees, and rip

 

our clothes into pieces and swallow

each other’s skin and hair.

When the sacred hour of fusing flesh comes, our frantic

energy subsides, giving way to the slow

 

trickle of a pain I’ve never felt, of splitting

my legs like chopped wood, leaving bits of shattered

tissue gathered beneath my hips to rot.

The act isn’t holy in the sense of god

 

but in the sense of something that must

happen, like the spider who must kill

and bury her young in her mate’s limp, warm body,

something which moves her eight legs

 

from a darkness deep within.

When it’s over, she doesn’t regret

the violence, the ritual, or the killing,

and the male thanks her

 

from silent lips for sacrificing his body to Mother

and hungry offspring. Like the spider, my first

kneeled and thanked me

for my gift of blood and flesh,

 

and I grinned and laughed

as I tightened my legs around him like a web.