I Took One for the Team--Three Times, Actually

My six-year-old asked me this question the other day, while we were in the car; I didn't feel like it was the right time to answer him then, so I deflected the question. 
He asked me again this morning, as we were snuggling together. I decided the time was right.

Him: Mommy, how do girls get pregnant?
Me: A man and a woman--
Him: Get married?
Me: No, they don't need to get married.
Him: How does a baby get inside her, then?
Me: You know a boy has boy parts. A penis. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: And a girl has girl parts. A vagina. Right?
Him: Right....
Me: Well, for a baby to start, a boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina.
Him: WHAT?
Me: A boy has to put his penis inside a girl's vagina, and an egg inside her starts to grow into a baby.
Him: Mommy, a girl doesn't have an egg inside her!
Me: Actually she does. It's teeny tiny, but it's called an egg.
Him (flabbergasted): And he has to put his PENIS inside her...?
Me: Yup.
Him (thinking this over for a minute): And Daddy did this you?
Me: Yes.
Him: And he did this THREE TIMES?
Me: ...Um, yes.
Him: Isn't it GROSS?
Me....
Him (trying to figure out the wisdom of this): Well, you do have three boys...
Me: And I love them very much.
Him (hugging me): We love you too, Mommy.

What was I supposed to say? Yes, it is kinda gross, but I make your father sleep in the sticky spot? 

I Do Not Take It Like A Champ

I'm seeing a lot of pictures and videos on FL lately of women tied up and positioned in pretty contorted and (in my opinion) agonizing ways, getting flogged, whipped, paddled, spanked and beat to an extreme state. The thing is, these women always look calm, composed, and happy in these scenes. They have little dreamy smiles on their faces, like they're off in la-la land. And I suppose they are: they're flying so high, they could make their own orbit around the moon. 

When I see these pictures and videos, the first thing I think to myself is wow, that's gorgeous.

The second thing I think is that Top will never want to play with someone like me.

When I play (get played with, really), yeah, I can be all quiet and demure if I have to be; and I can still get induced to fly that way, too. But for me, that's just scratching the surface of the real depth of the experience. The most intense, raw, and in the end, memorable scenes for me have always been the ones where I fight the most.

I struggle; I scream; I scratch, bite, holler, swear, cry, and do anything and everything to fight what's happening. I sink into subspace, but I do not 'go gentle into that good night,' I contend with every step down into that dark descent. I give up all my grace and composure to turn into a sweaty, screeching, writhing animal--if the scene is with someone I trust, that is.

See, the thing is, the more I trust the Top I'm playing with, the more free I'll feel to give into the fight, and give it all I've got. That's what makes the scene good for me. If I don't know the Top that well, if we've not become that close yet, I might feel too inhibited and embarrassed to really let go. So you'll see me quiet and still, taking the play action with nothing but a soft mix of grimaces and smiles flitting across face, punctuated now and then with a quiet gasp or breathy moan.

But when I trust the Top I'm with? Oh ho, now it's a completely different story. Every little thing they do is going to get a reaction out of me, and it's not always going to be pretty. It's certainly not going to be quiet, and it's not going to be composed.

But it will be raw, honest, and unreserved.

To me, that's what a great scene is about: having the freedom to show this person my raw underbelly, the part of me I have to keep concealed and controlled at every other time. But I can't show it to everyone, because it's fragile, precious, and at the same time, dangerous. If I don't trust the right Top, I can get hurt. I am trusting that person not to hurt me when I'm at my most vulnerable, and I don't mean the hurt we've already negotiated and agreed upon; I'm talking about real hurt, the kind that might shatter me to pieces, down to my soul. I'm trusting that person to keep control, over me, over themselves, and over the scene, when I cannot.

The Tops that have played with me tell me I'm fun; they like it when I give them instant feedback to whatever they're doing. And the Sadists I play with seem to enjoy all my profuse cries and moans. 

But then, I'm not going to play with a Sadist who I think won't.

And I guess that's what it comes down to. If you want to play with women who can keep their shit together and remain calm at all times, and fly off into subspace with barely a peep, then by all means, keep putting pictures like that on your profile. But if you want a woman who keeps it a little more raw, who might not act as docile going down but can still be a shitload of fun to play with, you might want to make that known, too. 

 

Guest Author Appearance: Dylan Cross

You guys know I'm on FB, right? I don't do very much on it. 

(Except play backgammon. I play way too much backgammon. So if you want to chat with me? Get on FB, friend me, and challenge me to a game of backgammon. I can't resist. It's a problem.)

One of things I do enjoy about FB is making new friends. This is how I met Dylan Cross. He's a fellow self-published erotica writer, and highly prolific. 

The following is an excerpt from his latest book, Fair Trade. Here is what the book is about:

Corporate VP Joanna Barnes is condescending, domineering and micromanaging. She belittles and insults the workers beneath her. In other words, she's a bitch.

Her behavior at her industry's trade show is no different. Her poor intern, Steve, has been on the receiving end of her verbal abuse all day. But, when the two of them get behind closed doors in the hotel room... it will be Steve's turn to call the shots, as he literally

brings the curvy executive to her knees...

And here is the excerpt:

Joanna slipped out of her skirt, let it drop, and then moved it aside with her foot. She reached behind her back and unhooked the custom-made bra... affording herself a sigh of bliss as her considerable breasts were released from twelve hours of confinement in their lacy prison. Then, finally, she hooked her thumbs beneath the waistline of her panties and pulled them down, taking care not to snag her underwear on her pumps.

She stood. From experience, Joanna guessed that his order to strip "everything" didn't include her silky black stockings or her slutty footwear.

She'd guessed correctly. "Come over here," he now ordered. "On your hands and knees. Crawl." She got down on all fours and began feeling her way across the plush carpet. Her pendulous 44DD breasts swung to and fro as she advanced toward him like a stealthy cougar—a ripe analogy, she reflected, considering the fifteen-year age difference
between herself and her intern.

When she got about five feet away, he made her stop. “On your back..."

If you liked the excerpt, click on over to the Amazon product page, or the Smashwords product page if you don't have a kindle.