Inspired by some writings I've recently seen online (sorry, they're on Fetlife so I can't link to them, but believe me, they are good), I decided to write my own:
Ten Things Anal Sluts Think Of While Getting Fucked in the Ass
1. Whoa! That lube is cold. Don't use too little! But don't use too much either! I don't want a mess on the sheets again.
2. How is it you like to do this to me, anyway? I mean, I know it's tight and warm in there, but still...THEY DON'T CALL IT THE POOP CHUTE FOR NOTHING. Doesn't this gross you out? Please don't let this gross you out.
3. Ok, some pressure...I can take it...ow. Ow ow OW. God I forgot again how much this hurts.
4. I can take it...the worst must be over now...OKAY I GUESS NOT OW OW OW.
5. Okay. Okay. Worst is definitely over. He's in. OH WAIT HE HELD BACK OH JESUS.
6. He's sliding now...this isn't so bad...I can handle this.
7. Mmm, those are some very nice colors floating by.
8. Oh God, this is really awesome, I mean this is fucking amazing, holy shit it HURTS but please don't STOP
9. Why can't I ever come this good with plain 'ole vaginal sex?
10. Okay, you can pull out now. Now, really, it's starting to hurt again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T COME YET
When dealing with the kink community, one important thing (among oh so many) to keep in mind is this: rules of etiquette here are somewhat different than those in the vanilla world. I will not say the rules are changed completely, because it's not like you've entered Bizarro World (although sometimes it can feel that way); but the rules have definitely altered.
Things that were okay before, perhaps even expected before—a hug hello, a kiss on the cheek, even something as minor as a handshake—can no longer be taken for granted. On the other hand, big no-nos in the vanilla world—complimenting a woman on her sultry look, sending out an invitation to negotiate a little play later—are fine in Kink Land.
Things can get confusing.
It's easy to make mistakes.
And we all make mistakes. We're human, we're not perfect, right?
Some imagine people's mistakes as a secret bucket they're keeping, often hidden behind their backs. As long as their bucket doesn't get full, they're okay. But once the bucket reaches critical mass, and begins to overflow, the person now has too many mistakes in their bucket—and they are no longer worthy of your friendship.
I don't think of it like that. I think the mistakes people make—and remember, we all make them—becomes something like background noise. We all carry around our background noise with us wherever we go.
Some people's background noise is very faint, and barely noticeable. Some people's is louder, but it is not so unpleasant to take; you can still have a nice conversation over it.
And some people's background noise is so annoying, so ear-pounding, you just have to walk away.
The thing about background noise is, we all have different levels we can take, and different kinds of noises we find disturbing. What you find too troublesome to accept, completely intolerable to your own ears, your friend might not find so bad. And what they recoil away from, you may decide is not bothersome to you at all.
Keep in mind, it is the same exact noise.
The difference lies in the people hearing it.
Now, obviously there are some noises that no one can take. The human eardrum can only handle so much pressure before it pops. People who have allowed their background noise to rise to that level...I'm sorry, but you're in trouble. You're going to have to tone it down.
But I think 98% of the people in our community are not like that. Yes, we have predators, rapists, people whom we cannot and should not tolerate in our community, whose background noise is simply too dangerous to the rest of us...but most of us are not like that, at all. We are just people, making mistakes, creating our own background noise.
I guess, my point is, the issue is not so black and white.
So before you go judging how much background noise your friends can take, consider this: how much background noise are you making? And how grateful are you that your friends are willing to accept it?
We were lying in bed last night, naked, my cheek resting on Husband's stomach. He was pushing my head down now and then, to indicate to me where he wanted it to go; but while his wishes were obvious, I was resisting...because that's what I often do.
Predator and prey, baby. Push and pull. It's how we play the game.
He was not yet at the point where he would force me, but the moment was coming. We both knew it, but I was enjoying the lull that always comes before.
"If I were to tell you I never want to give you another blowjob again," I asked him, "would you be okay with that?"
"Of course," he said. "I'd be fine with that."
Now, Husband is a pretty cool cucumber. He knows how to keep his emotions in check, how to rise above the turmoil that often rules my actions. He knows how to stay calm and collected, to maintain the advantage. Still, I was very surprised by his nonchalant answer.
"Really?" I asked. "Why?"
"Because I love you," he said. "And if you never want to give me another blowjob, that would be okay with me."
"Really," I murmured, irritated. "You wouldn't be bothered."
"No."
"I should put this to the test See how long it would take you to admit you're bothered."
His head jerked up. "Wait, what?"
"What do you care?" I said, lifting my own head to look at him. "You just said you'd be totally okay with never getting another blowjob again."
"That doesn't mean I want to start now," he said. He started pushing my head down to his cock in earnest.
"No no," I said. "If you're not bothered by never getting another blowjob from me ever again, why should I bother?"
I pulled while he pushed, he opened my mouth and I bit his finger, he spanked my ass and I scurried away...but in the end, he did get my face over his cock, and I did give him a blowjob.
After it was over, I asked him, "Why did you say you'd be okay with me never giving you another blowjob?"
"My first reaction was to act cool about it," he said with a sigh. "I think I miscalculated."
"Yes," I said. "You did."
"It seemed like you were upset by my answer though. Were you?"
"Yes, I was. I put a lot of work into my blowjobs you know. How would you like it if you worked hard to make me happy with something, and then I took on this attitude like 'oh, I don't care about this, I could take it or leave it.' You wouldn't like it either."
"Well then," he said, "let me clarify: I would be very bothered if you never gave me another blowjob. But that's never going to happen, because you're going to keep giving me blowjobs whenever I want."
"Thank you," I said. "And damn straight."
Do you guys know about this website, Postsecret? It's this place where people can send in their secrets, written out on a self-made postcard. They come out with new postcards every Sunday. It's a pretty awesome site.
I was talking with Husband about postcards we would send in, if we were ever struck with the sudden initiative. Mine would most likely be something about my mom.
"Mine would definitely be kinky," he said.
"Oh?" I said. "Like what?"
"Like me holding a big huge paddle," he said, chuckling. "Maybe the one Mrs. Maguire gave us."
"What would the postcard say?"
"I'm lonely," he said, and burst out laughing. I laughed, too.
"Oh my god, that's SO EMO," I said, and he laughed harder. If you know Husband, you know he's not an Emo kind of guy. At All.
"We should send a whole series of Emo postcards with kinky pictures," I said. "They won't know what to do with them!"
"They won't publish them," Husband said, dismissing the idea.
You know who'd publish them? You know who, lovely kinksters?
ME!
I'm going to start a whole series of BDSM pictures with Emo messages. I invite you all to make your own. You should try it, it's fun! Here's a few to get you started.
Here's the situation:
I'm in the car, driving my 15-year-old home from school. There's nobody else in the car with us. He starts telling me about his day
(Someone once explained to me, after I had complained that my boys will only broach serious topics with me as I'm driving them somewhere and never while I'm sitting down comfortably at home, that boys will usually talk more, and open up more, in the car, where they know you cannot maintain eye contact with them. I largely think this is correct)
and he gets onto the subject of P.E.
Now P.E. is not my son's favorite class. He doesn't hate it, but he doesn't love it, either. His favorite class is actually Physics. Followed by Calculus.
Jock he is not.
But he has a nice group of friends in P.E., and they all just kind of hang out together and bear it collectively. They call themselves the "Nerd Herd," both in and out of P.E.
Son starts telling me about things they were discussing during P.E. time—words like "linux" and "steam" and "portal" and "pie graphs" and "Alpha" and "Beta" start flying out of his mouth and straight over my head—and then I realize he's started to talk about people.
"So Beta thought—"
"Wait, Beta is a person?"
"Yeah. We have names in the Nerd Herd. I'm Alpha, cause I'm Alpha Nerd. They decided."
(I am so not surprised.)
"Beta is second. When I'm out sick, he's the Alpha, but only when I'm not there."
"Okay....wow. What are some of the other people's names?"
"Well, we have Omega, and Fucker—"
"Wait, you have someone who's nickname is Fucker?"
"Yeah. He wanted it."
"Oh sheesh."
"If you don't like that, you're not going to like the others."
"Okay," I say, granting he's probably right. "But what about the girls? You do have girls in the group, don't you?"
"Yeah. Two."
"What are their names?"
"We call them the whores."
At this point, it was hard for me to drive, because my jaw was jamming the steering wheel.
"Son," I say, "that is NOT OKAY. Why would you do that? Why would you call these two girls whores? Do you understand how hard it is in general for girls to be nerds? How everything they do ends up being tied up somehow to their sexuality? How they're put down and insulted for daring to try to be included in circles of gamers and nerds?"
"Okay. Jeez, mom."
"No, it is not okay. It's very wrong for you guys to call them whores, just for being members of your group. What the hell were you thinking?"
"We were thinking it's funny."
"Well it's not. At all. You need to stop."
"It's supposed to be derogatory towards us, mom. Towards the guys."
"How—how is it derogatory towards the guys?"
"Because the joke is that no girls would be willing to be in our group unless we paid them."
I didn't have a clue what to say. I'm not exaggerating here: all possible answers were just wind-swept out of my head. Because when I looked at it from his point of view...yes, they were insulting themselves, not these girls, and certainly not women in general.
But it still didn't sit well with me.
Son then went on to tell me that the girls know about the name (it's not something the boys call them behind their backs), that they agree it's funny, and that they laugh about it, too.
Does this make it okay?
Can it ever be okay to call a women whores?
But then, maybe I'm whore shaming now? Certainly a woman has the right to label herself whatever she wants, and not have to get flak for it. The word "whore" doesn't have to be derogatory unless we designate it as an insult.
It can be a fact, not an epithet.
But for a group of boys to label girls "whores," even if it's to put down themselves, even if they don't mean it as an insult to the girls in question...it bothers me.
I'm just not sure I can articulate why.
Rule number, what, three? Of attending a munch or kinky event:
When you see casual play going on between people, especially when it's a group of people, do not assume you can automatically participate. Everything you see—every touch, every grab, every mindfuck, every mode of play—is done by mutual consent. You, the newbie, do not get to assume it's a "free for all" that you can just join in. In fact, you should work under the assumption It Is Not Okay; not until you have permission.
The reason given for this rule is typically along the lines of:
Those people have known each other long enough, have been friends long enough, to play like that. They are well-acquainted, therefore it's okay.
Here's the caveat to that rule: Sometimes you'll know somebody for long enough, and be friends long enough...and it will still be Not Okay.
Not even if that kind of play is obviously okay with them when they're in different company.
Not even if they obviously like playing like that with others.
Not even if you really, really want that kind of play from them.
Being friends, knowing for certain they like to play like that, watching them play like that with other people, even people they don't know as well as you? That does not automatically mean they now have to play like that with you.
Some people think there's this magic clock ticking down somewhere, and once it hits zero, that means they've known someone long enough that they have to agree, or at least submit, to play.
It doesn't work like that.
The interactions, the type and level of play you have with people in the scene, do not depend solely on how long and how well you've known them.
It depends on other things, too.
Personally, I think the biggest factor is chemistry.
There are some people I like to play hard with, because that's the kind of chemistry we have; they make the beast of prey within me rise up to challenge them. There are people I like to play fast and loose with, because they're fun, and they know how to make me feel all soft and yummy inside. And then there are others who I enjoy teasing, because they enjoy the tease, and it becomes a game between us.
And then there are the others I will likely never play with at all, because we just don't have that kind of chemistry.
I still consider them friends. I still share chemistry with them; but it is of a different kind. And the truth is, I shouldn't have to owe them an explanation why I won't play with them.
No means no.
But it's hard to disappoint your friends. They want to play with you, and they don't understand why you're asking someone else to play, and not them; or they're wondering why you respond a certain way to someone else, and not the same way with them. The hard fact is, there may not be a cohesive, articulate reason to give them.
Except, maybe: the chemistry is just not there.
So if you're a newbie standing off to the sidelines, being told "don't assume you can do that too, you haven't known those people long enough," DO NOT take that to mean once a certain measure of time goes by, you'll get permission to go ahead and join in.
In fact, it's a bad idea to make any assumptions at all. Ever.
When in doubt, ask.
And until a safeword has been negotiated, no means no.
Have I told you guys I got a new bed and headboard? I don't think I did. Here is a photo.
The bed is King-sized. I have never owned a King-sized bed before.
It is magical. Now when Husband comes to bed at three o'clock in the morning, he doesn't wake me up. And when I get up at six, I don't wake him up. It's like a miracle invention with foam, coils, and pixie dust sprinkled inside.
But the best part isn't the bed at all, it's the new headboard. We picked this headboard because it looked way more kink-friendly than our old wooden flat one.
Boy, is it.
Husband has upped the ante ten-fold since we got this headboard. Part of me has no idea how such an innocuous piece (which is really just a piece of another piece) of furniture could have so much impact on our sex life; another part of me cannot understand why I didn't think of it before.
This headboard is perfect for cuffs, chain, rope, and often, for just wapping your hands around for hanging the fuck on. Husband has used those wrought iron bars for endurance tests ("Don't let go, whatever happens, don't you fucking let go"), positioning experiments ("Can your feet touch metal? No? Then your head can go lower down my dick"), and take-down scenes (you can use your imagination on this one).
He's having fun.
So am I.
The other thing I forgot to share with the masses is that I got a new toy at Folsom Fringe. It's about the size of a wooden spoon; strong, bendable, and more wicked than it lets on:
I don't even know what to call it, except maybe, The Breathless Flower. Flower, because it makes a beautiful flower design on flesh when it's hit hard enough; and breathless, because when it's hit that hard into my skin, I scream so high I'm rendered breathless.
The other night Husband was using this toy on my backside, and forcing me to stay up on my tiptoes as he cultivated his little garden across my rump. The kids were either not home or deep asleep, so he thought a little noise (of the screaming variety) wouldn't bother anyone.
"The design is so nice," he said. "Hey, don't put your feet down. Back on your toes."
"But it hurts!"
"No it doesn't."
"Yes it does!"
He swung the toy right into my backside, HARD. I started to howl and jump from one foot to the other.
"Did that hurt?" He asked.
"YES!"
"Good. Now you know the difference."
I couldn't help it; I started laughing. He was laughing, too.
"Now back on your toes," he said, still smiling. "I'm not done yet."
He wallpapered my ass with flowers and swirls. Then he made me stay still while he admired his work.
He still wouldn't let me put my feet down. "Stay on your toes, or I'll get the cane," he said. "Then you'll know 'hurt' a lot."
After a while, my feet hurt so bad, I was whimpering from the strain. Claiming to take pity on me, he allowed me to climb up on the bed on my hands and knees and grab onto the headboard.
Then he made me stay like that while he fucked my ass from behind.
A glorious time was had by all.
I would highly suggest you check out the people that make the toy I got over at Etsy. They're called Kink Nerd Toys.
Oh, and after checking out the Etsy page, I see they call this toy the "Rose Crop."
I like my name Breathless Flower better. But hey...what does a name matter, when you have no voice anyway?
Mind: Get dressed get dressed get dressed get dressed
Cunt: No. Play with me.
Mind: I can't, it's time to get dressed and get ready to go
Cunt: How much time is there left?
Mind: Half an hour, tops.
Cunt. Plenty of time. Play with me.
Mind: Later, okay? I promise. LATER.
Cunt: No. Now. I'm needy.
Mind: Of course you're needy, you're always needy, shut up!
Cunt: Play with me, plaayyyy
Mind: Shut up, I'm serious
Cunt: I won't shut up, I don't ever shut up. Whatcha gonna do about it, hmmm?
Mind: You just watch.
(Puts in a call to Husband.)
Husband: I'm busy. What do you want?
Me: Can I have permission to come?
Husband: No. Wait until I get home. I have plans for you tonight: I'm gonna try that new toy out on your ass. It's bigger than what you're used to, but I think you can handle it.
Me: ...What?
Husband: I'm getting back to work now. Bye. (Hangs up)
Cunt: Fine. You win. I'll leave you alone.
Ass: Did someone mention my name?
So as I mentioned in my last post, this weekend I tried something new. Actually, a few things new. I
1. Attending my first kinky conference
2. Gave my self-publishing class to a room full of people
2. Vended my books
Number one rule about trying something new: it's all about the experience. I went into the weekend with a clear head and a list of hopes, but zero expectations.
IT WAS AWESOME.
Seriously, if you can attend Folsom Fringe next year, DOOOO EEET. It is an easy way to meet kinky people, take a ton of classes, learn a whole lot about things you never even knew existed, and PLAY.
Oh my god, people, the PLAY.
I had friends there who basically only left their hotel rooms to eat and meet up with new potential play partners. Once negotiations (and meals) were done, they were back in their rooms, having more fun.
The saturday night party was a huge ballroom of ongoing D/s, S/m, and kink. I got spanked, caned, punched (a first for me), wrestled to the ground, hogtied, and pussy chained. I got to scream, cry, struggle, flail, bite, kick, and punch back.
And the whole time, all around me, there were other scenes going on, with people laughing, crying, and coming. Countless play stations, chairs set up all around for those who wanted to watch, cleaning supplies, safety supplies....
All the while, around the corner in the social area, people sat in their dressed-up best, eating delicacies and socializing in hushed tones at intimate cafe tables.
It was lovely. Hedonism at its best.
I signed a lot of books. Sold out, in fact. Of course, I had to do a lot of begging to sell those books. The other vendors found me quite entertaining. But then, begging comes natural to me, so what can I say?
I was told my class was good. If you want to see much of what I taught, you can take a look at the menu bar on the blog and click on "how to self publish."
Of course, one of the biggest draws of Folsom Fringe is the ride to and from Folsom Street Fair. But the thing is, since you've been partying and playing the whole weekend already, Folsom Fair becomes one aspect of the weekend, not the whole thing. For many, it's not even the grand finale. I know for me, the saturday night party was the highlight of the conference, and the weekend.
I came home with bruises on my shoulders, back, and breasts, rug burn on my knees and ass, a hoarse throat, and a sense of incredible accomplishment.
