Fucking Myself on a Solitary Evening

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Sundown, night fall, rain on the glass of the window and the road. Four orgasms, frisked out from my cunt, an evening  alone.

The first two are standard, sheer black lace panties yanked off and pitched into the hamper across the room. I find my small clit after stroking the slick of wetness up through the tucks and pleats of my labia. I like the way they remind me of rose petals or warm folds of saturated satin.

When I come it is short, intense bursts, radiating from my clit. It takes the level of arousal I am carrying down to a level I can ignore it for a bit.

When want something in me it means a toy. I tend to default to the Tantus Silk, “Large”. It’s too big for my poor tight cunt, but I’ve never respected my own limits. The next step down, the Medium, is too small.  Dildo shopping is hard, like a Goldilocks that’ll never be happy because every toy I can find isn’t as perfect as the real thing.

Getting it in…

I can press it against the opening and play with my clit and gradually with gentle pressure, it’ll yield and slip in. I’m too tight to thrust at first. 1 1/2″ width at the head is apparently my upper limit.

Some girls take monster dicks or whole hands and I read and watch in fascination. Hell I had my hand in multiple people. Somewhere extant is a picture of me fisting my female friend and looking totally nonchalant.

Mine grips. Mine is small. My whole equipment is the same scale, wee little clit so cozied up in the hood it never gets touched directly. Regular labia, nothing exceptionally prominent.

I never got the point of kegel balls. You put them in and there they stay, right? Even the heaviest? How do porn stars do it? Hopping onto a cock like it is nothing.

The Silk is lodged in my cunt, until I tease my clit more. Then I can feel the pull inside as it shifts. I sit up and the wide base rests on the bed, a few inches out of me. My fingers find the hood around my clit and I almost come and then the sensation of my fingers and the toy gang up together.

And then even the least pull on the toy and I am coming from that. I cry out, unconcerned if my open window carries the noises to the street below, pushing it in and out.

Coming.

It feels different, deeper, inside. It’s not a full body orgasm like I have sometimes but it’s pleasure in a place that I don’t usually feel that kind of expansive and warm flutter and burst.

There’s no proper metaphor. For me it’s like a squirt of ink suffusing in water, first the release and then the bloom. Or the sensation of watching a flower open in timelapse, if it briefly turned your brain off. Like brain zap, but good feeling. Sometimes there are lights, I think phosphenes from the flutters of the muscles of my eyes.

When a guy comes for me there’s that build, contract and spurt. Women, more subtle.

The lust subsides by the fourth a bit. I want more, want to be fucked as I fuck myself.

But I like learning that I can get more out of penetration, because I can make a man get me off.

It’s a novelty- a possibility that my partner can offer more than hot fantasies to get me in the mood to finish myself, but also something incredibly scary.

It’s probably my thirties making my cunt decide that everything was going to work better. I never understood barely legal and virgin fantasies. Everything we know about sex observes that it’s about three decades of having a vagina before they start cooperating with all the features.

I sort of see why Freud tried to classify vaginal orgasms as more “mature” if they are the purview of older women. But there is a curious kind of vulnerability…

When you are used to not being disappointed by inadequacy, the realization that your partners could be better is a kind of lightbulb. I don’t think when I was 25 any amount of fucking was going to let a man make me come from his efforts alone but now, I know in the post afterglow, gingerly dislodging the thick bulbous head of the simplified look fake cock from inside myself, I am thinking about the next time I get fucked.

There is an affiliate link in this post. I didn’t write about my sex toy to sell you one, but I did buy it from this supplier and I am not going to be sneaky-sneaky about it.

Corporations Hate Kinky Sex

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Credit card providers don't want you to have kinky sex.At the time of writing, Patreon and Twitter are both going through a phase of removing adult content. Patreon changed their ToU, while Twitter has been merrily shadowbanning accounts it deems sensitive, trimming them from the general popular discourse.

Twitter managed to hit historical expert @Whoresofyore during her book promo, while Ferns of Domme Chronicles and a number of other prominent sex bloggers have discovered they have been secretly muzzled. That’s what makes Twitter’s handling of things particularly frustrating- nobody knows how your posts and content pass the threshold of unacceptable. And nobody notifies you. You just need to figure out if you have been silo’d.

This was in the heels of, and overlapping with the Patreon change. Those who make porn remain ever vigilant that the guidelines of a corporation will crush them. It’s old, tired and familiar by now, part of an ongoing trend.

I had been thinking of making the switch to Patreon support, so I could put more effort into content and less into other sources of revenue, both linkbuilding for SEO (which I am iffy about) and the unreliability of getting scraps of freelance story requests. I don’t think that is as likely to be a viable option and that frustrates me. And that’s the challenge here, with trying to make adult oriented, and to be explicit, sexual art. Everyone wants the fucking stuff, but nobody wants to pay for it and admit they want it or give it space in the mainstream.

And when we do try to make stuff easier to pay for, we get yanked around by the credit card providers and financial brokers that underpin the transactions that make this possible. Because they are private corporations, unlike writing to my MP, it is considered to be a privilege to me that a few companies have a monopoly on most of the use of money that I do I and everyone else has no recourse.

The truth is, credit card providers don’t want you to have kinky or unregulated sex, and sites like Patreon are hostage to that. Meanwhile Twitter’s logic seems to be tied with the same efforts to try to scrub out trollish harassing nazis- only they remain more interested in punishing outspoken women than the people who bother them.  And at it’s core it’s a problem with our heavy dependency on for profit business to maintain platforms of public discourse but also the fuzzy moral madness around sex in society at large.

This is part of an ongoing war, both government side, and through the whims of the monopolistic control of private corporations, to decide what kind of sex you are allowed to have and talk about.


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My Take on Cuckolding Fantasies

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Cuckolding fantasies are more than just cuck focused“So multiple people offered to throw in cash to get me to go to this event at $nerdhobby, I am so popular.” I’m not bragging, I’m surprised at my popularity and slightly bemused by the absurdity.

His reaction is to miss a beat, face going suspicious, “Oh really? Who?”

“The very gay $nerdhobbyguy, for one.” I know the implication, but I live with it and measure it accordingly. Boys offering you things is kind of par for the course as an extra level of social complexity to navigate. It sucks as an artist of any kind, because patronage is also how we wend our way, and nobody likes trying to suss out if you are trying to fuck me or support my writing. And I never apologize that men want me.

He’s not quite calm about it, not mad at me or displaying any sort of impolite or threatening anger, but outlined to me what it had always meant when he had offered to sponsor a girl, and then realizing that I might take offense either via implying I condoned really low wage sex work or was naive to the ways of the world, falls into repeatedly reassuring me that he trusts me.

Brick, you see, is a jealous man but not a controlling one. He’s liable to characterize it as “protective”, from the perspective that I need to be saved from all attention, pursuit and appreciation. On the other hand there’s a definite thread that we share a similar mean little desire to reject and trammel all over a guy. You’re never going to catch him as the forced bi bull shoving his cock down a would be rival’s throat, but there is a desire to emotionally and socially dominate other men (and in fantasy land probably beat the shit out of them) that pretty much occupies the same space a cuckolding fantasies do in the continuum of things men are socialized to have feelings about.

But, I like watching you fight them for me, even if I want you to win.

I am not one of those people who thinks that jealousy, or any feeling, in the abstract, is bad. I don’t think one’s feelings entitle you to automatically make the other party responsible for them, but I like the honesty and vulnerability in him getting possessive, the itchy fists and raised hackles. It’s hot. It makes me feel in control and turns me on. I enjoyed that Brick’s reaction was not compersion, that mainstay of the poly community, but murder.

I’m careful here, because this is a raw dynamic, which means that it’s his Real Feelings (TM) and could actually hurt him, so I’m not going to do anything to actually harm him or manipulate him. But I like that the script is there. I like the idea of using him as a tool of my sadism and dominance. I think he would get worn out and stressed if he thought that other men were constantly testing the boundaries of his relationship in a way that imperiled him, but I’m still going to enjoy it when it accidentally falls in my lap. And I have more thoughts on that…

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Femdom Review “The Butters” Oil Based Lube

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An oil based lube shown next to my favourite. I like this, but not for sex.

From time to time, as a blogger, I’m privileged to get random free samples shucked my way, for the publicity my talking about it gives, and also beta testing. In the case of The Butters, an oil based lube, it is one of the nicest moisturizers I have ever tried, but… I don’t want to put it on my vulva, or give someone a hand job with it, or slick up a toy with it. I will happily rub it into my legs and face, but it is not a good sex product for me.

And this brand does EVERYTHING right, so don’t think this is one of my little rants, like my disapproval of those cheap sex toys from overseas manufactures that swear they are 100% silicone and smell like a tire fire.  This is a a homemade oil based mix of different thick, edible fats with about the texture of a creamy body butter. You can’t use it with latex condoms, but it makes sure you know what it is right away, and it’s skin safe and scentless. I really like the politics of this producer and the fact that the branding is gender neutral while still taking into account its testers varied anatomy.

I even find the brown and yellow colour scheme visually attractive! Gosh, I wish I could tell you about how this was my go to lubricant, and how it totally rocked my socks. But it just doesn’t do the job it’s marketed to do.

That being said, the manufacturer is super responsive and gave me more tips on how to get the most value out of it (use a lot) as well as took my feedback regarding the sample bottles (yours would come in a jar, not a squeezy, I had trouble getting the product out). I was so sad I couldn’t make the sex part work that I put off my review for over a year. Procrastination isn’t the most mature solution, but I hate having to give a thumbs down, even a gentle, entirely it’s-not-you-it’s-me one.

I think I just need a thinner lube to experience the right mimic of what I naturally have. It feels unpleasantly chunky after getting used to oil for my massage and sex needs, and absorbs almost instantly in quantities I feel comfortable slathering on. That’s great stroked into freshly shaved legs or patted into my oft sensitive complexion. I imagine with a whole palmful it might be lovely for butt stuff.

I’m not the only reviewer to notice that it’s very other purpose friendly, not something I can say for water based KY (or KY knock offs) or silicone lube (no silicone lube for me, the bathroom floor was slippy for days after). It even lacks the excessively medicinal feel, and never goes tacky like the water based lubes due after a while.

But at the end of the day this is a fantastic natural, small batch moisturizer from a great independently owned business. I might even buy more to replace out my standard go to body butter, but I can’t make it work for sex, even if I actually like an oil based lube like coconut or sweet almond oil.

Note: The ingredient list has shifted a bit. Mine had arrow root powder but the formula on their website is as follows: “aloe vera gel, raw shea butter*, pure coconut oil, pure extra virgin olive oil, pure grapeseed oil, pure palm kernel oil*, pure soy lipid emulsion*, apple cider vinegar & guar bean powder.”

Friday Femdom Fiction: Neighbour Playdate

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BaAdults wanted everyone to enjoy a free Friday Femdom Fiction story, so they provided the support to encourage me to knock something out for your enjoyment- as part of my policy to make sure any sort of pay for stuffs gives you something you would want to read. Wow it’s been a while since I properly wrote one of these, isn’t it? They had a story to share too called “Meeting with a Sexy Femdom“, and as far as link work goes I was perfectly happy to oblige.

Definitely interesting to see how my style has evolved, particularly with freelance femdom writing in my docket. I am somewhat amused by the nature of the online economy, but frankly patronage is a great excuse to bang something out even if lately I have been way too slow about everything.

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Her body had a softness in the filtered light from the curtain that defied the firmness of her grip on his throat. Naked, she looked down at him with her face quirked in comfortable speculation. He was kneeling on the tile in the kitchen, the wrench he’d brought next to him.

“We have thirty more minutes until they drop Joshua off from swim practice,” she warned. “Then you have to clear out.”

He didn’t have to think, and just nodded as best her grip allowed. “I want to make you happy.”

“Do your best.” Her face was quirked in a certain speculative contentment, as if standing nude in front of a helpful neighbour who came by to help her dismantle the sink drain was the most natural thing in the world. Her hand went from his neck to her hips.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Looking up at her, he enjoyed the way her smile broke through when he spoke. She was beautiful because she wore her skin well, no shyness at the pillowy swell of her thighs, the mother’s-marks on her belly or the sun speckle freckles on her arms and shoulders.

Her cunt was a dark thatch, a place that he longed to press his face. Instead, despite the time constraint, he took his time, kissing her feet where they joined her ankle and working his way up her calf. At her knee, he stole a glance up to see her expression.

She still had her hands on her hips, but she was smiling. Emboldened, he moved higher.

She took in a full breath as he let his tongue dart out, just the tip tracing along the sensitive inside. Her skin was surprisingly cool for the summer weather, but no less inviting. Teeth followed tongue, scraping, not biting.

All summer long, starting from hello when she’d just moved in, they’d escalated. First it was friendly cross fence talk, then helping her carry in shopping, and from there an invitation in for coffee. She was an old fashioned kind of woman, introducing herself to the neighbourhood with a stack of homemade muffins to share. When she’d gotten his phone number what had started as watching for a package delivery turned into texting back and forth, cute but a hard edge he was shocked and delighted to encourage.

He still wasn’t sure how it had escalated and flirting had turned into photos and commands. At her instruction, he hadn’t come in three weeks and even the buzz-alert of an incoming text on his phone had become a siren song. Not being able to touch himself made him all the more focused on her.

Where his mouth had first explored, his hands followed, caressing, palms gliding up until they rested on her butt. Her fingers went to his hair, nails to his scalp, still looking down upon him.

“Do a good job.” She’d ended up backed to the counter, leaning on it, hips tilted slightly forwards, offering. “I won’t give you another chance for a week.”

His tongue tasted tang and the trace of soap as he licked light, vertical strokes. she’d already told him how, detailed, exactly how she wanted it. First the lightest of contact, then as she parted her legs further, more, but never more than feathery flicks.

At her instruction, he slid first one, then a second finger inside of her. That seemed to take the strength out of her legs, and they ended up sprawled on the kitchen floor, with her fingers pulling his hair more intensely. Nonetheless, he knew his work and kept with the slow build until at last he found just the right J shaped flick to carry her up and beyond.

He yelped as she all but took a handful of hair our with her tightened grip, but persisted. To his immense gratification her voice came out as increasingly incoherent cries, no words, just a raise in pitch and a tightening in her throat as her whole body convulsed.

Eventually she spoke, looking to where he had returned to a kneel. “Hmm, no time to take care of you. I need to get dressed before Joshua arrives, you can show yourself out.”

“Same time next week, Ma’am? There’s a leaky facet in your bathroom that needs a new washer.”

“Be here earlier. Thirty minutes, I think.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

If you liked this, there’s a full archive of my free femdom stories here. Most are gentle femdom and loving couples, with a few harder stories.

 

Trans-Mortem

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Breaking up with Wildcard was hard!The whole process of my breakup is not done. We are still in awkward close quarters, negotiating the logistics of the seperation as we each move into our own household. Lots of crying. He took a week off work to grieve and has been pretty much high half the time. I have tried to get out of the house more and took up archery.

I have developed a sort of insomnia as well, a rarity, and stay up late writing this. What have I learned?

This isn’t a post mortem, but a trans-mortem. Things are still going. Or rather, still falling apart.

What do you do when you love someone but they fundamentally want and need different things? Obviously breaking up with Wildcard was not a choice I made easily. This blog contains a detailed description of much of the ways I cared (in sticky intimate detail) and because of it, I know that we developed a reputation as the cute couple.

Caring comes easy. Leaving is harder.

Literally everyone but my closest friends were shocked as hell to find out we had a problem. Mrs. Castle was probably the only one who called it, but Mrs. Castle probably has the broadest perspective into my life.

Functional issues stemed from being his rebound after a really horrible relationship. Hell, not rebound. Rescuer. For me, I was inclined to focus on helping and patience because I knew we had a problem, but I trusted his belief that it was a him problem I just had to help him through. I don’t think it is a problem anymore, just his personality and preferences.

I got what I deserved. I am the woman who barreled into his life and dragged him out of self imposed hell towards the life he wanted. Only the life he wants is not the one I do. It is a fuck ton more poly and switch focused than really is remotely compatible with me. Oops.

About a year ago I accepted it wasn’t going to get better. Then it was if I could live with it as the price of admission. I looked about for other outlets. It… Did not help. It made the dissatisfaction worse. The enthusiastically waggled penises of dozens of men looking for something other than service topping provided a stark contrast.

I don’t think he was ever into me sexually like I wanted. That stings.

A part of me feels like I just blew up a great thing out of being too picky, because Wildcard is loving, kind and generous.

Maybe in a smaller, less people’d world we would have been ok and I would have sucked it up and dealt. But also I was starting to wonder if resenting the missing stuff and the stuff I hated was healthy. I try to have perspective that 100 years ago, I would have 8 kids and polio, but it doesn’t help.

So I told him I wasn’t getting what I needed. And… Cue the sadness vortex.

My life is now apartment hunting and furniture logistics. Everything upended. Everything examined now “do I really need this?” From clothing to volunteer work, it is one non-stop rip down.

I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I am scared and unhappy about the chaos. But…

I would rather end up a bitter old maid than end up resenting him for something that isn’t really a flaw. And actually some of the change is not so bad.

The Tower and the Chariot

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The news of my estranged mother’s breast cancer adds one more variable in the tornado of shrapnel that is my life. Good news on my insurance paperwork is the trade off. Probably getting paid for my month of sick. Can pay Wildcard back for last month’s rent.

Got to figure out the rest of my life. Barring calamity, I have half a century left to work out. And I am listening to my medical professionals. Stop things that are making me sick.

So migrained last night I missed the munch I technically run. I am… Done. Ok with it, actually, shedding it like a wool sweater in the desert. A wool sweater I hand knit, but maybe I deserve to be happy?

I haven’t been happy about some things for a long time, and it shows in my writing. My blog on hiatus, my life waiting “until X happens” and taking care of the latest explosion. So much crisis management.

My body shut me down, hard, because I tested its limits for other people until I literally collapsed.

Kinda done with that.

I deserve to be happy.

Tribal Solutions To Old Problems

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Once upon a time I was assaulted. Three times, the last time I fought back and punched him in the head. I learned like all niafs in the BDSM scene that not everyone respects you. I grew up. I first made a space without him, got braver and called him out.

In the mean time he raped someone. Allegedly. Anecdotes piled up. Nothing really came of my honesty. Then he popped up in my other life, as a nerd.

Most of the people who deal with this turn to flight reactions, but something about this, and him, turns to fight. I check the people going to my nerdy event and he’s listed himself as interested. I know he is still out there bit I was not expecting this.

Everything gets super sharp. I tell Wildcard. I thumb open my contacts and explicitly tell the club admin who this person is and what they do to women.

My heart beat is heavy, and I make myself eat dinner. Salmon sashami, I need the calories. I message my brother and tell him I may need his help.

He’s six feet tall, with a deep voice. I’m 5’5″ in my stocking feet. Sometimes it goes tribal, old ways. I know how far people trust tiny, squeak voiced girls. I know if nobody believes me we are going to make a scene.

I don’t do this just for me, I fight because other women were hurt.

The admin hears me out, but wants more proof. I give names, but he needs in the club for reasons I understand but don’t agree with. I take a break from the conversation. I am reassured that I am believed, but this will go much easier if I have… Tribe? That is what it boils down to. I am not a reliable witness on my own. I know that.

I know that enough people believe me we will stand him down. But he is only “interested”. We don’t know if the war party is needed. I wonder who in mt extended circle knows him and invited him.

The admin gets back to me. A witness, in the club, speaks to corroborate my story. And elder member who walks in both worlds.

I rant for a few minutes about the unfairness. Wildcard listens, disagrees that it is my gender that required the second witness.

The person who assaulted me is quietly dealt with.

 

LARP Boys & Sexuality

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I am awash in LARP boys.

I am seriously concerned if I show up for one of the conventions, it’s going to be spontanious bukkake with the amount of attention. Which brings up the same thing I have talked about before, one’s relationship to the voracious desires others have for you.

Wildcard remains with a steady rotation of “kitties” some of them closer to him than others, all hands off to the point he likes, harvested from the local kink scene. Occasionally he bats them away from his penis, like small children being kept away from the breakables. He wants their upturned asses to beat, and maybe to jam a hitachi against them until they come. They are invariably at least a smigen younger (or like a full decade), cute, usually dark brunette- assigned female at birth but respected for their pronouns. To get off with them spoils his control.

He keeps a steady stream of IMs with the favourites, always a little gunshy about me knowing, like he isn’t entirely sure he has my explicit encouragement. This is his sexuality, what he needs to be happy. He’s making them happy too, so where is the harm?

At first I was a bit jealous as the transition to pursuit of kitties came with a natural drift from his obsession with me, but I have seen it is basically water seeking its own level. This is who he is, living geniunely, to have me as a part of his sexuality but not the entirety. That is kind of important and fits what I told him as one of my rules, which is that he should choose what makes him happy.

But me: LARP boys are just as kinky as BDSM scene boys, but more inclined to lead with their vulnerability, not their dicks and kinks. While my fetlife inbox is a trickle of “can you get me off to that complicated itch I need scratched, just so?”, with LARP boys, there’s a sensitive sweetness, a big eyed emotional hopefulness superceding the evident rampent erections.

Wildcard was a LARP boy once. I met him when my character boldly wandered into his troupe. As soon as the whole world I unlocked became evident to him, a wild wonderland of sexual freedom, he jumped and I don’t think he looked back. We still play games together, but to be honest I don’t think he likes mixing sexuality into story the way I do. His characters are asexual or delibrately distanced.

I bring sexuality with me, and flirt and charm and try to be as honest as possible. The attention I get is mostly a challenge for the contextual social situation outside the game. First off, I want story. I need story, and I have learned the hard way that boys prefer me to fantasy. Characters get abandoned when they realize there is a mind behind the mask. I don’t mind them getting to know the real me, but it kind of feels disappointing if it comes at the cost of my creations. Strong did that to me, trading out an interesting story for lurid sexual fantasies and then burning out all together. It kind of hurt.

Secondly, there is the whole slut-ego thing. I am not supposed to acknowledge my participation in attracting people. It is supposed to be an externally applied objectification people feel sorry for. Oh how sad, Pearl gets boys going! Mention “I get a lot of attention” and people treat it like street harassment or cruel manipulation. Victim or femme fatale. Take your pick.

Attention you can control and escape is not the same thing as attention jammed down your throat. I might be the sort of person who responded yesterday to a guy whistling at me and going (literally) “hubba hubba!” with “Seriously?!” (because it was in front of a Tim Hortins at 2PM. I mean jesus fuck, oggle at what I offer to the world but have some fucking decorum), but I also am the sort of person who acknowledges that there is more than  demeaning objectification in the scope of casual interest. But you aren’t supposed to. The princess is always pretty, but she always needs to wait for the hero to tell her how special she is. Tits sell everything from computer software to perfume, but God forbid you add your own to the conversation on your terms.

That is how a lot of the other LARP girls do. They have their turgid bleed-romances like everyone else, but discreetly, carefully, and hidden. We have girl talk and they are guarded about the sexuality in our hobby, scared of the men and pushing the envelope. And they have a point, some of them are rapists, more of them are coup counters who gossip who fucked you, as if your exposure to sex diminishes you a bit at a time. Lord save me from virgin chasers. I cast off mine as soon as possible, and I won’t be bound by guys whose goal is to be the cock with no point of comparison.

And the other trick, outside the coup counters, is that LARP boys, as a rule, don’t like acknowledging that they are not the only guy seriously strategizing getting you into a hotel room at a gaming convention and making the maid service hate them forever for the mess that would result. It’s either itchy fists directed at the other guys, or hurt feelings at you. If you notice the other men, how can they be special? 

Thing is, the 20th time he’s “never met a girl like you before” maybe you aren’t being full of yourself to see a pattern? My brother is furious that people keep messaging him to tell him his sister is hot. Wildcard gets peppered with squeeing “omg Pearl!!!” from the kitties who see us as a package deal. And I notice back. I like men. This isn’t a one sided thing where guys are sexless and icky.

I guess that is the other taboo. I like men. Really. They are fun, with their jaws and their swingy shoulders and their careful socially forced repression and power fantasies. And I think I am missing I guess the uh… misandry? Fear? That is supposed to blot out my ability to acknowledge them as just as much objects of desire.

But, these days when I get praised, I answer with “I know”. I put Wildcard’s presence and my ego into the conversation early, to lay out where I stand, almost like a challenge. Want me? Acknowledge me as I am. Then we can talk.

Being a slut, in that awkward kind of way where I don’t actually get fucked all that much, but I play with desire, is hard. The attention turns me on. The sweetness turns me on too- I like watching them worry if their voice is goofy or react to me discovering something special to them.

I like making them feel good, with sincere compliments. I might have a predatory streak (worship me! worship me!) that goes straight to the core of my dominance, but I actually like LARP boys. These are my people. Fun.

But there isn’t really a space to say that you get turned on by the attention. It doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat when a LARP boy carefully unpacks himself in front of you. It’s a strip tease.

And I won’t pretend it is not a delight to tease right back.

Rambles and Stream of Consciousness

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I feel neither coherent nor productive, so you’re getting a stream of consciousness while I continue my sick leave from gainful employment. What did you do today? I corrected my insurer who flipped my name “Is this Leslie Pearl?” No.

I don’t feel particularly good. The stomach ache is abating into nausea instead of immobilizing pangs. I still don’t particularly want to eat anything and carry my mood about like a heavy object. I think dealing with the absolute bullshit I had piled up (double anti-sexual assault shit in two volunteering groups, an absolute imbecile outing me on fetlife, my abusive grandmother popping clogs, a family member having a meltdown on my doorstep and work sucking awfully) explains my worn out state but I need to figure out how to get from hiding on the couch in a blanket burrito watching Hannibal to going back to my job and careering for cash monies.

I realized I wasn’t writing anymore which kinda bugged me, so you get this. Ramblings.

I’m told I’m beautiful, a lot. Wildcard also easily draws in the attraction of women, and wears it with a constant sort of “are you having me on?!” background disbelief, like he’s not entirely sure why. His good looks are easy to explain- he has gigantic eyes, heavy lidded with long lashes, a perfect nose and the spacing of his teeth make his mouth push his lips into a sensual pout. When he’s not thinking about anything but an exciting idea his eyes get sparkly and intense, dark and compelling. He’s not just handsome, he’s pretty.

He wears his beard and his hair knowing what suit him. The beard’s always short cropped, straight lines following the hollow under his cheeks, the hair’s something stylish and classic- he’s willing to pay more at a salon and listen to good advice from an expert. His clothes are picked to suit him, with a sort of Captain America Vintage Prep vibe.

Myself I don’t know why I am perceived as beautiful. Many, many women get told that by men, but I draw in more than my female peers seem to report. It’s not a subject you’re supposed to embrace- and I don’t have the slenderness to assume a professional, non-sexual modeling career in in my future. But I look like the girls in all the porn, a white brunette, thinner than the average, nice but not particularly large breasts, small waist, massive hips and buttocks. Women deny the number of my hips when I do sizing “NO! Your hips are not 38″ around!” (Or 40″ if I’m running fatter.) I seem to unintentionally gain and lose the same 15 pounds based on my health. Right now I’m sick and my breasts are smaller.

My hair is, under the 4C dye I refresh every few weeks, salt and pepper. I’m thirty-one, and the first greys came at 16 or so. I don’t particularly like it, and turn it back to a brown that’s almost black, to match my eyebrows.

When Wildcard and I have sex, he seldom penetrates my vagina. Usually he achieves orgasm in some combination of hand-and-mouth. He does not go down on me, and I dislike oral sex. When he does penetrate me, it’s hard for me to fit him inside. My clit bangs out orgasms in minutes of the right kind of touching, but my vagina is a tense creature that coils itself up, especially without regular insertions. He finds it so stimulating he has to stay still inside me and half pulled out, and that hurts. He’s just too physically large to rest with the head of his penis in the antechamber of my vagina and not to the wider point of full insertions.

I’ve never found a solution that the speed I like being done at is the speed by which guys come. It’s not a failure in the guy, it’s just the sort of stroke that gets them off gets me off. I don’t like sex where the guy just goes and goes and goes forever though.

I noticed that everything that’s idealized about female orgasms is discouraged in men. If you are a woman people want you to come constantly, ideally basically at will. If you’re a guy everything is piled on not coming and there’s nothing treated more sad than being able to come from imagination. It gets called “premature ejaculation”.

When I was a child I learned about kegels, and can do them easily to this day. They make no difference other than entertaining partners, apparently providing novelty. Squinch. Squinch.

I know I like anal stimulation, and I would probably enjoy anal sex, but the prep and getting me relaxed enough is so fundamentally un-sexy. So the subject comes up and then passes along.

I tie him up sometimes, with velcro cuffs, or make him a rope harness, cinched tight. He likes it when it’s tightly squeezing around the base of his cock and balls. These harnesses serve virtually no restraining purpose. Lingerie. When a friend started a panties for people who have packages company I bought him a pair. They don’t feel feminine on him and he likes being stroked through the black mesh. I don’t like thongs on men.

I like fucking fully clothed or without taking off the sexy lingerie I like wearing. I have stocking fetish.

I like bad language in bed, I like aggression and wrestling. I want a sort of dirtiness that I don’t intrinsically believe in. I read a lot of erotica on the darker end of the spectrum where the genders don’t matter but the victim experiences a fundamental loss of control that’s often permanently damaging. I don’t like castration stories though. My fantasy victims are used by multiple partner but aroused by it- I separate arousal from consent and fantasize about non-con.

I had a lot of cybersex in my life, which translates into writing porn well. People prefer sentimental emotional erotica over mechanical erotica. Feelings matter.

I have not been inspired to write erotica in a while. I made a few stabs at it, but the tension is missing and I want to tease out what is going on there.