Answers to some questions

Do you have a top five list of toys/accessories that you love and recommend?

People’s sexualities are so different, so what’s best for me might not be best for you, so this isn’t so much what I recommend as it is my personal favorites. My top 5 desert island toys – meaning the ones I would absolutely have to have if I was stuck on a desert island – are:

  • Hitachi – the lesbian grandmother of all vibrators. Because hey, if I’m going to have a vibrator, it may as well be the best. We’ll just have to pretend my desert island has power outlets.
  • Silky aka Mr Bendy – best & only cock on the market that you can pack with, then fuck with. Not sterilizable (always use a condom). A little small for hours & hours of fucking, though, so I need an upgrade.
  • Vixskin Maverick aka Rodeo Rick – The upgrade. This might be the most perfect cock ever made. (I do wish it had balls though … I think that’s the Bandit? But balls sometimes create distance between harness strap and my clit, which would make it harder for me to get off.) Silicone, realistic, excellent size.
  • Spartacus harness – my current favorite. Simple, versatile, comfortable. I removed one of the two straps to make it a one-strap instead (which makes it easier for me to get off).
  • Maximus lube – because my sex life is so cock-centric, and because I like to go for hours, lube is a necessity. Regardless of how wet she gets and stays, I use it, if only because then I won’t have to wonder or worry if she’s getting dryer. Maximus is thick, stays slick, comes in a pump bottle, is kind of gel-like and won’t slide around your hand while I’m getting it from the bottle to my cock.

Aside from the Hitachi (and the lube), those are toys for partner sex; so I’d also add one bonus, which would be a very hard, g-spot curved insertable, either glass or metal (Pure Wand, maybe – I’d put the Pure Wand on there in a second, except I don’t actually own one).

Why do you list fingernails as a ‘turn off’ for you?

Perhaps I should explain, so thanks for asking. I like painted fingernails, I like the classics (of course) of red and pink and French tips. I love them femme-length, as short as they can be and a little squared off. I like how it enhances someone’s hands, so delicate and feminine. The part I don’t like is if they’re long. I don’t like scratching, I can’t stand it when someone taps their nails on a desk or counter, that tick-tick-tick sound makes me cringe. Maybe it’s from being in New York City where everyone’s are fake and thick and long, or maybe it’s just too much of a straight association.

How, exactly, do you determine what makes a bathroom in a bar “fuckable”?

  • Privacy of stalls – are they ceiling-to-floor? Huge gaps under the door? Short doors that a tall person could see over?
  • Strength of walls in the stalls – are they all hinged to each other in one unit, or are they individual? Would they shake if you knocked into them?
  • Size of the stalls – are they wide enough for two people to stand comfortably side-by-side, or is it hard to walk past each other and open the door?
  • General ambiance – is it harsh bright florescent lights, or recessed lighting? Are the stalls plastic, or hardwood? Is there some particular accents of decor, or is it as plain as a public park bathroom?
  • Cleanliness – in general, how is it kept?
  • Whether or not it’s monitored – some (many) gay boy bar bathrooms have signs – “one at a time ONLY” – or people who will actually knock if you manage to slip a 2nd person past them.

Personally, I like the bathrooms that are clean, with some slightly unusual ambiance, good lighting, nice décor, wide stalls so I can navigate, privacy … but others might prefer it to be more seedy, hinges loose and grubby floors, perhaps the naughtiness of the dirty scene would be their preference.

While I’m at it, here’s three amazing bathrooms to fuck in New York City:

  1. Therapy, gay boy bar in midtown east. Hands down the best bar bathrooms I’ve ever fucked in. gay boy bar, fantastic décor, good drinks, great snacks. If you date me, I will probably fuck you here at some point. Tricky to get past the bathroom guards, but it’s possible.
  2. Song, thai restaurant in Brooklyn. Not always super clean (especially during dinner, they are very busy) but the restaurant is incredibly loud and the bathrooms are shadowy and kind of swanky.
  3. Whiskeytown, east village. Straight bar, not my favorite clientele, but fantastic drinks. Bathrooms are private with the sink outside, good lighting.

Got any other recommendations?

Have you ever entertained the possibility of breathplay? (I’m NOT talking autoasphyxia, but the choking/restraining your loved one kind of breathplay.)

Sure. I don’t have much experience with it, which is why I have never written about it in my fiction. I’ve never come across a lover who said she was interested in playing with it, and as a top it seems like the kind of thing that I wouldn’t necessarily impose on someone else, since it isn’t an act that is ‘for me’ the same way other toppy things are (fucking, cocksucking). I’ve noticed that Kristen often holds her breath while she’s about to come, though, so maybe eventually we’ll get to more breathplay between us – but she doesn’t seem into it when we’ve seen it in porn we’ve watched. So, it’s not something I would probably seek out without someone else being into it, but I’m GGG, if it came up and someone was interested I would give it a try.

Since 2003, have you ever heard anyone utter the words, “Do you…(fill in the blank)?” and not thought of Cher? If so, how is this possible?

Maybe not “Do you…”, but “Do you believe in … “ yes certainly, the only way to end that sentence is “life after love.” And, not that you asked, but yes, I do believe in life after love.

Happy 3rd Anniversary, Sugarbutch

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It was three years ago today that I started Sugarbutch Chronicles, my latest in personal online writing explorations (aka “blogs”) since 1996. Since then, I’ve written 713 posts and received 6,149 comments in 36 categories (with 1,622 tags, which are mostly for fun and not for organization). I’ve met so many amazing folks who are pursuing sexuality and queer identity through feminist, progressive lenses.

And I’ve had the best sex of my life.

Thank you, everyone, for being a part of this. For reading, for commenting, for sending emails and being supportive.

Last year on the 2nd anniversary, I reflected on some of where I’ve been and how this site started (lesbian bed death! hiss!). Instead of reiterating, I want to skip to the ask me anything portion of the anniversary celebration and say: got a question for me? Ask me anything. You can ask me anything you want, from the personal to the professional to the philosophical and anything else you can think of. I can’t claim to have expert answers on anything, but I’ll do my best, and will profess ignorance when applicable.

I probably won’t answer all the questions just purely based on time (you’d rather I was writing smut, wouldn’t you?) but I’ll answer as many as I can.

Aaaaaand … go!

All Five Senses (Part 2)

When we last left our hero, she was checking her fly in a library after a femme got off right in front of her. “That should’ve been the end of that. / But ten minutes later, picking up take-out extra-hot red curry at my favorite Thai place, I hear behind me: “Well, well.”” Catch up on Part One if you need a refresher.

I turn. It’s her. Of course it’s her. How did we end up at the same place? She’s three inches shorter than me and wearing heels. Her cheeks are flushed from the chilly weather and I notice her lipstick, remember watching her redden her mouth. Does she know I watched her? Does she know me? Did she see me that whole time?

She’s looking at me, but she can’t be. I don’t know her. I glance to my left and right and nearly do that stupid pointing to my chest and mouthing me? when she giggles a little, and takes a step toward me, outstretches her hand. “I’m Juliet.”

I clear my throat and take her hand. “Sinclair.” I try not to look flustered.

“I usually do this kind of thing in the other order, but hey, I give you points for originality,” Juliet says, eyes shining, and shimmies by me to the counter to pay for her take-out and mine, leaving me aghast. I recover a moment too slowly and say, “No, please, let me …” fumbling with my wallet, but she’s waving her hand at me dismissively and shoots me a look over her shoulder that says back the fuck off, I got this and I do.

I’d planned on taking my curry home but she carts our two trays to an empty table and sets them both down, gets up to fetch silverware, and glances at me expectantly. I can’t find my voice and sit across from her, stunned, as she folds her napkin in her lap, arranges her food, and takes a few bites.

“So what’re your books for? For fun? Or are you doing research?” She reaches for her water and shoots me a smile.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. She’s so damn articulate, and speaks quickly, boldly, which catches me off guard. I pick up my fork and mix my curry and rice on my plate – not really date food, so strong and long-lasting in the body, but – is this exactly a date? Not really. I still can’t form the words to answer her question. What was her question again? I take a bite of the red curry and it explodes in my mouth: at first it’s just hot but then the subtle layers of the curry hit my palette and I taste sweet coconut milk, basil, bay leaves. Strong and bold. My lips tingle with the heat of the spice. I take a sip of water and look up at Juliet; she’s chewing slowly, waiting for me to say something. I swallow.

“I was looking for evidence of butch/femme roles in antiquity cultures,” I start, finally comprehending what she’d asked me.

She nods, takes another bite of her curry, green, and listens as I tell the story of the play I saw a few months back, the Oedipus Cycle in full, and how it struck me that women’s roles may have varied more than represented in the typical Greek canonical texts. I’m not an antiquity scholar – at all – but I do study gender, so I got inspired to re-read some of the most famous works with an eye toward gender theory.

We chat on and on. The conversation is fantastic; a perfect combination of asking questions, answering, and listening to each other. She is new to New York and moved her to be with a girl; the move promptly broke them up. Meanwhile she’s working in a bank, she wants to go to business school, she loves Thai food, she’s 28, born and raised in Minneapolis.

She starts to tell me her femme story as I am finishing my curry. My mouth is aflame and this is the best conversation I’ve had in months, I’ve nearly forgotten what it’s like to be charmed by a pretty girl’s first date version of her life story, such a fascinating character study falls into place.

We’re done eating, but she’s still telling her femme story. It’s like a coming out story – we all have one, we all have the struggle to understand and then the eventual development and acceptance of our own sexual and gender orientations. I’m actively listening, watching her eyes dance, watching her lips and teeth, her hands as she illustrates her points with gesticulation.

She takes her lipstick out of her bag and uncaps it, twists it up and paints her mouth subtly, softly. A gesture I remember well and which stirs something in me.

I take advantage of her momentary pause in the story. I want to hear more about her life. I lean in toward her on my elbows and catch her eye, give her a hard stare. “Can I walk you home?”

She stops, considers, and puts her lipstick away. “That’d be great,” she says, holding my gaze a moment longer, then begins to gather her things. “Now? Shall we?”

I nod, stand and put on my coat, grab my satchel, clear off our plastic trays and take-out containers. Not exactly a smooth date … but the sight of those thin white cotton panties under her grey skirt keeps flashing in my mind and I want to feel her, want to fuck her, want my hands under her skirt, up her thighs, on her tits.

Her apartment, it turns out, is not far from my favorite curry place. We walk the few long blocks slowly, strolling, savoring each other’s company. She takes my elbow, submissive, but leads the way, keeping close to me with an occasional dip of her head into my neck and shoulder as she keeps telling the story of herself, sweet, so sweet, and unselfconscious.

At her stoop we’re still talking. I’m opening up a little about my gender, my history, my character. I’m in storytelling mode, all melodrama and timing, and she’s watching my face, sitting on her very New York stoop as I have one foot up on the low stair, telling her how I came to be where I’m at. Her eyes are sparkling, hands together in her lap.

We laugh. It’s one of those perfect conversations where I’m charming with awkward real moments without trying. I don’t want this date to end.

Neither does she. “Coming up?” she asks, as if we’re already lovers, standing and slowly stepping up the stairs, looking back over her shoulder as she opens her purse for keys.

I grin, and follow her in.

The moment she closes the door behind me she gives me a look that tells me exactly what I need to know: she’s done chatting. I take my jacket off and she steps next to me to take it, then tosses it onto the hallway chair and presses me swiftly against the wall, her arms next to my head.

I smile, hands reflexively going to her hips. “Oh, is that what you think.” It’s not a question. We haven’t even kissed yet. Our mouths are nearly touching. She grinds up against me, my thighs between hers, and I can tell she knows I’m packing.

“Who packs to the library?” she asks, softly, in my ear, hot breath on my neck.

I shrug, a little sheepish, exposed. “Me,” I say, and get a grip around her waist to quickly switch places with her, press her up against the wall, and lower my mouth onto hers.

The first kiss: oh it gives away so much. The way she tastes, the way she sounds when she breathes, whether she keeps her eyes open, what sounds she makes, whether she claws at me with her hands or wraps her legs around me or feather-touches my face. All the senses activated, heightened. Such sensation. Plus: the power she keeps is all revealed. Will she let me take, let me lead, let me control? Give over her strength while she begs and submits?

Juliet’s kisses are insistent, fierce, fiery. I let her lead a while and get a sense of her style, then stop her quick to push my thighs between hers and press my forearm to her breastbone against the wall. She nearly growls, lets out a low hummed breath, and allows herself to be restrained, enjoys the feeling of restriction.

“When did you know I was packing?” I say, my mouth close to hers.

“When you walked through the reference section.”

I consider the timeline: before I hit Classics. Just after I walked in. She brings her mouth to mine and lets me work through this in my mind. That means she followed me to Classics. That means she put on that little show on purpose. Does she know I saw her? Probably. I grin, amused. If she didn’t know I was there, she secretly hoped I was.

I’ll take it either way.

She watches my face as I work through this and knows she’s been found out, knows I saw her. She waits for me to get it, then a smirky little self-satisfied smile plays over her lips, like something is very funny, like the joke’s on me, and I get the strong urge to slap her, bring my palm to her cheek fast and wipe that smirk from her face, watch her gasp and look back to me wide-eyed.

I don’t. I don’t even know her, I wouldn’t want to be rude. But when I do know her, I will, and she’ll like it.

“Really.” I say, chewing my tongue and decidedly not slapping her. “So that little show you put on – ”

“Oh, you mean with the … lipstick?” She takes one of my hands in both of hers and brings my index finger to her mouth, making an O of her perfect lips and sliding it in. I feel the soft soft smoothness of her inner lips, the rough scrape of her teeth, the sweetness of her tongue, warm, damp, and then I feel her suck and my eyes roll back in my head.

I groan, audibly (dammit). Goddamn.

She smiles with my fingertip between her teeth, closes her lips, and sucks deep again. She knows now: knows how to have me if she decides she wants to. Knows I like my dick sucked, I’m that kind of guy, knows she can make me weak and take me down with the sweet spot on her tongue.

I can’t really take it; I grab her hair. Hard, harder than I mean to but she’s got me all worked up already, and I bring my mouth to hers, forceful, and her lips are so supple, sweet, mouth in that tiny O, she lets out the softest muffled gasp and melts a little against the wall, against me.

Femmethology Reading on Wednesday in NYC

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Come join us at the book release party in NYC!

Visible: A Femmethology
New York City Release!
April 29th, 7pm
Bluestockings, 172 Allen St. in the Lower East Side

Featuring contributors: Ryn Hodes, Sinclair Sexsmith, Sassafras Lowrey, Cameron Whitley, Leslie Freeman, J.C. Yu, Hadassah Hill, & Miel Rose

Visible: A Femmethology is a two-volume anthology edited by Jennifer Clare Burke and published by Homofactus Press of personal essays from over fifty contributors who explore what it means to be a queer femme. Award winning authors, spoken-word artists, and totally new voices come together to challenge conventional ideas of how disability, class, nationality, race, aesthetics, sexual orientation, gender identity, and body type intersect with each contributor’s concrete notion of femmedom.

Not in New York City? Check the Femmethology events page to see if there’s a release party in your area. They’ll be in Vermont, Vancouver BC, Atlanta, & more!

For every girl, there is a boy …

I don’t remember why, but at some point this weekend I thought, “I should find that Gender Subversion poster and put it on Sugarbutch.” Probably to talk about the difference between gender and personality, which I’ve been kicking around in my head lately (i.e., well: they are not the same).

And then, while catching up on my reader today, there it was, on Fourth Wave Feminism.

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Buy this poster on Crimeth Inc. & support their wonderful work.

Happy Anniversary, Tristan! (and butt plug review)

As of 2/8/16 This product is no longer available at Babeland

Really, this is a review of the Tristan butt plug for one of my favorite sex toy stores, but it’s also a shout-out to Tristan Taormino, who designed said butt plug, in celebration of her tenth anniversary in the biz. Babeland’s running a special sale on some of her goodies – get ’em while they’re cheap!

Tristan Taormino is the acclaimed female director of sex-positive adult DVDs, award-winning author of how-to sex books, editrix of erotica, and designer of her own butt plug. To celebrate her 10th anniversary in the biz, we are introducing her new Anniversary Edition Plug (solo or in a Combo), plus her Expert Guide DVDs are on sale for 15% off.

tristan_packs_a_punchI’ve known about Tristan’s work for a long time. Even before I was out, I scoured the Best Lesbian Erotica series (I read 1998’s so many times that it practically crumbled in my hand and I had to replace it) and pored over her Village Voice sex advice column, Pucker Up (if you missed it, pick up her book True Lust which is a compilation of some of her best). I’ve had the privilege of working with Tristan in a rather minor way, as I’ve been published in three different Best Lesbian Erotica books that she has edited, and I’ve had the chance to chat with her (briefly!) at release readings. I’ve been so excited to have even a small part in the BLE books – to help contribute to the same series that helped me mold and shape my lesbian identity feels like coming full circle, which is such an honor and humbling.

Lately, though, Taormino has not just been writing – she’s been directing porn, too. Mainstream porn, one would probably call it, as it features some well-known porn stars and most of the content is straight. While I do wish more queers were making good queer porn, I’m also glad that there’s straight porn being made by queer folks – maybe some of our radical sexualities can seep in when they least expect it, muahahaha.

I have a copy of her Expert Guide to Cunnilingus, but I’ll be honest, I’ve never watched it. Anybody out there seen it? Maybe I should dust it off and see how it is.

Have you seen any of the Chemistry series of DVDs that Taormino has done? I’ve seen a few – I don’t usually care for straight porn, but I really did enjoy watching the interviews with the porn stars (no really!) about their experience in the industry. Honestly, it was Roxy in Chemistry 3 that sold me – I even looked up some of her other work after seeing her in this one, she was just so damn hot and cute.

And I have yet to see a better blowjob scene than the one in the beginning of Chemistry 3 with Derrick. I mean, yes, Dylan Ryan is quite impressive, don’t get me wrong, and a queer femme with a butch cock in her mouth wins, hands down – but, wow. Roxy, and her tongue. Wow.

But wait – this isn’t about blow jobs. This is about butt sex! Tristan used to be referred to constantly as the “anal queen,” ’cause she was all about the ass. I remember her saying something like, I know my asshole so well, I can shave it perfectly smooth without a mirror. Now that’s impressive.

tt-anniversaryI like ass-sex as much as the next guy, but honestly I don’t have as much experience with it as I do with other things (fingers, dick, mouth, fist). Nevertheless, I’ve always wanted to get my hands on the custom-designed butt-plug that Tristan created a few years back. It’s been on various sex toy wishlists of mine for literally years now.

And for this Tristan Taormino anniversary sale, Babeland’s got a special Anniversary Edition of the plug.

But wait! What could they possibly do to improve the famous Tristan butt plug? … Make it bigger, of course! The first edition of the plug is 3 1/4″ x 1 1/2″, and the Anniversary Edition is 3″ x 1-3/4″. Just a little more squat and stout, perfect.

The Tristan butt plug is uniquely designed with two things, in my opinion: one, the insertable part is kind of long, but more bulbous than most butt plugs, which means it stays in place better; and two, the base is narrow and rectangular, which means it kind of fits between your ass-cheeks easier. Brilliant!

To be totally honest, I haven’t used it yet. It’s a little … gulp … large. But I’ll be sure to report back when I do.

It is 100% high-quality silicone, which means it can be easily boiled. I know you’re dying to get your ass around one of these; high-tail to Babeland and pick it up – there’s even a special Anniversary Plug & Expert Guide Combo. Seriously, all of Tristan’s stuff is on sale – there’s got to be something in there that would be a great addition to your own collection.

Bet you didn’t even know that this woman is your hot queer sex mentor, but she is.

Sublimation

It was the build-up and release from this weekend that has stuck with me well into today’s Monday afternoon.

The way we rock together, slow and sweet, the way the friction between us builds and rises like waves, then cresting and crashing, leaving a perfectly smooth beach full of tiny worlds in its wake.

How I can feel it swell palpably between us. Sometimes it is something I can touch so easily that I feel I can cradle it in my hand, mold it into something new.

And it builds. Oh god it builds. Clinging to each other and we both start holding our breath, crying out, at the same moment, precise sounds from our throats in ecstacy and pleasure, pushing all the way to the edges of our bodies, into each other’s.

Two moments:

The quiet build before she began thrashing under me, arms spread wide like wings, grasping at the edges of the bed, mouth open throat open chest open, until her back curled and she cried ohhh god with such purity that I still feel her syllables reverberating in my chest every time I think of it.

And then coming. Inside her, again on top. (I could have her any way I want and that’s what I want: her legs wrapped around my waist, my hands gripping her shoulders, so close to her, so I can feel her mouth.) I loose track of how many times she’s come, can feel myself getting close and shift positions. She can tell I’m close when I start moving my hips like this, faster I think, maybe more shallow but still intense, precise. I’m still not exactly sure what I do to make it happen, but it’s starting to get easier. Every weekend now, though not every day. Challenging when I can start to tell that she’s paying attention and thinks I’m close, I get self-conscious, but when I can tell what she’s feeling and how much she likes what I’m doing and that she’s lost in it all, I can let go too, and that’s what happened on Saturday, she started coming, again, crying out, oh I love the way she sounds, and it was enough, just enough, just what I needed to tip me over the edge and I felt it hit my clit, shake through my pelvis in waves, tumbling through me, through both of us, each time I slid in again, and again, she felt it too, I could feel the pulse of it between us, pure energy, unblocked and unhindered, just flowing, sweeping, rippling, with uninterrupted ease.

What do you call your butch?

Specifically, when she’s a top, what do you call her in bed? Sir? Daddy? Master? Boi? If she’s a bottom, what do you call her?

What do you call your butch in more casual flirtation? Slick? Handsome? Cowboy?

If you are butch: what do you like to be called? What greeting makes your knees weak, or makes you feel like king of the world?

I’m sure there are others, but these spring to mind. There are so many cute pet names for a romantic partner, but when playing intentionally with gender in a relationship, sometimes “baby” or “honey” or “sweetie” or “darling” are too feminine.

So: how do you address someone masculine in a pet-name kind of way? And why?

Sugasm #163: Dirty talk is in the top three!

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks

More Sugasm | Join the Sugasm | See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

My favorites of the week:

Holding Back

I’m restraining myself. Holding back. In so many ways that feel so unnatural, like stopping an object already in motion, changing trajectories when the path is already clearly cut in front of me.

A runner in a crouch waiting for the gun to go off.

A horse behind the racetrack doors, hoofing at the ground.

Even my friends are commenting on it lately. “You’re really restraining yourself here, aren’tcha,” my buddy from Seattle commented last week. He’s not used to seeing the emotions so heavy in me without the extensive expression.

“She’s just … I have such … I think I …” I swallowed, started again. Can’t finish those sentences. “Ilikeherlots.”

He laughed. “I can tell!”

It’s hard, I continued. Scary. Frightening when my body remembers what happened last time these emotions ran through me, what happened the last time I thought I could be with someone, last time I saw the future stretch out in front of me, paths parallel and touching and intertwining. I know how that ends. My brain knows that is still possible and wants it to be possible and aches for it to be possible and pretends like I can operate from a place where I still believe that is possible, but my body stops me cold. No, no, danger, danger. Don’t feel this, don’t like it, don’t fall, don’t.

Especially when my instinct is my chest broken open, heart wide and deep wine red, bursting, fingers spread wide, arms spread wide, head thrown back and laughing, five-points spread, everything aligned.

But part of me thinks, I know better now. I can’t do that, yet.

So instead I say, “I’m holding back. I can feel myself holding back.”

Kristen wrote to me yesterday: “The thought occurred to me that you might not be able to open up to the extent that you want to with me, that I might have to be “heart practice” or something, but that you wouldn’t ever get all the way there.”

But that’s not it. I know I can open up how I want to. I’ve done it before and it feels like my natural instinct here, like I am fighting against it constantly. I can do it. It’s just not time yet for me to unleash what I know I’m capable of, the full expression of the feelings I am already feeling.

I looked yesterday, I have ten emails to her in my drafts folder, from heartsore ramblings about missing her to links that I think she should read to poems I haven’t finished to lists of what I want to do to her. Instead, all I say is, “I’m holding back.”

But what that means is this: desire. I can’t say I want to hold your heart on my tongue, poised, sweet and succulent, so I say I’m holding back. I can’t say I am catching the first train to your house right after work and I know I’ll have to turn right around and go back home in order to get any actual sleep tonight but I have to, I have to, see you, even just for a few minutes, to see the light behind the blue of your eyes and smell your skin and taste your mouth, so I say I’m holding back. I can’t say I’m ready, I can hold you, bring it on, so I say I’m holding back.

But I aim for that expression of these feelings. And every week, every month that goes by [we just passed the four months on the 13th, officially the longest since], every weekend of deeper exploration of each other, I get closer. There is a softening around my heart. There is more confidence in my own space, more healing of the old wounds still weaving and seeping.

I can’t not hold back right now. But I’m also moving forward with lightning speed, thick walls cracking and falling into rubble, shaking sometimes with fear but looking it all right in the face, eyes wide open, wide open.

Review: Barcelona Sex Project (DVD)

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The fabulous Blowfish has just released the Barcelona Sex Project, a documentary-style porn which interviews subjects about their lives, their interests, their sexualities, their turn-ons and turn-offs, before filming them (beautifully, in fact) while they masturbate.

Kristen & I watched it a few weeks ago, after the DVD arrived, and I have to say, I was not so impressed. We fast-forwarded through the last few because we lost interest. It is beautifully filmed, and a really interesting idea that gives the viewer much more of an intimate experience with the visual erotic images of this person getting off than most porn does, which is new and interesting. Yet … I guess my main complaint is the lack of diversity represented. ALL five of the people in the film – the guys and the girls – are completely clean-shaven, for example. Everyone is very “ideal” in terms of body size – pretty slim and fairly muscular. There wasn’t much a range of gender representation, either – the girls were girly, the boys were masculine.

I do admit that I fast-forwaded the end, though, so perhaps there was some content that I missed, more queerness or genderqueerness that I didn’t catch because I got a little bored. So maybe there’s more on here than I realize.

It’s beautifully filmed, I do have to say that. The interviews are interesting, the cinematography is sparse and quite beautiful. I like the way the masturbation scenes were filmed, mostly with very minimalist props or furniture, which was visually interesting – and at times stunning. The girls did use some vibrators, but I didn’t see any actual dildos or much kinky stuff. But hey, what about a range of age? Everyone was so young. What about a range of race or ethnicity?

This brings up the question for me, though, which I think about in terms of Sugarbutch a lot – what responsibility do artists have to represent many experiences or a wide range of diversity? I know I have a fairly slim representation of girls on my site, for example, partly because I know what I’m attracted to and I tend to write about my experiences with those girls (who are femme, duh, and bottoms, duh again, and tend to be smaller than I am). I explain that by saying that this is a personal project – so maybe I should look at Barcelona Sex Project the same way? As a personal representation of what the filmmaker would like to see, and not necessarily as a representation of all of Barcelona or all sexualities and genders or all folks who are into sex. Of course, it couldn’t really be a representation of all of those things, there is way too much inside of sexuality & gender to fully represent anything.

Maybe diverse representation of human bodies and sexualities is not a realistic expectation for a DVD … folks like Pink & White do it, but they also have dozens of clips and dozens of models and actors involved in their work, which makes it easier than working with only six.

Interesting things to think about, I suppose. Regardless, it’s quite unlikely that I’ll be watching this again, and I wouldn’t really put it on for jack-off material or in the background to set a mood. Still, it’s beautifully done, and a new interesting concept which combines a lot of intimacy and destigmitization with erotica/porn and masturbation, which I’d like to see more of in general. Perhaps that makes it worth checking out.

erika-lust
Swiped this image from Urban Junkies Barcelona (thanks!)

About the Barcelona Sex Project, new from Blowfish Video:

Barcelona Sex Project is a smart, funny documentary about half a dozen sexy twenty- and thirty-somethings living in Barcelona, Spain. Director Erika Lust is adept at drawing them out, getting them to tell their life stories (including cross-continental moves, divorces, sexual fantasies fulfilled, career dreams and career realities, etc.). While there’s a fair bit of talk about sex, the emphasis isn’t exclusively erotic… until the sex scenes, of course. These are people you’ve gotten to know through their interviews, making it that much more real when they strip off their clothing and masturbate. There are three men and three women, all of them quite beautiful and relaxed when it comes to self-pleasure for your viewing pleasure. Cute, pierced, and tattooed, 20-year-old Silvia is adorable in stripey stockings and oversized headphones, while Brazilian transplant Dunia has a delectable dark and luscious body, and geek-girl Irina enjoys herself with a toy. The boys are all buff, smiling, and well-hung. Stripper Joel is the most theatrical, stroking himself before a full-length mirror and finishing with a cumshot on his own reflection, while the unselfconscious Joni has a sweet session and finishes by spurting on his own belly. It’s a masturbation video with a twist, providing a fascinating look into the psyches of the subjects before you get a look at their more physically intimate moments. Nominated for the 2009 Feminist Porn Awards.

Trailer: QuickTime formatWindows Media Player format. (2008, 112 min.)

Also check out Barcelona Sex Project.com for more information, clips, and photos from the film.

Virgin Night in New York City – this Thursday

A little reminder that I’ll be reading this Thursday in New York City! Come on out – no cover, free cupcakes, giveaways, and lots of literary smut. It’s going to be a good time.

itf

IN THE FLESH EROTIC READING SERIES
VIRGIN NIGHT
April 16th at 8 PM
AT HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE, 302 BROOME STREET, NYC
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey or F/V to 2nd Avenue, http://www.happyendinglounge.com)
Admission: Free
Happy Ending Lounge: 212-334-9676
http://inthefleshreadingseries.blogspot.com

In The Flesh is proud to present its second annual Virgin Night, featuring new authors and first-time readers. Texan Jenny Block reads from Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blogger and co-author of Beyond Heaving Bosoms Sarah Wendell shares the sexy side of romance, memoirist (I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed) and ex-Jehovah’s Witness Kyria Abrahams talks about losing her virginity, Jehovah’s Witness style, while Nerve.com Scanner blogger Emily Farris delivers a sex story and erotic romance novelist (Stranger, Dirty) Megan Hart reads her steamy prose, along with Gideon Levy of Kinky Jews and Sugarbutch Chronicles blogger Sinclair Sexsmith, and first-time reader Nicolette Dixon. Books will be available for sale by Mobile Libris. Hosted and curated by Rachel Kramer Bussel (The Mile High Club, Do Not Disturb, Spanked). Free candy and cupcakes will be served.

Review: Pearl Cuffs

cuffsAs of 2/8/16 This product is no longer available at Babeland

Kind of like the bow restraints, the pearl cuffs are pretty light bondage restraints from one of my favorite sex toy stores. Unlike the bow restraints, however, the Pearl Cuffs are almost purely decorative – don’t expect to be able to do much bondage with ’em.

Kristen & I spotted these when visiting our local Brooklyn Babeland a month or more ago. We were both pretty skeptical about the quality – not that they aren’t nicely made, but whether they could really withstand any sort of real bondage play. I mean there’s a reason why bondage enthusiasts use really nice rope, ya know? So I jumped at the chance to take a look at them closer, and see how well they hold up.

I wanted to like them, I was excited about their arrival and have been pushing Kristen a little to wear them out as jewelry. We haven’t quite gone to one of those parties lately, where a pair of pearl bondage handcuffs as jewelry would be appropriate, so we’ve pulled them out in my bedroom.

The first time I opened them up to put them on her, the clasp of one of them broke in my hand. We weren’t pulling on them, I wasn’t dragging her around by them, I just opened the clasp to put them on her and it broke.

Drat.

“Maybe it’s a fluke,” I said, hopeful. “I’ll see if we can get replacements so we can really try them.” Sometimes clasps just break! Regardless of the quality of the item!

And I did (because Babeland rules).

Kristen was skeptical, but wanted to like them, too. The replacements showed up and this time we got to rough-and-tumble around a bit with them on her wrists. They’re pretty: delicate and feminine, which I liked quite a bit. A lovely visual to add.

But after not very long, oh, ten minutes or something, we twisted and turned and were getting into it such that pop, the chain on one of the cuffs broke. The actual little circle got pulled too far and unlinked. It was easy enough to fix by re-bending the link to be closed … but I think we both gave up on the cuffs about then.

“They can still be jewelry!” I said, trying to still justify how these cuffs are awesome.

“Yeah, I suppose.” I think she’s over them.

So … the moral of my review here is, if you like these as jewelry, then I say hey, go for it. They’re hot and fun and I can see an evening of watching someone squirm to drink a cocktail with her wrists cuffed together as very hot. But if you want to actually restrain someone, or throw them around when bound, these won’t hold up against much at all.

babeland_easter

Birthday calendar giveaway!


Perhaps you remember that I was Mr. August in the New York City Sexbloggers 2009 Calendar which came out last year. Indeed there is some incriminating evidence of me spanking a particular lusty lady in order to get a perfectly pink handprint on her ass. I was packing. I wore black & white wingtips. All the pinups looked incredibly hot, the heels … oh, the heels at that photoshoot, gah. Amazing.

 
Outtakes of me from the photoshoot by Stacie Joy

Have I tempted you enough with the Calendar yet? You want to win it, right? Well, for my birthday, the producer of the calendar, Tess, is letting me give away some calendars, just for fun. But don’t worry – if you don’t win, you can always mosey on over to http://sexbloggercalendar.wordpress.com and  buy yourself a calendar – all the proceeds go to Sex Work Awareness, which is having its first day-long seminar Speak Up! Media Skills for the Empowered Sex Worker in New York City this month.

But! If you’d like to win one of my fancy-schmancy [meaning: signed with the famous silver pen] birthday calendars, leave a comment in this thread. It can be anything – I’ll choose the winners at random – but if you’d like to leave me a blessing for my 30s, put in a request for some sort of hot dirty kinky queer sex act that you’ve never seen me write about, or tell me your favorite birthday song (I’m partial to the John McCutcheon one myself), that would be lovely. Fuck it, there have been waaaay too many birthday wishes posts already here – just leave your name & email address at the beep. Mmkay? Merci!


Photo taken by Norman Blake at the calendar release party

And thank you, for all the birthday wishes so far. There are many more fabulous shoe photos in the queue to be published this week – it’s not too late to send one in, if you feel so inspired.

What happened in March 2009

Sex! Oh boy oh boy oh girl oh god ohhhh …

Gender

Personal

Reviews

Some more miscellany …

Birthday Illustrocity

Illustrocity surprised me this morning with a beautiful birthday coloring page, complete with sexy sexy shoes.

birthday

Seriously. You can print that out, AND COLOR IT.

I also really love her coloring pages with a strapon & blow job, and with a strawberry martini & beautiful tattooed girl. Dayum. I think I’ll be printing a few of these out to take to my small gathering of dinner & drinks tonight! This is going to be FUN.

Thank you Rocket!

Virgin Night at In the Flesh: April 16th, NYC

I’m reading at In The Flesh on April 16th – if you’re in New York, come on out & say hello! Details below.

There will be giveaways of the game Sexy Slang (formerly PervArtistry) and cupcakes by Baked by Melissa.

IN THE FLESH EROTIC READING SERIES
April 16th at 7:30 PM
AT HAPPY ENDING LOUNGE, 302 BROOME STREET, NYC
(B/D to Grand, J/M/Z to Bowery, F to Delancey or F/V to 2nd Avenue,
http://www.happyendinglounge.com)
Admission: Free
Happy Ending Lounge: 212-334-9676
http://inthefleshreadingseries.blogspot.com

In The Flesh is proud to present its second annual Virgin Night, featuring new authors and first-time readers. Texan Jenny Block reads from Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blogger and co-author of Beyond Heaving Bosoms Sarah Wendell shares the sexy side of romance, memoirist (I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed) and ex-Jehovah’s Witness Kyria Abrahams talks about losing her virginity, Jehovah’s Witness style, while Nerve.com Scanner blogger Emily Farris delivers a sex story and erotic romance novelist (Stranger, Dirty) Megan Hart reads her steamy prose, along with Gideon Levy of Kinky Jews and Sugarbutch Chronicles blogger Sinclair Sexsmith, and first-time reader Nicolette Dixon. Hosted and curated by Rachel Kramer Bussel (The Mile High Club, Do Not Disturb, Spanked). Free candy and cupcakes will be served.

Soon-to-be Tricenarian

Tomorrow, April 3rd, is my 30th birthday.

And I gotta say, I am WAY ready for it. Buh-bye to my ridiculously hard finding-myself 20s. My self is FOUND, okay? I know where I’m at, and I am really excited to be here.

So: gosh, what am I going to do for my this fabulous dirty thirty birthday?

cover_sm

Well, to start, I’m going to give away a few New York City Sexblogger 2009 Calendars. Even though Dacia’s got April (her birthday month too), I’m Mr. August (that would be the hottest month, y’all), and though calendars only have a short shelf-life in bookstores, it’ll be good for another 8 months. Tune in tomorrow for more details on how to win one.


Second …

Remember what I did last year? I requested photos of fabulous shoes (you know the kind: strappy sandals that lace up the ankle), as birthday cards. So: if you feel so inspired, sometime in the near future, send me a photo – or post it on your blog – of some fabulous shoes and a little birthday wish. Let me know about it (email me [aspiringstud at gmail.com] or comment) so I can take a look. I’ll feature my favorites here on this site.

I had dreams of throwing a big birthday bash, but I’m putting that off until later this year. I also had dreams of getting 30 blowjobs for my 30th birthday … I’m still thinking about that one.

Femmethology Giveaway …. Winner!

Aaaaand the envelope please:

The winner is …. Miss Ida! Comment #3.

Congrats! You’ll receive a signed copy of Visible: A Femmethology Volume Two, which includes my essay Love Letter to Femmes, as well as another book of your choice. What’ll it be, hmmm? Visible: A Femmethology Volume One? Best Lesbian Erotica 2009? Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage (The Fetish Chest)?

Let us know!

My slutty little girl.

Or, how her dirty talk got me off. Twice.

In my bedroom. We both knew we only had a few hours until she would leave, back to her city, an hour and a half drive away.

I didn’t waste time. Pulled her by her hair toward me and thrust my tongue in her mouth. Moved her around, hands hard and thick on her torso. Pressed against me. She feels good in my arms.

I stripped her and left my office clothes on, for now. I was already hard packing (not with Silky but with Rick, I broke my Silky again), and hard, and wanted to fuck.

I pushed her back on the bed easily. Kneed her legs apart and pressed my cock up against her, bare, through my slacks. Kissed her, hard, felt her body under me.

I pulled back after a minute and lifted myself up. “Take my dick out,” I ordered softly.

She did. Unbuckled, unzipped, palmed it in her hand, let out a low satisfied hum of pleasure when she touched it. I tightened my harness, lowered myself back on top of her, kissed her neck. “I want to fuck your mouth.”

She arched in response, but whispered, “But I want you to fuck me.”

I almost laughed. Her desire handed to me on a silver platter, I took it gratefully. “No.”

“Please, baby, I need it, I want you to fuck my pussy.”

I do like the way she begs. I nearly acquiesced, but said “no” again, pulled back to shift to my knees on the bed. Took her hair in my fist as she bent in front of me. “Do it real pretty, and I’ll fuck you.”

She lowered her lips to my cock and kissed. Swallowed. Lapped with her tongue, ran it along her lips. I didn’t stop with the talking. “Baby, you suck it so good. That’s so pretty in your mouth, suck it deeper, yeah that’s it, good girl.”

I pulled her up to kiss me a few times, mostly so I could feel how her lips and tongue get swollen and wet when she sucks me off, and so I can have that moment of thrusting her head back down to my cock, pushing on the back of her skull.

She started taking it deeper, deep as she could, nearly the whole thing, kept it there while her throat contracted around it and she fought her gag reflex, then pulled up and kneeled.

“Do it again,” I said, and she looked up at me, mouth open tongue thick, and lowered her mouth back down, sucking me all the way again. “Deeper. Good girl. Take that cock in your throat. Swallow it. Good, that’s so good.”

And again she came up for air.

“Do that one more time,” I said, caressing the back of her head, “and I’ll fuck you.”

She quivered a little, I could see it ripple through her back, and then she did: brought her mouth down on my cock once more, took it deeper this time, pretty, so pretty, so far back in her throat.

When she started to resist I pulled her up by her hair, shifted next to her, put my hands on her hips and turned her over to her back, slid between her legs again.

She was so wet I barely needed lube. “Oh, you liked that, huh.”

“Yes.”

“You like my cock in your mouth.” My hand on it, putting it in place.

“Yes.”

“You like to suck it. You like when I fuck your pretty mouth.” I guided it in, hard, and started fucking her sweet but steady, deep. She moaned. Tried to say “yes” but it came out in a slur.

“I like it too. I like my cock in your mouth, I like how you suck it. You get me so hard, I just have to fuck you.” I continued, cock thrusting in and out as I took her wrists in one hand, held her down, kissed her jaw and neck. “I like it in your pussy too.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, put it in my pussy. Fuck my pussy hard.” She shifted her hips up and back and I thrust an inch deeper, reached around her thigh to get a nice grip on her ass.

Somehow, she was set off and kept a steady stream of words at my ear, every time I thrust harder into her I’d get a nice reward of her lovely voice saying dirty things: oh yeah baby just like that, fuck me hard, you know how I like it, you know how I love your big dick in my pussy, put it in me, harder baby, fuck me, fuck me hard, and when she gets closer it becomes ooh baby you fuck me so good, you fuck me so good, baby that feels so good, so good, you fuck me so good, baby, baby –

And somewhere in there I lost it. Blurted “I’m gonna come” as it started happening. Groaning, harness against clit, thrusting my cock deep in her; I don’t even know what I do exactly when I come like that because I’m so unpracticed at it that my body goes and releases and moves and I’m not sure what I’m doing.

She wrapped her arms and legs around me, held me close as my breathing evened and my pulse calmed.

A Love Letter to Femmes

Maria See put the original call out for the Femmethology literally years ago, and ever since I first saw it I knew I wanted to contribute something to this unique anthology on femme identity. But what? I didn’t feel like I could necessarily speak from a place of authority on What Femme Is, there are hundreds – thousands! – of versions of femme, and no matter what I know about femme or how many femmes I’ve interacted with, I am an observer, a witness of femme, I don’t feel like I create it myself.

So what would I write?

I wrote a few pieces, brainstormed, but nothing I really loved. Nothing really got to the heart of what I was trying to say, which was … what? I wasn’t sure.

But it hit me on the very last day the editors were accepting submissions, and I sat down and wrote this Love Letter in one long sentence, and spent the rest of the day editing and polishing. I’m not going to reproduce the text here (you’ll have to buy the book for that) but I will present you, here, with a recording of me reading the love letter that appears in Visible: A Femmethology Volume Two.

Hope you enjoy it.

Download the mp3 here if you’d like to keep it.

Thanks very much to Audacia Ray for recording and producing this mp3!

In case you missed it, see more information about the Femmethology here.