Okay, on a lighter note?

I didn’t mention it two weeks ago, when Penny and I had our last date, but we broke my cock that day. My infamous Silky/Mr. Bendy (named differently depending on where you buy it), my very favorite cock - because you can pack with it, and play with it, and it actually works - unfortunately, that’s incredibly rare in the world of cocks.

This was the blue one that Penny broke - uh, I mean, that Penny and I broke, together - and it’s the third one I’ve broken. (Remember broken, breaking? That was the second. The first time I broke it, with Callie, I wrote that up, too, but I can’t find the link.)

Unfortunately, that’s just one of the things about Silky’s reality - it doesn’t last.

So, Eden has a blue or a purple version of Silky, and Babeland has pink or black - but I’ve never actually seen the black one in stock. I’ve ordered it before, only to be sent the pink one. I started thinking it was the unicorn of cocks, a myth, an urban cock legend.

But? It’s in stock. And the one I reordered as a replacement came tonight. Man, they sure all nice all new and hard, spine all bendy and supple. Mmm, this weekend’s date with Penny is going to be fabulous.

If you want a black one, order it now - who knows how long it’ll stick around!

While we’re on the subject of things you should order while they’re in stock, take note of Bear Bergman’s book Butch is a Noun, published by the fantastic Suspect Thoughts - it’s gone into a second printing after being out of stock for a long time. I’ve got plenty to say about this book, I’m very fond of it - remember the video of Bear reading the opening chapter a few months ago? Snag a copy while you can.

I put an earring in my left ear over the weekend, a simple stainless steel hoop that goes through two of the four holes I have had in that ear since I was 14 - an orbital. I used to want a transverse lobe piercing, because it is unusual and because of the potential to make a sphere out of two rings, I used to find that image beautiful. But I’m liking the orbital. More subtle than anything hanging down below my earlobe.

I haven’t had earrings in my ears for years, since before that red tie photograph. I occasionally stick a post through the holes just out of curiosity, to see if they’re still open, and they always are. I usually don’t leave an earring in though, and now, two days later, I’ve got that dull ache of flesh being forced out of its natural state of being, but instead forced open, forced apart. Difficult to sleep on my left side (as I often do) or cradle a phone on my left shoulder (which I also often do).

I like the awareness that a new piercing brings to a body part. How conscious I am of the way my earlobe feels when I’m doing anything, getting dressed, slinging my bag over my shoulder, listening to headphones.

Last night I dreamed of kissing, shoulder and clavicle and neck and jawline, eventually slipping her earlobe between my lips, feeling my tongue meet it, hot and smooth.

Having this ring in my ear is making me crave another new piercing. I have eleven, all together, though only three - four, now - have jewelry in them. I remember saying at some point that I no longer wanted adornment piercings, only functional piercings.

I’ve wanted a clit piercing for years. Always thought I’d get a vertical hood piercing, and still might - lately, considering the primary way I get off these days is strapped on, clit-against-harness, a piercing might be great for that kind of thing. (Might also make strap-on sex incredibly painful for a while, so that’s a hesitation.) I’ve also liked the idea of a triangle … that is more and more appealing. Not sure I have the anatomy for it exactly, and I hear there are hard to do, and must be done by someone particularly skilled. The story is that Elaine Angel (Buck Angel’s partner, I believe) is a master at triangles, and no longer practices in the US but does recommend a few of her apprentices. Perhaps I’ll make a trip to Philadelphia this summer.

What I’d really like, right now, actually, is to get my cock pierced.

I’ve been thinking about that for a while, but haven’t found someone to do it yet. No, that’s not true - I haven’t really done the research, and I haven’t asked around. I must know a few kinky folks who have piercing kits, and I think I’d trust them to do one of my cocks - what I’d really love to do is pierce my favorite Silky packing cock, but the flesh of it is actually quite thin and splits easily, I fear once it gets punctured it would just rip open and the cock would be ruined. It’s not silicone, but I’m not sure about it either. Perhaps the same thing would happen?

Possibly, then, I should pierce one of my non-playing packing cocks, which would mean that it is much more for adornment than function. That’d be alright, to start with anyway, until I figured out how to pierce one with which I could actually play.

Happy birthday, Belle! 

 I finally dug up this part three of “The Last Time I Saw Belle” posts (that should really be called “The Last Time I Fucked Belle,” as I’ve seen her a few times since then) that I was working on back in December. See part one, where I watch her get tattooed and get hard watching her in pain, and part two, where she unbuckles my belt and jeans with her mouth before blowing me, if you want to refresh your memory of what happened.

“Fuck me,” she gasped into my ear, on her back, legs open, my fingers already slid inside her panties and jeans, still on. “I want your cock.”

I lifted myself to my knees, laying between her legs, and gripped my cock, stroked it a little. “Do you have a condom?”

“Uh … ” her face was apologetic.

“Really?!” I swore I’d leave one in my wallet for moments like this. Dykes do not always remember we should use them with our toys - and I always use one with my (now infamous) favorite packing cock (it’s porous, so not sterilizable).

We laughed. I slid off the bed and began to locate my sweater and polo shirt, now scattered. “I’ll go to the bodega.”

“No, no. My neighbor’s still around, I bet he has some.”

“Uh, what?” He so saw me come into her apartment with her. Would he know why we needed it? That was a little too … exposing.

“He’s grateful we shared the wine with him. He’ll have some.”

“C’mon, no way. I’ll go get some.”

She gave me a coy look. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“Look, I’m already dressed,” I said, picking up one boot after sliding my swater on.

She was still topless and smirked at me. “Maybe. But I’m faster.” She zipped her jeans and darted for the door, arms folded over her large round breasts, hands over her nipples. I was too surprised to stop her.

Laughing, topless, still holding her hands over her nipples, she came back in a minute later, and tossed one wrapped NYC condom to me.

“You’re amazing,” I said, ripping it open, laughing, embarrassed, surprised at her ability to go after what she wants so boldly. “… But we may need more than one.”

I unzipped again and pulled out my cock, slid the condom on easily. It felt swollen and thick. She’d gone out there topless for this. Made me want to take her out into the courtyard of her apartment building and fuck her, hard, make her come long and loud, make her scream fuck me, fuck me, and hear her say please in that delicious begging voice she gets when she is hot and frustrated. A whine, but not annoyingly so. A plea. So soft and vulnerable. It thrums against something deep in my pelvis, something hard, that wants to go into that same voice that says please and make her sob.

I tore off her jeans, a little rougher than I’d meant to, and she slid her thighs around my waist.

We fucked until we were sweaty, sticky in places, nude, panting on her bed, both of us laying back, looking up at the ceiling, catching our breath.

She turned onto her knees and began backing off the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, low-voiced.

“You’re going to fuck me, bent over like this,” she answered, hips swaying a little, toes on the ground, arms out in front of her, bent over the bed.

I groaned, slid off the bed, and took hold of her hips, slid my fingers hard inside her. The condom was spent, hung limp from my cock. I fingered her hard, pressed my way inside her, made her come once but didn’t let up, twice, three times, before letting her collapse on the bed.

And that was the last time I fucked Belle.

1. interchangeable O-rings,
2. thin harness straps that hit my clit, and 
3. g-string style, also so it hits my clit

I love how small it is, it’s easy to conceal and comfortable under clothing, and it’s nylon so it washes so easily. Plus? It’s only $16.

Have you used this harness, or one similar? What’s your favorite harness style, & why? Leave a comment here or, better yet, over at the Eden review.

My other reviews for Eden:

• Mia-Z harness
• Hottie Xtra - a huuuuge cock
• Silky - my very favorite pack-and-play cock
• Unwrapping the Present - a short smut story about the combination of a hot new cock and some sexy lingerie

I’ll entice you with the one key little detail here, then you should head on over to Eden Fantasys and read my full review.

Here’s the thing about this harness. It’s gorgeous & comfortable, and you can strap a cock on, la la la, just like you usually would, but then … then? The way the front leather triangle is built, you can add a second cock that will slip right inside the harness wearer (assuming the wearer is female bodied).

It’s like an instant double, with any of the two cocks you choose.

I discount my own penetration pretty easily … but this reminded me how different orgasms are when my own cunt has something to grip.

Take a look at more photos, specs, and my full review …

Speaking of really big cocks (we were, weren’t we?) - this just shipped for me to review:

Uh.Wow.

Eden says it is 5 1/4″ long, and 6 3/4″ around. Um … that means it is thicker around than it is long.

I’m not even sure it’ll fit in my harness. Do I have an O-ring big enough? Can I weild this thing, wearing it? Will I have any idea how to use it, how to fuck someone else with it? And … secretly, I want to know, can I take it?

I’m incredibly interested, and shuddering at the same time.

I guess I’ll find out.

My very first sex toy review is up Eden Fantasys (whose name makes me want to get out my red English Major pen and correctly pluralize the noun), and what other toy to start with than my beloved packing cock.Apparently, though Babeland calls it Mr. Bendy, it is actually known by the manufacturer as Silky, and comes in blue and purple as well as pink (which is the only color I’ve ever seen at Babeland).

I really do love this cock - and, while I am absolutely man enough for pink, I am quite excited about my new blue one.

Actually, I feel kind of selfish about this cock. I don’t want to tell you where to buy it or how awesome it is, because it’s mine. But, in the spirit of spreading the love, I am resolving to get over that possessiveness …

From the review:

I have spent years – since I first came out and began having sex with women, since I first started honing my butch identity and wanting a cock to be part of my sex life – searching for a cock I could not only pack with, but also play with.

And? Here’s the secret: this is that cock.I have a special place in my heart for Babeland - clearly, since I’m mentioning it in my plug for my Eden review - particularly because they are built on queer politics, community, and culture. Their staff members are primarily queer and absolutely queer friendly, they know all about gender and gender expression, and I never feel out of place in that store. It was the first non-skeevy sex toy store I’d ever been in, and for that reason, I just love it. Support the dykes, yay.

But despite my love for Babeland, sometimes their product selection falls a bit short. By which I mean, sometimes they just don’t have what I need.

And that’s a place where Eden is fantastic. They have a really great selection of toys - not only cocks & harnesses, but also slappy and stingy toys, lube, condoms, books, DVDs, all sorts of things. Their queer content is not perfect, but it’s there, and they are working on building it further, which I think is fantastic.

Buy this cock on Eden Fantasys now!

Part one of threeI’d never been with a girl who identified as a top. All the girls I’ve slept with, while some of them were more toppy than others, have absolutely been on the submissive side - and that tends to be one of the things that draws me to them. I know how to read those signals. I know what the lowering of the eyes, looking up at me under her eyelashes, means.

I’ve been topped, don’t get me wrong. And generally, I like getting off, I like giving my body over to let someone else touch me, to guide them to what feels good, to let myself get to that moment of fully physically letting go.

I hear this is actually fairly rare, for a butch top. I don’t know what to tell ya about that. We’re all different, I suppose.

Point is, I’m not entirely unfamiliar with submission - but, at the same time, it is not my ‘default’ mode. It is not where I am most comfortable, these days, and it is not my impulse most times. But, as you probably remember from the few times I intentionally bottomed in my last relationship, it’s hard for me to do and, even, harder for me to write about.

So what was I going to do with this stunningly fucking hot femme top once we got to my bed?

This is what kept rattling around in my head as we took (sexy) public transportation back to my (ghetto) apartment.

I thought, it won’t make that much difference that I’m a top and she’s a top. It won’t change much between us. We probably won’t have a heavy SM scene, and that is what I tend to associate primarily with topping and bottoming - dominance, and submission.

But already, the making out at the bar was a little different. I wasn’t calling the shots. She was responding to me, yes, her lips changing mouth opening tongue teasing in accordance to mine, but there was something else underneath it. A force coming from her. The way she kept control of it all.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, only barely pulled away from my lips, I could feel her breath moving against my mouth as she said the words. She kept her hands on my hips, my ribcage, positioning me where she wanted me. She sucked my tongue, hard. “Like your tiny cock,” she whispered into my ear, grinning. She bit my bottom lip, drew blood, leaving teeth marks inside that I continued touching with my tongue all night.

Most of the time, it made me want to take her all the more. Fight her for control, push her down and restrain her arms so she couldn’t restrain mine.

Sometimes, though, I sunk into the refuge of submission, the giving-over of my body and mouth and, later, cunt. I not only let her guide me through the kisses, I tried to ask her to. Tried to ask her with my body and gestures and movement and open mouth.

I spent the evening fighting my impulses, the ones to take control. Push her down on the bed and tilt her pelvis back to slide my hand inside. Instead, she flipped me onto my back (I stopped struggling), and said, “Do you have something you want me to fuck you with?”

I inhaled. Sharply. Caught off guard, not the first time that night. “Yes, I think … I do.” Damn. Submission stirred somewhere deep in me, my stomach, between my legs, and I wanted her to take me like that, wanted to feel full, feel splayed open, feel cradled. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable, but I trusted her with my body in a way that felt new, considering I barely knew her. Maybe that’s why it was safe. Maybe it was because of the way she knew how to touch me, knew how to unwrap my breasts, finger the back of my neck, press against my thigh, just how I like it.

And I was suddenly grateful she knew how to take control, I was feeling fuzzy-headed and uncertain around her. Was that the submission? Could be. I certainly don’t usually feel that way when I’m in charge. I got my pink cock out, wrestled in the toybox to find an unlubed condom. I’d never been fucked with it.

She eased back on top of me, hips against mine, legs scissored together. Hands on my hips, my inner thigh, my breasts. Squeezing hard, sometimes painfully. I loved it. Brought me to the edge of my body and made me cry out, made everything sensitive, made everything feel. I attempted to keep quiet.

Her kisses made my vision and the palms of my hands blurry and taut. It was hard not to press her shoulders to the bed and ease my thighs between hers, press her knees apart. Tear at her hair. But there was also such sweetness, such precision, such tenderness between us - I wanted that, too, but I wanted more, I wanted to feel her pressing me open from inside, I wanted my cock in her mouth, I wanted, wanted, wanted.

Desire rose and fell on an isotope slope, gripping me fiercely. She knew just how to pull want from this body of mine. After a particularly efficacious kiss, I spiraled, eyes rolling, hips bucking. I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to be opened by her.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, as she held herself above me, inches away, “please.”

Her eyes flashed and she grinned. Held my gaze, my open face, steady for a moment. “Can I go down on you?”

“Oh, god yes,” I breathed out. Please do, yes, god yes, echoed in my head, and though she may have liked it I’d (further) begged, I was glad I didn’t say it. It was hard enough for me to ask for it once.

How did she know so well what I like? … It occurs to me now that she’s read, among other things, the extensive sex survey/interview of myself, and there is a lot - quite a lot - of personal preferences listed there. I should send that to all my lovers before we fuck. (Just kidding.)