Posts Tagged ‘why my readers are the best’
Two years in a row now Sugarbutch Chronicles has been included on the annual Top Sex Blogger list, put together by Rori at Between My Sheets (and a team full of judges).
This year, Rori will be retiring sex blogs that have been in the top ten three times. So let’s retire Sugarbutch Chronicles, shall we? Will you please consider nominating this blog?
This site hasn’t actually been behaving like a sex blog as much lately as it used to be. Remember back in my swingin’ single days when all I did was write about sex sex sex with a little bit of gender and kink thrown in? Oh yeah, and there was all that personal whining about my trauma and how much I don’t trust anybody ever. Well, I don’t really miss that part. And I promise I do still have a very active sex life, and sex and play with Kristen is incredibly fun and fulfilling. I don’t write about it quite as frequently anymore for a couple reasons, but I do still write about it.
Check out my stories to turn you on category, that’s usually where I put the good stuff. And glancing over it, there has been some pretty good stuff this year already …
In my bedroom, I slip on my cock while she reapplies her lipstick. I pull her on top of me as I lay down on the bed and kiss her neck, her face. She gets breathless. Sucks in air as her mouth waters and tongue swells, I can see it, despite her lips already being darkened. I slide two fingers into her mouth, feel her tongue, push them just past the first knuckle so she can lick around the pads with her tongue. She closes her eyes and moans.
“I was thinking about … you using me,” she starts in a small voice, quiet, by my ear. I can feel her breath. “Filling me up. Fucking me and fucking me without caring how it was for me. I was thinking about tears streaming down my cheeks, and you not stopping, just … taking me, until you get what you want, and you come.”
“I woke up with my cock all hard,” I say, low, into her ear. She stirs. My fingers find her cunt, her soft skin and folds, and caress sweetly. She convulses the moment I slip my fingers in. “That’s what I wanted, yeah,” I continue to murmur. “That tight little hole, oh you feel so good.”
And then of course there was the Anal Week series, which was more than a week really, but that I had a lot of fun researching and practicing and playing. I hope those kinds of projects are useful and interesting for you!
If that’s not enough to convince you to nominate Sugarbutch, you can always go back over some of the top posts of all time:
- My slutty little girl.
- you’re going to come for me.
- Wait for me on your knees.
- “I’m kind of … insatiable.”
- Her dirty talk got me off. Twice.
- Balanced On the Tip of My Tongue
- A Quick Fuck in a Shadowed Corner
- Sugarbutch Star: Maze
- Rocking Chair Blow Job
- Desperation & Dominance
- Sugarbutch Star: Matt (part 2)
That first one, the most-read post on this whole site, My slutty little girl, has been viewed almost 12,000 times, can you believe it? You readers like it dirty. Dirty dirty dirty. I always suspected that about you.
I haven’t decided entirely who else I’m going to nominate, but if you look through my shared items I’m sure you can see which blogs I read frequently and love. That’s my equivalent of a link list these days, I can’t keep lists of links updated so I’m just using my reader for it. You could call that laziness, but I call it efficiency.
So head on over & nominate me, please, by leaving a comment on Rori’s nomination post and include Sugarbutch’s URL or title. (You can also email Rori at firstname.lastname@example.org or DM @SweetRori if you want to keep your nominations private.) And hey, did I say thank you yet? Thank you!
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?
It was all the promised photos of my ass that did it, wasn't it? I knew it! You all are perverts.Read More
So the former password protection post is spilling over with requests. With the intention of me not missing requests for access to the password protected posts, this is the new post where you leave a comment.
It would be best if you left your website, too, even if it’s your myspace or facebook address, as I’d like to know you’re a real person. You can email that to me if you’d rather it not be published publically. It’s not a requirement, if you don’t have one, but I’d appreciate it, as these are very personal writings.
About the password protected posts:
They are primarily my personal journal entries: reflections on my relationships, and my real life sex stories. Sugarbutch started so that I could have a place to reflect on my relationship difficulties, which included the problems with my relationship with my ex where I wanted to be more butch (and wanted her to be more femme) but felt unsupported to explore that, and the problems we were having with sex, which was that we were having none. It evolved into a place where I processed my relationship with another girl that I immediately got involved with, and when that relationship ended spectacularly awfully, it has been chronicling my evolution back to myself, my committment to myself, my “aspiring stud”-ness in trying to get laid, and trying to get my shit together such that I can enter into a healthy, stable, positive, committed relationship again.
Meanwhile, though, it has been lots of gender theory. Lots. And some smut stories. Which are also fun.
And as I’ve gained a larger and larger readership, the personal stuff is entirely too exposed, so they have gone under password protection. I still want a place to write about my relationship evolutions, and I still love having writing and blogging as a medium to explore my own sense of self, so I tend to write a few of these a month.
So, if you’d like to read the personal posts, leave a comment at the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
Thanks, all, for your thoughtful responses and life stories about butch hair in the last post.
Here’s a few of my thoughts about femmes and femininity and hair, and then I’ll ask some questions and open it up to whatever you’d like to say about the subject.
I want to distinguish here between options and personal preference – I talk a lot on this site – especially in terms of femmes and femme identity – about what I like, and I want to make it clear that those are usually my personal preferences, and I’m not trying to say that I think that’s what all femmes should be or that femmes who are not like that are not valid or are not “real” femmes or any of that crap. I hope that’s not how it comes across.
So, let me first say this, about my basic philosophies on hair: hair is a personal choice. It is also a major marker on the physical body used to distinguish gender differentiation in contemporary culture. Short hair on men, long hair on women; shaved legs and underarms on women, hairy men. This of course was not always the case; it used to be seen as very masculine for men to grow their hair long. Hair presentation, length, and social conformity are based largely on culture.
In my (unofficial, limited) cultural observation in the recent years, these differences are just getting more pronounced, although with the inclusion of gay male culture in mainstream men’s fashion, the rise of beauty products for men, the addition of “manscaping” and the metrosexualizing of fashion and beauty, beauty standards for men and masculinity are on the rise. It is not unusual for hetero/cis-women to expect their hetero/cis-men to keep their chest hair under control, to get eyebrow waxes, to keep their hair groomed.
But just because the beauty standards for men are raising doesn’t mean it’s okay for us to keep unobtainable beauty standards for women – or for anyone, for that matter. Honestly I believe we’ve got to turn the beauty culture inside out on our own personal journeys into our own gender identities, whatever flavor they may be, whatever area of the gender galaxy, to really examine what the culture dictates and unlearn the compulsory standards that can be exhausting, unobtainable, and even harmful to our bodies.
What the body does is natural, normal, acceptible, sexy – where hair grows, the stretchmarks, the veins that show through the skin, the moles and freckles, the thickness of the muscles or the tendons or the thigh or the waist or the hair. All these things are beautiful, and real.
And, in my humble opinion, are also turn-ons: the celebration of the beauty of the human body.
If you’ve never explored the potential damage and compulsory standards of beauty culture, take a look at:
- The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women by Naomi Wolf – a bit dated now, and well critiqued, but still holds many core concepts that I believe can be very transformational
- Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty by Nancy Etcoff – Undoes some of the cultural critiques of the beauty myth and argues for a scientific basis of valuing beauty; interesting counter in the nature-vs-nurture debate
- Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy
- The Body Project: An Intimate History of American Girls by Joan Jacobs Brumberg
- Killing Me Softly, Jean Kilbourne – This video tends to be shown (over & over) in women studies courses in colleges, and there’s a reason why: it can be really eye-opening to see what the culture of beauty dictates for women through advertising. Kilbourne has other videos that are also wonderfully critical of alcohol, tobacco, and thinness. They’re hard to find since they’re educational films, but your library might have them.
- Any other recommendations?
So: once we start undoing society’s standards, and treating every possible option as valid and valuable for different reasons in order to make a true choice, we can start exploring what it is that we personally prefer. What turns us on, how our bodies feel the most sexy, what the soft animal of our body loves.
My initial thoughts about femme hair always go to the hair on your head, and the ways it’s worn. Being that I am very attracted to femininity, I do like long hair generally, though I know plenty of femmes who totally rock the chin-length cuts or the boycuts, I’ve even known a few with shaved heads.
I wrote once upon a time about how much I love it when femmes wear their hair up, and specifically the idea that “a woman’s hair is for her husband.” I wrote, “I know there are deep problems with this idea of a husband owning a wife’s hair, but I love the idea of it being so sexual, such a turn on, when a femme lets her hair down, that it’s private, saved for me and me alone.” And that’s just it exactly.
About body hair on femmes … honestly, my personal preference is basically bare. Very little hair, everywhere. I find shaving sexy, I find the rituals of beauty sexy (when they are done with intention and sexual connotations especially). I like to shave my lover’s legs, actually. That’s a scene I haven’t played out in a long time, but I find that intensely erotic.
I do have some guilt about liking the reproduction of traditional femininity. I know I could write pages about how it’s not compulsory, it’s resistance, celebratory, and intentional, but still sometimes I wonder if what my block is that I wouldn’t find hair particularly attractive. But I suppose I can attempt to justify this by saying that I absolutely think it should be culturally acceptible – I hate that it’s dictated as necessary by the beauty rules – but that my personal preference is skin, skin, skin. Is that because of the dominant cultural beauty rules? Yeah, probably. I can’t escape it, I was raised in it, I live in it every day. But I recognize that it exists, what it means, how it operates, and I fully support people who reject that rule and who prefer to have their hair wild and free, or trimmed and neat, or completely bare. All options should be valid.
So, now you:
I know you’ve already got a ton of things to say about femme body hair, but here’s some questions to get started:
If you’re in the transfeminine area of the gender galaxy:
- Do you shave, wax, pluck, shape? Underarms, legs, thighs, stomach, chin? Why or why not?
- What was your process in coming to do the hair sculpting and
- How do you make choices about your hair? Based on sexual preferences? Cultural standards?What your lovers like?
- How do you keep your pubes? Trimmed, waxed, shaved, au naturale?
- What comes to mind when you see women who don’t shave?
- Do you sexualize shaving or body hair removal?
If you are someone who tends to date transfeminine folks:
- Do you have personal preferences when it comes to hair on the femmes you date?
- Do you sexualize shaving or body hair removal?
- Do you prefer hair on her head worn a certain way? Do you tend to be attracted to very specific hair cuts, styles, colors?
I’m also very curious about folks who live outside of the US – clearly my perspectives are very US-centric, and I’m not really sure what gets culturally dictated or compulsorily reproduced in other places. I have impressions, but being an outsider to culture in other places, I won’t presume to speak on it.
Please do elaborate however you’d like. And thank you, for reading and for your comments, I really like that we’re conversing here more and more, getting input from all kinds of people who live in all kinds of ways.
The winner of the delicious new anthology by Rachel Kramer Bussel is saintchick, with this submission about a great time she was spanked:
My ex had to work late one evening at school, so I thought I would surprise her by showing up. Her fave black dress, no undergarments except for the black and red garter, and black patten leather stilettos. Knocked on her classroom door and walked in, she was expecting me and from the look on her face I was in for some trouble. We made some small talk, and by small talk I mean she grabbed my hair and brought me close to her. Her lips barely touching my ear, telling me the exact things she had in store for me. I had only one rule to follow since I had already been a good girl. It was not to look back.
With that said I pretty much flung myself onto her desk, knocking off books, term papers, paper clip holders. She lifted my dress just so my cheeks were visble. Then I heard it, the sound of her opening her desk drawer. My legs started to quiver. I knew better to look back, but I so wanted to see the look on her face. She then placed her hand on the middle of my back to hold me down, and I felt the ruler graze my cheek. She then began alternating between the wooden ruler and her hand. She has this way about her. She would bring me just to the edge when I thought I could not take anymore and then would bring me down gently just to work me up all over again.
Once she admired her work and let her fingertips move over the fresh red marks, she let me up. With one long deep kiss, and one perfectly placed hand I came. On her and her desk. It was one of the best times ever.
Once I straightened out her desk, wiped her desk off (Thank God for Clorox wipes). I kissed her goodbye and just walked out of the classroom. As my stilettos clicked down the hall, a smile on my face, the security guard just looked up at me and managed to say nnnnight ma’am.
Good lord that’s hot. Makes me want to fuck in a classroom, or buy a fabulous ruler, or perfect
(Thanks to the anonymous semi-famous guest judge, you know who you are.)
Sorry I was so behind last week! My ‘real’ work is getting hugely in the way of my posts here. (Want to help me make Sugarbutch my full-time job?) Many posts on their way, including, of course, some butch eye candy, the call for femme eye candy, writings about the architecture of femme identity or what I learned at the Femme Conference, a post about strap-ons, follow up to the Spanked review about the ick factor, more poems, and oh gosh just a whole bunch of stuff. If only the day had more hours.