Inspired by Hedgie the Hedonist, who recently did this on his blog (http://646hedonist.blogspot.com/2009/07/25-things-about-646hedonist.html), I am now doing a “25 things” about myself I will NOT put on Facebook.
1.) First lover I ever had was an Italian. It happened on a beach in Bournemouth, UK, the summer before my 16th birthday. We were wrapped in a blanket, it happened at night, and we did it as silently as we could, because our friends had a barbecue some 200 yards away.
2.) I don’t remember that specific Italian’s name. It could have been Mario, one of my two Robertos, Zach (real name Sachario?) or something along the line of Enrico/Erico/Sergio. I think Mario was first, but I can’t say for sure.
3.) Italy is NOT the country from which I have had the most lovers. At least three others, possibly four or five, get into the list ahead of it.
4.) I have had cocks off every continent. Provided you can count New Zealand as Australia.
5.) First orgasm I ever had I don’t remember, but I was a kid, and I discovered how on my own.
6.) Vaginally, I have never needed lube in my life.
7.) Lack of lube is my main reason to turn down anal advances, though. I tend to forget buying it and if a man wants to use the backdoor, he should go shopping in advance.
8.) I am usually not the silent kind, but I always try to keep the volume down. And then I forget. Fucking me with the window open is a bad idea, unless you want your neighbors to know exactly what you’re at.
9.) I like having sex in semi-public places where I know we can be discovered.
10.) I don’t mind an uncut man, but I prefer a man to be cut. Vaginally I don’t feel the difference, but when I give a BJ, I have a larger repertoire if I do it with a representative of the cut variety. It usually also tastes better.
11.) I love giving BJs. I love the taste, the texture and look of it. Watching a man get off and feeling his gratitude wash over me (literally…) makes me feel goddess-y. But I want at least one orgasm of my own before I start it. I give head a lot more impatient and finish a lot faster if I haven't.
12.) I never come just once, and I can have at least six different types of orgasms.
13.) Those six are as follows: Outside only. G spot only. G spot plus those little spots longer in combined. Outside and inside combined. Squirting. And, most interesting, all-body-earthquake like, where my spasms take over my body, his body, the bed and/or every other piece of furniture in the room.
14.) Whenever watching SATC, I identify the most with Miranda the feminist workaholic.
15.) Biggest lover I ever had, had a cock the size of my underarm, fist included. Smallest was the size of my middle finger. They were both white and neither of them would get into a top-ten list of my favorite fucks. But they both eventually got me off by fucking.
16.) I have only NOT achieved an orgasm by fucking thrice in my life, and I know the exact reasons why it didn't happen at those three occasions.
17.) I fear pregnancy more than STDs.
18.) For 16 years, I was on the pill and I did fuck (some) men without a condom during that time. Only those I was monogamous with, only after both of us had tested. But I have only ever fucked ONE man without birth control in my entire life, and that I did from the very first time I met him.
19.) Yes, you all know who that man was. What you don't know is this: During our relationship, every time I got my period, I felt relief. Every time, he felt sorrow.
20.) In my early 20es, I was married. He was the kindest and most generous man I have ever met and he was such an amazing lover I thought this had to be true love and accepted. Despite of this, I knew it wouldn’t last, because we were way too different. I told him. He was too conservative to live with a woman outside of wedlock and wanted to marry me yet the same.
21.) I was a bad wife. I didn’t cheat. We had sex at least twice a day for our entire relationship. I did not treat him bad. In every manner possible, I tried to behave properly. I cooked, I baked, I cleaned, I hosted. I put his career come before my own. I also felt this was all a lie, and I ached for every other man I saw in the street.
22.) After we got divorced, I kept having sex with my husband for almost a year. That’s how good he was.
23.) I want to live alone until I find a man I feel I can grow with. Not necessarily “grow old” with, but grow as a person with. There are not that many of them, but I know they exist.
24.) I may fuck a woman again, but I won’t do it to unless there is a man with us, and I won't do it unless I know for sure that he has the stamina to satisfy both women. Pussy is simply not that interesting alone.
25.) I still have not had two men at a time. And I desperately desperately desperately want to.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Truth in numbers
I don’t think I have EVER been with a man who has not asked me how many men I’ve been with before him. I can’t remember one. Even the one night stands want to know, and though I have a couple of theories why, I don’t understand why this should be SO incredibly important they all HAVE TO ask it.
If the motive is to prevent jealousy or to reduce the “risk” I have had lovers better than the one sharing the bed with me at the second the question is asked, I can assure you: The answer will not lessen any anxieties.
If you want to enter a relationship with me, and fear I am going to stray, knowing my number will hardly calm your feelings.
If you have a need to judge and/or to feel morally superior, you should not and are not likely to share my bed to begin with.
If you want to feel like a stud and/or to brag you are experienced to an extreme degree, well, then again, there is a risk you’ll be disappointed.
If you’re simply curious, ok. But please say so, when I ask why you want to know. Don’t go all quiet. This particular silence is speaking volumes. More often than not, it’s the kind of silence that tells me I’ll meet another kind of silence after.
Men who can’t bear this one specific number tend not to dial my other specific number later on. I know it in advance. They, I suppose, know it in advance. But they still ask. Whereas to me, the following numbers matter way more than the one you all seem to think is so important:
The number of years since I was a virgin: Seventeen.
The number of other serious, monogamous relationships I have had: Seven, including one marriage.
The number of years my serious relationships have all in all lasted: Nine, or close to ten.
The number of years I have been a single, adult and sexually active woman: That leaves seven to eight, doesn’t it?
The frequency of which I want sex when in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which I want sex when I am not in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which my wishes are fulfilled: Well, lately, answer is “all the time”. But if I see my life as a whole and include the times when I have not been neither as fit nor as socially active as I am now, a more honest response will be “mostly, but from time to time, not”. Life doesn’t give you everything you want unasked for. Most of the time, you have to make some kind of effort.
The number of times I have cheated on a boyfriend: Zero. No effort.
The number of times I have lied to a boyfriend: Zero, or zero that I know of/can think of. I have no qualms in not volunteering things I do not feel like telling. But if you ask me a question, I don’t lie to you. If you don’t want an honest answer, ask another woman.
The total number of women I have had sex with: One.
The total number of men I have had sex with: Ok, there we go... I can only guess. I can give you an approximate. But I don’t write a diary. And I have long ago gotten beyond the point where I can even try to make some sort of list. I am no good at remembering names, dates or years. I am no good at remembering faces. Also, I think the following facts matter and should matter more than any grand total measured in numbers:
*I know how many men I have loved.
*I know how many men I have had long term relationships to.
*I know how long these relationships have lasted and I know how many years of my adult, sexually active life I have single.
The truth come to numbers, is that morals, opportunity, looks, gender, sexual competence and social skills have less to say than most people think.
What really decides your grand total is how lucky you’ve been in love. You found the love of your life at the first try, you were only ever with him or her, you have never felt a need to be with any other? Ok. Your number is one. You may lose out on something, but you're still a lucky bastard. Yet, there is no reason in the world you should feel morally superior to me or anyone else.
Most people need more attempts. Some of us need many. And to stop trying? If you ask me, being a coward was never brave, honest, responsible, kind nor heroic.
If the motive is to prevent jealousy or to reduce the “risk” I have had lovers better than the one sharing the bed with me at the second the question is asked, I can assure you: The answer will not lessen any anxieties.
If you want to enter a relationship with me, and fear I am going to stray, knowing my number will hardly calm your feelings.
If you have a need to judge and/or to feel morally superior, you should not and are not likely to share my bed to begin with.
If you want to feel like a stud and/or to brag you are experienced to an extreme degree, well, then again, there is a risk you’ll be disappointed.
If you’re simply curious, ok. But please say so, when I ask why you want to know. Don’t go all quiet. This particular silence is speaking volumes. More often than not, it’s the kind of silence that tells me I’ll meet another kind of silence after.
Men who can’t bear this one specific number tend not to dial my other specific number later on. I know it in advance. They, I suppose, know it in advance. But they still ask. Whereas to me, the following numbers matter way more than the one you all seem to think is so important:
The number of years since I was a virgin: Seventeen.
The number of other serious, monogamous relationships I have had: Seven, including one marriage.
The number of years my serious relationships have all in all lasted: Nine, or close to ten.
The number of years I have been a single, adult and sexually active woman: That leaves seven to eight, doesn’t it?
The frequency of which I want sex when in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which I want sex when I am not in a relationship: At least ten times a week.
The frequency of which my wishes are fulfilled: Well, lately, answer is “all the time”. But if I see my life as a whole and include the times when I have not been neither as fit nor as socially active as I am now, a more honest response will be “mostly, but from time to time, not”. Life doesn’t give you everything you want unasked for. Most of the time, you have to make some kind of effort.
The number of times I have cheated on a boyfriend: Zero. No effort.
The number of times I have lied to a boyfriend: Zero, or zero that I know of/can think of. I have no qualms in not volunteering things I do not feel like telling. But if you ask me a question, I don’t lie to you. If you don’t want an honest answer, ask another woman.
The total number of women I have had sex with: One.
The total number of men I have had sex with: Ok, there we go... I can only guess. I can give you an approximate. But I don’t write a diary. And I have long ago gotten beyond the point where I can even try to make some sort of list. I am no good at remembering names, dates or years. I am no good at remembering faces. Also, I think the following facts matter and should matter more than any grand total measured in numbers:
*I know how many men I have loved.
*I know how many men I have had long term relationships to.
*I know how long these relationships have lasted and I know how many years of my adult, sexually active life I have single.
The truth come to numbers, is that morals, opportunity, looks, gender, sexual competence and social skills have less to say than most people think.
What really decides your grand total is how lucky you’ve been in love. You found the love of your life at the first try, you were only ever with him or her, you have never felt a need to be with any other? Ok. Your number is one. You may lose out on something, but you're still a lucky bastard. Yet, there is no reason in the world you should feel morally superior to me or anyone else.
Most people need more attempts. Some of us need many. And to stop trying? If you ask me, being a coward was never brave, honest, responsible, kind nor heroic.
Hot, smart & homo
Rupert Everett is way smarter than anyone has ever given him credit for. Read this interview, and you'll understand what I mean:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jul/17/g2-interview-rupert-everett
After reading the interview, you may also agree with my claim that Everett indeed seems smarter than the journalist interviewing him, and to understand my following statement:
Some people are very concerned with the labels "homosexual", "heterosexual" and "bisexual". Most people are very clearly defined as one or the other or the third, and some people seem to think that these labels also define the rest of your personality. That they define what you can do as an actor. Or what kind of ideas you can understand. Or what kind of ways you relate or are able to relate to other people.
What the most-preoccupied-with-labels-type of people tend to forget are that there are so many things not defined by a label. Individual features always matter more than group identities. There are the people who are simply sexual. There are the people who are simply people. And then, of course, there are the people who do not know what they are, sexually or personally, and who prefer to use their identity labels as identities. It's easier. It's a great deal easier, because if you do, you don't have to define or to front a real personality. And to define and to front a real personality? Well. Even if you do, you will sometimes be seen as one of the group more than one of your own.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jul/17/g2-interview-rupert-everett
After reading the interview, you may also agree with my claim that Everett indeed seems smarter than the journalist interviewing him, and to understand my following statement:
Some people are very concerned with the labels "homosexual", "heterosexual" and "bisexual". Most people are very clearly defined as one or the other or the third, and some people seem to think that these labels also define the rest of your personality. That they define what you can do as an actor. Or what kind of ideas you can understand. Or what kind of ways you relate or are able to relate to other people.
What the most-preoccupied-with-labels-type of people tend to forget are that there are so many things not defined by a label. Individual features always matter more than group identities. There are the people who are simply sexual. There are the people who are simply people. And then, of course, there are the people who do not know what they are, sexually or personally, and who prefer to use their identity labels as identities. It's easier. It's a great deal easier, because if you do, you don't have to define or to front a real personality. And to define and to front a real personality? Well. Even if you do, you will sometimes be seen as one of the group more than one of your own.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Fucking busy (and vice versa)
Sorry I haven't posted for a while. I will, I will, I will, but for the time being, I am so fucking busy and so busy fucking I do not keep my pants on for long enough to do anything much at all beside from it... I don't know when I will, so I apologize, folks. I can only give you this promise: When I get the time to post again, entries will be far more interesting than this one.
I am, as most of you know already, abroad for the time being. For a not-quite-defined amount of time I am visiting the Scandinavian country in which I have my origins and where some of my family members still live. This particular country used to be one of the least diverse in the entire world, maybe THE most homogenous, save societies like North Korea, Greenland and Albania. And potentially Alaska, because from the country in which I now am, some people CAN actually see Russia from their kitchen table windows, and during the cold war, some people made a sport out of sneaking in and out of it. Anyway. These days, spare-time-activities consist more of sneaking in and out of different geographies, and Scandinavia is becoming more interesting by the minute. In the city where I am now, around one fifth is born outside of Europe, or their parents were. Their influence has made this country a lot less homogenous than it used to be. Dynamics have changed. Foodies cheer it, artists & musicians inspire from it, and Vikings in average have adjusted to it. It is as if the Viking-in-the-street has discovered the world, both because the world has come to his doorstep, and because he has become rich enough to travel it to bring some of it home with himself, too. Just like some of his forefathers did, but hopefully, in a more peaceful manner.
Lately, the following have been among my encounters:
* A tantric Viking whom I am meeting again later today.
* An American born & raised white male whose mother tongue is among the Scandinavian ones and whose English is hilariously confused wheareas his Scando lingo is fluent. How this is possible considering where he grew up goes beyond my imagination.
*A chef. Whose specialty was eating.
* An Italian-looking Sami, in other words, a representative of the Scando native population, ancestry from pre-Viking settlements up North. They used to be nomads and usually have Asian-Euro mixed facial features. This one I believed to be Mediterranean until he corrected me on it.
*A real Italian. Or so I believe. I didn't think of asking him if he may have Sami origins, I met him before the Sami.
* A man I first fucked half a life ago and whom I had not seen in the meantime. He still looks like a Greek God and he still treats me as if I were a Goddess.
* A black jazz musician, description fitting a scaringly large percentage of my lovers all in all, I suspect. This one was better than most, and THAT SAYS SOMETHING!
*A fisherman. I didn't know they still existed! Very strong man!
* A man characterized as "a leading intellectual" in certain circles and/or a certain country. I didn't know until after, what I noticed was his Viking looks, abs, pectorals, thigh, ass & arm muscles.
* My X. Via cyber & phone & the like, no real life meeting since May.
Stay tuned. I am having my second date with tantric Viking in a few hours' time, and the first encounter was alone interesting enough to fill a blogpost, if not an erotic novel. For now, let's just say the first date lasted for 20 full hours and that I have had to refill my storage of magnum-sized condoms after it. And now I am looking so much forward to seeing him again I am already eagerly buzzing around, unable to get anything sensible done, because I am humming silly songs and changing my clothes all the time, with my nipples erect and my lady parts soaking wet. I don't want to start it without him, because already, I am sure this is going to be a very interesting evening.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I am a moralist
I am a woman fucking around. I am also a sexual moralist.
Despite the fact that I am this very moment located on the Other Side of the Atlantic, I can hear my regular readers rolling on the floor laughing right now. But you will understand what I mean once I say what I am now about to say:
My sexual morals is not about a having a double set of moral standards. Nothing is as dishonest as a double set of standards, and one should always apply the same rules to sex as to the rest of one's life.
Read this week’s Sex Diary in NYMag, and you will see an example of a person who does not:
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_small_business_owner_with.html
My comment to her, posted on NYMag already, shortened down for my blog readers (full comment on page 5 of NYMag comments:
I get the impression she sticks to this BF for two reasons: She doesn't think she'll find anyone better than him (because she has herpes), and she realizes he is after all a good man (he stuck to her despite her disease and cares enough to argue with her).
But she takes advantage of him and she does not respect him, and she shows him CLEARLY she doesn't, by visiting dating sites AND telling him she does, by leaving him alone on the phone when they're having a serious convo/quarrel AND by writing a Sex Diary based on their relationship despite his expressed dislike that she does.
What will kill this relationship is a STD more lethal to relationships than Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Sexually Transmitted Dishonesty & Sexually Transmitted Disrespect both kill faster and are more infective than the STDs one can actually live with.
--
My PS, only posted here:
Why on earth should another set of moral standards apply to your sex life than the rest of your life?
Why on earth should you pretend to be another person as a sexual being than who you are as a human being?
And why on earth wouldn't you be a whole person, the same person wherever you are and whatever you do, rather than a compartilized person acting a different role for every part of your life?
Personally and professionally, psychologically and physically you are ONE.
With my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.
Without my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.
Despite the fact that I am this very moment located on the Other Side of the Atlantic, I can hear my regular readers rolling on the floor laughing right now. But you will understand what I mean once I say what I am now about to say:
My sexual morals is not about a having a double set of moral standards. Nothing is as dishonest as a double set of standards, and one should always apply the same rules to sex as to the rest of one's life.
Read this week’s Sex Diary in NYMag, and you will see an example of a person who does not:
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_small_business_owner_with.html
My comment to her, posted on NYMag already, shortened down for my blog readers (full comment on page 5 of NYMag comments:
I get the impression she sticks to this BF for two reasons: She doesn't think she'll find anyone better than him (because she has herpes), and she realizes he is after all a good man (he stuck to her despite her disease and cares enough to argue with her).
But she takes advantage of him and she does not respect him, and she shows him CLEARLY she doesn't, by visiting dating sites AND telling him she does, by leaving him alone on the phone when they're having a serious convo/quarrel AND by writing a Sex Diary based on their relationship despite his expressed dislike that she does.
What will kill this relationship is a STD more lethal to relationships than Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Sexually Transmitted Dishonesty & Sexually Transmitted Disrespect both kill faster and are more infective than the STDs one can actually live with.
--
My PS, only posted here:
Why on earth should another set of moral standards apply to your sex life than the rest of your life?
Why on earth should you pretend to be another person as a sexual being than who you are as a human being?
And why on earth wouldn't you be a whole person, the same person wherever you are and whatever you do, rather than a compartilized person acting a different role for every part of your life?
Personally and professionally, psychologically and physically you are ONE.
With my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.
Without my clothes on, I believe in honesty, integrity, respect & freedom. I believe in enjoyment and generosity.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Carry on, baby
Extremely busy on all accounts, this week, lots to post about, but it will have to wait.
But this one, as I am travelling for the time being, I couldn't help myself from noticing:
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/you_know_that_thing_youre_afra.html
Or to comment on, expanded here, from what I said on NY Mag:
So maybe all those movie stars claiming that their sex tapes "accidentally" got out are telling the truth after all. Airport employees find them when they open their luggage & log on their why-on-earth-not-carried-on and why-on-earth-not-protected-by-passwords laptops... And whoopsy daisy, there's this compromising thing showing star X at his/her hottest, something that always happens to happen at a time when a career is on the rise, but can need an extra little attention to peak, or, alternatively, so very rapidly on its way down an extra little attention is not just needed, but needed DESPERATELY.
Interesting question on the same note: What should I do when I am travelling with a vibrator? (Not an entirely hypothetical thing...) Carry it through security to have it shown off to the line when X-rayed and asked stuff like "what is this thing?" or "does this really need batteries to work?" or put it in your checked luggage not to be sure where it's been or what it's done when you unpack?
PS: On the tags on this post, today's luggage tags: "Things I love" refer to movie star tapes & vibrators & travelling. "Things I hate" refer to snooping. In case anyone wondered.
But this one, as I am travelling for the time being, I couldn't help myself from noticing:
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/you_know_that_thing_youre_afra.html
Or to comment on, expanded here, from what I said on NY Mag:
So maybe all those movie stars claiming that their sex tapes "accidentally" got out are telling the truth after all. Airport employees find them when they open their luggage & log on their why-on-earth-not-carried-on and why-on-earth-not-protected-by-passwords laptops... And whoopsy daisy, there's this compromising thing showing star X at his/her hottest, something that always happens to happen at a time when a career is on the rise, but can need an extra little attention to peak, or, alternatively, so very rapidly on its way down an extra little attention is not just needed, but needed DESPERATELY.
Interesting question on the same note: What should I do when I am travelling with a vibrator? (Not an entirely hypothetical thing...) Carry it through security to have it shown off to the line when X-rayed and asked stuff like "what is this thing?" or "does this really need batteries to work?" or put it in your checked luggage not to be sure where it's been or what it's done when you unpack?
PS: On the tags on this post, today's luggage tags: "Things I love" refer to movie star tapes & vibrators & travelling. "Things I hate" refer to snooping. In case anyone wondered.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Pictorial pleasures
I like visuals. I like them when they're direct & obvious. A man's cock... There's nothing more beautiful in the world than that. But sometimes, still, what's between the lines can be a lot more sexy than what's spelled out.
Take a look at Time Out Magazine's slideshow, and you'll see what I mean. Ain't the clothed photos the sexiest of the bunch?
http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/sex-dating/76168/sexy-and-the-city-photo-exhibit-at-yosi-milo-galley-preview
Then visit Yossi Milo Gallery in Chelsea, see the exhibit for real. It's open all summer. I guess I'll be going there myself one of these days.
Take a look at Time Out Magazine's slideshow, and you'll see what I mean. Ain't the clothed photos the sexiest of the bunch?
http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/sex-dating/76168/sexy-and-the-city-photo-exhibit-at-yosi-milo-galley-preview
Then visit Yossi Milo Gallery in Chelsea, see the exhibit for real. It's open all summer. I guess I'll be going there myself one of these days.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
On Michael and the rest of us
The NYMag Vulture discussion on Michael Jackson’s death and memorial has somewhat developed into a discussion on black and white.
http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2009/07/mj_memorial.html
I do not refer to the MJ song by the same name, but to people saying things like “I can’t stand f***in white people” and “Most of you are mad that a BLACK man (that’s right I said a BLACK man) can get this type of tribute” on one side, and “this freak should have been put down years ago” on the other side. Some of you may fail to see the racial in the latter sentence, but as it was written by a person calling himself “White35”, the quote has a somewhat different air and a more bigot undertone than a name like, say, “IHatePedos” would have implied.
I don’t think it should be necessary to point out what I just did on the same board. But obviously, the following is not clear to everyone, and it can’t hurt repeating it here. Some of you will think this is so self-evident it’s unnecessary to say it. I love you for that, but I still think it's important to make it clear this is our point of view. It deals with humanity, and the right to own humanity is and should always be the human right topping the list. The headline for the rest of them, or the groundwork, if you will.
The “you” I am referring to in the below, is the original poster dissing whites:
Generalizations about/hatred towards white people are no less racist than white hatred/generalizations. We're different, too, you know, different values, different viewpoints. All people are individuals, whatever origin. There are white scum and black scum and white goodness and black goodness. Most often, pardon the pun, it's not as black'n'white as many people, either hue, pretend. Grey zones aplenty, and it doesn't go with the skin color, goes with the personality.
I say that, and I wholeheartedly mean it, but I am by no means ignorant of the fact that culture matters in shaping personalities, and that black culture/communities have suffered way more under white racism than the other way around. White people were never slaves under black ownership in this country. White people do not still suffer under different socio-economic dynamics. I think you're entitled to be angry for that, I am, I find it most unfair. But don't you be mad at those of us who've never made ourselves guilty of that particular sin.
Do not put all of us under the white supremacy umbrella.
Most of the white people I know do not belong under it, just like most of the black people I know do not accept black racism towards white people. Being in doubt of the moral character of a person repeatedly accused of the same disgusting crime does not make anyone a racist. Let's just remember that.
We're all people, and every generalization is as much a lie as a truth. Except for this one, of course: Whoever fails to realize the truth in what I just said is an idiot.
http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2009/07/mj_memorial.html
I do not refer to the MJ song by the same name, but to people saying things like “I can’t stand f***in white people” and “Most of you are mad that a BLACK man (that’s right I said a BLACK man) can get this type of tribute” on one side, and “this freak should have been put down years ago” on the other side. Some of you may fail to see the racial in the latter sentence, but as it was written by a person calling himself “White35”, the quote has a somewhat different air and a more bigot undertone than a name like, say, “IHatePedos” would have implied.
I don’t think it should be necessary to point out what I just did on the same board. But obviously, the following is not clear to everyone, and it can’t hurt repeating it here. Some of you will think this is so self-evident it’s unnecessary to say it. I love you for that, but I still think it's important to make it clear this is our point of view. It deals with humanity, and the right to own humanity is and should always be the human right topping the list. The headline for the rest of them, or the groundwork, if you will.
The “you” I am referring to in the below, is the original poster dissing whites:
Generalizations about/hatred towards white people are no less racist than white hatred/generalizations. We're different, too, you know, different values, different viewpoints. All people are individuals, whatever origin. There are white scum and black scum and white goodness and black goodness. Most often, pardon the pun, it's not as black'n'white as many people, either hue, pretend. Grey zones aplenty, and it doesn't go with the skin color, goes with the personality.
I say that, and I wholeheartedly mean it, but I am by no means ignorant of the fact that culture matters in shaping personalities, and that black culture/communities have suffered way more under white racism than the other way around. White people were never slaves under black ownership in this country. White people do not still suffer under different socio-economic dynamics. I think you're entitled to be angry for that, I am, I find it most unfair. But don't you be mad at those of us who've never made ourselves guilty of that particular sin.
Do not put all of us under the white supremacy umbrella.
Most of the white people I know do not belong under it, just like most of the black people I know do not accept black racism towards white people. Being in doubt of the moral character of a person repeatedly accused of the same disgusting crime does not make anyone a racist. Let's just remember that.
We're all people, and every generalization is as much a lie as a truth. Except for this one, of course: Whoever fails to realize the truth in what I just said is an idiot.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Problems with my e-mail?
Has any of you tried to e-mail me, no reply, these last couple of days? There may be something strange going on with the ladyinred.blogspot@gmail.com address, and I am wondering how many people are affected by it... One of my e-mail friends just told me he has sent me stuff I haven't received, and I would like to know if any other of you has experienced the same. That is, if you've sent me e-mails I haven't replied to, say, this week and the last? If you haven't, it's possible problem is on his end of the communication, but if you have, I guess I should set up a secondary address to avoid this from now on.
You can use the comment field under this post, to avoid new e-mails going AWOL...
You can use the comment field under this post, to avoid new e-mails going AWOL...
Monday, July 6, 2009
On bullshit & being a woman
Sometimes, when I listen to male friends tell me about the bullshit some women put them through, I am wondering if we do indeed live in the same world.
There are the women who insist on a certain number of dates before they let themselves be kissed or touched or fucked. And there are women who “has to” be treated to this or that, shall they find a man “interesting”. Women demanding flowers or a certain amount of compliments or a certain number of phone calls or attention this way or the other before they even accept dates. The women “punishing” a man if he forgets to text or call when she finds it appropriate, most often without having told that man when those times are. There are women who tell a man to “forget about it” when all he’s done is asking if the chair next to her is taken or when he is actually just paying her a compliment on her haircut. And then there are the women who spend the time they spend with a man looking disinterested and acting disinterested just so that he will not find her “desperate”. And there are women actually really aching to go to bed with a man (these are who I find the silliest and did believe to be rarities, but my male friends insist there are many of them) but still deny themselves to go for it, because their girlfriends think one way or the other less about the fellow. And yeah, this is even worse, there are the women “accepting” to go to bed with a man, but COMPLAINING about it, in terms of sacrifice – to the guy or to her girlfriends after! Even worse than all of this: These women seem to think of themselves and talk about themselves as “class acts” because of their impoliteness. Not paying genuine attention to whoever you spend time with IS and WILL ALWAYS BE impolite, whatever your motives. And LYING on what you think about someone is and will always be a stupid, dishonest, childish thing to do.
Advice to guys: Never go out with a woman telling you she doesn’t “put out” without this or that happening first. A woman talking about getting down’n’dirty in terms of “putting out” does not get down and dirty. And if she does, you can be sure she expects some special treatment after, probably also without giving you some special treatment during. That kind of woman is high maintenance, whether she’s worth it or not. Unless you do already find her special to begin with, and there’s something about her intriguing you, you’re most likely to find her not worth it.
Likewise, advice to girls & women: If you like a man and enjoy his company, and are willing to show him you do by paying him the same attention you expect him to pay you, you’re likely to have fun with him. If you have fun with him, he’s likely to have fun with you. And that sex you’ll be having, when you’ll be having it, will be way better than it had been, had you put him through a number of tests and he’d been feeling he has to jump through hoops to please you. You will feel more relaxed, he will feel more relaxed. Most likely, you’d both be more playful and you may even feel ready for it sooner. And if the bed is the only place you leave it to him to please you, I can almost guarantee you he will.
Ok, enough on the world some people I know live in. I realize the truth in all of the above, though I do still from time to time think there cannot be THAT many people living in that world. But I have heard the same stories from too many men to deny it does exist as some kind of parallel universe, and I’ve heard the woman’s version of the story too many times to think that only those men live in that world. I have thought of that as a possibility, can’t deny that – suggesting that the men complaining about this kind of women are really men who do not relax with women themselves and/or men who think sex is their birth right, needing to cut some women some slack and realize that they are not interested in fucking every woman there is, either, and that women have the same right to be selective and to expect a man to raise to her “level” as he has for her. I have sometimes, too, told men that they do not notice the more subtle signs a woman has interest in a man and that they have to listen to what she’s not saying as much as to what she’s saying. I think that’s partly correct. But I do realize that it is not the full picture, because I’ve heard women tell me about this world too, realizing they (some of them) are finding it somewhat normal.
Her side of the story, for those of you interested, most often goes like this: She wants him to show her she is “special” to him, because she wants to BE special to him, and she wants to be “special” just by “being herself” and being appreciated for it – from the “beginning” on. So she sees nothing wrong in “testing” if she is. That she should put down some effort for his sake too, she thinks she does: She painted her nails before the date, right? She spent an hour getting ready, doing her hair this way and that, waxing her legs only yesterday, I know how much that hurts, don’t I, please keep that in mind, and she gave her outfit great thought, trying things over and over. She listened to his stories about his boring job, no complaint, even asked him some questions and let him dominate the conversation, though he didn’t ask once about her day. And she was “polite”, like her mama told her, she did say “thank you” when he paid for the drinks and asked her if she’d like some more, sure. That doesn’t mean she’s “obliged” to “go to bed with him, he should know that, and if he doesn’t, she’s willing to “teach” him. When I ask her if she doesn’t want to go to bed with him for HER OWN SAKE, answer too often is this: Sure, that would be nice, he’s looking good and smelling great, but she isn’t ready for it YET. And she doesn’t want him to think she does it with “everyone”.
Seriously, women: No one thinks you do it with everyone. No one even thinks I am doing it with everyone. If you only accept dates from men you actually like and only fuck men you actually want, you’ll enjoy it AND have that air of exclusivity without trying so freaking hard for it. He’ll feel special enough by seeing and feeling you enjoy it to the core. No man thinks every man can do that for you. They all think they do it like no other…
Me, I feel lucky, cutting myself some slack, being as honest as I feel like being. The men I like, I like, the men I don’t like, I don’t bother with. Why should I pretend otherwise? Wouldn’t improve anything for anyone, just a waste of time. And what’s so complicated about understanding that? Nothing! Sometimes, like when reading today’s Sex Diary in NYMag (http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_gay_commodities_trader.html) I think my life is more similar to the lives of the gay men I know, than to some of the straight women who share my status as a 30-something single.
Example: I just had a fuck date, a few hours ago. Man whose last name I didn’t think of asking about. That little fact leaves me feel a bit silly, but it doesn’t matter, really, I’ll find it if I want it. He is a friend of a friend, and it was our fellow friend who linked us, telling me he knew someone I should meet, considering my “lifestyle” and my “fitness fetish”, he was sure we’d “like” one another “very much”. And yeah, we did, though I can’t say we talked much. Man in question called me an hour or so before we met, just having gotten my number from our fellow friend some minutes before that. We hit it off, sending each other pics while still talking on the phone, both telling the other we liked what we saw. Neither of us having THAT fixed plans for the hours to come. It developed rather quickly, you can say, and when we discovered we were only a ten minute walk apart, he came over. He was hard as he came in the door, I was wet as well, and within seconds, we were both naked. And I am now just the right amount of tired and just the right amount of satisfied, and the man has left to do what he had to do for the rest of the day, not quite done working yet. I am free to spend my time how I want to, too, having just finished my work day before he called.
Maybe he’ll call me later, maybe we’ll repeat it later, and maybe we won’t. Either way, it was the nicest way to spend an afternoon. And though he was not quite my preferred size and not quite my preferred thickness, he was close enough, and he knew how to swing it. I liked that, I enjoyed it, and I sure wouldn’t mind doing it again. The simplicity of it all didn’t lessen the pleasure, rather the opposite.
Will I put this man through tests? No, why the hell would I bother with that? Will I give him hell if he doesn’t call me and I meet him again via our fellow friend? Seriously! He is not in any way obliged to. We spent an afternoon together, we did not enter a relationship. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we did not give each other promises. He’s got my number, and he’s allowed to use it if he wants to. If he doesn’t, there are other men who have the same number. And I am not incapable of dialing a phone number myself, if I want to. Women have phones too. Some of us even pay our own bills for it.
So sometimes I just thank my destiny I was born a woman. I suppose you’re right, guys, when you tell me we have it easier.
There are the women who insist on a certain number of dates before they let themselves be kissed or touched or fucked. And there are women who “has to” be treated to this or that, shall they find a man “interesting”. Women demanding flowers or a certain amount of compliments or a certain number of phone calls or attention this way or the other before they even accept dates. The women “punishing” a man if he forgets to text or call when she finds it appropriate, most often without having told that man when those times are. There are women who tell a man to “forget about it” when all he’s done is asking if the chair next to her is taken or when he is actually just paying her a compliment on her haircut. And then there are the women who spend the time they spend with a man looking disinterested and acting disinterested just so that he will not find her “desperate”. And there are women actually really aching to go to bed with a man (these are who I find the silliest and did believe to be rarities, but my male friends insist there are many of them) but still deny themselves to go for it, because their girlfriends think one way or the other less about the fellow. And yeah, this is even worse, there are the women “accepting” to go to bed with a man, but COMPLAINING about it, in terms of sacrifice – to the guy or to her girlfriends after! Even worse than all of this: These women seem to think of themselves and talk about themselves as “class acts” because of their impoliteness. Not paying genuine attention to whoever you spend time with IS and WILL ALWAYS BE impolite, whatever your motives. And LYING on what you think about someone is and will always be a stupid, dishonest, childish thing to do.
Advice to guys: Never go out with a woman telling you she doesn’t “put out” without this or that happening first. A woman talking about getting down’n’dirty in terms of “putting out” does not get down and dirty. And if she does, you can be sure she expects some special treatment after, probably also without giving you some special treatment during. That kind of woman is high maintenance, whether she’s worth it or not. Unless you do already find her special to begin with, and there’s something about her intriguing you, you’re most likely to find her not worth it.
Likewise, advice to girls & women: If you like a man and enjoy his company, and are willing to show him you do by paying him the same attention you expect him to pay you, you’re likely to have fun with him. If you have fun with him, he’s likely to have fun with you. And that sex you’ll be having, when you’ll be having it, will be way better than it had been, had you put him through a number of tests and he’d been feeling he has to jump through hoops to please you. You will feel more relaxed, he will feel more relaxed. Most likely, you’d both be more playful and you may even feel ready for it sooner. And if the bed is the only place you leave it to him to please you, I can almost guarantee you he will.
Ok, enough on the world some people I know live in. I realize the truth in all of the above, though I do still from time to time think there cannot be THAT many people living in that world. But I have heard the same stories from too many men to deny it does exist as some kind of parallel universe, and I’ve heard the woman’s version of the story too many times to think that only those men live in that world. I have thought of that as a possibility, can’t deny that – suggesting that the men complaining about this kind of women are really men who do not relax with women themselves and/or men who think sex is their birth right, needing to cut some women some slack and realize that they are not interested in fucking every woman there is, either, and that women have the same right to be selective and to expect a man to raise to her “level” as he has for her. I have sometimes, too, told men that they do not notice the more subtle signs a woman has interest in a man and that they have to listen to what she’s not saying as much as to what she’s saying. I think that’s partly correct. But I do realize that it is not the full picture, because I’ve heard women tell me about this world too, realizing they (some of them) are finding it somewhat normal.
Her side of the story, for those of you interested, most often goes like this: She wants him to show her she is “special” to him, because she wants to BE special to him, and she wants to be “special” just by “being herself” and being appreciated for it – from the “beginning” on. So she sees nothing wrong in “testing” if she is. That she should put down some effort for his sake too, she thinks she does: She painted her nails before the date, right? She spent an hour getting ready, doing her hair this way and that, waxing her legs only yesterday, I know how much that hurts, don’t I, please keep that in mind, and she gave her outfit great thought, trying things over and over. She listened to his stories about his boring job, no complaint, even asked him some questions and let him dominate the conversation, though he didn’t ask once about her day. And she was “polite”, like her mama told her, she did say “thank you” when he paid for the drinks and asked her if she’d like some more, sure. That doesn’t mean she’s “obliged” to “go to bed with him, he should know that, and if he doesn’t, she’s willing to “teach” him. When I ask her if she doesn’t want to go to bed with him for HER OWN SAKE, answer too often is this: Sure, that would be nice, he’s looking good and smelling great, but she isn’t ready for it YET. And she doesn’t want him to think she does it with “everyone”.
Seriously, women: No one thinks you do it with everyone. No one even thinks I am doing it with everyone. If you only accept dates from men you actually like and only fuck men you actually want, you’ll enjoy it AND have that air of exclusivity without trying so freaking hard for it. He’ll feel special enough by seeing and feeling you enjoy it to the core. No man thinks every man can do that for you. They all think they do it like no other…
Me, I feel lucky, cutting myself some slack, being as honest as I feel like being. The men I like, I like, the men I don’t like, I don’t bother with. Why should I pretend otherwise? Wouldn’t improve anything for anyone, just a waste of time. And what’s so complicated about understanding that? Nothing! Sometimes, like when reading today’s Sex Diary in NYMag (http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2009/07/the_gay_commodities_trader.html) I think my life is more similar to the lives of the gay men I know, than to some of the straight women who share my status as a 30-something single.
Example: I just had a fuck date, a few hours ago. Man whose last name I didn’t think of asking about. That little fact leaves me feel a bit silly, but it doesn’t matter, really, I’ll find it if I want it. He is a friend of a friend, and it was our fellow friend who linked us, telling me he knew someone I should meet, considering my “lifestyle” and my “fitness fetish”, he was sure we’d “like” one another “very much”. And yeah, we did, though I can’t say we talked much. Man in question called me an hour or so before we met, just having gotten my number from our fellow friend some minutes before that. We hit it off, sending each other pics while still talking on the phone, both telling the other we liked what we saw. Neither of us having THAT fixed plans for the hours to come. It developed rather quickly, you can say, and when we discovered we were only a ten minute walk apart, he came over. He was hard as he came in the door, I was wet as well, and within seconds, we were both naked. And I am now just the right amount of tired and just the right amount of satisfied, and the man has left to do what he had to do for the rest of the day, not quite done working yet. I am free to spend my time how I want to, too, having just finished my work day before he called.
Maybe he’ll call me later, maybe we’ll repeat it later, and maybe we won’t. Either way, it was the nicest way to spend an afternoon. And though he was not quite my preferred size and not quite my preferred thickness, he was close enough, and he knew how to swing it. I liked that, I enjoyed it, and I sure wouldn’t mind doing it again. The simplicity of it all didn’t lessen the pleasure, rather the opposite.
Will I put this man through tests? No, why the hell would I bother with that? Will I give him hell if he doesn’t call me and I meet him again via our fellow friend? Seriously! He is not in any way obliged to. We spent an afternoon together, we did not enter a relationship. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we did not give each other promises. He’s got my number, and he’s allowed to use it if he wants to. If he doesn’t, there are other men who have the same number. And I am not incapable of dialing a phone number myself, if I want to. Women have phones too. Some of us even pay our own bills for it.
So sometimes I just thank my destiny I was born a woman. I suppose you’re right, guys, when you tell me we have it easier.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Easy like Sunday Morning
Last night’s hookup is asleep in my hotel room bed as I roll out my yoga mat on the floor and start my workout. I don’t notice he’s awake until some 20 minutes out, when he gets up behind me and drags my panties down. I am standing in downward-facing dog, and he sticks his tongue into me from behind. I tell him to let me finish. He says he would like to finish. We both laugh, and I step out of my underwear, telling him I’ll keep them off for the rest of my workout, for his sake, and that I’ll work him after.
“Deal”, he says, gets back into bed, props himself up on the pillows, and starts stroking his cock as he watches me. I can see it in the mirror.
“Don’t you want me to do that?”, I ask.
“You’re kind of busy”, he responds.
“Sure”, I say, “But I thought we agreed you’d save that one for me, in like half an hour?”
He sighs.
“Stroke your balls”, I say. He does.
“And caress your ass”, I add. He does this, too.
“And perhaps your nipples. But do not touch your cock”, I say.
He hardens even more just by these words, and he asks if I can take off my sports bra, too, to do the rest of my yoga naked. I tell him it’s too early in the program, I need it for some minutes more, or I’ll damage my breasts.
“We don’t want that”, he responds, tone of agreement.
“Sure don’t”, I answer.
And then we both continue what we’re doing for some twenty minutes more. At this time, I’ve reached the softer part of the exercise program, stretching exercises, calming my muscles down before I end with relaxation, and I take off my bra, throw it to him on the bed, and he smells it. Fresh sweat, can hardly be smelling anything, the bra was clean out of my suitcase before I started. Men and underwear... Ain't exactly a sexy thing, that sports bra. He touches it as if it is.
Workout is not quite done yet, anyway. I roll down on my back and spread my legs in the resting position. Five to ten minutes of gathering my mind and the power of my muscles await. But only a minute or two have passed before he is out of the bed, down on his stomach and licking me from my inner legs and upwards.
I don’t move, and I don’t object. I don’t exactly gather my mood, either. Or rather, it’s gathered, but the thoughts it’s gathered around, are not the ones usually filling my brain post-yoga. My breath goes rapidly, as he licks his way up to my right knee, then starts over from the big toe on my left foot, this time, continuing all the way up to my inner thigh, before he gets back to the right knee, goes the same way upwards on it. I spread my legs more, and start stroking my own breasts, eyes still closed. He doesn’t touch my pussy, not yet. Instead, his tongue circles my stomach, caressing my abs and licking off my sweat. I give out a low, murmuring purr of a sound, not understanding it’s mine until it’s out. The tip of his cock is teasing my one thigh as he is bending over me and kissing my upper body. Then my lips, and I open my eyes, seeing he is now situated on his knees between mine, and I lift my pelvis towards him, spreads my legs even further, and let him slide in. Suddenly remembering something.
“Condom, condom”, I exclaim, and he pulls out, drags it on, quickly, and goes back to fucking me, right there, on the floor, on the yoga mat, as variations over the positions I’ve already been through once, this morning. He’s been paying close attention through observation, I can tell.
After, we continue on the bed. Soft and comfortable, here-and-now-intimacy coming to us as easy as the Sunday morning we're sharing. When he leaves around noon, I am pretty sure I’ll never see him again.
“Deal”, he says, gets back into bed, props himself up on the pillows, and starts stroking his cock as he watches me. I can see it in the mirror.
“Don’t you want me to do that?”, I ask.
“You’re kind of busy”, he responds.
“Sure”, I say, “But I thought we agreed you’d save that one for me, in like half an hour?”
He sighs.
“Stroke your balls”, I say. He does.
“And caress your ass”, I add. He does this, too.
“And perhaps your nipples. But do not touch your cock”, I say.
He hardens even more just by these words, and he asks if I can take off my sports bra, too, to do the rest of my yoga naked. I tell him it’s too early in the program, I need it for some minutes more, or I’ll damage my breasts.
“We don’t want that”, he responds, tone of agreement.
“Sure don’t”, I answer.
And then we both continue what we’re doing for some twenty minutes more. At this time, I’ve reached the softer part of the exercise program, stretching exercises, calming my muscles down before I end with relaxation, and I take off my bra, throw it to him on the bed, and he smells it. Fresh sweat, can hardly be smelling anything, the bra was clean out of my suitcase before I started. Men and underwear... Ain't exactly a sexy thing, that sports bra. He touches it as if it is.
Workout is not quite done yet, anyway. I roll down on my back and spread my legs in the resting position. Five to ten minutes of gathering my mind and the power of my muscles await. But only a minute or two have passed before he is out of the bed, down on his stomach and licking me from my inner legs and upwards.
I don’t move, and I don’t object. I don’t exactly gather my mood, either. Or rather, it’s gathered, but the thoughts it’s gathered around, are not the ones usually filling my brain post-yoga. My breath goes rapidly, as he licks his way up to my right knee, then starts over from the big toe on my left foot, this time, continuing all the way up to my inner thigh, before he gets back to the right knee, goes the same way upwards on it. I spread my legs more, and start stroking my own breasts, eyes still closed. He doesn’t touch my pussy, not yet. Instead, his tongue circles my stomach, caressing my abs and licking off my sweat. I give out a low, murmuring purr of a sound, not understanding it’s mine until it’s out. The tip of his cock is teasing my one thigh as he is bending over me and kissing my upper body. Then my lips, and I open my eyes, seeing he is now situated on his knees between mine, and I lift my pelvis towards him, spreads my legs even further, and let him slide in. Suddenly remembering something.
“Condom, condom”, I exclaim, and he pulls out, drags it on, quickly, and goes back to fucking me, right there, on the floor, on the yoga mat, as variations over the positions I’ve already been through once, this morning. He’s been paying close attention through observation, I can tell.
After, we continue on the bed. Soft and comfortable, here-and-now-intimacy coming to us as easy as the Sunday morning we're sharing. When he leaves around noon, I am pretty sure I’ll never see him again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)