Inspired by NYMag, of course.
Name: Lady In Red (okay, not really)
Age: 33. For an itty bitty little while more.
Neighborhood: LES
Occupation: Don’t feel like saying.
Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional?
It’s a tie between James Baldwin and Joan Didion.
What's the best meal you've eaten in New York?
Sushi at Nobu.
In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job?
I try to stay sane and I don’t always succeed.
Would you live here on a $35,000 salary?
Yes. But I hope I won’t have to.
What's the last thing you saw on Broadway?
Race.
Do you give money to panhandlers?
More often than not, I don’t.
What's your drink?
I drink water the most and like whisky the best. No ice in either.
How often do you prepare your own meals?
About every other day I make lunch or dinner. Consideringing the weight gain of my man's I guess I should do it more often.
What's your favorite medication?
Yoga. Plus allergy meds during the pollen season.
What's hanging above your sofa?
Bookshelves.
How much is too much to spend on a haircut?
I get mine so cheap I am embarrassed to answer.
When's bedtime?
Some time after midnight. But I often go to bed more than once during an evening.
Which do you prefer, the old Times Square or the new Times Square?
I avoided the old one, I avoid the new one. But if I had to choose, I’d go for a porn movie house rather than the M&M store.
What do you think of Donald Trump?
I don’t.
What do you hate most about living in New York?
Rents & rats.
Who is your mortal enemy?
Stagnation is death.
When's the last time you drove a car?
Can’t remember, that’s how long ago it is. I am the worst driver. Too whimsical.
How has the Wall Street crash affected you?
Indirectly, the way it’s affected the whole city.
Times, Post, or Daily News?
Times. But Page Six is a guilty pleasure I regularly give in to.
Where do you go to be alone?
The bathroom.
What makes someone a New Yorker?
Lots of stuff. I made a "ten signs" list earlier today, when commenting at NYMag. Come to think of it, you should be able to check at least half of them:
*You can immediately tell who else are and aren't, most often, before they've said a word.
*You have a minimum of five favorite restaurants within a five minute walk from your home.
*Most of the places you used to go to as a kid no longer exist.
*You walk fast and you talk fast.
*You've got a strong opinion on which neighborhoods count and which doesn't. (And you don't willingly live in Midtown.)
*You don't need a map below Houston nor in the Village.
*Whenever someone pronounces Houston wrong, you give them false directions.
*Silence scares you, sirens don't.
*You always get a cab when you need it.
*You don't need to be born here, but you can't see yourself dying anywhere else.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Kegel Priestess/Kegel Ninja
My fellow commenters on NYMag are nicknaming me the Kegel Priestess/the Kegel Ninja, because I never let an opportunity pass to recommend kegels. And why should I? Ladies and gentlemen, particularly ladies, this is what doing your kegel exercises do for you:
**First and foremost, it gives you a more flexible vagina. You can squeeze it tighter for a longer amount of time, feeling close, warm, tight and young for your lover, as well as opening up to a further degree, giving a looser and more relaxed feel to it (a good thing if your lover is on the bigger side and/or if you want to try fisting, and/or if you’re among those who feel pain during intercourse). In short, vaginal rejuvenation plus a more varied repertoire as a lover, for free and without the risks of going to a surgeon!
**A stronger libido, because you’ll become wet and ready quicker and easier than you’re used to. You’ll enjoy the in-and-out-movements more than you did before. (This feels great for your man too. Makes him feel like a wonderful lover, whether he is or not.)
**Stronger and more frequent orgasms, especially multiple orgasms, and I think, without being able to prove it scientifically, also an easier access to squirting orgasms. (See parenthesis above.)
**Easier and faster births, the experts say (by average, the pressure phase is an hour shorter for a woman whose muscles are trained, plus the risks for cuts/bruises/having to be stitched after are smaller) AND quicker recovery after birth.
**Greater bladder control.
HOW: There are three speed intervals you should be able to master. The quick one. The long-lasting one. And the one in between.
**For the quick speed: Tighten and relax the muscles in as quick a movement as you are physically able to. As if blinking with an eye. Repeat as many times as you want, or until you feel as if you want to/need to pee.
**Medium speed: Tighten the muscles. Keep the grip while counting to ten. Release and count to ten before repeating. Repeat at least 10-50 times (depending on how well-trained your muscles are. As your muscle strength increases, you increase the time interval to counting to 25. And then to 40. And then to 60/a minute.)
**Slow speed: Tighten the muscles for as long as you can take it. Then loosen up to relax. Do not repeat until later, say, the day after.
In either case, after every squeeze you should loosen up and relax for as long a time as you’ve kept your muscles together. If you’re not used to doing kegels, there’s no harm in relaxing for a bit longer than you’ve been tightening up, either.
Don’t know which muscles to squeeze? I call them, naturally, the kegel muscles. Some say the love muscles. The medical name is the pelvic floor. They’re located all the way around your vulva/vagina/anus and uterus. Those closest to the vag will be the first where you notice the exercises. If you want to control if you’re doing it right, you can to one out of two: Stop the flow by squeezing the muscles tight when peeing. Or stick a finger in and try to grip and release the grip around it (when NOT peeing). Naturally, I prefer the latter, but the former is the way most often recommended by gynecologists.
AN EVEN BETTER HOW: When you’re sure you’re in control, you can practice these same squeezes when fucking. Your man will feel the difference to your grip, varying between tight and soft, strong and mellow. I call it my “hug and squeeze maneuver”, or sometimes, my “hug and squeeze and milk maneuver”. I usually do it when on top (= the man can effortlessly lay back and enjoy it) and several of my lovers have told me the sensation is no less than sensational…
WHEN: Whenever. No one will notice you’re exercising these muscles. Unless, of course, you do it while having a male visitor inside. He won’t fail to notice, and he will celebrate you forever.
WHY: See above. What’s not to love? Kegels really are the answer to everything.
PS: Men can work out their pelvic muscles, too. It will give them greater control over their erections and ejaculations, allowing them to come sooner or later as they please. Also, that bladder control thing.
**First and foremost, it gives you a more flexible vagina. You can squeeze it tighter for a longer amount of time, feeling close, warm, tight and young for your lover, as well as opening up to a further degree, giving a looser and more relaxed feel to it (a good thing if your lover is on the bigger side and/or if you want to try fisting, and/or if you’re among those who feel pain during intercourse). In short, vaginal rejuvenation plus a more varied repertoire as a lover, for free and without the risks of going to a surgeon!
**A stronger libido, because you’ll become wet and ready quicker and easier than you’re used to. You’ll enjoy the in-and-out-movements more than you did before. (This feels great for your man too. Makes him feel like a wonderful lover, whether he is or not.)
**Stronger and more frequent orgasms, especially multiple orgasms, and I think, without being able to prove it scientifically, also an easier access to squirting orgasms. (See parenthesis above.)
**Easier and faster births, the experts say (by average, the pressure phase is an hour shorter for a woman whose muscles are trained, plus the risks for cuts/bruises/having to be stitched after are smaller) AND quicker recovery after birth.
**Greater bladder control.
HOW: There are three speed intervals you should be able to master. The quick one. The long-lasting one. And the one in between.
**For the quick speed: Tighten and relax the muscles in as quick a movement as you are physically able to. As if blinking with an eye. Repeat as many times as you want, or until you feel as if you want to/need to pee.
**Medium speed: Tighten the muscles. Keep the grip while counting to ten. Release and count to ten before repeating. Repeat at least 10-50 times (depending on how well-trained your muscles are. As your muscle strength increases, you increase the time interval to counting to 25. And then to 40. And then to 60/a minute.)
**Slow speed: Tighten the muscles for as long as you can take it. Then loosen up to relax. Do not repeat until later, say, the day after.
In either case, after every squeeze you should loosen up and relax for as long a time as you’ve kept your muscles together. If you’re not used to doing kegels, there’s no harm in relaxing for a bit longer than you’ve been tightening up, either.
Don’t know which muscles to squeeze? I call them, naturally, the kegel muscles. Some say the love muscles. The medical name is the pelvic floor. They’re located all the way around your vulva/vagina/anus and uterus. Those closest to the vag will be the first where you notice the exercises. If you want to control if you’re doing it right, you can to one out of two: Stop the flow by squeezing the muscles tight when peeing. Or stick a finger in and try to grip and release the grip around it (when NOT peeing). Naturally, I prefer the latter, but the former is the way most often recommended by gynecologists.
AN EVEN BETTER HOW: When you’re sure you’re in control, you can practice these same squeezes when fucking. Your man will feel the difference to your grip, varying between tight and soft, strong and mellow. I call it my “hug and squeeze maneuver”, or sometimes, my “hug and squeeze and milk maneuver”. I usually do it when on top (= the man can effortlessly lay back and enjoy it) and several of my lovers have told me the sensation is no less than sensational…
WHEN: Whenever. No one will notice you’re exercising these muscles. Unless, of course, you do it while having a male visitor inside. He won’t fail to notice, and he will celebrate you forever.
WHY: See above. What’s not to love? Kegels really are the answer to everything.
PS: Men can work out their pelvic muscles, too. It will give them greater control over their erections and ejaculations, allowing them to come sooner or later as they please. Also, that bladder control thing.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Right here beside me... Still missing it.
He's lying right next to me. I still haven't gotten any in almost a week. Five days. He's sick. I'm desperate. And I am reminded of two things: Being in a relationship is a good thing, for the access. And being in a relationship sucks. For having to stick with it.
You can't get it all, can you?
You can't get it all, can you?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Small cock, big problem
I know I have been dissing Jamie Bufalino before. I am certain I will again. I have no idea how this man landed the title “sex expert” or the gig in Time Out.
Gay Dan Savage (of the Village Voice) knows multiple times more about female sexuality than Bufalino the Buffalo. That says something, I guess.
From this week’s column:
Q: I’m a hetero woman, and in the past few years I have played with a lot of men, but never had a relationship that extended outside the bedroom. I recently met a drop-dead handsome man with a fantastic body—just looking at him sets my loins on fire. He is great with his mouth and hands, and is a considerate boyfriend outside the bedroom. However, he has the smallest penis I have ever encountered. His erection is barely enough to penetrate me, and then once he’s inside, it’s all over in a couple of minutes. Some women like oral or being fingered; I just love a lengthy pounding with a rock-hard cock…and I’m not getting it. But despite his inability to deliver, I get horny just thinking about him. He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has. Should I break up with him now before I get too emotionally involved? I don’t want to give up the boyfriend experience as well as the unbridled lust he stirs in me. Will I eventually lose interest in him because of the less-than-stellar sex? We’re both in our late thirties.
A: I always love it when a sentence like “He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has” is immediately followed by “Should I break up with him?” Why in the name of all that’s holy would you preemptively end a solid relationship (not perfect, but solid) just because there’s the possibility (not a guarantee) of feeling a little more intense emotional pain somewhere down the road? Furthermore, why isn’t your question, “What can I do to recalibrate my thinking so that I’m not so focused on his puny dick , while being overly dismissive of how well-meaning he is?” (It really barely penetrates? I have to admit it’s hard for me to even get a mental picture of such a travesty.) Answer: practice, practice, practice. Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching. Instead of doing and feeling the same things over and over again (and getting the same result), why don’t you just let this thing play out? Don’t forget: You’re actually into being with him. At least wait until he drives you up the fucking wall before you trash what seems to be a pretty good thing. (End of quote.)
My (Lady In Red's) advice to the same woman:
First of all, don’t ever write to a less-than-stellar sex columnist again.
Second, do your kegels. As many of them as you possibly can. And when he’s inside of you, get on top and do the same thing. You’ll both feel more. Any position where you can squeeze your legs tight will also help you. Tried reverse cowgirl with your legs in a crossed position? Tried doggy with your legs crossed?
Third: Buy a vibrator. A big one. If you think your boyfriend is willing to play with it with you, introduce it to him. Have him fuck you with it. And if he is as small as you say, the vibe and the man will fit inside of you at the same time, increasing your pleasure, and probably his, too.
If you don’t think he’ll be up for it, if you think it’ll make him insecure, play with it when you’re alone. It’s not the same, I know, but at least you’ll get the feeling of being filled up without having to cheat. Don’t dump the guy because of his short-comings, not as long as he makes you feel the way he does. In that, JB is right: Let the relationship run its course.
But do, by all means, try to make up for it with hands and mouth and toys. It’ll make your sex life more satisfactory, and that, my friend, makes your life with this guy more satisfactory.
Also: Do you think there’s a chance he’ll be up for threesomes? With other men, I mean? Or if he’ll be willing to open up your relationship, emotionally monogamous, sexually open? If he is, you’ll get the sex you want without having to give up on the emotions.
As for talking to him about this: He knows he is small. (That’s why he is so great with his hands and mouth.) Mocking it will make him feel insecure. Talking to him about how to compensate for it, in a matter-of-fact-manner, shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. “I wonder if you’ve ever tried having sex with a vibrator”, “I wonder what you think about this or that position”, “I’d like to try ---- to feel you better” – these sentences shouldn’t take his confidence away.
PS: You all may think I mock JB too easily. But listen to this line: “Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching”.
What the F has her experience got to do with anything????? She mentions it to show that she doesn't fall in love that easily, and that sex (intercourse) is important to her. But JB interprets it as if she has already had “more than her share” of good fucking, and doesn’t deserve to get any more of it? Go fuck yourself, JB, because YOU don’t deserve to get any from any other person for a long, long time.
A woman taking responsibility for her own pleasure does indeed deserve the pleasure she wants. A woman whose priorities include a good fuck will not be truly happy without a good fuck. As a socalled sex expert, your responsibility should be coming up with suggestions on how to get it. NOT to come up with half-chewed hints that women liking it are sluts and selfish bitches.
Gay Dan Savage (of the Village Voice) knows multiple times more about female sexuality than Bufalino the Buffalo. That says something, I guess.
From this week’s column:
Q: I’m a hetero woman, and in the past few years I have played with a lot of men, but never had a relationship that extended outside the bedroom. I recently met a drop-dead handsome man with a fantastic body—just looking at him sets my loins on fire. He is great with his mouth and hands, and is a considerate boyfriend outside the bedroom. However, he has the smallest penis I have ever encountered. His erection is barely enough to penetrate me, and then once he’s inside, it’s all over in a couple of minutes. Some women like oral or being fingered; I just love a lengthy pounding with a rock-hard cock…and I’m not getting it. But despite his inability to deliver, I get horny just thinking about him. He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has. Should I break up with him now before I get too emotionally involved? I don’t want to give up the boyfriend experience as well as the unbridled lust he stirs in me. Will I eventually lose interest in him because of the less-than-stellar sex? We’re both in our late thirties.
A: I always love it when a sentence like “He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has” is immediately followed by “Should I break up with him?” Why in the name of all that’s holy would you preemptively end a solid relationship (not perfect, but solid) just because there’s the possibility (not a guarantee) of feeling a little more intense emotional pain somewhere down the road? Furthermore, why isn’t your question, “What can I do to recalibrate my thinking so that I’m not so focused on his puny dick , while being overly dismissive of how well-meaning he is?” (It really barely penetrates? I have to admit it’s hard for me to even get a mental picture of such a travesty.) Answer: practice, practice, practice. Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching. Instead of doing and feeling the same things over and over again (and getting the same result), why don’t you just let this thing play out? Don’t forget: You’re actually into being with him. At least wait until he drives you up the fucking wall before you trash what seems to be a pretty good thing. (End of quote.)
My (Lady In Red's) advice to the same woman:
First of all, don’t ever write to a less-than-stellar sex columnist again.
Second, do your kegels. As many of them as you possibly can. And when he’s inside of you, get on top and do the same thing. You’ll both feel more. Any position where you can squeeze your legs tight will also help you. Tried reverse cowgirl with your legs in a crossed position? Tried doggy with your legs crossed?
Third: Buy a vibrator. A big one. If you think your boyfriend is willing to play with it with you, introduce it to him. Have him fuck you with it. And if he is as small as you say, the vibe and the man will fit inside of you at the same time, increasing your pleasure, and probably his, too.
If you don’t think he’ll be up for it, if you think it’ll make him insecure, play with it when you’re alone. It’s not the same, I know, but at least you’ll get the feeling of being filled up without having to cheat. Don’t dump the guy because of his short-comings, not as long as he makes you feel the way he does. In that, JB is right: Let the relationship run its course.
But do, by all means, try to make up for it with hands and mouth and toys. It’ll make your sex life more satisfactory, and that, my friend, makes your life with this guy more satisfactory.
Also: Do you think there’s a chance he’ll be up for threesomes? With other men, I mean? Or if he’ll be willing to open up your relationship, emotionally monogamous, sexually open? If he is, you’ll get the sex you want without having to give up on the emotions.
As for talking to him about this: He knows he is small. (That’s why he is so great with his hands and mouth.) Mocking it will make him feel insecure. Talking to him about how to compensate for it, in a matter-of-fact-manner, shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. “I wonder if you’ve ever tried having sex with a vibrator”, “I wonder what you think about this or that position”, “I’d like to try ---- to feel you better” – these sentences shouldn’t take his confidence away.
PS: You all may think I mock JB too easily. But listen to this line: “Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching”.
What the F has her experience got to do with anything????? She mentions it to show that she doesn't fall in love that easily, and that sex (intercourse) is important to her. But JB interprets it as if she has already had “more than her share” of good fucking, and doesn’t deserve to get any more of it? Go fuck yourself, JB, because YOU don’t deserve to get any from any other person for a long, long time.
A woman taking responsibility for her own pleasure does indeed deserve the pleasure she wants. A woman whose priorities include a good fuck will not be truly happy without a good fuck. As a socalled sex expert, your responsibility should be coming up with suggestions on how to get it. NOT to come up with half-chewed hints that women liking it are sluts and selfish bitches.
Monday, February 1, 2010
No sex, please, they’re English
Normally, I oppose stereotypes with all my might. But sometimes, people seem eager to confirm the most parodic of them. Like now, when some British and French scientists discuss whether the G-spot exists. Presumably male scientists, I should say.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/28/g-spot-france-sex-gynaecology
Hard as it is, I am going to let the Brit-French jokes lie for now. And the scientist jokes too. I find it a bit harder not to point out that The Guardian – a newspaper I normally consider to be brilliant – finds it appropriate to label this with the term “gynecology” (if you ask me, among the least sexy ten letters in the English dictionary, or eleven, as it’s apparently spelled in the Queen’s Country – with that A in it, it sounds even more medievally medical). But that wasn’t really what I was going to say either.
What I was going to say was this: How ON EARTH is it even possible to have this discussion? I understand how it’s possible to discuss whether God exists. Or Fate. Or love at first sight. Or Santa Claus, presuming you’re five years old. These are all abstracts. But how it’s possible to discuss whether the G-spot EXISTS, presuming you’re NOT five years old, I can’t for the life of me get a grasp on. How it’s NOT possible to find it?
I have often wondered, whenever overhearing this kind of discussion. There’s no doubt about where it is. I have never needed any kind of searching to find it. It’s just there. Exactly where it’s supposed to be. Working exactly the way it’s supposed to do. (And there’s another extra-sensitive spot in there too, more or less directly opposed to it, just a little further in. The latter, I think, is where squirting starts. Can’t really guarantee I am right about this – the liquid may come from even further within – but I think my theory is correct.) I don’t even need to be aroused to find it, though, of course, it’s more distinct when I am.
I may be a lucky woman. Men have told me I am. And certain Red-is-not-supposed-to-see-this-glance-exchanges between girlfriends tell me the same. But the girlfriends in question are mostly women whose self-images are not totally how they should be. These are women who’ve also told me, from time to time, that they feel uncomfortable naked. Who admit they’ve got troubles letting go and to be in the moment, when they have sex. I’ve always believed their troubles to be psychologically founded, and I have never for a second in my life imagined it to be physical. At least not in the have-or-have-not way of physical. (I admit that I have, from time to time, imagined it’s about the physics of their men.) But I mean, like one of the Guardian commenters say, if anyone had said that only some 60 % of women were in possession of other organs, like a liver or a heart or a set of lungs, they would have been ridiculed big time. It’s there. Just how it is. But still, apparently, there’s no “scientific” research concluding??? This baffles me. What does it say about science? And what does it say about everything we do not need science for? If a woman orgasms in the woods without a scientist to see, did the trees really move?
The abovementioned article, BTW, is not the only thing written in The Guardian about this. They’ve had a couple of more texts on the same subject. Among them, the following is actually quite sad, with this quote, unfortunately, coming from a woman: “I haven't a clue whether the G-spot exists, nor do I much care.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/05/g-spot-women-study
Really? REALLY? I mean: REALLY?
Can anyone even imagine a discussion on whether male ejaculation is real or a myth? Or whether it matters if it is?
I didn’t think so.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/28/g-spot-france-sex-gynaecology
Hard as it is, I am going to let the Brit-French jokes lie for now. And the scientist jokes too. I find it a bit harder not to point out that The Guardian – a newspaper I normally consider to be brilliant – finds it appropriate to label this with the term “gynecology” (if you ask me, among the least sexy ten letters in the English dictionary, or eleven, as it’s apparently spelled in the Queen’s Country – with that A in it, it sounds even more medievally medical). But that wasn’t really what I was going to say either.
What I was going to say was this: How ON EARTH is it even possible to have this discussion? I understand how it’s possible to discuss whether God exists. Or Fate. Or love at first sight. Or Santa Claus, presuming you’re five years old. These are all abstracts. But how it’s possible to discuss whether the G-spot EXISTS, presuming you’re NOT five years old, I can’t for the life of me get a grasp on. How it’s NOT possible to find it?
I have often wondered, whenever overhearing this kind of discussion. There’s no doubt about where it is. I have never needed any kind of searching to find it. It’s just there. Exactly where it’s supposed to be. Working exactly the way it’s supposed to do. (And there’s another extra-sensitive spot in there too, more or less directly opposed to it, just a little further in. The latter, I think, is where squirting starts. Can’t really guarantee I am right about this – the liquid may come from even further within – but I think my theory is correct.) I don’t even need to be aroused to find it, though, of course, it’s more distinct when I am.
I may be a lucky woman. Men have told me I am. And certain Red-is-not-supposed-to-see-this-glance-exchanges between girlfriends tell me the same. But the girlfriends in question are mostly women whose self-images are not totally how they should be. These are women who’ve also told me, from time to time, that they feel uncomfortable naked. Who admit they’ve got troubles letting go and to be in the moment, when they have sex. I’ve always believed their troubles to be psychologically founded, and I have never for a second in my life imagined it to be physical. At least not in the have-or-have-not way of physical. (I admit that I have, from time to time, imagined it’s about the physics of their men.) But I mean, like one of the Guardian commenters say, if anyone had said that only some 60 % of women were in possession of other organs, like a liver or a heart or a set of lungs, they would have been ridiculed big time. It’s there. Just how it is. But still, apparently, there’s no “scientific” research concluding??? This baffles me. What does it say about science? And what does it say about everything we do not need science for? If a woman orgasms in the woods without a scientist to see, did the trees really move?
The abovementioned article, BTW, is not the only thing written in The Guardian about this. They’ve had a couple of more texts on the same subject. Among them, the following is actually quite sad, with this quote, unfortunately, coming from a woman: “I haven't a clue whether the G-spot exists, nor do I much care.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/05/g-spot-women-study
Really? REALLY? I mean: REALLY?
Can anyone even imagine a discussion on whether male ejaculation is real or a myth? Or whether it matters if it is?
I didn’t think so.
A perfect day. Or two, actually...
Saturday morning the phone wakes me up. Brooklyn friends cancelling brunch, it’s too cold for them to want to take the baby out. When I discover just how cold, I’m glad they did. In this regard I have never been much of a Viking. So I get back to the bed, suggesting we’d stay inside the whole weekend for a change. "I’ve got an even better idea", he says, putting his hands around my wrists and pulling me underneath him. "Let’s stay in bed for the whole weekend".
I laugh. I’ve never stayed in bed for a full day straight unless I’ve been really unwell. For now, I feel great. And as he kisses me, I feel even better. Let’s do that, I agree. And so we do.
We don’t have sex for the whole time. We read the newspapers aloud to each other. We quote passages from favorite books. I do the crossword, he a Sudoku. We talk and laugh. We cuddle. We order in pizza. We take a nap. We only leave the bed to use the bathroom or to make coffee. We don’t use the TV, we don’t turn on the computers. Phones, we’ve turned off, too. Around six p.m I go restless. Sure, I've moved some. We’ve already had sex a couple of times, some three hours all in all. Some of it has been vigorous. But I still haven’t gotten my workout, and usually, I do an hour a day. He won’t let me leave the bed to do it, and he teases me.
"You can do it here. You can use me as your yoga mat, I’ll handle it", he says. And so I do. To begin with, I pretend to be doing the exercise for real. Playfully, I ignore his sighs as I put my full body weight on my hands on his back. I know it hurts, but not that much. Eventually, we get it on the way he meant it all along, his cock is inside of me, positions just slightly different from what they use to be when I do them solo for another purpose. We do doggy for upwards dog and I skip the warrior poses. The boat feels very interesting... In that angle, as well as some of the others, he helps supporting me so that I won’t do any damage. Keeping my breath is quite a challenge, though, and I give up on it after not that many minutes. The try-to-stick-to-the-poses attitude goes next, but I keep bending and stretching and trying out whether the regular poses can be translated into sex poses. Surprisingly many of them can.
After, he spoons me, and we cuddle some more. Telling each other silly little secrets. Joking and laughing. It’s a great day. And then Sunday’s the same. As we wake up Monday morning, ready for work, he says "We don’t always need to do something for it to do us good".
I think he is right.
I laugh. I’ve never stayed in bed for a full day straight unless I’ve been really unwell. For now, I feel great. And as he kisses me, I feel even better. Let’s do that, I agree. And so we do.
We don’t have sex for the whole time. We read the newspapers aloud to each other. We quote passages from favorite books. I do the crossword, he a Sudoku. We talk and laugh. We cuddle. We order in pizza. We take a nap. We only leave the bed to use the bathroom or to make coffee. We don’t use the TV, we don’t turn on the computers. Phones, we’ve turned off, too. Around six p.m I go restless. Sure, I've moved some. We’ve already had sex a couple of times, some three hours all in all. Some of it has been vigorous. But I still haven’t gotten my workout, and usually, I do an hour a day. He won’t let me leave the bed to do it, and he teases me.
"You can do it here. You can use me as your yoga mat, I’ll handle it", he says. And so I do. To begin with, I pretend to be doing the exercise for real. Playfully, I ignore his sighs as I put my full body weight on my hands on his back. I know it hurts, but not that much. Eventually, we get it on the way he meant it all along, his cock is inside of me, positions just slightly different from what they use to be when I do them solo for another purpose. We do doggy for upwards dog and I skip the warrior poses. The boat feels very interesting... In that angle, as well as some of the others, he helps supporting me so that I won’t do any damage. Keeping my breath is quite a challenge, though, and I give up on it after not that many minutes. The try-to-stick-to-the-poses attitude goes next, but I keep bending and stretching and trying out whether the regular poses can be translated into sex poses. Surprisingly many of them can.
After, he spoons me, and we cuddle some more. Telling each other silly little secrets. Joking and laughing. It’s a great day. And then Sunday’s the same. As we wake up Monday morning, ready for work, he says "We don’t always need to do something for it to do us good".
I think he is right.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Enough?
I know I can be demanding. My energy levels are higher than most. My sex drive, the same. I want it daily, and preferably, a couple of times a day. In my past, there have been men who’ve been able to handle, and there have been men who haven’t. Inevitably, when I am with one of the latter, I tire of it. Sooner or later I call it quits.
I am now beginning to wonder if that’s where my current relationship is going.
Sexually, as well as out of bed, we’re different personalities. We always have been. He’s introvert, I’m extrovert. I enjoy variation. I thrive on that stream of ever new experiences. Sometimes this, sometimes that, sometimes for a long time, sometimes for a short time. Sometimes here, sometimes there.
To him, sex is best done more or less the same way every time. Every session is like a three-course meal. Or more. It’s a marathon. It’s a triathlon. There are sequences to it always repeated. It starts with cuddling and grinding, kissing and fondling. Perhaps some fingering, perhaps some licking. Then intercourse, for as long as I am able to take it. (A couple of hours, mostly.) Missionary, missionary with my legs up and around his neck, doggy, sideways, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, rotating cowgirl, both of us standing, then him standing next to the bed as I lie down on it straddling him, then him kneeling on the bed as I straddle him. Then, more often than not, back to doggy or to one of the missionary style positions, one of those we can do for ever. We go through some eight-ten standard positions every time. When I’ve come too many times to be able to continue, I blow him and I work him with my hands and tits until he gets off. If he gets off. Sometimes, he enters me again when he feels he is close. Sometimes, he wears himself out before he gets there. Too sore or too exhausted to keep it up.
You can say I do get my variation. Because every time we do it, we go through more positions than I'd get in a week or a month with another man. But it still feels as if we do the same thing over and over. A quickie is out of the question. We can’t do it in the morning unless we’ve both got the day off. We can’t do it in the lunch break, we can’t do it in between plans, like, before the guests arrive for dinner or when we’re expected somewhere. He needs his time, and he doesn’t think there’s no point to starting it if we do not have a couple of hours for it. Surprise sex? That’s rare. And so I do not get it on a daily basis. Sure, I can take care of my own pleasures, and of course, I do. But I do not cheat, and I will not cheat. I’ve promised him that, and I won’t break my promises. As long as we’re together, he’s the only man I am with. And of course, whenever I am with him, he pleasures me one hell of a lot. His cock is wonderful. He’s in good shape, and he’s always willing to let me take the lead and to add some new to his repertoire. But still. I am beginning to wonder if it is enough. Whether I need some more. Whether he’s worth this kind of patience.
I know why it is like this. I don’t want to share the details, I think it would be unfair without his knowledge. Suffice to say there are control issues due to experiences of his past. Troubles letting go of control. I understand it, and I think I accept it. It took me some time, but I know that there’s no failure on my part, when he isn’t getting there, and it doesn’t frustrate me like it used to.
To begin with, I felt as if it was my fault, every time he didn’t come. I felt as if I couldn’t live up to my own expectations of myself as a lover, using all my tricks, twists and turns, those never failing to work before. Now I know that this has nothing to do with it. It’s not about abilities. It’s not about techniques, it’s about the mental state he’s in and the experiences he’s had before me. I also know that he finds sex with me more fulfilling than it's ever been before. He says, and from the way he acts, I know it's the truth. Though he can from time to time be frustrated about himself and about the lack of fulfillment, I also know he enjoys it even if he’s not able to finish. And when he is, oh, when he is, he's so happy about it, it makes me happy too.
Question is whether he gives me enough. I don't yet know.
I am now beginning to wonder if that’s where my current relationship is going.
Sexually, as well as out of bed, we’re different personalities. We always have been. He’s introvert, I’m extrovert. I enjoy variation. I thrive on that stream of ever new experiences. Sometimes this, sometimes that, sometimes for a long time, sometimes for a short time. Sometimes here, sometimes there.
To him, sex is best done more or less the same way every time. Every session is like a three-course meal. Or more. It’s a marathon. It’s a triathlon. There are sequences to it always repeated. It starts with cuddling and grinding, kissing and fondling. Perhaps some fingering, perhaps some licking. Then intercourse, for as long as I am able to take it. (A couple of hours, mostly.) Missionary, missionary with my legs up and around his neck, doggy, sideways, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, rotating cowgirl, both of us standing, then him standing next to the bed as I lie down on it straddling him, then him kneeling on the bed as I straddle him. Then, more often than not, back to doggy or to one of the missionary style positions, one of those we can do for ever. We go through some eight-ten standard positions every time. When I’ve come too many times to be able to continue, I blow him and I work him with my hands and tits until he gets off. If he gets off. Sometimes, he enters me again when he feels he is close. Sometimes, he wears himself out before he gets there. Too sore or too exhausted to keep it up.
You can say I do get my variation. Because every time we do it, we go through more positions than I'd get in a week or a month with another man. But it still feels as if we do the same thing over and over. A quickie is out of the question. We can’t do it in the morning unless we’ve both got the day off. We can’t do it in the lunch break, we can’t do it in between plans, like, before the guests arrive for dinner or when we’re expected somewhere. He needs his time, and he doesn’t think there’s no point to starting it if we do not have a couple of hours for it. Surprise sex? That’s rare. And so I do not get it on a daily basis. Sure, I can take care of my own pleasures, and of course, I do. But I do not cheat, and I will not cheat. I’ve promised him that, and I won’t break my promises. As long as we’re together, he’s the only man I am with. And of course, whenever I am with him, he pleasures me one hell of a lot. His cock is wonderful. He’s in good shape, and he’s always willing to let me take the lead and to add some new to his repertoire. But still. I am beginning to wonder if it is enough. Whether I need some more. Whether he’s worth this kind of patience.
I know why it is like this. I don’t want to share the details, I think it would be unfair without his knowledge. Suffice to say there are control issues due to experiences of his past. Troubles letting go of control. I understand it, and I think I accept it. It took me some time, but I know that there’s no failure on my part, when he isn’t getting there, and it doesn’t frustrate me like it used to.
To begin with, I felt as if it was my fault, every time he didn’t come. I felt as if I couldn’t live up to my own expectations of myself as a lover, using all my tricks, twists and turns, those never failing to work before. Now I know that this has nothing to do with it. It’s not about abilities. It’s not about techniques, it’s about the mental state he’s in and the experiences he’s had before me. I also know that he finds sex with me more fulfilling than it's ever been before. He says, and from the way he acts, I know it's the truth. Though he can from time to time be frustrated about himself and about the lack of fulfillment, I also know he enjoys it even if he’s not able to finish. And when he is, oh, when he is, he's so happy about it, it makes me happy too.
Question is whether he gives me enough. I don't yet know.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Let’s (not) get married
NYTimes is doing another cockadoo story on men, women, dating, this time, even marriage. The conclusion is that more men marry educated women than in 1970 (that is, I can tell you, because more of us ARE educated today than women were in 1970, but that, of course, isn’t news).
But, according to the Times, this "trend" isn’t valid in New York, because it’s still very very hard for a very very smart woman in NYC to find a husband. Duh. Let me repeat that for my more stupid readers: Duh. Duh. Duh.
Let it lie that the article author isn’t educated enough to read statistics correctly. (Duh.)
Or that other statistics would tell them that there are in fact more women than men in NYC. (Duh.)
Or that the women interviewed are really poor examples of successful New York women. (Duh. Duh.) One of them is out of work, one is a German stylist, and one finds it genial to use the question "do you have a passport and a library card?" as some kind of litmus test to men she meets in bars. (Duuuuuuuh. And a well-meant note to everyone even considering for a second trying this: Not only do most people have this, not only will most people find it insulting that the other person presumes they don’t, but plenty of people would probably also take the passport question to mean that they’re sent packing. Alone. For a solo trip. To a galaxy far far away. Never to return.)
The interviewees seem to be chosen for one reason alone: They all seem to think of themselves as brilliant, and they all accept this for a reason why they can’t find a man. (I’m out of duhs.)
If anyone is interested: The real reason why it’s hard to find someone to marry in NYC, for men and women alike is this: There are so many other options out there, it’s hard to settle for just one. Plenty of us don’t even feel like trying.
Links are here, for the original article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/us/19marriage.html?em
And for the deserved ridicule committed by NYMag (“Ladies, it’s not that you’re too smart, it’s that you’re too freaking crazy”):
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2010/01/less_men_are_marrying_wealthie.html
But, according to the Times, this "trend" isn’t valid in New York, because it’s still very very hard for a very very smart woman in NYC to find a husband. Duh. Let me repeat that for my more stupid readers: Duh. Duh. Duh.
Let it lie that the article author isn’t educated enough to read statistics correctly. (Duh.)
Or that other statistics would tell them that there are in fact more women than men in NYC. (Duh.)
Or that the women interviewed are really poor examples of successful New York women. (Duh. Duh.) One of them is out of work, one is a German stylist, and one finds it genial to use the question "do you have a passport and a library card?" as some kind of litmus test to men she meets in bars. (Duuuuuuuh. And a well-meant note to everyone even considering for a second trying this: Not only do most people have this, not only will most people find it insulting that the other person presumes they don’t, but plenty of people would probably also take the passport question to mean that they’re sent packing. Alone. For a solo trip. To a galaxy far far away. Never to return.)
The interviewees seem to be chosen for one reason alone: They all seem to think of themselves as brilliant, and they all accept this for a reason why they can’t find a man. (I’m out of duhs.)
If anyone is interested: The real reason why it’s hard to find someone to marry in NYC, for men and women alike is this: There are so many other options out there, it’s hard to settle for just one. Plenty of us don’t even feel like trying.
Links are here, for the original article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/us/19marriage.html?em
And for the deserved ridicule committed by NYMag (“Ladies, it’s not that you’re too smart, it’s that you’re too freaking crazy”):
http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2010/01/less_men_are_marrying_wealthie.html
Thursday, December 31, 2009
I enter 2010...
...in a somewhat sentimental mood. Wondering whether the choices made in 2009 were the right ones, after all. A couple of days ago I was sure, they are. Today the old feelings are welling up, and I hope it’s just a stroke of New Year’s.
I can’t change it, anyway. It is too late for that now. I lead the life I chose, and it’s a good one. I’ve got the freedom I wanted, I travel, and I am pursuing my career. There’s no lack of sex, good sex, great sex. But emotionally, there’s nothing as engaging as the one I left behind. He misses me too, he says. He called me only last night to tell me, and I know it’s true. His voice filled me with the rawness of it all. But really, it isn’t raw any longer. Seven months and some days have passed. He’s moved on to a new life on his own, and I have, too. Or rather, I have kept up my old one, with a few changes to it. Relationshipwise, what I have moved on to may be a blind end, just a rebound thing. Don’t feel like saying much about it, not that there’s too much to say. Which is, by the way, the reason I haven’t posted for a while: I feel I should give the man a fair chance without thinking it over too much. Go with the flow, go with the mood, see how it develops, give it a chance. You know. Whenever I am with him, I feel good. Whenever I am not, I do not miss him. Important it may not be. But I don’t feel like ending it anyway. Not now, not yet. Not while he makes me laugh, and smile, and come up with new ideas. Not while he still makes my skin yearn for his, and have me yell for more of that stout beauty of a cock that is his. (It is a beauty. Almost all cocks are, but this one is among my favorites: Thick, strong, symmetrical. When it rises, and it steadily does, it finds its way into every one of those little secret spots without any help at all.) That it may not be more to it than that, I am fine with, for now. I think he is too; he’s more passive than I am used to, in a man. But I promise myself, as the old year runs out, that I do not want to compare the two of them this year to come.
Here’s to happiness in 2010. I hope it will be a year of bliss.
I can’t change it, anyway. It is too late for that now. I lead the life I chose, and it’s a good one. I’ve got the freedom I wanted, I travel, and I am pursuing my career. There’s no lack of sex, good sex, great sex. But emotionally, there’s nothing as engaging as the one I left behind. He misses me too, he says. He called me only last night to tell me, and I know it’s true. His voice filled me with the rawness of it all. But really, it isn’t raw any longer. Seven months and some days have passed. He’s moved on to a new life on his own, and I have, too. Or rather, I have kept up my old one, with a few changes to it. Relationshipwise, what I have moved on to may be a blind end, just a rebound thing. Don’t feel like saying much about it, not that there’s too much to say. Which is, by the way, the reason I haven’t posted for a while: I feel I should give the man a fair chance without thinking it over too much. Go with the flow, go with the mood, see how it develops, give it a chance. You know. Whenever I am with him, I feel good. Whenever I am not, I do not miss him. Important it may not be. But I don’t feel like ending it anyway. Not now, not yet. Not while he makes me laugh, and smile, and come up with new ideas. Not while he still makes my skin yearn for his, and have me yell for more of that stout beauty of a cock that is his. (It is a beauty. Almost all cocks are, but this one is among my favorites: Thick, strong, symmetrical. When it rises, and it steadily does, it finds its way into every one of those little secret spots without any help at all.) That it may not be more to it than that, I am fine with, for now. I think he is too; he’s more passive than I am used to, in a man. But I promise myself, as the old year runs out, that I do not want to compare the two of them this year to come.
Here’s to happiness in 2010. I hope it will be a year of bliss.
Friday, August 28, 2009
I <3 New York
I miss my city. I think about it a lot more than I think about sex.
I guess that says something.
I guess that says something.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Polluted
Time Out New York put out their annual sex poll this year. I won't link to it, it's not at all female sexuality-friendly. But here’s how I responded, plus what I would have responded, had Dan Savage made the poll and included answers for those of us who actually like sex. He may be gay, but he understands a woman way better than his competition.
This is the poll for straight women:
How old are you?
33
What neighborhood do you live in (at this point Time Out’s sex columnist Jamie Bufalino finds it necessary to define what a neighborhood is, “Chelsea, Williamsburg etc”):
Lower East Side
Question 1:
I wish every guy I date could...
a. do cunnilingus right
b. fuck with both our orgasms in mind
c. pick up the telephone on occasion
d. live life without porn
My comment: Where’s answer e. fuck me eagerly as often as I want to be fucked? In lack of it, I responded a. But truly, I can’t remember the last guy who didn’t know the art. Actually, I don’t remember a man who can’t do a, b and c with his hands tied and his eyes blindfolded. As for d, I don’t understand what that’s got to do with me. His choice how he spends his spare time, right?
Question 2:
I wish I could learn how to…
a. deep-throat
b. achieve orgasm
c. be more vocal in bed
d. take it up the ass
Well. Again, the answer is e. Seriously, what 33 year old New York woman does not know this stuff? (In lack of this alternative, I responded d. Because that is the least easy of four easy feats.)
Question 3:
The last thing I would ever do is…
a. swallow
b. give a one-night stand a rim job
c. fuck without protection
d. allow another woman in bed with a man
My comment: I’ve done all this stuff. But I did respond c., because that is what I usually do not do. One man only has gotten the honor. Yes, baby, I can hear your “damn” all the way to here, all the way from the West Coast. Don’t do b. very often either, though.
Question 4:
The genre of guys I find the hottest are:
a. hipsters
b. nerds
c. cocky banking types
d. artsy dudes
What??? Where are the athletes??? I want my gym addicts!!!! In lack of them, I responded “artsy guys”. Because well-built jazz musicians are kind of dude-y and kind of artsy, and I’ve been there... “Cocky” isn’t that dumb a word either, but what’s that got to do with finance, these days??? And why put “hipsters” and “nerds” into each their category, as they look the exact same??? Seriously. If this is a man's world, at least give me one that looks a man.
Question 5:
My main deal breaker is…
a. bad breath
b. a shithole of an apartment
c. a pencil dick
d. a guy who’s selfish in bed
Well, finally something one could respond to by using one of the responses suggested. The answer is c. But what on earth has a shitty apartment got to do with a SEX POLL?
Question 6:
I would have sex with another woman if…
a. my man asked me to
b. I was drunk enough
c. I found her irresistibly hot
d. she asked me (I’m easy!)
My comment: For the record, the “I’m easy” parenthesis belongs to Jamie the Buffalo, not to me. Here, the answer is a. rewritten: I had sex with another woman because my man asked me to. But I’d like to expand that: I had to know he was potent enough to take care of both women’s pleasure, and I had to know she really wanted to and knew what to do. What would it take for me to do it again? The answer is e. having at least one man there with us, knowing he was equally competent. And he should be so desirable I’d know in advance my juices would suffice for both of them.
Question 7:
As far as plastic surgery goes, I would be most interested in…
a. enlarging my tits
b. reducing my tits
c. liposuction
d. butt implants
The answer is e. None of the above, for Jesus F-ing Christ’s sake! My body looks great and there’s nothing wrong with my tits and my ass is nicely shaped as it is, and who the fuck needs liposuction when there is yoga???? And yet again, what the hell has this got to do with a sex poll? Oh, yeah, I know, shouldn’t have forgotten that for a second. Buffy the eternal buzz killer thinks the sexuality of a woman is all about being the object for a man’s eye, not the subject of her own desires. And of course, her abilities to attract are not about the way she feels about herself, but the way she looks. How could I have forgotten! Did he ask the males the same, by the way, gay or straight? And the lesbians? Or the bisexuals? NO, HE DID NOT! This question was, for some reason, only relevant for straight women!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Question 8:
Whenever I am looking to hook up, I…
a. wear a short skirt
b. show off the girls
c. don’t wear underwear
d. all of the above
Well, I responded b, in lack of e: the right kind of smile is all it takes, baby. Actually, walking towards a man and giving him your hand while saying "come here" is all it takes.
Question 9:
Which reality star would you most like to fuck?
a. Jon Gosselin from Jon & Kate Plus eight
b. That dude Sebastian from NYC Prep (as soon as he is of age, of course)
c. 12 Pack from Daisy of Love and I Love New York
d. One of the rich husbands in one of those Real Housewife nightmares
Who the fuck are these fellows? Ok. Answer is not a, because him, I know who is. Not a chance in hell. It’s not b, because a boy can never be more than half a man, and it’s not d, because I gather a husband with a housewife nightmare is not exactly a dream himself. So it must be c, I do not have the slightest idea who 12 Pack is, but I do love New York, and with that kind of nick, chances are he’s got to be black, or at least have a six-pack, right?
Question 10:
My tried-and-true-place to get lucky is…
a. a dive bar
b. a hotel bar
c. Chelsea Piers
d. Craigslist
Again, the lack of imagination! Enough said.
Question 11:
What’s your ultimate sex fantasy?
Finally a good question, and what makes it best is that I do not have to follow ANY suggestions from the Buffalo. So the answer is short and easy:
Two men (or more) and me.
Question 12:
Tell us (in lurid detail!) about your most shameful or embarrassing sexual encounter:
The “lurid” is Buffy’s, of course. Because, like I responded, I do not think of sex as shameful or embarrassing. But the closest I do get to embarrassing, was that one time a girlfriend of mine introduced her new boyfriend, and I was sure I had seen him someplace before. He denied knowing me. I asked him if he may know my brother, one of my exes or so on. I didn’t remember until she left the room and he hissed to me to drop the subject. Turned out I had slept with him. Whoops.
Question 13:
Where’s your favorite place (public or private) to get frisky?
The good old bed holds the most opportunities. But everywhere goes.
Question 14:
What’s the sexiest person, place or thing in New York?
THING???? Ok, let that one go. My response was that the entire city is sexy, but that certain Harlem jazz clubs are places I never leave alone.
Question 15:
What else should we know about your sex life in New York?
My response: Volumes. But a lady got to keep some of her secrets.
What should have been my response: Who, but a 14 year old virgin, is supposed to take this question, or 12 of the others in this poll, half seriously????? Jamie Bufalino, you wouldn’t know a woman’s sexuality if it bit you in the ass. And if you’re half as ignorant to women in real life as in your column, I bet not many of them do bite your ass.
This is the poll for straight women:
How old are you?
33
What neighborhood do you live in (at this point Time Out’s sex columnist Jamie Bufalino finds it necessary to define what a neighborhood is, “Chelsea, Williamsburg etc”):
Lower East Side
Question 1:
I wish every guy I date could...
a. do cunnilingus right
b. fuck with both our orgasms in mind
c. pick up the telephone on occasion
d. live life without porn
My comment: Where’s answer e. fuck me eagerly as often as I want to be fucked? In lack of it, I responded a. But truly, I can’t remember the last guy who didn’t know the art. Actually, I don’t remember a man who can’t do a, b and c with his hands tied and his eyes blindfolded. As for d, I don’t understand what that’s got to do with me. His choice how he spends his spare time, right?
Question 2:
I wish I could learn how to…
a. deep-throat
b. achieve orgasm
c. be more vocal in bed
d. take it up the ass
Well. Again, the answer is e. Seriously, what 33 year old New York woman does not know this stuff? (In lack of this alternative, I responded d. Because that is the least easy of four easy feats.)
Question 3:
The last thing I would ever do is…
a. swallow
b. give a one-night stand a rim job
c. fuck without protection
d. allow another woman in bed with a man
My comment: I’ve done all this stuff. But I did respond c., because that is what I usually do not do. One man only has gotten the honor. Yes, baby, I can hear your “damn” all the way to here, all the way from the West Coast. Don’t do b. very often either, though.
Question 4:
The genre of guys I find the hottest are:
a. hipsters
b. nerds
c. cocky banking types
d. artsy dudes
What??? Where are the athletes??? I want my gym addicts!!!! In lack of them, I responded “artsy guys”. Because well-built jazz musicians are kind of dude-y and kind of artsy, and I’ve been there... “Cocky” isn’t that dumb a word either, but what’s that got to do with finance, these days??? And why put “hipsters” and “nerds” into each their category, as they look the exact same??? Seriously. If this is a man's world, at least give me one that looks a man.
Question 5:
My main deal breaker is…
a. bad breath
b. a shithole of an apartment
c. a pencil dick
d. a guy who’s selfish in bed
Well, finally something one could respond to by using one of the responses suggested. The answer is c. But what on earth has a shitty apartment got to do with a SEX POLL?
Question 6:
I would have sex with another woman if…
a. my man asked me to
b. I was drunk enough
c. I found her irresistibly hot
d. she asked me (I’m easy!)
My comment: For the record, the “I’m easy” parenthesis belongs to Jamie the Buffalo, not to me. Here, the answer is a. rewritten: I had sex with another woman because my man asked me to. But I’d like to expand that: I had to know he was potent enough to take care of both women’s pleasure, and I had to know she really wanted to and knew what to do. What would it take for me to do it again? The answer is e. having at least one man there with us, knowing he was equally competent. And he should be so desirable I’d know in advance my juices would suffice for both of them.
Question 7:
As far as plastic surgery goes, I would be most interested in…
a. enlarging my tits
b. reducing my tits
c. liposuction
d. butt implants
The answer is e. None of the above, for Jesus F-ing Christ’s sake! My body looks great and there’s nothing wrong with my tits and my ass is nicely shaped as it is, and who the fuck needs liposuction when there is yoga???? And yet again, what the hell has this got to do with a sex poll? Oh, yeah, I know, shouldn’t have forgotten that for a second. Buffy the eternal buzz killer thinks the sexuality of a woman is all about being the object for a man’s eye, not the subject of her own desires. And of course, her abilities to attract are not about the way she feels about herself, but the way she looks. How could I have forgotten! Did he ask the males the same, by the way, gay or straight? And the lesbians? Or the bisexuals? NO, HE DID NOT! This question was, for some reason, only relevant for straight women!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Question 8:
Whenever I am looking to hook up, I…
a. wear a short skirt
b. show off the girls
c. don’t wear underwear
d. all of the above
Well, I responded b, in lack of e: the right kind of smile is all it takes, baby. Actually, walking towards a man and giving him your hand while saying "come here" is all it takes.
Question 9:
Which reality star would you most like to fuck?
a. Jon Gosselin from Jon & Kate Plus eight
b. That dude Sebastian from NYC Prep (as soon as he is of age, of course)
c. 12 Pack from Daisy of Love and I Love New York
d. One of the rich husbands in one of those Real Housewife nightmares
Who the fuck are these fellows? Ok. Answer is not a, because him, I know who is. Not a chance in hell. It’s not b, because a boy can never be more than half a man, and it’s not d, because I gather a husband with a housewife nightmare is not exactly a dream himself. So it must be c, I do not have the slightest idea who 12 Pack is, but I do love New York, and with that kind of nick, chances are he’s got to be black, or at least have a six-pack, right?
Question 10:
My tried-and-true-place to get lucky is…
a. a dive bar
b. a hotel bar
c. Chelsea Piers
d. Craigslist
Again, the lack of imagination! Enough said.
Question 11:
What’s your ultimate sex fantasy?
Finally a good question, and what makes it best is that I do not have to follow ANY suggestions from the Buffalo. So the answer is short and easy:
Two men (or more) and me.
Question 12:
Tell us (in lurid detail!) about your most shameful or embarrassing sexual encounter:
The “lurid” is Buffy’s, of course. Because, like I responded, I do not think of sex as shameful or embarrassing. But the closest I do get to embarrassing, was that one time a girlfriend of mine introduced her new boyfriend, and I was sure I had seen him someplace before. He denied knowing me. I asked him if he may know my brother, one of my exes or so on. I didn’t remember until she left the room and he hissed to me to drop the subject. Turned out I had slept with him. Whoops.
Question 13:
Where’s your favorite place (public or private) to get frisky?
The good old bed holds the most opportunities. But everywhere goes.
Question 14:
What’s the sexiest person, place or thing in New York?
THING???? Ok, let that one go. My response was that the entire city is sexy, but that certain Harlem jazz clubs are places I never leave alone.
Question 15:
What else should we know about your sex life in New York?
My response: Volumes. But a lady got to keep some of her secrets.
What should have been my response: Who, but a 14 year old virgin, is supposed to take this question, or 12 of the others in this poll, half seriously????? Jamie Bufalino, you wouldn’t know a woman’s sexuality if it bit you in the ass. And if you’re half as ignorant to women in real life as in your column, I bet not many of them do bite your ass.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Two weeks, too weak
I want him. I’ve told him. And he says he wants it too. But he still “can’t make it”, his new job demands too much of him, he has to prioritize, he is tired, and I know, I know, he is right, it’s a good job, he’s new to the field, and he’s exhausted, but my body still screams for him, I need his cock and I want his cock, and it makes me feel like the world’s most irrational woman. If he REALLY WANTS TO, HE’LL BE ABLE TO MAKE IT, something inside of me screams. Well, I guess my pussy is who screams. My pussy has never been very rational.
Thing is, we’ve had great sex every time we have had it. Three hours minimum, every single time. (I have told him that much time is not necessary. He has told me it is.) We’ve been through most of the Kama Sutra. His stamina is great and he is strong enough to lift me for quite some while. He is able to hold back for real long. And his cock, oh, his cock, it is thick and stout and strong. He tastes like the sea, and he smells like the wind. And I like him. This far, it’s been really interesting, and he cracked me up when he told me he has never been “that much into” fucking. I could have sworn he loves it. He does now, he assures me. (“It’s gotten a lot more interesting these last few weeks”. “I didn’t know there were condoms made in this size”. “Most women can’t take it, and I have found it uncomfortable. With you… It’s different. I’ve never been with a woman this flexible.”.)
We talk together great, too. I like him. I see potential in what we may have together. He knows both my cultures, having lived and studied and worked in NYC for parts of his life. His education matches mine and he is able to follow the way I think. His new job will allow him to roam between continents, more or less the way I do. We have these long, intense conversations, and the shortest date we’ve had to date lasted for sixteen hours. It’s all been very, very interesting.
And still. Still. Still! I’ve been away for two weeks, we had a date today, and he canceled! He can’t make it until Thursday. I am wondering if he finds this that very interesting after all. If he can manage without, or if he’s found other interests while I’ve been away. He is allowed to, we’re not in a relationship. In theory, I am free to roam, too. We have not yet given any promises. But still, I have been sleeping with him (almost) exclusively for (almost) a month. I am trying to give him a fair chance, I am trying to give us a fair chance, and this far, I feel it has been working. But now, when I have been out of town for two weeks, outside of fucking distance, I have been working very hard on being a good girl resisting all temptations. And I have managed to. I’ve been such a good girl, my pussy is now aching and screaming and complaining. It’s suffocating. Depressing. I want it, and I need it, and he is unwilling to give it to me.
And now, just an hour ago, I got a text from one of my other men. The only other I have fucked this month, shortly after the first date with the former. He is a man I have known for quite some while, have fucked for quite some while, and will never be involved with. He is a nice fuck. Not quite tantric Viking potential, definitely not X potential, but close to the former. It’s all physical, sports, pleasure, fulfilling a physical need. Totally uncomplicated. He wants to know if I am free tonight. I am. My pussy is very open for the idea. But I should not, not, not, not respond to him. I’ll ruin everything I have or can have with the promising prospect, if I do. I can't tell Tantric Viking I am seeing others. And I can't lie and say I don't.
Thursday. I have to be able to wait until Thursday.
Thing is, we’ve had great sex every time we have had it. Three hours minimum, every single time. (I have told him that much time is not necessary. He has told me it is.) We’ve been through most of the Kama Sutra. His stamina is great and he is strong enough to lift me for quite some while. He is able to hold back for real long. And his cock, oh, his cock, it is thick and stout and strong. He tastes like the sea, and he smells like the wind. And I like him. This far, it’s been really interesting, and he cracked me up when he told me he has never been “that much into” fucking. I could have sworn he loves it. He does now, he assures me. (“It’s gotten a lot more interesting these last few weeks”. “I didn’t know there were condoms made in this size”. “Most women can’t take it, and I have found it uncomfortable. With you… It’s different. I’ve never been with a woman this flexible.”.)
We talk together great, too. I like him. I see potential in what we may have together. He knows both my cultures, having lived and studied and worked in NYC for parts of his life. His education matches mine and he is able to follow the way I think. His new job will allow him to roam between continents, more or less the way I do. We have these long, intense conversations, and the shortest date we’ve had to date lasted for sixteen hours. It’s all been very, very interesting.
And still. Still. Still! I’ve been away for two weeks, we had a date today, and he canceled! He can’t make it until Thursday. I am wondering if he finds this that very interesting after all. If he can manage without, or if he’s found other interests while I’ve been away. He is allowed to, we’re not in a relationship. In theory, I am free to roam, too. We have not yet given any promises. But still, I have been sleeping with him (almost) exclusively for (almost) a month. I am trying to give him a fair chance, I am trying to give us a fair chance, and this far, I feel it has been working. But now, when I have been out of town for two weeks, outside of fucking distance, I have been working very hard on being a good girl resisting all temptations. And I have managed to. I’ve been such a good girl, my pussy is now aching and screaming and complaining. It’s suffocating. Depressing. I want it, and I need it, and he is unwilling to give it to me.
And now, just an hour ago, I got a text from one of my other men. The only other I have fucked this month, shortly after the first date with the former. He is a man I have known for quite some while, have fucked for quite some while, and will never be involved with. He is a nice fuck. Not quite tantric Viking potential, definitely not X potential, but close to the former. It’s all physical, sports, pleasure, fulfilling a physical need. Totally uncomplicated. He wants to know if I am free tonight. I am. My pussy is very open for the idea. But I should not, not, not, not respond to him. I’ll ruin everything I have or can have with the promising prospect, if I do. I can't tell Tantric Viking I am seeing others. And I can't lie and say I don't.
Thursday. I have to be able to wait until Thursday.
Friday, July 24, 2009
25 things about Lady in Red
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.
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.
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.
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