Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Reviews of Stuff People Asked Me to Review

"How 'bout some strip Candy Land then?"
1.  The Butterfly Bliss Silicone Waterproof Vibrator sent to me unbidden by the nice new lady at Good Vibrations.

Here's what I can tell you:

--Don't have it arrive near your daughter's birthday so that she runs inside carrying the package saying, "Is it my birthday present?" (Intercepted this time, thus avoiding a repeat of The Zestra Incident.)
--Note that it doesn't come with the required two AAA batteries, so if you get a sudden yen to try it one night, you might find yourself naked in the kitchen, sifting through the junk drawer, searching for some batteries that do not have corrosion on them.
We're cousins, identical cousins
--Note also that non-corroded batteries do not necessarily = fresh peppy batteries. This leads to a situation in which the vibe is slowly dying, but imperceptibly.  So as you need more, it cruelly gives you less. You know the math concept in which you can keep halving a number infinitely, getting closer to--but never quite arriving at--zero? It's like that but with orgasm.
--New batteries, next day:  all good. Real good. V. quiet, inner knobby thing for G-spot gloriousness, outer butterfly-looking part for external butterfly love.
--Note, the final: I had a good look at the butterfly looking part as I was washing off the traces of our intimate love and, fuck, what's with the butterfly/sex toy trope? Who wants to have sex with a butterfly?  (Just googled it and the answer one. IBWMW Minister of Kooky Schemes: add to list of possible topics for untapped erotica ebook market.) This butterfly looks particularly reminiscent of its caterpillar past, with antennae, beady little eyes and icky ridge things on its thorax. Wouldn't an abstract design be way hotter, and by hotter I mean, completely non-bug-related?

"Please fuck me, bzzzzz."
(Btw, I took the vibrator out to my front yard--the butterfly's natural habitat, I suppose--to get better light for full thorax exposure for the picture. THIS is how much I love you.) 

2. Bedded Bliss: A Couple's Guide to Lust Ever After by Kristina Wright.

Even when I was a kid sneaking peeks at sex articles in women's magazines, there was something unbearably depressing about the articles on "reigniting the spark." And today, this kind of stuff still triggers that same existential angst. I mean, playing strip Candy Land to spice it up? Has it really come to this?

However, I will toss kudos to Wright for an innovative spin on the genre, as well as an open-minded approach. Besides some depression-inducing sex tips ("Keep a jar of memories"), there are sections devoted to each stage of married life, i.e. middle age, with accompanying erotica. The best erotica, to me, were the stories that eroticized the continuing strong sexual reaction between a couple--the place of heat that two people can return to--as in "Take it off," by Sommer Marsden or ones that had some boundary-pushing like "Circuit" by Charlotte Stein. On the other hand, when a story pushed a boundary I didn't personally want pushed, well, ick.  That would be you, "Holding Forth," with the pee erotica. Sample line:  "'It must feel so good for her to let it flow,' Melanie observed sensuously, fondling my shaft with increased vigor."

Alas, I too now must pee, but I suspect it will be less eventful, as there is no shaft available for me to fondle with increased vigor.  However it ends up, I will keep it to myself. You don't get to know everything.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Real Sex Lives: Lucia, "Not all infidelity automatically makes you a jerk."

The following Real Sex Lives* arrived in my inbox with no explanation, save for the subject "Musings for the blog." It was from someone I'll call Lucia.

When I post these, I generally pull a quote from the essay for the title, and when I asked a friend what he thought of the one above, he said, "I think it sounds delusional." Meaning, any and all infidelity did indeed make one a jerk. Period.

But...what if your spouse was...oh, in a coma or something for a long time and mentally and physically unavailable?  Or what if they had no interest in fucking you--and in fact, would not fuck you--for 23 years? Or what if they were a loving spouse, a terrific parent and all that, but just didn't really get sex? Can you create chemistry where none lives? Is it wrong to yearn for the kind of passionate fuckery that makes your whole body hum? Is it all wrong, or is there some sort of continuum of wrongness with some points being...not so wrong.

I am more in the gray area on the subject, but maybe that's because I'm reading Dan Savage's latest book, American Savage: Insights, Slights, and Fights on Faith, Sex, Love, and Politics, particularly the chapter, "It's Never Okay to Cheat (Except When It Is)." In it, Savage argues that we are "monogamish." "I believe we should place a higher value on marital stability than we place on marital monogamy," he writes. That is, tossing out a largely working, good marriage over an infidelity is not always the only and best choice. We pair bond, mostly. And maybe we should figure out a way to work with that. Savage writes "as a society we have a responsibility to adjust people's expectation about marriage."

Tell me where you are on this lately. Not necessarily on Lucia's situation, but the issue in general. If your spouse cheated, would you toss them to the curb? Does infidelity automatically make you a jerk? Is it, indeed, all wrong?

Anyway, here's Lucia:

It sounds funny to say but I don't really remember exactly how we met. I know one of us posted to Craigslist, but I don't remember which of us or whether it was in Strictly Platonic or what... I think it must have been because I knew from the get-go that not only was he married and 20+ years older than I was, but that he was also... not attractive to me.  I had like, zero draw to him in "that way."  But he was smarter than pretty much everyone else I knew, was incredibly interesting, and always picked up the check at lunch.

For years it went on, meeting for lunch, talking about life.  He never, ever did anything inappropriate. Occasionally there would be some innuendo, but it was never overdone.  I got engaged and moved away; his goodbye kiss had more oomph than I was expecting and I flipped out a little.  In retrospect that wasn't fair of me to do... he'd just lingered a little more than I'd wanted.  But, I was moving 1500 miles away and it was hard to say goodbye and maybe being mad made it easier.  I left him behind and we didn't talk for two years.

By the time I came back, my life had changed: I was still married, but it wasn't a happy marriage, and my husband was living in a different country. I found myself thinking about my friend and missing him, which I hadn't in the years I'd been away.   I reached out with an e-mail, and he responded within minutes.  It wasn't even awkward: when I saw him, I gave him a big hug and we just stood there for a long time, with the hostess waiting to seat us, probably tapping her foot the whole time.

It wasn't awkward but it was different.  I didn't realize it at first, but it was there: we were looking at each other differently. My 20s were over, I was much more comfortable in myself, and I saw him differently too: he wasn't just an amusing way to pass two hours over lunch. I found myself thinking about him and about what it would be like to touch each other. I was pretty sure it wouldn't go very far, he'd been faithful to his wife their entire marriage (despite opportunities) and they'd been married since I was 12--but I was curious what would happen if I hit on him.  So... I sent him a suggestive e-mail, and he responded with a hard-core explicit one.  And we talked like that, via e-mail, about stuff we'd never talked about through all the years that had passed.  And then... I invited him over.

I think we were both shaking when we laid down together.  This was the only time we'd ever really been awkward around each other, ever.  And when he kissed me, that line got crossed.  We both knew that but it felt so good, and it'd been well-considered and accepted.  I asked him to go slow, and he did, and we just kissed and petted for a few weeks.  I don't know how long that would have gone on, probably a long time.  But then something happened, and I got hurt.  And it was him that I called, he came and got me and took me home from the hospital.  And something switched in me, and all the awkwardness was gone, and I wrapped myself around him that night.  

That was two years ago.  Our friendship remains--we rely on each other for advice and honesty, levity and Words With Friends and of course, wonderful, amazing sex like neither of us has had before.  We both work in fields where we can help each other personally with our professional knowledge and resources; we go to endless movies when we can.  We're working through Sons of Anarchy.  We send each other e-mail "status updates" frequently.  But there are places we don't go: I know he is in love with his wife; that doesn't bother me.  Because he loves her, she is just a topic we don't really discuss, except in passing--he feels that it would be an intrusive violation of her privacy to discuss her (I agree).  I even saw her once, at a distance, at an event we were all attending--and I didn't really have a response, it just... was.  Their relationship is a lifelong commitment upon which a family and an entire life has been built.  My role is different--I'm an escape from that, a chance to do something that is only for him, that doesn't benefit them in any way... just his.  And as far as I can tell, I'm the only thing he does for himself.  I make it my goal to appreciate him for who he is, to be a joy to him the way he is for me: again, something just for him, not his wife or kids or coworkers, just him.

And for me?  Well, the sex is truly amazing (yeah he's not the hottest guy ever, but it turns out those 20+ years of additional experience count for something!) not the least of which because he is so turned into me that I don't ever have to ask for anything, he just knows to do it.  But also, I'm single now (marriage ended in there somewhere, for reasons unrelated) and I don't want to be in a full relationship yet.  He gives me the perfect middle ground: a strong, long-term friendship, someone to talk to but with all the space I need for me.  Obviously this is not a long-term thing, eventually I will want more from a guy, but for now, I don't.  

We made an agreement that when it came time to end things, either one of us could do it without drama.  Neither of us are dramatic people, so though I am sure one of us will feel a little stingy for a while, we'll get over it.  Unless something catastrophic happens (read: wife) I think we'll find our way to another type of relationship, without the whole sex component.  I know this is a dangerous game, and I don't take it lightly--but I am so grateful for him, and he for me.  He is truly my friend, and proof that not all infidelity automatically makes you a jerk.  If this guy is a jerk, there are no nice people out there.   

There you have it. If you want to share your real sex story--be brave and go deep!--send it to


*The name True Wife's Tales has become too limiting for these real life sex story things. You're smart and clever--what should we start calling them now?

(photo: Lady Cheeky)

Saturday, November 9, 2013

True Wife's Tale: Beatrice, "On Varied Love: An Open Letter to My Husband/Pet on Polyamory"

Yes, Ma'am
Today's True Wife's Tale comes via Beatrice, a 29 year old Domme, married a year to Heath, 34. It's a been a weird week for the couple because not only did Beatrice present the letter below to her husband in real life, their private BDSM/poly thing might have possibly become public via a Twitter mishap. Heath was pretty wigged about it--such an arrangement is still pretty stigmatized and could carry real repercussions if they're outed--but Beatrice writes, "I told him that poly, kinky, whatever--it's all legal. It's all OK. And that I love him. And that I will bury anyone who tries to hurt him or our family." Since she's a Domme, I would take her word on that.

Here then, Beatrice:

My darling pet, my devoted husband, my best friend, and the father of our beautiful child,

I love you more than I thought it would be possible to love another human being. You have given me a life, a family, and a home that, without you, would not have been possible. You teach me, every day, what it means to be a Partner. You help me, every day, to be the best Domme I can possibly be.

Because I love you, and because you have given me such varied gifts of love, I believe it is right and salutary that I present this letter, to you, in a way that shares my messages of love for you, and revelation within myself, in a public venue.

I need you to understand what it means when I talk about polyamory.

Polyamory is not based in greed, dissatisfaction, or narcissism. It is based in the personal and interpersonal knowledge that Love can exist between more than two people and still be True.

(I have been trying to find an accurate way to express this for over a decade. Being able to finally do so, in a moment of writer's clarity, is one of the great reliefs of my life.)

After ten years, ten long years of trying to figure out what in thunderfuck my brain needed in order to feel whole and complete and sane and at peace, I am finally comfortable saying, "Yes, I am poly."

Yes, I want to enjoy the bodies, minds, and junk of other people.
Yes, I want to lap at a woman's cunt until she loses her mind.
Yes, I want to feel the security of submitting to a man who knows his way around a flogger and the female mind, from a sensually sadistic standpoint.

It's not easy to make these statements, nor are they statements that I make lightly.

I realize that making these statements, and doing so in a public manner, may have intense repercussions in my own home and with you, my own devoted partner.

I also realize that, in order to be the best Domme, wife, and partner possible, all cards must be on the table. All truth must be transparent and accessible.

Is this terrifying? Yep.

I'm scared-near-shitless to be speaking my truth. But, the Truth has a funny way of making itself heard, and of leaving Peace in its wake.

Here's to Love, and to being honest with those to whom we give it.




Heath responded with a heartfelt letter of his own which seemed--and I can scarcely believe I am writing these words--somehow too personal for me to want to run, but the gist is that he's down with the idea, kind of, or at least willing to give it a go. 

Wrote Heath, in part:  "Honey, I cannot promise you I'll get there overnight. A week, A month. Longer. What I am promising you is that I am going to give it my all to understand, accept and be at peace with everything. My biggest fear is losing you. Remember: no secrets. I love you no matter what you tell me about yourself. You can tell me anything; just be prepared to help me understand and to tend to my emotions and yes, sometimes confusion, as a result."

So there you go. Someone else's business delivered straight to your screen. And we are done for the day. 

If you are feeling the pull to share your true sex story, write that motherfucker down and send it on in to:


(Photo: Wicked Knickers)

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Why We (Still) Shag Each Other

I was sprawled across my bed, utterly wrecked, one morning many years ago. I'd just had amazing amazing phone sex with someone who, to this day, remains the most attachment-avoidant person I've ever met.

"Holy fuck," I mumbled, made dreamy by ravishment. "Why was that so...good? We were on the phone."

"People need connection," he said simply. To my surprise, even he had known this, deep in some barely accessible part of his poor love-avoidant heart. And it had been a connection, an intense sexual communion that felt like something real had happened, even though no body parts had been touched or even seen.

This private connection between lovers--This is why we fuck each other, even though there are plenty of promiscuous toys, pillows, and shower spouts that can do the job quite well. And, yes, it has to be fucking (of some sort) because other human interactions--a nice chat in the bank line, for example--just won't do it.

Bearing witness to someone surrendering to their instincts--just being with them in the moment they lose themselves--is fucking powerful. And to find someone you trust enough to fall into that void with them, well, it's a rare and beautiful gift.

On a less sublime level, I think it's also about being present in the Now and existing in a state of Flow, where you are wholly consumed with what you are doing. These are purportedly optimal (and often needlessly Capitalized) states for achieving happiness, inner peace and well-being. (See also: Ekhart Tolle's  The Power of Now and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's  Flow). The orgasm is, like, a bonus to what's really going on.

Caitlin Moran describes this kind of focused-attention-on-another in her book How to Build a Girl about a teenage Brit who transforms herself into a badass music journalist/sexual adventurer:

"Here's the amazing thing about sex:  you get a whole person to yourself, for the first time since you were a baby.  Someone who is looking at you--just you--and thinking about you, and wanting you...You are in a room with a closed door, and no one else can come through it....It seemed to me that this was the real reason people wanted to fuck so much. To get here. To get to this tiny, quiet place where there was nothing else to do but be with each other. Just to be two humans who had--for a short while--stopped wanting."

That idea fits nicely with what I discovered when I looked on PornHub the other day for the Top Rated Video of All Time. It wasn't "Bitch takes cum in her hair" or whatever I was expecting, but a sweet little clip of a sleepy, tousled-haired woman waking her lover up and giving him a blow job. 

This top-rated video--OF ALL TIME!--showed two people portrayed as affectionate, familiar lovers happy to be waking up together in such a nice way. They weren't over-the-top porn excited, but just enjoying the everyday-yet-so-amazing swollen pleasures of taking someone you like in your mouth and/or being taken thus. In the world of porn, this was maybe about the squarest, most vanilla thing ever. And yet it was the most loved...of all time! (For that one day, at least. Today, alas, I can't re-find it. It has been replaced by "Hot blond maid having anal." Top-ratedness is apparently fleeting. )

The point of all this being: sexual connection, in whatever form it takes, is something we all seek, including the millions of surreptitiously wanking users of Porn Hub on that particular day. Even my old friend, dear attachment-avoidant boy, needed this intimacy, albeit from the distance that felt safe to him.

We all need to get this place, however we can--where you get to be two humans who have--for a short while--stopped wanting.

Go find your place.



This is a "cleanly" titled version of another post called Why We Fuck.  The idea was to facilitate sharing.  If you want to see the comments on the original post, see here.

Monday, November 4, 2013

The Unsexy Sexting/Sexy Talk Contest and Other Poorly Worded Things

The other day I was in the dressing room at Kohl's when I heard a odd shuffling from the next room.

It was a guy and a girl fucking--right there in the lingerie department dressing room.

"Oh God, I am going crazy," the guy whispered with a feral desperate lust, to the sound of bodies and clothes being undone/pushed up/pulled down to get better access to each other. Hot.

"Fuck yeah," said the chick in a tinny voice. "Fuck yeah."

"Fuck yeah"?  Ugh. So...trite and porny.

That she said "Fuck yeah" totally ruined it for me, which is lame and judgey but there you go.  Maybe it's because I'm a writer or maybe because I'm female*, but to me, the things that are said during sex are hugely important.

Words are even more important during sexting 'cause it's all words. Wrong stuff just sits there being wrong. And autocorrect just fucks with things even more. Autocorrect can turn a sexting-appropriate response of "Oh God, mmm...." into an upsetting-to-all "Oh God, mom..." 

Several weeks back, I asked the 1,164 good citizens of the IBWMW Facebook page for some examples of bad sexting, as well as bad sex talk in general, and got stories of "precum" becoming "precinct" (usage: "I want to lick your precinct") "ass" becoming "assistant" (i.e. "I am grabbing your sweet assistant, hard") and the like.

Of course, some of it's just personal preference--one person's hot talk is another person's passion destroyer. Once in high school, a guy was trying to get me to take off my shirt and instead of just saying that--hell, it might have worked--he asked me if I wanted to try something called--puke!--"smurfing," which near as I could gather, had nothing to do with Smurfs (thankfully)** and everything to do with me taking off my shirt.

Here are some more:

Quentin:  I wanted to say, "I would love to see you when I am in town."  Instead it came over, "I would love to fuck you while I am in town." Needless to say, that coming from this gay man, to an older straight friend was quite shocking!!

Mark: "I'm pregnant, you're the father, and I'm gonna kill all three of us!" ....She was quite a lady...

Claudette: I was about to give him a blowjob and he said, "Suck it like it's the last cock on Earth."

Jane:  I once typed a very graphic and rather perverted text to my (then) boyfriend Neil and promptly sent it to a work colleague called Neina....Actually that would be a better answer if the question was "Have you ever sent a text and then shouted NOOOOOOOO at your phone?"

Hey, get to the contest part, lady.

Okay fine, send in your worst sex talk and sexting fails and you will be entered to win this fine
Butterfly Bliss Silicone Waterproof Vibrator courtesy of Good Vibrations.  Winner will be determined by the vagaries of my whims. Deadline is, let's say, Friday, November 8. Enter via comment below, the IBWMW Facebook page, comment form at right or email.


*There is some evidence that it could be a chick thing. Females are more subject to distraction during sex. According to Kinsey:

Cheese crumbs spread in front of a pair of copulating rats may distract the female, but not the male.  A mouse running in front of a pair of copulating cats may distract the female and not the male. When cattle are interrupted during coitus, it is the cow that is more likely to be disturbed while the bull may try to continue with coitus. (Note: The word "coitus," btw, should never be used during coitus. Or maybe ever.)

** The separation of Smurfs and sex is a personal decision for me, and not one shared by everyone--as evidenced by this fan fiction "Smurfette's Springtime Encounter" which contains the following verbatim passage:

Tenderly, Rina reached up parting Smurfette’s hairy vagina lips. She could see a little pink bump at the top as Gargamel said. This caused the bound blonde Smurf to protest more, and try to wiggle her hips in hope to shake off Rina’s hand. Rina leaned forward with her tongue out placing it on the moist pink nub. There was a salty tang that wasn’t bad. She proceeded to move her tongue tip lightly over Smurfette’s clitoris. Smurfette’s pubic hair was course on her tongue.

(Photo via Passionate Sexual Healing)