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  1. The Question of Submission

    May 11, 2016 by Heather Cole

     

    Credit: Depositphotos

    Credit: Deposit Photos

     

    I’ve been doing a lot of inner excavating lately, and one doesn’t go digging into the darkest part of their heart to find rainbows and fluffy kitties. I’m a seeker. I want to see what lies beneath even if it scares the ever living shit out of me. And let me tell you, I’ve found the opposite of kitties in the darkness of my soul. Even though the digging has been painful and dark, the earth I’ve turned over has been rich. Which is the whole point of working on oneself, right? You go through the pain to grow. At least, that’s what my therapist had told me.

    My personal seismic shift began last spring. The catalyst took the form of a visit from sir’s wife to stay with him for a month. I’m not going to go into detailing the series of events, because ultimately the specifics are irrelevant. The resulting actions, the reverberations of their time together and how it indirectly and directly involved me, shook the foundation of my relationship to sir and to myself. It was the latter part that pushed me into a tailspin. By the end of January 2016 (my last trip to see sir), I questioned everything, especially my relationship to BDSM, submission, and my role as a lifestyle submissive in a D/s dynamic. It felt like nothing fit anymore, and no matter how I had tried, I couldn’t make myself feel OK again. Something had to change. I had to change.

    As a result of the catalyst, I began examining my motivations for being in a D/s relationship with a man halfway around the world. We didn’t start that far apart, but that’s where we ended up. I discovered the hard way that the dependency we fostered as a submissive babygirl with a Daddy Dominant when we lived together couldn’t continue in the same way via a long distance relationship. All our protocols and expectations that we created and nurtured when he lived in the States could not withstand the time and distance that now existed between us. I think logically I knew that would happen, but I didn’t feel like it should. Up until last spring, I desperately clung to what our dynamic used to be, and the intimacy we had fostered, as we tried to cobble a semblance of it through text, email, and Skype. And then it blew apart.

    I was devastated. I felt like everything I had believed about submission, about being a submissive to this man in particular, was mostly one-sided. It wasn’t that sir didn’t love or want me, but he was busy creating a new life in a foreign land. And there I was at home, devoting much of my time and energy trying to keep a dynamic in place that was unsustainable given our new circumstances. It felt like I was clinging to a ghost, while everyone else moved forward into a new life.  I’ve called it a game before, but that submissive role was central to my way of life and how I viewed myself as a person. I never clearly saw my dependency on him or how central my sexual submission was to my identity before their visit. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit that I was in deep.

    I grieved for our loss and for the people we were. It was the summer of tears, but eventually I had to gather myself again and figure out how I was going to proceed. Once I began digging into the reasons behind my upset and bewilderment, I saw more clearly my motivations behind my affinity for D/s and BDSM. I took a long, hard look at why I loved the kinky things I did. Some of it was because I was wired this way and kinky shit got me off, and some of it was because I had daddy issues. The most difficult thing to admit was that I was cruel to myself, so that when a Dominant humiliated and degraded myself during play, I felt like I deserved it. Like deep down inside deserved it and should be punished for it.

    Up until that point, I hadn’t realized how I had spent most of my life feeling bad about who I was and how I looked. The changes in our relationship were on one level, but below that lay some core beliefs about myself that needed to shift as well. Getting in touch with those feelings… well, I had some really dark days. I was raised a feminist, and I firmly believed in equality regardless of gender, race, and sexual orientation. I would never shame another human being for their kinks or body type yet I didn’t hesitate to judge my own. Living that kind of dichotomy of beliefs yet remaining unconscious of it—I had to ask myself, why had it taken me so long to see it? Why did I think it was acceptable to treat myself poorly with such little regard? Who was I if I wasn’t a submissive pain slut who deserved degradation and humiliation?

    These musings brought me to the doorstep of what I enjoyed most in my kinky life. In the moments of a BDSM scene when I was the subject of humiliation or degradation, play that I loved, there was a part of me that believed it to be a reflection of my true self. I was a slut, dirty and shamed. And I reveled in those moments—desired it more than anything. Often times a scene was literally my inner critic coming to life, an external force that matched my internal one. In that glorious storm of physical and mental, I was made completely whole, because my internal beliefs had manifested outside of me. The inner critic had been embodied in my dominant, and my body was punished on the exterior in the same way that I punished myself on the inside. (Although sir had always been kinder to me than I was to myself.)  It usually culminated in a crescendo of endorphins that left me in grateful tears, while sir picked me up and helped me come back to myself.

    In those moments, I wanted to be a dependent babygirl who was rescued by her wonderful daddy. I also wanted to be the 24/7 sex slave who only existed to satisfy her dominant. The aspects of me, the most difficult for me to accept—the girl who needed saving and the shameless whore who wanted nothing but sex, were valued in this BDSM-D/s context. I suppose, to the average human being, this was obviously fantasy. But to me, in my heart of hearts, I so wanted them to be real. The feeling of alignment that I gained from a scene was such a relief, that I thought to have more of it was the key to happiness. I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, my insecurities could find a home between me and sir. I had blurred fantasy with reality to the point that it had become detrimental to my well-being. When you’re waiting for daddy to rescue you, you’re not really addressing your own patterns of behavior or responsibilities. My submission was holding me back from one of my most important roles: being a caretaker of my own life.

    The catalyst in the spring brought me three truths: 1. Sir couldn’t save me. He had to take care of himself, his career, and his home first. 2. In order to save myself, I had to start truly loving myself—the whole way to my core. I had to banish my inner bully and love those pieces of me that were twisted and perverse. I needed to learn how to love myself in the moment, just as I was. 3. I had to stop serving everyone else’s needs before my own and make myself a priority.

    That’s where I am—standing amidst the rubble of the after effects of an earthquake and trying to figure out what to do next. I’m still in a D/s contract with sir, and we’ll be spending most of July together. Honestly, though, I’m not feeling all that submissive. It’s freeing and scary as hell all at the same time. I’m changing as I rearrange my priorities, and I think both sir and I are wondering where we’ll be after the dust has settled. I’m still sifting through the strands of what is fantasy and what is actually plausible in reality and adjusting my expectations of our D/s. I love him dearly, but I’m not the same girl I was. I’m also saying “no” a lot more. Do you have any idea how liberating that is? I say no in order to conserve my time and resources for things that are really important to me.  Most of all, I’m learning to be kind to myself and loving as I’m pushed out of my comfortable labels of “lifestyle submissive” to be something different. Every day I attempt to write a love letter to myself by making healthier choices and allowing space for my needs to be met. I no longer think of myself last thing on the ‘to do’ list.

    I had a dream last night that I was sitting in a college classroom. I had on a small, Hello Kitty backpack, and I leaned forward in my seat to talk to my friend seated in front of me. The professor, a tall man, walked up and down the aisles talking about a secret code that we needed to enter in order to take the test. He asked if anyone needed a pencil, and I raised my hand, feeling sheepish because I hadn’t been listening and was unprepared for class. Then I opened my folder and found three pencils inside. I had remembered them after all. They were short but sharpened. The professor gave me a pencil and made a joke with my friend. Something about if I ever got my act together, I’d be a force to be reckoned with.

    I’m taking that as a good sign. I may not know the secret code yet, but dammit, I have pencils. It’s a start.


  2. May is Masturbation Month!

    May 4, 2016 by Heather Cole

    May is Masturbation Month!

     

    May is Masturbation Month! It’s also Heather’s Birthday Month! (Yes, that’s an official title.) Two of my favorite things rolled up together.

    To celebrate I almost posted a photo with the slogan, “Everybody Masturbates,” in direct opposition to the anti-masturbation movement that some religious entities enthusiastically endorse. Masturbation is a love letter to yourself, a powerful affirmation of one’s body and the pleasure we’re capable of as human beings. Masturbation is versatile, like carrying around your very own ‘get me off’ kit. Like roadside assistance but for orgasms. It can be done alone or in groups; anywhere, really, as long as you don’t break a law and get arrested. In today’s post of masturbation affirmation (I giggled just writing that) I want to give props to those of us who are late to the revelation of self-love.

    Yes, I’m referring to myself specifically, but also to others out there who didn’t “get” pleasuring themselves until they were older. It’s never too late, and you’re never too old. *highfive*

    Looking for some further masturbating inspiration? Check out the links below:

    What to See

    Masturbation Monday with Kayla Lords – “Where getting off is half the fun…” If you’re ever in need of blistering hot erotica for your spankbank, take a peek at Kayla Lords’ website Masturbation Monday, It’s an on-going theme for sex bloggers and erotica writers to show off their stuff. And her visual prompts are… *fans self* My last post for MM is here.

    What to Read

    Tongue-in-cheek Tips for Celebrating International Masturbation Month by Alison Stevenson for Vice – “Masturbation is definitely one of my favorite activities other than eating and crying. At first I couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the point of having an International Masturbation Month?”

    “I myself, realized how deeply this conditioning ran through me when I thought of the reactions other people might have about my writing an article outlining a healthy self-pleasuring practice—and that very reaction within is what made me realize how important it is to shine light, consciousness and awareness on the subject and eliminate the shame.” – This is a great article from Nolita Ananda for Elephant Journal regarding the health benefits and healthy practices of masturbation. Definitely worth reading.

    Kinkly’s 10 Things You Don’t Know About Self-Love – Nope, you probably didn’t know this.

    What to Do

    Want some help hitting the right spot? Need some toy advice? Check out Clitical.com

    Maybe we should all be treating ourselves this month! Good Vibrations toy store

     

    I’m not receiving any monetary compensation for mentioning these websites. I firmly believe in spreading the good word and good love for all.

    Have a fantastic self-celebration this month! I know I will.


  3. Date Night

    April 30, 2016 by Heather Cole

    Depositphotos_BED

     

    I have been experimenting with kissing girls since I was in grade school. I used to sneak into the woods with my friend Christine, and we’d try different ways of kissing on an old picnic table beneath the screen of a drooping dogwood.  Although I found women attractive and really, really wanted to kiss them as I matured, it wasn’t until I was in my forties that I finally acted on any of those impulses. (It’s funny how I didn’t do a lot of things until I was in my forties.)

    Running into Mims at a party one night seemed destined from the moment I walked through the door. Only minutes before I had been perusing her profile (and that of her boyfriend) on Fetlife. I entered the house, and three minutes later I stood face-to-face with the couple I had been digitally ogling. I made some silly, and probably dorky, joke about stalking their Fetlife profiles, and they laughed, kindly taking my exuberance in stride.

    Mims was tall with a mane of gorgeous red hair and wide eyes that you could drown in. I don’t remember what we talked about or what we were wearing, but somehow we ended up in the upstairs master bedroom having sex. While her boyfriend filmed it.

    The feel of her skin beneath my fingertips was branded in my brain that night. The memory of her scent and the feel of her hair sweeping my face is enough to make my pulse quicken. She climbed my body like some exotic, silken cat, kissing and nipping her way into my embrace. Even though it has been two years since that night, she possessed a presence that lingered with me.

    After that erotic evening together, Mims and I periodically double-dated, her with her (now ex) boyfriend and me with sir. Inevitably we ended up naked and kissing, sometimes after a flogging or an interlude with a violet wand, but it was always with a male audience. And although I had fun with the four of us, part of me wondered how things would go if it were only me and Mims again.

    Since sir moved overseas, Mims and I have seen each other every couple months. She house sat while I was overseas and chaperoned Catsquatch. I have invited her to dinner at my place and sometimes we’ve gone out. And always we have flirted, dancing around the question we both silently entertained. Would we? Wouldn’t we? I tried to mentally map out a not-too-obvious approach to ask if she would like to have sex again, but I lacked the skills to articulate something even halfway coherent or seductive. I seemed to be able to talk about everything but sex. It didn’t help that half the time one of us had our period or had a head cold.

    The sad fact was that I had no game when it came to women. I haven’t had an actual date since before sir left, so I lacked practice too. I was a bonified goof around women in general. My game plan fell to pieces when confronted by their feminine charms and flirtatious smiles. So I would plot and plan about what I would do to Mims when I saw her next, and then fail to actually do any of it when she was within arm’s reach.

    That changed one night last month.

    I don’t know if it was because I had a couple glasses of wine to bolster my courage or if the joy of eating Lebanese food buoyed me forward into propositioning her. Instead of going for an after dinner drink I suggested that we go to my place to watch Supernatural and make out on the couch. Yes, dear readers, I am that suave.

    Thank goodness Mims liked me despite my clumsy wooing, and we ended up half-naked on my couch while Sam and Dean discussed something about the end of the world in the background. We tore off each other’s clothing while our tongues tangled, eventually getting so frustrated with the process that she gave up and pulled me to my feet. I protested even though I knew she was right. There was no sense fighting the clothing and the couch when I had a perfectly functional bed upstairs. My heartbeat ratcheted up a notch when it finally hit me that we were going to have sex again. It was finally happening!

    She led me to my very messy bedroom (I still hadn’t unpacked from my month with sir) where we shed the rest of our clothes easily and crawled beneath the quilt.

    Have I mentioned that Mims was an amazing kisser? Her lips were soft but firm, and she knew exactly how long to hold a deep kiss. This time her kisses held the sting of teeth, and she left marks over the freckles dotting my chest. I squealed and squirmed, gathering a thick chunk of hair in my fist to raise her face to mine. The floral scent of her hair lingered in my nose as the long tresses rained down around me in a private canopy.

    Her body was luscious with curves in the very best places, and I flipped us over so that I was on top. I kissed and lapped at her tender skin, sucking her nipple into my mouth and gently biting it until she moaned and writhed beneath me. I felt high with sexual connection; that golden place when the energy sparked between us and held us together in a hue of physical and emotional desire. I don’t get to that place often, so when I felt it with Mims, I released the last of my restraint. I devoured that woman, smeared her juices all over my mouth and cheeks trying to taste and consume as much of her as I could. And I reveled in the moment, drinking deep the smells and sounds that we created together. I relished it all.

    Mims left several hours later. I considered asking her to stay the night but ultimately decided not to. As much as I adored Mims, I was in no place where I felt prepared to handle another relationship. Spending the night in my bed felt like relationship zone, so we said our goodbyes and kissed one last time. I’m now thinking about what I want to do to her should the opportunity arise again and crossing my fingers.

    I really hope it does.


  4. Subscription Woes and Other Technical Blogger Irritations

    March 20, 2016 by Heather Cole

    I really hate subscription spam

    I really hate subscription spam

     

    Everyone knows by now that changes are afoot, and in the blogging arena, big changes can often involve behind-the-scenes technical shit. I say ‘shit’ because I often stare at my computer and wonder what-the-hell-did-I-just-do-better-call-my-web-designer-to-fix-the-mess-I-made as I’m filled with panic. (See? It’s shitty.) And one of the biggest headaches that has come to my attention is subscription spammers. I typically get ten to fifteen alerts a day regarding a new subscriber who was really a spammer. SO irritating.

    My solution is to install a new plugin to the blog that aggressively blocks this subscription spam. The downside is that previous subscribers will probably have to subscribe again. Those of you that have already registered to comment will have to do so again plus answer a ridiculous math question BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. No, it’s part of the software. But I do love you. Truly.

    If you have any issues, please feel free to email me. I apologize for any inconvenience, but this little software upgrade is going to increase my quality of life. And for all you subscription spammers out there–go eat spam.


  5. Vote!

    March 15, 2016 by Heather Cole

    If you don't vote, then you can't cheer with victory (or complain about defeat) regarding the results.

    If you don’t vote, then you don’t get to cheer with victory (or complain about defeat) regarding the results.

     

    Voting is sexy, and so is exercising your civic duty.

    It wasn’t all that long ago that women didn’t have the right to vote. I honor those women who fought to be heard by placing my vote today.

    If you’re not sure where to vote, here’s an easy way to find the closest voting location: http://www.vote411.org/enter-your-address#.VugIcvkrJ2Q

    Get out and make your opinion heard!


  6. Before You Go Out To Play

    March 8, 2016 by Heather Cole

    Vagina Antics Dungeon

    Helping out at my local dungeon means that I see all types of people at play. Kink is a varied tapestry of body shapes, gender identity, lifestyle choices, and sexual preferences. And that’s just what I can see from the outside. Everyone brings their moods, their varying energies, and emotions to our extreme games as well. There is no “one way” to do kink, and on the days that I go to the dungeon, I’m reminded that I’m still learning and having new experiences. I doubt I’ll ever get to a place where I say that I’ve “seen it all” when it comes to kink. It was a recent dungeon encounter, and a new situation that I hadn’t experienced before, that gave me the spark of an idea for this post.

    Today, dear vagina fans, we’re going to cover a few basic concepts to consider before you go out to play. These tips aren’t only good for dungeons, but also for any type of sexual/kinky play. Whether you’re hiring an escort (Sydney escorts) for a special night, paying to see your pro dominant for a session, or renting some space/time at a BDSM club, there are some basics to keep in mind.

    Before you get on your high horse about me mentioning Jaipur escorts, pro dominants (i.e. dominatrix), or any other type of sex worker, you should know that I support sex workers and that I write from a nonjudgmental space. I condemn human trafficking. People who choose sexwork (for whatever reason) shouldn’t be criminalized for offering a service. If you want to read more about my views, you can click here. If you’re horribly offended… honey, this ain’t the blog you should be reading.

    Now on with our friendly, neighborhood kinky play tips:

    1.Cleanliness is next to… um, it gets you closer to the person you desire – This should seem like a no-brainer, right? You’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking, “of course I’m going to shower before getting naked with my special someone.” This is good. You absolutely should. However, if you’re going to the dungeon between meetings or slipping out for a spicy massage on your lunch break, you won’t be showing up shower fresh. In fact, a lot of body functioning could have happened between that shower you had first thing in the morning and the moment when the dominant is tying you up for some CBT (that’s cock and ball torture).

    Human bodies smell. It’s our nature to emit pheromones, and our bodies have a variety of odors depending on diet, etc. So do yourself and your play partner a huge favor, and freshen up, buttercup! Personally I carry around wet wipes. They’re not only for babies, and they’re handy for all sorts of situations (sexual and not). I promise you that the person you’re getting naked with will thank you too.

    Spruce up those genitals, y’all, and don’t forget your anus. Yes, I said it. Clean your anus. I’m being explicit here, because sometimes it gets overlooked if a person thinks no one is going to play with it specifically. Well, even if your anus is to remain virginal, if it’s unclean your play partner and anyone else in the vicinity will be smelling it. Of course accidents can happen, but being proactive and cleaning up before playing will win you huge points with your person/people of interest.

    2.  If you’ve reserved dungeon play space, or booked time with a companion, please show up when you say you will. If you can’t make the appointment, give the dungeon owner/monitors lots and lots of advance notice so that they can fill that time slot. Play space is often at a premium, so if you can’t use it, please give your kinky comrades a chance. The same goes for dates with Gurgaon escorts, and appointments with masseuses, pro dominants, etc. Just because it’s sexy, play time, it doesn’t mean that flaking out at the last minute (less than 24 hours notice) is acceptable behavior.

    3.  Paying money for a service doesn’t mean that you can do whatever the hell you want to once you get there. This is a personal pet peeve of mine. If you pay for time/space at a dungeon and need assistance creating the scene that fulfills all your fantasies, please don’t act like you own the people who are helping you. A person can consent to helping bind you in restraints and then torturing your nipples until you cry, but that doesn’t mean that you can do whatever the hell you want to them because they’re part of your fantasy. You must ask if you can touch them if you haven’t negotiated this beforehand. You may have paid for the use of the equipment, space, and time, but you do not control the people involved.

    I understand that going to a dungeon is a heady experience, especially if someone has never been exposed to BDSM practices. Everywhere you look there’s skin, writhing bodies, and people in the throes of emotional and physical dynamics that can be intense and arousing. To the average person, I’m sure it looks like a sex circus. But everyone there has negotiated their scenes, paid their fees, and are creating their fantasies while respecting others around them and giving consent. (Or they should be. Nothing will get you banned from a community faster than breaking those basic tenets. Also, public dungeons typically have strict rules regarding penetration and exchange of fluids. In other words, there aren’t any.) So please be respectful of those who are helping you experience your dungeon fantasy. You won’t go wrong by asking before you touch someone else and cleaning up your play space afterwards is a sign of common decency. A heartfelt thank you to your host won’t go awry either.

    There are some great resources in print now regarding the ‘how tos’ of playing with others. I have a list of good reads in the ‘Beginners Kink’ section. Play clean; play safe, sweeties.  


  7. It’s Just Not the Same – New Changes at Vagina Antics

    February 18, 2016 by Heather Cole

    New blogging horizons

     

    Four years ago I stood in my kitchen, surrounded by the trappings of my married life, and I heard the beginning rumbles of the explosive divorce that would rip my life apart. As I teetered on the precipice of personal and marital destruction, the idea of Vagina Antics was born. The first person I told, and the person I wanted to share it with most was my best friend and confidant, the person you know as Nikki Blue.

    From that moment forward, our journey became a shared one as we forged new territory: the titillating endeavor that is sex blogging. We both got divorced, we both moved out, we made new friends through our blog, we won awards for it, and every step of the way we shared our new sexual and emotional experiences with our readers. Every week we looked forward to sharing with you.

    In four years a lot has changed for both Nikki and me. Our paths are diverging, but not in a bad way. We’re growing and expanding in ways that make this blog feel a little tight and a little restrictive sometimes. As a result, Nikki and I both have done a lot of soul searching, and Nikki has decided to move on to different and new projects.

    I didn’t realize how sad I would feel even as I encouraged her to follow her passion. Nikki leaving VA is like… my peanut butter with no jelly. Sigh. As sad as I feel, I’m also excited about new changes with the blog. Where am I going next?

    At this moment, I have no fucking clue.

    What I do know is that I’m grateful to our readers for sticking with us through the bumps of this transition. And I’m most grateful that I had four years writing with one of the most incredible women I know. She’s still my best friend, and she’s still the first person I call for the good and the bad. I’m a lucky girl to have had this time. Now I need to have a good cry.

    (sniffly) Hugs,

    Heather

     

    I never imagined there would be a day when I would say goodbye, or how hard it would be to do so, but that time has come. Heh. Come.

    For nearly four years, I’ve chronicled my sexual evolution and my kinks with an honesty I never knew I was capable of. I’ve shared with you the excruciating pain of my darkest secrets, my fears, and feelings. Sweet Jesus, the feelings. I hate (love) Heather a little for making me rip open the scabs, but in doing so, I was able to truly heal, mostly. However, I know I still need therapy to work through some pretty heavy stuff–lots of it. I’m not even kidding.

    I am beyond thankful for you all; the friends and connections I’ve made. If I could give super-big squeezes to each and every one of you, I totally would. Well, everyone except the creepy dudes with grabby hands. You know who you are.

    I’m still here, I just won’t be here. And I’ll no longer tell tales as Nikki Blue, but as myself instead. My writing has taken me down a different path, one that in my heart, I think I’ve been on all along. You can find me on Facebook as Nikki for a while longer, but soon, I’ll transition to my true name. So, keep in touch; say hi, but for the love of God, NO MORE DICK PICS.

    Hugs & kisses,

    Nikki Blue aka Robyn Michele

     


  8. Finding a Casual Date for the Holidays

    December 25, 2015 by Heather Cole

    kissing

    It’s hard to believe that the holidays have once more arrived in a flurry of preparation and excitement. This time of year not only sees a lot of people spending time with their friends and families, but also on their own. And as I’m sure many of you will vouch for, Christmas is a time best spent with someone else rather than alone. Just because you’re single, doesn’t mean you can’t have a little kinky Christmas fun with someone out there.

    Whether it’s Christmas day, the New Year, or whatever holiday you observe, all it takes is a little effort on your part to get chatting with someone and meeting up in person. Sure you can venture into your local bar and chat to women or men there, but this technique can often prove tough. Not only is it hard to find the right person who is also looking to meet for sex tonight, but people in general seem to be distancing themselves from the scene itself too. Online dating has been on a constant rise with new members joining every day to a number of sites – you’d be hard pressed not to have someone in your life who has or is currently using the internet to meet people.

    Whether you’re into meeting older people, younger people, those who are married or even want to filter down to specific fetishes and interests, the internet will have you covered. If you can think of it, chances are there will be a site specialising in it. All it takes is to take the first step and sign up for a profile. What’s more there’s never been a better time to sign up – with it being the month of December, you’ll find many places offering holiday discounts.

    First things first, always make sure to be as honest as possible with your profile. After all you’re trying to meet others who want the same sort of thing as you. So whether it’s something as small as your interest in movies or perhaps s more important such as your intent from meeting someone, honesty is key.

    Keep messages simple and sincere. You want to try and stand out from the crowd and merely copying and pasting the same message over and over isn’t going to win anyone over. While you may want to jump straight into the dirty talk, it’s often worth waiting to get to know someone a little better first. At least make sure you have some common ground between you before asking what he or she likes in the bedroom.

    When you’re both ready, plan to meet in person – ideally in a public place you feel comfortable with. Drinks in a bar is always a good start that can then always lead onto a hotel for a little more intimate fun. If you both enjoy the experience enough you can do the same again over the Christmas holidays. Who says you need to be alone over Christmas after all? Of course if you prefer you can always hit the sites again in search of more sexual partners.

    Whatever the time of year, finding someone for casual fun is simple. Who says you need to be nice this Christmas when you can be naughty instead?


  9. In the Hands of a Stranger

    October 7, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Aaron Apt 2015

    I lay on the couch, draped over the stranger’s lap with my face buried in a cushion. My dress bunched around my waist and my panties had been pushed down to my knees. Stinging slaps rained down on my bottom as I fought not to squirm. The man enjoyed hitting high along the top of my asscheeks or on the sides, not across the meat of my bum where I preferred. I didn’t complain, though. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek and fought to endure the burning fire that spread across my flesh. I silently vowed to do my best and submit, because I wanted to make Daddy proud of me.

    This particular situation was new for me. Daddy had loaned me out to a stranger for a precious two hours. I had seen the man before and had watched his scene with a different submissive. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about him—not good or bad. It was the idea of playing with a stranger that seemed like a distant possibility. He was an older, British gentleman with a ready smile and large hands. He hadn’t been practicing kink for a decade, but now he wanted to get back into the scene. The problem was that he didn’t have a regular submissive partner, and his life was constructed in such a way that being open about his preferences would have proved disastrous. He was discreet, and he wanted to play. Part of me loved the thrill of submitting to someone I didn’t know, while the other half of me felt anxious about it.

    Daddy agreed to the arrangement because a close friend, and dominant, supervised since he was unable to be present.The logical part of my brain told me that I wasn’t in real physical danger, but butterflies still filled my stomach. Daddy had negotiated the terms of the scene, and the three of us had reviewed my hard and soft limits beforehand. Even with all the things I knew the stranger wouldn’t do to me, that still left a lot of things, painful things, that could happen.

    My friend gave me a playful slap on my reddened skin as I passed her, making me wince. “I think he’s taking it easy on you,” she whispered. The wide grin on her face didn’t reassure me at all.

    The stranger led me by the hand from the sitting area into a large play room. He bid me to stand under a square, wooden frame and ran his hands over my waist and hips.

    “I love the clothes that women wear,” he said in his proper accent, “but I prefer them naked.” He pulled my dress over my head and stripped me out of my lingerie. “Bend over and spread yourself open. I want to see what I’ve borrowed for the afternoon.”

    His words slid like a knife between my ribs. This wasn’t my Daddy who objectified and degraded me with love in his heart. This man didn’t know anything about me. He wanted me because I would submit. I was a living, breathing sex toy that he could use for his own pleasure. In that moment I felt powerful, that I could give the gift of myself to please another, but on the heels of that thought came a needling voice, what kind of girl lets a stranger use her? I felt myself blush as I spread my legs apart.

    The stranger complimented my body as he tightened wide leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles. He clipped the cuffs to metal rings at the top of the frame, stretching me almost to my tiptoes, and then placed a spreader bar between my ankles. I was rendered immobile. He then produced the final touch… a blindfold. My heartbeat ratcheted into high gear as he covered my eyes. I was blind and bound, and in the hands of someone I didn’t know. I had surveyed the table full of impact toys before we started, but I didn’t know which one he would use. I strained to hear the slightest noise, but everyone remained silent. Goosebumps marched over my skin, and all my muscles tensed.

    His wide palms skimmed my ribcage, making a path over my abdomen and up to my breasts. A breath I didn’t know I had been holding escaped from between my lips. His meaty fingers fastened on a nipple, and he squeezed as hard as he could. My knees buckled at the pain lancing through me.

    “Yellow!” I gasped.

    My caution word made him release me, and I explained that my super-sensitive nipples couldn’t take that level of abuse. If he wanted me to last for the entire two hours, he needed to respect my body and pain tolerances.

    I don’t know how long I stayed on the frame. Time became blurred when it was reduced to the moments between body shaking blows and reverent caresses. The stranger was kind and cruel in turns, offering his embrace after a particularly powerful slap to my inner thigh, and then stepping away and retreating into silence until he decided to hit me again. It was the worst kind of cat and mouse, because I couldn’t protect myself and had no way to retreat. Silently I yelled, “leave me alone you mean man! I want my Daddy!” On the outside, though, I whimpered and squealed. Finally my body had had enough, and my fingers got tingly from being above my head for so long. He took me down immediately.

    Again he led me by the hand, this time to a massage table. He positioned me so that I was bent over at the waist, my abraded nipples protesting as they pressed against the cotton sheet. The blindfold came off, and I asked if I could have a tissue to blow my nose. My eyes were wet and my nose was running, but I didn’t feel upset anymore. Some conscious thought entered my awareness, and I recognized the signs of subspace. I still felt everything, but I didn’t care as much. I experienced a feeling of floating, of being wrapped in a huge bubble of not giving a fuck.

    I had warned the stranger at the beginning that canings made me cry, but that the tears weren’t a sign to stop. I told him that I would use red or yellow to signal if I were truly in distress. My friend reminded him again of my safewords, and then he gave me my instructions. I had to count each stroke, thank him, and then ask for another. With tears trickling down my cheeks, we began.

    He didn’t cane me like my Daddy. Memories tugged at me, threatening to send me down the rabbit hole of missing my sir. I didn’t want to fall apart, and I didn’t want to ruin our fun with the spectre of a physically absent dominant. So I remembered instead that this had always been a fantasy of ours. Even though sir wasn’t there watching, we still shared this adventure. I was pretty damn lucky to be able to live out this fantasy, even if it wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned it. But the stranger wasn’t finished. A flogging followed the caning, and then there was figging and more breast torture with clothespins and ice cubes.

    By the end of our time together, I was blissed out on endorphins and uncaring about what he wanted to do next with me. It was the kind of high that really good bruises give you. I felt like a ragdoll, a real life sex toy that had been used hard and who loved it.

    Hours later I sat in front of my computer and skyped with Daddy. I had to cry a little bit, because I missed him. I wished he had been there, that it had been his cane against my thighs and his arms around me. But by the end of our talk, I was coming back to myself. Daddy said he was proud of me and that he loved me. I was proud of myself, too. I had endured a stranger’s sadism and had pleased him. Not every girl will take that kind of attention and enjoy it too.


  10. Decriminalizing Sex Work

    September 11, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    Prostitute picking up businessman

    Recently Amnesty International made headlines by proposing a policy to decriminalize sex work.

    “Sex workers are one of the most marginalized groups in the world. In many countries, they are threatened with a whole host of abuses, including rape, beatings, trafficking, extortion forced eviction and discrimination, including exclusion from health services. More often than not, they get no, or very little, legal protection. In fact, in many cases these violations and abuses are carried out by the police, clients and abusive third parties.”

    It should be noted that Amnesty International wasn’t suggesting that sex work be legalized. With their policy of decriminalization, they hope to offer sex workers the protection of basic human rights and to take them out of the role of “accomplice” to a crime, which is their livelihood.

    “The decriminalization of sex work means that sex workers are no longer breaking the law by carrying out sex work. They are not forced to live outside the law and there is better scope for their human rights to be protected.”

    “If sex work is legalized, it means that the state makes very specific laws and policies that formally regulate sex work. This can lead to a two tier system where many sex workers operate outside these regulations and are still criminalised – often the most marginalised street based sex workers. Decriminalization places greater control into the hands of sex workers to operate independently, self-organise in informal cooperatives and control their own working environments in a way that legalization often does not.”

    To read more about Amnesty’s policy, click here.

    Some may be surprised to know that sex work doesn’t only include street-based sex workers or escorts, like Escorts and Babes. Adult film actors/actresses, exotic dancers, brothel workers, incall/outcall workers, phone sex operators, rent boys, nude models, webcam models, full-body masseuses, adult film producers, dominatrixes, and adult website owners are all part of what is considered sex work.

    Since Amnesty International published their proposal some sex workers, like this male escort, have been voicing their stories. Most of the sex workers I’ve met, and read about, didn’t choose sex work because they thought they’d earn the respect of their community and have fun. They were men and women who were trying to keep a roof over their family’s head and food on the table. And all human beings, regardless of their jobs, deserve basic human rights like access to healthcare, and legal protection.

    The sex trade is never going to disappear. That line about it being the ‘oldest profession’ is true. There will always be a demand for sex and people willing to pay for it. Rather than vilify the people performing this service, we have the power to give sex workers dignity and decriminalize their work. We could change things so that it’s not a risk to their personal safety to earn a living. Decriminalization also means giving workers a chance to do something different and make different choices if they want, instead of branding them with a scarlet letter on their official record that will limit any future jobs unrelated to sex. Decriminalization of sex work means breaking the cycle that marginalizes its workers, so that legal efforts can focus on human trafficking and those forced into sexual slavery.

    I wrote this article at my favorite cafe, and a stranger approached me and asked what I was writing about. I told him the title of the article, and his reaction was to ask me why I cared about “Pasquale the street walker” and Pasquale’s abuse at the hands of the police in some foreign country. I was taken aback at first. Shouldn’t we all be concerned about the people living at the fringes of our society? I was surprised that he considered the plight of a sex worker a problem for developing nations. Honey, sex work is right here in the good ‘ol USofA. It made me want to challenge his privileged viewpoint, but I was flustered that 1. he had asked specifically about my topic, and 2. I had answered honestly.

    When I replayed our interaction, I wish I had answered differently. I wish I had asked him his personal opinion. “If a white, older man paid me to tie him up, spank his bare bottom, and then impale him with a large phallus in his anus in a private home, should I be denied a safe place to live? Should I be refused medical insurance? Should I fear for my personal safety, because I was paid to perform a service? You, dear stranger, may have a strong reaction to the nature of the particular service. But should I, the service provider, be denied basic human rights for fulfilling it?”

    Sex work is a taboo subject in this country. Most people want to go about their lives like it doesn’t exist, or we only talk about it in reference to a bachelor party or the incredibly unrealistic, Pretty Woman. And I get it. It’s challenging to separate how we feel about the morality of paying for sex from the people who are fulfilling the sex work. In my opinion, we’re all human beings and we all deserve to be treated as such. ~Heather

    And something else…you never know who is a sex worker. It’s not like they wear a t-shirt or a super-cool badge. Most sex workers fly under the radar, not wanting their profession to be known for fear of being outed to public scrutiny, or worse, being arrested.

    A sex worker–in any industry–could be the single mother in the car in front of you, dropping off her child at school. It could be the man shopping for produce at the farmer’s market, or the young woman attending college classes. You don’t know the reasons why they chose the job that they did, and believe me, it is a job. So if you do happen to meet a person who is a sex worker, be nice and have empathy. You may not realize it, but we need them. They are a vital piece in becoming the sex-positive world we are working toward, so for fucks sake, show some respect. ~Nikki