I “met” Jenny Lyn through FELT TIPS, the anthology of erotica (to be released December 2012) that accepted both our short stories. She was the very first writer to respond to my invitation to guest blog, and our ensuing correspondence has sparked some hilarious repartee. She’s witty and fun and leaves the best comments. Plus she declared me “secretive” which is the sister-word of “mysterious” which means THAT I’M PRACTICALLY A VIXEN! Sorry, am I shouting? You should click here and read all about the artichoke gauntlet I threw down at her sexy little feet.
Her post about being “vanilla” was originally intended for the FELT TIPS guest blogs beginning in November, but Jenny Lyn is SO funny and so damn charming that Nikki and I couldn’t wait. And I might be falling in love with her. Shhhh…don’t tell her husband. Without further ado, here is the wonderfully talented Jenny Lyn. I promise that after reading her post, you’ll never look at vanilla the same way again. xo Heather
I bow down to the kinktasticness that is Heather and Nikki, truly I do, but if someone were to raise a flogger to me I’d hide under the bed, not bend over it. I have all the respect in the world for people who are not afraid to let their freak flag fly. Run that puppy up a pole and I will stand shoulder to shoulder with you and give it a hearty salute. Break out the whips and chains and I’m going to politely excuse myself from the party, after the cupcakes are served, of course.
In case you haven’t caught on yet, I’m classified as vanilla when it comes to sex and all of its sundry forms. But contrary to what the term implies, I do not consider my sex life boring. I have it often and I get off while doing it. Several times. And no, missionary is not the position du jour in my repertoire. The hubby is actually quite fond of reverse cowgirl, followed closely by doggy-style, my personal favorite. Toys! We have a drawer full of things that buzz, and oh how he loves to accessorize. Or maybe I should say terrorize. His favorite phrase is, “Come on, baby, give me one more.” To which I reply, “Well, if you insist.”
Vanilla does not have to equate to boring. And it fuck sure shouldn’t be considered a derogatory term either. As long as we’re happy and getting’ off then it works for us, and I mean that “us” collectively too, because I know that there are tons of “us’s” out there. Do the vanillas and the kinksters have to stare down their noses at each other? Can’t we all just get along?
Kink is in the spotlight right now, thanks to a certain book that shall not be named because I do know enough about actual kink to recognize that that book is not really kinky, follow me? Everyone’s trying something, but I bet there’s a hella bunch of those dabblers who are tossing their shiny new nipple clamps in the garbage can. And you know what? That’s fine too. It’s not for everybody. If that were the case there’d be aPleasurePalace on every corner. They’d sell butt plugs at the gas station next to the Slim Jims and Red Bull. But still, a big high-five to those of you out there that are at least trying to mix things up in the bedroom. Sex is important in a relationship. Good sex of any flavor makes that relationship great. Bad sex is a waste of time. It leads to frustration and straying, and eventually, no sex at all. Who wants that?
Here’s how I knew I was always going to be a vanilla girl. I dated this guy once and the sex was great. Really, really great. Hurray! Orgasms for everyone! And he was 10 years my junior, too. Rawr! So anywhoo, things were trucking along jus’ fine and dandy. Granted, I knew the “relationship” had an expiration date, but it didn’t have anything to do with the sex. Or so I thought. One day I walk into his bedroom and on his dresser he had all of these…items. Rope and cuffs and something that looked like it could have been one of those slip chain collars you see on bulldogs. And I was confident I was the only girl he was fucking. Did I ask him about them? Hell no. I hauled ass out of there. Was that the wrong way to handle it? Of course it was. Miss Cougar turned into a pussy right quick like, and not the good kind. Now I’m not a total asshole. I did ask him about it later and he confessed that he was into it and he was hoping I’d be willing to try some things with him. Um, no. Sorry. My gut instinct was to run, not try the collar on for size. I knew if the sight or thought of being restrained made me uncomfortable then I shouldn’t keep him from finding someone who shared those same interests.
Now, just because that part of the program turned me off doesn’t mean that I’m not adventurous. When I say adventurous, think location. Can adventurous be considered kinky? Maybe. Okay, probably not but humor my vanilla ass. So I got to thinking about all the places I’ve had relations, and I realized there’d been some doozies. How about I share my top three with you and then you can mock them share some interesting locales of your own?
#3. On a pallet beneath a building. Not a basement, but an actual three-foot tall crawlspace. It was dark and dirty and smelled funky. Did I care? I should probably be embarrassed to admit this whole disgusting thing in the first place, but no, I didn’t give a crap. The dude was sex on a stick. Seriously, he was one of those guys that “fuck me” oozed from his pores like sweat. When the urge and opportunity struck it was the quickest place we could find. I had sand in places it shouldn’t be, cobwebs in my hair, and a big ol’ smile on my face when it was over.
#2. On a balcony at the beach. Alright, full disclosure here; I’m terrified of heights. Like palms sweating, mouth dry, panic attack kind of horror. Alcohol helps with that. So does being in a strip club for three hours and getting a private lap dance from a hot girl who kisses you on the mouth like you’re made of chocolate in front of your boyfriend. Mix all those things together and you’re willing to overlook the scary fact that you’re twelve stories up with half of your naked body hanging over a concrete balustrade while he fucks you into next week. I’m very, um, vocal during sexy times when I’ve had a little too much to drink, too. It’s a wonder the police weren’t called. Also, I checked Youtube for weeks after that night just to make sure I wasn’t starring in someone’s amateur porno.
#1. A cemetery. Ha! Call me vanilla now, bitches. That’s right I said a cemetery. Now before you start throwing rocks at my head or calling me a necrophiliac, we were still in the truck seat, not sprawled across some poor dead soul’s tombstone. But the doors were open. And it was very dark. And creepy as Hell. And hot!
Now it’s your turn.
Jenny Lyn is a writer of naughty stories and a lover of all things southern, including her tiny hometown in north-central Florida. Wedged between the historic Suwannee River and the beautiful Gulf of Mexico, it’s hot, sticky, and full of mosquitoes, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. When she’s not pecking away on her laptop and arguing with the voices in her head, she’s fishing with her husband or taking her teenage son to see one of their favorite rock bands in concert. She has a book out now, Saving Sydney; a short story in the upcoming erotic anthology, Felt Tips; and many more things in the works. She can be found rambling about everything from Elvis to moonshine at her website: http://www.authorjennylyn.com, and often saying inappropriate things on Twitter @Jennylynwrites.
