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  1. We Say Goodbye to 2014

    January 1, 2015 by Heather Cole

    2015-2

    Happy New Year, y’all!

    I must confess that I’m not sorry AT ALL to usher 2014 out the damn door. Last year was a real bite in the ass for me in significant ways. The spring of 2014 brought my mama’s diagnosis of uterine cancer. Then in July, my daughter underwent successful open heart surgery. August was burned into my brain, because my sir left for a three-year work contract overseas. The three most important people to me all suffered. Hey, 2014, KISS MY ASS!

    The year wasn’t all bad, of course. I published three books, one of which went into an , and I have even more expected to be published in 2015. Last year meant broadening my writing horizons and making new friendships in the blogging/author world. I also had some amazing sexual adventures with my sir before he left, and to my surprise and delight, those adventures didn’t cease when the geographical distance between us increased. Don’t worry. Y’all will hear all about them. Well, most of them. This girl does need her secrets.

    In case you missed them, here are three of my favorite posts of 2014:

    H is for How – A post written by my beloved sir in response to a reader’s question. I swoon all over again reading his words. *blissful sigh*

    She Stabbed Me, and I Bubbled – My first experience with needles. Reading this again makes me grin. It was SO MUCH FUN!

    Heather Orgasms in Public – I did! While hypnotized! In front of university students! (I’ll stop exclaiming now)

    Looking back at the year behind us, I’m able to see the growth and the gifts that arrived on the heels of heartache and worry. I was tested in ways that I couldn’t have foreseen, and I think I’m now in a better place than when the year began. Thank you, dear readers, for coming along for the ride. There are so many good things to come. Heh. Come…

    KISSES!

    ~Heather

    ***********************************

    All in all, 2014 was a stellar year for me in many ways. After four years of tears, edits, and rewrites, I finally published , my piece What Heteroflexible Means for Me was chosen by Jill of Naked All the Time as one of The Best Sex and Dating Posts of September 2014, I was featured as Kinkly’s Sex Blogger of the Month for December, and Vagina Antics was given a super-hot spot on the Top Sex Bloggers of 2014 list. All of it makes me ridiculously giddy, and none of it would have been possible without y’all. For that and all of your hugs and support, I am incredibly grateful.

    By the time the year ended, though, it was clear that moving forward, my life will travel a different path, but I’m not mad at it. No mud, no lotus, right?

    Aaaaaand moving on, here are my favorite posts from 2014:

    P is for Pro-Choice – My life, my body, and my right to choose.

    An Anal Heart-to-Heart – The day my daughter wanted to talk about anal sex.

    Bangin’ Basics: A Guide to Group Sex – Quick and dirty tips.

    So what’s coming in 2015? Heh. I am.

    *boobsmooshes*

    ~Nikki

    Category Randomness | Tags: ,,,,,,, | No Comments

  2. The Ugly Truth of Slut-Shaming

    December 5, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Photo by Num_Skyman via FreeDigitalPhotos.net

    Photo by Num_Skyman via FreeDigitalPhotos.net

    My teen sat cross-legged on the center of the island while I made coffee a few days ago; masturbation and the importance of it was the topic of morning conversation. It was a successful chat that I’ll share another time, but the detour the talk took opened up a disturbing can of worms.

    “Guys don’t believe I’m a virgin,” she said.

    My immediate thought was aaaaand another generation takes the torch, but I wanted to know the reason behind their disbelief. Was she purposely leading them to think otherwise? Had something happened that she had not shared with me?

    I quirked an eyebrow. “Are you?”

    “Really, Mom?”

    “I had to ask.”

    “Yes, I’m a virgin, but they don’t believe me because they say I’m too pretty to not be having sex.”

    The fuck?

    “To begin with, it’s none of their fucking business whether or not you’re a virgin. And second, they assume you’re having sex because you’re pretty?”

    “Yup.”

    “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And you realize that’s slut-shaming, right?”

    She nodded.

    Then it hit me- regardless of how a female behaves, dresses, or looks, she’s automatically a target for slut-shaming for simply being female, and this is unacceptable.

    Category sexuality | Tags: ,,,,,,, | 6 Comments

  3. Porn Stars Explain Net Neutrality

    November 15, 2014 by Heather Cole

    The words “net neutrality” have been bandied about a lot these days. There’s a current smear campaign by Senator Ted Cruz sweeping across social media and the media in general. This tidbit came from Twitter: “‘Net Neutrality’ is Obamacare for the Internet; the Internet should not operate at the speed of government.” But if you know anything about this issue, then you know net neutrality is about the control of bandwidth which, in turn, controls content.

    Here’s my favorite post so far explaining the ins and outs. Heh. In and out…

    DEAR SENATOR TED CRUZ by The Oatmeal

    Comcast bullying Netflix into paying them millions of dollars to grant their viewers access to view Netflix content was surreal. And they got away with it! Now the issue is in the spotlight again, because people like Senator Ted Cruz want to base how the net operates on money. Those who pay the most, like Comcast, get the best speeds and unfettered content. Low income families, on the other hand, will be shafted. In the daily struggle of existence in poverty, do you think high internet fees are a priority?

    The beauty of the internet is that it’s a great equalizer. People come together that normally would never have met in our physical reality. The internet doesn’t care what your household income is or if you’re in your mother’s basement. The internet is this swirling mess of freedom and chaos that’s accessible to everyone, and I really want to keep it that way. You should too.

    Just in case you were still confused about why this applies to your life, let these lovely porn stars enlighten you. *giggle*

     

    Category Randomness | Tags: ,,,,,,,,, | 3 Comments

  4. Betrayed by My Girly Bits

    November 7, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    FreeDigitalPhotos.net Marin

    Photo credit:  FreeDigitalPhotos.Net

    For nearly three years now, I’ve felt as if I’ve been betrayed by my girly bits. I had unexplained pain in and around my vagina that was often accompanied by a raw sensation and a dull ache along my inner thighs. The pain seemed to wax mid-cycle and wane when my period came. I stopped taking the medication I had been given to lighten my heavy flow, because for whatever reason, with the blood came relief. I tried to avoid things that would spark a flare up, like sitting on a hard chair for long periods of time and wearing non-breathable workout pants made of lycra. Not that it really made much of a difference, though. I finally realized if the pain was coming, there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

    The uncomfortable state of my vagina and vulva has led to numerous doctor visits, referrals that didn’t seem to make sense, and thousands of dollars spent on lab bills. And with no definitive diagnosis for the pain that ruled my life, I left every appointment with false hope and unnecessary prescriptions– antibiotics that wreaked havoc with the delicate balance of my vaginal ecosystem, and anti-fungals and yeast infection creams that have made my skin ridiculously sensitive. Not to mention the buckets for the gallons of tears I’ve cried.

    Again and again, I thought back to when the trouble began, wondering if the laser hair removal I’d had could have been a culprit, but my technician, doctors, and the internet didn’t seem to think so. Or maybe the wicked bacterial infection from the embarrassing anal-to-vaginal fuck-up was the underlying issue. Maybe I still had BV or another stubborn yeast infection and they couldn’t see it; maybe the plethora of tests had been wrong. I wondered what I’d done to deserve it.

    Other than Heather, I rarely shared the details of my Vagina Report with anyone. Not even Mr. K received the daily updates. The chronic pain didn’t affect our sex life, so I kept him in the dark about the severity of it. I was his sex object; his fantasy come to life, and I worried that constantly moaning about my painful vagina would tarnish his image of me; make me less sexy in his eyes. I hardly complained to him because I was the best girlfriend ever, but when I say my vagina was always in my thoughts, it’s far from an exaggeration. I was always aware of it, even in my sleep. I had dreams of painful sex with hemorrhoid cream used as lube, and nightmares of raging infections. Laugh if you will, but I woke up in tears. Not from pain, mind you, but from fear I would never feel normal again.

    What was wrong with me was a question that plagued me. All I wanted was to find the answer–whatever it may have been–so I could deal with it and move past the non-stop worry. I feared I had some sort of disease or infection that was undetectable, or worse, one they hadn’t even discovered yet. I panicked over every little bump, raw spot, or twinge, spending sleepless nights on the internet trying to match it to SOMETHING. The stress of it quickly wore a ‘worse-case-scenario’ pattern through my brain.

    Then I met a Nurse Practioner who took one look at my nether region and said, “That looks dermatological to me.”

    “Are you fucking kidding me?”

    “Nope. Change to Tone soap, Dreft detergent, and two rinse cycles.”

    With renewed hope of a pain-free vagina, I wanted to jump down from the examination table and give her a super big hug–pantsless.

    In a big way, she was right, and within a few days of following through with her recommended changes, I felt huge improvement and an even bigger wave of relief. As time passed, though, the pain didn’t go away completely, so I underwent a battery of repeat tests, receiving the same negative results. And when the ache escalated to it’s original intensity and the raw sensation returned, I sat on the table begging my Nurse Practioner for help, but she was already halfway out of the room, dismissing my pleas. She said there was nothing wrong with me, but my vagina said there was.

    Deflated and determined to find an answer, I turned to the internets, who had been my self-diagnosis enemy in the past, but this time it gave me what I was looking for– Vulvodynia. My constant vulvar pain seemed to fall within the realm of the disorder, but when I asked my NP about it, she said there was no way to test for it and gave me a recipe for making Boric Acid capsules to reset the balance inside my vagina.

    I’m sorry, what?

    Vulvodynia is defined as chronic vulvar pain, possibly triggered by trauma, infections, overuse of medications, or nothing in particular. How’s that for non-definitive? Basically, it’s nerve pain, which brought my mother to mind because she suffers from Fibromyalgia. I had to wonder if there was some hereditary correlation there, and if that’s the case, thanks a fuckload, Mom.

    Anyway, after reading thread after thread in Vulvodynia support groups, I noticed a lot of women–especially perimenopausal women–saw a drastic improvement in their degree of pain when taking Calcium Sulfate. Great. Another supplement to waste money on. I bought it, though, expecting nothing more than temporary relief, if it helped at all. But that wasn’t the case, and within hours of taking the first pill, the pain had disappeared– VANISHED.

    I don’t know what it is about that particular supplement that wrestled my vulvar pain and won, but I do know I feel like a super huge weight has been lifted from my loins. I don’t freak-out over the raw sensation or the shooting pain through the left side of my vagina anymore because they’re gone. I still have to stay away from scented products, and lycra workout pants will throw my vulva into a bona fide hissy fit, but I’m learning to manage my delicate nature. At risk of sounding cheesy, I feel like a woman again–a sexual one, and I don’t feel my vagina these days unless I want to.

    Category Vaginal Health | Tags: ,,,,,,, | 9 Comments

  5. VOTE for us on KINKLY!

    September 26, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Is our Vagina part of your weekly reading? The blog, I mean. Do you enjoy reading about Nikki’s latest group sex exploits or Heather’s newest adventure into submission? Maybe it’s the real life aspects that you enjoy. Sure we’re kinky, but we’re also single moms and writers. Whatever it is that you like, please like us again with a vote at Kinkly. They’re looking for the Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2014.

    You’ll see a giant pink button… CLICK ON IT!

    Nikki and I thank you from the bottom of our depraved little hearts and send you smooches. Right where it counts.

    ~Heather

     

    Category Contest | Tags: ,,,, | No Comments

  6. What Heteroflexible Means for Me

    September 11, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Black and white photo of two sexy lady in underwear

    There has been a lot of talk about labeling sexuality lately, mine and Mr. K’s in particular. We’re always changing, it seems; evolving. One of the questions we’ve pondered is, “are we considered swingers since our playtime with other couples is really more of a tangled heap of body parts than merely swapping partners?” We’ve also mulled over, “are we true BDSM switches? Or are we simply primal?”

    Who the fuck knows anymore? But more importantly, why does it matter? To be frank, it doesn’t.

    I find the concept of labels baffling. In general, I feel like they’re unfair, tend to dislike them immensely, and work hard to keep them from sticking. In my past, I’ve been hurt by labels, and I rebelled against the stigma as I tried to make them fit the way I wanted, on my terms. Yet in the context of BDSM, I find I need a label to define who I am; the things I like.

    See? Confusing.

    It’s no secret that I’ve had sex with women. I quite enjoy it, and people who know this about me are quick to assume I’m bisexual. Maybe I am, by all intents and purposes, but for my comfort, the label is too cut and dry. It just doesn’t fit well. I don’t have the desire to date women, nor am I sexually attracted to them. However, given the opportunity, I will fuck a lovely lady in a hot minute, but only if Mr. K’s supervisory penis is within grasping distance. When I explain this, I’m usually met with lots of wide-eyed blinking, and when I label myself as heteroflexible, because ‘sexually fluid’ isn’t one, I see more of the whole deer in the headlights thing. It’s really not that complicated, though. Well, in my mind it’s not.

    Wikipedia defines heteroflexibilty as a sexual orientation or situational sexual behavior characterized by minimal homosexuality activity despite being primarily heterosexual. This differs from bisexuality.

    For the majority of people, I think defining their sexuality is relatively easy. They either distinctly identify with a certain sexual orientation or they don’t. It can be pretty basic stuff, but for those of us who flow over the lines, labeling identity can be a complex choice and widely misunderstood.

    When I began writing this blog post nearly two weeks ago… Oh stop. Have you not read The Method to My Madness? It ain’t pretty, y’all. Anyway, I had the idea that explaining my sexual fluidity would be easy peasy. And it was when I started, but then it took all kinds of turns into how the defined lines of different orientations tend to blur for some kinksters, in my opinion. Before I knew it, I found myself constructing a picket sign with “Can’t we all just get along sexually?” written in sparkly glitter.

    Clearly, I’d drifted way off course.

    To put it simply: I like to fuck women, but I need Mr. K’s penis close by or inside me to do so…I am the dominant one… I feel submissive…

    Wait, what?

    And the course shifted again. I didn’t even see it coming, but there it was in bright blue neon flashing lights with a purple outline. It was so bright, so sharp it blew up because the revelation was that powerful. Like Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights.

    Oh, stop judging me. Like I would ever pass on an opening like that one.

    But what the fuck? When I feel submissive, it’s only to Mr. K, not to the women we play with. I am the dominant one, dammit!

    <stamps foot>

    Seriously, though. I’m not sure why I’m naturally dominant when it comes to women, but I am. And honestly, I don’t know how I would respond to a woman who wasn’t sexually submissive.

    Would I fight for dominance over her? I tend to think I would, and Mr. K agrees.

    “Unless I told you otherwise,” he said.

    I saw what he did there, which led me to believe he’s known this about me for some time.

    Well played, Mr. K. Well played indeed.

    The thing is, I’ve always been the dominant one with the sexy ladies we’ve played with. Hell, their husbands too, for that matter. I’ve seen the recognition in the way they look at me, felt it grow thick in the air between us, and I’ve fed heartily from the power of it. Mr. K has even said witnessing the control I have in those moments is what gets him off when we play with other couples.

    God, I love that man.

    When I have my wicked way with a woman, though, I don’t dare to climb inside of her head, taking great pleasure in seducing her thoughts with my words in the way I do Mr. K’s. That need doesn’t surface. What I give her is purely physical, but what I take runs very deep.

    The intense desire to please him blooms inside me under his watchful eye. I feel the heat of his gaze memorizing every flick of my tongue between soft, slick folds, every plunge of my fingers into the depths of her wanton mound as I bring her to orgasm. He is proud of me; proud that I am his. I sense his love for me, his pride. It swells– takes my breath and washes over me. It’s an amazing high.

    With all of that having been said, I’m not any one thing, sexually speaking. I flow freely in the moment, doing what feels right, whatever it may be. I am THAT girlfriend– the best one ever, according to Mr. K. He allows my sexual fluidity, encourages it and that, my friends, I wouldn’t have any other way.

    Category sexuality | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,,,, | 16 Comments

  7. P is for Pro-Choice

    June 16, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    best choice

    Some things were done a little differently in the south. For example, whenever a girl was knocked up in the small, Georgia town where I was raised, she got married. It was as simple as that. And as crazy as it sounds, I knew two girls who were fifteen—the age of my daughter—when they took on the grown-up roles of wife and mother. They were too young to even drive themselves to their obstetrician appointments, or anywhere else, for that matter. As most parents saw it, though, if they were old enough to have sex, they were old enough to accept the repercussions of their actions. Of course, the shotgun unions weren’t destined for the long haul, and they usually crash landed in divorce court before the five year mark. But not before they’d had at least one more baby and had been saddled with no hope of ever pursuing the life they once dreamed of.

    I was seventeen years old when my birth control failed, and like anyone that age should have been when they found out they were pregnant, I was scared. That dark ring in the center of the home pregnancy test spelled out my future and it wasn’t one full of rainbows and sunshine. I would become another statistic; a young divorcee who had been battered and bruised. I would eventually be that single mother who had no skill or education, struggling everyday to put food on the table, that is, if our fights didn’t escalate to a fatal level before I found the courage to walk away. THAT was the life I saw and not the one I wanted.

    My boyfriend, who was twenty when I got pregnant, had it all figured out. He said we were going to get married and have a family anyway, so we would just start our life together sooner than expected. He swore he would take care of me–he promised everything would be okay. I wanted desperately to believe him, but deep down I knew it was another vow he would break. When I resisted his plan, telling him we were too young to be parents, his happiness of jump-starting our future swiftly turned to anger. Once again, everything was my fault.

    After days of non-stop fighting and emotional explosions, he took away my right to choose by hurling me backward against the open tailgate of a pickup truck. I bounced off of it, landing face down on the driveway, but as I lay there my thoughts weren’t about what could happen to the baby I carried–I wondered how I was going to explain my fall and whatever marks it left behind to the friends and gawkers around us. Lying had become a knee-jerk reaction.

    I didn’t miscarry from the impact, but the damage done was irreversible, and when the ultrasound showed that the placenta had begun to tear away from the uterine wall, my doctor labeled the complication ‘high risk’ for both me and the fetus. Sure, I could have had my cervix sewn shut and gone to bed for the duration of my pregnancy, but I was just a kid myself. There was no way I was emotionally able to handle that. At that point, terminating the pregnancy was the best option for me, but even then it was far from easy.

    Don’t misunderstand, there was never a moment where I didn’t want to have the baby, but I was only seventeen years old. And for every reason my boyfriend and my heart threw at me to keep it, my head countered with logical, reality busting rebuttals why I shouldn’t have.

    Few people knew about my pregnancy and even fewer knew about the abortion that followed the very public tailgate tumble. Those who were sober enough to retain what they’d witnessed that night gossiped briefly around town about a miscarriage, but no one knew enough to back-up the tales. All of the reasons I had an abortion were in my best interest, but even then I was terribly ashamed of terminating my pregnancy. Because of that, I let their assumption stand. In a way, I began to believe it myself because it was easier to swallow than the truth.

    I was still in denial five years later when my pregnant stepsister and I were escorted through a sea of angry protesters who threw things at us while screaming “baby killers” as we entered the clinic for her abortion. My mind didn’t race back to the time I sat with my boyfriend in the waiting room of a similar one years earlier, because it was a painful memory I had suppressed. In fact, it wasn’t until I wrote the first draft of BROKEN four years ago that the shame I’d lived with for so many years finally lifted and I was able to say I’d had an abortion out loud.

    The thing is, though, I wasn’t a person who used abortion as a means of birth control—it was accidental. I was someone who had gotten pregnant by a man who was physically and emotionally abusive, the pregnancy was high risk, and I was a teenager.

    I know now that the miscarriage I had in between my daughter and son wasn’t God’s way of punishing me for the abortion I’d had so many years ago. And it wasn’t the reason I’d had such difficulty conceiving my son. Those would have been cruel punishments and I don’t believe God operates in that way. I don’t wonder what my life would have been like if I’d made a different choice because I already know the answer to that—a sad and painful one. I don’t live with fear of being judged for my choice anymore either. If people do judge, they’re not who I want in my life anyway. I now stand behind the choice I made long ago, hold my head high, and speak openly about it. I’m no longer ashamed–I have no reason to be.

    If I had to relive that time in my life, would I do things differently? Some, but my life experiences are what has shaped the person who I am today and that, my friends, I wouldn’t change for the world. I’ve even asked myself if I would choose abortion again and the answer is absolutely. Why? Because it’s my life, my body, and my right to choose.

    A2Z-Logo-C1-300x198

    Category Randomness | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,, | 5 Comments

  8. An Anal Heart-to-Heart

    May 17, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Paper heart, anal sex advice

     

    With my friends, I’m open about my love of anal play, all forms of it. And with Mr. K, I top, bottom, and I relish in every delicious moment of both. I also enjoy dispelling the stigma attached to anal penetration, and engaging in lively discussions about the pleasures of it—the intimacy. I’m an open book about the joys of anal sex and will speak candidly to anyone who asks, but when my teenage daughter broached the subject, I confess I was a bit unprepared.

    As we cleaned out the garage one afternoon, out of the blue she said that she knew of girls at her high school who’d had anal sex. I was like wait, what? I mean, I’d heard tales and read articles about college age girls experimenting with anal sex under the misguided notion that it kept their virginity intact—and to prevent pregnancy—but fourteen and fifteen year old kids?

    Fuck me…

    I took a deep breath. This was my daughter, after all.

    When most girls her age, I assumed, wondered about handjobs or blowjobs, she wanted to talk about something that, for all intents and purposes, should have been well beyond her radar. She wanted to talk about anal sex, which to me, is sex in its rawest, most vulnerable form. And I knew that whatever it was that I said to her would define her impressionable thoughts about the act. It was a conversation I couldn’t fuck up.

    How much was I going to tell her, though? Was I going to tell her how much I loved anal sex with Mr. K? Um, HELL no. Even I have limits to what I will say. They’re few, but I do have them. I did, however, tell her that even though she may think anal sex is dirty and kind of gross, one day she may have a much different opinion.

    Let me shed a little light about my daughter for a moment. She’s a cautious one, more so than I am, and she just recently had her first kiss. It was an act of affection she realized she wasn’t ready for. It made her so uncomfortable that she told the boy he was moving too fast and ditched him. There are days I wonder if she’s truly mine.

    Anyway, I made sure that she knew that there was nothing wrong with anal sex, that it’s a sexual act that both men and women find great pleasure in, but it’s not to be taken lightly. I told her she was way too young to comprehend the amount of trust that is required for anal adventures. Then I went further, using the doorway she’d opened as a teaching moment, emphasizing the risks of STDs, STIs, and of course, the long term effects of anal sex done incorrectly.

    “There’s a wrong way to do it?” she asked, her eyes super-big.

    “Oh yeah,” I said. “Anal penetration should never be rushed. And sometimes, regardless of how well you clean, things can get dirty.”

    “Ew, Mom. I really didn’t need to know that much.”

    “Yeah, you did. You just don’t know it yet.”

    I don’t know how many kids would feel comfortable enough to talk to their parents about anal sex, but I can’t imagine that those numbers are high. My kid was, though. She was afraid, not so long ago, to confess her first kiss, but after that hurdle, she trusted our relationship enough to come to me about a topic that even she recognized as a sensitive one. Will I ever tell her that I’m a super-huge fan of anal sex? Probably not. But I will tell her that if she ever decides that she’s curious about it, she should wait until she has a partner whom she trusts implicitly, and that regardless of what misinformation the kids at school are spouting, opting for anal sex over vaginal penetration does not classify you as a virgin. Nor should it ever be thought of as means of birth control.

    Dumbass kids.

    For anal advice, check out

    Category Anal Sex | Tags: ,,,,,,,, | 11 Comments

  9. Accidental Scat

    February 13, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    Naked female body covered with chocolate

     

    Anal play—many varieties of it—are a super sweet selection on the sex menu Mr. K and I share. It has been from the beginning of our relationship. Anal activities are like the two sides of a coin that he holds in his hand. On one side I’m dominant. I face-sit him, smother him, and as he begs for it, I shove my fingers into his mouth after they’ve been inside of my ass. But when he flips that coin—and he always does—I’m incredibly submissive. I crave his hands around my throat, his presence in my thoughts, and “good girl” rolling from his tongue. I never really know which way the coin will land until he tosses it. Yes, he totally tops me from the bottom.

    Because we desire ass play the way we do, I’ve always been diligent in making sure my butt cave is sparkling clean for anal adventures. Plus, I’m big-time OCD. My anal cleanliness has often astounded Mr. K, though. So much that he bows to it, worships it, and doesn’t hesitate to pluck my plug from my asshole with his mouth. It’s kind of like my superpower. But during a recent round of ass lovin’, he realized the taste on his tongue was suddenly amiss. It wasn’t the mildly tart flavor he dreamed about in between visits. It was scat, y’all.

    “Um, baby, you’re not clean,” he said as he examined my asshole.

    Horrified, I bolted upright on the bed with a million thoughts buzzing through my brain. How did it happen? WHY did it happen? I’d done everything I was supposed to do to make sure I was clean, everything I’d always done. But what really freaked me out was that Mr. K found me unclean with his MOUTH. I feared it would ruin his taste for anal play.

    Embarrassed beyond belief, I wigged out. “What? But how can that be? I’m the Queen of Clean!”

    He chuckled, gargled with mouthwash—twice—and washed his hands. “You were the Queen of Clean.”

    Don’t misunderstand, I know the risks of coming into contact with butt stuff. I even wrote a about it, but until then, it had never happened to us. To be honest, I think I was far more upset about the anal derailment than Mr. K. For us, anal is intimacy in its purest form. It’s powerful, deeply felt, and even though the absence of it was noticed, the night was no less magical. The next morning he got down on his knees behind me, spread my cheeks, and flicked his tongue across my sensitive pucker. I wanted it desperately, but I panicked, afraid I wasn’t clean. He confessed he was worried too and refocused his attention to my pussy instead. It was the first time I’d held anything back from him and that alone was enough to send me into a tailspin.

    In the days after, we talked and laughed about it, agreeing that one anal misadventure in two years wasn’t bad at all. I vowed I would do my best to make sure our next anal playtime would be a squeaky clean one. But the morning of his most recent visit, I woke to find I’d started my period and anxiety bloomed. It wasn’t the thought of Auntie Flo turning our sexy time into a threesome dynamic that made my stomach turn, it was the fact that anal cleansing is extra challenging during my period. I worried that anal ecstasy would once again be thwarted. I’m no quitter, though, and I persevered until I was in the clear. Although, I did tell Heather I may consider using an enema next time to make double sure I’m as clean as possible. Because I’m anal.

    Still a little gunshy, I didn’t breathe easy until I heard the muffled sounds of Mr. K’s pleasure as he spread my cheeks open. Then all at once it seemed, my anal confidence returned in a rush, and I watched him in the mirror as he licked, fingered, and inhaled what he loved. The desire to feel him push into me while his skin pressed to mine was suddenly overwhelming and I begged him to fuck me, to take what was his. I needed it. We both did. And as he asked how much I’d missed Daddy’s cock deep inside my ass, he filled me with his come.

    I snuggled up to Mr. K and turned on to my back to prevent butt germs from migrating to my vag, both of us feeling a sense of relief and somewhat giddy. He told me how amazing I was, joked that the Queen was back, and high-fived me for successful anal. I laughed and relaxed into his arms, realizing how silly I’d been about our little setback. Yes, it was embarrassing, but in the grand scheme of things it really was a minor incident. The simple truth is that regardless of how hard we try to control them, our bodies are fickle and tend to do whatever the fuck they want. And sometimes, shit just happens.

     

    For more information on the do’s and don’ts of anal sex, read

    Category Anal Sex | Tags: ,,,,,,,, | 12 Comments

  10. A Field Guide to Hunting Unicorns

    May 2, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    Pink Unicorn

    According to the Urban Dictionary, a unicorn is a bisexual person, usually (though not always) female, who is willing to join an existing couple, often with the presumption that this person will date and become sexually involved with both members of that couple, and not demand anything or do anything which might cause problems or inconvenience to that couple. They are mystical, magical creatures, and the pursuit and capture of them can be quite tricky. For Mr. K and I it has been a time consuming and incredibly frustrating safari, and it seems we’ve encountered one disappointing let down after another. There were times we considered giving up the search for a unicorn altogether, questioning the legitimacy of their existence.

    We’ve been hunting them for awhile now and contrary to popular belief, most unicorns don’t have tell-tale marks separating them from the masses, making them easy to spot. They’re not covered in glitter, and they don’t wear pink leather chaps. They are masters in the art of camouflage, and they blend in well among soccer moms and business professionals. There are also different species of unicorns and it’s impossible to distinguish where they fall until you’ve already invested a significant amount of energy into learning their manner. Are they a true unicorn whose knowledge of the Unicorn Handbook is not to be trifled with? Or are they newbies with a holier-than-thou attitude when answering your sext?

    Mr. K longs to experience the magical properties of a unicorn. He wants to pet one and play with it and watch it bow its silky nose in deference to my kick-ass unicorn domination skills. Although I want to fulfill the fantasy for him, sifting through all of the fakes and wingnuts is exhausting, y’all. So, if you’re considering your own quest for the elusive unicorn, the following may save you wasted effort and a tremendous headache. Oh, and bulk up on patience because you’re gonna need it. LOTS of it.

     

    • Unicorns see in magic color vision, so when meeting one for the first time it’s best to wear colors that hold their attention, such as pinks and purples.

     

    • Unicorns love Skittles because they’re the colors of rainbows, obviously.

     

    • Some unicorns are attracted to shiny things and designer bags.

     

    • If a unicorn makes excuses about meeting face to face after sexy emails have been exchanged, or disappears altogether, they’re a dude.

     

    • When the unicorn’s cell phone in their profile photo has an antenna, odds are good that the selfie is WAY outdated.

     

    • Tasers work best in the apprehension of unicorns. They’re more discreet and less bloody than crossbows or so I’ve heard.

     

    • If a unicorn asks to move into your home as a nanny to your kids before ever setting eyes on you, she may have inhaled too much glitter over the years and is now cray-cray.

     

    • If a unicorn says that all play must be bareback because of her “allergy to all condoms,” RUN.

    Last week, I had a lunch date with a unicorn Mr. K and I recently met on a swinger site. We made arrangements to meet at a neutral location and I wore white jeans because hello, white jeans. And because the myth of unicorns states that they’re lured into captivity by a virgin dressed in white.

    Virgin… *snort*

    Anyway, I chatted with the unicorn about failed marriages, kids, careers and alligators. Her confession that she likes rope play surprised me and I might’ve purred when she said she is submissive in the bedroom. She was, however, quick to point out that she doesn’t like pain, which was a broad statement that I felt needed clarification. Does she consider nipple clamps pain? Spanking? Tit slapping? Being tied to a chair and forced to watch Twilight repeatedly?

    “Define pain.”

    She laughed when I asked, saying all of the above were acceptable except for anything that would leave marks. And sparkly vampires. She’s funny, she has quite a bit of swinging experience, and seems to have a firm grasp of unicorn-ing. She also understands that when Mr. K is in town our time together is precious and she respects that. She is looking forward to meeting us both for a drink to see if they click too.

    The perfect unicorn doesn’t exist (except for my soulmateclone), and the idea of a perfect one is an unattainable fantasy. The right unicorn is a reality, though, and both the hunter and the unicorn should be selective, taking the necessary time to make sure the situation is a good fit for all involved. Is this unicorn the right one for us? Only time will tell for sure, but right now we’re waiting patiently with our family sized bag of Skittles, and when all systems are go, we’ll cast our magic net made from pure fairy dust. Organic, of course.

     

    Category Group Sex | Tags: ,,,,,,,,,, | 9 Comments

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