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Posts Tagged ‘sex positive’

  1. BDSM 101 Tips for the Newbie Kinkster

    March 17, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Valentine's Day BDSM gift

    No matter how hot things start out, over time, your sex life with your partner can get a little stale. You form a routine, and then before you know it, you’re in a rut. But instead of subjecting yourselves to a mediocre sex life, why not try some kinkier moves to help heat things up again? Before jumping into the deep end, take a look at our guide to help you dip your toes (and much more, of course) into the BDSM pool.

    Bondage

    In their Kinky Sex 101 guide, the writers at Adam & Eve describe the act of bondage as “a simple form of dominant/submissive sexual behavior where one sex partner is bound either to themselves (wrists tied together) or to a piece of furniture.” When experimenting with bondage, you can make yourself privy to your partner’s every whim by strapping into some cuffs, or practice your dom play by tying them up. If you’re new to bondage/restraints, it’s best to start with comfort-fit toys, such as silk ties, padded cuffs, and binding that has size adjustable straps. If you’re uncomfortable, or your extremities start to change color, your restraints are most likely too tight.

    Paddling

    Spanking or paddling can help you and your partner awaken some of your most sensitive areas. When selecting your spanking weapon of choice, your options are limited to your imagination in addition to what you and your partner are comfortable with. Beginners usually opt for classic toys like wooden or leather paddles. Eventually you can move your way up to more advanced toys that provide a little more sting, such as riding crops and leather floggers.Just don’t make the mistake of limiting your play to your partner’s rear. According to the team at the Art of Submission, “the back of the thighs and the inner thighs are often very sensitive, so you can get some nice reactions from your submissive when striking these.” Keep them guessing by varying the location and the intensity.

    Blindfolding

    Blindfolding your partner can add a whole new level of excitement to your play. Guessing where your lips, toys, paddle, etc. will venture next will have them writhing in anticipation of your touch. She Knows notes that “a blindfold is also a highly effective method for banishing body shame and shyness.” If you’re feeling too bashful to get in the BDSM mood, try eliminating the visual distractions. Get lost in the moment and focus on what you feel, instead of what you see.

    Sexy Extras

    For many kinksters, a Wartenberg wheel has become an increasingly popular addition to their toy collection. It was originally designed as a medical device to test nerve reaction and sensitivity, but it can also be used as a stimulating way to tickle your lover’s skin. Additionally, you can experiment with collars and leashes, or even nipple clamps for added excitement. Once you get into the spirit of BDSM, your options for play are truly endless.

    Just remember: you should never do anything that makes you or your partner uncomfortable. Aways have a safe word, and be sure to have established boundaries in place before getting started. Communicate, communicate, communicate about what you want to do (and not do) before embarking on a new activity. BDSM can be an amazing journey into emotional intimacy if you and your partner are open about sharing your experiences together.

    Who knows, you may learn that your sex life isn’t so “routine” after all.

     

    my37j

     

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,,,,, | 1 Comment

  2. Why You Should Vote for Sex

    October 14, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

    Everyone is talking about voting. The November elections are just around the corner, and we’ve been talking about the sex elections here as well. In short, you should vote for sex.

     

    You can vote for us at Kinkly:  Kinkly’s 2014 Sex Superheroes Contest

    You can nominate us at Between My Sheets:  2014 Top Sex Bloggers 2014

     

    So why should you take three minutes to vote or nominate Vagina Antics? It’s not like we can make birth control affordable and accessible to women everywhere… or can we? Part of what we strive to do on our blog is expose our readers to sex positive messages. Maybe you love reading about our adventures but wouldn’t do them yourself. That’s OK. We’re not here to convert you or say that we’re holier than thou sexually because we push sexual boundaries.  The point is that regardless of your sexual orientation, gender, or the sexual choices in your personal life, we want y’all to see the breadth of what’s out here. Acceptance and tolerance are direct results of education, and although we’re not formal educators, we try to present sex, kink, and relationships in a positive way. Voting for us is getting the word out, so that we can touch even more people. Um… wait… I mean expose ourselves to new friends. Hold on… that’s not quite right either.

    If you’ve already voted and shared our blog with someone, we thank you from the bottom or our dirty, little hearts. Hell, we thank you for clicking on our blog and reading every week. Without you, we’d be broadcasting Vagina Antics with only my mama reading. (and she tells me all the time that my language is shocking)

    A vote for Vagina Antics is a vote for sex and kink positivity. Damn, we need t-shirts.

    HUGS and *boob smooshes*

    ~Heather

    Category Announcements | Tags: ,,,,,,, | 2 Comments

  3. 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

  4. Under Pressure

    August 16, 2014 by Nikki Blue

    I had fallen asleep while watching JAWS on TV for the bazillionth time, but when he came through the door, I woke immediately, smiling when I saw his face. He flashed the grin I love, the one with his full lips open in surprise and his eyes wide, when he realized I was naked under the covers. I knew he was tired, though. I saw it on his face and in his blue eyes, but still, he moved my hand to his cock after he’d undressed and climbed into bed.

    “I want you to ride me,” he said.

    One of the things I love about Mr. K is his willingness to please me. He takes nearly as much satisfaction from my pleasure as he does from his own. It’s a selflessness I’ve never experienced before and it’s a part of him I find incredibly arousing.

    When he’d said to ride him, I knew what he wanted was for me to climb on top of him and use him to orgasm as I’d done so many times before. I intended to, but not in the way he’d anticipated.

    He didn’t expect me to crawl up the length of his body and straddle his face, which was exactly the reason I did it, but his moans of delight sounded more like gasps for air. And he didn’t bathe his face in the flood of my juices as he licked me either. As a matter of fact, when I looked down at him, I realized he’d shifted me where his attention was focused solely on my clit. THAT was very unusual.

    It struck me that something was wrong, and because I’m me, I freaked out. My mind raced wildly, wondering if he’d grown tired of me during our longer than usual visit. Was he bored with the sex we had? My pussy? Was it no longer the scent and taste he loved after having been filled with SO MUCH CUM? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?

    I blew out a quick breath and wiped my sweaty palms on the pillow near his head, thinking maybe the problem was that he only wanted to fuck. He did, after all, say for me to ride him. But Mr. K isn’t one to beat around the bush. Heh. Bush. He would have said if he wasn’t in the mood to eat me, or if my pussy had reached its cum intake capacity.

    He wants to fuck, I thought. OR maybe he wants my ass. We hadn’t done a whole lot of anal stuff, so maybe he wants me to pin his arms to his side and shove my ass on his face. He LOVES when I do that. And I’ll suck his cock and balls at the same time. Maybe even slap it a bit. Oh yeah, that’ll get him into it.

    Stop laughing. It’s the way my mind works. My plan, however, was a total failure.

    When I turned around giving him unfettered access to his gateway to heaven, I expected to hear his moans of pleasure as I spread my ass open for him to enjoy. Those moans didn’t come, though. He didn’t get all up in it either, literally and figuratively speaking. That’s when I knew for certain– something was wrong.

    “Ride me, baby,” he said. “Use my cock to make yourself come.”

    Again, I knew what he wanted.

    He smiled as I slid on to him and worked myself into the orgasm he loved to watch. The one that stimulated my clit like a continuous edge. The one so extraordinary it left me shaking. But when he pulled me to his side and tucked into the crook of his arm, I carefully pried open the lid to the giant can of obvious.

    “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t want my ass.”

    “It’s not that I didn’t want your ass. There is never a time when I don’t want your ass,” he said. “I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t sleep well last night either, and it was a long day. I’m just exhausted.”

    The thing is, with the 140-something miles in between us, we try to make the most out of our visits which are usually no more than two or three nights. We sleep little and fuck a lot. He doesn’t even take his sleep-aid when we’re together because he says he doesn’t need it. I am his Ambien. But as much as I love hearing those words, I know there are nights when he needs it, and I feel for him as he tosses and turns beside me. On the flipside, the only time I actually do sleep well is when I’m with Mr. K.

    This trip was unusual for us– five nights –which is the most time we’ve ever had together in one visit. It was also a working trip for him, and that meant there were nights he didn’t come through door until after ten. Even though he hadn’t been feeling great and was super tired, he felt guilty that I had been alone all day. Still, he was deep in the pattern of making every moment count.

    “You didn’t have to fuck me,” I said.

    “But I felt like I did.”

    And there it was. Regardless of how exhausted or how ill he was, he felt pressured to fuck me to make up for the time we’d been apart; to keep me happy.

    For the first time in our relationship, I felt like an obligation– a sex one.

    I could have easily recoiled from the sting of his words, but his intention wasn’t to hurt me. I knew that in my heart. What bothered me the most was that he’d pushed his own limits too far without feeling safe enough to ask for mercy. In my mind, I’d failed him.

    Mr. K and I have phenomenal sex, but it’s just the icing on an amazing relationship cake. And we love our cake, a lot. The last thing either of us wanted was to damage our relationship, so we talked through his feelings. I assured him that I loved him– all of him –not just his cock, and I wasn’t dependent on sex, that just being with him made me happy. Sure, I had been naked in bed when he’d come home, but not because I waited for a thorough fucking. The bed we share is a place for closeness without expectations, not for pajamas. I also told him it’s alright to take Ambien when we’re together, that his sleep is important, especially when he’s working. Don’t get me wrong, I love when he wakes me in the early morning hours for sex, but it’s not something I require of him.

    “Oh, but I always want to wake you for sex,” he chuckled.

    And as I lay sleeping soundly beside him hours later, he nudged me awake the way he always does. He kissed me softly, wrapped my legs around him, and filled his need and mine.

    Category Sex | Tags: ,,,,,, | 6 Comments

  5. Golden Showers: Two Perspectives

    March 12, 2014 by Heather Cole

    When it comes to watersports (Urban Dictionary definition: “In BDSM terminology, refers to sensual or erotic play involving bodily fluids, typically urine, saliva, and less commonly, blood. Considered ‘edge-play’…”) Nikki has had more experience than me, and she has written about her good times with Mr. K on Vagina Antics. When I entered the BDSM lifestyle, urine used as a facet of play time didn’t hit my radar. Not in a oh-this-is-so-gross-I’ll-never-do-it way, but more like I didn’t know it was a thing. In fact, Nikki didn’t discuss her water games with me until she was ready to write her blog post. My reaction was “you did WHAT? Of course you should write about it!” And that was my first exposure to erotic play involving pee. We can all blame Nikki Blue.

    We’re writing about both our perspectives today, because they’re so different. We both have fun with watersports but in different ways. I was going to make a joke about y’all reading in the “splash zone” but never mind. I’ll keep it classy.

    Enjoy!

     

    Heather

    On my list of kinks, urine was in the ‘I don’t have a fetish about this, but if you really want to I’m game to try something” category. It was never added to my play list, because I was having so many other firsts with D/s and my master. Urine first entered our conversation after a dominant friend of ours related a story where he used his sub hard and when she was crumpled on the floor in a sweaty, teary mess, he pissed on her then walked out of the room. I know what you’re thinking. Holy shit, that sounds so MEAN. For those masochists among us who were into a little humiliation, though, there was something poetic and degrading and… it gave me tingles. Not because of the physical feeling of being pissed on, or the actual urine, but the drama of the scene. There she lay, utterly depleted and used emotionally and physically, and the closing action was to be a receptacle of his piss. Afterwards he scooped her up, showered her, snuggled and told her how much he loved her. But in that moment, in that scrap of time in their universe, she was this thing to be used in whatever way he wished. From my perspective of masochist and slave, there was something terrible and beautiful in that like the best kind of dark fairy tale.

    After I related that anecdote, the element of watersports was assimilated into the fantasies of sir. He liked to brainstorm out loud, so I heard a lot of scenarios escape from that man’s mouth. Many of them freaked me the fuck out, but that was half the fun for both of us. He wouldn’t do most of them, because his intention wasn’t to damage me. Hurt me, yes, but not damage me. He began talking about pissing on me, and I listened, reacting appropriately when the ideas became extreme. And then one day as we showered together, he pissed on me. I didn’t have to look down to know he was doing it. He had this expression on his face that I could only describe as one that my cat had when I accidentally walked in on him using the litter box. The one that said he knew I’m watched him do his business and he could give two flying fucks. Sir had a similar attitude. Part of me wanted to act in a ridiculously squeamish way and whine about how GROSS it was even though it wasn’t disgusting at all. I mean, who didn’t pee in the shower on occasion? My reactions, though, were part of what sir looked for, so I sighed loudly and set about washing myself again in a resigned manner, ever the practical slave.

    The next time, though, I was sitting on the toilet after a particularly rough fucking. I still wore a sports bra and was taking a breather and relieving myself. Sir walked in the bathroom, as he often does (I’m prohibited from privacy so all doors were open when it was only the two of us), and ordered me to spread my legs wider. Next thing I knew, he was pissing into the toilet. I think my mouth dropped open, and before I could utter a word, he directed his stream over my breasts. I shrieked, NOT ON MY SPORTS BRA! He laughed and told me to get in the tub if I was going to complain.

    “I can’t believe you’re doing this!” I squealed and stepped gingerly into the shower.

    I was aware of the cooling piss dripping down my abdomen and the slight smell of ammonia. Part of me still couldn’t believe he was going to continue. The air felt cool in contrast to the hot urine, and I stood in partial shock as he pissed all over the front of my body. He smiled at my reaction then shook his head with mock chagrin.

    “What kind of girl stands still for a man to piss on her?”

    I felt my cheeks grow hot with shame. “A dirty girl,” I whispered.

    “Do you feel dirty?” he asked. I nodded, peeking at him through my lashes. The smile of satisfaction on his face made my heart beat harder.

    “How embarrassing for you” he replied.

    I was mortified and ashamed, and as soon as those two elements combined, I started to feel aroused. As sir watched me squirm, I wanted to fuck him again. Lips, fingers, tongue… I didn’t care. I was his dirty girl, the one he knew would do almost anything to please him. It was uncomfortable and the pee was starting to turn cold, but the look in his eyes as he watched my small humiliation made it all worth it. Eventually he helped pull off my bra and started the shower for me.

    “You’re such a good girl,” he said as he pulled the shower curtain closed. “Get cleaned up. I’m not done with you yet.”

    Nikki:

    Part of the beauty of my relationship with Mr. K is that we play with few limits. We’re open to trying most anything together and we are incredibly turned on by each other’s scent and body fluids. His slow licks down my sweat-soaked back while he fucks my ass make my head spin, he nearly orgasms when I spit in his mouth, and precum leaks from the tip of his cock when he cleans me with his tongue after I pee. And after everything, he kisses me long and deep, sharing what he loves with me. He’s always said he would never do anything to me that would keep him from kissing me afterward. Yep, he’s a keeper.

    I’ve written here and there about our foray into Watersports, so I won’t bog y’all down with the same warm, wet details, but I will say I still haven’t been able to successfully pee on Mr. K due to my bladder’s performance anxiety issues. And it’s something I desperately want to do for him. I can pee when we shower together and while sitting on the toilet with his fingers between my legs, but for now, peeing ON him seems to be a hard limit for my bladder. Fucking bladder.

    Like Heather, I get peed on as we shower too. Every time. But the difference between us is that I expect it, want it even. It’s a totally natural act for us and I love the feeling of the warm fluid streaming over my body. I watch as it flows and the look of pleasure on Mr. K’s handsome face as it does is a super huge bonus.

    With that having been said, it’s not often I’m able to say something that surprises Heather, but when it comes to my Watersports tales, I leave her in a constant state of WHAAAAAA? And I confess I kinda like it. I may have even rendered her speechless when I told her Mr. K had peed on my face, boobs, and in my mouth. I think she was pretty shocked when I didn’t find it gross, humiliating, or feel dirty, but that’s not how it was intended to be received. Mr. K would be horrified at the thought of making me feel that way. He pees on me because to him, drenching me with his body fluid is a wonderfully intimate expression. It’s a moment of sharing I will always welcome. Every golden, salty drop.

    Category Kinky Relationships | Tags: ,,,,, | 8 Comments

  6. Vanilla Isn’t a Bad Thing, It’s Just Not My Thing

    October 10, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    He asked if we were turning vanilla. Not that there’s anything wrong with vanilla, because there’s not. I happen to like it. A lot, actually. I like vanilla icing and vanilla cake too. Ooooh, and vanilla lattes are the bomb. But in terms of sex, vanilla just doesn’t work for me. I relate it to unhappy times in my life which was why Mr. K’s question during a recent text conversation put me on high alert. His words were unexpected and jarring, and because I was a glass-half-empty kind of girl, I immediately assumed the worst. White-hot panic shot through me as I lay in my bed one hundred forty-something miles from him, my mind racing to understand why he would say such a thing. Was he growing tired of me? Was he falling out of love? Did the things he once loved now make him YAWN?

    “Nooooo! Why??” I replied. If I’d spoken the words aloud, my voice would have been unnaturally shrill, because helloooo–panic.

    “Toys. We used no toys.”

    The words glared at me rudely, and I glared back. And in the midst of our showdown, I began to wonder if the horrid heat radiating from my core wasn’t panic but a hot flash instead. Fucking hormones… He was right, though. Other than my butt plug, which I ALWAYS wear for him, our toys remained untouched during our last three visits. The simple truth was that time didn’t always allow for toys, and there were occasions when kinky hotness strayed from a planned scene, taking on a life of its own.

    For example: Mr. K wanted face-sitting, pegging, and spanking during one of the visits in question, but he arrived feeling super dominant, and that turned me all kinds of inside out. Then there was our last visit, which was…well, see, there was this really BIG mirror and a camera phone, and lots of fucking. Then Mr. K pushed my legs open while I sat on the toilet, licking my pussy after I peed. Oh, and there was more fucking. A lot of it. So yeah, toys never entered my mind. But does mean we’re vanilla-fying (totally a word)? Fuck no.

    Mr. K and I went at it hard during the first months of our relationship. Not a second of our time together was wasted, and we used every toy in our arsenal. We rode the high of finding another to whom we could express our kinky desires without fear of judgement, and we slept very little. But in my opinion, playing with toys didn’t make us kinky. It’s the way we’re wired; the way we think.

    If you think about licking your girlfriend’s sweat from the crack of her ass after she works out, you might be a kinkster. Or, if you call Home Depot ‘Dom’ Depot, you might be a kinkster.

    Move the fuck over, Jeff Foxworthy. I’ve got this.

    My point is, we see a lot of things in a different light. And the beauty of kink is there are many degrees and no qualifying guidelines. If a person considers themselves kinky because they like their hair pulled during sex, then by God, they’re kinky. Nowhere does it state a person must wield a flogger for X number of hours before the title of kinkster is granted. Again, toys don’t make the kinkster; the kinkster makes the toys. Or something like that.

    I didn’t hear from Mr. K again that day until early afternoon, and by that time, I’d run a million errands, overreacted, and freaked out accordingly. I was prepared to hear discontent in his voice, and concern that our sex life was growing stale. But to my surprise, there was no disappointing tone, and he wasn’t dissatisfied. He was happy. And he agreed that we don’t always need to play with toys. “It feels good just as us,” he said. “It just does.”

    “So you don’t think we’re turning vanilla?”

    He laughed. “Hell no. That was a joke.”

    Jesus fucking Christ.

    “Are you kidding me?”

    “Nope.”

    Heh. Isn’t it funny how the word ‘vanilla’ can throw a kinkster into a tailspin? No, it’s not. Not at all.

    Category Kinky Relationships | Tags: ,,,, | 8 Comments

  7. Dear Ladies of Vagina Antics: what are your thoughts on ‘making love’?

    August 28, 2013 by Nikki Blue

    What’s your thought on the phrase ‘making love’? Do you ever ask someone to ‘make love to me’? & is it possible to “make love” anally? My girlfriend says no, as it’s a more submissive act, and raunchy. Great blog, thanks!
    craig

     

    Dear Craig:

    Neither Nikki nor myself knew that when we read your questions, you would be sparking a revelation. Although we’re soulmateclones and have talked about practically everything under the sun and have seen each other naked and, um… <cough> Anyway… Nikki didn’t know that I avoided using the term “making love.” BOOM! Revelation rendered. It was an unintentional attack of shock and awe. OK, so not much awe, but I know that Nikki gasped. Maybe once. But let me explain why I hate that phrase.

    I refuse to use the term “making love.” So much so that I’ve told the people I fuck that if they utter that phrase during our naked time I’m kicking them out of my bed. To me, the phrase “making love” conjures the poignant moment in the Romantic Comedy when the lights dim, the sweet music starts and couple shares a physical joining that somehow encompasses all their love and dreams and life’s purpose culminating in mutual orgasms timed precisely at the same time so that they think, breathe and feel a magical communion of body and soul. It’s a happily ever after moment that’s great for film and telling a story effectively. But it comes nowhere close to what I believe are realistic expectations in the bedroom.

    “Making love” seems to say that for sex to be emotionally significant, it must be tender and delivered in a gentle manner. I say bullshit. I also don’t want my partners to feel like every time we have sex it must be done in a romantic way in order to communicate that they have feelings for me. I don’t want Prince or Princess Charming in my bed. I want a real person and an authentic sexual experience for everyone involved.

    Instead of making love, I’m fond of saying “fuck.” In fact, I love to say fuck, and I love to fuck. I choose to use this word to describe the sex I have, because I feel that it best communicates the intensity of what I feel with my sexual partners. It’s a visceral emotional and physical interaction that leaves us breathless and as close as two (or three) people could be. Fucking can be tender and gentle or rough and slaphappy. In my vocabulary book, it’s a flexible word that can be used to describe all sorts of sexual configurations independent of gender and sexual preferences.

    In my humble opinion, the English language doesn’t have enough words to describe sexual intercourse. If the Inuit dialect has at least 53 words* to describe the nuances of “snow” then why can’t the English language have the same for “sex?” The fact of the matter is that there’s no inbetween word that lies between the romanticized, over-emotional ‘making love’ and the hard-hitting word ‘fuck.’ You’re either dressed as a knight and wooing your fair maiden to bestow her favor upon your codpiece or you’re backing her up against the wall and getting down and dirty with her. These are just two words that mean sex. What counts is how you and your girlfriend feel when you connect physically and emotionally in a sexual way. Call it fucking badminton if you like; what remains is that you love each other, right?

     

    Heather

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

    It’s true. I gasped when Heather confessed her strong dislike for the act of, and even the term ‘making love’. I may have even stuttered. I mean seriously, we’ve been besties for nearly three years now and we know everything about the other, OR SO WE THOUGHT.

    *ahem*

    We do know quite a bit about each other, though. Heather has a lifetime subscription to my Vagina Report, and I’ve seen her nekkid, a lot. But we had no idea we had such different views on making love. It truly was a revelation.

    A ‘sexelation’!

    Yes? Yes? Pfft, whatever.

    Katie Kamara said:

     

    “Love making is the matrimony of physical desire, spiritual elevation, and emotional alignment and synchronicity.”

     

    That’s some pretty heavy stuff, but let’s talk a little about ‘fucking’ before we dive into those deep waters.

    In the past, ‘fucking’ was an unemotional act for me. It was a no-strings, get your rocks off, get the fuck out of my bed kind of thing. My feelings on ‘fucking’ have changed greatly, though. ‘Fucking’ can be rife with emotion, but in my opinion, it fills a different, more primal need. And if love is part of the equation, it doesn’t disappear when fucking. I just think it’s channeled differently.

    ‘Making love’, however, is very different for me because of the elements of pure emotion involved. It fills the needs of my softer side.

    Yes, I have one. Shut up.

    Anyway, I never hesitate to ask, or even beg Mr. K to make love to me. I’m not afraid to admit I need moments of tenderness, or that I need to hear I love you in my ear. He needs those moments, too. He needs to feel my legs wrapped around him, holding him impossibly close. And then he needs to flip me over and fuck my brains out because it’s how we roll.

    To me, anal penetration is no different than vaginal penetration, really. Okay, there’s a whole lotta difference as far as holes are concerned, but the psychology of it is the same. While there are those who view anal sex only as an act of submission, or “raunchy” fucking, there are others, like me, who don’t limit its definition. Unlike the anus itself, the definition of anal play is flexible and can be molded to fit the ‘headspace’ of the moment. Anal sex can be whatever you want it to be. It can be the ultimate act of submission, it can be rough and raunchy, and it can also be the rawest form of making love.

    So the bottom line is yes, you can make love anally, which means your girlfriend is wrong. You can even tell her I said so. Just kidding. *I’m totally serious*

     

    Nikki

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

     

    David Robson. There really are 50 Eskimo words for ‘snow’. New Scientist. The Washington Post, 14 Jan. 2013. Web. 28 Aug. 2013. <http://articles.washingtonpost.com/2013-01-14/national/36344037_1_eskimo-words-snow-inuit>

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