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Posts Tagged ‘top sex blog’

  1. 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


  2. Anal Sex Month

    August 21, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    I know that we are ass-deep in Anal August, but life, mostly business, has gotten in the way of writing about one of my favorite topics—butt love.

    Anyway, I thought it was time to give a new cover. I love this one hard because she has stretchmarks. Sadly, I had to cover them with the title, but you can still see them peeking through. You may have to squint one eye and close the other to see them, but they’re there.

    And because the book has a sexy new cover, AND to celebrate Anal Sex Month, I’ve given it an irresistible new price of 99 cents.

    For realsies, y’all.

    Oh, and to the dude who said the old cover reminded you of a grandma taking it up the ass, I’m watching you.

    , Smashwords, Barnes & Noble


  3. She’s just a girl on fire

    August 15, 2015 by Heather Cole

    woman with candle

    Fire brings up all sorts of emotions when you play with it. Even before the flames kiss your skin, there’s the rush of anticipation blowing through you, accompanied by a flicker of fear. It’s elemental. Primal. And when my friend texted me about joining her and her partner for some fire play, I was all for it.

    My introduction to fire play began with a text:

    “Can I light you on fire?”

    It was sent from my friend, Stormy, who is the queen of no-context texts. I replied, of course, with a similar cheeky attitude.

    “Literally on fire? No. I like these shorts too much.”

    S: “Oh, I’d need you naked first.”

    Me: “Then yes! You can absolutely set me on fire!”

    Before you think that I let any ‘ol person light me on fire, I already knew that Stormy’s partner, D, was experienced with fire play. She wanted to learn too, and she needed a demo bottom to experiment with. Add to that the fact that I adore them both and trust them implicitly, so I knew that I was in good hands for my first foray into fire.

    D created torches from fondue forks, cotton batting, and cotton finger bandages. He then dipped them in rubbing alcohol and set them on fire. I know there are a lot of details in the process that I’m missing, but my focus wasn’t on how it all worked. I was more interested in how it would feel. (Hey, if you want to play with fire, for heaven’s sake, do your research and go to a demonstration first.)

    Even with my full consent, I felt a spike of anxiety as I lay on the massage table in their bedroom and waited to feel the first burst of warmth across my body. We started out with me on my stomach on the massage table. D explained to Stormy the different techniques he enjoyed as the torches hovered over my body in various places. The gentle warmth was soothing as I closed my eyes, and some of the tension in my body drained away. Sometimes he drew a path of alcohol first, followed by a lighted torch that would burn the trail of rubbing alcohol. He often brushed behind the flames with his palm to ensure that all the fire was out. The point was to burn the alcohol and feel the fire without doing any damage to the skin. I appreciated that.

    The experimentation began, and Stormy lit lines of fire over my back. D watched from the bed with a blanket beside him in case we needed to smother an out-of-control flame. Even though we were consenting adults, we were playing with fire–literally. And it was better to have safety precautions in place beforehand instead of hoping for the best that there would be no accidents.

    Stormy’s light touch and the racing fire gave me all sorts of ideas. Her excitement about learning a new skill lent itself to my building arousal, and I couldn’t help but squirm beneath her ministrations. The way she manipulated the flames made me wish that she’d do even more with her hands. I felt a keen edge of danger that accompanied the heat, even though I knew logically that I was mostly safe. And all of it fed into a wanton throbbing between my legs.

    I didn’t act upon my desires, mainly because I hadn’t cleared any of that beforehand with my sir, and secondly, I can be a complete wimp when it comes to making the first move on a woman. At the end of the night I gave D and stormy friendly hugs and gratitude, and went straight home to work out my raging libido with my vibrator. I reported everything to sir, and enjoyed myself so much that when sir arrived stateside for his month-long vacation, he asked to learn fire play too.

    My second fire play scene began with me, once again, face-down on the massage table. Even though I couldn’t see the three people circling me, I could identify the individuals from their different fire styles. Stormy had an even rhythm:  fire, sweep of the hand, fire, sweep of the hand. She could have lulled me into a meditative, relaxed state, even when she traced the flame along the soles of my feet. D placed the alcohol and torch with more force. His movements incited a visceral reaction, something I felt in my gut. There was the staccato rush of intense heat, and then it was gone a split-second later that made me writhe. Sir’s effect on me was different.

    His flame was sneaky, and he enjoyed watching it burn along the dips and curves of my flesh. He didn’t have a particular rhythm or pattern, and he didn’t always sweep behind the trailing alcohol with his hand. As a result, the heat grew more intense depending on where he placed its path, and there were several times I squealed in protest, worried that it was burning too long.

    Daddy knows how to play with my mind like no other, and when he told me to turn over so that my front was exposed, I knew he was going to twist my feelings into the fire that played over my tenderest bits. Blue flame danced over my breasts and nipples, and he made me watch, chuckling when I begged to be allowed to close my eyes again. Seeing the fire made the sensations on my skin ratchet up in intensity, which fought against my will to remain as motionless as possible. Stormy came to sit between my legs, her hands stroking my calves and thighs.

    Again the desire built inside me. The stimulus was intense, and my instincts warred against one another. I wanted to kiss Stormy and arch against sir’s hand on my breast. I could have brushed against the front of D’s body when he bent over me or stroked the growing wetness at the juncture of my thighs. But I had to remain still as the fire bound me in place more effectively than any rope. Their attentions and the rioting sensations made the entire scene an intense roller coaster ride. To be honest, I can’t even remember if Daddy gave me an orgasm or not—everything began to run together in a long series of intense stimulus. I had no sense of time, but when they finally wound down, I was spent.

    D cleaned up while I clumsily got back into my clothes. After many thank yous to Stormy and D for the amazing experience, I asked Daddy to drive because I was spacey. He surprised me, and instead of going directly home, he took a detour to our favorite burger joint to feed me cheeseburgers at midnight. Later we snuggled in bed as my endorphin high gradually faded, and I reflected on the different sensations of fire play vs the impact play that I typically enjoy. Both are dangerous, and I’m lucky to have relationships where I skirt that danger safely yet still experience a thrill. I got to be that girl on fire.

     


  4. The Dating Dilemma

    August 3, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    kissing

     

    As she cruised OKCupid with her own dating agenda, a friend of mine came to a screeching halt on a profile that brought me to mind. Excited, she said the suited-up piece of younger man-candy wore a mask over his eyes, touted that he was into “50 Shades type stuff,” and listed a guide to anal sex as one of his favorite books.

    Everyone but me, it seems, is ready for me to date.

    “You could have fun with him,” she said. “And he’s wicked-cute.”

    Of course I rolled my eyes dramatically, but still, I had to chuckle at her enthusiasm. I told her that it wasn’t enough to even make me quirk an eyebrow. And it wasn’t. If anything, it made me resist the idea of dating again that much more.

    That Christian-Grey-wanna-be-type is part of the reason behind the tightly wound ball of anxiety in my stomach when it comes to dating. I know they’re out there, so many of them, waiting to exact their so-called dominance. Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather stay home on a Saturday night alone, drinking vodka out of my Queen of Everything coffee cup while binging on Netflix.

    I’ve actually given a lot of thought to the idea of dating lately. Not actually doing it, perse. It’s more like I’ve taken every common reason not to date I’ve ever heard and adopted them as my own. And there are a laundry list of them. Reasons like I don’t have the time to write an irresistibly witty profile, my focus is on work, I want to lose a few pounds of fluff first, I have a mountain of junk mail to shred, and people are stupid. Okay, so they’re more like excuses than legitimate reasons, except for the last two, but what it all boils down to is the idea of dating makes me nervous.

    When my marriage imploded four years ago, I didn’t date–I fucked. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted, but I was finally free to sift through the complex pieces of my past–my confusing sexual history–to make sense of who I was, who I had always been. And I did make sense of it, mostly. I didn’t want a relationship, and I damn sure didn’t want love. Then I met Mr. K, a play partner turned boyfriend who unlocked a door deep inside of me that I never knew existed, and for that, I will be forever grateful. Over the next three years, we indulged each other’s fantasies. We fucked with abandon and we loved hard, but did we actually date? It’s hard to say.

    What is ‘dating’ today? But more importantly, what is dating when you’re 45? Do you connect online and make plans to meet at a coffee bar? A wine bar? A pressed juice bar? And how does a sex blogger date? When is the appropriate time to say “Hey, man-I-possibly-like, I write about sex ON THE INTERNET, and you too can read every kinky detail of the group sex, anal sex, and sexy sex I’ve had!”

    See what I mean? Total anxiety.

    Most of my friends clearly don’t understand my worries when it comes to dating, or me for that matter. They say things like “You should just go to the places where your people go.”

    I’m sorry, what? Where my people go? What the fuck does that even mean? Or I’m told how hard dating is because someone always seems to have this one friend who is drop-dead-gorgeous and can’t get a date, but it’s probably because she’s so beautiful.

    True story.

    I’m pretty sure that translated into “You’re ugly and will die alone.”

    There’s always the old-fashioned way of dating, or happenstance, I guess. But I refuse to go out with anyone I meet in a bar. Been there, done that more times than I can count. It rarely develops into anything beyond a one night stand, maybe two. Those days are long gone for me. And I can’t meet people through business outlets since I work from home and most (all) of the men at the events and luncheons I attend are gay. And in the grocery store, I’m too focused on condiments to really notice anyone who might try more than once (3 times) to strike up a conversation with me, apparently.

    I love this bottle of BBQ sauce so much that I can’t possibly notice you or even say hello to you, handsome man passing by me three times in the aisle. -Heather

    Oh, stop judging me, Heather.

    But seriously, when it comes to new things, I’m all for giving it the old college try. Sashimi? Sure! Peeing in my mouth? Of course! Dating? Wait, what? I watch my single friends go through the motions of online dating, the string of disappointments, and I’m like nah, I’m good.

    Truthfully, I know why I’m hesitant to date again. They’re called feelings and I’m super protective of them. It’s incredibly difficult for me to open up to people; to trust. I don’t do it lightly. Have I been jaded by my past experiences? Probably, but I know that’s something I need to work on. I know who I am this time around, though, and I know what I want. I want first date jitters, butterflies, and hand-holding. Am I a bit of a romantic? Abso-fucking-lutley. But most importantly, I want to not only feel like a priority, I want to be a priority.

    I could go on forever about the things I don’t want in a relationship and partner attributes that make me throw up a crucifix shouting “Be gone, demon!”, but I think that’s the problem. I spend so much time focusing on what I don’t want, it’s holding me back from making myself available to the things I do want, if that makes any sense.

    I took time off to take care of myself in a healthy way after my relationship with Mr. K ended, which is something I’d never done before. I took a lot of time, actually, and by doing so, I let wounds breathe and heal instead of recklessly covering them up with booze and unfulfilling sex as I’d done in the past. It was one of the most responsible decisions I’ve ever made and one I’m damn proud of. But I’m afraid I’ve reached the point where my time off has become another excuse to hide behind. For the most part, my heart is open to dating again, I think, but my head is still working to catch up. It’s getting there, slowly, and one day soon, I’ll finally take that step forward into the dating pool, and when I do, I’ll refuse to settle for anything less than extraordinary, because I fucking deserve it.


  5. Do’s and Don’ts of Unicorn Hunting

    July 25, 2015 by Nikki Blue

    Unicorn

    I’ve done my share of unicorn hunting and believe me when I say that searching for that perfect fit for your threesome is exhausting. And it’s frustrating as hell. The countless hours I’ve spent courting prospective playmates only to have them flake out when our date drew near is time I’ll never get back. Most weren’t even unicorns at all, it turned out. Instead, they were attention seekers with no intention of following through with their juicy promises. They were all bark and no bite, which is a terrible shame because I like biting, a lot.

    Anyway, now that my FetLife profile no longer says that I’m in a relationship, it seems the tables have turned the hunter into the hunted. I’m not cool with this, and I can assure you, my kinky friends, that I am no unicorn. And I’m fairly certain that the reason behind my aversion to being the plus one between the sheets is my need for a significant amount of control, or it’s that whole topping from the bottom thing. That, though, is a can of worms I’ll save for later.

    So, if you are considering a unicorn quest of your own, here are my top tips to start you off on the right foot:

    Choose the appropriate site – Don’t assume that every unattached woman on FetLife is open to being the delicious center of your naked sandwich–it’s offensive. Joining a site like Swing Life Style will exponentially improve your odds of a successful search.

    Read the profile – Regardless of whether the unicorn of your naughty dreams is listed on FetLife or Swing Life, don’t skim over her profile. Read. Every. Fucking. Word. Look for consent that she is open to receiving such an invitation. If it specifically states at the top of her profile in italics that she is not looking for a Dom, a sub, or a play partner, don’t ignore her statement and message her anyway certain that you will be the one to change her mind. *eye roll*

    Don’t copy/paste – Look, people aren’t stupid and most can tell a copy/paste message from the get-go. Unicorns know how bait-casting works, but even though she’s not the only one you’re fishing for, you need to make her feel as though she is.

    Prepare for rejection – It happens, and in this case, silence speaks volumes. If days pass and she hasn’t replied to your message, she’s not going to, so don’t send another asking if she’s given any thought to a sweaty meeting. Don’t ask for her email, her phone number, and for fucks sake, don’t tell her how sexy she is with a lengthy mmmmmm—that’s harassment, jerkface.

    Timing – Unicorns need time to prepare for a sexy romp with a couple–they need to feel safe knowing their limits will be respected. Don’t make plans to meet for an introductory drink with the assumption she will get naked with you an hour later. It rarely works that way.

    Most importantly, be respectful, be patient, and don’t be a douche. ~Nikki  

     

    Hello, it’s your friendly neighborhood unicorn here. Unlike Nikki, I’ve only been on the side of the hunted, and I prefer to keep it that way. Yup, I like complementing a couple as a willing third in the threesome. True, I was *this close* to being the filling of a man-meat sandwich, but that was unusual for me. I’m most comfortable in a supportive role to the main couple. And this brings me to my first piece of advice:

    There are Different Breeds of Unicorn – We all have our different definitions of the label ‘unicorn,’ which typically corresponds to the qualities one is hunting for. “I’m dreaming of a unicorn who is ____ and has _____ and who is totally into _____.” The trick is finding that unicorn who also desires the qualities that you possess. The mythical part of the equation is that the unicorn will always give/contribute to the threesome without asking for anything in return, like emotional or physical gratification. Sweeties, that is a myth. Unicorns want to get off too. The truth is that we come in all genders and sexual tastes, and guess what, we unicorns have our own personal preferences about who we cavort with. For example, I can’t unicorn with anyone without my Dominant’s permission, so even if I’m attracted to a couple and want to play, I have to clear it with my sir. If the couple isn’t cool with my protocols, the entire thing is a no-go. Sometimes you luck out and can find a tasty third to your twosome on a hookup site. Everything can look perfect, but understand that the unicorn may be scrutinizing you as much as you’re checking out them.

    Just Because You Found A Unicorn, It Doesn’t Mean They Have to Fuck You – Hey, Mr. Married Guy Who Wants a Chick to Seduce His Wife, I’m talking to you. And everyone else. But mostly to you. You may have a boatload of unspoken expectations regarding the unicorn you found, Mr. MGWWaCtSHW, but that doesn’t mean she has to comply with your irritating unspoken/sort of articulated plans for her and your wife. CONSENT is a huge, important part of unicorning. It’s an important facet of relationships in general, but in this specific scenario—and I can’t say this enough—unicorns don’t have to fuck you if they don’t want to. Even if I slept with you and your partner just last week, there is no written rule that says I have to do so again. And if you attempt to manipulate me into complying based on the fact that I ‘did it before,’ I will knee you in the balls on my way out of the door. No means no, and if it seems like I’m teetering on the edge of a rant, it’s because this has actually happened to me and it PISSES ME OFF.

    Communicate and Be Safe – Nikki referred to this earlier. If you’ve started a dialogue with a unicorn regarding the possibility of a threesome, be clear about your expectations and what you want from the encounter. Everyone should discuss their limits, the things that are OK to do and those that are out of bounds. It’s really important for unicorns, regardless of gender, to feel safe in a situation. They may be saying positive things leading up to the big night, but if for any reason they don’t feel safe or don’t want to continue, they should bail. (see #2) There are ways to do this politely, and the sooner you, the unicorn, know it’s not going to work, the faster you should notify the other party. But there is never any time when it’s acceptable to coerce or threaten someone into compliance.

    A Gentle Approach – Why do you think medieval literature insisted that only a virgin could lure a unicorn out of the woods? Because we are special! If you go clomping through the forest with your armor, a pack of dogs, and 30 knights from the round table, I can promise you that every unicorn within miles will be hiding from your loud ass. In other words, if you are a M/F couple looking for a F-unicorn, for the love of all that’s holy, DO NOT have the M of your couple approach the F-unicorn first. Even dudes with the best of intentions come off as sleazeballs. And your message shouldn’t be titled: “I’m looking for a playmate for my wife.” Bring your computer over here, because I’m gonna barf on it. Your rates of success will increase if the female part of your couple reaches out to the female unicorn first. Even if the woman doesn’t really know what she wants, or if it’s her first time with another woman, her saying exactly that will be better received than a man reporting it second-hand.

    Sometimes Things Don’t Work Out Like You Thought They Would – Oh group sex… you are such a wily and capricious activity. The more people you add to a sexual situation, the more chances you have of things going differently than planned. Sometimes this is totally awesome. Other times, not so much. Just keep in mind that your “unicorn” is actually a human being of flesh and blood. They’re there to participate in your fun, but that’s no guarantee that everything will be rainbows and cupcakes. Sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. But if everyone communicates about what they want and how they want it, your rate of success will be even better

    Remember: be safe, communicate like crazy, and keep an open mind. Some day, your unicorn will come. Er, you’ll come with a unicorn. Wait… ~Heather


  6. Fifty Shades of NO: The Movie

    July 9, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

    I watched Fifty Shades of Grey the other night. I haven’t read the books, mostly because of the lackluster (poorly written) excerpts I read online. Sir watched it last week, though, and his feedback surprised me. He said there was a D/s contract and negotiation, and even though I was openly incredulous, I knew I had to watch it for the sole purpose of being able to discuss it with him. Plus, sir said that Mr. Grey’s playroom was kickass, and I’m a sucker for a well-appointed dungeon. I settled into bed after my child fell asleep, and watched the movie with my phone in my hand, so I could text Nikki about all the failings of the movie and its portrayal of D/s.

    I discovered that Fifty Shades of Grey, the movie, is about a woman who doesn’t want to be a submissive. She wants a billionaire boyfriend that treats her to amazing, spectacular adventures like flights in a glider, a helicopter, and buys her fab things. She wants love and romance, to be courted and swept off her feet. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The crux of the problem is that the billionaire boyfriend is a dominant and a sadist, and what he wants is a submissive with a signed contract that commits to a D/s relationship, which doesn’t guarantee emotional intimacy. At least, not the kind of emotional intimacy that a more traditional dating relationship would entail. Christian Grey also has a tendency to creep, stalk, and lurk. Add to these conflicting, fundamental differences the fact that BOTH characters are positively shitty communicators, and you have the basic gist of this movie.

    But… but… Heather, you say, aren’t you always going on and on about the physical and emotional intimacy you enjoy through BDSM? How can Mr. Grey be anything but a cad and a blackguard for wanting Anastasia bound and naked yet not wanting to cuddle with her overnight?

    My perspective of this movie is from the viewpoint of a woman who signed a D/s contract without the promise of romance. I committed myself to a dominant without the knowledge that we would fall deeply in love and that our partnership would expand into “regular” life. What I desired most of all was a man that would hurt me in all the ways that I wanted, who would use me, control me, and degrade me in the most delicious ways I could imagine. I wanted bondage, and pain; an outlet for those nameless things that clamored inside me–I wanted to serve. And I knew that sir was a decent man, one who would keep me safe while I explored all the dark, twisting turns of my desires. I knew he would be a caretaker for me in those times of domination and submission, but in the beginning, I didn’t have aspirations that our D/s would follow a path to romance and courtship. I had no expectation that we would live together, that my submission would turn 24/7, or that we would continue together despite an overseas relocation and months of separation.

    So no, I don’t think Mr. Grey is fucked up for being a dominant or a sadist. He lacks the ability to communicate his feelings to the unwilling, yet grudgingly submitting Anastasia. He utters the words “due diligence” to her, yet they fail to do anything except some light bondage and fucking six-ways-to-Sunday in the playroom. That’s all well and good, but she needed to do actual research on D/s (it’s called Google, Anastasia). Contracts in D/s can be a big frickin’ deal, and even though they aren’t legally binding, I would never enter into one without a lot of thought and consideration beforehand. But that’s a rant for a different day.

    Where Mr. Grey did fuck up (besides the stalking, lurking, and non-consensual control) was that he didn’t say anything regarding the trauma of his past (talking to someone when they’re asleep doesn’t count), or how it’s possible to be a loving sadist/dominant. Probably because he’s completely unfamiliar with what a functioning relationship may feel like.

    With such fundamental differences between them, you know the movie isn’t going to end well. It really doesn’t. In fact, it’s the last twenty minutes of the movie that made me hate it. Because nothing infuriates me more than a play partner begging for a certain thing, hating it but not using their safewords, and then when it’s all over, shaming the other person for doing the exact thing that they requested earlier. This sort of interaction is precisely why BDSM gets a bad rep when our lifestyle is actually based upon a foundation of consent and trust. And the simple act of writing about it has pissed me off all over again.

    sigh…

    I need a glass of wine and funny cat videos to forget this clusterfuck of a movie.

     

    For an eloquent fact-checking article regarding the “kink” (yeah, I placed that in quotes) in FSoG, Nikki found a great article written by actual kinky folks who engage in actual Dominance/submission. Read it HERE.

    ~And since Heather watched the movie, sharing with me a bazillion texts regarding its ridiculousness as it unfolded, I’ve agreed to finally read the clusterfuck of a book. Oy.~ Nikki


  7. Online Dating: Finding What You Want

    July 6, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Online love button on the keyboard. Toned Image.

    When venturing into the world of dating, it seems like the activity can be broken down into two primary categories. You have your standard, traditional form of dating that can begin with something as simple as a casual coffee, then graduate to dinner, and possibly more. Then there is the more casual, dare we say recreational, style of dating–the hook-up. Both types of interactions offer aspects that might suit certain people and turn away others. Regardless of which you choose, there are some fundamental rules y’all should be following when looking for potential matches online.

    First and foremost:  READ THEIR DAMN PROFILE. Don’t skim it. Don’t just look at their photo on the profile and decide they’re the penis or pussy of your dreams. (By the way, don’t ever make a photo of your love log or love cave your profile pic–even if it’s your favorite part of your anatomy. Yes, we said ‘love log.’) Read every word they’ve written. Hopefully they’ve mentioned the qualities they’re looking for in a prospective date, one of which should be they type of relationship they’re looking for–something casual, long-term, or somewhere in between.

    Casual dating brings to mind non-commitment–a sense of freedom. You aren’t attached solely to one person, but instead can go as you please, meeting and dating as many people as you like. It’s this carefree, relaxed nature that some individuals prefer. Furthermore the term “no strings attached” implies that sex is the main focus of the encounter. It’s a hobby to some, and there’s nothing wrong with that as long as everyone is upfront and communicates their objectives. Finding singles who want no strings sex can prove as challenging as meeting the mate of your dreams, but for different reasons. In both instances you have to do some research on the person (it’s called Google, y’all) to ensure that you’re not dealing with a psychopath, and regardless of whether you want to see them again or not, play responsibly and ALWAYs practice safe sex.

    Secondly: Send a grammatically correct, interesting first message. It doesn’t have to be long, but you should comment or include a fact that you learned about them based on reading their entire profile. Even if it’s only to hook up for one night of wild monkey sex, make that first message count.

    Do THIS: “Dear Wild Monkey Sex Man: As it turns out, I happen to share your passion for bananas. I would love to talk to you about it sometime. Do you text? xxxx”

    DON’T do this: “How RU”

    And definitely don’t do this: “What’s up?”

    And really don’t do this: “Kneel before me and worship my ____!”

    Third: Be upfront about what you want in a relationship or in your sexual encounter. This circles back to our first topic. Throughout the search process, being honest about the type of person you’re searching for will save everyone time (and a massive headache) in the end. Even if your focus is sex, be open to discussing the characteristics that you want. Are you looking for a certain size? Height? Ability to enact all of the Kama Sutra? Talk about it or you’ll never have a chance at finding what you desire.

    What? You don’t want to talk about your expectations? While many find it difficult and embarrassing to discuss what they might like to try with a partner, it will be easier to bring up your wildest fantasies with someone who is a match for your experiences. You can both pitch ideas back and forth and find out more about yourself sexually and emotionally. You never know, you may discover a few things about yourself in the process.

     


  8. Ask Nikki: Will a vibrator help when there isn’t enough sex?

    June 19, 2015 by Nikki Blue

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    Photo via Depositphotos

    Hey Nikki,

    My relationship is great. He is the sweetest and most loving man I’ve ever met. There’s just one problem. In my opinion there’s not enough sex happening. He’s the only man to ever make me orgasm. Hell, I’ve never even made myself orgasm. Sure, I’ve masturbated, but I always just get bored. I’ve often wondered if I should get a vibrator, but I don’t know the first thing about them. I understand that his sex drive is not as high as mine. I understand that we can’t be having sex all the time. So, my question is do you think getting a vibrator would help? If yes, there are so many kinds, where do I begin? I’d love to go out with my best gal pal and pick one out, but I don’t have any close female friends. Please help me.

    Hugs,

    R.

     

    Oh, R. How I wish this was a conversation that we could have over a cup of coffee–half caff, almond milk latte with a shot of coconut–because heart-to-heart girlfriend chats are uber awesome.

    Falling in love with someone whose libido doesn’t run parallel to yours is fairly common, and that’s okay. I mean, variety is the spice of life, right? A varying sex drive doesn’t have to be a pothole on the road to happiness, because there are so many ways to satisfy yourself with or without your partner. All you need is a little open-mindedness and a whole lot of honest communication about your needs, and your partner’s needs.

    You’ve probably heard the saying “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.” Well, I agree with it, mostly, but let’s be honest, sometimes we just want the fucking destination. It doesn’t make us selfish or uncaring–it makes us human. And whether it’s with their penis, fingers, tongue, or a toy, a lot of men derive a great deal of pleasure simply from the act of pleasing their partner. An open line of communication is imperative. If you tell him I NEED MORE ORGASMS, I would be willing to bet he’ll be all over it. Heh. And a vibrator, I think, could definitely help bridge the gap between your libido and your partner’s. When you find the one that you’re comfortable with, you can bring yourself to orgasm alone or while your man watches you pleasure yourself, which is always incredibly hot. And he can please you with the toy even if he’s not in the mood for a full-on romp.

    There is a veritable smorgasbord of vibrators on the market, and it’s easy to succumb to over-information. There are bullets, finger massagers, G-spot vibrators, eggs, Rabbits, wands, vibrating cock rings and dildos, smoothies, anal/prostate, and many different styles of clitoral stimulators. See what I mean? Mind…blown.

    Before embarking on a quest for the perfect Battery Operated Boyfriend, I suggest you think about the stimulation your body responds to the best. Is it clitoral stimulation? Vaginal penetration? Both? If it’s clitoral, the vibrator world is your oyster, because anything that vibrates can be used to coax your love lava into flowing. Most vibrators have varying speeds of intensity, and some, like the Hitachi, shouldn’t be used too often, in my opinion. I’m a super-huge fan of this magical orgasm stick, but it only has two speeds:

    1. Holy Mary, Mother of God, and;
    2. The Clit Destroyer

     

    With that having been said, remember that our bodies tend to adjust to the stimulation we provide it, which can possibly make it more difficult to orgasm by manual stimulation. So if you notice reduced sensation after using a vibrator for an extended period of time, back off for a little while to let your body re-assimilate to the personal touch.

    The Rabbit is another one of my personal favorites because it provides wicked clitoral AND vaginal stimulation. The vibrating rabbit ears tease the clitoris toward orgasm while the gyrating shaft that is filled with rotating beads throw you screaming into oblivion. It’s SO dreamy. I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing, of course.

    Lubricant isn’t a must with a vibrator, but I do recommend it, especially if your love cave isn’t good and juicy before insertion. And like vibrators, there are a plethora of lubricants on the market to choose from. Except during anal play, you can rarely go wrong with a water based lubricant because it’s both body safe and toy friendly.

    If you have a reputable adult toy store near you, I highly suggest a field trip. And including your partner in the naughty shopping excursion will likely stiffen his manhandle. Look at the toys together, tell each other in explicit detail what you will do with it when you get home, or into the car. It’s like foreplay in public. Again, if you’re into that sort of thing.

    I would totally go with you if we were neighbors, because vibrator shopping with girlfriends is also super-fun.
    Hugs,

    Nikki


  9. Spanking From A to Z: ‘C’ is for the C-word

    June 3, 2015 by Nikki Blue

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    If you’ve read Vagina Antics, followed me on social media, or spoken with me in person, you are well aware of my filthy mouth. ‘Fuck’, in particular, is a word that flows freely from my lips. I don’t have an explanation for it, other than it just feels natural on my tongue, like my southern drawl and my obsession with donuts. ‘Pussy’ is another one of my favorites. Probably because it can be used in so many different ways. Heh. To most people, it probably seems as if my mouth has no limits (heh, again). Surprisingly, it does. And it begins with the letter ‘C’.

    The C-word is something I never particularly warmed to. I can’t say or type the word. Hell, just reading it makes me all prickly, even when it’s referring to a juicy love cave. On that note, please, for the love of God, stop writing “love cave.” I beg of you–STOP.

    I don’t know the reason that the C-word is a hard stop for me. I’ve thumbed through the traumatic experiences of my life and not once did I discover a moment to which the resistance can be attributed. It doesn’t sound sexy to me, or nice, for that matter. Maybe it’s my southern roots that prohibit me from embracing the C-word. Or maybe I’m just weird.

    The fact that I’ve written this Spanking A to Z blog challenge all ninja-like was no accident. I planned for breathing room to prepare my delicate-self from the C-word flood I know Heather will soon drown me with. As a matter of fact, she won’t even know the topic I’ve chosen until I’ve shared this document with her. And if I know her as well as I think I do, she’ll laugh hysterically while using the C-word as many times as aesthetically possible to drive me bat-shit crazy, because we are best friends for life, and that’s what besties do.

    ~This post is cunt-a-liscious! And has my (and my cunt’s) seal of approval. xoxox Heather~

    *groan* I hate her.

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  10. Mother’s Day and Mommy Issues

    May 10, 2015 by Nikki Blue

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    It’s no secret I have mommy issues, and Mother’s Day stresses me out over the relationship I have with my mother. Trying to find an appropriate card makes my head hurt because they say way too much. She hasn’t been the best mother in the world, or my role model, or even my friend. And she didn’t show me how to be a strong woman either. I looked to my grandmothers and aunts for that inspiration.

    If you follow me on or , you’ve probably read my status updates regarding my mother’s foray into online dating. Technical issues aside, she now considers herself an expert, offering unsolicited advice about my own dating life. Or lack thereof, I should say. She’s afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my life without a man to take care of me. What she doesn’t understand, even though I’ve told her numerous times, is that I don’t need—or want—a man to take care of me. I’ve got that. What I do want, eventually, is a supportive partner. It’s a concept she is unable to grasp.

    My mommy issues began long ago when she cheated on my father with a family friend. The scandalous affair ended publicly with law enforcement and a handwritten note in our mailbox containing a threat to rape “the green-eyed girl.” I was thirteen at the time.

    Her second husband, who was an alcoholic, chronic liar, and a compulsive gambler, was an even bigger gem than the spineless asshat who helped my mother blow my family apart.

    I’ve written a little about the strained relationship with my mother in , but it’s just the tip of one fucked up iceberg, really. Maybe one day I’ll reach the point where I’m ready to talk about how we went for months without speaking when I told her my husband-to-be was a black man, and how she didn’t come to my wedding or make any attempt at reconciliation until she found out I was pregnant with my daughter.

    Her idea of motherhood has been conditional, apparently.

    So Mother’s Day has been dicey for me for many years; many reasons, but today, I am able to look at my own children knowing that I am the best mother I can possibly be, that they look to me as a role model AND their friend. And I know without a doubt that I am the one who is teaching my daughter how to be a strong woman. For those reasons alone, it is definitely a happy Mother’s Day.