She's Taken the First Step...

Looking at sex and what it means to you honestly is excruciatingly hard in a society that takes every opportunity to box it in and jump to cliches and conclusions.

But at the same time, it shouldn't be taken so seriously.

I haven't even begun to wrap my head around it, but I know there's so much more to it than most of us ever let ourselves perceive.

RIP Silver Bullet

She crapped out when I needed her most.

Vibrators should come labeled like tampons:

For light, medium, or heavy frustration.

Coney Island, Baby

Just because I won't be having any, probably, for a while doesn't mean I can't talk about it.

Being without significant other makes you focus, whether you like it or not, on that body of yours.

Me and that body had been having some issues for a few months now. And I'm just now starting to listen. Sorry.

She's changed. She's gotten thinner, more muscular, more athletic, less tan.

The hair's about to change tomorrow thanks to my hairdresser.

Just kind of looking at her wondering what she'll do next. Will the boobs grow, my ass looks like it's finally trying to grow some substance, and I've really been liking what my shoulders are doing.

Sometimes I feel so "in" my body, and sometimes it's so distant, like looking at a weird mannequin. And what does that mean for sex? I guess sex makes you feel more attached to your body, because of the sensory carnival going on. Or do people take a more cinematic stance, sitting back and watching their body in action with someone else's?

I've preferred the carnival. But that only happens when you're cool with the freaks in it.

That's ----------

Hot.

"That word makes my skin crawl," said my girlfriend when I asked her if she thought my panties were such.

It two seconds for my own skin to start crawling and less for me to realize how far I've fallen.

When I think of "sexy" or "hot", two things elbow themselves into my mind:

1) A vague concept of what I think of as sexy, slightly tainted with #2.

2) A pumped-up, glaring, raunchy embodiment of sexy that I wish I could just forget, or kill. Perhaps in the form a Victoria's Secret billboard featuring a thonged, panting model wearing costume wings, or flesh shoved up and out of constricting clothes.

Damn, in college I felt saucy not in a lacy thong, but fake blood and tighty whiteys from the little boys section of Wal Mart.

But then, can't you see that in an Abercrombie ad?

So, well, take away what MTV, Cosmo, Playboy, and Lil Wayne tell you, and then what is hot?

I'm ashamed to say that I can't fully siphon out all the crap I'm supposed to think is hot and then nail what remains down to a neat blog entry, but dammit, I aim to start.

I leave you with some things I, independently, think are um... :

- someone devouring some food I just made.

- wine-stained lips AND teeth

- Not giving a shit about the clothes you're wearing and not giving said shit if anyone else cares.

- saying what nobody else wants to say.

Here's to the death of HOT as we know it!

My Vagina Will Just Have to Hang Out With Me

I can't tell it for how long. It's pissed at me.

Whip Smart

My girlfriend and I were sitting in a quaint cafe last Sunday morning sharing a blueberry croissant and discussing where we think the "line" is regarding sex acts.

We both agreed all participants should be human -- not alien, dog, etc. and that all parties involved should be consenting.

At which point I proclaimed: "For example, I like to get spanked with a ..."

But promptly realized a) how audible that comment was to the rest of the cafe, and b) that we could no longer comfortably sit in said cafe.

Getting whipped, spanked, etc. is usually presented as erring on the taboo, and to some, disturbing.

I love it.

But I've never really thought about why.

Here's a shot:

So I'm having sex, and it's really good. She has me on top of her and I'm holding myself up with one hand on my bedroom wall, the other grasping my bedframe. I can't see straight, I'm breathing like a marathon runner on the last mile, it's making me scream all sorts of supplications and profanities, and then, "Whap!"

It's like a crazy, manic line written by some mad poet that ends with a surprise period. The poem goes on, but the period jolts you into a brief pause -- just enough to stop and appreciate what's going on.

Some partners have practically broken into tears when I brought out the crop, insisting they could never hurt me.

They had it all wrong. A good smack on my bottom in the throes of a rollicking sexual tryst is the best way to bring the pleasure into sharp and sudden focus.

Lucky for me, my girlfriend likes to wield that crop, though maybe not for the same reasons as I like to feel its sting on my bum.

So, thoughts on the spank?

My Friend Christina Says What Turns Her On

passionate full lipped kisses, dirty dancing, ass grabbing, cuddling, running fingers in the right places ...