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 ...

What turns you on?

Here are some of mine:


water running down the backs of my thighs in the shower; lying on a freshly washed sheet, face down, no clothes; kisses on the small of my back and my butt; a garter belt digging into my thighs, unbeknownst to the person I'm walking next to; a thong under my gym shorts, especially if I'm tearing into a punching bag; someone's hand down my pants when it's not supposed to be; a zipper pulled down excruciatingly slowly; being forced up against a wall; bending over in my mirror in a short skirt; teleconferencing topless; dancing like a fool, stark naked, on the arm of my couch; standing naked in my doorway when sending off someone I just slept with; wearing nothing but a long necklace; really tight jeans that grab my ass and thighs; feeling someone staring at my ass in said tight jeans; sucking on fingers; falling asleep with someone's hand on my breast; being kissed while sleeping; swearing when I'm coming; listening to dirty hip-hip; tops that tie around my neck; dripping sweat while doing anything; putting one leg up on the sink while washing dishes; carpet rubbing on the bottoms of my bare feet; the same thing but with fake (plastic) grass; wine; a smirk from a significant other; shooting a gun; sticking a leg out of my car window; making out at stoplights -- and greenlights; pouring glitter over my body backstage; go-go dancing, but doing it mostly for myself; getting a tattoo; masturbating in an airplane bathroom; doing a split ...

What are yours?

Shaving Your Vagina Makes You a Pussy?

After I saw them for the first time in college, I vowed not to bother with their slapstick, jacked-up feminism again.

Then last Sunday, after tanning topless all day at a gay country club, I thought it only fair to my girlfriend to give The Vagina Monologues another shot.

The audience was older. I didn't so much expect someone to ask me to join the campus Vaginas Against Violence club as ask for a three-way.

The monologues were fairly well done, and promoted a hodge-podge of things like, stopping rape in Africa, letting another woman help you find your neglected clit, not wearing tampons, not shaving, masturbation, and, of course, examining your vagina in a mirror.

I laughed at a few parts, scoffed quietly at others, and got pissed when one chick suggested shaving your pussy is a repressive thing to do.

Me and my gal danced to a (mostly female) brass band after, made awkward small talk with her ex, and left.

The next time I had sex, I opened my legs a little wider -- you know, so she could get a good look -- and smirked fiendishly as my hair-free vag enjoy every lick and caress.