Kinky Facts

January 7, 2018

I can be a sadist
I can be a slut
I enjoy a bit of pain
I’m often filled with lust

I want to be the Top
and to be topped too
I’d love to tie you up
or to be tied by you

Push the right button
and I’ll be your subby
or grant to me control
I may lock you in the cubby

Stick me full of needles
or I’ll put some in you
zap me with electricity
I may pass the current through

Whip me, flog me, spank me
I too can you impact
I’m happy to do whatever
and that’s a kinky fact

I can be anything for anyone
pretty much more or less
it all depends on circumstance
and on what you confess

So let’s stop prevaricating
and get on with the fun
let me know where and when
and which way round you run

Cynthia Pauline Jones

pensive

“Always talking of the other world,” he said. “Why not this one?”

“But I meant this world!” she said. “I meant, happy in this world–happy with living people.” She waved her hand as if to embrace the miscellaneous company, the young, the old, the dancers, the talkers; Miriam with her pink bows, and the Indian in his turban. Peggy sank back against the wall. Happy in this world, she thought, happy with living people!

The music stopped. The young man who had been putting records on the gramophone had walked off. The couples broke apart and began to push their way through the door. They were going to eat perhaps; they were going to stream out into the back garden and sit on hard sooty chairs. The music which had been cutting grooves in her mind had ceased. There was a lull – a silence.

Far away she heard the sounds of the London night; a horn hooted; a siren wailed on the river. The far-away sounds, the suggestion they brought in of other worlds, indifferent to this world, of people toiling, grinding, in the heart of darkness, in the depths of night, made her say over Eleanor’s words, Happy in this world, happy with living people. But how can one be “happy”? she asked herself, in a world bursting with misery. On every placard at every street corner was Death; or worse – tyranny; brutality; torture; the fall of civilization; the end of freedom. We here, she thought, are only sheltering under a leaf, which will be destroyed. And then Eleanor says the world is better, because two people out of all those millions are “happy.” Her eyes had fixed themselves on the floor; it was empty now save for a wisp of muslin torn from some skirt.

But why do I notice everything? she thought. She shifted her position. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wished that there were blinds like those in railway carriages that came down over the light and hooded the mind. The blue blind that one pulls down on a night journey, she thought. Thinking was torment; why not give up thinking, and drift and dream? But the misery of the world, she thought, forces me to think. Or was that a pose? Was she not seeing herself in the becoming attitude of one who points to his bleeding heart? to whom the miseries of the world are misery, when in fact, she thought, I do not love my kind. Again she saw the ruby-splashed pavement, and faces mobbed at the door of a picture palace; apathetic, passive faces; the faces of people drugged with cheap pleasures; who had not even the courage to be themselves, but must dress up, imitate, pretend. And here, in this room, she thought, fixing her eyes on a couple…But I will not think, she repeated; she would force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.

Virginia Woolf
The Years

Almost every woman I have ever met has a secret belief that she is just on the edge of madness, that there is some deep, crazy part within her, that she must be on guard constantly against ‘losing control’ — of her temper, of her appetite, of her sexuality, of her feelings, of her ambition, of her secret fantasies, of her mind.

Elana Dykewomon
Notes for a Magazine
Sinister Wisdom #36 (Winter 1988/89)

First Blowjob

January 7, 2018

a first blowjob

I was about 18 when I first made my attempt at giving a blowjob. The guy was my age, just as sexually inexperienced as me, and he must have watched lots and lots of porn because some of the things he said would make you laugh.

He had very little confidence and he was not exactly the most proud to show off his body. He was a little chunky and while I liked it, he didn’t exactly share the same sentiment. So he took off his shorts and left his t-shirt on. I told him that he reminded me of a toddler who had thrown away his diaper and he giggled and bashfully stated that he was “still working on his stomach”. So I left it alone and was there naked. For some reason, I felt comfortable with him.

So, long story short, I get on my knees and he stands with his dick in my face and looking back, I wonder why he didn’t sit. Throughout this blowjob session, his knees buckled and he would grab the arm of the couch for balance and I’m sure if someone saw us they would have laughed. Did he think it was uncool to sit down and enjoy what was happening? Why didn’t I suggest it? Did I even know better?

The other tell-tale sign that we weren’t exactly professionals in this field was that he would try to recite stuff I knew that he had only heard in porn. Coming from a guy who didn’t have a potty mouth at all, “Suck it, Bitch” didn’t sound very sexy. He sounded like two parts I don’t want to offend you, one part “please” and one part “oh my god, someone has my cock in their mouth“. It just wasn’t sexy.
The other thing that he did that threw my shitty dick sucking “skills” for a loop was that he kept pushing my head down to get his cock further in my throat. I didn’t mind so much, but the entire process was new to me. I looked at it like swimming: When I go down, I gotta hold my breath and come up for air when I need to.

That is the most awful technique ever.

Imagine me, sucking dick for like ten seconds and coming up off the dick in order to breathe and then having him sort of smush my head down back onto his dick while I’m gasping for air. It’s not like he had the most confidence to really push hard, but still. He was fucking up what I thought was a good rhythm. These days, I’m a lot bit more experienced and I know how to coordinate breathing from my nose and sucking and swallowing and deep throating, almost all at the same damn time. There should be a girl scout badge for that accomplishment.

Elta Jones
Girl With a Reputation

The Passion by ryoung

We were naked and ravenous when she shrieked out, ‘Harder!’ The seconds ticking remorselessly round the clockface towards midnight. A new day, and new year. Thrusting together, our mutual greed now an infinite beast. Both uttering these strange sounds, spontaneous, not chosen.

Midnight!

Fireworks on the television screen, the London eye glimpsed through a blaze of stars.

Abruptly weightless, deep in her interior darkness. Each flaming spurt of my cock caused her to cry out. Curse words. Filth, spilling from her potty mouth. Nailed in place by my fiery root, now relentless – and she so terribly physical with her teeth and claws and that look on her contorted face, as if she were about to give birth or absorb me into her body.

Then melting, gently touching. Light kisses on eyes, lips, hair. And her voice that moments before had shrieked out, ‘Fuck me harder you bastard’, now whispered, ‘Happy new year, darling…’