I’d been married five years when I learned my husband was cheating on me. After the inevitable confrontation with him and the all the usual recriminations, I told him I couldn’t forgive what he’d done.

I couldn’t!

I was seething inside and wanted payback like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life before. I started cleaning the toilet each morning with his toothbrush. I put laxative in his food…but that wasn’t enough!

I’ve had this fantasy where multiple males would ‘take’ me repeatedly. I’d never mentioned it to anyone. Nor had I done anything to make fantasy, reality. Until now.

It took a lot of organizing but eventually I arranged a fourteen man gangbang which I had my best friend film. The action went on for most of one weekday. They had me four times each, and Gloria (my friend) filmed the ‘highlights’.

When hubby came home from work I told him ‘If you want forgiveness you get down on your knees and lick my pussy…’ I was sore down there, you know, but I hadn’t showered or anything, and not only was I a little swampy, I also had a stink in my panties like four day old anchovies. And it was all going to be for him, the bastard.

Anyway, down he got on his knees. I took my panties off and spread really wide. He buried his face deep in my vertical smile and started licking…An hour (and three orgasms) later, I told him, ‘Okay. That’s enough for now. There’s a homemade DVD beside the player. Watch it and see why you’re forgiven for now…I’m going for a shower.’

While he went off to watch his ‘film’ I fixed myself a stiff drink. A little later I looked round the living room door and he was watching me take two cocks simultaneously, front and back – but not only watching. He’d got his dick in his hand and was rubbing it like it was Aladdin’s lamp. Only instead of a genie he eventually shot a load of thick cum over his suit pants leg while I stood there silently watching…

What the hell! I should be surprised at this man who’d screw anything that moved – including the venetian blinds! One thing I’ve learned from the whole sorry experience – in future I’ll be the heroine of my life, not the victim!

Mary T

Iris Parker
True sex confessions

Christmas Anthem

December 11, 2016


Christmas has come! let affection and folly,
Run through the land from the North to the South,
Hang up the mistletoe, nail up the holly,
Frolic and fun be the talk of each mouth,
For each one to flirt, and to drink, and to eat;
Aged and Young, come! now, this is the Season,
All have enjoyment — my prick “sees no reason,”
Why Christmas should pass, and he not have a treat.

Ruddy his tip, as the bright Holly merry!
Round are his balls, as the Pudding so gay;
White pearly drops, like the Mistletoe berry,
They shall distil from his touch-hole to-day.

I will sip toddy, forget worldly scheming.
Prick! I feel for you a friendship sincere;
Pledge me in a draught, and your top ruddy beaming,
Shall quaff the Sweet Cunt Juice, for Christmas is here!

Christmas is here! so my prick, what you fancy,
That you shall have for your holiday fare;
From the black curly jock of the stately Miss Nancy,
To young Kitty’s sweet cunt, that can’t boast of a hair.

Come! my tail full bosomed fairy of twenty,
Come! little golden haired maiden of eight,
Look round the room, there are partners in plenty,
But nothing like Prick for a Christmas-time Mate!

Let the snow fall — we care not for the weather,
Pile up the logs on the gay crackling Are;
Then shall Queen Cunt and King Prick meet together,
And our sighs of enjoyment in silence expire.

Come! ’tis but once a year — let there be blindness,
To what our warm feelings incline us to do;
Come, merry maidens, and show my Prick kindness,
And straight he will strive to give pleasure to you!

Touch with your hand, let your sweet taper fingers,
Electric-like thrill him from root unto tip;
Then while the warmth of that contact still lingers,
Caress the sweet darling with tongue and with lip.

Press to your bosom — then glide to your Cunny,
Into your belly he’ll pour his “good cheer;”
“Will you spend in my bum?” “Should like to, My Honey!”
We will do what we like now, For Christmas is Here!


The Pearl
Christmas Annual 1881

Men need to cum

December 3, 2016


For most men, at the very least, sex is a daily deal. Men need to cum. If they aren’t doing it with you, then they’re doing it with themselves – or worse, with someone else.

Nikki Sex (Must be a pen name, surely?)


My first Lesbian Anal – another true confession!

My first anal experience was with a woman who was also my first “lesbian lover”.

We ended up living together because after my divorce I couldn’t afford my house any longer. She was a wonderful lover, too, so much better than my ex. She was very experienced with anal sex both with guys and girls. We had used toys with each other frequently, but only vaginally. One night she told me she wanted me to fuck her ass with a dildo. It surprised me, but I was willing to do whatever she wanted me to do. I ended up doing a double penetration on her with 2 dildos. She had an outrageous orgasm from that.

Afterward as we laid together, she asked me about anal. I told her I never had, and had not even had any anal stimulation before. She asked if I was interested, and I said that if I could have orgasms like she had earlier, I would try it.

The next morning as we lay in bed, she asked if I was ready to try. I said sure, and she promised to be slow and gentle. She went down on me and with her talented tongue brought me to an climax. While she was doing that, she had begun rubbing some of my juices on my rosebud, pressing inward. When I came, she was able to easily push a finger into my ass. I was astounded by the sensation. It hurt a tiny bit, but it also felt so bizarre I wasn’t sure what to think. She was tongue fucking me and as her saliva and my cum ran downward toward my ass, she began slowly thrusting her finger into me.

By now the feeling was wonderful. It allowed me to cum again really quickly. She then suggested we try something more since I was good with her finger. She got a slim dildo from our drawer of toys, as well as a bottle of lube. She told me to roll over and get on my knees to make it easier. She squirted some lube on my ass, and began pushing the head of the dildo into my asshole. It didn’t take much for my hole to open and let the dildo slide in. I couldn’t believe the feeling! It was such an unusual fullness. She began slowly sliding it in and out, and she suggested I play with my cunt. As I became more aroused, she began thrusting more quickly and deeper into my ass. It was incredible, and in only a few minutes I came again, with such force my entire body shook. I fell forward on the bed, and she crawled up beside me and we kissed. Once I was a bit calmed down and had caught my breath, she then slowly pulled the dildo out of my ass.

I have to say I loved the experience. We continue to have anal with each other pretty regularly, and I really enjoy it…


The P-spot blow job…

April 2, 2016


a rub

Our man desires us to bring him to orgasm manually. How tightly will we hold his cock? Shall we simply stroke up and down his shaft? How should we position our fingers as we stroke him? In other words, what technique should we use?

Getting a man to experience orgasm as we touch him should be a prolonged, enjoyable process. Yeah, we feel clumsy about it, and we ARE sometimes clumsy about it, our wrist and arm begins to ache like hell before he cums. Then, in intense frustration, he moves our hand aside and does it himself.

Now bear in mind, that each man does himself in a particular way; they all have techniques that feel especially good to them. So you need to experiment, ask questions (in a sexy voice) and watch carefully how he does himself. (A Girl raptly watching him masturbate from close up is an actual turn-on to many men). You might need to give him some encouragement to let you watch him wank. Tell him he can cum in your mouth at the end, or over your tits as an inducement.

Take into account the closer they get to cumming, their rhythm and technique may change. Watch carefully. Don’t ask questions as he’s cumming. Just very gently play with his testicles, which is a good way to assist him meet his moment of truth…!

Men love to hear us squeal with delight as they start to shoot…Give it ago.

So, if you get your man to show you how he does it, you’ll be well in advance in the jerking stakes. Failing that, try these few elementary things:

Position your body where you can relax your wrist on his hip or tummy and still be able to move your hand an inch and a half, or two inches by way of flexing your wrist backward and forward. This will solve your fatigue issue.

I frequently lie on my man’s rightside, my shoulder about level with his. I put my head on his shoulder or on the pillow beside his head, then use my right hand to stroke him.

Wrap your first finger and thumb round his cock shaft, two inches under his glans (the lovable little head men have at the top of their cock). You’re going to move your hand from that vicinity to slightly below the head, but not on the head itself to begin.

Vary your stroking. Readjust your position beside him so that you could move your hand up and down his cock, by simply flexing your wrist, your wrist and forearm resting on him. This will take awhile, so get comfortable. Take your time. You want him to be gagging for those final, finishing strokes.

So stroke SLOW. Don’t wear yourself out going fast. Good GRADUAL actions up and down his shaft are the important thing. You’ll feel his cock harden…but if it softens, you’re doing it wrong! So gradually speed up a little, let your little finger caress his balls each and every time you come to the down side of your stroke.

Breathe in his ear, and whisper dirty things to him.

How tightly do you grip? Put three fingers to your mouth, and purse your lips around them. Now purse your lips (NOT your teeth) as tightly as you can. That’s how tightly you will hold his shaft in your hand. If you grip it properly you should then be able to feel the irregularities that lie underneath the skin of his penis.

The more aroused he becomes, the more you can stroke his glans, but GENTLY. If he’s uncircumcised, you need to peel back his foreskin and just gently touch the exposed head with finger tips…little butterfly strokes and touches.

When he is starting to stiffen even more, and his body tenses, DON”T speed up. Wait, make him ‘suffer’ as his body begins to beg for release. When his penis begins to rear in your hand and his balls begin to pulse, put your head in his lap and tell him out-loud to cum in your mouth. Then put your lips round his cock and take his gift to you.

He’ll be really grateful. You’ll see it in his eyes. Men love it when you take their cummies in your mouth and swallow. Their spunk is full of protein and goodness. It can’t harm you…

Pearl W
Sexperience: sex techniques for women


As a younger man George Chambers had been possessed of a full head of hair. Now, however, almost tripping into middle-age, the baldpatch on his head brought to mind the tonsure of a medieval friar: a whippet-thin one, with high cheekbones and sensuous mouth. Easy, indeed, to imagine him sneaking into the local convent, his head full of inappropriate ideas.

Gabriella suggested he looked a little “seedy”. ‘Time has been unkind to him,’ she said. ‘But she, on the other hand, like a fine wine, has improved with age…!’

“She” was Mattie Chambers, George’s curvatious wife. And she craved an “adventure”, or so George claimed.

Mattie had always been curious about love…physical love…between two women. As a young girl at school she had formed a romantic attachment to Mrs Wood, her English teacher. This crush had been unreciprocated, of course, but on occasion, at night alone in her bedroom, Mattie had fantasized a flaring of interest in the older woman’s eyes. An exchange of lingering kisses.

Reality, however, always returned to impinged on her dreams of love “realised” with Mrs W. And Mattie came to understand, consequently, that love wasn’t an equally balanced equation. That you could love another with great passion, but that that other might, unfortunately, remain totally oblivious to your feelings.

During her late teens, Mattie dated various boys. She was, she said, a “late developer”, surrendering her virginity, for what that was worth, to a young man named Bill Sutton, shortly after her nineteenth birthday. Bill wasn’t a very good lover; although friends said he was “good with cars”, a “much sort after” mechanic, apparently.

George Chambers, on the other hand, had a certain “bonnes allures”, and bearing in mind the physical restrictions of space, they made love on the backseat of his Ford with a certain lack of inhibition. The “mystères de l’amour” were mysteries no longer to Mattie. While raising her bum to ease down her pants, she realised she’d probably found her “Mr Right” – two months later, amazingly, they were man and wife.

Time passed. Familiarity, they say, breeds contempt. Whatever the truth of that, it certainly breeds boredom. Sexual boredom for George. He craved fresh flesh. While remaining a respectable pillar of the community, he took to secretly visiting prostitutes. Each time this happened, he’d tell himself: ‘Never again’…but the need would return, stronger than ever – that overarching need of cold, unloving, rubber insulated sex with a stranger.

His dad had been a butcher with a largish shop in East Harrow. The young Chambers delivered customer orders on a black, sign-written push-bike. His first sexual experience had been with one of those customer’s, a Mrs Dooley, who had taken in her package of chops, beef mince and sausages, suggesting the boy ‘Come in for a mo, while I get your tip…’

Mrs D, forty-something, a widow, took the boy to her bedroom, undressed him, caressed him, and fucked him five times. With or without an order, young George returned weekly to the widow’s soft embraces. He became, in time, sexually prolific.

As Mattie’s husband, George increasingly adopted the persona of confident poshness. He joined various societies, a film club, became involved in armature dramatics. And all the while his head was filled with images of explicit and kinky sex. He wanted to see his wife used by another man, while he in turn used that man’s wife. These daydreams recurred with frightening regularity, until George decided to “take the bull by the horns” and approach Mattie with a tentative suggestion of “Wife swapping” to “spice-up” their lovelife…

Having awkwardly broached the subject in the living room of their home, George waited for some sign of reciprocation from his silent and stony-faced wife.

‘Who, exactly, would we do this with?’

‘Well, I thought about, perhaps, touching on the subject with Julian Jackson and his wife…’

‘Pam Jackson?’

‘There’s rumours they “swing”. Swap partners…?’

‘My God, no, not her. The only thing she’s ever swapped with is a pair of sabre-tooth pensioners, and that terrible man from the post office and his wife – the one who looks as if she’s just escaped from the “House on Pooh Corner.’

‘What do you suggest, then? EBay?’

‘Well, first off, if this is to happen, I want to get something out of it myself. I don’t want some lust-filled brainless knob pumping away at me. Understand? I want to be with a woman…perhaps two women? Who I could then watch together? The rigors of Sapphic sex are a mystery to me. As an experience, it could prove very educational…’

‘I could watch, too, I s’pose?’

‘Probably so, yes.’

‘Do we know of two women like that?’ He sounded sceptical. Her promiscuous deployment in a Sapphic scenario, while fine for the voyeur within him, suggested little in the way of rumpy-pumpy for himself: lesbians weren’t known for welcoming the tumescent phallus of a randy male into their bodily orifices. He sagged. This would come to nothing…

‘I think I just might,’ she said. ‘And in the right circumstances, they’d probably see to your needs also…’

George gave a small whoop. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’


So George stood in our kitchen, all cheeky-chappie charm, with a slight undercurrent of nervousness. He wore a red and white stripe shirt beneath a navy-blue V-necked sweater from Marks & Sparks. Dee and Gabriella took Mattie in hand, leading her upstairs to Sapphic heaven – found today (hopefully) between the clean sheets of Gabby’s double bed.

George had earlier gone to great pains to explain to me he was “a woman’s man”…perhaps, fearing the engorged member of Peedeel lancing his nether regions like a piston when he least expected it? Yes, while thrusting into the delectable Dee, most likely, bare-arsed, vulnerable. Ruthlessly Rogered while Rogering…A most unedifying thought, even for me…but wait, perhaps there’s some hope left in the bottom of Pandora’s box?

George asked: ‘What’s the procedure now? When do we join the ladies?’

‘We wait until invited,’ I replied, feeling just a little like Jiminy Cricket with Pinocchio. ‘Fancy a gin and tonic for now? They might be awhile.’

George, looking like man whose unobtainable sexual fantasy is about to be realised, sipped his gin impatiently. Lust tends to occupy time and thought on such occasions. It made George fidgety. ‘Are they usually this long?’ he asked.

‘Frequently,’ my reply. ‘Love making is an art, and art is oblivious to time’s passing.’

The doorbell went about three o’clock. Outside it was warm and windless, a fine drizzle falling. A parcel for Dee which I signed for. From the hallway I could hear soft grunts and groans. The sound caused me a sudden hard-on.

Upstairs, of course, there was a tangle of limbs. Dee and Gabby had kicked-off the performance for Mattie’s education and entertainment. She sat on Gabby’s stool beside the bed, watching. Inevitably the collision of a long held fantasy with this stark uncompromising reality had an effect on her; she began to feel slightly breathless, intensely hot, and uncomfortably wet in her new lace panties. Almost without thinking about it, Mattie reached out to stroke Gabby’s plump rump.

‘Join us,’ Dee said. ‘There’s plenty of room for three.’

Earlier Gabriella had asked Mattie: ‘D’you want to watch us with your clothes on or off?’

‘Oh, on, I think. Keep them on’d be best.’

Now she wished she’d stripped like them. Because she had to stand and undress with the pair watching her. She felt self-conscious and shy and a little embarrassed about how thick she was becoming around the waist. The damp patch on her knickers. A dead giveaway, that. Like a bitch on heat…

She felt so excited and yet close to tears. One part of her wanted to stop this now: turn her back on the women in the bed, and depart for good. Unfastening her brassiere she experienced a momentary swimmy-headedness. She would do this, or she’d regret it for the rest of her days. She slipped her panties down her legs, turning them inside out as she did so.

Finally naked the pair reached out to Mattie, taking hold of her hands. Together they pulled her to the bed.

‘It might feel a bit of a rocky ride at first. But you’ll soon get the ropes,’ Dee said to reassure. Then kissed her full on the mouth.


We were dully summoned to Gabriella’s boudoir, which was a little stuffy, heavy with the intermingled scent of the three women; they sank back on the bed in reciprocal quiescence, smiling at us, newcomers to their “petite fête”.

George ripped his clothes off, a veritable maelstrom of sexual energy. In contrast the movements of the women seemed weary and slow, almost slumberous…Dee spread her legs, exposed her small wet sex, and said, ‘This is just for you…’

George did not require a second invitation. As Gabriella and Mattie climbed from the bed, he mounted Dee. Oblivious to all else, he thrust into her with an almost primordial force. Seconds later, he moaned loudly. Nirvana quickly, unexpectedly , finally achieved.

I helped Mattie gather up her clothes and escorted her to the bathroom across the landing. ‘I’ve put out fresh towels for you,’ I said, gesturing vaguely at the rail. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

Blushing slightly, she nodded. ‘Yes, very much so.’

‘I’ll leave you to shower. We’re downstairs when you’re finished. I’ll sling some food together, you’re probably hungry. And if you’re not, I know Gabby is…’

George, disappointed by his sudden climax, the culmination of two hours waiting with a painful hard-on in anticipation of the fleshy treats in store upstairs, rolled onto his back. Dee kneeled astride him. ‘You don’t get off that easily,’ she said gently. ‘Oh, no. You’ve got a job to do, mister, and I’ll see you do it, come what may…’

‘A job?’

‘You’re going to make me cum six times before you get to leave this room. That’s how many times Mattie came for us. You’re going to match it…’

Downstairs in the breakfast room Gabriella sat at table in a white robe with a towel wrapped round her hair, which was still wet from the shower. Opposite her, Mattie, now fully dressed, fresh makeup applied, forked small chucks of roasted aubergine and red pepper into her mouth.

‘George is still with Dee?’ she asked.

‘He will be for awhile,’ Gabby said. ‘Dee puts her heart and soul into these things. It’s what I most love about her.’

I smiled. Poor George. Dee would use him as her living sex toy. She had let him shoot his first load, certainly, but now he’d be closely controlled. She would keep “edging” him, taking him as close to climax as possible, then stopping all movement. “Restricting” him, until he “relaxed”, then her “demands” on his aching cock would be renewed with fresh vigour.

‘You can go up and watch, if you want?’ Gabby said. ‘Dee won’t care.’

‘No, I’m alright, thank you…’

Dee had an unending repertoire of sexual tricks. She might, for example, allow George to just touch the finish line…but then brutally ruin his orgasm. A milky dribble without pleasure. And Dee, smiling, would say: ‘Whoops. Don’t worry. Just a hiccup. Look. It’s still stiff and wonderfully usable.’ He wouldn’t be allowed a break, of course, not even to go for a pee. Poor George.

‘Dee is good with electrics,’ Gabriella said. We were now in the sitting room with a bottle of wine between us. ‘She’s got this wonderful ability when it comes to diagnosing faulty electrical appliances. Hasn’t she, Peedeel?’

‘Indeed she has.’ Almost equaling her ability to torment (probably) a now red-raw cock. I glanced at my wristwatch: quarter past seven. George had been “at it” for two-an-a-half hours with voracious Dee. Probably feeling quite exhausted by now, no doubt. And experiencing a desperate need to pee…

‘More wine?’ Gabby asked.

Finally, a little after eight o’clock, George, fresh from the shower, edged his way carefully down the stairs. He moved like a man who has suffered a serious blow to the balls. His face was peculiarly lacking in colour, sallow, but dark beneath the eyes which now appeared rather bulbous to me. A haunted face, I thought.

He had a neat “stiff gin” but nothing to eat, wasn’t hungry. He nodded to his wife and to Gabby, gulped at his gin.

‘You were a long time,’ Mattie said. ‘Piggy at the trough, eh?’

Dee made her appearance in a flowing flowery kaftan of black silk, her damp hair piled high, looking gorgeous and certainly good enough to eat…George had probably experienced Dee’s “culinary delights” to ample sufficiency by the strained look on his face.

‘Have you paid the electric bill yet?’ she said to me.

‘Taken care of.’

‘We must do this again Mattie.’ She sat on the arm of Mattie’s armchair, kissed her chastely on the cheek. ‘It was an eye-opener for me.’ Her smile was more a grin, like the Cheshire cat from Alice. ‘A real blast…’

‘Oh, yes, we must…’

George’s face dropped. It was as if he’d received an unexpected slap to the face. Or another roughish blow to already swollen testicles.

And for no discernible reason I thought of the Chambers’ house in the next village, a modern, stone-built affair that had originally belonged to a German woman who raised parrots. When they first moved in, apparently, there’d been perches everywhere in the downstairs rooms. George had ripped them out along with most of the guts of the house to create a whitewashed minimalist’s dream. That was George, really: Minimalist Extraordinaire!

‘I think we’d better get going,’ George said. ‘Leave you good people in peace.’

‘It’d be really nice to have you again,’ Gabriella said, rising from her seat.

‘Yes,’ agreed Dee.

Gabby kissed Mattie on the lips then smiled at George. ‘See you soon,’ she said.

I shook George by the hand.

‘Nirvana,’ I said quietly. ‘Is never achieved without cost…’

I watched as he hurried towards his car. Mattie, walking slowly behind him and occasionally turning to wave at us on the porch, called out: ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

‘Oh, yes, please do…’


December 14, 2015


He finishes and he slides down my body, plopping down on the bed. I curl up next to him and get into position: right hand between my legs, left arm draped over his chest. I have my face turned up toward him and he, in the breathy aftermath of his own orgasm, begins to talk. “So, I’m in a park.”

As he spins a sexy nighttime story, I begin to touch myself. The tales differ slightly in location, but the characters always remain the same. And I’m not one of them.

“I prefer a true story,” I told him when we started to do this on the regular.“Tell me about a sexual encounter from your past.”

“Really?”he asked. “You like that?”

“I do,” I responded.

“You want to hear about me and some other woman?”

“Yes,” I answer. “That’s what I want.”

I’ve been masturbating for as long as I can remember. During my childhood, it was completely nonsexual and simply something I did most nights before I fell asleep. I had a formula to my “feeling good,” which involved lying on my stomach, wrapping my blanket around my hand, and bringing the bundle between my legs. I’d rock back and forth with my blanket-wrapped hand between my legs until a warm, cozy feeling erupted from my gut and spread over my entire body. I’d continue to lie there on my stomach, enjoying the fuzzies; after a moment, I’d roll over, extract my hand, and fall into a deep sleep.

Today, my masturbating method is almost exactly the same as it was when I was five or six. I lie down on my stomach with my hand between my legs (the blanket has long since retired, but once in a while a crumpled bed sheet proves to be an excellent, familiar partner-in-crime) and move my pelvis back and forth across my palm. There is, however, one crucial addition to the formula: I envision a sexy couple as I work myself. The woman has a killer body with gorgeous breasts and the man usually has a salt-and-pepper hairstyle with a firm stomach. Sometimes, it’s their relationship to each other that turns me on. He’s the dean of affairs, she’s a top graduate student and they have sex in his office. She’s a senator, he’s a journalist interviewing her and they get it on in a beautiful hotel room. They’re two ex-lovers reunited in Milan on a business trip. Or, I recall in glorious detail the first love scene between Ralph Fiennes and Julianne Moore in The End of the Affair. My mother owned the movie on VHS and I’d watch the juicy parts in reserved, amazed silence some afternoons before she got home from work. This is all to say that during my masturbation sessions, I rarely imagine myself as a participant. Rather, I much prefer to watch two other humans do it on a desk, in a car, against the wall. Not in a porn, but in my mind with my eyes squeezed shut. Porn’s OK, don’t get me wrong; I do enjoy it once in a while. But truthfully, all I need is my own brain. I love masturbating. It’s quick, it feels amazing, I know just what I like, and I always, always come. And come hard.

When I’m in bed with a man, the process is similar: I masturbate and he provides the images for me. I’ve only been brave enough to try this with my past two partners, both of whom have been a little confused, but game. Prior to sleeping with these two men, my sexual encounters were chock full of “faking it” – and one can blame that on my incessant need to tie up every situation in a pretty little bow. Ending sex with a whispery, “Yeah, hold on, you can stop. I’m just not going to come,” seemed pathetic. “Wow, yes, yes, that’s it, oh my God, oh my God, yes!” conveyed something like This was great, I’m so glad we did this, and I’d be down to do it again! The guys were none the wiser and I felt content with the faking until I realized that, actually, maybe, it might not be so weird to ask a guy to simply tell me a story. It couldn’t be that much different than asking him to talk dirty to me (whatever that means – in my experience, asking a guy to talk dirty is just releasing his usage of the C-word thirty times in one twenty-minute sex session). After inquiring, “Really? You like that?” my current boyfriend has told me about the woman he fucked in a bar bathroom, another he met on an Amtrak, some threesome he had, plus a fictional fantasy about a particularly hot coworker. I’ve climaxed powerfully at every single drawn-out account. Sometimes, he plays with my breasts, which feels great and helps me get there. Other times, he tries to join me down below and I have to find a sneaky, sexy way to move his hand so I can continue the work on my own. I certainly love his fingers inside me when we start to fool around; but when it comes to having an orgasm, I need to do it myself.

To be clear: I’ve never had an orgasm during sex. Not even during oral sex, to which friends have exclaimed, “Seriously?” I’ve tried anal sex, which felt awesome, but still no dice. I’ve read plenty of women’s magazine articles that suggest touching myself to understand how I come, but I totally understand how I come and it has to be by my own hand. It’s a little disappointing; I wish my partner were more integral to the process. But he gets me off by telling me all about his naughty past with other women. And you know what, it’s just what I enjoy. He is integral, in his own way.

“What do you like about that?” he asked me once. “It’s the most…I don’t know…” he trails off. “It’s the most specific way to come. Why do you want to hear about other women? Why not yourself?”

I can’t answer. Is it because I don’t like to watch my own body? Is it because I don’t like to be in my own body? If I thought myself more attractive, would I orgasm without needing to imagine people with tighter abs, tinier waists, and higher tits? Is this another way that I don’t “live in the moment”? Do I have to literally extract myself from the current moment in order to come? Or, is this my body physicalizing my need to do everything myself? Why can’t I come when he’s the one touching me? If I love this man and love having sex with this man, shouldn’t I be able to let go in front of him? Shouldn’t I be able to release myself over to him?

“It’s just what I like,” I say, and drape my arm over his chest. “Now, tell me the one about the girl from that cafe.”

Source: How to Make Me Come


November 6, 2015

should she swallow

A strain
A press
A groan
A desperate kiss
A grope in dim light
A men’s restroom
Two hands resting
Two hands restless
Searching and found
A mountain, a tent
Straining against clothes
Navy blue cargo shorts
Free yourself
Lose yourself
In a swirling of a tongue
A head tipping down a throat
A length all taken in and out
Then slipping and sliding
Then comes white spurts
A sweet release
A white noise

Clarice Alvarez

Which came first…

September 18, 2015