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Family Planning

♦ My sister will be visiting me tomorrow and staying for about a week or so. I’m telling you this for two reasons: A) to let you know that the blog may well be on hiatus for the next week or so as I’ll be too busy having fun and B) I fancy having a bit of a ramble about it.

I’ve been tidying my room ready for her to stay in it (since I sleep with Crush in his room) and that got me thinking about my attitude to my family regarding this blog and sex in general.

Now, my family (by which I mean my dad and my sister) don’t know about my blog (heck, neither do my friends). They don’t know I review sex toys (one friend, my housemate Alt, knows that) and they don’t even know I use them (some of my friends tell legendary tales of parties involving items from The Drawer, even if it is actually now two drawers plus lingerie). They don’t know I’m kinky and they don’t know I’m bi. Or rather, I haven’t told them.

They basically know nothing about my sex life except who I’m dating, who I have dated and that we sleep in the same bed. Except my sister, who knows about the whole Fractal break-up thing and therefore knows I was in an open relationship then.  She knows it’s how Crush and I started, she had to, to help me through the whole messy business. She was shocked, a bit, but took it in her stride, bless her.

And that’s all.

I moved house just recently and my dad came to help with his car because he is an angel. But I made very sure to pack all of my sex toys and my few kinky porn mags into a massive hold-all (man, that thing really can hold all!) and put my sex books in a separate box and let him touch neither of those containers in any way. Just like the last time I moved, in fact.

He’s a bit of a fuddy-duddy, my dad, and we don’t talk about that kind of thing. I’m not an idiot, I’m aware my parents must’ve had sex, maybe even – gasp – for pleasure, but there’s no hint of that at all in his personality. You know how people tend to give off cues that they’re OK talking or even thinking about sex, that they’re open about that sort of thing? Nothing. So, I hide it all because I really can’t imagine him reacting in a “cool dad” way about it. I’d expect bemusement at best.

So, what am I going to do about my sister living in my room for a week or so? My sex books (visual and not) are happily in my bookshelf, my sex toys (whilst supposedly living in The Drawers) are strewn about my desk, my lubes are lined up on the chest of drawers, my handcuffs are fixed to the radiator (classic), my hitty things are stood in the corner and my blog is the very first link on my Opera speed dial if she uses my computer. It’s all right there.

I’m sure that last time she stayed with me, which was ages ago now, I hid it all very carefully, but this time, things have changed. She’s really matured over the years, she accepts my casual hints towards liking women without comment and she’s a strong advocate in her own right of equality in sex and gender. I think she might have even known what “cissexual” meant before I did. She’s an awesome girl and I’m actually certain, despite worrying when I was younger, that she’ll accept me no matter my sexuality or kinks or what have you. I’m not scared of exposing an “innocent young thing” like her any more because I’m proud of who I am and, frankly, treating her like a child would be insulting.

So I’ll tidy my room to make it nicer for her, I’ll put those stray dildos back in their drawers, but the books will stay where they are, the lubes will be lined up neatly because that’s where they live, the toys will be there if she looks for them and the blog will be on that speed dial if she’s curious enough to click it.

And I’m OK with that.

And if she does click the blog and does read this, I’m OK with that too. If you’re reading this, sister, hi! I hope you don’t mind. If you want to pretend you didn’t find this, that’s totally fine, it’s your choice and I understand. And if you want to talk about it, hell, I’d love that. It’d be awesome and I’m happy to explain whatever you’d like. Don’t be afraid to ask me anything. Always.

So, that’s my family planning, really. My sister’s earned a peek into the ‘adult’ side of me if she cares to look for it. I’m proud of her. My dad, weirdly enough, is now the one I care about corrupting or confusing. I doubt that’ll change, but that’s OK.

Anyway, I thought it was interesting to look at how I change aspects of my personality and sexuality to suit two different members of my family, to talk about how much of myself I’ll hide or show and why. And I hope you thought so too! What about you? What do you hide or show to your loved ones?

See you next week! ♦

Witticisms: Sexual Morality

♦ I came across this absolutely fantastic and apt quote about sex and our attitudes towards it by a Norwegian writer. Heck, you all know me enough by now to know I think this way, but it just sums it up so well and I really think it bears repeating. On sexual morality and why it is mostly bull… ♦

People speak of ‘sexual morality,’ but that is a misleading expression. There is no special morality for sex. No matter what you do with yourself, whether you go to bed with girls or with boys, and no matter what it occurs to you to do with them or with yourself, no moral rule applies to that sphere of activity other than the principles that govern every aspect of life: honesty, courage, common humanity, consideration. – Jens Bjørnboe

The Good, the Bad and the Downright Weird

♦ It’s been a long time since I wrote a post showing you some of the more unusual search terms that people are using when they find (and click on) my blog. Heck, the post I wrote about it last was years ago now. It’s fun and I should do this more often and, let’s be honest, this writing is taking up a lot of my spare time so I need something less taxing to post here that isn’t another blimmin’ picture. My writing deadline is Monday, however, so things should pick up a bit here then.

Anyway, without further ado, here are the good, bad and downright weird ways people have found me over the last month or so… ♦

Good

bacon dildo – This person has had truly the world’s greatest idea. To the fridge! Until then, Baconlube will just have to do.
a good spanking is given hard with the hand – Damn straight.
angel demon lesbians – Perhaps this sort of thing is why this is the most popular post OF ALL TIME on my blog.
women wearing fedoras naked – I’ll get behind that!
alabaster buttocks – Teehee
fat bottomed submissive – Hi. Nice to meet you.
gorgeous tomboy fuck – I’ll be in my bunk.
so many tits – THE GOGGLES, THEY DO NOTHING!
victoria coren – Rrowr! Perhaps naked in a fedora with bacon?
dice in vagina – They never actually made it quite that far.

Bad

jelly dong sex pics – Fuck no. About the worst thing you can do to me is show me incredibly hot porn that happens to use a disgusting jelly toy. So right with so much wrongness!
wonderfull erotic child sex – Eww. Go straight to the police, do not pass Go.
sex badly – How dare you!
rohypnol – Consent is sexy, people
runny pussy – Ick!
the durex slipped off his huge black cock just as he came inside me – That is not a good thing.

Downright Weird

stimulus package – I do not think my blog was what you were after here.
barbie with genuine tits – I don’t… even.
anally inserted tumblr – Question: Does a website have a flared base?
honest cocks – None of your deceitful dicks here.
fetish, being thrown into ocean – Really? Huh. That is a new one!
tease him with your vagina scent – Do eeet!
bdsm in discworld – I am intrigued where you were going with this.
is patchouli pussy – Probably not.
slipping my cock into a warm jar of honey – Better idea: slipping a warm jar of honey into my face.
accessorize for cruel self bondage – Perhaps a shawl or bracelet of some kind. With spikes maybe.
my newly waxed penis – WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?

Progress

♦ The both of us naked, I found my face pressed into his stomach and my arse being caressed by his rough palms. I had already slowly stripped him of his clothes and stroked his soft thighs. He had already grinned and laid back as I ran my fingers over his oh-so-silky cock. Now I planted kisses on his belly and flank as he turned caressing and light strokes into firm pats that threatened solid swats.

The spanking began in earnest, though our positions stopped too much force, and he made sure to stroke my behind lovingly between each blow. I liked that. It ramped up the anticipation and kept it intimate and somehow more filthy. More calculated, perhaps.

He snuck his free hand around to my clitoris and teased at me lightly, again hampered by the angle. Seeing a better strategy, he told me I should rub myself instead and keep rubbing until he said otherwise. I love to be made to touch myself beyond what I’d normally inflict on myself. I love the threat of punishment if I let up even for one moment, no matter my wishes.

So I started to rub. I plucked my clitoris into pleasure as he started to put his usual force into his spanks, hitting me hard but still giving me a comforting stroke in between each. My masturbating became more frantic with my rising excitement and so did his stroking of my bare behind; he now squeezed and grabbed a little as he stroked, almost possessive in his actions.

I was close to coming and begged out loud for release.

“May I come please, sir?” I said, adding the “sir” out of my own desire to be subordinate.

He leant into my ear and whispered a hasty “yes” to me, allowing me to relax into my climax, making me shudder with pleasure and release of not only tension, but built-up emotion too.

Of course, when I was done, it’s not like I could just stop touching myself. I had orders, a fact he seemed to enjoy reminding me of.

“That’s right, keep touching yourself,” he hissed as the spanking continued. I allowed the tender, heightened feeling of my sex to carry me along and soon I hit another orgasm, making me gasp and moan. The shock dying down, I asked if I could stop and he relented at last.

My recovery didn’t and couldn’t last long: he pulled at my legs, flipping me over onto my back. I was balanced awkwardly on a lump of duvet, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him inside me.

He pushed his cockhead against me, but my wet cunt offered little resistance and he soon sank in deep. I had wanted this this evening, but thought my earlier outburst of emotions had ruined my chances, so I was so, so glad to be getting what I wanted anyway.

He was, as usual, a little too big for comfort, which I absolutely love. I asked him for it slow but hard and deep, so that I could feel every delicious flash of feeling, every gorgeous millimetre of his cock opening me up, driving to my depths.

He thrust slowly into me, but getting that little bit faster with each stroke. I writhed and wriggled on his cock, feeling his chest with my hands whenever I wasn’t steadying myself. I came again, pushed into climax by the pounding of his cock just as he came inside me. I love doing that.

I pulled him close to me, buoyed up by my orgasm and our physicality but also by the emotions of this intimate act with him. So easy to forget that not long ago he was new to sex entirely, new to kink entirely, new to me entirely. When I see how far he’s come for me, I can forgive that we have a way to go and I see how much he loves me. If there was no other reason to love him, that’d be a pretty good start.

Luckily for me, I have plenty already. ♦

The First Time Again

♦ Our ‘new’ mattress is a little harder and the room a little lighter. There are long-forgotten trinkets still strewn on the floor and half-filled drawers waiting for clothes and clutter. An unfamiliar ceiling. A single floorboard that creaks.

But he, at least, is familiar.

Days of drudgery and Domestos have sunk tiredness deep into our bones and our brains are fuzzy from weariness and fumes. We have relied on each other to put in the elbow grease and take care of tasks, but we haven’t yet sunk into each others bare arms in this house other than to flop into fitful sleep.

His hair is tousled and his body, as always, is full of soft curves and hard edges: a smooth belly, jutting hips, long limbs and the barest hint of plush, dark hair. He crawls into bed from the edge and peppers my naked breast with kisses. I ache for affection not snuck between hefting boxes or scrubbing surfaces. I long for the feel of him, the leisure of his body and the pleasure of his cock.

I press into his kisses and plant my own on his shoulder and neck, undulating under his mouth. I slip my hands from his torso as he starts to nibble at my nipple and I move one to his cock and one to my clit.

He lies down next to me, still with good access to my body and lets me stroke us both. His foot is planted steadily against the wall and I hook my leg over his lightly, giving myself better access to the sensations knotting around my clitoris.

I struggle to keep us both at our preferred rhythms – him slower and me faster – as he takes a nipple in each hand and presses and rolls them between his fingertips.

Our little moans and sighs of content mingle in the high-ceilinged room and I edge towards orgasm. After a little rearrangement of my pillows, I am there, gasping and groaning as I shatter the tension built up in my body and shudder into my climax.

I am still masturbating him slowly but now I turn to him and tell him I want him to fuck me. I want him inside me. I want to melt back into desire with him. I want to make it clear that the worst of the life-fuss is over and I can start to relax, that we can reclaim our lust together from the clutches of responsibility.

He pulls himself around so he kneels between my legs and pushes his cockhead against my wettened slit. I so want this. I gasp as he enters me, my cunt still tender and tuned-up from my orgasm. I ask him to keep his angle low so I can really enjoy the full size of him as he strokes the top of my pussy and thrusts me into happiness.

I love the feel of cock on cunt. I writhe in pleasure as I stroke myself leisurely, watching his gorgeous face change with his efforts. Soon he is coming inside me, groaning in the release of too much built-up tension. It has been far too long for both of us.

I pull him down on top of me and feel the last twitches of his cock inside me. The house is ours now and he is mine, but, perhaps more importantly, I belong to myself again, not to life’s little irks. There’s nothing like having a first time all over again.

The Perils of Packing

♦ Last week I went to the pub wearing my packing cock. I don’t have any packing pants at the moment, though the fantastic RodeoH are working on that (so excited!), so I settled for tucking my Mr Limpy into a pair of boypants.

I added jeans, a shirt and a tie, but I kept the bra and boobs, because cock or not, I like my boobs. And off I went. Here’s a snap of me getting dressed.

It was fantastic. I’m not sure if my friends noticed, but I don’t much care either way. I felt sexy, confident and slightly turned on. I’m not going to do it all the time, but I do like it.

There is one slight problem with packing in pants that don’t have a pouch, though. Going to the toilet. Down come the pants and, if you don’t have a plan, out will fall the packer. Luckily, I had an idea. Pub toilets may have rohypnol in mind rather than the perils of packing, but beggars can’t be choosers! ♦

Toy with me Tuesday

Bindelphobic Bisexual

♦ Julie Bindel is a bitch. There, I’ve said it. The ad hominem that sheer anger wants to force on the page is out there, we can get it out of the way.

It’s tongue-in-cheek, sure, but I do have a point there, which is: I don’t think I have ever seen Julie Bindel (writer for the Guardian among others) write a single thing I don’t find wrong-headed and absolutely hateful. So it shouldn’t surprise me that she recently wrote something that made me apo-fucking-pleptic and I probably shouldn’t dignify it with a response.

But I’m going to. Because when someone with an impressive platform spews abhorrent bollocks, people need to shout “NO!” in reply, just to be seen. The last thing I want is for some poor bisexual to stumble on that ‘article’ and actually believe a word it says.

It is beyond biphobic and beyond ridiculous. She starts her HuffPost piece with a question “What makes some of us uncomfortable with bisexual women?” I was discussing this on Twitter not that long ago and find it really hard to conclude that it’s anything other than biphobia or narrow-mindedness and Bindel hardly helps here.

In today’s post-modern, queer-focused world, bisexuality is being promoted to lesbians as the latest fashionable trend. This has resulted in lesbian politics, namely feminism, being passed over for sexual hedonism, where the only thing that matters is sexual pleasure and desire. Similarly, bisexuality is sold to heterosexual women as some type of recreational activity far from their “natural home” of straight sex. It is seen as “temporary lesbianism.”

Oh, there is so MUCH wrong with this. Firstly, I’m not entirely certain how she thinks the world is “queer-focused” or what that even means. I can’t understand how a world where queer people have it so hard and where probably the majority of people don’t even understand the word can be called “queer-focused”.

Secondly, the “passed over for sexual hedonism, where the only thing that matters is sexual pleasure and desire” bit can go right to hell. Bisexuality, she implies, has meant we all care purely about fucking instead of feminism or politics. (Heck, I even feel like her wording suggests that lesbian politics = feminism and vice versa, but I could be wrong) Oh, of course, because being bisexual is just about being greedy and wanting lots of sex and that’s it. I’m bisexual because I only care about sexual pleasure. You’ll probably find that’s why I don’t really love Crush and am just using him for sex. Bollocks.

The idea that bisexuals are just greedy or are shallow (she likens a bisexual fling to getting a new handbag later) is so old and so untrue. I’m sure you all know this, but just because you like more than one gender, doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck more people. And even if it did mean you were going to fuck more people, that wouldn’t mean you only cared about selfish pleasure and nowt else. This is basic stuff, Bindel.

Thirdly, there is absolutely no way, whether bisexuality is sold or promoted to women or not, that it’s seen as “temporary lesbianism”, that’s just insulting to both bisexuals (the idea that you’re “just experimenting” or are indecisive) and lesbians (the idea that that’s all it takes to be a lesbian). Her twisted notions of  the most basic concepts don’t get any better:

Whatever our views and politics about lesbianism may be, we cannot deny that women face compulsory heterosexuality from birth. Despite huge progress since I came out in 1977, it is still not really acceptable to reject men and choose not to live under their guardianship, whether you are in Saudi Arabia or the U.K.

Er, yes we can deny it. Do you know what compulsory actually means? It means required by law or driven by force. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never EVER been forced straight in my life in this country and if non-het sex is illegal, I might be in trouble. It is legal and totally acceptable to “reject men” (what this has to do with bisexuals, I don’t know) and definitely fine to not “live under their guardianship”. I mean, I do that now. I live with men, sure, but I’m not “under their guardianship”. I’m a young professional who sorts herself out, like most of the women I know.

The weirdest part of her article comes when she tries to tell us that it’s not just lesbians or even straight women who mistrust bisexuals, it’s also bisexuals. Yes.

One U.S. study of bisexuality, which draws on interviews with 400 self-identified lesbians and bisexual women, found that a substantial number of bisexuals prefer to hang out with lesbians instead of other bisexual women in social situations, and have greater political trust in lesbians than they do in other bisexual women. It was also found that “[s]ome bisexual women actually doubt whether bisexual women exist at all.

Not only do bisexuals not trust bisexuals, they apparently don’t believe in them either. What. I mean, does that even make any fucking sense? Genuinely, can anyone actually explain this to me?

Not that it matters. Only “some” of the 400 women studied didn’t believe in bisexuals.  There’s already a lovely group on Facebook which shows that far more than 400 women who are called Sarah believe in bisexuals, a la Project Steve. Sorted. Turns out, we do exist. But although that’s the most bizarre part of her diatribe, it’s not the most out and out offensive. I’m not sure what is, but she really gets into gear in the last half and the winning sentence has to be from among the ones below.

I personally feel that straight women are missing out on the best sex on the planet, but that is their choice.

Ms Bindel, you do realise that this is the same sort of thinking applied by arsehole men who claim that all a lesbian needs is “a good dicking” to turn them straight because “they don’t know what they’re missing out on”, right? They’re NOT missing out BECAUSE THEY DON’T LIKE VAGINA! The idea that there can even be such a thing as “the best sex” is ludicrous. This is why I get equally pissed off at the few sanctimonious idiots into BDSM who feel vanilla sex is just inferior and look, aren’t we the best because we have the best sex, definitively. All that matters is the sex that’s right for you and much as most lesbians won’t enjoy cock, most straight women won’t like doing it gaywise.

For bisexual women living under the tyranny of sexism, choosing to be lesbian is a liberatory act. […] I believed then, and I believe now, that if bisexual women had an ounce of sexual politics, they would stop sleeping with men.

How on Earth will be restricting my sexuality down to only loving women (and given Bindel’s views on transgender, only cis-women) be liberating? How will caging my sexuality, my desire, my heart, set me free? I am attracted to men, I am attracted to women, I am attracted to people who don’t fit either of those categories. I am attracted, pretty much, to people. Just not all of them. Why should I change that? I love my Crush and he loves me. He makes me happy and supports me and I enjoy being with him. Should I give him up just because he has a cock? Doesn’t the very idea that I should judge and ditch my partner based purely on the fact that he has a penis go against the very ideals of the equality that feminism should be promoting? The idea that our bodies define and limit us?

As a comment on this counter-argument says, “I’m sorry, but if Julie had an ounce of sexual politics, she’d understand that sexual politics is about the revolutionary idea of sleeping with & loving the people you WANT to sleep with & love instead of the people outside forces tell you that you SHOULD sleep with/love.” And that’s basically it, really. Sexual politics is about no-one being in my bedroom except those I let in. Not the government, not religion, not my peers or parents or the public and not Julie Bindel either. The idea that I couldn’t possibly know or care about sexuality and sexual politics because of who I am and who I fuck is so very oppressive and shallow. After all, “What do you know? You’re a bisexual” is on the same level as “What do you know? You’re a woman.”

Bindel’s article is muddled and destructive, like a Pokemon attacking itself in its confusion. She as much as states that bisexual women are greedily hedonistic, shallow and fickle without any sense of sexual politics whilst at the same time implying that they may not even exist. She promotes lesbianism as the ONLY way to be a true feminist, to be a thinking woman, to be independent and free and also as the only way to get THE sex. You know, the only kind worth having.

Bisexuals and others alike, take note, this is trash of the highest degree. Your sexuality does not define you. There is no “right way” to fuck or to love. Bisexuals are people too. An it harm none, do what ye will.  ♦

White and Nerdy

♦ You might wonder where I’m going with this, but bear with me. A week or two ago, geek deity George Takei (who you should all love) hosted a photo competition on Facebook to search for his nerdiest Facebook fans. This is the photo that won the Biggest Male Nerd. It was submitted by one of the kids in the photograph, now grown up, who gave it the caption of “Future 40-year-old virgins”.

It is at this point that my imaginary clipboard appears and I start making furious notes, as those who know me well slowly back their chairs away. Because, frankly, what is up with that?

And it’s not just one guy being a bit self-deprecating either. This is a thing. The comments below were similarly full of “Set phasers to virgin!” and “The virginity is strong with this group.” (Wrong series, guy). It’s not just Star Trek nerds either. We posted up some photos online from the gaming event we ran recently and the first comment on a picture of a room full of geeks was “So many virgins”. TV Tropes even has a trope called Nerds are Virgins (don’t click unless you want to spend all day on a trope loop) and when TV Tropes says it, you know it’s true.

The joke that being sufficiently geeky will render you an unwilling virgin has become such an Approved Comedy Standard Joke that you’ll even find it parroted, as in Takei’s competition, by geeks themselves.

Enough is enough when it comes to the constant reinforcing of the idea that geek men (because it almost always is the men, women occasionally get a pass under the umbrella of “thinking man’s bit of crumpet”) will never have sex and never be sexy. Not just because it pisses me off or because it’s not true, but because it’s pretty nasty for men and women, geek and non-geek when you think about it.

So, male geeks are gonna be virgins because their playing Dungeons and Dragons or solving maths problems, for example, is somehow unattractive to women (I’m putting aside guys who like guys and girls who like girls for this to keep it simple, sorry). Not just “not actively attractive”, it’s repellent. Women, society seems to be saying, don’t like these things.  And we pretty much just do this with geeky things, as far as I can tell. When was the last time someone looked at a cricket match (not even an overly ‘manly’ sport) and said “Pfft, look at those virgins”? When did anyone ever make a comment of  “Look at that guy, he likes sports, he’ll never get laid.” and everyone just sort of accept as a Standard Joke?

On the geek side, it’s offensive to male geeks because we label them as sexless, frigid, awkward, desperate and even creepy. And, sure, while there are gonna be male geeks out there that are some or all of those things, that’s just not the case as a whole. I run a gaming society and the sheer amount of members who have slept with each other is ridiculous. Heck, that’s how I know Fractal and Crush.

What about female geeks? Great news, it’s offensive to us because what “guy geeks are virgins” is saying is that female geeks don’t exist. Think about it, saying that women don’t find watching anime or playing wargames attractive is saying that there aren’t any women out there who value these things and therefore essentially that there can’t be any women that actually do them. Hooray, I don’t exist!

Even if you’re a non-geek, it’s not looking good. Society sees geeks as intelligent and society says that male geeks don’t get sex, which basically evens out to mean that society says women don’t appreciate intelligence, or at least a certain type of intelligence. Savvy business men? Sure. Chess champions? Hell no. Worse than that, to me at least, suggesting that women don’t appreciate intelligence suggests that women aren’t intelligent. Am I going too far with this?

And for men as a whole, geekiness aside? Well, you’re only attractive if you do certain things and like certain things. Good luck. But hey, don’t fret, it’s OK. As this video shows, sometimes geeks are “in” and therefore it’s acceptable to find them hot and the world goes “Ooh, yes, geeks, they’re in, they’re attractive, didn’t you know?”. Because also women only like fashionable things.

I’m not saying we can’t ever make derogatory or offensive jokes about people, I love jokes in poor taste, but we can’t just keep lazily falling back on the “geek = virgin” stereotype. It’s so common, it’s boring. Sure, be funny, but don’t just phone in with “Haha, virgin” every time you see a lightsaber. That’s not a joke, that’s just being a dick. Labelling geeks as sexless losers means that we’re degrading male geeks, denying there are female geeks at all and possibly even implying that women are fickle and made of stupid. It needs to stop. Now.

And actually lots of us have plenty of sex. So there. Kthxbai. ♦