I spent several years listening to Dan Savage give the sage advice to callers that sometimes, they just have to pay a price of admission – AKA, not getting everything they want in a relationship – in order to maintain it. Every time I heard him say this, I always thought, “Phew! Glad it’s not me calling in – what a conundrum!” I was never much for compromise. If a partner wanted me to make a serious compromise to my needs and desires, I’d just let them go in search of more compatible partners.
Partners. After resisting the label of polyamory for a couple of years – I always insisted that I was barely amorous, so I couldn’t be polyamorous – I fell recklessly in love and realized that not only do I have the capability to love deeply, but that allowing myself the authenticity to explore the possibilities of multiple relationships at once makes me really happy. I moved from calling myself non-monogamous to calling myself polyamorous, and it felt right. It still feels right.
My people are perverts and hippies; I surround myself with sex nerds and intentionally choose to date other poly people – or at least, I used to.
The Engineer was supposed to be a one-night stand. I didn’t expect him to ask me to spend a second night with him – let alone the whole day. I didn’t expect him to uproot his travel plans to follow me into another country. I didn’t expect him to uproot them yet again to meet me for two weeks at the end of my trip last year – and I certainly didn’t think on that night we met in Rwanda a year and a half ago that someday down the road, I’d want to move to another country and start my life over again to be with him. But I do. His emotional intelligence, his honesty, his generosity, his loving nature, and his willingness to adventure with me blow me away. Just when I think he can’t be a more amazing partner, he shows up at my door wearing a tux a week before he’s supposed to get here. Just when I think I can’t possibly feel any more deeply cared for, he learns how to play our song on the piano and makes a video of it for my birthday. True story!
He prioritizes me and makes me feel valued in a way I’ve always done for other partners. He means what he says, keeps his word, and intentionally makes time for me. My relationship with him is one which is worth compromising for.
I knew The Engineer was monogamous when we first met – but because I didn’t think it was going to be more than a travel fling, I didn’t think of that as a deal-breaker. Even during our first full week together when we were telling people at our guesthouse that we were on our honeymoon, I just brushed it off. Now, on our way to two years in, it feels like a big deal. As we’re long distance, we’ve come to an uneasy negotiation about being monogamish. And when I say “we,” I mean me. I’m okay with him sleeping with other women. He’s pretty uncomfortable with the idea of me hooking up.
So I haven’t. Still – I need to know that it’s not an instant deal-breaker if I meet someone at a bar and want to bang them or develop a crush on someone. I need to be able to tell my partner when I experience those things without worrying that it’s going to destroy our relationship. In my early twenties, I cheated on / broke up with a few partners because I developed feelings for other people while in the relationship, and I didn’t think I had any choice other than cheating or breaking up.
I know better now. Here’s the weird part, though: I’d started thinking that because of my past experiences, a monogamous relationship would never work for me. I thought that this would be harder, but the fact that both of us have been honest about what we want from the get-go and that we check in about it frequently makes it feel good. The fact that I’m choosing to be with a monogamous partner who knows I’d prefer not to be feels better than trying to be monogamous because it’s what I think is expected of me. And maybe I’m actually ambiamorous, much like I’m bisexual: Floating somewhere in the middle, enjoying all the things.
Since I’ve met The Engineer, I’ve had a couple of sexy hankerings and even a genuine crush, but no feelings that I’ve really wanted to pursue. I haven’t experienced any of the FOMO that I thought I might. Then again – perhaps I’m being naïve and all of this will change when / if I do meet someone else I develop a romantic attachment to. Or when / if he does. Only time will tell, I guess – but the same can be said for default mono relationships. The important thing is that we keep talking and acknowledging that while we may not be the most perfectly compatible partners, there are things that both of us are willing to compromise on to make this work – because holy shit, is it worth it.
We’re planning on visiting a sex club together in January and talking about exploring threesomes (yea!!!) – but for right now, in this moment, I’m quite happy snuggling up at night and whispering “I love you, my nest” into the phone, looking forward to the next time that I get to feel his arms wrapped tight around me. And then fantasizing about riding him while another woman sits on his face.
This is a re-post of Molly’s Top 100 Sex Blogs List of 2018, sponsored by Chaturbate. Molly is absolutely indefatigable in her efforts to bolster the sex blogging community in a time of pushback and suppression from government and social media. She is a goddess among us, and her hard work on this is proof!
To all the amazing sex bloggers who tear open their hearts, spill their guts, and allow us to pick their brains – thank you. Please, please, PLEASE check out the New Voices page as well; I’m especially enthralled with My Controlled Ascent, Jayne Renault, and Knkstriped.
Rebel has been in the top 10 of this list for that last few years as her blog is always of a consistently high standard however over the last year her writing has taken on a new depth and vulnerability as she has tackled a number of difficult subjects relating to her life including grief, depression and the loss of her sex life due to her husbands illness. She has written about these subjects in such a raw and honest way never shying away from the difficult aspects and that is something I hugely admire about her. As well as this she continues to be a force for good within the community, running Wicked Wednesday and of course this year the amazing Smut Marathon. She absolutely deserves this number one spot for being a truly awesome sex blogger.
Follow her on Twitter: @Rebelsnotes
Floss has absolutely wowed me with her blog this year. It is well designed making it easy to navigate around and serving lots of juicy content. Her writing seems to have blossomed over the last 12 months and she has tackled some challenging kink related topics and also written a whole host of truly delicious erotic fiction. She is force to be reckoned this and I am excited to see what the future holds for her and her blog.
Follow her on Twitter: @_floss_84
This is Mrs Fever third year in top 10 of the list which reflects that fact that she continues to write to such a high standard exploring all sorts of topics through think pieces, fiction, pictures and prose. Her writing is exciting, intelligent and thoughtful and I am never not hooked when I read her words.
Follow her on Twitter: N/A
4. Girly Juice
Again another blog that featured in last years top 10. Kate continues to absolutely be at the top of her blogging game producing well written and diverse content.
Follow her on Twitter: @girly_juice
When I grow up I want to write erotic fiction like Ella Scandal however her blog is not just fiction but has a wonderful mixture of content that includes reviews, personal essays and fiction. Her writing is always excellent no matter the subject or genre but her fiction is some of the most exciting and diverse erotica around.
Follow her on Twitter:@ella_scandal
Amy was one of the two blogs to win the New Voices Awards last year and I had a sneaky feeling that she was going to take that strong start and turn it into something special and she has definitely done that. She writes on a wide variety of topics as well as penning some very sexy erotic fiction. I really think she is one to watch out for in the future.
Follow her on Twitter: @CoffeeAndKink
Last year I had a feeling that Aurora was one of the blogs on the list to watch out for and it seems I was right. Despite having a challenging time in her life she has continued to produce excellent content on her blog including reviews, images and powerful personal essays as well continuing to explore fiction writing too.
Follow her on Twitter: @AuroraGloryBlog
8. Sex Matters
Another new name to the top ten this year is May More. Her blog design offers up lots of opportunity for you to discover content and when you do what you find is quality writing across a variety of subjects including some truly fabulous erotic fiction.
Follow her on Twitter: @more_matters
Kendra was in the No.9 spot last year and I am not surprised to see her here again. Her blog is a treasure trove of fascinating content in which she truly shares herself and her life, the good, the bad, the sexy and the not. Her honesty is inspirational in my opinion
Follow her on Twitter: @TBK365
10. Pandora Blake
Pandora/Blake’s blog truly reflects the diverse nature of the work that she does within the adult industry from making queer porn, sex work, sex educator work and her work for Backlash and the against censorship of adult content on the internet. You find all this and more this blog.
Follow them on Twitter:@pandorablake
100. YOU! The last spot is for the all the other awesome sex bloggers out there. It is just not possible to include everyone, I relied on the nominations to gather the list and I am sure there are people missing, but this place is for you because every single one of you counts and contributes towards this community.
I always thought the smell of smoke was disgusting until I met her. She was a smoker and bartender besides; it was etched into her skin like hieroglyphs, telling stories of several heavy nights of heartbreak and disappointment wherein she acted as therapist. I’d watch the smoke circle above her head some nights in swirls, afraid to break the spell by bisecting them with my non-smokers hand. Everyone smoked then. Except me.
I taught swim lessons down at the local Y. It didn’t matter how many times I showered after getting out of that warm pool; I’d forever smell like the chlorine dumped there night after night. I guess we both smelled of some kind of death. It drove her nuts. She’d wrinkle her nose when she nudged it into the back of my neck at night, asking me whether or not I ever used shampoo. I’d turn over, pin her down, and stare at her. “Don’t you ever use mouthwash?” I’d ask before pressing my lips to hers, desperate for the intermingled taste of ash and scotch.
I didn’t want her to change clothes when she came home. Smoke smelled like her smelled like sex. As soon as she walked in the door – even if I didn’t hear her come in – I could smell her. I needed to be in her. I’d yank her tank top over her head and down her scrawny arms, put it to my nose, and inhale before flinging it aside. I loved to bend her over on the bed, yank down her jeans with one hand, and put the other hand on the small of her back. I’d move it up her back until my thick fingers were nestled in her hair, at which point I’d grab a fistful and pull her head up so she could hear me loud and clear: “You’re mine,” I’d say.
“Then take me,” she’d always say. Sometimes, when I’d slide my cock into her mouth, she would tell me that it smelled like a kid pissed in the pool. She was funny – I loved that about her. I’d laugh and tell her that in that case, I guess she was licking piss. The way she ran her tongue up and down my shaft while sucking me made me crazy; I could never stay in her mouth long enough to come.
Instead, I’d grab her legs, wrap them around my waist, and tell her to hold on tight as I rolled over onto my back. As she was sliding down onto my dick, I always wanted her to come closer… to press my nose against her inundated skin and breathe her in.
A lot of our friends say they can’t stand the scent of smoke anymore. That as former smokers, it makes them gag. Not me. One whiff makes me hard as a rock. People don’t smoke much these days – but every once in a while I’ll step outside the bar at night and it will hit me: The drift of a Camel, those nights when you were mine long ago, and the divine scent of your cunt and addiction.
“We go fuck in a graveyard” he said, tossing the words out as casually as the playing cards. “If you lose.” He tightened the dollar between his fingers and breathed in another line. “I mean. There has to be some bet here, right? I’m almost naked. You’re going to win anyway. So how about you make this bet, right? I win, we fuck in a graveyard.”
She took a sip of wine. “You win meaning what?” she asked.
“If you end up being completely naked, we hop the fence into one of the cemeteries over here – I mean, there are enough of them, right?”
“On all sides,” she said, a smile lifting one corner of her mouth, her head tilted to the left. “Hand me the dollar.” She pinched it between her small fingers and moved it gracefully across a glossy book cover that served as a cutting board. She paused, looked at the board, and went for another line.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “One by one!”
“Fuck it,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Wh-what?” he stammered, confused.
“Let’s go. We’re young and stupid.” She stood up, put her shirt and pants back on, and went into her room to grab a condom and a blanket. “Well?” she asked impatiently, putting on her shoes.
He jolted up, hurriedly got dressed, and followed her down the stairs. Dawn was nigh, and as they walked briskly toward the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery to the west, the first suggestion of light appeared in the sky.
He helped her over the fence first – awkwardly, all fumbling limbs, before clambering over himself. His excitement built as they walked side by side through rows and rows of raised tombs – and then he stopped dead. “Wait,” he whispered, his voice gravelly and urgent.
“What?” she asked, looking back. He stretched his hand out toward her as if to hold her in place telekinetically. He floated toward her, sunk his grip into her arm, and pointed a long finger straight ahead.
It took some time and squinting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she finally saw it. Two people in front of a grave, chanting. The body of a chicken lay prostrate in front of them, making its final jerks. Both wore black against the night; they were so entranced by the ritual that they must not have heard the pair talking.
She took a few steps backward; he followed suit, and without remembering how they’d gotten there, they were back over the wall and at her apartment. “So, you wanna – you know, go inside and do it?” he said when they arrived.
What had just happened? She thought. She hadn’t wanted to fuck him in the first place – only to say she’d fucked someone in a graveyard. “Nah,” she said, her face lit up by the yolk of the sun. “I need to sleep it off, and so do you. See you at our next meeting.” She turned abruptly and bounded up the stairs, leaving him at the bottom to wander off into the sunrise.
There’s an infectious axiom that floats around daytime television, self-help books, and yes – blogs: No one else can love you until you love yourself.
During my darkest hours, I was loved. For every day I was most full of self-loathing and despair, there was a person in my life who loved me… and probably couldn’t see the corrosive feelings gnawing away at my insides. Just like I couldn’t see their love. Like there was an invisible wall between us.
Those people propelled me to start a ten-year journey of healing from a place of self-injury to a deep self-love… and I did it in a way that would make life coaches cringe hard.
Stage One: Build a fortress.
In my late twenties, I met some rebellious and raucous women who inspired me to say, “Fuck this.” I stopped looking for love and relished just having a good time; I casually dated and never let anyone get close to me for years. Using this defense mechanism of putting up walls allowed me to do two important things – learn who I was and what I wanted for me outside of relationships, and embrace casual sex. I’m very thankful for both.
Stage Two: Stop dating men.
I’d had so many excruciating experiences wherein I a) developed Real Feelings for a boy, b) told him, c) had sex with him to get him to like me back, and d) felt crushed when surprise! He didn’t. This is probably one of the reasons why I just stopped being that attracted to men. Dating women allowed me to express my feelings in a safe space (for the most part). They didn’t lie to or mislead me in order to get sex; in fact, if anything, I had to work on my communication skills in order to tell them exactly what I wanted up front and be really honest when I wasn’t looking for a monogamous relationship – before the sex. Not only did I have relationships (and phenomenal sex) with strong, adventurous, no-nonsense, compassionate, intelligent, and hilarious women – I was surrounded by them in my community. Dating women taught me that I have inherent value that is not directly tied to my cunt.
Step Three: Allow yourself to fall in love recklessly with someone you know will break your heart.
I started dating men again because I fell in love with a coworker who I knew was going to leave in a matter of months. When I realized a month in how intensely and romantically I loved this man compared to his palpably platonic love for me, I acknowledged it and dove in headfirst. I allowed myself to feel all of my feelings – the euphoric and the excruciating – and when I made it through the other side, I’d learned not only to survive, but to open my heart completely because I knew I could survive and recover from heartache.
[Step 3.5: Travel to a tropical locale. Feel the breeze, listen to the waves, self-evaluate, and drink rum. Have a lot of sweaty sex with someone who makes you laugh hard.]
Step Four: Recognize the value of other people’s love.
I never have to guess how The Engineer feels about me, and he never has to guess how I feel about him; we tell each other every single day earnestly and without prompting. His emotional intelligence and general smooshiness have made me reflect on my expression of love to friends and family and theirs to me – and I try mindfully not to take a single drop of that love for granted. When I was in my early twenties and was surrounded by people who loved me, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Or, rather, the tree – the tree being whomever I happened to be infatuated with at the moment.
Lots of people have loved me when I didn’t love myself – when, in fact, I felt empty, worthless, and unlovable. And their love, whether or not I felt it, allowed my fractures to be re-broken and eventually mend – if not perfectly, enough to make me feel whole in and of myself.