Don’t Move

“Don’t make a sound, and don’t move” said The Texan as he covered my mouth.  He had been fondling me; feeling my nipples stiffen underneath my tank top and hearing my breath start to beat staccato, he must have known that I was awake.  His hard cock pressed into my back, and I ground my ass back against it, making the smallest nodding motion with my head.  Spooned close to me, he slid his right hand down the back of my blue lace knickers and breathed heavily into my hair when he felt how gushingly wet I was.  He pushed my panties down with that hand and rubbed my juices around my vulva, then smeared the rest on his cock before sliding it through my thighs and along my labia, teasing me.  My body tensed; I longed to whimper, to beg, but all I could do was gyrate and dig my fingers into his leg, willing him to penetrate me.

My body quivering, I tightened my muscles and remained as still as I could on my side as he pushed the head of his cock past my opening, pulled it back out a bit to wet it, and drove back in, little by little, until I could feel the ridge of his foreskin riding along my anterior wall.  I pressed back against him and angled my arm back to hold onto his ass, and he thrust into me in subtle movements – enough for both of us to feel the electricity pass between us, but not enough to shake the bed with any discernible noise.  Certainly not with the gusto we were used to fucking with.  Afraid to roll forward onto his sleeping wife, I held my breath, bit my lip, gripped him with the intensity of a rock climber, and came silently in ripples of intense pleasure.  Not long after, he gushed into me, pulling my body tight against his, and bit my shoulder just the way I liked.  He pulled out, leaving a trail of his come along my ass, and pulled my panties up.  “I want you to sleep like this,” he whispered, and cupped my crotch with his hand.  His spunk squirted onto the inside of my knickers; it was so uncomfortable and SO arousing.

I lay there until I couldn’t stand the squishy feeling anymore; getting up to wipe myself, I disturbed his wife, who wanted us to move around so she could cuddle him.  He moved into the middle, and I took one side.  We were all still drunk from several bottles of wine, so falling back into a deep sleep was easy; I remained so for a few more hours, until I awoke to feel him masterfully stroking my thighs.  I turned over to kiss him and stroke his cock – long, deep kisses, long, slow strokes.  I desperately wanted him inside me again; I had never felt so insatiable.  I knew he was feeling the same when he put a finger to my lips.  This time, the expression in his eyes was all it took to tell me not to move, and I understood.  Without a word, I turned back over, and tracing a finger down my back, he yanked my panties down.  We started all over again.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

This had been sitting in my drafts waiting to be published for aaaaages; this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt “Continue” seemed like a good fit for it.  Also… it’s my 300th post!  Woohoo!

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Introducing…

The Engineer – my favorite snuggling partner and the person I want to fall asleep with every night and wake up with every morning.

Sinful Sunday

The Misogyny Inherent in Abstinence-Only Education

Sex education in the United States is a clusterfuck; this is news to no one.  Each state creates its own guidelines, meaning that students in different states receive wildly different variations on sex ed – if they receive any at all.  For example, only thirteen states require their sex ed programs to be medically accurate, and five states dictate that homosexuality must be framed negatively if discussed at all.

Last July, the Department of Health and Human Services told organizations which receive five-year grants through the Teen Pregnancy Prevention Program that their funding would be cut off this coming June – two years early.  Several of these organizations sued HHS in federal court in order to keep their grants, and many of them won their cases this spring.

While the FY 2018 budget bill maintained funding for the TPPP, HIV prevention programs, and PREP (the Personal Responsibility Education Program, which also gives grants to organizations providing comprehensive sex ed), it also increased grants for abstinence-only education programs.

There is a ton of research studying the efficacy of abstinence-based programs versus comprehensive sex ed programs; while I encourage you to do a deep dive into those numbers, that’s not what I want to focus on.  I wrote my master’s thesis on the impacts of abstinence-only education and would like to impart two things:

  • States that stress abstinence in their schools have higher teen pregnancy and STI transmission rates, and
  • The explicit and implicit messages to young people in abstinence-only curricula are incredibly harmful.

I’d like to expound on the second point.  These programs don’t just tell students not to have sex; they tell students that people who have sex before marriage are damaged.  For my thesis, I got my hands on the teaching materials for three different abstinence-only curricula*; the words risk, life-threatening, promiscuous, addictive, depression, guilt, and shame are used repeatedly throughout these texts to describe young people who have sex.  They describe sexually young women specifically as feeling cheap, used, empty, and full of self-loathing.  One says that abstinence means “freedom from guilt, disappointment, losing respect, and compromising values.”  The curricula that mention sexual harassment, coercion, and rape are chock-full of victim blaming; one even tells girls that “provocative dress is disrespectful to the man you’re with.”  One doesn’t mention sexual coercion at all.

They frame abstinence as a choice, but having sex as a lack of will power. Gender and orientation spectrums are never addressed.  There is no mention of divorce, adultery, or any family structure that’s non-nuclear (making several student populations invisible).  Don’t even get me started on gender roles: According to abstinence-only education, women are weak, emotional victims who need “hours of mental preparation” for sex, while men are irresponsible, predatory liars who “see intimacy as competition.”  The teacher’s guide for one of these programs directs the teacher to “ask a girl” to read the part of a rape victim and to “ask a guy” to read the part of a porn addict.  They tell young people that women need to be provided for and that male partners shouldn’t be criticized because men need to feel competent in order to feel loved.

These language choices are NOT a mistake; the funding guidelines for receiving Title V grant money for abstinence-only programs state that the materials must teach that “a mutually faithful monogamous relationship in the context of marriage is the expected standard of sexual activity” and that “sexual activity outside of the context of marriage is likely to have harmful psychological and physical affects (italics mine).”

AO curricula also frame sex as something to be given and taken, which brings me to one of many reasons why comprehensive sexuality education is so important: Abstinence-only programs are incredibly misogynistic and lack any component regarding communicating about wants, needs, boundaries, and agency within relationships.  AO curricula reinforce a lot of the shit that members of misogynist movements believe – and that’s a big fucking deal.  A lot has been written about these movements in the past few weeks; what I’d like to contribute to that conversation is that abstinence-only education programs back them up by posing sex as transactional, by propping up binary, stereotypical, and dangerous gender roles, and by saying that women provoke men into predatory sexual behavior.  Detrimental messages about gender roles aren’t just propagated by the media and held up by people we know; some of them are directly taught in schools.

Congress funds AO programs at more than $100 million / year.

In order to survive, PREP and TPPP need a lot of public support, especially now; if you live in the United States and write or call your members of Congress on the regular, you might want to mention this the next time a budget bill comes up. If you don’t, please start.  If you are a parent, please, PLEASE tell your school board that you want your child to receive comprehensive sexual health education.  Not just STI and contraception information, but conversations about healthy relationships, gender, sexuality, and media critique.  It is absolutely imperative that young people have access to curricula that validate their families and lived experiences, that humanizes them, that gives them agency, and that gives them tools to critique the world around them and communicate with love, compassion, and clarity.

Want to know what kind of sex education is taught in your state?  You can find out on the SIECUS (Sexuality Information and Education Council of the US) website.

 

 

 

*DM or email me if you want the names of the curricula I read.

 

Up and Out

This is Sinful Sunday prompt week, and the wheels of fortune demanded that I shoot some underwear from below; I’d been waiting to take a photo of these panties, so it worked out!

Sinful Sunday

Trust

A few months ago, I wrote a piece on blindfolds for KOTW; when I talked to The Engineer about this, he mentioned that while he loves blindfolding me, he wasn’t really into being blindfolded.  He’s a bit claustrophobic, so I think sensory deprivation and bondage generally aren’t comfortable for him.  But then he said: “If you want to blindfold me, you can.  I trust you.”  My heart melted.

Blindfolded Propaganda Woman Girl Walking

Fast forward to his recent visit; I was giving him a long body massage next to the fire one night, and inspiration struck.  I asked him to turn over to his back; I grabbed my new furry blindfold and asked gently if I could put it on.  The atmosphere was relaxed – candles, soft music, wine, warm and loving hands.  I started out by touching his legs, arms, and stomach, and then moved onto his cock – hard as a rock – taking it alternately into my mouth as far as I could and then back into my hands, stroking it and running my tongue along its length.  I sidled my body up his oiled body so that I could kiss him.  Being kissed (especially a deep, sensual kiss) while blindfolded is a singular experience.  It feels so intimate and electric because the sense of touch is heightened.  All of the other senses are heightened.  An ecstatic whimper emerged from his throat, and it was a beautiful sound to behold.

Roused by my memories of Sex and Lucia (if you haven’t seen this movie, stop reading right now and go watch it), I wet a finger and traced it along his lips; I dipped one nipple between his parted lips, followed by the other, which he relished.  I raised myself so I could kneel over his face and gently lower my clit onto his waiting tongue; I’m sure the pressure of my knees against his ears and the resulting lack of sound added to his expanded tactile experience.  He lapped at my swollen vulva, sticky with webs of viscous juices, until I needed him inside of me.  I straddled his cock and slid him into my longing cunt.  Usually the first contact is the most exquisite; especially so in this case.  While riding him, I took off the blindfold and kissed him.  We ended up having some of the best sex we’ve ever had – I felt so deeply entwined with him and completely present in the moment; he told me later that he felt the same.

Sometimes experimentation goes awry; however, sometimes it opens us up to new and exhilarating feelings and experiences.  If you have a partner you deeply trust, try something new with them that you never thought you would like.  You may end up having a pretty fucking great night.

Code

“You ever driven a pontoon before?” asked the man with the faded Sox baseball cap, glaring at Kurt through the unforgiving sun.  “I’ve never been on a pontoon before,” Kurt responded.  The man laughed.  His teeth glowed in the white summer light, unusually hot for early June.  “Well,” he said in response, his breath sucking in, “She don’t move very fast, but she’ll get you where you need to go.  If you don’t mind me asking – why are you taking lessons?”  “I’m going to be in charge of the lakefront at a camp this summer, and we have a fishing pontoon,” Kurt responded, looking out at the shining white poles bobbing all around him.

“You fish?” asked the man, chucking softly.  “I don’t,” said Kurt – “Guess I’ll have to learn how to do that, too.”  That got a much bigger laugh out of the deeply suntanned man, who thrust his calloused hand toward Kurt.  “Fred,” he proclaimed, grabbing Kurt’s unexpecting hand in his.  Kurt, startled, tried to match Fred’s enthusiasm, but found himself shook.

“I’ll show you how to get her out of the harbor; taking her out’s pretty easy.  Getting her back in is a real bitch sometimes, though,” he said without a wink, staring steadily at Kurt.  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

He did; Kurt eased the boat out gracefully enough straight back into the water.  Once they were out and had space around them, he started to relax and enjoy himself, getting the boat up to a whopping twenty miles per hour.  They cracked jokes about the speed; once in the middle of clear deep blue, he cut the engine as per Fred’s request.  They cracked open a couple of beers; suddenly Kurt realized there was no bathroom on board.  “Strange question,” he said, cocking his head.  “Where do I take a piss?”  “Where else?” asked Fred, looking at Kurt like he was a Republican in Berkeley.  “Out there.”  Of course, Kurt thought. Why would I even ask?

He walked to the short railing and looked around cautiously, but there were no other boats in sight.  He opened his fly, pulled out his cock, and held it lazily as a rushing stream of urine propelled itself out of his body.  Feeling relief, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Fred seemed to be watching intently.  His mind flashed briefly to the yellow hanky he’d seen poking out of Fred’s right jeans pocket; he’d just assumed it was a regular bandana.  But maybe…

He turned around to face Fred squarely; judging by the bulge in his jeans, the hanky was no accident.  “Huh,” he said, much more loudly than he’d intended.  He opened his mouth, then closed it again like a guppy, not quite sure what to say.  No need; Fred was the first to speak.  “Do you, uh – mind if I lay out a bit while we’re out here?”  Before Kurt could answer, Fred’s tank top and jeans were off.  “You go commando every day?” Kurt asked, smiling, taking his own shirt off and visibly appreciating Fred’s thick, sprung cock.  “Just about,” Fred answered nonchalantly.  “’s more comfortable, enit?”  “Sometimes,” said Kurt, lying next to Fred on a blanket Fred had thrown onto the deck.

“Nice being out here in the quiet,” he continued.  “No one watching you.”  “Indeed it is,” Fred agreed.  “So,” said Kurt, flashing Fred a wicked grin and sliding his shorts down over his hairy legs.  “Got any more beer?”  Fred’s dick popped up of its own volition at the very suggestion.  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Kurt said, reaching to cup his balls with one hand while finishing his beer with the other.  He wouldn’t be worried about getting her back in for a while.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Foundation

Although I don’t remember the first time someone put my toes in their mouth (it might have been the boss I had a brief affair with when I was nineteen…?), I do know that I’m forever grateful – it’s something I’ve wanted from every partner since.  There are people who are really freaked out by feet because of their smell or their aesthetic, but I find them to be absolutely beautiful.  Some people who are into feet like their own touched or licked; others like to fondle or worship other people’s feet.  As for me – it’s all the feet all the time.

I wouldn’t consider myself to have a foot fetish per se since I don’t need to touch, see, or think about feet to get off; I just love looking at and touching feet and having mine caressed, licked, and beaten.  I once even had the soles of my feet pierced just for the craic!  I couldn’t dance for a few days afterward, but it was an interesting sensation.  It’s always such a delight telling a new play partner that I like having the bottoms of my feet lightly caned and flogged.  If I’m really into someone and generally like their smell, I love smelling their feet, too, and have never been grossed out by sock lint between toes or football-induced blood blisters*.  I stare a bit too long at high arches and relish the feeling of big, strong hands wrapped around my feet.

There was a time long ago when I was hosting someone from out of state for a dance exchange; he was giving me a massage and started rubbing my feet.  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said – “If you touch my feet, you’re going to have to fuck me.”  I must have taken him by surprise, because he gently let my foot down and told me that he guessed he would have to concentrate on my back.  I was thrilled when I went to visit him months later and, walking upstairs from a wine bar, he pinned me against the wall and whispered into my ear, “I think I’m ready to massage your feet now.”  See?  Intoxicating.

This is why, on the second evening I ever spent with The Engineer, I laughed when he drunkenly suggested sticking a toe in me while we were taking a bath together.  “Go for it!” I said.  “It’s just a toe.”  He did, and it was quite a bonding experience.  Also why I will laugh for ages and ages every time I hear Rachel Lark’s song “Fuck My Toe” (that whole album is fabulous; I highly recommend giving it a listen).  Saying yes to something so small let him know that if he could ask for silly sexy things, then it might be okay to ask for other secret desires to be met down the road.  Kind of like a podiatric litmus test.

All of this is to say that feet are my jam.  My toe jam, as it were.  They are our very foundation.  They ground us, they move us, they carry us up mountains and down canyons and into forests and rivers, and they give us the ability to dance and play and run free.  They connect us to the earth and to each other.  What’s not to worship?

 

 

 

 

*I’m looking at you, honey.

Orgy of the Dolls

I recently found a bunch of old Barbies in my basement; before giving them away, I thought I’d have a bit of cheeky fun taking some remarkably inappropriate photos of them.  I hope you all find this as hilarious as I did!!!

And a scissoring photo for good measure:

Happy April Fool’s!!!

Sinful Sunday