Good Call

The first time was an accident.  Maria had picked up the phone in her room when it rang; when she heard her roommate Edith say hello to her long-distance girlfriend, she almost clicked the button to hang up – until she heard Edith’s girlfriend ask, “So – what are you wearing?”  This should be good, she thought, waiting for Edith’s inevitably quippy reply.

Instead, she heard Edith say, “You know that bra you bought me for Christmas?  The red, lacy number that I never wear because it’s so impractical?”  “Mmhmm,” came a knowing murmur from the other end.  “That, and one end of your favorite dildo.”

Maria almost dropped the phone.  In a panic, she pressed the earpiece to her ear and moved the mouthpiece down toward her neck, afraid to breathe or make a peep.  She listened to Edith’s girlfriend give orders which Edith presumably followed:

“Are you wet?  Good girl.  Slide the dildo in and out until it’s covered in your juices.  Get on your knees; push it deep into your A-spot and pulse it there.  Press your legs together to hold it in place while you put your fingers in your mouth.  Make circles around your clit… painfully slow circles.”

All she heard on Edith’s end were moans and whimpers of assent and pleasure – then a strained pleading to be allowed to come, followed by a tortured groan when she was denied.  When she finally did come minutes later, it was epic – Maria had never heard anything like it before.  Like a house on fire breaking apart, sending embers flying into a black sky, lighting it up with red smoke.  Maria had never felt like that before.

When they finally said goodnight, it was Maria who felt exhausted.  She hung up the phone and turned out her bedroom light; lying on her back in the dark, she slid her hands under the bottom of her nightgown and flung it aside.  She squirmed as she felt slickness warm her inner thighs; when she moved her hand into her panties, she was shocked by how wet she was.  She slid two fingers inside her cunt with one hand while gently rubbing her entire labia with the other, up and down, thinking about the orders that Edith obediently followed.  Her hips bucked and her breath caught as her orgasm had her.  She turned her head to bite her pillow, curling into a ball, afraid to make noise; she fell asleep in her underwear, which stuck to her.

Phone, Communication, Connection

It was the first thing on her mind when she woke up the next day; she knew she had to come clean.  Edith had been her best friend for years; there just weren’t any secrets between them.  Dreading the conversation, she rolled out of bed and slouched into the kitchen for coffee.

When she sat down at the table, she noticed how perky Edith seemed – how light on her feet.  Good.  “Ed – I have something to tell you.”  “What’s up?” Edith asked, a spring in her step as she fluttered around the kitchen, grabbing dishes and cups and toast and creamer.  “I heard you last night.”  “Oh, god,” Edith said, her movements suddenly halted.  “I was so loud you could hear me through the walls?  I’m sooooo sorry!”  “No…” Maria continued.  “I heard you on the phone.  I picked up and couldn’t stop listening.  I know it was a huge violation of your privacy – I’m so, so sorry, Ed.”  Her face flamed.  She expected Edith to yell, to slam things on the table, to be furious.  Instead, Edith just looked… curious.

“Huh,” she said.  “Huh?” replied Maria.  Again: “Huh.”  Maria looked at her, completely baffled, not really knowing what to say.  It turned out she didn’t have to say anything.  “Did you… like what you heard?” asked Edith.  Still beet red, Maria looked into her coffee cup.  “Yeah,” she practically whispered.  “It was… it was really hot, Ed.”  The words rushed out of her mouth like air from a tire.  “Huh.”  “Why do you keep saying that?” asked Maria.  “Well – Lora might be into that.”  “What?” Maria asked, her mouth ajar.  “Yeah – she might be into the idea of someone else listening in.  Let me check with her.”

Maria felt her nipples stiffen under her nightgown – from arousal or anxiety she wasn’t sure, but she was sure of one thing: every cell in her body was saying “Yes.”

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

Image taken from Pixabay; credit: markito.

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Winter Wonderland

Alex pushed her front door open, the cold air blowing porch snow in around her ankles.  She banged her Docs against the step to knock the packed snow out of her boots and hurried inside; Jen followed close behind her, wrapping her arms around her lover’s waist.  They were flushed from one too many cocktails, from stumbling home over half-shoveled sidewalks, from the conversation they’d had on the way.

It was Jen who’d seen her first.  Who had watched her, gliding like an angel toward a pool table, the yellow bar lights swimming around her closely-cropped honey hair adding to the effect.  She stared at the woman’s shoulders, pulled back in confidence – her smile, gleaming and glorious – the ease with which she pushed the cue stick through her hooked index finger as she bent over the green felt, a bit of cleavage poking out of a tight white button-down shirt.  After a minute of trying to get Jen’s attention and being unsuccessful, Alex had followed her gaze over to the beautiful stranger, now shaking hands with the loser of the game.  She leaned into Jen’s ear and whispered, “She’s a looker, huh?”  Jen, still in her reverie, just replied with an “Mmm.”  Their stare lingered a minute longer before Alex said, “Babe? She’s fine as hell, but now we’re just being creepy.”  That was enough to get Jen to laugh and break the spell.  Jen turned toward Alex, cupped her face, and kissed her full on the lips, trailing a hand down between Alex’s breasts.  “Let’s go home,” she said.

On the walk home, past lit-up duplexes and technically-illegal-but-still-used parking chairs, Jen dropped the question into the snowy silence around them: “So hey, babe.  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a threesome?  I mean… just wondered, you know?” Alex smiled.  “You mean with someone like the woman you were just stalking?” she asked.  “Well – yeah,” replied Jen.  “I mean, she was hot, right?  What would you think about bringing someone else in just for a night?  Just to see what it was like?”  “I think that I’d like to think about it,” replied Alex.  “For now, let’s just focus on getting home!”  The wind swirled and howled around them, flinging flurries this way and that.  They quickened their pace.

Once they were in, coats, hats, mittens, and scarves lying on a pile on the couch, Alex turned on her electric fireplace; they put a few blankets and pillows on the floor and lay down in front of it, snuggling close together to get warm.  After a couple of minutes of staring into the electric blaze, Alex brought up their prior conversation.  “So – if we were to have this hypothetical threesome, what would you want it to look like?”  Jen felt her pulse quicken and her cunt warm.  She turned to look at Alex.  “You mean, what would I want to happen?”  “Yeah,” replied Al.  “What would you want to do with her?  With me?  Would you want to watch, or be watched?  How involved would you want her to be?”

“Hypothetically?” Jen asked.  Alex nodded.  “I’d want you to direct the scene.  I’d want to start out with the two of you taking my clothes off, then you telling her what you want to see.”  “And what do I want to see?” Alex asked with a mischievous grin.  “You want to see her warm me up.  You want to see her lap at my nipples until I’m begging to have the rest of my body touched.  You want to see her caress my inner thighs, teasing me until there’s a stream of fluid running down my pussy because I’m so turned on.  You want to see her graze my outer labia, making my heart pound, and then lick my clit just once so I’m trembling all over – and then you kiss her so you can taste me on her tongue.”   

“Like this?” Alex asked, pulling Jen’s leggings and boy shorts down, spreading her legs just enough, and lapping once over the inside of Jen’s labia and up over her clit before kissing her.  She loved the lemondrop taste of Jen’s cunt.  Jen closed her eyes and breathed shallow breaths, letting her body take over.  She continued talking as Alex continued to taste her: “You lick me slowly and steadily until I come in your mouth, and then you tell her that I’m hers to fuck; she leaves on a tank top, her nipples hard underneath it, and puts on a leather-harnessed strap-on.  She puts a pillow under my ass and works her cock inside of me, rhythmically pumping; while she’s doing that, you hover over me, kissing her.  Long kisses.  I struggle to crane my neck up enough to run my tongue along you, but you… won…” Jen gasped, groaned, bucked her hips up to Alex’s waiting mouth, and finished – “’t let me.”  She collapsed, hoarse moans escaping her.  “I can feel the heat of your cunt on my face; I can’t reach it with my mouth, so I slide one finger inside, then two.  I run them along my lips, making them sticky with your juices, and suck them clean.  You stand up while I’m shuddering from being fucked and walk around to the back of her, sliding one hand up the front of her shirt to gently pinch her nipple and massage her vulva with the other hand until she’s too close to coming to keep fucking me.”

“Then what?” Alex asked, now sliding her fingers in and out of Jen’s cunt, curving her hand so that her heel would rub against Jen’s clit.  “I told you -” said Jen, a dreamy smile on her face – “you’re directing the scene.”  Alex leaned in and kissed her before whispering, “But you’re the one with the imagination.  Babe, you have the sexiest brain of any girl I know.”  “Thanks, love,” she replied, pulling in Alex for another kiss.  “Let’s talk more realistically about this when we’re sober; for now, I just want to feel you all over me.” “Done,” said Al, pressing her whole weight into Jen, hot now under the blazing light of the fire.

 

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

 

Inspired by the following lyrics from “Winter Wonderland” (which I know isn’t technically a carol, but it popped into my head!):

Later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire

To face unafraid the plans that we made,

Walking in a winter wonderland

Salmon

Today was an emotionally difficult one.  I woke up like so many others this morning with a heaviness in my heart and gut that’s not likely to disappear for a while.

A lot of folks have written long-form pieces on the misogyny, white supremacy, xenophobia, and entitlement that have fueled the Drumpf campaign; that’s not what I want to write about here because so many people are speaking about it more eloquently than I can.

But I can speak to this: with a vice president coming into office who has done everything possible to roll back Roe vs. Wade in his state, reduce women’s access to contraception and reproductive health, and who has tried to criminalize miscarriage – now in a national position of power with no one to check that power – our reproductive rights are genuinely in a precarious position.

In Indiana, minors must have parental permission to get a prescription for birth control.  Sex education isn’t required and if it is taught, abstinence must be stressed.  Teaching about contraception is NOT required.  There are no anti-discrimination laws or anti-bullying laws in schools based on sexual orientation or gender identity, and there’s no statewide hate crime law.*  Much has been said about Indiana’s draconian measures to restrict abortion and its attempt to encourage discrimination against same-sex couples; this is the man who will be tasked with helping to choose our next secretaries of health and human services and education.  Who will be partially responsible for nominating the next Supreme Court justice.

Furthermore, knowledge itself is dangerous to Drumpf.  The more educated people are, the less likely they were to vote for him.  As an educator, I’m nervous not only about the future of teachers’ unions and science and history textbooks, but about an administrative attack on higher education and knowledge as a whole.

There are many who joke about leaving the US for greener pastures; I certainly sympathize with that sentiment.  I’m swimming upstream, though.  After seven years of living as a resident alien in another country, I’m coming home.  I was already planning on this well before the election, but after yesterday, my feeling that now is the right time is much stronger.  I can’t make my voice heard from South Korea.  I cannot march, I cannot organize, I cannot be an advocate or active ally for young people and communities who lack access to resources.  There are trying times ahead, and it’s time to jump in with both feet.

#wewontgoback

*This information comes from Sex, Etc., which I highly recommend you check out for state-by-state information on laws concerned with birth control, abortion, and sex education.

 

Still Wet

DSC00126

I could still see her juices glistening on my dildo after she said stop, she couldn’t handle any more pleasure.  She was covered in sweat, her hair a mess, and stunning.  Long after I washed my hands I could still smell her on my fingers, still feel her sizzling on my tongue.  It was a good Saturday night.

Sinful Sunday

Groove

We met on the street, sitting on a curb, drinking cans of beer that were sweating as much as we were.  It was Seoul Pride 2013, and we were both waiting for friends to group up post-parade (back when the parade went on as scheduled without a bunch of dickwad protestors either lying down in the streets in front of the floats or trying to block it on permit regulations); she was cracking jokes about the lesbian organization in my city, and I was giving her shit about where she lived.  Soon after we started talking, my friends hollered at me that they were headed to dinner; I said goodbye, smiling at her, never expecting to see her again.    
I was surprised and delighted later that night when, rum and coke in hand, she strode up to me on the dance floor in a Hongdae gay bar, her tall, lean figure bathed in strobe lights.  She had swagger.  She looked down at me, smiled a broad smile, and said, “It’s good to see you here.”  Likewise, I told her.  As we danced, the floor began teeming with undulating bodies, strangers holding each other by the waist, grinding against each other.  I put my drink aside so I could place my hand on the small of her back, eventually sliding it down onto her ass; she had the same idea, but her hand found its way into my back pockets, then into my pants.  She crouched a bit and I stood on my tiptoes to kiss her – a strong kiss, fueled by alcohol-induced confidence.  I snaked my fingers into her dreads and held onto her head, kissing her deeply, wanting more.  She moved her hands up the front of my shirt, cupping my breasts; we moved our bodies in sync to DJ-spun electronic music while exploring each other. 
Forgetting that we were in the middle of a crowd, she slid her right hand down the front of my jeans now, into my silky boy-cut panties, over the soft mound of hair that I’ve come to love and into the folds of my labia, gently moving her fingers forward and backward, dragging my fluids up and over my clit before finally pushing two fingers into me, pressing upward and inward.  I moved my whole body against her hand, begging her not to stop, continuing to move with the music.  She fucked me harder with her fingers, making me gasp and moan into her ear; no one else could hear me.  Perhaps no one else noticed what was going on; even if they had, I wouldn’t have cared.  After I’d come onto her fingers and my body was quivering, she slid out of me, dragging her fingers up my cunt, out of my panties, and around my waist, then kissed me again. 
We went outside for a smoke; I finally asked what her name was (“Excuse me – now that you’ve had your hand inside of me, perhaps you could tell me your name?”), and we had the Standard Korea Expat Introduction Conversation.  She came with me and my friends as we went onto the next bar, and we continued to dance for hours.  She walked home with us when we finally stumbled out of the Pink Hole (yes, that’s the actual name of the bar) at dawn and asked to come in, but as I was staying in a dorm, I said no; we left it there and said goodbye, kissing outside of my hostel.
I don’t remember her name, and I doubt she remembers mine… but I remember her hands.
Happy Pride Month, everyone!  Go out and have sex on a dance floor. 

Under the Rainbow

Switch Studies posted an excellent blog post this week about bisexuality; it struck a chord with me because it’s something that’s been on my mind as well.
When I moved to Korea six years ago, I had been exclusively dating women for a couple of years and publicly identified as gay. No one questioned my sexuality; in fact, everyone I met completely embraced it – even my Korean friends who’d been brought up in a country where homosexuality “doesn’t exist.”  My straight male friends bantered with me about dating women (and said some pretty horrific things to me because they weren’t trying to get in my pants); my lesbian friends accepted me as one of their own and made jokes about wanting to date “real” lesbians and not bisexuals.
Last year, I hooked up with a guy I’d been crushing on for a year and ended up dating him, then falling in love.  It was hard to tell this to my lesbian friends, but they accepted me and were happy for me at the time.  It was much harder to tell my straight friends, most of whom were super confused.  “But… you’re gay,” they’d say (surprisingly, this is the same exact thing my mother said).  “Actually,” I’d reply, “I’m bisexual; I just haven’t dated men in years.”  Even after a year of being aware that I was dating men again, I still had straight friends come up to me after seeing me make out with a guy in a bar and say, “Hey – what’s that about?  I thought you were gay.”  Or worse – they’d assume that now that I was bi, I would fuck anyone.
Public Service Announcements:
Bisexual people don’t want to fuck everyone.
Non-monogamous people don’t want to fuck everyone.
Standards!  I have some!
In the last year, most (but not all) of my sexual partners have been men.  This has more to do with the availability of dating partners than my desire to date men versus my desire to date women; there are just a lot more single straight and bisexual guys where I am than gay or bisexual girls.  To complicate things, I am non-monogamous and really up front about dating multiple people, which a lot of ladies aren’t so down with.  For me, having sex is not as important as being honest.   
I’m feeling a bit confused myself.  There’s a philosophical question that gets posed to Dan Savage every week: If I’m not currently fucking someone of the same sex, am I really bisexual?  (In a similar vein, if I only have one partner right now, am I really non-monogamous?)  The answer is yes, of course… but sometimes I feel like I’ve lost my queer cred, if that’s a thing.  Sometimes I feel like I don’t get to hold the queer umbrella over my head because it’s raining men.
Image result for rainbow umbrella

There have been times when a woman expressed interest in me but I wasn’t interested in her (because someone showing an interest in you doesn’t necessitate reciprocation); at these times, I felt like I was failing as a queer lady for not prioritizing being in a relationship with *any* woman over being with someone I was actually interested in dating.  My lesbian friends would actually tell me to date someone in the community simply because she was available without consideration of compatibility.
Where I’m at right now is that I want partners who I’m compatible with.  Other people who already identify as non-monogamous.  People I have chemistry with and share interests with.  And that means that right now, I don’t have a female partner… but I’m still sexually and romantically attracted to women.  On days like this, I miss San Francisco. 

Last Week’s News

So all kinds of shit happened in terms of sexual health reporting last week; these issues have gained enough traction to pop up on NPR.

Terry Gross interviewed two authors on “Fresh Air” on their latest book on the rapidly lowering age of onset puberty for girls.  Take away: Soy isn’t causing your nine year-old daughter to develop breasts, but antibiotics given to the animals we eat might be.  I brought up this article to a younger friend of mine last week, and she told me that she started her period at eight.  Eight.  I can’t imagine how confusing and strange it would have been to start bleeding every month while I was still playing with Barbie dolls.

The Food and Drug Administration is considering lifting a ban on blood donations from MSM (men who have sex with men).  Just – what?  The FDA doesn’t already allow gay and bisexual men to donate blood?  This was the case fifteen years ago when I used to volunteer at a blood donation center, and I thought it was ridiculous then.  The article states that “one suggested solution… would permit donations from men who have gone a year or more without having sex with another man.”  So… all those celibate queer guys out there, congratulations!  Today’s your lucky day!   Basically, you can only give blood if you don’t put out.  But aren’t hospitals in large metropolitan areas  — the very same large metropolitan areas where there happens to be a large LGBTQQILMNOP population — in desperate need for a larger blood supply?  So why the fuck, especially in light of the fact that HIV has been screened for in blood donations since 1985, are we still discriminating against people who want to help save lives?

And then there’s this bullshit about circumcision
From the article:  “The CDC’s proposal opens the door to circumcision becoming a topic of conversation any time an uncircumcised male goes to a medical appointment.”
40 year-old male patient: “So, Doctor so-and-so, I seem to be having an allergic reaction to eating fruit with pits and tree nuts, and –”
Doctor: “I see that you’re uncircumcised.”
Patient: Blank stare.
Doctor: “Ever think about changing that?”
Patient: Continues blank stare.
Babies can’t give consent to being circumcised, a procedure that’s irreversible and unnecessary.  Has the CDC considered talking to parents about the sexual benefits of keeping their male children’s penises intact?  Because let me tell you, there are sexual benefits.

And last, but certainly not least, expect a mass exodus of the entirety of the UK’s porn industry out of the UK and into LA.  The UK says that it’s still okay to make porn, but only heteronormative, vanilla, male-gaze porn.  So basically a half-step above an NC-17 movie.  No fisting?  No kink?  No squirting?  That’s almost like no porn at all. 

It’s spread to Korea!

I was walking down the aptly-named Homo Hill in Seoul last weekend, and a guy stopped me on the street.  He asked my name, leaned in, lowered his voice, and said: “So are you, uh, you know, straight?”  “No,” I whispered back.  “That’s why I’m here.”

He scoffed playfully and said, “Aw, I’m looking for girls.”  “You’re looking in the wrong place,” I told him.  “No, it’s the perfect place!” he said, laughing.  “Oh,” I said.  “You’re one of those obnoxious predatory guys who hits on straight girls who go to gay bars to escape guys like you.”  Still laughing, he pushed my forehead, as if we were good buddies and I’d just made a joke.

I wasn’t laughing.