On Female Masturbation – and my first hand job

I’m not sure where to begin with this shameful admission. And I’m not sure which bit is more shameful. You can decide.
I have never read 50 Shades of Grey. And yet – I’ve happily slagged it off. I’ve read reviews, extracts, I’ve listened to opinions. I’ve heard all of what my friends have said about it and yet never picked it up and read any substantial amount of it. At the same time I loathe when people assume they will dislike something without ever finding out for themselves. But in my defense, everyone and I mean everyone, advised against wasting my time on it. I’m a busy girl, why would I be wasting my time on this mediocre text when I could be having better sex and writing better sex? But I hate not being thorough and I hate not having my own opinion so when someone recently asked me what my thoughts were on it – I gave them, based on my scant reading of it and decided … that I was going to read it and damn well finish it and make my own mind up. Jesus I got through Dan Brown didn’t I. Shudder.
I won’t lie. I’m struggling, but only a little bit. Not least because I hate the lead character, cannot fathom why she can’t find ANY word to use for her holiest of holies and constantly refers to it as ‘down there’(always italicized) but mostly because I really think I could do a better job! And there aren’t many things in my life I would say that about.
I could fill my own book with what I dislike about this one. But what’s the point in that? I hate loads of books. I’m just going to focus on the one main anomaly that is tormenting me so far. Female masturbation.

So the female lead is a virgin (yawn) and has never been kissed (or something) even at the age of 21*. Not only that but she doesn’t, and apparently hasn’t ever, touched herself? I can’t fathom this, I really can’t. And I can’t reconcile how someone can go from having no sexual urges AT ALL to being so totally clued in and in tune with her body (and that of this guy) that she gives the perfect Bj first time?
But let’s leave that aside or I might fall into a blind rage of how this woman is the most successful author of all time**.
I’m not sure what’s at play here? That women just don’t do it, or that maybe there’s a large population of them out there that don’t do it. Or that to make it more palatable for demure audiences it was ok to have it thrown in there because in this century we’re still afraid of female sexuality and urges? All fine with a male partner, but absolutely not ok to do it by ourselves?
This can’t be it. Really are there huge numbers of (grown) women out there that don’t touch themselves? And never have. So many that it was ok to suggest the main character  in a book doesn’t and for it to seem normal?
Or is it still not ok to talk about female masturbation, once again so much so that it CAN’T be put in a book for mass publication?

Ok. I’m not saying that it’s super easy for everyone and we all got there so easily. Because I know that’s not true. Of course some women find it hard to climax or don’t know that they can do it themselves but that’s not the same as implying that most women have no interest in it unless a man is doing it for them? (obviously it would be great if there was always someone to do it for me, I’m inherently lazy and the presence of a cock always makes things hotter for me. But I can take care of business when I need to)

So I’m going to tell you about how I feel about it. When I first did it and all my thoughts, issues and limitations on it since then and how I prefer to do it now. Because as ever I can only really talk with authority about my own experiences.

I think I was 14. I think this because I was pretty old. Or I felt I was old. I could possibly have been 15. It was a weird year. I had been kissing boys since I was – well honestly I think I was 4, I actually can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to kiss the boys. When we played kiss chase, I always got caught – cos I wanted to be caught. When I got to 14 (I think) things were going further. I know I’d had some sex education in school, I knew what sex was and how you got pregnant but I just wasn’t putting two and two together. Let me explain. I had been tentatively touching willies but not really getting my hands on one. One evening, it was summer, out on the green, behind some bushes I was kissing a boy. Probably slightly older. I don’t know if he put my hand there or I did but I fully had one in my grip, properly and I was in awe. He must have guided my hand to show me what to do, I’m sure I didn’t know the rhythm. I was in thrall, I wasn’t even looking at him, I was just watching it. But it was getting late and I was supposed to be home. I could hear my friends calling my name. So I told the boy I had to go. He softly, convincingly, implored me to stay a few minutes more, got me to shout out to my friends that I was ok and wouldn’t be long. I continued to rub it and then decided I’d seen enough so went to leave. That’s when he changed and said, in probably not the kindest way, ‘Do you even know what’s supposed to happen?!’ I should have, I just hadn’t connected the dots. Of course not wanting to seem like a baby I retorted with ‘Yeah, of course I do’ and so continued until he finished. Then I ran away. All the way home, giggling and telling what had happened. Thrilled with myself, very excited and naturally because it was Ireland in the 90s, swearing my friends to secrecy lest I get a ‘name’.

So that’s the kind of thing I was getting up to all the while not having any guy seeming to want to do it to me, make me climax that is, and all the while not doing it to myself. Until one night in bed I am itchy down there (!), just a little bit but when I go to scratch it feels nice. It feels really nice, so I keep rubbing and the sensation changes. I’m not sure what it is but I like it and I practically take my skin off I rub so hard. I have an inkling that something is supposed to happen but I’m not sure what? I don’t manage it that night. But I don’t give up either. I give it loads more tries, furtively, quietly, waiting for my sister to be asleep. I’m sure I’ve heard the word orgasm and I definitely know what masturbation is but it’s still not matching up in my head, for some inexplicable reason.
In my conversations with myself (because I’m obviously not talking to anyone else about it) I call it the spread-y out-y feeling as it seems to touch me everywhere.
Jesus? For all my raging desires I was such an innocent. Finally one night, I manage it. And I want to run around the block and do a lap of honour. I feel evangelical, does everybody know about this? Of course they do, that’s why people talk about sex, that’s what’s been going on inside me, that’s what I want boys to do to me. ….. But why is it never talked about?

And that’s how it continued. Just me in my head not really thinking about anything just focusing furiously on trying to make it happen. It wasn’t always successful. And things moved on with the boys, I always had the pent up need that was never released. I had boyfriends, none of whom seem concerned with making me climax. One (circa aged 17) was even lucky enough to get blowjobs from me, successful ones at that, and hand jobs. Regularly enough too. But I don’t ever recall any desire on his part to discover what I might like or there being any discussion about me climaxing? And the weirdest thing of all? I didn’t question it either. I wasn’t having regular sex I might add it was just the hand jobs and blowjobs.
My first time (aged 15) had been such a disaster I was terrified of doing it again. This trapped me in an awful circle of wanting it desperately and not wanting it to be desperate. It was the literal manifestation of frustration. And that’s how my teens were spent.

(the very observant of you will have noticed that in a year I had gone from not knowing how a hand job finished to actually having sex. It was a steep learning curve.)

In case you’re curious it was the first boyfriend in college who managed it. More than managed it, was eager to do it and wasn’t stopping until he did. He was determined. But … it was weird for me. I’d never let anyone see it, no one had ever done it. And so the first time I did come, I didn’t tell him. I told him a few days later after he managed it a different way and was thrilled with himself. I’m not sure why I told him maybe because he was just so self-satisfied? Just so taken with the notion of being the first guy to make me come and reveling in it just a bit too much.
When he had made me come the first time, I was too embarrassed to tell him. It had snuck up on me and caught me by surprise and …. I was embarrassed as to just how it was achieved. We were lying on his bed, kissing, groping for ages. He had his hand between my legs rubbing my crotch, with his thumb pressing on the seam of my jeans perfectly rubbing my clit. It felt great but I didn’t think I would come. The kissing got more intense and I leaned harder into his hand and then it over took me. Wave after wave of it. I was moaning into his mouth with the kissing anyway but I stopped making noise as I lost my breath and was so shocked.
For some reason, because it was outside my clothes it seemed somewhat shameful to me? And so I didn’t tell him. He was very annoyed that he hadn’t gotten to bask in the glory of the first time someone else made me come. Tough break. He wasn’t delighted that he had done something nice for me, he was delighted that he was the first guy, it was his own achievement he was proud of.
But apart from that it was the start of a very fruitful 4 years of riding the holes off each other. Learning everything we could trying anything we thought of.

But back to me and masturbating. How is it now? Well, I don’t enjoy anyone watching me. Can’t explain that, I just don’t. If someone does ask can they watch, I’ll oblige but I won’t come or at least I haven’t ever so far. I’m fairly sure the logic in the part of my brain that allows me to let go and orgasm goes something like this: Why would I do it myself when I just want you to touch me?
Don’t get me wrong, if you’re fucking me from behind and I’m close I will happily get my hand down there and help myself along – again, not ideal but it does work. Sometimes.
But if you want me to sit in front of you while you watch me – well I’m afraid it just doesn’t turn me on.

I don’t generally find visual stimulation the most successful.
I can do it with someone on the phone to me, but I selfishly need them to just talk to me, if they want me to focus on getting them off too, then I can’t. It has to be one or the other. I need to just be in my head conjuring something up, lost in it myself.
But if something was to get me going, like properly so that I needed to start on myself? Then 100% it’s reading something hot that will get me needing that release. This can even be texts, if the sender is particularly skilled.
And up until recently I had to be at home, in bed where there was no chance of being discovered or disturbed.
But lately, I have managed it in my bathroom and more intriguingly – in the toilet at work. A freaking miracle for someone who had been so self-love repressed. It started off at home, it was early evening, I was just in the door and someone had been mercilessly texting me incendiary stuff all day – I had been fighting off visions of him taking me from behind standing up. Without knowing what I was going to do I dropped my bag and went straight to the loo. I locked the door and lifted my skirt. I faced the door and leaned against it with one hand, arse out, as if someone was taking me from behind. And in less than 2 minutes I was done. It was glorious. It was the relief of something that had built all day and it was a barrier broken down in my head.
I now knew that I could do it somewhere other than in my own bed, and, standing up. So that opened up the possibility of other places.

There are a couple of guys who’ve been really skilled at sending the texts that get me worked up. Or sometimes I write Abbi stuff at work. Always a mistake but sometimes I just need to get it out of my head. If I’m left alone and no one (from real work) bothers me, I can get lost in the story and start to relive it, this also gets me stupidly wound up. So not long after the standing-up-in-the-bathroom-coming I was compelled to at least try to give it a shot, try to find release.
Again, another issue for me and making myself come, my surroundings have to be nice. At least clean – possibly somewhere that I could imagine having sex. Thankfully the ladies toilets in my office are very pleasant and frequently empty in the late afternoon. With swollen lips and an engorged clit I went to there, leaned up against the tiles of the cubicle, much as I had at home and thought of someone (yes a particular someone) taking me from behind right there. And to my absolute ecstatic joy it worked.
And once it had worked once sure I knew it would work again. And it did.

I have to be outrageously aroused before I can attempt this at work. I have to be in desperate need for release a feeling that overrides any other worry of maybe getting caught. And also when I’m at that point, it will only take me about 2 minutes to get there. Pretty good odds that I won’t get discovered.

But it’s not always successful for me. Unless I’m seriously stimulated by something else first I probably can’t make myself come in the way that I want. Orgasms are not standard, they come in different sizes and intensities. And I want the giant all consuming, I don’t know my own name orgasms. Not the, just reached a peak and then disappeared and the urge is now gone, itch scratched but no lasting bliss, limping to the finish, orgasm.
But I still do it, I still want to do it and I still enjoy it.
Would I rather there was someone there to do it for me? Every. Fucking. Time.

Now before anyone points out that I haven’t mentioned porn – well that revelation is for another day.

 

 

 

 

*can I just point out that I am in no way berating anyone for being a virgin at 21, or for not having any sexual experience, but it’s specific usage in this novel is a trite old ploy I find tedious. And I mention it as a precursor to the next sentence in the paragraph.

**I did finish the book. And I didn’t hate it utterly. It moved at a nice pace and it did have a bit of a plot to it, though I’m not sure why it takes 3 books to get there. I can’t find any redeeming feature for the main character or any of the characters for that matter? But maybe that’s because I can’t relate to her on any level, she doesn’t wear makeup, she doesn’t wear heels, she doesn’t work out and she’s skinny because she appears to be terminally allergic to food and NEVER eats a fecking thing – unforgivable in my eyes.
There’s absolutely no discernible character development. And I certainly didn’t at any point get aroused to the point where I had to relief myself – actually I was quite annoyed when I was talking to my sister about this and she claimed that it was quite effective, I said I didn’t feel the same and her response was that I was numb to subtleties because I was used to harder stuff? That was unfair, she’s never read any of mine. But I digress. Different things turn different people on. And while I don’t think this story is high literature and I do somewhat resent just how popular (read: how rich the author now is) I don’t begrudge her. There are way worse books out there, just because this one isn’t to my own taste doesn’t mean I don’t want it to exist. It’s a start. Maybe there will be more and in a more female positive vein? Maybe people will open up more about sex? Maybe I’ll get my own book deal because it’s been proven that erotica can be big money… who knows. Anyway. I didn’t fling it across the room and out a door. I was able to get through it relatively easily. Can’t say that for every book I’ve picked up

Part II: More Filth with The Filth – Or The Best Birthday ever – I hope

We get to the serviced apartments. I have my hand on his cock the whole time we drive there. It’s so flattering that he seems to be rock solid around me all the time. I do not get bored of this.
As we check in they tell us that we have been randomly upgraded to the penthouse. I’m beside myself with the hopes that it’s a great view. Then they ask for our passport numbers (this is weird in my own city, I somehow feel guilty and sordid, and I love it) and this is when I discover that it’s his birthday. And now I am so fucking delighted with this, he says he hates birthdays and they’re always a let-down. Well not this one, I am going to make sure of that.

We’re straight up to the top floor, burst into the place and start running around. The receptionist had told us there were two bathrooms which is always a plus as far as I’m concerned but there isn’t. While he’s busy opening every door I’ve found the stairs and doors to the roof top terrace.
Hey Garda, get up here, you have to see these views. (I don’t call him that, I use his surname)
He’s up the stairs and out to me in a flash. We have 360 degree views of the city – every major landmark. It’s fantastic.
It’s also windy this high up. He stands behind me and I know what he wants immediately. I’m leaning forward, he’s behind me and he has his face next to my ear. He bites my ear and whispers ‘How many people do you think can see us right now?’ He hasn’t gotten to the end of that sentence before I have my hands in his underwear pulling him out and getting my own pants down. There on the balcony he gives it to me, again hard and fast and I am pushing myself down on to him as hard as I can.
I scan the buildings for faces, to see if anyone is watching. I don’t care, it doesn’t matter to me if they can. I see no one, but it’s still bright and we’re in full view, no doubt someone is getting a show.

We take it inside. He sits on a chair and pulls his pants down – I’m ordered to sit on the couch opposite and watch. He starts working his cock. I think this is particularly cruel but know better than to complain. Then he tells me to come over to him and kneel in front of him. He keeps me there for a while before he lets me have it – but only the balls first. He’s still working his cock slowly and he orders to me suck one, then the other. Finally he tells me I’ve been a good girl and he gives me his cock in my mouth. He tells me I’ve done a good job and deserve something but before he can let me have it I have to take his cock down my throat until I gag. Of course I do as I’m told and my reward? He tells me I can now sit on it. I face away from him and lower myself onto his cock, it’s starting to hurt we’ve had so much sex already but I don’t care.
I work myself up and down on him, grinding down on to him, starting to moan and get out of breath – delighted that I’m safe in the knowledge that I can make as much noise as I want.
After a few minutes of this he’s clearly had enough and wants the control back. He tells me to go lean over the couch and wait. He stands up, kicks himself out of his pants and comes over to me. He’s still solid and he hits my ass with his cock. He asks me do I want it, am I ready for it. I am whimpering for it. He bends me further over the arm of the couch and pushes my head into the seat, tells me to reach back and hold my cheeks open and he digs his cock deep into my cunt. I am making so much noise someone, somewhere has to be able to hear it and I don’t care. He pounds me into the couch then tells me to take a hand and rub my own clit. I beg for it harder and he gives it to me. I tell him I’m close to coming and he say he is too. I come and he comes not long after. I’m amazed he lasted so long he says he was disgusted he came so quickly?

I’m starving at this point and it’s definitely time for a drink. And both of us need showers – we haven’t even gotten to my bag of tricks.

I order sushi and we walk around the block to collect it. It’s a lovely evening and the stroll is perfect for catching our breaths after all the sweating.
I know this is his birthday but I am having one of the best nights of my life.

After we’ve eaten and gotten through a bottle of Prosecco he announces that he has to get clean. That he’s going to go first and when he gets back, he’s going to have another drink and I better get myself ready quickly – as he’ll be waiting.
He has no idea.

He hooks the laptop to the TV and puts on episodes of The IT Crowd for me. I sit and sip and laugh my arse off. And my excitement rises. When he comes out, smelling fantastic I foolishly think I can touch him. No chance. There’s a split second where he bends down kisses me, looks at me, asks am I doing ok and then it switches. Soon as he has the confirmation that I am; he casually takes my drink off me, takes a sip and asks me what am I waiting for.

I shower and make sure my skin is perfect. I have stockings, a black skirt and tiny see through white blouse to put on. I’m thrilled with this outfit. It’s office-y but so provocative. The blouse is too sheer and the skirt is short but not tight, it flips up easily.
I am getting wet again just putting on the stockings and pulling on the pink underwear. I don’t know how he’s going to react or what he’s going to do to me.
I walk in and apologise for being late. He says nothing.
I sit on the coffee table in front of him and cross my legs so he can see that I’m wearing stockings. He doesn’t touch me he just looks. He calmly tells me that it’s ok that I’m late; I can make up for it now and he’ll tell me how, establishing his authority. He tells me to get his drink from the kitchen table a few feet away. I walk away to get it when I turn back, he tells me to bring it to him on my knees.
I crawl over to him and hand it to him. He simply says ‘Good’.
He says that he’s disappointed that he’s had to wait so long. I go to protest and he silences me with a look. He tells me to stand up. He’s sitting there in his underwear looking amazing, his legs wide. I’m fully clothed and standing between his legs but he has all the control.
I’m ordered to turn around and put my hands flat on the coffee table, flat to the elbow. He leans forward and his head is level with my ass. He flips my skirt up and makes a noise appraising my underwear. As he smooths a hand over my silk knickers I let out a sigh and he quickly slaps me and tells me I wasn’t given permission to make any noise. He brings his head right in to my crotch and he licks my pussy through my silk knickers. I make more noise, I can’t help it. He tells me I have to be punished.
I’m told to kneel on the arm of the couch and watch as he pulls his cock out of his tight underwear and starts playing with it. He makes me watch knowing that I am gagging for it. Knowing that I am craving it.
He’s good at punishment
He asks am I ready to behave, I swear that I am, and he tells me to lean forward then he makes me keep my face next to his cock. He orders me to stay there for a few seconds then tells me I can have it in my mouth and that I better do as I’m told from here on in. I eat it with glee. And then he gets me to face him and squat over him, slowly lowering myself onto him.
Again he looks like this is all incidental to him, I know it’s not, but fuck does it turn me on that he can act like that. I’m straddling him going up and down on his cock, he’s got his hands under both my ass cheeks, squeezing them as I squeeze his cock. He says the words again and I shudder with sheer desire for him – ‘Good girl, yeah, squeeze that cock, work it’. He can’t keep this up for any length of time, I know he wants to pound me, he lifts me off him, flips me around and fucks me hard from behind.
This doesn’t last long, I’m getting quite sore every time he goes in, I don’t care but he does. I let out an ‘ow’ that I hope sounds like I like it, he sees through it and stops. Won’t give me any more. It’s time for us to have a drink anyway. We’ve another bottle to get through.
And we take it from the sitting room area up to the top bedroom with the 3 walls of floor to ceiling windows, the sun has set and Dublin has lit up. We pull all the curtains back and sit on the bed admiring the really breath-taking views of some of the best parts of Dublin. God I love this city.
Annoyingly they’ve shoved two beds together in this room, so we’re not planning on sleeping here, we’re sleeping downstairs in the room closest to the bathroom, which later on works out to have incidentally been the best choice.

We lie there still marvelling at the set of events that led us to being here on this night? I’m still having the time of my life and it’s probably not even midnight. We’re both enjoying this immensely, lying there chatting, stroking each other and finishing the last bottle of Prosecco but it gets to a point where it’s no longer languid and before he has a chance to get the better of my desires I think it’s time this fantasy I know he has gets played out.

We go down to where we’ve decided to sleep, where both our bags are, I tell him to sit on the bed and I disappear to get ready.
I’ve worn the strap-on a few times, tried it on that is, but haven’t used it on him. I love the look of it. It’s a black, latex, average-ish sized dildo in a beautiful leather harness. I love the look of it on me. And I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t think it makes me feel powerful, I feel like that most of the time in good underwear – this is something else? I’ll need to think about it but if I had to say, I think it’s because it’s just so dirty. It’s not something that you can easily discuss with your peer group and it’s so fucking exciting. I want to do this so much.
He’s done this before and he knows what to do and what to expect, I’m sure he’ll guide me.

See, I knew he had a pegging fantasy, of course I did, he told me it’s why I bought the thing – but I’ve never actually done this before. Never properly fucked a guy like this, but I want to, oh so fucking badly. And I think it’s about time I had some control this evening.

I come back into the room, he’s lying on the bed, underwear off, completely naked now. Except for the look of satisfied expectation across his face. I still have my skirt on so he can’t see it immediately, I lift it up and show him. I start to stroke it. This turns me on. It seems having anything that is cock-like in my hand is enough to excite me. He looks at me with what I feel is a look a wolf has circling its already beaten prey, his eyes dancing, knowing he’s going to get what he wants, regardless of supposedly being in the submissive’s shoes. He watches me and strokes his own cock. I tell him to pass me the lube and ask him does he like what he sees. He smirks and nods then hands me the lube which is on the bedside table near him. I get on the bed and between his legs, all the while stroking my cock. I take my top off because I can see the end game and I know what I want to happen. Still between his legs I tell him to take his hands off his cock, he reluctantly does and I put it in my mouth. I get it really wet, I gag on it to make sure my saliva is dripping down his balls and further towards his hole. I’m rubbing my cock, getting some of my spit on to it too and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me for a second. I tell him to get on all fours because I want to tongue fuck his ass. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. I spit onto it and get my tongue in there, he makes an appreciative noise that pleases me every time. I get a finger and work it in, again he makes that noise I like so I push it deeper and at the same time reach around for his cock. With my tongue and a finger in his ass and my other hand on his cock I stay at him like this for a minute or two. Then I ask him does he want another finger, of course he does, so I give it to him. I move between his asshole and his balls with my tongue and my mouth. I love every utterance that comes from him and I am greedy for more, I want to hear him cry out with pleasure, I want to do to him what he does to me. I want to see the reactions I can elicit and I want to revel in them.
But I’m not sure if I can get this right. I hope I can because I love this.

I finally lube up the dildo and ask him if he’s ready. He says he is but reminds me to go slow. I’m possibly too excited for this. It’s not the right angle and I can’t tell if I’m doing it right. So I get him to turn around and face me. I am once again between his legs and I ease the tip of the dildo in. Slowly. I get more lube and spit on it too. I love that sound. I can’t take my eyes off him I don’t know who’s in control anymore. He has his hand on his cock as I push a bit further into him, still slowly. I can barely take it, I am so turned on by how he looks, his expression, the way his breath catches. I take his hands off his cock and use mine and keep pushing into him with my own cock. I finally get in all the way in and it’s not long before the finish. I cannot get enough of the look on his face. I love that I did this. With hindsight I wish I had not been in such awe, so I could have made him tell me that he loved it and gotten him to beg me for more. But in that moment I just wanted to watch the ecstasy on his face. He comes on my tits, just as I had wanted all over my perfect, pink, silk bra.

It’s almost a shame when a guy comes for me because that’s when I’m the most turned on. But there’s still some booze and I’m happy to drink that and drink in the thrill of what just happened.

But that’s not the end of the night and it’s not the end of the firsts either.

Not long later he recovers, as he always does so well, and we start to have sex again, he’s in control, I can’t remember what position, I think we’re quite drunk and it could be messy, falling around, laughing sex. Glorious. It’s definitely not any crucial moment so I tell him that I have to pee – we are quite drunk and we’ve been riding the holes off each other. I jump up and skip the 5 steps out the door across to the loo. He follows me but hovers at the door to our room at a just-respectful distance. Just in time before I have the door closed he asks can he watch, or would I (there’s a slight hesitation but he continues) be willing to pee on him. I’m not sure if I can but I want to do anything he wants tonight. He’s extremely adept at being persuasive without you knowing it. He’s at the door to the bathroom now and I’m about to sit. I really have to go and he’s already in, the first hurdle cleared. I sit to pee and he comes and kneels by me and starts to rub his cock, I’m surprisingly into this. My guard is down and everything seems ok tonight. I’m not sure I’ll be able but I want to. So I stand up and pee on him and I fucking love the noise he makes.
He tells me, with his next breath, that this is an actual fantasy come true. And me? Well I am delighted to be the girl to do that.

I head back to the bedroom and laugh to myself as I dive onto the bed. Incredulous at what I’ve done, amazed with how far he’s taken me. I know he sorts the bathroom out and fixes himself because when he comes back to the bedroom I’m half asleep. He slides in bedside me and pulls me to him. He whispers into my ear that he’s had a great night, possibly the best birthday ever, which is all I really wanted. I think I’m about to fall asleep but I know we have sex again before I pass out. And again the next morning before we check out.

I know this night will go down in my own history as spectacular and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t asking for his money back either.

Me & Vanilla Sex: the modern Madonna Whore Complex

As usual I was having a conversation about sex with a boy. We were talking about the most exciting sex or having a very fulfilling sex life – but how that rarely tied in with a fulfilling relationship. I hate this notion. I hate the idea that the two are mutually exclusive. How did that ever come to pass?
This boy offered up a theory: that maybe girls only offered up the vanilla sex because they were afraid of being labelled; seen as someone that you don’t go out with, not girlfriend material. Labouring under the notion that boys only marry or settle down or build a life with a certain type of girl. And this type of girl is not the filthy, dirty, sexually open kind. And I think he might just be right.
There’s a vicious circle of self-fulfilling notions here: boys judge girls for being liberal and so girls then stop showing their dirtier sides. And the result is nobody is happy. Or at least there’s a large proportion of unsatisfied people out there.
Ok, that’s a massive sweeping generalisation there. But I think there might be real weight to it all the same. Ok, some boys judge girls and deem them unworthy and some girls risk a fantastic sex life for fear of being labelled, but that idea is massively present in today’s culture so much so I think it’s having an overall effect. Girls are judged more harshly than boys for the very same behaviour or tastes. And boys do purport to feel like they should settle with the safe girl. I can think of several examples of people in my own life.
I think it might just be as simple as that.

I can’t talk for everyone or every girl. But I know my own experiences and I know full well how I’ve been labelled, categorised and judged. I know I’ve gone out with people and I’ve hidden parts of myself, hidden my sexuality – not all of it, just hidden what I may have gotten up to in the past. I’m not proud of it (the withholding of info) and with the 20/20 vision that comes with hindsight; I can now see that I was on a hiding to nothing if I couldn’t let this guy see who I really was.
But before you run off and judge me, put away your wagging fingers for a second and let’s consider the alternative? I could just choose not to tell him what I had or hadn’t tried in the past (that was his issue, he hated feeling that I was more experienced than him) and in return I got to have a pretty great relationship?
OK, I didn’t like it, it didn’t make for me being very open about suggesting things to do or try – but again I can see all that from this position of hindsight clarity. At the time I was of the opinion that if I didn’t upset him and never suggested anything, just hoped that he’d come up with stuff I liked, that it would all be ok. Of course it wasn’t, I was mostly happy to do what he suggested but I had to always pretend I hadn’t done it before. Which didn’t work out well when it was something I wasn’t keen on doing again and had to explain why. And this created its own self propelling nightmare: I get caught out having lied that I’d already tried something, he gets upset that I lied, and feels (unjustifiably) inferior because again he feels I’ve had more sexual experiences than him. Which has the knock on effect that I just don’t want to upset him so I lie even more and become more wary of suggesting anything new. And on it went.
So why did I put up with this? For the very same reason I think anyone out there is accepting any issue with their sex life that they’re not happy with; because we had a great relationship otherwise. Because I loved him and I was sure he loved me too.
Now from my experience no one is going to give up love, real actual love, because they’ve had to compromise a little somewhere else.

But how much compromise is too much? When are you just not being at all true to your real self and when are you making a measured compromise that is worth it?
I can’t answer that for you, that’s something I think you need to weigh up for yourself. But what I will say is this; apart from my hiding what I did in my past, I was having great sex. Up until that point, this guy was the best sex of my life. He wanted it as much as me, he was always ready, would drop everything to have sex with me – he openly encouraged my gropey side and was never fazed by my salaciousness. I felt that was worth the sacrifice. I didn’t notice or realise that it was actually stifling me. Not being able to say what I had done in the past for fear of upsetting him, always wondering was I going to trip myself up… it was a major contributing factor to why we broke up in the end.

Ok, that’s not exactly the same as someone accepting/settling for vanilla sex when they’re craving excitement and filth – and accepting it just because they think ‘good’ girls are who you go out with. But it ismy experience of me hiding who I am for the sake of a relationship. I generally don’t hide who I am, I want to be with someone who is into what I’m into and I want to give a partner the same. If that scares you or intimidates you – where does that leave us?
I am very tired of hearing boys say that girls are repressed and only want the vanilla sex – well from the other side I can tell you my experience of proffering an alternative hasn’t always been positive.
Whatever you think of me, my whole life is not about sex, I’m not walking around all day in a g-string and hooker boots (again, unless asked) – I am just a girl. If you manage to be lucky enough to get me into bed more than once, then you will see a bit more of the Abbi side of me. I am very average and non-threatening, mostly. But I do want the sex and I’m very tired of hiding this just so I allegedly don’t scare a guy off. I’m very tired of pretending to not want the sex because I’ll be labelled ‘easy’ and not someone you go out with. I’m very wary of showing just how dirty I want it for fear of all of the above. Just because I want dirty, filthy, nasty sex, because I want it hard and I want it often does not mean that I can’t ever be girlfriend material. But that has been how I think I’ve been deemed on a number of occasions.
And this is why I am currently single. *And mostly satisfied with that.
I refuse to pretend to be someone I’m not and if this scares you then you’re not the (temporary or otherwise) boy for me. If you want to judge me for it, then you’re not the boy for me. If you want to think that you can have sex with me on the side and go home to your safe girlfriend then you are not the boy for me.

Yes, sex is hugely important to me. I believe good sex is the cornerstone to a great relationship; it’s how you build intimacy. I believe. I think you can have mind blowing sex with someone who you have a mind blowing relationship with. I’m not saying there has to be earth shattering sex every, single, time but there needs to be real electricity and a genuine wanton desire for each other. At least that passion at the very start. At least start at that point? And I will always hold out for that. I will be losing no more sleep about any boy who wants to judge me, sleep with me and then decide I was too easy. Or indeed any boy who thinks I’m a whore because of the things I want him to do to me.
Those days are passed.
So why am I ranting about it like I’ve just discovered the Madonna Whore Complex for the first time? I get enough sex (total lie, it’s never enough) I get more than my share of attention? I’m ranting because it makes me sad that this is still the way of the world. That there are girls and guys out there not getting the sex that they both want and for ridiculous reasons.
And shamefully….. because I know there were boys not giving me a chance because they had me filed under ‘not girlfriend material’, while my rational mind knows I shouldn’t care and my historical mind remembers that it doesn’t work out with a guy who would judge me – I can’t help it, sometimes it still bothers me. As much as I want to be a robot, I’m not, I’m sadly susceptible to human emotions on rare occasions.

So I’m not judging anyone for the choices they make or the relationships they choose to be in. I can’t promise that I won’t be tempted into once again tempering myself for a boy I lust after desperately. But I would urge us all to be maybe a bit brave? Suggest something, reveal something. It might work out in your favour. And to not waste anyone’s time if you don’t want to be in that relationship.

I mean really, is it too much to ask for to find a boy who is an absolute whore for me so I can return the favour? (Insert filthy smile here)

 

 

 

 

 

*Nobody’s sex life is perfect, shockingly, not even mine.

But I promise to let you know when it is x

Hey ladies, here’s the Good news –

So this week I’ve managed to talk someone into writing a piece for me. We’re going to call him Bonsai Poseur for reasons that are probably only amusing to me (he owns a bonsai, and he’s admitted he’s a bit of a poseur – a forthright admission that endeared him to me even more. My estimation of people tends to go up when they don’t take themsleves serisouly, so fair play)

Anyway, I asked, he said he would and I never thought I would get something so good but I’m glad my pushy request paid off.

Now while I would question some of what he says, I think the overall message is something that girls really need to hear (I won’t spoil the ending). I hope you like it, because that would mean I can coerce him into writing more and at another point I can sit on my laurels for a week, posting more boob pics on Twitter. Everyone wins!

(If you missed it, last Saturday was ALL Boob Saturday on my Twitter page Abbi Cranky @OCDCrankypants)

 

 

WHAT MAKES A WOMAN GOOD IN BED. A MAN’S PERSPECTIVE

Over the years in my many, many conversations with women about sex, the one question I get asked more than any other is this: What makes a woman good in bed? Or more to the point, what makes a woman bad in bed!
It’s pretty much the same question except that when women overhear men discussing such things, or when such things are brought up in discussion, it’s usually ‘what made her so bad in bed?’ rather than ‘what made her so good in bed?’

Firstly, a little bit about myself. I’m in my mid-thirties. For the most part I’m just an average guy. Slightly below the average height for a man, but slightly above on the attractiveness scale (if I do say so myself). My penis? Look up the average length and girth online, add a little bit and that’s mine. There are some things in life, sexual, physical, mental, what have you, where I’m way above average. And probably for the sake of balance, there are things I’m below average on, also. But you won’t hear me going on about those. I drink less than the average man, but read more books than average. I like football more than the average man, but talk (get angry) about it far less than average. I have no interest in cars or what mileage they do to the gallon, but I’ll happily perv on a cute ass or pert nipples on succulent breasts through a thin shirt on a cold day along with every other guy. So, it’s safe to say, for the most part, I’m your average guy.

I remember a conversation I had with a female ‘friend’ not so long ago. We were discussing our sexual partners and such over a pint or three. The topic had somehow meandered to ‘who was your best and who was your worst.’ Now, I know one of those answers straight off the top of my head. As for who was my worst, well that took some thinking and I listed off a handful of names, when I fucked them and under what situation i.e: girlfriends, one night stands, how old I was when I fucked them and so on. And the more I listed them off, the more I found that other names kept getting added to the list. I found that I could have recalled anything up to twenty women who I would have considered bad in bed. My friend started laughing and asked me did I ever fuck anyone I actually enjoyed fucking? Truth is, even the ones who were bad were still okay.
Then my friend took more of a serious tone and asked me, ‘well what was wrong with these women that made the sex so bad?’ I knew the answer but didn’t actually know if she’d believe me because to me, it’s so startlingly simple. Instead, she interjected with a knowing smile and said ‘let me see if I can guess.’ I was happy to play the game.
‘They just lay there.’ Some of them did, some of them didn’t.
‘They were too quiet. The silent ones,’ and she laughed. Some were quieter than others and some were louder.
‘They were shit at sucking cock. Or didn’t suck cock at all.’ It was true, some didn’t suck cock and some were poor at it. But not all of them.
‘They didn’t want you going down on them?’ She asked this knowing how much I love eating pussy. But no, almost all of them had no issue with me getting my head between their legs. Although a small few didn’t let me. (One thing I’ll never understand by the way.)
‘Hmmm I don’t know. Too passive? Too aggressive? Not kinky enough? Big ol’ loose cunt on them? What???’ She was now a bit confused. Some were passive, some were aggressive. Some were even kinkier than what suits my own tastes and yes, some pussies were tighter than others but that wasn’t it.
But let me change tack here for a moment and talk about some common myths that surface when it comes to good and bad sex from a man’s perspective.
Men love older women because they know what they’re doing and/or know what they want. Having been with my fair share of ‘older’ women through various stages of my life, there is only a tiny grain of truth to that. Christ, the older I get now, the conversation seems to be more turned towards ‘riding a young one’. So I would say no, older (or younger, depending on your age) does not necessarily constitute better sex.
The ‘sluttier’ a woman dresses, the better she’ll be in bed. Okay, ladies believe it or not, this is actually something that some men believe to be true. As if how you dress signifies your willingness to have sex or how wild or kinky you are in bed. I don’t really believe that men truly believe this, but often a comment I will hear (and might have uttered myself) when a scantily dressed lady walks past me and my mates table when we’re out is ‘Jesus, the body on that. Bet she’s a whure in the sack.’ And of course by the word ‘whure’ we mean dirty, kinky, wild, no holds barred kinda thing. This however, is also a false proposition. Having on occasion pulled such a woman on a night out, the results are 50/50 when it comes to whether they were the ‘whure’ I was expecting or not.
The last one I want to mention is based on attractiveness. I had a friend once, many years ago, who when we went out for a night, he would always go for the larger lady. His rule was simple: If when he hugged her, his hands met, then she wasn’t large enough. He was under the illusion that ‘fat birds’ don’t get much sex so when they do, they’d ride you into the floor and leave nothing behind except a stump where your cock used to be. Now I can’t say how true that is or not because I’m not attracted to larger ladies myself, but he swore by it. However, I know now that he’s married, to a rather slim lady so maybe he was fibbing all along.
One thing I can testify to however is this. I’m somewhere between a 7 and an 8 on the looks scale. I know it’s all relative and to do with perspective (someone might look at me and see a 7, someone else would see a 10) but if we play it based on standard models of what’s regarded as ‘hot’ I’ll say I’m 7.5. Over the years I have managed to pull a few 10’s. Women that could have been glamour models. Slim bodies, large breasts, round ass, soft skin and the face of an angel. More than half of these ladies have not been very good in bed. There is a real arrogance to them that comes across in such a way that says ‘hey, I know how hot I am, and you know how hot I am and you’re damn lucky to have me here in your bed, naked.’ It’s almost as if they see themselves as a prize and they are there to be fucked, but give nothing in return. Now, that’s not all ‘hot’ women. I don’t want to sound unfair, but just going from experience, more than half of the ‘hot’ ones were terrible in bed due to their own arrogance. So, if you’re one of those ‘hot’ ones, remember, just you being there with all your hotness does not mean diddly shit if you don’t put your back into! Okay, I’m being a bit pedantic there but you get my point.
However, that in and of itself is not what makes a woman bad in bed.
To finally show that, let me tell you about the best sex I ever had.
I will be brutally honest here so as to leave you in doubt as to what I mean. This woman’s body was nothing to write home about. No, she wasn’t unattractive, of course not. But there were little folds of fat around her stomach, her breasts sagged slightly, she never waxed her pussy (which is something I fucking love by the way. The pussy being waxed that is), she was up there with one of the worst blowjobs of my entire life and she almost never initiated sex. Confused? I would be too. Until I fucked her. We went out for quite a while in fact.
When we had sex she lost herself completely. It was almost as if she lost all idea of who she was and where she was, and god help my ego, but even forgot who she was fucking. Me! When we weren’t having sex she was incredibly conscious of her body. Quite often she would cover up coming out of the shower and I always could tell how uncomfortable she was getting changed in front of me. But during sex! My god! It was like a different person. I can still remember her on top of me, her hands grabbing my ankles as she lay back and ground her pussy slowly back and forth along my cock. Forgetting her slightly saggy breasts and slightly rotund stomach. Her eyes closed and her face a mask of pure pleasure. I can still see her stomach tighten and clench and feel her legs shake as her orgasm ripped through her. Watching her face as it contorted itself into all manner of expressions and shapes. The way she would cry out and fall down on top of me, her body drenched in sweat and shaking with pleasure, my cock still inside her and feeling her pussy tighten with each orgasmic spasm that ripped through her body. I can see her face now, aggressive and animalistic, almost feral, as she slowly started to fuck me again. Getting faster, her face becoming almost angry as she bore down on me with such force and intensity, her hunger for another orgasm, her greed for it, overtook everything else.
This is why she is the best I’ve ever had. Oh sure, I’ve had lots of great sex with other women too. Mostly for the same reason. Their complete willingness to forget themselves for the length of time we are fucking. Their absolute inability to do anything other than just be in the moment.
And this is also what makes a woman bad in bed. Regardless of how hot you are, regardless of your technique (although I will say, when you’re on top ladies, you’re not riding a horse. Forget this hoping up and down craic. Grind on that cock for fuck sake!!!!) or how good you can suck cock or how kinky you are, if you are too aware of yourself, then you can’t fully invest yourself in it. And that is what constitutes bad sex. Some women can do this partially, some not at all. The more you can fully invest yourself in the moment, the better then man will enjoy everything. And I fully assume vice versa to be true too.
Some examples. I have often been with women where I can see and sense their uncomfortableness with regards to their bodies. They won’t let you put their legs over their head because their belly will crumple up. They might get on top but will lean forward so the man can’t fully see their body. Let me make one thing very clear. If a guy is in bed with you, HE’S NOT LOOKING FOR FLAWS! I can absolutely guarantee it. And if he should see any, he’s not going to mind one iota if you can fuck him like he doesn’t even exist. There is no greater thing in this world than to see a woman completely in the moment of pure pleasure. It is the single greatest thing I have ever seen or experienced and it is without a doubt the difference between bad, okay, good and great sex.
Worse still however, is women who have watched too much porn and are trying too hard to be seductive. I’m sure there are plenty of people reading this who know what I mean. I’m not saying you’re acting, but you’re not being yourself. You’re being an idea that you think the man wants and although your heart is in the right place, we can spot it a mile away. Be yourself. Let yourself go and just BE in the moment.
However, one final thought. No matter how in the moment you are, and how free and wild you let yourself go, if the lights are turned out then it doesn’t count. It’s easy to be yourself when the man can’t see your supposed ‘flaws’. Men are visual creatures, so leave the lights on, forget he’s even there and I promise you, he’ll remember you.

Oh and one final note. I’m not saying disregard technique in kissing, oral sex, or in intercourse or in any other form of foreplay: massage, role playing, sexting and all the other million ways we have to turn each other on. These are, of course, still things that are wonderfully and amazingly erotic and pleasurable. Still pay attention and be open and communicate with your man about what you both like and don’t like. But remember, good sex is not what you can do, but what you are.

Now go forth, put aside your doubts and worries about how you look with your legs back over your head, or how unattractive you think your cum face is. Trust me, if you give yourself over to the sexual experience he will not see one flaw or one thing that is remotely unattractive in you. I promise.

 

 

 

While I will always strive to believe that any boy I’m with is not actually sleeping with me simply to find and mock my many physical flaws, I think this is something that is very hard for girls to overcome. We’re bombarded day in day out from the time we can read with notions that anything less than perfect is not good enough. It takes an unrealistically steely resolve to not have any of those punches land. Just letting ourselves go is easier said than done.

But we could do with being reminded that boys aren’t are harshesr critic, every now and again. Cheers Bonsai.

Let us know if you agree

Three Times It Shouldn’t Have Worked – but it did

There’s been a lot of ways people (and we’ll stick with people because it’s boys and girls) have gotten into my pants, some legitimate, worthy and deserved and some, not. But of all of them there’s been some very cheeky ones that deserve a mention.

The guy who scaled the back wall and got in to my bedroom 3 floors up. If this sounds a bit threatening, it’s not. I knew him and I had slept with him before, I enjoyed him immensely. He knew well how to capitalise on this. I had left the club that night because I didn’t want to succumb to his charms. But when someone breaks into your house (admittedly not actually locked) and tells you they need your mouth around their cock? Call me what you like but I found that flattering and was not about to see that much effort go without reward.
I loved his cock. I loved sucking it for hours. I loved the subtle noise he made and the way he looked at me like he was going to devour me. Which was ironic really, given that our time together usually consisted of me eating him? He was the first guy who made a really big deal about how much he loved it, I was pretty sure I was good, I’d put in a lot of work, but the way this guy seemed to crave it, desire it? It was a new level. He told me that if I ever needed to be reminded that I could just call and say so, he’d know exactly what I meant and would reassure me.
Twice I’ve made that call.
And twice he was true to his word.
We won’t get into either of the farces that led to me needing to hear him say it.

The giant Viking of a guy who followed me to the loo at a party any time I went. It was very clever, the forced intimacy broke down my barriers. We weren’t even chatting he just managed to talk me into letting him in every time and promised he wouldn’t look. I didn’t let him the first time but he wore me down with gentle persuasion. I was there at the party with another boy, so I had no interest in this guy which led me to let my guard down, what did I care if he came to the loo with me, I wasn’t trying to impress him. But he was playing the longer game. They guy I was with was only ever going to be for that night and that night only – he was a tourist. But the Viking… he was interested in more and didn’t give a shite if that guy got me for one night, he wanted more and he lived in Dublin. And when we all went for recovery drinks the next night, he was straight over wanting details of how I got on with the tourist. I was happy to regale him still not copping on that this was all part of the wooing. I gleefully told him I’d had the arse ridden off me and was delighted with myself. He raised it, and countered that if I’d actually had the arse ridden off me then how I was sitting down so comfortably. Then added what it was that he would have done so that I really wouldn’t be able to sit down. (as if he already knew what I liked)
For everything I added to what he ‘could’ have done to me, for me to use the term correctly, he upped it. Until the language changed and he was promising to do this to me, should he ever get the chance? And at some point I reached saturation point of all the delicious, hard, forceful things he could hypothetically do to me and I actually wanted him to do them. He had worked on me for less than 24hs and there he was, in my knickers. It had gone from me having zero sexual interest in him to me unable to think straight, I wanted him so much.
(we actually ended up going out for a while)

I think the very cheekiest though was a young fella who tricked me. Yup. Tricked me. And in a way I absolutely do not want to encourage. I’m not telling you this story so that it can be imitated, it’s hardly likely to work again, but also it really could have gone quite badly, it’s awful actually – but I really feel like it’s a great story so I’m going to trust you guys and tell you anyway.
(If the first story upset you then this is when you should stop reading)
At some point over the last few years (let’s be vague on some of the details at least) I was advertising for a new housemate. I mentioned it on Facebook, but not my actual address. But from the way I talked about things a guy I didn’t really know, but who I chatted to every now and then and was highly entertained by, figured out where it was. It wasn’t rocket science, I talk about the same areas of Dublin and with even a tiny iota of determination you could find (from the top 2 accommodation sites) what might be my place. So, even though I have a fake name on Facebook*, I hadn’t given the address or anything if you had a bit of time you could figure out which ad was mine. Which he did.
But I knew his name, so he couldn’t just email me pretending to be interested in the room. So he set up a fake email address and contacted me pretending to be interested, and making himself seem like a prime candidate for perfect roommate. So of course I responded, asked a few more questions, started thinking this was a funny, cool guy that I think I would be very happy to show the room to.
Just to rewind a little bit, I have no idea how I was friends with this guy on Facebook, I know it wasn’t through anyone I knew, or at least wasn’t anyone I could remember, and he was a bit younger than me. But Facebook is like that you have loads of people in your book that you can’t remember collecting. Probably more pertinent to this story though is the fact that we flirted outrageously with each other. All the time. Ok not actually all the time, but when we did comment on each other’s stuff, it quickly got to flirty. His comments would have me peeing myself laughing. I found him the charming side of cheeky and I was sure there was some real smarts going on, the jokes weren’t obvious or trite, not everyone got them.
So, our email correspondence re the room to rent culminated in me deeming him worthy of an interview so I gave him a time slot of when to come round and …. my number in case he got lost. Poor naïve little me.

On the night that he was to view the room I had 3 other viewings – I was wrecked by the time he got there. I opened the door, welcomed him in and then – then I realised that I thought he looked familiar. He didn’t deny it, but he pulled out a bottle of wine and said you can throw me out or we could drink this and have a laugh about it. I cracked up laughing. It seemed hilarious and god damn did I want a glass of wine. This housemate search had been arduous. We drank the wine, we drank a second bottle of wine and I was being very entertained but there was nothing else happening. If he had other intentions he wasn’t being direct about it. UNTIL he asked if I wanted to see his penis. Once again, at this point I should remind people that this is not a tactic that I recommend and not a move I think will go down well and that’s not even counting the mild stalking. But I generally like being offered a look at someone’s cock – I like it even more if I think they plan on letting me touch it.
I should probably admit too that I’d seen it before. He was circumcised and had Snapchat-ed me a pic of it. Even so, this announcement was a jump in direction. I declined, I wasn’t sure whether any of this was a good idea. I wasn’t sure if I should be rewarding this kind of behaviour by making it successful. He asked was I sure I didn’t want to… and I hate to turn down seeing a penis from someone I might be attracted to, but we’d had a lot of wine. His next move was to say ‘Well, I think we should at least kiss’. And that was the end of my resolve. He was a phenomenal kisser and there was real electricity when we kissed. And so he was most definitely getting it.
I can’t tell you what happened after that because I don’t remember blow by blow. But I know we were both happy with it as it wasn’t the only time it happened.

If anyone wants to top that for outright cheekiness, please go ahead. Fortune favours the bold, or maybe Abbi just does?

*now completely defunct so feel free to waste your time looking for it

Things You Can Call Me and Things You Categorically Can’t

As with all of this, this being good sex that I enjoy and the other person does too, it’s all about context and understanding. Bitch, whore, harlot, tramp, filthy, dirty, girl, good girl, promiscuous in the right context you can call me all these words. In the wrong context you can use all these words, it’s just semantics.

I love semantics.
Call me a whore in the street and I might laugh or shrug fully bemused. Call me that in front of my parents and I might be annoyed. Call me that in the bedroom, in the right way. I’ll get wet.
For full effect I suggest pairing it with the word ‘your’ and telling me that you’ll do as you please. In fact, if you’re very lucky I’m likely to tell you myself that I’m your whore and that you can in fact get me to do as you please.
Again with bitch, say it at work and I won’t bat an eyelid, say it in front of my parents and neither will they. Say it when I’m being constructively helpful and I might get upset with you.
Calmly and confidently say ‘Get on your knees bitch and take this in your mouth’ and I will drop so fast I might kneecap myself. Grab me from behind and pull my hips to you, press me against your cock, then gently get a handful of my hair and pull my head back to whisper ‘Can you feel it? You’re gonna take this like the good little bitch that you are’…. Guaranteed to get you the response that you want, whatever that may be.

Filthy, dirty, tramp. These seem easy but they’re not. I am filthy and I am dirty – but compared to what? I might be the tamest thing you’ve ever come across, by your standards. I might be the most wanton creature ever, to you. But if you want to talk about me as being filthy or dirty then you better mean it as a compliment. Because I love to hear it. A lot of guys I know (none of whom know I write this) are more than happy to regale the group with stories of girls they’ve been with and how dirty they are; the girls that is. And a lot of the time I can’t shake the feeling that they are judging the girls for wanting and being willing to just do what the guy himself wants. It’s unacceptable to describe a girl as a slut or a whore when re-telling a tale but you can most certainly get away with saying ‘She was absolute dirt’ – and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard that. And always, I get the sense that it’s not complimentary? Even though the guy is openly telling us how much he loved it. As if there’s something wrong with the girl for liking it but nothing wrong with the guy for wanting it? It’s as if he’s negating his own embarrassment at what he did by transferring it all on to a label for the girl. That’s just a theory for it, I could be way off. I’ve pressed the guys, gently trying to see what it is they mean, but they always insist that they don’t mean anything derogatory by it, that it’s all a joke; of course they respect the girl and are not judging her. Yet these never seem to be the girls they go out with so I don’t feel this rings true, I can’t shake the idea that when they say ‘dirty’ they don’t mean it the way I want. It feels like code for slut shaming. I know when it’s said right, I know when someone says ‘you’re a filthy little bitch and I’m gonna ride the arse off you’ the right way, because it feels better than ‘I love you’. Or at least the same.
When I describe a guy as filthy, it’s usually followed by the words ‘and I’m fucking loving it’. I’ve said it a few times, where I’ve genuinely meant it and uttered the words with glee and well, pride at having found it.
So sadly when some of my male acquaintances say dirty, or call me filthy, I don’t love it. But mostly when someone else does, I really fucking do.

Girl. Good Girl. Where to begin with this. So fraught so laden. I have always hated anyone saying ‘good girl’ to me. It has always felt patronising and condescending and as if the person saying it was superior. I’d say from about the age of 8 I have railed against it, getting more and more indignant at its usage, as I got older, it got more insulting, especially if it was said at work. Can you imagine anything worse? Until it’s said by someone who is telling me to do something to their cock. Someone who has teased me and made me do things, possibly until I begged for it, had the complete upper hand until they’ve finally given me their cock and started to enjoy my mouth working on it…. and then said ‘Uuhh good girl, that’s it, take it’. I love this because I hate it. Do you know what I mean? I love that it demonstrates more control over me yet at the same time lets me know that he’s enjoying it. It’s everything I would hate in a non-sexual context but is exactly what I want at that moment.
There’s only been one who’s said it and I never told him I liked it. Some things, delicate nuances like this, you can’t express a preference for in case they stop doing it naturally and overdo it or never do it again. It’s one of those things that has to be executed with confidence and ease, unforced, unaffected. If we were in the middle of sex and it was said for no reason I think I might laugh. Context is everything.

Slut. Hmmmmmm There’s not many words I don’t use but I think this might be one of them. I could of course be turned. I read it on other people’s blogs and genuinely get turned on by it. I’m sure if the guy who calls me ‘Good Girl’ said it, it would make my knickers slick or if he pulled my hair and said it in my ear as he fucked me from behind ‘You’re such a little slut for me, take my cock you little slut, take it and tell me how much you love it. Beg me for more of it’ Yep, I can certainly imagine that being more than effective. I suppose what I mean is I don’t ever use it in any context at all so haven’t used it in a sexual one. But! I hear you say, how can it be used in anything but a sexual context? Well, I would never call a girl a slut. I have heard it used against women too many times, I have shamefully spent too much of my life being either worried or angry that I could be called it. It hasn’t crossed the barrier for me completely yet. I will always bristle if someone says it in my company. Most times I’ll have to say something too, can’t leave it alone. Because a lot of the time it can be women castigating other women with words that we should be revelling in. If I hear someone call someone a slut I have to ask why, and what is meant by it. If there are any girls reading I would urge you to ask yourself: Is that what a girl calls another girl? Do you want to use that as a term of abuse? I suspect you don’t.

What you can’t call me though is the Problem or the Other woman or the Temptress, the Blamed. I am not responsible for your desires or your actions. It is not up to me to keep you faithful if you have a partner. You don’t get to blame me or point the finger. Unless I break into your house and crawl into your bed you can’t ever lay any of that at my door. And for the record, I don’t plan on breaking into anyone’s house and crawling into their bad to tempt them into fucking me (unless of course I’m asked).
I will sleep with whom I please. But I won’t help anyone cheat. Or maybe I will, I’m not an angel. I might not like it but I might not refuse it. It’s happened in the past. But I won’t be taking responsibility for that. That is up to you.

So call me what you like, it probably won’t offend me or upset or if it bothers me at all it won’t be for long.

Whore. Harlot. Slut. Dirty. Filthy. Bitch.

I am all and none of the words above at any given time.
But what I will never be is ashamed. I wish I’d figured it out sooner.

Can The Cop Be Topped – more adventures with anal

I’ve seen him 5 times. Just 5 and I think I’ve done something new every one of those times. I love that. not just because it’s new and it broadens my horizons but because I love knowing that I always have more to learn, discover and enjoy. I haven’t seen it all or done it all and I never will not until the day I die.

But I’m talking about a Monday night. Well, a Monday afternoon and a night. He drives to Dublin to spend a few hours with me and then gets up at 4:45am to drive back to start a full shift of work, securing the peace. Obviously.
His response when I said I couldn’t get to him? ‘Fuck it, I’m driving up, you’re worth it, I want it, I have to see you’.
No one needs me to tell them how flattering this is. He’s not being smart or sarcastic because I said I couldn’t make it to him. He just means it. This right here is another reason I am willing to do almost anything for him. In bed.
But this is about a new thing, the two new things that happened with the cop since I wrote this piece on anal (you might have missed it because I didn’t out right call it ‘All Abbi’s Anal Experience, which, on mature reflection, I probably should have)
So the cop is easing me into anal, generally with his mouth or tongue on, in or around my ass, a baby finger in it when he’s got 3 fingers in my pussy and his mouth sucking on my clit and my new favourite; two fingers in my ass when he’s fucking me, rubbing the head of his cock through my skin. I’m not sure why this sends me insane, it just does.

So it’s Sunday, I know he’s coming to see me the next day and I am busy writing Abbi stories all day. It’s also been almost three weeks since I’ve seen him or had any action. The writing is not alleviating any pent up desires I have. I give myself a time cut-off point to stop writing (I’d be disciplined like that), and when It’s reached I’m going to relieve myself. But not like I normally do, I’m very, very turned on and very wet – the writing was very hot on this particular Sunday. I know I’m primed so I think it might be time to see if I can get the small black dildo into my ass, while I’m working my clit with the vibrator (usually turned off – I don’t like the sensation with it turned on). I get them both out and the lube. I rub the small dildo off my lips first and get it wet, then I sink it in – it feels so fucking good, I’m surprised and I almost don’t want to stop. I take it out and realise that as wet as I’ve made it, it still won’t go in my ass. So I rub the lube on it, and reach around to my ass. It feels nice but it’s still not going in. My cunt is begging for something to touch it so I grab the vibrator, which is way bigger and rub that against my clit, again thinking it’ll only be for a second, but it’s not only a second, my pussy almost sucks it up I can’t help it, I push it in and work it in and out, going deeper. I have lube on both my hands so I reach around and work a finger into my ass; it slips in so easily, I love it. I’ve actually never done this to myself before, I cannot fathom why.
I still have the vibrator in my pussy and now I have two fingers in my ass. It feels sensational, I get the vibrator in deeper, I can rub it through my skin with the fingers in my ass. The vibrator model is a rabbit (it has an actual rabbit shape on it which is to massage the clit as the main part is deep in you), which I’ve forgotten about because I’m not looking at what I’m doing, as I push it deeper into me, the little rabbit at the front reaches my clit. Christ, just with me working it with my hand it feels great. But I want more, I want the dildo in my ass, I want to feel it. So I slide my fingers out and re-lube the dildo. I start to work it at my ass, more determined this time. It hurts, I go slower, it still hurts, but I know it’s lubed and so am I so I just take my time and keep going.
I have the vibrator pulled half way out of my cunt, so I can ease the dildo into my ass. They both feel so good. I’m so wet, so lubed and so close to ecstasy. I’m so involved with everything that I almost don’t notice that I have the dildo fully in. I’m slipping on both sides, I can’t keep them both in. (This is why you need someone to help.) The dildo fills my ass and I can’t get my head around how good it feels, I want to hold it there and I also want to move it in and out. And ditto with the vibrator.
But I can’t do both so I opt for leaning against the door (I’m in the bathroom) holding the dildo in there as I work the vibrator into me with the little rabbit head going at my clit.
I have the most spectacular orgasm I’ve ever had using two toys and I am fucking delighted with myself.

I can’t wait for the Cop tomorrow.
I know I want more.

He again takes an hour off the time he was supposed to be here. Jesus. I’m working from home so I’m available for him. What? It’s the least I can do if he’s going to drive for 2.5 hrs to see me.
He tells me to wear something he can rip off me. Then he rings me, asks what I’m wearing and tells me to take if off and put my underwear in my mouth. Then he tells me how he wants me to touch my pussy.
Can you see how good he is? This is on his way to see me, he’s an hour and a half away and he’s getting me ready from the comfort of his car.
Then he hangs up and texts to say continue getting ready and when I open the door, he isn’t going to say a word to me he’s just going to get me on my knees and shove his cock in my mouth.
He knows exactly what I want.

True to his word, he just looks at me, calm as a stalking tiger and walks into my house as I stand back from the door. He closes it behind him and locks it, not taking his eyes off me. He doesn’t say a word.
He stands into me and breathes me in, up my neck and into my hair. He steps back slightly and rips my shirt open. He takes a deep, half moan, breath at my exposed red bra. Then he gently slides a hand up my neck, behind my hair and gently brings me to my knees. Before I can get to his belt, he’s opening it. Oh god I think he might not give it to me? But he does, he lets me have it straight away.

But this isn’t a story of the sex we have there, just inside the door, or just upstairs or later again on the couch. Or the blow jobs where he finally tastes his own come or where I swallow his cock whole, back my throat. (Don’t worry; he’s aware he’s a lucky bastard) This is the story of the last thing we do before we decide to pass out.

It’s late by the time I reveal to him what I got up to the day before, he raises and intrigued and excited eyebrow. Nothing fazes him. He asks me to show him, show him exactly how I made myself come the day before. But that’s not what I want. He reads me and asks, so what is it you do want to do … to have me do to you? I’m not sure why I’m tentative about this but I eventually tell him; I want him to fuck me with his cock while the dildo is in my ass. He wastes no time at all and tells me to get on my knees, facing away from him so he can see, and show him how I started yesterday. I kneel in front of him first, rubbing my pussy with the dildo. He’s got his cock out and it’s rock solid as he watches me. It was rock solid anyway. I slide the dildo out of my wet cunt and rub lube on it. He once again tells me to turn around and lean forward over onto all fours; I do then reach around lube up my ass slipping one finger in. ‘Oh god this is great, you’re great’ he says to me. Slightly out of character, but exactly what I need at that moment. I work another finger in there and he lets out a moan as he watches me ‘Oh fuck yeah, that’s it. Jesus I love this’. Then it’s time for the dildo, again more lube, and I start to work it in slowly. It still hurts, even after I’ve had two fingers in there but I want this, I want it so fucking much. He’s still watching and telling me how much he loves this.
I eventually get it in and I love it, I love the way it feels but I need something at my pussy it’s aching for something in it. He’s kneeling behind me at this stage, with one hand on his cock still, he takes hold of the base of the dildo and moves it in and out of me while I go at my clit. I’m almost blind with how great it feels but I want his cock. He gets me into a better position and he eases his cock into me. I’m now actually blind with ecstasy as he works both my holes with all the control. I am whimpering and sobbing with how much I love this. He’s pounding me with his cock and moving the other one in my ass. I start at my clit and I think I’m going to scream the paint off the walls. I turn my head round to ask if he’s ok, ‘What! This is fucking fantastic, I’m great, I’m loving this. You’re great’.
I relax and I know I’m going to come soon. I bite down and come so hard, I’m making a noise only dogs can hear. He tells me it feels so fucking good, he thinks he could come. I beg him not to, not just yet. And he works me some more, whispers in my ear how fucking amazing I am again just when I want to hear it. I tell him that I came so hard, turns out I was making a noise inaudible to human ears as he missed it. Me telling him I came is too much, that’s the end, he says he can’t hold it anymore and I say that’s ok and beg him to fill my cunt with his come. And he does. I cannot describe the satisfaction. But I know we’re both feeling it. We were in it together.

‘Stay there’ he says. As he eases himself out, he then, slowly, delicately eases the dildo out of me. I love how he does everything.

It’s gone 1am and he has to be up before 5.
I think I was worth it. I hope I was.

*the other new thing was me swallowing his whole cock, actually swallowing it down my throat.

Bi or For the Boys?

I have been asked this a number of times but I was asked by this guy I chat to on Twitter. He was asking questions, I was answering because I always want to engage anyone in the chats about sex. And to his credit he was giving some good info back, so I was very happy to trade.
He was asking if I’d ever been with girls, I said I had. He asked how many, I’m not sure. He asked how far had it gone, I said I’d slept with a few – not with a strap on or fisting, but I’d had my mouth on their holiest of holies or their tongue in mine. I think that classifies as sleeping with? Either way it was more than just a Katy Perry kiss.
So he asked did I think I was Bi – he was genuinely curious and just wanted to know. As someone who had admitted to me that he had dabbled with same sex experiences himself I was happy to entertain the conversation. Maybe he was wondering about himself? I don’t know. I liked chatting to him, I loved his stories. But Twitter DMs are not the best medium for getting the real meat.
And I started to think about my encounters with girls and what I genuinely thought about them, really tried to answer the question that I felt I knew the answer to.

So I counted how many girls I’ve been with. 13 I think, that’s 13 that I can remember kissing and the experience being noteworthy, bankable if you will.
I didn’t sleep with all of them, I think I’ve only slept with three, four on a technicality. And one that I really, really wish I had but a really inopportunistic boy got in the way (I know that’s not a word but it should be, coined just for him, the idiot, he could have seen two hot girls at it)
I really wish it had happened because I liked this girl, we had so much fun together. We worked in the same bar, but she was still a student, we’d never have been in the same circles, we’d never have met. She was a structural engineer and I was arts. She was country and I was city. I swear all her friends disapproved of me. But this night she was just the right side of drunk and knew this was her only chance to kiss a girl. She’d seen me with The Very First Girl, she knew I was open to it. She wouldn’t have done it with any of her other friends, wouldn’t have been able. So she kissed me, that’s right, she kissed me it was great. She tentatively asked what it was like to kiss a girl, I told her it was soft and probably more technically pleasing than most boys, if she ever wanted to know I was happy to oblige, so she stopped being tentative and came and took it. And she was really direct, she said, outright ‘I want to make you come, I think I can, I think I’ll be able and I want to try’ I was also the right side of drunk and I was actually excited at this prospect, I don’t think any boy had said this to me yet. It was a delicious thing to hear. And then… ruined. We were spotted. As she led me towards the bed, and pushed me gently onto it and fell on top of me, the door was a jar, and he walked past. Just as she had shifted my tight dress up a bit over my hips he caught a glimpse and started shouting the odds. Ok, he was my boyfriend. And the manager of the bar. I’ve just never understood what he was so angry about? Anyway, that was the end of that, the spell was broken and the chance never presented itself again.

So what of the ones I have been with? That I did manage to get the knickers off or who managed to get inside mine?
I don’t think this counts but it was a girl that cleverly got inside my pants, now that I think of it! It was very well executed. She was not the type you would ever think had any leanings. She was the girlfriend of one of my boyfriend’s friends. Not a friend he liked or had that much in common with. She was brash and funny and made no apologies for anything, she was tiny and gorgeous but in a glamour model way? Which isn’t my look at all or what I would go for. But she was a ball of energy and fun and she had the tits I STILL wish I had. They turned up. I’m not sure we had anything but our boyfriends in common but I just liked this girl. She was always giving me compliments which I never thought anything of. Like, she used to tell me she loved the way I walked, the way I carried myself. If I went to the loo she would tell me that she had watched me walk off and that I swayed and she loved how my hips were. I just thought she was being nice. I was bigger than her and I loved her tiny perfect figure and was always saying so – I thought she was just reciprocating and struggling to find something to use, so she said this.
So one time we’re out, she’s asking how I am, we’ve had a few and I admit that I’ve just gotten waxed, she asks if it was a good job. Pretty standard enquiry, we’ve all had it go badly. I told her it had been a great job and I was delighted with it, it was a landing strip Brazilian, to be specific. So she tells me she’s just gotten waxed too, but she went for the Hollywood. And she asks if she can see mine? Again, this was very standard practice with us when we were first getting it done. I agreed and we went to the loo. We went into a generous sized cubicle and I leaned against the door and pulled my jeans down then caught my knicks in either thumb, kinda enjoying the reveal, and slid them down too. She was sitting on the toilet almost head height with my smooth cunt. She declares it a nice job and asks can she touch it, I agree, because I am very proud of how lovely it is. But she gets on her knees in front of me and runs a tiny hand over it. Then she looks up and asks can she give it a little kiss? I’m a little surprised I just never thought she would be into girls. Never judge a book eh? Of course I agree so she gives it a little kiss, but then she catches it with her tongue, parts the lips as she pulls her tongue just up to the hood where the clit is and it feels too nice so I, like an eejit, stop and say ‘show me yours’. She lifts her dress and it’s beautifully bare, she asks me to give it a kiss. I do and I want to do more. But I’m really thrown. Her boyfriend kinda scares me and mine is outside, we’ve been gone a while. This boyfriend is Don Draper and probably ok with this but still, I actually give a shit about what he thinks and this is his home town we’re in, a small town at that. So me and the tiny girl have a little kiss and we run out guilty, knowing looks all over our faces.
I straight away tell Don, he hardly blinks. He knows. That she’s had more girls than guys and he was pretty sure that’s what was happening in there. It didn’t faze him. He was so cool. It’s a shame we never got to have a threesome, he’d have been spectacular.
And that’s how she got in without me even knowing it was happening.

But that’s nor real sex either is it?
And this doesn’t really address the question does it? Do I think I’m Bi – honestly I don’t think I am. I think just because I’ve been with girls isn’t enough to create a definition like that. I like girls, I love to look at them, I am noted as the biggest perv in my gym, or at least I think I am, noted by me not because anyone has asked to stop leering.
Even just today as a female colleague was standing at my desk she turned around twice to grab something off the printer and I totally checked her out. She caught me too and called me on it ‘Do I look fat in these pants or something? You’re looking at me weird?’ No love, they look great, I was checking you out.
And I was, they were quite tight and she looked great. I’m glad I told her, people need to hear it, but I probably should have just said ‘I like your pants’ but I’m a perv and I can’t help looking.
But do I want to be with girls? Does it turn me on or am I doing it for someone else, am I doing it to get noticed, for a reaction. Am I doing it because it’s now expected?
Because it’s easy for girls, culturally sanctioned for us to experiment with each other?

So another girl I properly slept with was again an accident. But it was proper sex. I can categorically say I was rubbish. I was really drunk and excited and I lacked any finesse or skill or ability. I think about eating girls so much, I really do. I love the taste of my own pussy I want to taste other girls to see what they taste of, I imagine them in my head as tasting fantastic. I want to do to them what I want done to me, I want to tease them the way I want to be teased myself. I want to take my time, and spend hours down there. But I also want to be fucked while it’s happening. That’s it right there one of my ultimate fantasies, I get to eat a beautiful cunt, lap at it while someone fucks me from behind.
But that’s not how this happened. It was me, her and a boy. To give him credit he was indeed paying enough attention to both of us. But I didn’t know where to look, what to do or more importantly what I wanted to do or have done to me. There was too much to choose from. There was too much to do. I think I was just grabbing at everything and shoving my tongue or fingers everywhere. Not taking my time, not doing it the way I dreamt in my head not asking him to fuck me while I ate her. I panicked I think I tried to do too much at once not wanting to disappoint anyone but not knowing what anyone wanted. At some point she got up and said she’d had enough – possibly quite abruptly. Turns out she had started seeing someone and the guilt had come knocking. So she got dressed and I walked her downstairs. But she didn’t leave. We started kissing in the hall way. And then she leaned me against the wall and started to undo the top of my dress again. It got quite heated and we were really wearing into each other. It was exciting and fun – but was I fully turned on? Was it just because I could? I did like it, but I wanted cock. I always want cock. I’m not sure a girl by herself is enough for me. I don’t know if it ever would be, a girl has never made me come.
She wasn’t going to come back upstairs but we stayed there for ages, I went down on her trying to do a better job this time but we’d already opened the front door, and the realisation that the sun was up and I was on my knees with my face in her cunt was the end of it. It was time for her to go she said.

I like girls, I like kissing them but does it get me off? I’m not sure. There always seems to be an interruption or a third element to things.
Why was I still doing it?

I’d been with The Very First Girl a few times, but I loved her, still do love her. We are best friends and sometimes when it’s culturally ok to do something even though you’ve never consciously thought of it definitively like that, that you had society’s permission, you just want to kiss someone you love. And I think a lot of times that’s why we were kissing. And a lot of the time it was because we were young and bored and maybe looking for a reaction. But I don’t think we were ever doing it simply because someone wanted it or expected it?
But when it went to more than just kissing, when it was behind closed doors? It was more often than not: me, her and her boyfriend. Which was ok with me, we were a tag team and he had the wherewithal to realise this and not spook the horses! He just let happen whatever was going to happen. We mostly dominated him, took turns licking his cock, teasing him. The power dynamic was new to us. I enjoyed that, I liked the idea of him wanting us both and me and her being in it together. That was probably what turned me on. But I think she might have been doing it for him? I’m sure she enjoyed him watching us too but I think the main driver for her was for him to enjoy it.
I know I never made her come.
This threesome arrangement went on longer than it should have – I loved the idea in my head. We would wear matching underwear but in different colours and dance around in high heels or better, high heeled boots and tease him and make him beg for it. The nights out ended like this so many times I can’t tell them apart. And I enjoyed it, I enjoyed being open to things, getting to do stuff that I hadn’t before to see what it is I wanted. But it was never my show, I was always the guest appearance and so I never asked for anything.
I’m not sure I knew what I wanted. It always just seemed great in my head. Seemed like a great idea in my head?

And now. Well maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong? Recently while on a tough gym session with The Very First Girl – yeah that’s right we’re still friends, no longer interested in benefits – I was surprised how much I enjoyed weight training with her. She knows what she’s doing which is always hot and reassuring but that wasn’t it. It was because she was in control telling me what to do, directing things. I think that’s what I really liked about it, the surrender. I’m not saying that being in the gym turned me on, it didn’t per se although I was aware at times that we were the only two girls in there and she was leaning over me spotting me with quite a bit of hands-on correcting my form – maybe this was being watched by the guys? Besides that thought fleetingly crossing my mind I wasn’t there thinking about sex. I didn’t feel sexy, it didn’t feel sexy. It was the next day as I thought about why I liked it so much that I realised? I think I like giving in to someone knowing more than me, to relaxing and having someone else in charge, not having to do it all myself. And then it hit me – Maybe if I was with a girl that took control, like completely took it, would I be more into it? And now, thinking about the gym session right now, I am a little turned on.

Which answers none of my questions – once again I’m brought full circle back to the hypothesis that I like the idea and the fantasy of a girl more than the reality. I love it in my head. I love thinking about it, I wish I could have another girl, I wish I could play with tits in my mouth. Undo some knickers slowly, breathe in that gorgeous girl smell. But now I suppose I have a brand new fantasy, one that I know I haven’t exhausted or haven’t proven wrong. I am now thinking about a girl telling me what to do to her, telling me to get on my knees and eat her. As she stands over me in black underwear and heels (naturally), grabbing my hair and pulling my face into her, she pulls her knickers to the side and gives me her cunt almost sitting on my tongue. Using my mouth as she wants or telling me how to eat her and tongue fuck her. I’m wearing see through underwear and she pinches my nipples through the lace as she works herself on my face. The key here is that she is utterly in control and she’s doing this because she wants it, not for an audience but because it turns her on and is getting her off. This is my fantasy so of course anything I want happens which, without question, would be her producing a strap on and bending me over and fucking me after I’ve made her come. She would intermittently stop and eat my pussy then kiss me then flip me round and start fucking me harder. Eventually she would finish me with her mouth and then tell me that it was time I fucked her.
This would play in a loop – of her coming and me coming.

I like girls. The thought of them certainly gets me off, fantasising about them gets me off – but reality has yet to live up to it. So I’m not Bi and I’m not into girls because boys think it’s hot. It just is what it is – I love sex and girls are part of my fantasies.

I’d say I’m probably not done with girls yet.

All My Thoughts On Waxing

Whether prevailing cultural norms created my predilection for removing all the hair from my holiest of holies or whether it’s some inner desire of my own; the fact is that I do. On a regular basis I hand over a nice bit of money to have someone pour searing hot wax on the most sensitive area of my body and then rip it off.
Do I feel pressured; do I do it because I have to or because I am coerced? Well if I am it’s so insidious and stealthy that I don’t know about it because I’m pretty sure I do it for me. I like a nice neat lady garden. Even as a kid as soon as it started to be of a length that my underwear/swimwear couldn’t contain it, it had to be removed – that was just a necessity of common decency. Whereas now I remove it for a lot more reasons.
For one, I have a lovely cunt and I don’t want it hidden.
Two, I think it looks better with it all gone. And if it looks better then someone is more far more likely to be willing to spend more time down there. And, if I’m honest, I feel a lot more confident and sexy when I’m waxed. I feel confident that it’s somewhere someone wants to put their mouth and tongue because when I have a guy that’s all neat down there then I spend more time and can be more creative. Pulling a mouthful of hair out of your mouth is fine, I’ll do it and happily get on with the job but fuck me if it’s not at all sexy. So, I don’t want someone to have to do it when they are giving me all that gorgeous tongue action across the mound, up and down my lips and while sucking the hood. That just isn’t as enjoyable when there’s hair in the way. And by that I mean it’s not psychologically comfortable for me. And I’m all about my own comfort in the long run.
And in that vein I don’t want to be thinking that the guy is thinking about hair, I want to imagine that when he peels down my (hopefully) soaking wet knickers and sees my cunt that it’s exactly what he was hoping for, beautifully manicured and inviting, just waiting to be licked all over.
Now if I was between waxes and a guy showed even a hint of reluctance, or said anything about the hair? Dream on pal, those knickers are going back on and you can damn well wait then until I am waxed. Which by the way will be the 12th of never cos you’re never seeing my hole again. See, while I am happy to get waxed and present a beautiful smooth set of lips, it’s also my choice and a style statement as much as anything else. You don’t get to demand that it’s done and balk if it’s not.
Thankfully I haven’t encountered this too much. I usually get met with ‘Shut up woman, I don’t give a fuck, let me at it’ and then I swoon.

But waxing is fraught with so much anxiety and practically none of it to do with pain (I think I actually like the pain now, maybe because of what it represents i.e. that someone is going to fuck it and treat it beautifully and then pound it, either way I like the pain and I like the swollen tenderness afterwards. It’s almost like being swollen from being turned on. After I’ve been waxed I am uber aware of my lips no matter what I’m doing and I, just, love, that.) The anxiety though is caused by timing. You can’t always get an appointment when you need it, there are logistics involved: will you have your period, will you have enough re-growth, will you be able to be waxed in time before the sex. In case you didn’t know, and it’s possible that you might not, sure how would you when we rarely talk about it, but you can’t have sex for 24hrs after getting waxed. That’s right 24 long agonizing hours. Well, you can but it’s not worth the consequences. You also can’t sun bathe, or have UV light near it. Ditto, chlorine or fake tan. So if you’re preparing for a sexfest – as I so regularly am when it comes close to waxing time – then you have A LOT to factor in. Sometimes the stars do not align. And that’s when I will hands down chose the having of the sex over the getting of the waxing, and just hope he’s cool with it.

And sometimes, like buying a large box of condoms, it all gets jinxed. The person you think you’re going to have sex with is not available or they (and god forgive him this has happened) don’t want sex that night. Or worse, you stop seeing each other. All of these things have happened to me at waxing time.
I’m quite fair, my hair is light and it takes ages, aeons in fact for it to grow back to a waxing length. So when I am getting my downstairs hair done and I will finally have a beautifully smooth, can’t-keep-my-own-hands-off it cunt – well then I god damn want someone to see it, comment on it and give me the benefit of fabulous oral sex.

I’m afraid that this has led me to some very questionable sexual encounters. I swear there are some guys who have only gotten it from me because I’ve been freshly waxed and I wanted the sex that I enjoy only with that. I really hate to waste a fresh hairdo.

If I could take it all off permanently, I would. At least off the lips. That would be ideal.

My preference? It’s for an inverted triangle that ends with the point just at the top of the hood, almost like the tip of an arrow.
But I’ve been waxing for so long it never grows back thick enough for that to be effective anymore, it just looks like they missed a spot.

And if I wasn’t having sex, if I wasn’t planning on having it (not that I can fathom that) but if it was winter and I wasn’t planning on having anyone see it or touch it at all, what then?
Then I would still wax it. Not for any bullshit, spurious hygiene reasons but simply because I like it to be neat for me. I like to be able to touch it and for it to be lovely to my own touch. I want to look at myself in underwear and feel that it looks good not for anyone else but for me.
I see it in the same vein as any other part of grooming that I do to look well presented. Does that make me subjugated by society? I don’t think so.

Has anyone ever asked me to grow it? One guy, but I couldn’t make out if he was serious, I think maybe he was just demonstrating that he liked it whatever way I styled it.

Do I expect boys to be manscaped? No, of course not. But it is nice if they’ve tidied up down there. For the same reasons that I do it should be the same reasons he should want to. And to be fair most guys do make an effort to trim it. I do live in hope that I can get a guy to wax it though, I would love there to be no hair down there, none at all. As smooth and silky as only ripping it out by the root can get it! I would love to find that or talk a guy into it. Of course I would never demand or expect or coerce anyone into it. I would just like to experience it with someone who was willing to do it. Have a guy go as far as I regularly do in the pursuit of hairlessness.

Any offers?
Anyone out there actually had a back sack and crack?

Why The Curse of Condoms

A necessary evil which really isn’t all that evil so why do they cause so much drama?
There seems to be an inordinate amount of guys that either don’t want to or can’t for some reason wear condoms. I’ve heard loads of excuses the typical ‘It doesn’t feel as good’, ‘they ruin the moment’ to my very favourite ‘they don’t fit me babe’.
Well here’s my response to that; Get fucking used to it or get used to not fucking.

They don’t feel good – well they don’t feel that great to me either
They ruin the moment – well they ruin it for me too buddy.

If you want me to fuck you without a condom then who else have you said the same to? Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t care who you’ve been with before me, this isn’t about number judgement – it’s simply a case for safety. And yeah I am judging you if you have unsafe sex, I’m judging you as not someone I’m willing to sleep with.

So you can’t come with a condom on? Well practise. I don’t love the taste of a cock that’s had a condom on it but will I still happily put it in my mouth? Damn straight I will. It has taken practise, getting used to. Everything needs getting used to. Get. Used. To. It.
Have a posh wank, practise, train yourself. Not much that’s worth doing was done perfectly the first time. And this is worth that time.

You say they don’t fit? Too tight? Well lucky you and congratulations but there are other sizes, brands for larger guys and I’m not just talking about length but girth as well. I can recommend these, when I say recommend, I mean guys I’ve been with enjoyed them. And so did I.

So cut the excuses, protection is everyone’s responsibility.

And here are my reasons why I hate them, make me feel uncomfortable cause me embarrassment

Ideally I wouldn’t have to use them at all and in a committed relationship you can happily eschew them if you’ve got other methods of contraception.
I’m allergic to apple flavoured ones. True.
If I want to do my favourite teasing trick (sitting on it, then sucking it, then sitting on it again – it makes it very difficult.
They do taste horrible
Who buys them, me or him? I hate to be without so I usually have them – but am I judged for that?
Buying in bulk – totally guarantees that I won’t get to use them all and I won’t get it for ages. It just jinxes it. It just does.
If a guy brings a box, we don’t go through them and he leaves them behind – it freaks me out. If he takes them it freaks me out. It’s a no win situation.

If he leaves them does he assume he’s coming back, that I want him to? Or does he think I need them? Is he married/not single and can’t take them with him? All these things run through my head.

If he takes them with him, does he think he won’t be back, have I made him think I don’t want him to come back? Does he think I don’t like him? If he’s sleeping with other people does he need to be so obvious about it. All of which are fine but all of which run through my mind.
Why? Why do these things go through my head? I can’t tell you. It’s just how my mind works. I don’t want any of the decisions taken off me.
Ideally we use them all, I feel like a sex goddess and there’s none left to make me wonder if I want to see him again or if he wants to see me again.