Dimensional

When I first got my Vibrator, the sensations were so powerful. It was vibrant, full colour and the orgasms were like ecstatic cataclysms that completely took me out of this world and into this state of heightened bliss.
I found myself turning it up until I was using it at 100%, when the colour started to fade. I started to be able to think whilst I came, instead of being a screaming, gasping, gibbering mess.
Then my ice dragon arrived. I toyed and, with my vibe in my right hand, vibrations on my clitoris and my left working that silicone into my body, the colours ‘popped’ again.
I’d peaked Kilimanjaro, and it left me in a state of exhaustion. Total bliss.
It was slow to fade. But it did fade. The colours desaturating like an old TV. I still came, it was still enjoyable, but it didn’t have that intensity that left me totally spent.
And now, I feel like I peaked the Himalayas. I flushed from the tip of my head to my knees. I shuddered and screamed, totally lost in the complete and utter rush.
But now. Even though the gear is the same, I am stuck at base camp. The weather conditions aren’t the same but anything else feels like I have been flicked back into black and white TV. I still try, it still feels good. But the excitement and vibrancy has disappeared.
I am terrified, in a way, of what happens when I finally peak Everest. When I push it to the highest levels and find that I can’t go higher. What then?
What happens when there is no new territory, no thrill of excitement that comes with something new.

I want a hitachi wand. I’m terrified, but I want one and the intensity it promises.

S told me to be careful not to eclipse sex, but that isn’t possible.
Sex is a different dimension. It is an immersion.
Another body, tangible and tactile. Another person’s energy that combines with yours. Their pleasure and your pleasure that heightens and enhances the other’s senses.
A hand on my hip, fingers digging into my flesh, weight on my hip bone.
Lips on my lips, on my throat, on my breasts, on my nipples, sucking, licking, biting. Their skin on my skin, my fingers pressing into their flesh, nails catching skin.
The noises, their notes of pleasure, like an aria of ecstasy, mingling with my cacophony of sound.
Taste, the taste of them, their scent. Individual and distinctive. Their sweat mingling with mine as our writhing bodies come together.
Their release, as they hold me, hands grasping my shoulders as they shudder and groan, up to the hilt in me, their body tightly entwined with mine.

It is something that cannot be replaced. It cannot be emulated. And it cannot be eclipsed.

Toys

Whilst I was dating S, I never seriously considered getting a decent vibrator or dildo. I guess the thought never occurred to me that I should and I never bothered to really research them as I figured, since I orgasmed pretty much every time we had sex and I never had a huge urge to masturbate, it didn’t feel necessary.
I did own a cheap vibrator that I bought from a local shop whilst we were long distance but I never really enjoyed it, so it didn’t get used.
But when we broke up and my sex drive returned in full force, I suddenly understood why a decent vibrator was necessary in my life. I hit the web and started researching. I knew I wanted something decent and narrowed it down to the Hitachi Magic Wand and a LELO.
After reading a number of review sites (in particular, Oh Joy Sex Toy) I decided that the Hitachi might be a bit much. But I was captivated by the sleek designs the LELO offered and after much deliberation, chose the GIGI 2. (Which I will review.)
In my search, I also stumbled across Bad Dragon via Gritty Woman.
I was impressed by the seemingly high quality of their dildos and the high praise that they got, so after a bit of deliberation, I picked up a small Kelvin the Ice Dragon from their ready made section. (Review pending.)
Now, I am not a furry at all but, I was fascinated by the textures, shapes and customisation options. Add to that the fact that they obviously are well designed and made to an impressively high standard and you’ve got me. I’m a sucker for high quality stuff.
Now, I have two custom Bad Dragon dongs on order; a medium Nox and a small Nova.

They (the LELO and the Kelvin) both have proved to have been excellent purchases.

Inconvenience

Thanks to my knee, it looks like I won’t be having any fun for a while since I will probably have my period by the time it is healed enough for me to engage in any sort of strenuous activity.
Turns out the random bleeding I had was just a bit of breakthrough from my implant. It happens sometimes. Ugh, bodies can be so inconvenient.
Like the last time I was with J, we just got into a rhythm when his leg cramped. Like, a full on stop-the-bus, try not to yell, cuss like a dirty mouthed school girl sort of cramp.

Tonight I tried to wank myself exhausted because I slept all day. Of course, 15min in, I was edging but then ended up with this tiny pft sort of orgasm and my drive disappeared. I mean, I probably could have been more aroused, gone for the knot in my ice dragon a little later too.

And the pain killers I took have worn off and my knee is sore again.

It’s a little concerning though, since that day where I had that earth-shattering, screaming orgasm, I’ve been feeling like everything is less in intensity. Like all the colours are washed out. I hope it doesn’t last.

Knee

Today I dislocated my knee and spent 8 hours in the emergency department. My day just had to get better.

Surprise

Surprise Period! Huzzah!

Actually, it’s rather inconvenient. I was hoping to get my sex on this week.

Normally I get lots of premenstrual symptoms, so I guess this is breakthrough bleeding that I get from my implant for time to time.

Damn.

Oh M-fuck-G!

I have experienced a range of different kinds of orgasms. Clitoral, vaginal, big, small, long, short, messy, multiple and combinations of the above.
The last few months have been especially enlightening.
Today, I explored the combination of vibrator on clitoris plus hard g-spot fingering. Yes, it might be old news to some but for me, I never though g-spot stimulation was all that special. I shrugged and figured it wasn’t for me. My g-spot vibrator is used exclusively as an external massager because it did absolutely nothing for me when used as originally intended.
So, today, when I decided that I would try again, I found yet again that before you decide you don’t like something or at least, you feel neutral about it, you have to try it more than once and in different ways.
Vibe on my clit, I curled my finger hard against the anterior wall.
My heart pounded, I became hot and felt myself flush. It was such an intense feeling that climbed slowly, oh so slowly until I came hard. Screaming. And kept coming. Shuddering and spasming.
I then slept for an hour. Exhausted.

Surrender

Miseducation, unlearning, rewriting, releasing

Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual
I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
It’s originality.
It’s passion.
It’s joy.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.

– Lee M. (One of my friends on Facebook)

When I talk about ‘good sex’, I think I may be using the wrong terminology. I think what I really mean, is ‘enjoyable sex’. And to me, enjoyable sex is when two (or more) people feel comfortable in themselves and take pleasure in each other without hesitation or restraint. (Unless it is the good kind of restraint.)

To me, ‘bad sex’ is non-cohesive sex. And what I mean by that is if you aren’t taking true pleasure in each other, you’re just going through motions or doing what you ‘think’ each other should like without actually bothering to understand. Not taking notice of the other person’s reactions and not letting yourself respond openly.

While I also believe that planned/thoughtful sex can be lots of fun, I also believe that sex is not like some mapped out dance that needs to run like clockwork. It is a thing in it’s own; almost alive.

If he wants to grab a handful of my hair or grasp my nipples and leaves love bites on my shoulders, then he should. Because there is nothing that delights me more than someone taking unbridled pleasure from the joining of our bodies.

For me, the best, most enjoyable sex is the kind where you surrender yourself to your desire and fuck.

Cold

Fuck winter. Fuck the cold. Fucking early morning rounds. Fuck.
I hate this time of year. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s super hard to get up in the morning and you don’t get to see any sunlight because you get to hospital before dawn and leave after nightfall.

Oh well, time to put on my ‘bright and perky’ face!

Bailed

I was supposed to be seeing J today to go and see X-men (yeah, I know, it’s been out forever) but after I woke up at 2pm after the ball, the thought of driving for an hour to get to his house and then another hour to get to mine after was just too exhausting. Especially considering I have to clean my house and prepare for uni tomorrow. Ick, 7am rounds.
I feel pretty bad, I messaged him on Facebook and left a voicemail but got no response. Not that he is great at that. I’m terrible at responding to stuff so I cannot criticise.
I still want to see X-men because my inner Marvel nerd really wants to go. Maybe another night when I’m not feeling so frazzled.
I wish he didn’t live so far away. He used to live 15min from me, but then got a job at a different hospital on the other side of the city.
Not that I’m feeling like a randy hornbag right now, I just feel tired and gross. (Not hungover, I didn’t drink that much. But still seedy.)
That and I guess our dynamic is better with the emphasis on the ‘Friends’ part of ‘friends with benefits’ but I don’t know. I don’t know if friends with benefits is exactly the right term. We only fuck if we are sleeping in the same bed, it just happens as a sort of natural progression. Outside of that, we are pretty much completely non-sexual. Although I wouldn’t mind changing that.
Oh, and I still have a bite mark on my shoulder from Thursday. Heh, love it.

Edit: turns out he stayed up all night playing video games and was just as ragged as me so we have postponed.

Lousy Snog

I am of the opinion that you can, on a superficial level, gauge how well someone fucks by the way that they kiss.
S was a fantastic kisser and a phenomenal fuck. J is also a great kisser and a thoroughly enjoyable root.
So, with my sample size of 2, I declare kissing as a screening test for sexual ability. No, seriously though, I think the way someone kisses says a lot about them.

So here is a bit of a tale of how I tried to embrace my confidence and get my rocks off and ended up blogging about a lousy snog.
A good friend of mine invited me to a country masquerade ball and it was this weekend.
We decked up in corsets (real ones, with steel boning and serious waist reduction) and fancy frocks. I wore my gorgeous pink satin and black lace corset with some halter straps that I added hastily on the day and a poufy tulle skirt. I felt like a princess.
The band was great, lots of swing. I love dancing to swing.
Whilst most of the people there were middle aged couples, there were a few young guys there who were really very good looking and getting into the music. One in particular caught my eye and we started dancing together.
Between dances, my friend mentioned that he was really nice, and that he was a footballer (totally ‘ripped’) and that if she wasn’t married she would totally go for him (she was happy-drunk at this stage) so I decided that I’d dance with him a bit more. A song that was a little less boppy came on and he wrapped his arm around my waist and twirled me around. At that stage I was thinking that hooking up with a random hot country boy seemed like a pretty great idea (embracing my newfound confidence and all that) so I gave him my number (Alert! Rookie mistake! Will not ever do again.) whilst my friend and I chatted with him. He gave off a bit of a country kid vibe but hey, I am looking for sex, not intelligent conversation. He was also gob smacked when I told him I was single, which was very flattering. But I didn’t mention the fact that I just got out of a super-duper-serious relationship and am currently cruising for fucks because I didn’t want to weird him out with tmi-ness.

We danced a bit more and despite my stepping on his toes a few times (in my defence, I was wearing 6-inch stilettos), I was having a great time.
His hand in the small of my back as we dipped and swung to the music and he leaned in for a kiss. This is it! I was excited, it was going to be a moment!
Then, in an instant, it changed and I was hit with disappointment. It was like someone had turned off the bright glossy lights and dumped a bucket of water over my head.
Now, I am usually of the opinion that a good kiss starts closed mouthed and builds. But this guy? Open mouth, tongue in. I pulled back, a little taken off-guard. He kissed me again, open mouth on my closed lips, ramming his tongue into my mouth. At this stage I had switched from ‘he is going to kiss me, gosh yes!’ to ‘He kisses like an overly enthusiastic junior highschooler. ABORT! ABORT! ABANDON MISSION!’
I have him another chance at it and got exactly the same thing. Sloppy open mouthed snog with lots of tongue. Nope, I’m out. If he fucks like he kisses, he will be a terrible fuck.
Thankfully, the safety pin holding the halter strap on to my boob failed and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to readjust it. (No boob flashing, it just came loose and I had to tuck the fabric into my corset a few times.)
When I came out, he and my friend were chatting and she asked if I was having a good time and I gave the most insincere “Yes! Lots of fun!” I have ever managed and then whispered in her ear that he was a terrible kisser.
She helped me bail and with her friends, shielded me on the dance floor like a good friend does. And apologised all night, which made me giggle.
I also found out that I am terrible at rejection. He approached me after the band stopped playing and asked whether I wanted his company (I admit, he was polite and nice) and while I frantically tried to work out how to let him down gently, the words “Ah, I’m fine thanks.” Fell out of my mouth and I patted him on the arm.
I feel mean, especially since he kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good night after I rejected him. But honestly, I just couldn’t force myself to risk terrible sex.
He was sweet, and it was refreshing. But sweet isn’t what I am looking for.
I also feel kind of mean because I am blogging about it and I also feel like I may have overreacted somewhat, but at the same time, it was just a super lousy snog.
Yes, I do have ridiculously high standards when it comes to sex, possibly because I have been lucky enough to experience lots of good sex and very little, if any, lousy sex. But frankly, I shouldn’t be ashamed of my high standards. I like good sex, why should I settle for anything else?