Another Sex Blog

…bother? I wonder.

I like sex. I like casual sex. Why do guys feel like they have to pretend that it’s more than that and then make me feel like shit?

Is there something *wrong* with wanting just sex?

Apparently there is if one is a chick.

This time: he was from out of town. likely never gonna see him again. obviously a one time thing.

Nice “date” — meeting to find out if we were at least attracted to one another in real life.

Sex. GOOD sex. For me anyway. Can’t swear it was for him. I had multiple orgasms, though, so good for me by far.

Afterwards? He’s an ass. I don’t think it’s really necessary to go into details because this has happened other times, too, in different forms.

Why? Seriously. I just don’t understand. Why do guys feel the NEED to be an ass? I make it quite clear that I’m NOT one of the kinds of girls that is going to glom onto them just cuz we had sex (and I don’t mean to stereotype other women in saying that, but that IS a preconceived notion out there.)

I know I’m not even expressing this the way I mean to cuz I’m pissed off right now as I’m writing it. I write better when I’m more level headed.

Fuck it though.

You know?

I think my profile makes it fairly clear that I like being somewhat submissive. I like being told what to do. I like feeling that I’m used and giving my partner pleasure.

But, that doesn’t mean I’m selfless. (Is that the absence of selfishness?) I like being submissive because it makes me feel good.

I like direct pleasure, too, though.

Friday night I went out with a really great guy. Really great. I mean, even if I just met him somewhere “normal” and, hell, he was totally unavailable. Married. Or gay. I would still love to talk with him.

Forget pampered sub. My nipples were pampered. My nipples were very very happy. I love just being caressed and groped. Most of the time, when a guy starts just playing with my nipples, it means “hey, lets go have sex.” And as soon as I start reacting to it, the attention much stops.

So, it was just that much more pleasurable to be pleasured and not feel like it was *only* an invitation to sex. Well, to be honest, I did still feel like that, but mostly because that’s always been my experience. Not because of anything he said or did.

I really hope to see him again.

I’ve often described myself as a cynical optimist. Meaning I always expect everything to work out, but it never does.

I’m SO tired of being an optimist. Up until, and sometimes even past, the last second, I expect things to turn around and turn out the way I wanted. It hurts a lot for that not to happen. Over and over again and again.

I don’t want to have anything to do with other humans anymore. Other than, obviously, what is necessary to continue living. So work relationships, only within work and not socially, are necessary. Family is, too, if you’re aware of my living situation. And I eat out a lot, so basic decency to those who work in the service professions is a necessity, too. Other than that, bye bye.

I can’t handle being mediocre. It’s too complicated to explain, but I just had an epiphany tonight that I really am no different from the masses. Duh. I realize that probably sounds SO arrogant to anyone reading this. It’s true, though. I actually, deep down, believed that I was somehow special. The Lake Wobegon effect. I can’t deal with the fact that I’m not spectacular in looks or smarts or personality. I’m not really any different from the “psycho” chicks that I’ve made fun of all my life. Even if only in my head.

I suppose that even writing this blog post is kind of an example of my cynical optimism. I expect it to make everything alright, but I really really know that it won’t.

I wish I could explain this better.

I need to give up. So, I am.

Good bye.

Yup, *that* first time. C’mon, what else would I be talking about on this site, right?

So, someone asked me, over email, recently about how I lost my virginity. After writing it all out, I realized that I hadn’t written about it here and, well, I’m lazy. I don’t want to write something twice. So, with said email recipient’s permission, I’m copying and pasting for your reading pleasure. lol.

I lost my virginity at 17, a week before I turned 18. I wanted to lose it asap at college. There was this one guy, very very hot guy, who we all thought was gay, but he seemed to be a player instead. Anyway, one night, coming back from a club, he asked if I wanted to have no strings attached sex. I think that was the first time I heard that phrase come to think of it.

So, I said yes. No, I wasn’t drunk. We didn’t even go to his room because his roommates were there, so we went to a room of a friend of his that was empty. We started making out and then he got up to go get a condom. I realized that he had no idea I was a virgin and I didn’t know how to tell him. So, I up and disappeared.

A few weeks later, I did lose it (that’s when I was a week younger than 18. There was a guy that two of my friends sort of had crushes on. I called him pink-haired dude. Cuz he had pink hair and I could never remember his name. (Later to be green and then black.) One of my friends didn’t really have a crush on him so much as she really enjoyed being a tease to him. So he’s chatting with me about that. And we talked about sex and I told him about really wanting to lose my virginity, but to someone who was more experienced than me and someone I wouldn’t necessarily be seeing much of again — that last part because I thought my inexperience would be embarrassing.

The night after that conversation, he and I and a bunch of other freshman were lounging around a room all leaning on one another, massaging each other, petting each others heads, etc. Yeah, we were a goofy group.

Anyway, it got to be late and we all separated. He asked if I still wanted to hang out in his room and maybe watch a movie. So, I said sure. We hung out on his roommate’s bed because that’s where the tv was. We watched The Muppet Movie. Started making out. When he started to take my jeans off, he asked “are you sure?” Thinking he was asking about if I was sure about being fully undressed — yes, I was *that* inexperienced — I said “sure.” Then he grabbed a condom and started fucking me. Oh! lol.

I liked that he already knew I was a virgin and what my ideal post-relationship with that person was going to be. It didn’t hurt. Afterwards, when he went to the bathroom to clean up, he grabbed my purse and took it with him. He said later that he didn’t want me up and disappearing while he was in the bathroom. He came back and let me know that, uhm, there was a lot of blood. Oops! Remember, we were in his roommate’s bed!

We dated for about a year. A little more than six months after that first kiss, he told me he’d been a virgin, too. Oh well, the best laid plans…

Oh oh, and the guy who I *almost* lost it to? Came out of the closet not long after that.

I’ve been thinking about much younger guys lately.

Ok, I’m 33. I know, I’m *certain*, that I look younger. I’m not a mother, so I can’t technically be a MILF. Cougars seem to be defined as over 40, which I can’t even fake, I don’t think.

So what am I?

The 2nd guy I was ever in love with AND the 1st guy I ever had really *good* sex with (2 different guys in case that’s not clear), both had early experiences with women much older than they were. So, guys, even if you’re not interested in ME personally, really, think about some of the women who are older than you. Just a suggestion.

Me? I’ve met up with a guy who is around 24 or 25, I forget exactly. What an ego boost! (Not like the *entire* experience of being on Adult FriendFinder isn’t one too!)

So, I’ve gotten it in my head that I’d like a few sessions with a guy who’s around that age or younger. To “teach” him. Older guys, IMO, aren’t as open to the idea that they do NOT know everything already.

Anyway, any suggestions for a term for a woman who isn’t technically a MILF, but is too young to be a Cougar?

Last night, by the time I’d already figured I was in for the night, I got a phone call from an ex-boyfriend.  I missed the call, but he left a voicemail message saying that he was on his way to Chicago, staying overnight at a friend’s, and then taking an early flight somewhere the next morning.  Did I want to get together for a drink?  He’d be in around 11:30.

11:30 is WAAAAY past a time when I would even consider going out.  Normally.  But, I’d been having bouts of insomnia lately and had taken a long nap that afternoon.  I hadn’t seen him for a very long time (though we email each other occasionally).  So, I figured what the heck.

By the time we ended up getting together it was past midnight, but the friend’s apartment was near a bunch of bars and restaurants, so we walked to find a place to hang.  The friend was actually out of town and was letting him use the apartment for the night.  Anyway…

Even though a lot of the bars were still open, there didn’t seem to be any places still serving food and the bars were *packed*.  And *loud*.  Blah blah blah, eventually we did find a bar, even seats, and had a few drinks.

A little background:  I dated this guy for a little over a year, which might not seem that long, but we saw each other almost every day during that time.  I was completely head over heels for him.  I honestly believe he felt the same way about me, too, only for a much shorter period of time than I did.  By the time he broke up with me, I *should* have known that we weren’t good for one another.  That we should have broken up much earlier.  I guess I did know, really, I just didn’t want to know it.  He wasn’t the best boyfriend.  Last night I spent a lot of time telling him all the ways he was really not very nice to me a lot of the time.  And even then I left out a LOT of the really hurtful things he said or did because even though I was telling him all this, it was a teasing playful type of conversation.  Nevertheless, when he broke up with me I was still crazy about him, so he broke my heart.  I am not at all sure how much this has to do with all of that, but it is important additional information… he was INCREDIBLE in bed.

Ok, so that’s a bit subjective.  We did end up fooling around and having sex after going back to his friend’s apartment.  I had NOT planned on that.  I really thought he had no interest in me, physically, at all anymore.  A hint of suspicion rose up in my head when he invited me up to the apartment, but then I realized that he wanted a ride to the airport in a couple of hours.

I know that we had some really good happy times when we were dating, but I have a tendency to always remember one of the bad times, too, whenever I think back on our relationship.  It sours the memories somewhat.  On the other hand, I clearly remembered having really really good sex.  I figured that that wasn’t completely accurate either, just like I know we DID have happy times as well as not-so-happy ones even though that’s not how my memories play in my head.  I figured I’d exaggerated his, well, talent (and that’s not a euphemism) for making me feel amazing.  No such luck.  I remembered correctly.

Anyway… as I was starting to say about it being subjective.  Right.  Of course not every woman will enjoy exactly the same touches, moves, kisses, etc.  But, I don’t think that’s what makes him so good.  I think he’s just really good at being able to read a woman’s body language and reactions to things.  And he remembers what worked and what didn’t for the next time.

He is a really fucking incredible kisser.

I’ve been lucky in my dating forays to have had a lot of really better than average sex.  (Is that an oxymoron?  How can it always be better than average?  Do you suppose I can’t find someone who wants to DATE me because my mind goes off on tangents like this?)  I haven’t found a really great kisser, though.  I’ve had some awful kissers.  Some good ones.  But not great.  THAT I’m pretty sure IS entirely subjective, though.  Oh my, I miss his kisses.

He does have a steady/serious girlfriend right now.  They have an open arrangement, though, so it’s not like he was “cheating” on her last night.  My mom was worried when she heard I was going to meet up with him that I was setting myself up to be hurt again.  It’s not like that anymore.  I’m not in love with him.  I love him.  Meaning — this is my favorite definition of love — I’d be REALLY upset if I heard that he fell out of a third floor window.  I like him, most of the time.  But, the yearning to be in a romantic relationship with him is completely gone.  I’m extremely lucky that he’s in the sort of relationship where he is able to have sex with me without causing anyone pain.

Hmmm… I’m pretty sure I was going somewhere with all of this and now I have no clue where that was.  So, maybe I’ll remember and write more later.

Dan Savage is… amazing. A genius. My hero. I LOVE that guy. I read his column every week and last week was the first time I was, well, disappointed in his advice.

A guy wrote in asking what to do about differing libido levels in a couple. His wife had bought and read the book I’d Rather Eat Chocolate: Learning to Love My Low Libido by Joan Sewell who declares that ALL women have a lower libido than men do. They just naturally don’t want sex as often as guys, it’s just how it is, and nothing’s going to change that.

Mr. Savage did not say that this was a load of bullshit. THAT’S what I found so disappointing. I mean, come ON, I *know* he gets lots of letters with the same complaint, but with the genders switched. So, I got pissed off. And then promptly forgot about it.

Until I got my weekly email letting me know that Dan Savage’s new column has been posted. (I read it via The Village Voice online, btw.)

YAY for Dan Savage’s March 20th, 2007 column!!!! (And indirectly, the one on March 13th, too.)

He admits that he “accepted the premise” and “ran with it” because he knew that Ms. Sewell and other idiots like her (my choice of words, not his) would just ignore him if he said, hell YEAH there are women with raging libidos who want sex all the time. He also knew that his loyal readers would write in to him in response taking him to task.

Oh, how lazy I feel for not having done the same!

The letters from readers this week rock.

And I love the complaints these women bring up, besides with Dan for not remembering them, too. Sure, guys SAY that they want a woman who wants sex all the time, but I’ve rarely found a guy that means that. A quote from one of the letters:

On an average day, I would prefer to have sex twice. This is too much sex for the average man. Men think they want sex every day, but when given the opportunity, they start complaining about how tired they are after a week or two.

Yup.

Btw, his original advice for the guy whose wife didn’t want sex nearly as often as he did was advice he’s given many times:

One thing that hasn’t changed in the wake of Sewell’s book is my advice to women with low libidos: You can have strict monogamy or you can have a low libido, ladies, but you can’t have both. If monogamy is a priority, you’re gonna have to put out, i.e., regular vaginal intercourse and the occasional tide-him-over handjob and/or blowjob, cheerfully given. If all you wanna do is sit there and eat chocolate, you’re gonna have to turn a blind eye to lap dances and mistresses and happy endings and the return of trade, i.e., gay guys giving NSA head to straight guys.

I (and the other hot and horny women who DID write to him last week — damn, I’m lazy) agree. But, it goes the other way, too. Argh, I could go on and on and on agreeing with what these women wrote, quoting bits and pieces.

I really did know I wasn’t the only women to have a higher sex drive than is “normal.” For women OR for men. But, it’s still nice to hear from others like me. You know?

READ IT!

So yesterday, I found myself exceptionally horny. And I really wanted to do something slutty and trashy. So, I emailed my latest orgasm inducer and asked for a dare of some sort.

He gave me one and asked that I tell him about it afterwards. I did the dare and I wrote to him about it and he’s said it was ok to share. So, I will.

Well, things didn’t go exactly as I’m guessing you imagined them. I made a few changes to your dare, myself, but only in keeping with the spirit of things. First, I didn’t take off my tights before I left my office. I did it in my car. It’s COLD out and my car is about a mile from my office!

Second, my getting turned on (and wet) depends much more on what’s going on in my head than touching does. I can become sopping wet just sitting still and having raunchy thoughts a lot faster than I can being fingered, fucked, licked, etc. if my mind is elsewhere. Oh, with the exception of my nipples — I could be thinking about something *completely* non-sexual and still get turned on if my nipples are stimulated! So, I was wearing a cardigan sweater with a stretchy camisole underneath. I hiked my skirt up. But, I also pulled my tits out of my camisole. I was wearing my puffy red jacket, but unzipped. As I drove, if someone really looked, they’d be able to see my bare breasts. Or me tweaking my nipples at every stop. And other times, too.

By the time I got home (about a 30 min. ride), I probably could have just rubbed my pussy once or twice and I would have had a powerful orgasm. But, I got out of my car and went inside.

I put my purse and coat on the chair inside the door like I always do. Shoes off by the door, like always, also. I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and took off my sweater, camisole, and bra. Then I remembered that you wanted pictures! By that time, my clit was aching. As I walked, I could feel the slipperiness between my pussy lips. I dared not touch and check how wet my panties were… oh, since you’re probably curious, they were black bikini style satin, with multi-colored hearts on them. I didn’t touch because I wouldn’t be able to stop and not just cum right then and there. So, I kept pinching my nipples, almost absentmindedly. I went into my bedroom, right next to the bathroom. And, wtf… my bedroom is a MESS! There was NO way I was going to find my camera in there! It wasn’t in the first place I looked and I just didn’t have the patience to look all over. Sorry, no pictures.

I went back into the bathroom and got into the tub. I started to crouch, then realized I was still wearing my skirt. Doh! Stood up. Off came the skirt; I threw it on the floor. I leaned back in the tub, sitting with my knees up and spread apart. I slipped a hand, my left, into my panties and lightly fingered my clit. My right hand was still alternating between my nipples, pinching and pulling and raking my nails over them. Let me tell you… it took a lot of self-control to not use my palm, hard, against my entire cleft… pressing and rubbing myself to climax.

I stopped, pushed up onto my heels into a crouching position. Did you know that it’s difficult to start peeing when your cunt is engorged with blood (i.e. all aroused)??? I found that instead of concentrating on it, I had to completely relax and think of other things. Then at first, it came slowly. Then at, well, normal speed. I felt it, hot, running down my thigh. I have no idea if you’ve seen a woman urinate or not. I think most or at least many women have seen a man do it, but not necessarily the other way around. It’s different. It doesn’t necessarily run straight away from one’s body in a stream. Sometimes it creeps along your skin before flowing off. So, I got a bit messy. When I finished, I just sat back again and *finally* used my palm. But, now I couldn’t quite cum. Argh!

“Water sports” just doesn’t turn me on. It’s not repulsive or turn me OFF. It’s just… well, it’s just pee. It’s like if I sneezed during sex. Kind of inconsequential. Telling you about it is infinitely more exciting than the act itself.

I ran the water and rinsed myself off. Our shower has a hand shower to it, so I took that down and used it. I dried myself. I went into my bedroom, climbed into bed, naked, under my covers and got my pillow between my thighs. I closed my eyes and remembered driving home, with my breasts almost, but not quite, visible to all… I humped. And came. And then I fell asleep!!

The end.

Wow. I just read this online at the Discovery Channel website:

“Sexual activity for men and women, straight or gay, raises testosterone levels, which, at least in women, fuels the desire for intercourse, increases the likelihood of experiencing an orgasm and heightens the individual’s belief in her own sexiness, recent studies have found.”

and

“The researchers determined partnered men and women had the lowest overall testosterone levels, while polyamorous men and women both had higher amounts of testosterone than single or monogamously partnered individuals.”

No wonder I’m so damn horny all the time.