sexeteria has moved!

Come visit me at the new and improved Sexeteria

2008-03-01T21:04:00.000-05:00

I moved my blog to another url a while back. You should be automatically redirected there in a few seconds. If you aren't, click the link below.

http://sexeteria.net/

Looking for Me?

2006-10-04T00:41:00.000-04:00

I haven't left you--I'm just over at the ***NEW PLACE***. I'm so excited!

It's pretty. It's COOL. Come look and hang out. Literally or figuratively.

Here's the new url: http://www.sexeteria.net/. Please update your links and come over and visit.

Can't wait to see you there.

Turn and Face the Strange Ch-ch-changes...

2006-09-30T17:34:00.000-04:00

I'm attempting to move the blog over to a new server, new (easier) url, and a new blogging client this weekend. So things don't get too confusing, I'm going to have to turn off all comments for a bit, until I can move it all over. Stand by, and I'll let you know when everything's up and running at the new place.

Cross your fingers for me and I'll see you soon in my new digs.

Sugasm #48

2006-09-29T12:58:00.000-04:00

Here's this week's best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Spotlighting the top 3 posts voted by Sugasmer participants. Want in Sugasm #49? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
The Luckiest Girl in the World (http://alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
“Would he have the energy, the stamina, to make me come as much as I need to come?”

I Want To Shave You (http://makemycopcome.blogspot.com)
“That luscious plum, that erotic ridge around it, the enticing veins tracing their way up that cock I am so engrossed in…”

The Rum Raisin Compromise (http://talktovanessa.com)
“My husband did not understand why I couldn’t live the rest of my life without the taste of a woman passing my lips.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
How to Give Away Porn (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Rope Bondage Images (http://www.lumpesse.com)

Sexy Audio & Video
Hear My Name (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
How to Give a Blowjob in a Car (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Sex Inspiration, Study & Dream - Video Blog Entry (http://www.seska4lovers.com)
Slave Girl: Part One (http://fuckingtheministersdaughter.blogspot.com)

Sex News and Sexy Reviews
Craigslist User Publicizes Private Correspondence (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com/blog)
Do Video Games Effect Our Sex Lives? (Survey) (http://sugarjoy.com)
The Five Best Tera Patrick Scenes of All Time (http://blog.johnqafterhours.com)
Inflatable Vibrating Penis (http://www.orgasmarmy.com)
Tire Paddle HNT (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

NSFW Pics
Adela & Susana (http://hotboxbabe.thumblogger.com)
Ass Masterpiece (http://www.internetisforporn.com)
Consolation Eye Candy, or What a Wild, Wild Month! (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Featured DDGirls Covergirl Sunny Leone (http://www.ddgirlsblog.com)
Put on a Shirt HNT (http://texasspitfire.blogspot.com)
Roxy in booty shorts (http://phatbootysolos.ilovejulienight.com)
Two Bad Girls in a Prison Bed (http://adelehaze.com)
WebMistress Feature Gallery: Scenic Silver Reef (http://www.taratainton.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Adult Webcam Humor (http://www.model-chat.com)
Boobies (http://edinerotica.blogspot.com)
Erotic Rather Than Fucking (http://orgasmcurious.blogspot.com)
Phain’s Tasty Specs… (http://wetbeyondbelief.blogspot.com)
Science of Sex - Sense of Smell (http://www.seskuality.com)
Sex Goddess??? (http://thegooseandgander.blogspot.com)
“Three sex acts enter, one sex act leaves.” (http://sexeteria.blogspot.com)
The Vagina and the Douche (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
2. Greet (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Dreaming of a Dark Odyssey (http://viviane212.blogspot.com)
The Eternal Hotness of Hanna (http://theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Get Caught Looking now! (http://lustylady.blogspot.com)
My Taxicab Confession (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
Room 304, Part I (http://www.chillivanilla.com/blg)
Teresa (http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Happy HNT-Cheerleader Paddling (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Lions, Tigers, and Spankings! Oh my! (http://spankingkatiespades.blogspot.com)
A Long Awaited Erotic Very Sexy Spanking Session… Finally (http://lizzietush.blogspot.com)
Melinda Makes a Discovery… (http://www.blog.sex-mad-witch.com)
Pajama Party (http://thebinside.blogspot.com)
She was like a wild animal… (http://everythingoze.blogspot.com)
Switching My Bottom On (http://spankingwriters.com/blog)

Join the Sugasm

"One-way ticket to Paradise Island, please."

2006-09-28T16:21:00.000-04:00

SOME people say they hate meme quizzes, but then keep taking them and FORCING other people to take them. Some people need to be punished for their evil, green, monosyllabic ways.

Okay, maybe the word should be "tempting" instead of "forcing." But still.

Nontheless, the results are okay with me. Though I'd rather be Catwoman. BUT I'd like to point out Catwoman doesn't even BELONG on a superheroes list, anyway. I demand a supervillainess test!

You are Wonder Woman

You are a beautiful princess
with great strength of character.

Wonder Woman -85%
Superman - 80%
Hulk - 75%
Spider-Man - 75%
Supergirl - 70%
Robin - 60%
Batman - 60%
Green Lantern - 60%
Catwoman - 60%
The Flash - 40%
Iron Man - 40%

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

The Persistence of Memory

2006-09-28T02:13:00.001-04:00

The other day, someone sent me a link to an online photo slideshow. I was coursing through it, and then suddenly noticed that the subtitle under one photo indicated that a man in it was an old lover of mine. This person was someone who at one time understood me more and meant more to me than anyone else in the entire universe.

If the caption hadn't been there under that photo, I would have never recognized him. I would have just passed it right by.

He could have been standing right next to me the day before I saw that photo, and I would have never known.

I don't know anymore if my visual memory of him is warped, or if he has really changed that much. And it makes me wonder about the veracity of my emotional memory of him, too. If I met him today, and we were to talk, would I encounter a similarly unrecognizable person, or would we instantly connect, two neurons across a synapse, the way we always used to in the past?

Though I have long been out of contact with this person, part of me has still been walking around feeling as if the world is still okay because he is out there, and he knows I am out there, and he knows me, and I know him. But now I think maybe I don't, and he doesn't. Not anymore.

And if that is true, and we are now entirely absent of knowledge of each other, does that make the world less okay than it was the day before I saw this photo? Or does it make it more?

Good question.

And if I put that part of his I shared to rest and say it is no more, does it mean that part of me that I gave him, that girl I was then who only he knew, has to die, too?

Another good question.

Open Up That Golden Gate...

2006-09-24T21:52:00.000-04:00

So next month I'm being sent to San Francisco on a business trip. I'm very excited, because I've always wanted to go there. It's consistently the one city besides New York that people have always told me they felt I "belong in." So I have high hopes to really like it.

As I've never been there before, though, I was hoping for some advice from any of you who have visited or lived there.

What advice do I want? Well, when I visit other cities where I have friends, I always tell them not to take me to any tourist attractions, but instead to take me to all the out of the way, eclectic, comfortable, amusing, etc. spots they love the most--the places they go to relax, play, and remind themselves that life is good. You always end up with a much cooler vacation that way, and you get a "local's eye-view" of the city.

One other thing to note: I'm the only one going on the trip and I have no friends who live in the city, so unless anyone in this training I'm attending is really cool and wants to hang out, I'm going to be all on my lonesome the whole time. So I'm looking for places that are single-person friendly and also at least reasonably safe for a woman traveling alone.

So--any suggestions along those lines for me? I'm open to anything.

Oh, and also, the city I'm living in is really low on the cool indie/hipster scale, so if there are some neighborhoods that are better known for that in which I could do some good clothes and shoe shopping, that would rock, too.

Thanks if you can help!

Here are a few other details to help with suggestions:

I've got 2-3 weeknights and one entire Saturday free to experience the city.
I'm not wealthy, but not so impoverished that everything I'd have to do would have to be under $10 or something. I could probably afford one or two extravagances.
I don't mind going to some tourist spots if they're interesting, or help me to get a "big picture" view of they city overall, but I'm also just as happy hanging out in cool spots and observing life around me.
I'm not big on sporting events, but otherwise anything artsy, cool, friendly, culinarily (?) exciting, music/entertainment related, beautiful, unusual, or quirky usually pleases me immensely. Places where locals are actually friendly enough to talk to you a little is nice, so you can learn some stuff about the city.
I'm staying close in to Chinatown and the theatre district.

"Three sex acts enter, one sex act leaves."

2006-09-22T01:09:00.000-04:00

Time for an Oral-Anal-Coital cage fight. Can you handle it?

Today I've got a fun little survey for you, based on a few throw-away lines I heard in a B-list romantic comedy I watched earlier this evening.

Let's say you were presented with this choice:

For the rest of your life, you can receive ONLY oral sex , ONLY coital sex, or ONLY anal sex.

Which would it be? (And why.)

I'll add this stipulation to make the choice more difficult: Let's say this act you choose would be (heaven forbid!) the ONLY sexual act you get to experience. No masturbation, no manual stimulation from others, no vibrators, etc.

Oh, and please feel free to share the thought process that led you to your decision, regardless of what it is. I'm really interested to hear that part. To me, it's no easy choice.

I'm also interested if responses will skew very different by gender. We shall see...

How are you?

2006-09-20T00:40:00.000-04:00

I can’t answer that.
Any one-word response I could give you
Would make me die of shame.
Any lengthy answer I could give you,
You don’t really want to hear.

And anyway, you never really ask.

It’s okay. Forget it. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.
Liar.

A long time ago,
Someone asked me, “Does this hurt you?”
And I said no.
(I could hear the rend.)

Since then,
I wait for the hurt,
So that I can tell you
Just how much it doesn’t.
Come on, I can take it.
And fuck you, anyway.

Liar. Liar.

How am I?
I’m living clenched.
Invisible fists balled.

Not to strike back.
To bear it when it comes.

come into my solitude
welcome to the wheel
come into this wonderland
of wounds that will not heal
walls that do not speak
steps that do not sound
come into my solitude
burn this building down

--Janis Ian, "Breaking Silence"

Can't Hold Back Much Longer...

2006-09-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

Four years is a long time to wait to get some satisfaction. In October, I'm finally getting me some. I can't. fucking. wait.

Back in 2001, I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch and it affected me in a way no film had for a long time. The film was like a love letter to outsiders everywhere, looking into our hearts and telling all us misfits, losers, and strange rock and rollers, "You know you're doing all right/So hold on to each other/You gotta hold on tonight."

Well, I've been holding on. And I've been desperate to see what the next creation of Hedwig's inspired conceiver, writer, director and actor John Cameron Mitchell was going to be.

Somewhere around 2002, a friend who knew of my obsession with this sent me a link to a very sparse website called thesexfilmproject.com (the link is now deactivated). It was an open invitation from John Cameron Mitchell for real people to audition for his next film, which would be a story about real people, with real sex lives--but he didn't want the sex to be simulated. He wanted to capture all the beauty and grittiness and mess and joy and awkwardness and that comes with human beings loving and lusting and being and experiencing real sexuality. Not antiseptic, sans-members-and-moisture, aesthetically approved Hollywood sex. Not silicone enhanced, prosthetic wearing, emotionally disconnected porn sex. The real thing.

It was a daring prospect, really. Such a thing has probably never been shown on film before. I was sure if JCM was doing it, it was going to be genius. I was dying to see it, and it was only in auditions. I wanted it NOW.

And so began the long wait. There was some buzz early on, some mention of the audition process in the press, but then in the past couple of years, it all faded away. I heard nothing.

Just last week, in fact, I found myself wondering as I listened to the brilliant Hedwig cover CD, Wig in a Box, whatever had happened to the Sex Film Project? I wondered if it had turned out to just be too damn hard to accomplish, and if he'd given up. It made me sad; I'd so wanted it to happen, to see this kind of film unfold in front of me.

And now--here it is. It's coming on October 6. And I'm pretty damn sure I'm going to be, as well.

It's been re-titled Shortbus. Just look at these trailers (content is different in all three):

NSFW trailer (more visual than thematic):

Safer for work trailer and teaser (more thematic):

Film description:

SHORTBUS explores the lives of several emotionally challenged characters as they navigate the comic and tragic intersections between love and sex in and around a modern-day underground salon. A sex therapist who has never had an orgasm, a dominatrix who is unable to connect, a gay couple who are deciding whether to open up their relationship, and the people who weave in and out of their lives, all converge on a weekly gathering called Shortbus: a mad nexus of art, music, politics and polysexual carnality. Set in a post-9/11, Bush-exhausted New York City, SHORTBUS tells its story with sexual frankness, suggesting new ways to reconcile questions of the mind, pleasures of the flesh and imperatives of the heart.

"Art, music, politics and polysexual carnality." "It's everything you need to get through the next two years of George Bush." I so want to be there. Now if I can just hold out until October.

I hope it's all it seems to be. Knowing the source, I'm guessing it will be. People don't wait five years to have their next creative orgasm unless they're sure it's going to be really good when it does happen.

The BILF and the Fury

2006-09-14T22:07:00.000-04:00

I've been feeling grumpy and self-pitying over the past couple of days and anything I've contemplated writing has made me feel ill with its wafting scent of Eau de Despair, a misted cloud of which I somehow accidentally walked through in the cosmetics section of the Life Shop a few days ago. I'd rather spare you lot from having to read about that at the moment, and spare myself the memory later on that I'd written something so soppy. So instead, I'll point you to something nice from someone else.

I've wanted to give this BILF a nod for quite a bit now, because I accidentally left it out of my original BILFs post.

I am a devoted reader and listener of the mp3 blog To Die By Your Side, and you should be, too. Why? Because the blog's owner, Coxon Le Woof is a man of exquisite musical taste AND writing skill. Feel like you're not keeping up with new indie stuff? Really miss that obscure britpop band from the '90s? Chances are Coxon's got the goods. And he'll also serve you up things you didn't even know you wanted to hear, but once you read his posts and listen, you'll realize it was just what you needed.

Coxon's knowledgeable, he's clever, he's got those HOT geek specs, and he's got a music collection that wakes the twin cobras of arousal and jealously within me and sends them dancing slinkily up out of my soul basket. And not only that, but his blog entries always perfectly evoke the feel of the music he's posted for you at the end of them. And that, my friends, takes real talent. Words and music. May they always copulate so beautifully.

Go give him a visit and a listen and tell him I sent ya. Or don't, but visit and listen anyway. Let me know if you like.

Can't. Stop. Laughing.

2006-09-13T14:08:00.000-04:00

I can't even explain why. But if you find yourself in uncontrollable hysterics at the close of this video, you are one of my people. I may have to start using this as a litmus test.

All hail yongfook. He is one of my people. And a hot piece of man ass, to boot.

Photograph For Her

2006-09-12T15:00:00.000-04:00

When I think about people I care about, their actual real-life images aren’t what I see in my mind. I mean, the physical image flashes through, but it’s specter-like, fading in and out under what I really see.

What I really see is this other thing, which is hard to explain. I don’t see the person as a body, but more the essence of what they are made up of. It’s a mixture of image and sensory impulse and emotional instinct/impact. Each person, as I get to know them, comes to look like something different. A walled fortress, a lily stem, a purring cat in front of a fireplace, a finely honed, shining blade, a gathering of white pillows on a dark wooden floor.

There's this woman I know. To me, when I imagine her, she’s made up entirely of the flecks of light reflected off of moving water. Her image is solid in outline, but everything inside is moving and changing and swirling around—lights dancing and whirring like electron clouds around the denser nuclei of her heart and brain.

It’s stunningly beautiful. The thing is, she can’t see it.

A lot of us are like that. Maybe we fear the chaos of our inner makeup makes us too scary, no matter how luminous each individual element within it may be. Maybe we are so worried about whether conditions will erode—about if we can manage to hold on and maintain the precisely perfect confluence of water and wind and motion that will keep the light of who we are from dimming or going out—that we are always only looking outside ourselves to what isn’t working, and forgetting to stop and really look inside at what is. Maybe it’s just our own luminosity, looked at at such close range, burns our own eyes and blinds us from ever being able to see ourselves properly--our own personal Greek tragedy.

There are a lot of reasons why we might not be able to see ourselves as we are in the world.

Sometimes I have trouble knowing what I actually look like. When this happens, when feel I can’t grasp what I look like out in the world, sometimes I take a photograph of myself, so I can see.

This post is me taking a photograph for her so she can see what she looks like.

And it’s me saying to her, yes, this image I’m showing you, what’s inside you, it’s crazy and confused and dependent on conditions that don’t always come through. But it’s also so bright, and full of rare luminosity that it fascinates and delights everyone who encounters it; people are drawn in and can not look away. And I'm showing in this photo how even at night, even when the hours are darkest, even when the water runs cold and black, there’s still the reflection of the street lamps and the moon and the stars, all glancing off the surface and dancing inside you, shooting up like like silver-scaled flying fish and fireflies and fairy lights and sparklers on the Fourth of July, slicing through the dark night.

Hold on to this photograph and look at it whenever you're not sure.

And my friend, this is for you.

And so is this.

And so is this.

And so is this.

(Photo credit: Starry Waters by southernangel7345)

Zen and the Art of Pubic Hair Maintenance

2006-09-08T00:42:00.000-04:00

A short (and curly) and sweet one for you all today:

1) When I rule the universe, everyone will come to their senses and realize that pubic hair is pretty. MUCH prettier than an unnaturally shaved pubis.

2) A fully shaved pussy on a woman weirds me out, but an inch wide "landing strip" (a.k.a., Hitler mustache on your pussy) looks even stupider to me. Stop it.

3) A fully shaved pubic area on a man might also freak me out, but I've never seen one up close and personal. I don't care if I never do. I like my men with hair down there. And no, it doesn't impede my ability to give a blow job, thank you very much.

4) Why, oh why do people think they look better hairless?

5) That said, as someone with sensitive skin, and who prefers to trim for swimwear and underwear-wearing purposes, has anyone found a good solution for the whole red bumpy irritated skin thing that happens after you shave or wax or depilate? Don't say "loofah." That's bollox. Doesn't help at all.

6) Has anyone who's reading electrolysis-ed away their pubes? How did that work out?

7) I'm not for Brazilians, but I am for public hair celebratory adornment. Like dying it, for instance. Maybe with Special Effects. How do we all feel about cupcake pink pubes?

8) Has anyone reading ever dyed their pubic hair? There are a lot of "don't sue us" disclaimers surrounding this kind of procedure when you look for tips on how to do it. So how did it go for you? Did you end up wanting to sue someone?

9) For those with gray hair: did your pubic hair go gray or silver much earlier, much later, or in relatively the same time frame as the hair on your head? Do you think silver pubic hair looks prettier? (I think it might.)

10) Every person who reads this post is hereby required to write a celebratory poem in the comments about pubic hair. Length and genre are entirely up to you. Though I'd love it if someone managed to pound out a sonnet on the topic.

Midway to Here

2006-09-06T01:17:00.000-04:00

For BB

You were so big and I was scared. I could not get past the mass of you. To me, you were like the buildings in the city where we met: giant, hulking, immovable. All thickness and brute strength; their very presence a silent, epic boast against the elements, inspiring awe and fear.

And I did feel both about you, though I never let on.

The others, though, they had no trouble showing you. I watched as they were drawn in and then drawn back, night after night, into our little sideshow world of smudged light and strange music and carnival freaks. Every night, I stood in the back and held the tent flap open. I watched them file past, their eyes already on you—a massive presence, standing on the stage, axe in hand, ready to pound solid rock into ash. I saw how they looked at you. The men’s admiration and jealousy and need to connect with what you were; what you stood for. The women’s small, wringing hands pressed against their bosoms, gasping at every feat of strength. The strategically placed flowers. The “accidentally” exposed ankles and slips of dresses off shoulders. The breathy exclamations of love and desire.

I saw it all and I cannot say I was unaffected. But there was also the fear.

It was your want. So obviously visible on your face as you stood there above the crowd. Your eyes, searching for my face, as you lifted impossible weights, crushed coal into diamonds with your bare hands. Your gaze fixated on me, every night, so intensely held, so unflinchingly steady, making me feel exposed. As if you could see through me; as if you knew what I was hiding underneath my flimsy, shapeless muslin dress and big workboots.

Your eyes; your want, it made me feel…too much like a girl. Small. Weak. Sweet and shaking and untouched.

I didn’t want to be that. I wanted to be an iron bar. Hard, unbreakable.

But you. You bent iron bars like they were willow branches.

Others told me I shouldn’t be stupid. That I should know this meant you would always protect me.

I wanted to make myself believe this. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t look at your arms and not imagine my bones being crushed. I couldn’t look at your massive shoulders and imagine the head that rested on them might be as gentle and sensitive as my own. I couldn’t look at the roughness of your fellow carnies, the men you spent your days with, and not imagine you were like them. I couldn’t imagine that if I let you know me, you wouldn’t tell them all my secrets, my body, my taste, my smell. I couldn’t imagine you wouldn’t have a good laugh telling them.

Yet, there was something that wouldn’t quite let me run away, either.

So instead, I became your first-aid administrator. At the end of every show, once the tent emptied, you would sit on the edge of the rough wooden platform, and quietly wait as I tended to your cuts and bruises. We would talk. And I could feel you wanting, and wanting, and drinking in every touch of my hand to your skin; every kindness I’d bestow on you. You were a lion, laying down before me. You wanted me to know you could do this.

But every time I heard that growl in the back of your throat, I jumped back.

And then the next night, I was there again with cotton and linament.

We settled for this pattern, you and I; this uneasy balance. We each half had what we wanted. We waited to see which of us would gain the other half, if we ever would. We occasionally let the scales tip a bit, to test…but never enough. For both, something never started was better than something ended.

But we knew the rules of our world well. No show can last forever. A finale is demanded.

And so eventually, it was time to play ours out.

It was a night when we allowed ourselves to break the balance of our routine just a tiny bit. We stayed too late acting out our little care ritual, talking, pretending it needed to go on longer than it did. When we left the tent, the lights and noise the midway had gone dead. It was pitch dark. All the sleeping carriages had been locked shut.

Except yours.

I could not go to my bed at that hour without disturbing others, so you offered me a place to sleep. I accepted as if it were nothing, but felt full well the weight of what we were setting in place. Whatever happened, we both knew it would all be different from here.

We went inside. You offered me the couch in the front and some of your underclothes to sleep in—soft, worn white cotton undershirt, boxer shorts. I knew I would be swimming in them, but accepted the offer. You politely turned the lights off and pulled the curtain around your bed in the back to give me privacy. I turned my back when I changed even so; afraid you would look; and afraid of what you might think. I listened, but I didn’t hear the curtain move at all.

But I couldn’t hear you breathing, either.

I lay down and waited in the dark, for either sleep, or you, to come.

Sleep came first.

I was roused by light coming through the windows, stale and gray and discomfiting, the way it always is, for those of us who are used to making our living at night. I could hear the early, early morning sounds of the troupe—animals being fed, waste being hauled away, motors being tested for the next move.

I heard you stir.

I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. It was still very early. Most performers were not up at this hour.

I heard the curtain slide open.

You walked to the front of the trailer as if to get something. I heard you pour some water into a cup.

I heard you turn around and look at me.

I lay still, my dark hair a tousled mess about my face on the pillow, pretending to still be asleep, hoping that you couldn’t tell I was faking. Trying to keep my breathing soft and even.

You stood there for a long time. Watching me.

Through my closed eyes I could see the look of want on your face. That look I’d come to know so well. But I could also sense something I hadn’t realized before. Your own fear.

And I knew for the first time that perhaps I was not so powerless after all. And perhaps, in the end, it was all down to me.

You were still standing there, wanting me to want you. And I was still feigning sleep.

I had a choice: open my eyes and welcome you in or stay sleeping behind my iron bars.

When I return to this city, it’s that early morning I always come back to.

You standing over me,
The world’s strongest man.

Me lying still,
The world’s weakest girl.

(photo credit: in person by techne)

I should mention...

2006-09-02T23:45:00.000-04:00

I'm on the road for the holiday weekend and will have pretty much no 'net access. I'll consider myself lucky if this post even gets out there. So, be surprised if you see something before Tuesday.

What WILL you do to fill the gaping void?

Well, in the meantime, you could:

1) Avail yourselves of some mighty fine writing from the folks on the right over there.

2) Write me a comment about how much you miss me so that when I get back I feel, much to my surprise, just showered in love and adoration from afar.

Top Three Signs Your Life Is Not What It Should Be

2006-08-30T01:02:00.000-04:00

1. You are lying alone in bed at 1 a.m., listening to your new neighbors who just moved in below you having sex. You hear the woman moaning repeatedly through the floor.

2. Your ridiculously loud air conditioner fan shuts off. You realize the sound is actually your cat snoring through her nose.

3. You turn on the computer and write a blog entry about it.

Not Happily A Victim Ever After

2006-08-27T20:20:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about fairy tales this past week (Western fairy tales, that is). A lot of little things all converging brought it on. Happening upon the excellent film Finding Neverland on television this past week and watching it again. Reading this post by Susie Bright about this incredibly cool sounding and beautiful looking graphic novel by Melinda Gebbie and Alan Moore called The Lost Girls about the adult erotic lives of Alice (post Wonderland), Wendy (post Neverland), and Dorothy (post Oz). (Aside: Here's what my future husband Neil Gaiman had to say about the book.) And, deciding to re-read one of the favorite novels of my childhood, A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, where the theme of telling fairy stories to oneself to bear the harsh realities of life figures largely into the story.

Anyway, as some of you may remember from older posts, I've have had a very difficult few years of late. For those of you who aren't long-time readers, or for those who are and who don't tend to read between the lines too much, this year I finally acknowledged a sexual assault that happened to me in my childhood and began working through that, and recognizing all the ways it (as well as other things) has affected my life. To get to that point, though, my life pretty much had to go on a downward trajectory until I was at rock bottom and had nothing left, at which point, if I didn't want to destroy myself, I had no other recourse left but to face up and ask for help. So there was a lot of crash and burn, burn, burn in this very cold hellfire made of dry ice over the course of a number of years. And even this year, as I got help and slowly began pulling myself out of the black pit I'd thrown myself down into, it was a hard, hard struggle. Some days it still is, though, as the man once said, I have to admit, it's getting better.

It's been very difficult for me to even explain to myself what this "lost period" of my life has actually felt like. I really have no words. But as I was watching the end of Finding Neverland (and crying...I dare you to tell me you didn't cry at the end of that film) and thinking about fairy tales it struck me. Hard. I realized that what it felt like was under some sort of dark spell.

I hadn't realized until that moment how for all this time I had been walking around feeling exactly the way I imagined as a child that all those women in the fairy tales who were put under spells would have felt like. Alive, but not really. Breathing, but emotionless. Unable to respond. Where the person I really am--the joyous, animated, creative person full of childlike wonder, curiosity, and good, pure, unadulterated, unashamed love, was put to sleep, and some shadow person was walking around, operating my sleeping body like a puppeteer, sending my cloudy brain and heart just enough of a signal to allow me to vaguely exist, but feel not much of anything. Like Sleeping Beauty, if she were in a zombie coma.

And my next thought was, "I want to break the spell." (You see, though I've been making strides, I don't think it is broken, fully, yet. I've not completely woken up into myself.)

And then the next thought was, "In every fairy tale, there's always only one thing that can break the spell. So what would break your spell, then?"

And all that got me to thinking about the messaging we get as little girls through the fairy tales we're told and watch on film. And why perhaps so many of we little girls (while still girls, or grown) become victims. And why, even after that may happen to us, and we survive, when we want to move forward from that, we keep playing this victim role over and over again, almost despite ourselves.

Little girls are raised on fairy tales. And though there are a few exceptions to this rule, the most famous, most popular Western fairy tales involve a few key ingredients:

The girl is good. She is beautiful. She does everything right, behaves beautifully, is passive and kind and giving, and is in every way the perfect reflection of the "ideal female."
She is acted upon by evil or angry forces. The dark spell is cast (this can include non-magical, cruel imprisonment/enslavement). The reason for the victimization of the girl is never in revenge for something the girl did. It's always for reasons the girl has no control over: anger at the girl's natural beauty and goodness (e.g., Snow White), anger at her family's behavior (e.g. Sleeping Beauty), anger at the fact she just exists (e.g., Cinderella).
She is rescued. Someone breaks the spell and frees her to live happily (ever after). Usually the enchantment is broken by some representative act of love, like a kiss. She is rescued by someone else's acknowledgement of and desire for her perfection.

So, in steps 1 and 2, we have a good vs. evil power play. A pretty classic theme. But note how different it is from male-based good vs. evil fairy tales. In fairy tales where the main protagonist is male, when the evildoer makes his/her presence known, the hero is expected to fight the evil, and overcome it. It's understood that this is what he will ultimately have to do.

Where is this expectation in female-protagonist fairy tales? It just isn't there. From the start it is assumed in a female-centered fairy tale that the good girl is weak. Far too weak to withstand the evil person. She is acted upon, and she falls prey. There is no fight, or even an attempt at one. And it's also interesting to note that in most cases while the spell-casting/enslaving characters are certainly portrayed as "bad," their behavior or motivation is generally not presented as strange or exceptional. The stories seem to imply it stands to reason that the victimizer would hate the beautiful, innocent young girl and want to harm her. And, that it stands to reason that she would simply not have the wherewithal or strength to even think of fighting back.

So she is acted upon to be victimized. But in number 3 above, she is also acted upon to be saved. After the girl has been put under the evil spell, she does not overcome what has been done to her. She remains passive. Sometimes for years. Someone other than herself intervenes and saves her. In most instances, her salvation comes via some demonstration of love by another--a kiss, etc.

So, she is lovely and innocent and good, as all girls are encouraged to be, and she is victimized. For no reason. With no assumption she is allowed to fight back. It stands to reason.

And after this happens, she cannot save herself. She must wait for someone else to save her. She must hope that someone else will find her desirable enough to be worth saving. It stands to reason.

So, taking it into the real world, a girl is good and innocent and she is victimized. As she learns, it stands to reason. And after her victimization, to ensure she'll be saved, she keeps behaving good and lovely and innocent and passive and pleasing, as a girl should, and she waits under her bad spell, for someone to kiss her and save her and take her away, make IT all go away, and make her finally happy ever after.

But we all know what the stories tell us happens to girls who are good and lovely and innocent. Again. And again. And again.

These are the stories we (girls AND boys) are taught as children. They are the first things we learn. And then we wonder why so many innocent people are sexually assaulted. We ask why the victims didn't fight. We ask how the victimizers can think the way they do.

And we, those girls, who were good and innocent and perfect, and who were made to suffer for it...

We, the living dead girls, just barely managing to survive one more day in the dark, blurry world of the spellbound, our shoulders heavy, our breath labored under the shameful weight of the enchantment cast on us by others, for just being ourselves...

We wonder why we keep finding patterns of victimizaiton to fall into, whether big or small.

And we wonder, and we keep walking onward, lids heavy with exhaustion, hoping, hoping, someone will come and break the spell for us. Praying that someone will know the right thing to do. Will want us enough to save us.

And we keep running into someones who look like they've got the answer. And in the end, all they've got is another poisoned apple.

No one ever taught us we were allowed to fight our own fight. No one taught us we were allowed to rescue ourselves.

It's only now that I'm learning this, finally. But I have no model. There isn't one story I know of that can show me how to lift my own spell.

And to all my sisters out there, I'm sorry that there isn't one. I'm sorry no one ever taught us. I'm sorry we have no model to follow.

But I want to say, we can write our own story. A new one. A better one. Where we fight. And we find allies, not saviors. And we work together, and separately, to lift our own spells for ourselves. We become our own saviors. WE stand up and proclaim ourselves lovely and whole and worthy of love, and that is enough to save us. And we seal it with our own fiercely beautiful kiss--to ourselves.

To that good and innocent and beautiful girl who, of her own power, has saved herself and embraced her strength, and walks with no shame, because she deserves none. And who will never be unhappily ever after, ever again.

"Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert," replied Glinda. "If you had known their power you could have gone back to your Aunt Em the very first day you came to this country."
--The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Love is a Backwards God from Hell

2006-08-18T12:29:00.000-04:00

Oh. my. god. I...

fucking.

love.

this.

song.

I heard a tiny clip of it the other day on the season premeire of the fabulous Showtime series Weeds, downloaded it, and now I can't get it out of my head.

I adore songs that sound all melodic and pretty on the surface and then you actually listen and go...wow. Dirty, filthy, nasty underneath.

The artist is Jenny Owen Youngs. I don't know anything about her, but go Jenny! (And nice schoolgirl costume, too). Buy her stuff and read her very cool little write-up here.

I see there she's from New Jersey. Ha--explains everything. I can pick one of my sisters out of the crowd, no matter what part of the world we cross paths in.

"Singing sweet and drinking hard since 1981." God, I may have to marry this girl.

Update: She's also got another site besides the myspace site here.

Well, O.K. then.

2006-08-17T23:40:00.000-04:00

everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged
and the woman who lives there can tell
the truth from the stuff that they say
and she looks me in the eye
and says would you prefer the easy way
no, well o.k. then
don't cry

Just a little postette to say yeah, I know, I haven't posted in a while. I've been getting some stuff together, literally and figuratively, that's been eating into my time--some of which you'll most likely see or read about at some future point, I'm sure.

Anyway, I'll be back soon; promise. Maybe even tomorrow. For now, I leave you with a little Sylvilistic music/mindset.

Music credit: "joyful girl" by Ani Difranco, from the album Dilate. Buy it.
Photo credit: Riflessioni introvabili by Z79.

Sugasm #41

2006-08-10T13:23:00.000-04:00

Sorry people, I'm a little behind the curve posting Sugasm this week. Some really good reading. Check it out.

This week’s best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Want to be in Sugasm #42? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

Oh, and also go to the main Sugasm page to see the new "weekly top three" vote thing they're trying out for next week.

Mr. Sugasm himself
73% of American’s Hate Porn (http://sugarbank.com)

NSFW Pics (and a Podcast)
Amanda (http://hotboxbabe.thumblogger.com)
It’s Thursday! Happy HNT! (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Nora Marlo self portraits (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Splish Splash (photos/podcast) (http://bedroomradio.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Does Size Matter? (http://sexeteria.blogspot.com)
Insatiable: How to Date a Nympho (http://sabrinainstockings.com)
Oh Kegels, How I Love Thee (http://blog.babeland.com)
On My Way to Sex Rehab (http://theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Rockin’ – Not Humpin’ – In the Free World (http://cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
Straight, Male, Talking About My Sexuality (http://www.realadultsex.com)
Take Naked Pictures of Your Girlfriend (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
The thinky and the kinky: qualities of attraction (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)

Humor
Film Fridays 33 - Internet Dating (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
The Top 30 Most Annoying Things About Porn (http://www.msnaughty.com/blog)
Why Don’t I Ever See Porn Stars On the Golf Course? (http://sugarjoy.com)

Sex Work
Crossover Fetish Subs are Twice as Weak (http://www.ladyevilsdungeon.com/evil_domme)
Dumb Ass white boi! (http://www.spoiledebonyprincess.com/princess-blog )
Smoking Fetish (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sex News and Sexy Reviews
August Contest - Story Time (http://sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)
Half-Nekkid and Loving Himself (http://www.TarasNaughtyShop.com)
Review: The Wolf Summers By ElSol (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Straight Porn Review: Briana Banks… a.k.a. Filthy Whore 3 (http://blog.johnqafterhours.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
8/1 by Rex: That Wonderful Ass (http://rexandroxy.blogspot.com)
Aerosmith (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Clothing Optional (http://tangysweet.blogspot.com)
The First ‘Threesome’ (http://lumpesse.com)
F♥ck Bunny (http://femmefataleteen.blogspot.com)
Last night (http://orgasmcurious.blogspot.com)
A Most Proper Text Message (http://damnjezebel.com/diary)
No Niceties (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Statuesque (http://www.asstr.org/~gentlebutfirm)
Through the Green Door (www.TaraTainton.com)
Voyeuristic Dream (http://dawnndirty.blogspot.com)
Yes. I Like Girls. (http://xantasia.blogspot.com)

BDSM and Fetish
The Honeymoon Part I (http://redvelvetropeburn.com)
Introducing people to rubber kink (http://www.dangerousfemme.com)
Open Panties (http://natalieslingerie.blogspot.com)
Pain Slut- A Fantasy (http://designingintimacy.blogspot.com)
Webcam Session with an Old Man (http://www.caramelvixen.com/vixen-blog)

Join the Sugasm

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Blogger

2006-08-08T23:50:00.000-04:00

Ned: I want adventure. I want romance. 
Bill: Ned, there is no such thing as adventure. There's no such thing as romance. There's only trouble and desire. 
Ned: Trouble and desire.
Bill: That's right. And the funny thing is, when you desire something you immediately get into trouble. And when you're in trouble you don't desire anything at all. 
Ned: I see.
Bill: It's impossible.
Ned: It's ironic.
Bill: It's a fucking tragedy is what it is, Ned.
--Simple Men

I’m really pretty new to this whole blogging thing. I started in January (not counting a very short stint the month before when I was testing the waters before I did it “for real”). So I’ve only been writing as a blogger for 7 months—just over half a year.

Before that, there wasn’t much I knew about blogging. I can honestly say I’d never read a blog before, unless you count aggregator-style blogs like Metafilter or Fark. I’d glanced at a few friends-of-friends’ poorly written LiveJournal pages. That’s it. I didn’t “get” the whole blogging phenomenon.

So it’s still kind of a surprise to me that one day this past winter I suddenly signed up for a Blogspot account and started writing a blog. I’m still not sure what prompted me to do that. And now I find myself wondering just what I wanted from it. What I thought would happen.

I find myself wondering quite a lot these days, and not only about the blog, what it is I really want.

And it kills me to realize that I still just. don’t. know. Which is so entirely frustrating. I have a feeling of what I want. This feeling is set deep in the core of who I am, and I feel it all the time. It manifests as this certain kind of yearning. But I don’t know FOR WHAT. Sehnsucht. I’ve written about it before.

I was talking about it with someone again just today, in fact. You know that feeling you get when you run into a place or a person for the first time and it’s like you already know that place or person? It has a feel, a scent, a something that just clicks in in this very primal way and suddenly you feel, “I know this. I’m home.” This is what I want. But how do you go after something like that? It’s so intangible, so indefinable.

I’m not actually getting off track here. What I’m trying to say is—I don’t know the reason why I started to blog. I don’t know the reason why other bloggers did. But I suspect what I’m describing above may have something to do with it.

In every blog I read, I notice this often unspoken constant. No matter how funny, how erotic, how practical the topic of the blog is, there’s this same feeling, this something underneath that sets off my nerve center in this very instinctual, sensory way.

There is this underlying yearning. A sort of undefined loneliness and want.

I think all bloggers are lonely. By this I don’t mean bloggers are all lonely losers, outcasts, and social misfits (though some of us proudly wear those tags and make them damn cool). Most bloggers I read have (or have had) good friends, family, lovers, etc. We have lives that are often, at least on paper, rich and full and interesting, even if sometimes we hit roadblocks and difficulties.

No, this thread of loneliness that weaves itself for the blog world, it’s something else. It’s more this feeling of unrequited yearning. For some kind of connection we are just not getting. For some kind of reality we just can’t seem to create. Perhaps for others, not just me, we long for what feels right, but we don’t know what right LOOKS like. We don’t know how to get there.

I think many of us hope the blog is a way to get there. To create a world defined by us, by our own thoughts and needs. To see if others get it; get us. To search for and to finally be able to experience the feel of that familiar click into place that we’re just not experiencing in our daily lives, regardless of whether or not all the parts of that life appear to be fitting just fine.

I think this is why bloggers have these love-hate struggles with their blogs. Their blogs, no matter how overt or cleverly disguised, are their want, their yearning made incarnate. The blog is the part of them most needing to be nursed and loved and acknowledged and adored and unconditionally accepted. The stuff they just cain’t get at home, even though they feel (or are told) they “should” be able to.

And so they keep writing and writing…and does it ever click? Do they ever get to clearly define their want, and then have it met? To eradicate their loneliness and need? Does the blog help them get to there, wherever there is? I don’t know. It may just be another temporary panacea.

You know how it goes. The drugs are so good the first time. And so you keep at it, doing it more, pushing your limits. And then eventually, the drugs just don’t work. You can never get back that first high.

Or can you?

I think this is what makes it so hard for people to give up on their blogs. The blog is the last great battlefield of desire and longing. It’s an altered reality, where there’s hope that if you fight the good fight, say the right things, reach and gather the right people, all things can eventually look bright and beautiful, the way you feel them, in the deepest parts of your being, where you’re waiting for them to come true.

Is this unrealistic? Probably.

But man, doesn’t everyone burn bright like stars while they try?

And for this reason, I don’t want them to stop. And I don’t want to stop.

In the true pagan sense of things, it’s the trying that is heroic. No one can predict the outcome of the battle, so whether you win is irrelevant. It’s how bravely, creatively, and honorably you fought, all the way through, until the end.

---

So, I know it's the age-old question, but... Why do we blog? Why do we read blogs? What's the gain? Why bother?

(photo credit: MacBook by Ricky Romero)

Some Days

2006-08-08T00:15:00.000-04:00

You just can’t.

You try, you know. You always try. But.

I’m tired.

And I won’t tell you what this means, ‘cause you already know.

…and you’ll find what you find when you find there’s nothing.

(Music credit: “American English” from Idlewild’s The Remote Part. Buy it.)
(Photo credit: "Abstract Clinging Hands" by Hans Voralberg)

Quick opinion poll on erotica/porn resources. Your feedback needed!

2006-08-06T20:02:00.000-04:00

Hi. I need your help, all you fellow sexy thangs.

Could you please suggest your favorite resources for quality online written erotica and video porn?

I want to use these suggestions for an upcoming post where I am suggesting people search out these resources to help them build their "dirty talk" skills. I have a few favorites, but would like more suggestions for people to pick and choose from, and am a bit too busy of late to do lots of independent research (fun as that would be) to uncover more choices.

If you need a bit more guidance, I'm looking for your suggestions of favorite:

Online journals for high-quality written or spoken word erotica (or paper journals, too)
Online sources of quality amateur erotic writing
Sites that rate/recommend/describe the contents of porn flicks (sort of like porn IMDB sites)
Sites that help more mainstream people decide which porn is best for them.
Online sites where people can easily access good, quality couples porn (gay or straight) at reasonable prices (or for free--if it's a legal download).
Porn films with good verbal interaction between the actors.
Bloggers whose erotic writing is top rate, and would give good examples to a neophyte of how to talk dirty.

UPDATE: Thanks for all the comments so far. As far as the porn goes, I wanted to clarify: since I want to use this to give good examples of how to talk dirty, any porn suggestions should be audio/visual (as in video, or straight audio clips). I'm not looking for still photo suggestions.

The more suggestions you can give, the better. My only stipulation is that all suggestions be GOOD examples of erotic expression--nothing super unskilled and amateurish. Thanks, everyone!

Also note. Though honest suggestions from real people are extremely welcome, advertisements are NOT. So just a warning to any commenters who might want to use this as a promotional opportunity for their own for-pay site or blog--don't bother. Such comments will be deleted. Kisses.

How to Talk Dirty: Lesson 1 - Introduction

2006-07-31T22:06:00.000-04:00

One of the top searches that brings people my blog (after “blowjob tips” and “cunnilingus tips,” surprise, surprise) are phrases like “how to talk dirty,” “what to say in dirty talk,” “how do I talk dirty to boyfriend in bed,” “how do I get her to talk dirty,” etc.

So, I’m starting to get the hint that there are a lot of people out there who are looking for some practical advice on how to talk dirty. Unfortunately, however, when they search this term and my blog comes up, they don’t get a post on how to talk dirty. Instead, it takes them to a post about the worst things that people have been told in bed.

For some reason, every time I see this happen on my stats, it dismays me. I keep imagining all these earnest people, all hopefully looking for some practical advice, and landing on a page where they’re only shown all the things they might already be doing wrong. So I feel as a pretty damn accomplished dirty talker and a reasonably accomplished teacher, that I should bow to my readers’ needs and do a little series on how get your filthy-tongued mojo working.

This post will be just an introduction to the subject, and then others will follow. We’ll begin with a few FAQs.

Why do people want to talk dirty or have me talk dirty to them? What’s the benefit of it?
Quite simply, it adds a little spice, and gets the person you’re talking to more highly aroused. There’s nothing like having the right person murmur, growl, moan, or scream the right thing in your ear at just the right time. It can make the difference between good sex and mind-blowing sex.

Plus, for many, besides being an aural stimulant, dirty talk can also be a big ego booster—a.k.a. aphrodisiac. For most guys, hearing how big and hard their cock is in the midst of fucking is going to make both their pride and their big, hard cock swell. For most women, hearing just how much you love fucking her is going to make her love fucking you.

As to why people talk dirty to you, probably because they think you’ll find it sexy, and because it makes them feel sexy to say certain things in bed that they imagine saying in their fantasies.

But isn’t it belittling?
Not if you know the person likes it and wants to hear it, and if you say the right thing for that person (and for you). Keep in mind that there is a wide range of dirty talk, from the mild (“Oh please, harder!”) to the hardcore (“You’re daddy’s little cum slut, aren’t you?”). Every individual’s preferences for dirty talk falls somewhere on that continuum, and wherever that point is for that person, anything you say lower on the scale will generally be a turn on, and anything higher will potentially be belittling or just too extreme. As a responsible partner, it’s your job to figure out where on the scale your partner’s preference falls, and not to go beyond that into turn-off or humiliation territory. (I’ll give you tips on how to figure out your partner’s threshold in a future lesson.)

In the same way, you will have comfort zones for what you want to hear or say. Your partner’s responsibility is to learn those—but it’s also your responsibility to communicate them gently and respectfully, but firmly. Never feel you have to say or be told anything that makes you feel bad, or that takes you way out of your comfort zone.

But I’m shy. Just the thought of talking dirty takes me out of my comfort zone.
That’s not unusual. Many people are embarrassed by dirty talk. That’s probably because they’ve been taught it’s wrong, or that nice or loving people don’t talk like that to each other. And some people are embarrassed because they don’t know what to say or how to respond, and think they may sound stupid.

But keep in mind that being embarrassed and being turned off or freaked out by it are two different things. If you’re merely feeling shy or embarrassed but you wish you could do it or try it even so, don’t worry—you’re ready to do it. With a little practice and adopting the right attitude (which again, you’ll learn how to do in an upcoming lesson), you’ll be able to be talking dirty with the best of us.

Now, on the other hand, if the thought of doing it or hearing it makes you feel sick to your stomach and as if you never want to have sex again, talking dirty is just not for you, and you and your partner will just have to just accept that. Everyone likes different things. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Why won’t my girlfriend/boyfriend talk dirty to me? How can I make her/him?
As stated above, if your partner seems to have difficulty talking dirty, it’s probably because he or she is embarrassed by and/or inexperienced with dirty talk and is afraid of sounding stupid if he or she says the wrong thing. No one wants to look stupid or turn their partner off in bed. Plus, many people were never taught to be verbal in bed, and so the impulse may not come naturally to them.

In answer to the second question, you should never “make” your partner do anything he or she doesn’t want to. But if your partner seems willing to participate but hesitant about how to do so, that’s another story. In that case, you should treat the situation the same way you would treat having sex with a virgin. Your partner is a dirty talk virgin, and he/she’s afraid he’ll/she’ll come off bad in bed. It’s your job as the more experienced lover to gently tutor him/her and help him/her along slowly and patiently, step by step, until he/she feels comfortable going "all the way."

And speaking of which, listen and listen good: if you try to make your partner feel bad or guilty for not doing it, or criticize his or her technique when he/she tries to, they’re going to shut down and you’re never going to get any. And you’d deserve it. So they key is to praise what they’re doing well, and don’t force or criticize technique.

Isn’t talking dirty sort of a natural talent thing—either you have it or you don’t?
Not really. Like any skill, some people are born with a natural gift for lascivious lingo, and it just rolls off their tongue with no conscious thought or effort. But if that’s not the case for you, never fear. It’s a skill that can be learned. It’s all in getting comfortable--and hot, and confident in your own sexual self. Like any other skill, you study up, you practice, you make a few false starts, and eventually you get good at it until you're one of the people who looks like he or she’s been doing it naturally all along.

That’s all for tonight.

**Next lesson: Embracing Your Inner Dirty Talker**

For the time being, I’d love to hear if this post/series seems useful or interesting to anyone who’s reading, or if anyone has any advice to add to any of the FAQs above.

(Photo credit: [Talking Dirty] by jehza)