Aug 252016

Aug 242016

bo-derek-10-gallery-01I have worked in four vastly different fields, with one thing in common: those who succeed – in each field – think themselves superior to all other humans. No exaggeration.

Do successful people in every field think themselves superior to all others? Have I simply chosen well?

In any event….

This is a thing that happens. Very smart people – people with tremendous skill and insight and experience – develop a blindness when it comes to understanding the wider world, and their role in it.

I’m guilty of this from time to time. I confuse my experience, my perspective, with “truth.” When I do this, I suffer for it. It robs me of my curiosity, of my lust for knowledge and discovery.

That is all.

wicked wednesday

Aug 202016

ssaWe meet for a drink. You understand that you do not have a speaking role on this date, except to the extent that I specifically ask and authorize you to speak. I might hand you a notepad on which to communicate with me. Or a napkin. Or nothing.

You would dress for me, you would, in fact, do everything for me. You would sit as I instruct. You would drink when I instruct. You would look where I instruct. Mostly down, I expect.

This all would be incredibly difficult for you. And, no doubt, it would make your pussy drenched.

Anything else would, of course, depend on your limits. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say that your stated limits for our second date were “no anal, no marks, and condoms for any fucking.”

At a certain point, I would either leave you at the bar, or ask you to leave me. One of us would go to a hotel room. The other would follow, when I decided. For the purposes of this e-mail, let’s just say that you would go first. Your instruction would be to use the hotel key I’d give you to let yourself in, to use the bathroom, to freshen up, whatever. And to strip nude, and kneel. And, once kneeling, nude, say, facing the window, or better yet, the door, to text me. And to text me that you are ready for my cock.

What would happen next?

Gosh, I don’t know. I suppose we’d just have to figure it out.

Aug 192016

Sit in a public space and meditate on the sensations in your pussy for fifteen minutes.

Eyes closed.

And then, tell me about it.


Aug 182016

Lexy asked me, the other day, what does it mean for me to feel rejected, abandoned? How does it affect me?

There are, I suppose, four dimensions on which I know how to understand my experience:

  1. Physical
  2. Emotional
  3. Cognitive
  4. Behavioral


I feel abandonment in my chest, neck, and shoulders, and, to a lesser extent, in my diaphragm and solar plexus. The leading edge of the sensation is a tautness in my chest that radiates upward, into my shoulders and my neck. My breathing quickens, becomes shallow, unsatisfying. I can’t get a full breath, almost as if I’m suffocating. My shoulders tighten, clench, stiffen. The sensation starts just below my clavicle and wraps up, and around, extending into the back of my neck. And my neck. You know that thing that happens when someone gives you a massage and says, “Ooh, you feel tense“? Well, that’s my neck. My skin is tight, my skin barely contains my muscles, and no amount of stretching, or twisting, or turning, or rubbing or massaging makes a dent. And elsewhere in my body, my adrenaline flows, my heart beats more quickly, tricking me into believing I’m in genuine physical peril.


I feel lonely. I feel sad. I feel angry. Confused. Hungry. Agitated. Anxious. Scared.

I’m lonely because that’s part of what it is to be me, to be lonely. But the sensation heightens when I have a hook of abandonment on which to exercise.

I feel sad because – loss. Because Abandonment and rejection represent loss. Maybe loss of a relationship, or of a hope, or of a fantasy. Maybe loss of something more concrete – a mouth, a pussy, a source of stimulation. But loss leads me to sadness, inexorably.

I feel angry, because, at heart, I’m four. If you take a toy from me, or a hope, or a relationship, or anything, really, I react primally. “Give it back!”

I feel confused because, in my narcissistic world view, it is simply disorienting, disequilibrating, when your desires and mine don’t line up perfectly congruently. It simply does not compute. This is where my empathy sometimes breaks down, when I simply cannot assimilate another’s perspective.

I feel hungry – not for food, but for gratification. My hunger demands satisfaction, demands gratification. Disappoint my hunger, and it starts flexing its muscles, threatening disruption.

Which leads to agitation. To a sense of imminent danger. My impulse is to flee, or freeze, or fight.

And that’s scary. My anxiety arrives, washing over my body like a wave, leaving me with the sensation of wanting to flee, but having to do so in a pool filled with molasses.

And that? That scares the fuck out of me.


Some thoughts accompany this cacophony of emotions. Thoughts such as, “Nobody loves me,” “Nobody wants me,” “I am undesirable,” “I am undeserving,” “I am shameful.


And this, in my behavior, is where the rubber meets the road.

If all is well, all these sensations, feelings, thoughts, lead… nowhere. I don’t act, my behavior doesn’t change, because… well, because nothing, actually, has happened. I don’t need to act. Do I?

If all is well, I meditate. I feel the feelings. I notice them. I label them, I appreciate them, I honor them, but I don’t cling to them, or chase them, or obsess about them. I simply observe.

But sometimes, all is not well. Usually, all is not perfect. My behavior might become somewhat manic. I might act to collect approval, or appreciation, or gratitude, from some other source. Sexual? Perhaps. But not necessarily. Or I might lash out. Yelling at someone, responding intemperately, unsympathetically, unkindly. Or, I might act to numb my sensations, the ones I don’t want to feel. I might do this by reading – typically, news articles, current events, anything that’s short, that requires minimal concentration but provides a jolt of something to me. I might spend an hour, or many hours, simply chasing links. I might do this with porn – seeking images to stimulate me, to distract me. Or I might do it with TV, watching hours of Netflix, or Amazon Prime. Or I might act out sexually. Years ago, acting out sexually typically involved paying for sex. Nowadays, more often it’s more benign, at least in the context of my marriage, and tends to be less destructive, less shame-filled.

In any event, I suppose, the point is that when all is not well, my feelings lead to actions.

Aug 182016

I want you to walk for me.

To undress for me.
To crawl for me.
To beg me.
To lick me.
To suck me.
To fuck me.

To feel me.

To feel me.

To feel me.

To come on me.
To feel me come in you.

I want you to give in to me, to submit to me, to surrender to me.

Try something different.

Give us both the gift of “yes.”


Aug 182016

Elust 85 header
Photo courtesy of Cheeky Minx

Welcome to Elust 85

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #86 Start with the rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Case of the Purloined Panties


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Inspection Zone
Date with prey


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~


You really should consider adding your popular posts here too
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Continue reading »

Aug 172016

Some dommes maintain wish lists, often on Amazon, of things they want their “slaves” to buy them. There’s a thing, apparently, called “financial domination,” whereby women humiliate men and extort money and objects from them.

Not. My. Thing.

But… if you’re looking for ways to make me happy, there are things you can do that don’t involve sending me money, or buying me presents, there are things you can do. You see, I don’t get off so much on humiliation, but I do get off on being thought of. If you’re thinking of me, here are some things you can tell me that: Continue reading »

Aug 152016

When I was a kid, I wasn’t “popular.” I struggled with confidence. My best friend, from age seven up, was blessed with a preternatural confidence that netted him all sorts of benefits of which I was envious. I did fine socially – I had friends, I dated, I survived. But my experience of relationships – friendships and romantic/sexual relationships – was that they were precarious, vulnerable, hard-won, and easily lost.

This is still true, today. I live on a precipice, convinced that the ways in which I’m perceived are always, inevitably, about to shift, and that I’ll be seen by any who previously have desired me – platonically, professionally, sexually – as somehow “fallen from grace.”

Lots of people think themselves frauds, think that the “truth” about them is always about to be discovered. My particular affliction is similar, but different: I don’t (consciously?) think myself a fraud. I don’t (consciously?) think those who think me smart, or competent, or kind, or interesting are wrong. I think they’re right, actually. I think myself all those things. And more.

My fear isn’t that the truth about me will be learned, but that the world will turn upside down, that everything I think I know to be true will turn out not to be. I could explain why I think this is, how I think I came to be vulnerable to this particular bit of neurotic delusion, but it’s not, actually, that interesting. Or maybe it is, but I’m not doing that here, not now. Continue reading »