Jul 242014

I said I was back, that more writing would be forthcoming, but I overestimated my back-ness.

I am, now, truly, about to be more back. Though with some interruptions. So no promises.

I am, however, hopeful.

Meanwhile, I hope you’re having a great summer (if you’re in the northern hemisphere).

Jul 172014

I was, recently, at a strip club, with a date. I may or may not write about that evening. But let me just tell you about the phenomenally sexy dancer/stripper/woman working there who stole my heart (my cock).

There are all sorts of things to say about her: unlike most such people, she was (I think) born here. Her first language is English. Among people, this isn’t particularly important to me. But among women working in strip clubs, it’s a huge turn-on, because the interactions that are available between a strip-club patron and a dancer are so structurally overdetermined that a language barrier makes escape from the most boring, bland, “Where are you from? What do you do?” interactions really hard. Whereas, with a woman whose first language is English, it’s at least plausible that you could quickly find yourself discussing, say, her graduate degree (if she were so inclined).

Not so in this case, alas. In this case, we didn’t progress too far conversationally (though we did discuss the existence of this blog). No, the only place our ability to communicate efficiently really came in handy was when she invited me to pull her hair (I had been sliding my hand under her hair, against her scalp, as if looking for a good clump to grab) and to spank her (I had been kneading her ass, lifting and lowering my hand gently, as if spanking her in slow motion).

“I’m not, generally, the permission-seeking type,” I said (half-accurately – I don’t often seek permission explicitly, but I often obtain it).

“You’re not?”

“Well, in places like this? I’m a perfect gentleman. But elsewhere? Not so much,” I said, pulling her hair a bit harder, tilting her pretty face back toward mine as she sat on my cock, her back to me.

“You can pull my hair as hard as you want, as long as you don’t pull it out,” she said.

The other dancer, an Eastern European blonde, chuckled as she pressed her mouth into my date’s pussy, against her navy boyshorts, exposed by the flouncy dress that by now was well above her hips. “That’s going to be in your blog,” she said. (She was, evidently, correct.)

“You can spank me, too,” she said. “Just don’t bruise me.” I did. And I didn’t.

My dancer – call her Amy – was a phenomenal specimen. She was tiny, pale, brunette, with wavy hair, a pretty pretty face, and a bright white smile with perfect teeth. Maybe 26? Her breasts were B-cups. At first, it seemed, my date was going to choose her. But then along came Olga, the tall blonde, and my date was smitten. Which was nice for me. Because Amy was just about the only woman in the club for me. (Other, of course, than my date, who was by this time otherwise occupied.)

Amy had a tiny (like, shockingly tiny) waist above (relatively) wide hips and a perfectly heart-shaped ass. She worked her ass, lifting it in the air for me, waving it in my face, and lowering her g-string nearly all the way, tempting me (daring me?) to slide a finger into her pussy. I didn’t. In a strip club, I am a PERFECT GENTLEMAN. Seriously. I never ask for permission to proceed. I never push boundaries.

But if, for the first bit of our time together, she was all about her ass, for the second bit, she was all about her pussy. It was in my face, close enough for me to smell (through the tiny black g-string), almost close enough for me to taste. It was pressing against my arm, against my hand. I finally gave in and pressed my thumb, my fingers, against her clit (through her g-string, natch). In that strip club way, I had no sense of whether actually felt good to her, if she actually enjoyed it, but she was a good, not overly dramatic actress. She effectively communicated, to me, and to my date, the sense that she was enjoying herself very much thank you.

She was a generous tease, Amy – she stroked my cock through my jeans, rode my cock hard, soft.

I actually went back later that evening, after my date and I had gone our separate ways, hoping to find her again, but no dice. Oh well.

Here’s hoping that wasn’t the last time I see her, though I doubt I’ll be back to the club any time soon. (In my current iteration of existence, strip club visits are quite rare, and generally on dates.) It had probably been a year since I’d been in that club. Two years, actually.

Truth be told, I’d rather see her not in the club, anyway. Winking smile

Jul 152014

She stands 5’3″. She is athletic, muscular, pretty. Her hips flare out. Her solid, meaty ass fills her tight blue cargo pants – pants that weren’t intended to be tight, that were designed to fit generously.

Her blonde hair, straight, layered, falls to just below her shoulders, shoulders which are covered by a fuchsia linen top, over a black cotton tank.

Her eyes are blue, clear. They meet no one’s gaze.

Her cheekbones are high. Her fingernails are painted an orange that clashes with her top.

She doesn’t smile as she reads the newspaper on her phone.

She barely acknowledges the generosity – whose motivation surely is suspect – of the man who gives up his seat to her, but not to any of the other plausible candidates for it, including a somewhat shaky-on-his-feet sexagenarian.

Jul 152014

In the context of erotic writing, compliance means, simply, “Doing as I ask.”

But in reality? It’s somewhat more nuanced.

Here are some things it’s not:

  • Blind obedience.
  • Abandonment of principles.
  • Never saying “no.”

I acknowledge that I may have contradicted some of these principles in previous of my writings. When I have done so, it has been for literary and erotic effect. For example, I have said many times that “perfect compliance” is something I crave, and that in part, this consists of “never saying ‘no’ to me.”

While it is true that, in a sexual relationship, I find “never saying ‘no’” hot, it is, honestly, at least as hot to me, and often hotter  (even if it makes somewhat less hot prose) to be told, respectfully, “I really want to give you exactly what you want, but, in this instance, I don’t think I can. I respect that you want it, though, and so want to give you something else, of equal or greater value to you, to make up for my inability to give you what you ask. Would it be acceptable if, instead of ‘x’ I did ‘y’ for you? Or, alternately, may I ask you to propose an alternative that takes into consideration the reasons I’m unable to do as you ask?”

That is perfect compliance.

Jul 132014

Vacation is over.

Writing will resume shortly.

But I welcome inspiration.

Give me some?

Jul 092014

Sofia is the best pornographer I know. Just sayin’.

She is my first, most compliant, most sexy, artful, responsive, provider of porn and other virtual stimulation.

In coming days, I will strive to make you the beneficiary of this.

Jul 082014

I’m on vacation with my family, having a delightful time. My computer and phone have hardly been part of the experience. My silence will end, in a week or so.

In the meantime, I hope you’re having a good early (northern hemisphere) summer.

Jul 032014

Compliance is such a turn-on for me.

Imperfect compliance is such a turn-off.

Some doms get off on, really enjoy, training their subs. I don’t. I have nothing against – enjoy, even, working with a woman who’s learning about (her) submission. But training implies a certain level of… resistance… on the part of the submissive. This holds no appeal to me.

If you and I are engaged in dominance and submission together, I don’t want to train you, particularly. I want you to be good. I’m entirely o.k. with your learning. What I have zero patience for is your willfully testing my limits, pushing back. That just holds zero appeal.

Continue reading »

Jul 012014

Anyone who has a creative kid between the ages of 6 and 12 or so should visit GoAnimate. They have a cool site that lets you design your own cartoon. In our household, we’ve spent a HUGE amount of time on the site.

I never really thought of it as having anything to do with my dissolute life until… last night, I got an e-mail from someone who wrote me.

Dear N. Likes,

I greatly enjoy My Dissolute Life and thought you may be interested in a short cartoon I made. “So, You Want to Be a Dom?” is about a man who wants to be a Dom, but doesn’t actually want to be a Dom, or even know what one is:

If you like the video, I’d love for you to share it with your friends and followers. 

Thanks for watching!

-Libertine Video

Needless to say, I enjoyed the video – perhaps much more than I would have if I weren’t already very familiar with GoAnimate. I hope you enjoy it too.

Jun 302014

On three recent occasions, people have described me as “an admitted sex addict,” or some variant of that. Close readers of this blog know that my thinking on sex addiction, and on my relationship to it, is more nuanced (or muddied, or, muddled, or self-deceived) than that.

I recently had an exchange with another blogger in which I fleshed out some of my thoughts on this question. She sent me an advance copy of a post she was about to put up, and we went from there. This first passage is from the draft post she sent (and the cover note she sent accompanying it). Further thoughts will follow in a subsequent post.


Blogger: [from her cover note to me] My “issue” is that I THINK about sex ALL THE TIME. Although I don’t have much sex (not from lack of trying).  But it is constantly on my brain.  I’m concerned if this may be some form of sex addiction.

[from the draft post she sent] I think about sex A LOT.  I mean like ALL THE TIME.  When I get up in the morning, I run to my tablet to read all your wonderful blogs, check out Tumblr, check my email at all my various addresses to see if I’ve received a message from the hot new guy.  When I get home from work, the same thing.  When I’m not reading blogs, I’m reading sex forums (ourhotwives.org, etc).  I’m constantly in chat rooms talking with guys at night. (sexy chat, anyone?)  Usually it’s the same 2 or 3 guys that I’ve been chatting with for awhile…or the hot new guy  They aren’t geographically close and we are actually “friends”.  I talk with other bloggers on occasion too and I really enjoy those relationships…. This can’t be “normal”– whatever that is.  I feel like a horny 17 year old boy.  Is this a sexual addiction?  I’m not acting on it.  But am I a sex addict of a sort?  Does everyone (in the sex blogosphere?  I know the real world doesn’t do this) think about sex this much?  I mean this isn’t interrupting my work or other aspects of my life.  I do my job and do it well.  But even there Sex is never far off my brain!  I masturbate regularly and that does ease some of the “pressure”. Is this a result of living in a  sexually repressed (Bible belt) culture yet constantly being bombarded with sexual imagery?


N: 1) You ask a lot of questions aimed at understanding “why” you are thinking about sex all the time. As if a) there’s something wrong with it, and b) somehow, if you learn the “reason,” you’ll stop. I’m not sure either is right, outside of your head.

2) You also are concerned with “normal.” I assure you – there’s no “normal” when it comes to sex, and whatever normal there is, no one knows what it is, because no one tells the truth. It is certainly not uncommon to think about sex like you are.

3) What do you mean by “sex addict”? What’s your question? If the answer were “yes,” then what? If it were “no,” then what? Are you looking for a diagnosis? A treatment? Because there is no treatment, so the diagnosis is useless. Except in as much as it feels good to have a label for yourself.

You say “it started two years ago.” What started then? What happened then that you associate with its starting? 


Blogger: I really don’t know why this “thinking about sex all the time” switch turned on.  No, this is not a bad thing..at ALL  And it def won’t stop.   I’m more curious to know if others think the same way I do.

I honestly don’t know if I’m a sex addict or a variation of sorts.  I guess I contacted you because you’ve self-identified as a sex addict.  And was curious about your experience.



Thanks. For what it’s worth, read all of what I write about “sex addiction.” I don’t self-identify as a sex addict. I try hard to be clear that I don’t really believe sex addiction is a thing, while at the same time, not trying to in any way distance myself from “other” addicts.

I think the word “addiction” is, mostly, unhelpful in relationship to sex. Particularly, for example, in your case. Your problem isn’t that you’re “addicted” to sex. It’s not even clear that you have a problem. To the extent you have one, your problem is that you think about sex more than you would like to. Or, said differently, you would like to think about sex less than you do. Either one of those two halves could be adjusted and you’d have no problem: If you were o.k. with thinking about sex as much as you do, that’d be fine; or if you thought about sex less, that’d be fine. “Sex addiction” privileges one of those two solutions over the other, but for many people, in many circumstances, the bigger problem isn’t the role sex plays in their lives (mental or otherwise), but the stories they tell themselves about the role sex plays in their lives.

What’s nice about the twelve steps is they have a pretty clear measure of whether one is “an addict” – being out of control, and having an unmanageable life. If those things are true, then, surely, one is, if not an addict, way out of control. THAT was true of me. But the metaphor of addiction often implies abstinence or some such as a solution, and THAT didn’t work for me, doesn’t work for me.

I’ve changed my relationship to sex, sure. I have less sex today than I did at the peak of my “acting out.” But I’m nowhere near “abstinent,” or “sober” – at least in the terms of SA, the fellowship I participated in most regularly.

In terms of SAA? Or SCA (two other fellowships which helped me)? I am. I don’t engage in compulsive (sexual) behavior (though I do write compulsively now). 

Sorry – lots of words on a simple subject, I suppose. But I’m skeptical about the utility of characterizing your situation as “sex addiction.” I mean, what would it give you, how would it change how you see yourself, if you declared yourself an addict? And if you didn’t?