running cold and hot

My partner and I have been apart for going on two months, and although I felt very warm when he first left, last week I felt like I’d cooled a little since he’s been gone. Masturbating, while very useful to get to know my body better, is just not as fun. Although my weekdays aren’t filled to the brim, they just don’t work as well as weekends, so I’d gotten into a bit of a routine of solo play on Saturdays.

Except that last Saturday I had a dance performance, so I was busy much of the time with preparations. And when I wasn’t actively busy with it, it was still on my mind. On top of that, the performance (in addition to all the mental preparations leading up to it) is physically tiring. My piece was near the beginning of the show, but I stuck it out and watched to the bitter end rather than going home immediately, as my gut had suggested. My sleep debt wasn’t exactly delighted.

At the end of the evening, my sporty friend (who is sort of known in our group for having a dirty mind) was whispering something in another friend’s ear, and I asked about it. Sporty has been dating a guy for a couple of months, her first action in a few years. So she turned to me and whispered in my ear, with a wicked grin, that he… was good in bed. Oh. OK. Is that it? No bondage or forced orgasms or spankings that you’d like to confess? OK. Never mind.

I was still tired on the Sunday, but there was still a dance workshop to go to. It was much more of a low-key day, but even though I had some time I just wasn’t interested. I started to wonder whether I was experiencing something beyond a mood, some longer term cooling ­­— minor still, but something that could require a bit of time and effort to rekindle.

And then last Monday happened. In retrospect, I think my brain had just put a damper on things on the lead-up to and during that busy, somewhat stressful weekend, because things turned on a dime when it was over. I spent most of that Monday in a state of dampness. I looked at some hot stuff in the morning, which isn’t unusual, but I seemed to react more strongly. I ended up being pretty distracted much of the afternoon. In the early evening, I needed to eat and get out the door for my dance class. I also had some baking that I wanted to get done before I left. So I had about an hour and a half to eat, get the cake into and out of the oven, and get myself off:

I edge a few times using the Hitachi, and it’s strong enough that I don’t need to get undressed. I put my leftovers in the microwave to reheat and then set about edging again, with the intention of stopping when I hear the beeps. Well, the music is fairly loud and there’s a bit of other ambient noise and I don’t hear the beeps so I go overtime a bit, but at least I get quite far in just a couple of minutes. Then I eat, then some more edging.

All the while, I have to keep an eye on the cake because the recipe is new and the baking time seems way off. Timer goes, check the cake, not done yet so back in for 5. More edging. Phone rings. It’s a friend of my partner’s. He’s a good guy, but I didn’t know whether to expect him to talk for 30 seconds or 30 minutes — both are equally likely. He has a quick question and then sounds like he’s up for a chat, so I tell him I have to leave the house in about 5 minutes and manage to extricate myself quickly. Timer goes, check the cake, still not done so put it back in for 10.

Time to sort myself out. Grab the Hitachi from the couch, the Pure Wand from the bathroom and head into the bedroom. Fuck! I washed the sheets and the bed is still bare. Put the new sheet on the mattress, pillowcase on the pillow, plug in the Hitachi, strip. Discover that the front crotch seam of my panties (which I noticed was wearing thin) has been blown out, apparently from the ministrations of the Hitachi. Oops.

Hitachi. Wand. Hitachi. Wand. Hitachi and Wand. Oh, ungh, yes! Hitachi (don’t stop at one!). More Hitachi. Timer goes off. Oh, fuck it. Hitachi and Wand. Fuck, yeah! Breathe. Rescue cake (only a wee bit overdone). Get dressed and out the door to dance.

I wasn’t even late.

Sinful Sunday: strong and lithe

Sinful Sunday

I did a little experimenting with direct light again, but only one photo of the lot was usable. The background is better lit than anything else, and overall the effect is dark, almost a silhouette in places. (Increasing brightness left the image a little flat.) And yet, despite all of this, I’m really pleased with how much this photo manages to express. Specifically, the curves of my shoulders and upper arms (as well as a bit of collarbone and a pair of shapely axillary fossae) illustrate the strength that I feel.

I have known for a long time that my shoulders are strong. When I first started this style of dance over 10 years ago, I was the only one in the class not complaining that my shoulders were sore. At that time, I credited the ballet-based training I had done as a tween and young teen for building the relevant muscles at the right time; the martial arts I did around the same time probably didn’t hurt either.

I didn’t think anything more about it until about four years ago, after I moved to a different city and started dancing with a new group. One of the women there (who is an all-around lovely person as well as gorgeous, and goes to the gym) complimented me on my shoulders and asked if I worked out. I don’t — I just dance. I had never really appreciated my shoulders until her comment, but now I’m proud of them.

strong and lithe

(Sinful Sunday is a weekly meme featuring sensual and erotic photography. Click the icon at the top of this post to go to the homepage and check out the other links.)


Edit: I’m delighted to report that this photo was chosen as one of the top 5 in the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up! Here’s what guest judge sub-Bee said about the image:

A fantastic use of black and white, the lighting in this is incredible. The way you have used the light to create shadows that pick out the contours of your body is stunning. I have a big thing for shoulders and I think yours are gorgeous and you are right to be proud of them.

“yellow” Boobday

adissolutelifemeans.com/boobday/

This month’s Boobday theme is “yellow”.

My skin tone looks best in cool colors, so yellow is not a wardrobe staple for me. My first though was to take a photo in my yellow living room, but the light there is poor — which is why it was painted yellow in the first place.

Then I remembered this silk scarf. It clings in just the right way, I think. And the way I was holding it to my body put the fabric on the bias for even more clingy goodness.

scarf color

This is my first time posting a color photo, which was necessary to fit within the Boobday theme. Here it is again, in black and white, which I think tends to highlight the sculptural quality of the image.

scarf

Sinful Sunday: get a grip

Sinful Sunday

I have been at least a little self-conscious about my tum since about age 9, when I picked up on my parents’ (unfounded) concerns about their weight. And then, of course, the top-down view of one’s own body causes foreshortening and exaggerates curves.

This is probably the only photo I’ve taken so far that deliberately makes a point of emphasizing that bit of softness rather than merely ignoring it or trying to downplay it.

get a grip

Sinful Sunday is a weekly meme featuring sensual and erotic photography. Click the icon at the top of the post to go to the homepage and check out the other links.

e[lust] #69

E[lust] is a monthly digest of sex bloggers, and I’ve got a submission in this month. Even better, my photo was selected for the header! Links are organized by category – go check them out.

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sexhobby
Photo courtesy of Sex Is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust #69

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 #70? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Bully for you
Watching Me
Red in Tooth and Claw

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

He’s Got Her
Subject/Object/My Desire

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Waiting with Snowdrops

 

Erotic Non-Fiction

Nothing Really Matters
Njoying Myself
He’s beautiful
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 39
His Beauty Shatters Me
Vacation Got Off To A Slow Start
After Party On My Own
dénouement
My Life Erotic: “The Bad Man”

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Questions We’re Actually Embarrassed to Ask
Distance
Ignorance & Misconception – Scary Combination

Poetry

Laced Up – a Lusty Limerick

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Our First Time
The EuphOff
the auction
the conductor
Habla con ella

Writing About Writing

My Filthasaurus

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On Corsets
Consent: A play in one act
Playing hate: topping in a degradation scene
Corsets and Kink
What I Love About Pinching

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Sinful Sunday: fossa

Sinful Sunday

Axillary fossa1, to be specific. A grand name for a body part that doesn’t ordinarily get a lot of love: a.k.a. “the armpit”.

This is a detail from a photo I posted recently. I like how, when taken out of context, it starts to look like wind-sculpted rock.

fossa

(Sinful Sunday is a weekly meme featuring sensual and erotic photography. Click the icon at the top of this post to go to the homepage and check out the other links.)

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1 Thanks are due to Jaime Mortimer for the word “fossa”. He discusses a sexier sort of fossa here.

Dark Ages 12: Achilles

Most of the rest of that summer was spent in a large city that I’d never visited before, across the country from my hometown. During the week, I lived in a dorm and took a full-time language class. My friends were mostly girls, for a change. Evenings were spent on campus or sometimes downtown. On the weekend, I stayed with relatives in the suburbs.

One Friday morning after class, my friends and I returned to the dorm while two guys (one with long blond hair, one with shorter dark hair) were at the front desk looking into renting rooms for the night. We started chatting: they were hitchhiking and living on a shoestring budget, so even though the rooms were inexpensive, they were very hesitant to part with their cash and were considering sleeping in a park. By this time I’d decided that the blond one was cute and there was some potential here. I sensed the subtext behind their plea for assistance, as well as the way my friends were responding, so said with some confidence that I was sure we could find them some crash space for one night.

It promised to be an excellent day. On Fridays, we only had class in the morning; the optional activity that afternoon was horseback riding and I’d signed up; and my favorite indie band was playing at a bar downtown that night. And then these two guys turned up. At some point, it became apparent that the dark-haired guy, Achilles, was more interested in me than his blond friend was. Fine by me: I found Achilles slightly less cute but he seemed smarter, and I wasn’t feeling overly fussy.

I was the only one of my group who had signed up for the afternoon outing, so I arranged to meet them all downtown, outside the bar. Shortly after I arrived, Achilles and I walked a couple blocks to a fast-food joint to get a large 7-Up to be doctored with vodka, and possibly also some food. On the way there, a prostitute in a short skirt and impossibly high heels called out to Achilles, but she apologized when she realized that he was with me. The sun hadn’t set yet.

The gig was a blast, but it had been a very long day: after a couple hours of horseback riding followed by a couple hours of dancing, I was done, and Achilles and I were the first to head back. Back at the dorm, things progressed as you might expect, and eventually I was confronted with the issue of whether I was going to sleep with him or not. I hadn’t expected to, but in the heat of the moment it seemed like a reasonably good idea. The problem was that neither of us had any condoms and getting some would have been pretty much impossible at that hour. So when he suggested that he’d put it in “just a little”, I agreed. As always, I was very tight (or rather, tense) and was going to need at least a couple minutes to relax. And while I tried to relax, my brain re-engaged and I remembered that putting it in, even “a little”, in the absence of a condom or any other birth control was A Very Stupid Idea, and I called a halt. (He was probably really regretting not having any condoms at that point.) He bedded down on the floor for the night. We spent a bit of the next day together and he saw me off when I got on the bus to go to my relatives’.

A few days later, I found out that one of guys in my class was from the same small city as Achilles and knew him, or knew of him. Achilles was apparently very popular at home (funny how it’s hard to gauge popularity without an entourage to give context), which gave my self-image a boost, but I was also a little concerned he might treat the encounter as a conquest. Not that it mattered much — we never saw each other again.