Boobday: 31 Jul


Boobday is weekly again! Back to basics, no themes.

This photo is just a simple bathroom-mirror selfie – unedited, not even cropped. The only thing I did was add my watermark.

Boobday 2015-07-31

Haven’t had much time to write lately, but I’m hoping to get some text up soon. I imagine you’re all getting sick of the photos by now, right?

See who else is participating in Boobday this week.


I bought some new footwear over the weekend at a great little boutique that we found last year.

I’m not a shoe person – I can easily go years without buying a pair. I skew toward the pragmatic and minimalist side of things, but since I’ve been exploring my sensuality, I’ve also discovered the delight of beautiful shoes that can see plenty of good use without ever leaving the house.

I was excited when I saw that this pair was the same brand as my black stilettos, which fit so well. I asked one clerk for the size and the other clerk was immediately interested; it turns out the second clerk is an owner and had ordered this specific pair for herself, and then was gutted when they came in and didn’t fit.

When I put them on, I attracted the attention of the three other customers (all female). They fit, well. All five women registered their opinion that I should buy them. I don’t do majority rules (my partner’s opinion that I should buy them carried much more weight), but it happens that they were right. It’s nice to have a consensus.

gladiators 1

gladiators 2

Vince Camuto, “Kase”, for those who are interested in such details.

[In a fashion context, these are considered “sandals”. As far as I can deduce, a sandal is simply a shoe in which the upper is composed entirely of straps, regardless of the height of the heel or the shaft.]

Sinful Sunday: ride

Sinful Sunday

Why sit when you can ride?


[I finally caved and joined Twitter: @SexIsMyNewHobby]

Edit: I made it into the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up! Here’s what guest judge Indy Jones of The Shingle Beach had to say:

I once tried doing something like this, and just got stuck. Bah.
It’s very clever making the chair the focus of the image. Does anyone else see twin stylised female figures in the negative space created by its back piece? And then, *just* out of focus, the more subtle, but more beautiful, figure of our real subject – and that tantalising glimpse of nipple.

Dark Ages 14: Gamer

[“Dark Ages” is a series wherein I reconsider memories of boyfriends past through the lens of new knowledge and hope to make it worth my while (and not just a depressing trudge down memory lane) by learning something new about myself.]


End of summer, not long after my ill-fated visit with Ed. Looking back, I can see that I’d had some fun times over the summer, but it didn’t seem that fun at the time. I wasn’t happy.

One shitty evening, I called up my friend Gamer and told him my sad story. We spoke for a good while and he commiserated, but eventually and regretfully announced that he had someplace to be at a specific time. He didn’t want to blow me off, and he was going to a meeting for a group that I might like, and did I want to come with? I dusted myself off, got overdressed and waited for him to come pick me up. It was a welcome distraction.

A week or two later, a friend of his was having a party and many of the group members (only a few of whom I’d met) would be there. When I arrived at the house on a farm just outside of town, a bunch of guys swarmed out the door to meet me in the parking area. It was rather disconcerting, but I found out later that Gamer had gone on at some length about how hot I was, and so all the randy young bucks had to come out and see. One of them was Wolf (fairly tall, slim, quiet), but Gamer specifically warned me away from him with no explanation. By the end of the night I was still puzzled as to why — Wolf had barely spoken to me.

After hanging out together as friends quite a lot for about a month, Gamer and I started going out. I wasn’t keen to leap into a new relationship since my recent track record seemed pretty poor and I was still gun-shy, so I took it slow.

Gamer was skinny, a little taller than average, with long, thick, curly black hair. (If he brushed it out and let it frizz, it stuck out at an angle just like Roseanne Roseannadanna’s.) With his thick black hair and his full but nicely shaped eyebrows, he had sort of a Mediterranean look, though that wasn’t his background. It amused him to wear 70s polyester; I thought it made him look a little oily. He had been in his high school band (percussion) and had been a lifeguard over the last few summers.

Things were good. We knew each other pretty well to begin with, had interests in common, and were compatible. Being with Gamer was easy and comfortable. We declared our love multiple times a day but, because I was well and truly spooked from my experience with Bad Boy, I developed a habit of checking in with myself regularly to look for signs of dysfunction.

I hadn’t yet cut all ties with Bad Boy, and Gamer and I met up with him once for drinks. It was… odd. Being around the two of them at the same time was impossible because it seemed that I was a different person with each of them. And I didn’t like the person I seemed to be around Bad Boy.

One time, Gamer was over late and didn’t want to go home. The complication: I was still living at home (as was he) and I needed permission. I got it. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and so we had sex, quietly. It was well past bedtime and I figured everyone was asleep. Still, in the morning my mom forbade him from staying over again. I pushed back, feeling pretty confident that I knew what the issue was but, for some reason, willing her to say it out loud. She didn’t. Conversation over.

A subsequent sexual encounter went much better. I was on top and had enough clitoral stimulation that I was able to orgasm during sex (as opposed to oral sex or masturbation) for the first time. Bonus points for perversity: in my mom’s bed.

Then there was the time that I took the ecstasy that Kent had managed to source for me. What I remember most was the overpowering, squirmy desire just to be touched, for hours.

Gamer and I had started with condoms but I eventually decided to go on the pill, so we both went to get checked out, as you do. I was clear. He had HPV and got treated. We ditched the condoms. I got infected. I didn’t know anything about HPV and Gamer hadn’t provided me with any info from his doctor. Did the doctor tell him that he was still contagious? Did he think to tell the doctor that he had a partner and we were looking at dispensing with condoms? Gamer should have had information for me, but there was a communication breakdown at some point and I wasn’t told. I knew it wasn’t deliberate, but I was angry as fuck. I’m still not best pleased. But shit happens, it’s a common infection, and I haven’t had any symptoms in yonks. It’s probably gone from my system, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

About three months into the relationship, which was midway through my last year of university, Gamer had the idea of moving to the big city when I was done my program. And so we did. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but everything about it was challenging: we had a total of four flat tires on our overloaded trailer on the drive out; our crash space arrangement was with a friend who was living with her mother (and I’m not sure the mother had advance notice); it was hard to find a place to live mid-month, the place we found wasn’t great and the neighbors fought loudly; we both had a hard time finding even crappy jobs; our work schedules kept us busy on weekends when our preferred leisure activities were scheduled; we were broke; and we had no family or friends to help us.

Not too long after the move, my feelings towards him cooled, although I still cared about him. The relationship might have fizzled around then anyway, or the stress might have done it. I felt stuck. I couldn’t afford to live on my own, and I couldn’t move home on my own.

By this time sex was infrequent. He pressured me to an extent, enough to put me on my guard, but I also felt guilty and wrong for not wanting it. At one point I confessed to him that I’d fantasized about being with another woman and was concerned about what that meant about my sexual identity. (I now think it wasn’t that I preferred women, it was that I feared male sexuality.)

It was the beginning of a very long ending.

e[lust] #72

An Erotic Adventure Image
Photo courtesy of Tabitha Rayne

Welcome to Elust #72

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Invisible Pride: Bi Erasure
Disabled Gentleman

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: “Passerby”
Overcoming resistance

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

#AskELJames: The Poignant & Profitable Martyrdom of E.L. James


Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Tits, Ass, Monogamy, and Muscles
ATVOD’s Preliminary View

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Perfect Stranger
Remembering my first sex toy
On Relationship Anarchy
In Defense of Big Toys
Unpacking Assumptions About Sex and Stoneness
A Thousand Miles
Six Important Reasons Not to Fake an Orgasm
Flying With Sex Toys
What is your preferred way to orgasm?

Erotic Fiction

kotw: anonymous sex
A Firm Hand and Lessons
The Sounds Of The Night
Office Assistant


Happy Bloomsday! What Would Molly Do?
Bare Reality: 100 women and their breasts


Deacon Jones: A Lusty Limerick

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Trust Me: On Edge Play in Erotica
Come on Command

Erotic Non-Fiction

Chasing Orgasms
Did You Just Laugh At My Instructions?
I’m always going to get mine.
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 52
that was intense

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home again

As of a few days ago, I’m home again. Of my nine weeks away, I spent eight in the UK with my partner. It was a bit of an adventure for me, though some of my energy also went into trying to help him with the crap he was dealing with, and then helping him pack for his move home. He had spent more time there than here over the last three years.

His place was small but it was furnished with some sturdy furniture at good heights. Because the bed was at a different height than the one at home, it provided the opportunity to explore some different angles. The desk, whose top came just below the crease of my hip, was a particular favorite, for me to lie displayed on my back, to present, to be fucked while bent over it, or to be fucked while lying on my back. (That last one only happened once, but if there had been a second time it definitely would have involved pillows. Ouch.) If we end up buying any new furniture, we’d probably want something that’s sturdily fuck-proof.

While I was away, I didn’t blog all that much because much of my writing energy was directed elsewhere, and I didn’t much feel like establishing a routine. Most of the photos I posted were taken either at home ahead of time or during my short business trip. So far I prefer doing the photos by myself; in general, my partner and I are very compatible but that doesn’t seem to extend to photography. We both have some hang-ups still, and things get a little awkward when we try to do photos together. (He loathes having his picture taken, and so he doesn’t much like taking pictures of anyone else either.) Also, the artistic side of the photography is quite important to me and I have fairly clear ideas of what I want the images to look like, so it’s usually easier to just do it myself with the tripod and remote and a bit of experimentation than to explain it. In any event, the light was terrible (except in the well-lit bathroom), so getting usable images was a real challenge.

However, we did occupy ourselves with creating raw material for the blog (not that much of it has actually been blogged). We went through an average of 5 condoms a week (it still blows my mind that that number, more or less, used to be our annual average), and then there was the oral and ‘manual’ sex. We did spend rather a lot of time in bed.

The day we got back, we practically sleepwalked through the door, into the stale air and over the dusty hardwood floors. I immediately unpacked only what I thought I needed between that moment and morning, the priorities being my nightshirt, my toothbrush, and the condoms.

Sinful Sunday: chair

Sinful Sunday

The first Sunday of July was my last in the UK, and I had hoped to post a photo for Sinful Sunday in accordance with this month’s theme of “chair”. But my partner was moving back after having been away for the better part of three years so, with the packing and all, photos just didn’t happen.

My chairs at home are much more photogenic anyway.


I’ve used clothing in some of my photos, and there were a few posed on that lovely hotel bed, but incorporating a chair was more like using a prop, which I’ve never done before. I got tired of taking photos before I ran out of ideas, so there may be more chair photos in my future.

Also, I seem to like symmetry.

Edit: I just remembered that in French la chair means ‘flesh’. Seems appropriate.

that was intense

I’d had my bath and it was time to play.

While I was lying on my side, he gave me a few thoroughly intimate and intimately thorough licks, then he arranged me on my back for some more of the same. “Don’t move,” he ordered, and went to retrieve the lube.

He started working my ass with his index finger, calmly and methodically, in and out, in and out. It doesn’t feel good on its own exactly, but it seems add a spice to the dish — like adding a pinch of salt to dessert in order to intensify the sweetness. Then, keeping that finger still, he started manipulating my g-spot with his other hand. Then both, alternating to avoid sensation overload.

Lying prone with my knees up and my arms above my head in surrender, I was intent and breathing heavily. An awareness of something being a bit off started to permeate my slightly altered consciousness, and I paused  the action to take stock. My upper lip was tingling. My right hand, which was gripping my vibe, was tingling too, though my left wasn’t. He saw my torso quickly flush, originating at my upper chest and rapidly spreading down to my hips, and he feared some kind of sudden and odd allergic reaction. We waited until the symptoms (of hyperventilation, as it turns out) dissipated.

He resumed his attentive ministrations, alternately working on my ass and my cunt. That was oh so good, and I moaned my little moans, but it wasn’t enough to get me off on its own. So I introduced the vibe, ever so lightly on my clit.

Almost immediately, I started to crest. Each wave hit just the right spot; it felt almost unbearably good and I clenched everything and quickly felt like I was close to coming. No stealthy lead-up, this. It was a sudden alarm and I could imagine I heard klaxons. After only 5 ‘waves’ or so (was that 30 seconds, maybe a minute?), it heaved me — reeling — from the point of intensity and over the edge.

I instantly burst into tears, howling. Eventually it was like a switch had been flipped and I suddenly started giggling uncontrollably. I felt a little out of my head, a little high. There was no space between sobbing and giggling, I just bounced from one to the other. At one point mid-way through, my teeth were chattering. I eventually came back to myself after 20 minutes or more. It was a hell of a thing, the most intense orgasm I’ve had to date, and the previous record was set about 9 or 10 months ago.

All this on the summer solstice, the shortest night of the year. I’d be delighted to celebrate every solstice in this debauched and pagan-ish way.