body hair*

I’ve had my share of insecurities about my body, and like many women I’ve spent unnecessary energy being self-conscious about my body hair and how I “should” groom myself. I’m happy to say this issue no longer concerns me.

I shaved my legs for a couple of years in high school 1, and again for a span of months in university to please a dickish boyfriend 2, but I’ve been au naturel for a couple of decades now. I’ve always preferred wearing pants and shorts rather than dresses and skirts, but I’ve started wearing knee-length skirts over the last few years and I found that I was still a bit self-conscious about leg hair with a skirt. Eventually I realized that the hair is actually quite fine and can’t really be seen unless you’re close and looking for it. I suppose my legs aren’t red-carpet ready, but I can live with that.

Another realization I’ve had in the last few years is that I just don’t care about maintaining perfectly bare armpits. These days, I choose among shaving, trimming and benign neglect, as the mood strikes me. If I have a dance performance, I would trim, or even shave if I was feeling really motivated. For dance class, my strategy is wearing a T-shirt, or wearing a tank top coupled with “not giving a fuck”.

The place that I groom most carefully is the one that’s most hidden. I’ve always shaved fairly generously inside the bikini line, and about a year ago I started completely shaving underneath on a weekly basis. The remaining hair (on my mons) gets trimmed from time to time.

Which brings me to my trip with Gawan. I had planned to shave the hidden bits on arrival at our destination, but Gawan got to me before I did. 3 Though I’m not sure that ultimately made much of a difference to him.

He remarked — entirely without criticism or judgment, mind you — that it was more pubic hair than he’d seen on a submissive girl in, oh, five years or so. Now, what I’ve got is nowhere near full bush — one-third bush, maybe. More like a quarter. But it seems that the subby girls in his neck of the woods raze the bush completely. 4

Apparently I’m something of a novelty — or perhaps I’m revealing my lack of cred as a submissive. 5 I wouldn’t know. My cunt is the only one I’m familiar with.


1 The summer after I graduated, I was in the chorus of The Pirates of Penzance along with many other girls of a similar age. One day at rehearsal, it was reported to me (by Drift, a guy who would soon be my boyfriend, if he wasn’t already at that time) that the topic of conversation among them that day was the hair on my legs. Seriously. Fortunately I was secure enough at the time not to be unduly bothered by such natterings.

2 Surprise, surprise, this was Bad Boy. I had held out for months in the face of his whining. Eventually, I said I’d shave my legs if he shaved his. And so he did. I felt honor-bound to fulfill my end of the bargain. Which is a nutshell demonstration of my character — and his.

3 I much prefer a bath, especially for shaving, but our room only had a shower. And even to call it a “shower” is a bit generous, at least by first-world standards. The water pressure on our floor ranged from unenthusiastic at best to something more like a leak at worst, and there were only two temperatures — “unheated” and “if I’m not mistaken, I think the water might be slightly warmer than it was”. But the weather was very hot, so un-hot water wasn’t a total disaster.

4 A friend of mine — who is hot and blonde — was once asked “does the carpet match the drapes?” Despite being a very sensual if not sexual person, she somehow hadn’t heard the expression before and didn’t understand it, so she answered literally according to how her house was appointed. “I have hardwood,” she replied. The asker thought this answer was hilarious, and it does rather effectively and creatively suggest that she was in fact bare below.

5 This is a joke, by the way. Invocation of the idea of A True Submissive (or A True Dominant, for that matter) is bullshit but remains a common fallacy among people who think in black and white terms — there’s no rule book, no “one true way”. Also, while I’m interested in submission (and not dominance or switching), I don’t identify with it so much that I’d describe myself as “a submissive”. For one thing, I haven’t been inducted into the Sisterhood yet — I think their review of my use of capitalization may be holding up the process. 6

6 This is also a joke.

* Alternate titles: “I trim my quim according to whim” or “I’ve little care to spare for the hair down there — or anywhere”.

my first anniversary

I’m currently at my mother-in-law’s place, where I launched this blog one year ago today, Christmas Eve. (No, she doesn’t know!)

I’d had my epiphany in the summer of 2014. There was only so much I could accomplish while Wolf was away, so five or six months later I still felt very much like things were just beginning. When I first started blogging, it was with the intention of documenting my exploration of my own sexuality, not knowing what I would find.

I’m not really one for planning and expectations. I had and have no schedule for this, no checklist. At the outset, I asked myself a number of times what I was trying to accomplish — what was the point of putting this deeply personal (and potentially embarrassing) material out into the world? I’d had difficulty with sexuality forever and I was only able to solve that issue by remaining curious, reading things that caught my interest, asking questions and looking for answers. My solution was out there but it had required rather a lot of assembly. I figured that if I could supply a few more nodes of information and hopefully some insight, maybe it would be helpful to others.

I don’t know if I’ve had any success with that particular goal — perhaps it was merely a justification. Not many people find my blog through searches*, and I don’t actually have that much to say about sexual shame and how to overcome it, because once I assembled the requisite bits of knowledge, the shame melted away on its own. Although I still have some hangups, I don’t think those have anything to do with unresolved shame.

I haven’t written as much as I thought I might, although this isn’t a great surprise. Occasionally it was a lack of material, but, of late, finding enough time has become the bigger challenge.

I have ended up posting way more photos than I expected to, partly because of the simple fact that I find them quicker and easier than writing. At this point a little more than half my posts are photos! This has provided me with an unplanned opportunity to express myself visually; I’ve found that I’m most comfortable with sensuality, sometimes shading towards eroticism, and less so with overt sexuality. [For what it’s worth, my busiest day for blog traffic was the day I posted this photo of my ass.] I’ve also been discovering my visual style as an artist (if that’s not too grand a title), which has been fun on its own and has to an extent informed my sense of style in how I dress and how I decorate my house.

I suppose that it’s not a big surprise that the sex blog memes that I’ve participated in are photo memes: Hyacinth’s Boobday and Molly’s Sinful Sunday. The feedback from these communities has helped improve my self-image ‌— another unanticipated benefit! And I’ve become acquainted with a number of other bloggers, which has been quite nice.

I’ve also made a very special friend in Gawan, which was utterly unexpected! Whatever our relationship is, it’s unconventional and I don’t know where it will lead, but I’m very glad to have him in my life.

Wolf and I are still learning about ourselves and each other, even after so many years together. There’s lots more exploring for us to do and I’m looking forward to it.


* Some of my favorite search terms that have led people here:

  • hobby fuck sex
  • sex fucking is bad hobby
  • givemeafucknow
  • sex sexy fuck fucking stories tripod mom fiction
  • most pleasant intercourse.

Sinful Sunday: quaint dress

Sinful Sunday

quaint, adj. I. Cunning, ingenious; elaborate, elegant. 3b. Skilfully made so as to have an attractive appearance; beautiful, pretty, fine, dainty. Obsolete. 3c. Of dress: fine, fashionable, elegant. Obsolete. 4b. Elegant; attractive; finely or fashionably dressed. Obsolete.
II. Proud. 7. Proud; haughty; vain. Obsolete.
III. Curious, unusual. 9a. Attractively or agreeably unusual in character or appearance; esp. pleasingly old-fashioned. Now the usual sense.
1175-1225; Middle English queinte < Old French, variant of cointe clever, pleasingLatin cognitus known (past participle of cognōscere)

quaint dress

quaint, n. The female external genitals. Cf. cunt n. Archaic.
Formed within English, by conversion, punningly after cunt. [Oxford English Dictionary]

You may recall that the dress is a gift from Gawan, first seen here last Sunday.


Edit: Guest judge Simina of Rabbit in Chains chose my photo for the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up:

I want these fucking boots. So much. They immediately caught my attention over everything else in this picture. There’s just something so hot about gladiator boots. They go wonderfully with the dress as well.

e[lust] #77

The Other Livvy Elust Header

Photo courtesy of The Other Livvy

Welcome to Elust #77

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

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On the Island of Mhowra

Shoulder shaming?

What becomes of the broken hearted…

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

You can hear it in my voice.

Fingers – Please Fuck me With Just Them

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Don’t tell me sucking dick is easy

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!

 

Erotic Fiction

FFC #7 – TIME TRAVEL: STOCKINGS
Climbing The Corporate Ladder
A Love Letter From The Rebound Champion
Virgin Traffic Stop
A Desire To Be Watched
It’s just sex…
His Gift
Like Blue

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Virginity
V for *ahem* not me
The Lost and Found
Woman in Repose

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Amy Schumer’s: Sex Acts for Girls
James Deen, rapist?
The Trouble With “Lady Parts”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Camming On Halloween
Fresh From The Shower
Story Of Endless Love, or Just A Cold Cure?
Strap-on Fun
The moment
Bookends (side one)
“Ropes? There are ropes on this bed?”
Gawan: hands and mouth
Tremble

Poetry

Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark
“Longing” – From Coming Together: In Verse
Denial Denied

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Jessica Jones and Choice (Spoilers)
I want to be your submissive slut (sort of)
Memories of wax
Getting Stuck In a Rut and …
Primal Hunger. Owning It!

Blogging

The Whole Picture

Writing About Writing

Writing an Experience

ELust Site Badge

Boobday: ambi-

ambi-. Both, on both sides.
< Latin; akin to Greek amphí

Left and right. Compare “amphora”, which has a handle on each side.

ambivalent. Being unable to choose between two (usually opposing) courses of action.
Coined from Latin ambi- “both” + valentia “strength”, from present participle of valere “be strong”.

Both revealing and concealing.

Boobday ambi

This week’s unambiguously generous Boobday offerings are here.

F4TF: punishment

Food for Thought Friday is a new weekly meme “designed to get you thinking”. (It’s run by sex bloggers so the topics will often, but not necessarily always, be about sex.)

This week’s question has a preamble, which I’m including because it’s quite relevant to my answer.

Within the D/s community, there are times when it is necessary for a Dom to administer a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing. Our question this week, however is directed to those on the receiving ends of such punishments.

Do you consider a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing as a pleasure or a punishment?

I think it’s necessary to back up a step. A dominant/submissive (D/s) relationship is about power exchange. It doesn’t necessarily involve impact play. It also doesn’t necessarily involve a punishment dynamic, and if it does, the punishment doesn’t necessarily have to be physical. And you can have impact play without power exchange.

My partner and I have been dabbling in D/s power exchange. Also, we sometimes do spanking. We raised the matter of punishment early in our discussions, and immediately dismissed it: neither of us are interested in it.

But I’ve given it more thought in the interim. At first, I found the idea of punishment upsetting to the point of being a squick. The problem for me is that I generally have strong internal motivation (I always try to do my best), and I’m also very sensitive to disapproval, so physical punishment would be utter overkill. At this point I feel that I can begin to understand why others appreciate such a dynamic, but it’s still not for me.

What about “funishment”? As I understand it, the language of punishment is used as a framework to add meaning to the experience, but both parties ultimately expect it to be enjoyable. Having words that don’t really match the actions smacks of roleplay, which isn’t something that I enjoy.

I have had spankings and I enjoyed them. And for me, that’s the point.

Sinful Sunday: all innocence

Sinful Sunday

Well, maybe at first glance. I think the gladiators with the 4″ heels chip away at that façade, as does the push-up bra. And then there’s the fact that panties would show through the white cotton, so I’m not wearing any.

all innocence

My favorite part of this photo is the shape of my arm, the way it’s lit, and the negative space it creates.

The dress is a gift from Gawan, bought during our recent trip.

Gawan: adventures

The whole trip with Gawan was an adventure, start to finish. For me, the most significant adventure was meeting him in person, getting to know him and seeing how we got on together.

But we also had some more conventional adventures of the travelling variety. Sometimes the adventures were rather modest, like exchanging money or finding a restaurant.

security bars
Stylish security bars on a building near our hotel.
beets & carrots
Colorful vegetables at the market.

Sometimes just walking down the street felt quite adventurous all on its own.

urban decay
Urban decay.

We also had an adventure that was planned and booked: a day trip into the lush countryside. I had expected that we would be part of a group, but no, it was just the two of us and our guide/driver in a new, air-conditioned SUV.

The first place we stopped was a classic tourist trap: parking lot, toilets, and a cluster of booths selling a variety of tat. The guide informed us that we were at the highest bridge in the country, which appeared to be the only justification for the placement of this miniature capitalist ecosystem. From our vantage point, the bridge looked like just another stretch of road, which was the last thing I wanted to look at.

countryside
Countryside. Not pictured: some reputedly special bit of road, swarms of people checking out a variety of pointless tat.

Then we visited a modest little farm and met the couple who run it, their daughter and baby granddaughter. They served us tart passion fruit and tiny portions of strong coffee, black as sin. Except for our guide, none of us spoke the others’ language. It was a brief visit.

patina on a tank at a modest farmhouse
Rust and peeling paint on a tank beside the farmhouse.

The highlight of the day was snorkeling in the ocean! It was my first time and I had some trouble: I’m not a strong swimmer, and trying to breathe with my face in the water was making me panic a bit even though I rationally understood what I was supposed to do. We had another guide to lead us safely through the little coral reef, and upon seeing how hopeless I was, he just took me by the wrist and swam me around the circuit. Fortunately I was able to relax into it fairly quickly. I had a prime seat to see lots of fish, since the guide had a bottle of food to attract them. There was one that looked like a night sky, with stars of electric blue (yellowtail damselfish juvenile). And there were lots of fan corals and massive brain corals.

Gawan had hoped that I’d swim with him and was a bit disappointed that we didn’t really experience the reef together. We did have one shared experience in the ocean though: once we were back near the shore, Gawan accidentally knocked into me and gave me flipper burn on my knee.

After the reef, we went to a cave with a deep freshwater pool. The silence was broken only by a woman in a snorkeling mask swimming quiet laps in the clear, dark water, while her boyfriend watched patiently from the edge of the pool.

We had masks too, and given my eventual success at the reef and the fact that this time I wouldn’t have to contend with waves, I was feeling confident. But once I got my face in the water the panic returned, and beyond that my mask leaked. The pool was so clear that I could see sharp stalagmites deep below me but no sign of the actual bottom, which kind of freaked me out. Experiencing a fear of heights while swimming is an odd feeling.

grotto
The cave and its pool were photogenic but there was nowhere near enough light to take decent pictures, so instead I took this one on the way out.

The last stop was a former coffee plantation where we had lunch, a tour of the grounds, and then a short horseback ride. I’ve always liked horses. When I was a kid, I used to go on nature rides that lasted up to an hour, and I even took a few riding lessons. So a 7-minute ride seemed a little pointless and I was willing to pass it up. But Gawan wanted to try it, and if he wanted to go then I was happy to go too. It was fun, I’ll admit. But it would have been better to have a longer ride, fewer obnoxious tourists with us, and any gait faster than a walk.

One other cool thing that wasn’t in the brochure was simply talking to our guide about his country. As a tourist, it can be difficult to connect with locals. I suppose tourists who go to sun destinations are generally looking for fun and so prefer to turn a blind eye to unpleasant realities of the places they visit, and where we were, residents are (ahem) encouraged to conceal those unpleasant realities. So the opportunity to hear some truth was really interesting, if also somewhat depressing at times.

The travel part of the adventure was fun all on its own, but over three weeks later and the flipper burn is still there. And I told him no marks!