erotic styles

Or, “How to Turn Me On: A Duffer’s Guide”.

I recently read Jaiya’s Cuffed, Tied, and Satisfied, which I found interesting overall, despite the fact that there were a few areas that seemed to me to be a little weak.

One interesting (but underdeveloped) topic was patterns of erotic needs and wants that vary from person to person. She calls this “erotic wiring” but I don’t care for that term; the suggestion of soulless mechanism or programming is at odds with the deliciously organic nature of sex. So I’m going to refer to her concept as “erotic styles” instead.

She identifies four styles, which she calls sexual, sensual, energetic (another term I dislike), and kinky. Although I found her descriptions a little sparse, I think I learned something about myself, and that’s all to the good.

[The blocks of text below are my own synopses, while the bullet points are direct quotes from the book.]

Sexual

For a sexual person, the focus is on intercourse. You have a medium to high libido and get off on erotic visuals and films (i.e. porn, presumably). Sex is both a need and a source of relaxation; orgasm is the focus, fucking is the way to get there. You may not feel much need for creativity in bed because you’re easily warmed up and easy to please.

According to Jaiya, a sexual person needs:

  • visual or other sexual stimulation
  • a willing body — either their own or their lover’s
  • standard, direct techniques

Easy peasy!

Sensual

A sensual person focuses on environment. Both physical space and head space need to be orderly. The things that work are typically romantic: food and drink, relaxation and massage, music and dancing, candles and perfume. Mood-killers include stress, clutter, and incomplete to-do lists. You prefer cuddling, kissing and foreplay over intercourse.

A sensual person needs:

  • clarity of mind — no chaos
  • cleanliness
  • toggle activities (like massage) that help you switch from daily life to sexual life
  • stimulation of the senses (candles, oils, music, etc.)
  • clear beginnings and endings — ritual
  • lack of stress

Energetic (aka Sensitive)

This refers to being sensitive to energy — I prefer the term “sensitive”. For a sensitive person, the key is (not surprisingly) their sensitivity. Anticipation is half the fun. Picking up on your partner’s mood allows you to take great pleasure in their pleasure, but also sets you off if they’re in a bad mood. Great heights of pleasure are possible, including an aptitude for multiple orgasms or full-body orgasms — if properly warmed up. Direct touch is too much, and traditional turn-on techniques probably don’t work. You feel intensely and are often misunderstood.

For sex to be satisfying, a sensitive person needs:

  • attention and absolute presence
  • indirect, full-body stimulation
  • anticipation
  • light energetic touch
  • eye contact/emotional connection

Kinky

A kinky person focuses on sexual play that is “outside the box”, whatever that means for you. You tend to be creative and have a rich fantasy life. A partner’s acceptance is a need, and good communication is very helpful. Fear, shame and judgment cause problems. Interests may include power exchange, bondage, role play, sensation play, training.

A kinky person needs:

  • psychological turn-ons
  • playing with taboo sexual practices (BDSM)
  • creativity/fantasy in sexual play
  • acceptance

The sexual, sensual and sensitive types seem to fall on a spectrum with directness of approach or technique at one end and indirectness at the other. Kinky seems to be a separate category typified by difference or novelty — in other words, off the beaten path.

So where do I fit in all this?

I’m clearly not a sexual type. I’m not easily warmed up. Don’t go for my groin, or even my breast, thinking that will turn me on: if I’m touched sexually too soon, I get right pissed off. The standard direct techniques do not work for me. I’m quite selective about what images or stories I find hot, and my response to the good stuff tends to be mild.

I prefer cuddling, kissing and foreplay over intercourse. Stress and clutter throw me off. I can find music particularly moving. As for food, drink, and the rest of it, they’re pleasant but they’re not going to light my fire. You can skip the rose petals. So I’m somewhat sensual.

I’m very sensitive. I’d say “yes” or “hell yes” to all of this. For me, sex is deeply emotional so I’m unable and unwilling to be sexual with someone who I don’t have a good emotional connection with. If I sensed that my partner was phoning it in, I’d be inclined to pull the plug — there’s just no point.

Another big issue for me is getting — and staying — warmed up. I have to be in a decent mood, he has to be in a decent mood, the pacing has to be good. I find it very satisfying just being aroused, perhaps because it’s still something of a novelty. If I’m not warmed up, there’s absolutely no point for me to try to get off either by myself or with a partner; it’s like having a stuffed up nose and eating a fancy meal despite the fact that everything tastes like cardboard. Deeply unsatisfying, emotionally and physically.

Great heights of pleasure? Yeah, I’d say so. Before my epiphany, the orgasms I had felt nice, or maybe quite nice. Now the low end is around “mmm, that’s gooood”. I fairly often get to “oh, oh, oh” and “oh fuck”. Tears afterward are not uncommon. I sometimes shout during, and I’ve had a couple of literal screaming orgasms. But for all that, I don’t actually orgasm easily. It’s definitely a skill that I/we have been working on. There’s a spot on the nape of my neck where, when touched delicately, makes me shudder orgasmically but it will never make me actually orgasm.

(I’m curious about how well the sensitive type maps onto the definition of the highly sensitive person. Both Wolf and I are HSPs, but he identifies most closely with the sexual type and I don’t at all.)

I’m also kinky. I’m a creative person, and I appreciate creativity, including in sex. I don’t have a rich fantasy life, perhaps because I had suppressed almost all sexual thoughts for so long due to sexual shame. I know I’m interested in some of the more common BDSM activities, especially spanking, power exchange, and bondage. (Hmm, just typing those words is arousing.)

Jaiya defines kinky as being outside of the box, but doesn’t distinguish between novelty and taboo. Transgression is a specific kink; for many people (myself included) whether an activity is taboo does not figure into their enjoyment of it. But I do enjoy combining certain psychological and physical sensations with sex in a way that happens not to be mainstream.

So, sensitive and kinky. That makes things… interesting.

tough love

Yes, I’m small, and light. Yes, I look graceful — delicate, even.
Yes, you’re taller. Bigger. Stronger. Yes, you can pick me up, toss me around, pin me down.

But I’m strong too. And flexible, and wriggly.
And determined.
So when we wrestle, I will give you a run for your money.
And the only way you’ll win clean
is if I want you to.

arm
This shape reminds me of a heraldic maunch, minus the pendant part of the pendant sleeve, of course.

 

touch

A long time ago, I had come to associate platonic touch from my partner (even hugs) with foreplay. Any touch therefore seemed unsafe because I was afraid it would inevitably lead to sex, which was somewhere I usually didn’t want to go.

I eventually plateaued at a reasonably comfortable place where I could easily accept a hug or a neck rub.

I recently discovered something new: I like being touched.

These days, in the morning, he’s usually on the computer already by the time I get out of bed. The first thing I do is go and visit him; I’ll be wearing an oversized T-shirt without a bra, and maybe a pair of yoga pants, or maybe nothing at all on the bottom. I’ll put my elbows on the table, and it happens that this makes my bum stick out and my breasts hang, hidden but still enticing. He’ll usually give me some pats and squeezes, and maybe a couple of spanks and some fondling. And then I’ll go and put some clothes on. This has become my wake-up routine.

More recently, I find that when we’re lying in bed either falling asleep or waking up, I just want him touching me all over: head, shoulder, breast, hip, bottom. It’s all good. I don’t expect sex to follow necessarily, though I don’t mind if it does.

I’m not afraid of touch now because I’m no longer afraid of starting something. I’m more in tune with what I want and I’m not afraid to express it because he has proven repeatedly that he’ll respect any limit I may set. I don’t have to defend myself: the line is defined by my words and held by his respect for me, and so I can finally, finally let my guard down.

I crave touch. I ask for it. I get it.

black bra and g-string

Evening. My instructions are to have my bath and then get dressed in a black bra and G-string. The foam cups of the bra are thin and smooth. And small. The bra is still in good nick, but I’ve had it for years and it seems that my shape has changed a little. Specifically, my breasts seem to be a full cup size bigger. I’m spilling out.

He is dressed, sitting on the bed, his back against the wall with his legs outstretched. I’m to kneel, straddling his lap and facing away, then he gently pushes me forward to lie down and rest my chest on his legs. He touches and caresses my exposed ass, my hips. Pulls that bit of string out of the way and touches delicately, dipping down to check if I’m wet.

We rearrange: I let him up, he stands, and I lie back. Standing by the foot of the bed, he directs me to caress my clit. I move the black triangle of fabric away and I comply. My snatch is slick while he watches.

He goes for his shower. Until he comes back, I’m to continue working my clit. The room is cold, so I retreat under the covers. When he returns I’m almost completely hidden in the billows of down and, as he asks if I’ve obeyed his instructions, he climbs on the bed beside me. His face is close. In mute reply, I reveal my hand and offer him my wet finger to suck. “Good,” he says. I understand: my obedience, my taste, our evening.

Now he calls me out from under the cozy covers, onto the floor, on all fours. He tells me to continue with my clit, using the vibe, and I comply. Then he slowly slides his cock into me and works my cunt. Slowly. Smoothly. Slowly. Smoothly. I get close and hover there, the goal just out of my grasp, attention split between cunt and clit, and I ultimately come.

It was sweet, but small. I want, still.

Back to the bed. His fingers slide in so easily and he presses on my G-spot. Not rubbing, just a firm pressure, and he gets me close again. It builds up, and the pitch of my moans gets higher and higher.

And then, oh fuck! oh yes! I shudder and groan, and all the muscles that had clenched and tensed finally relax, and I melt.

short hair

I like my short hair because
it doesn’t get in my face, and it doesn’t accidentally get leaned on;
“just-fucked” hair is never a big deal;
the nape of my neck is always exposed
and sensitive,
especially when he
licks
my stubble.

give me that fuck now

He gives me my instructions: I’m to have my bath, and once I’ve toweled off I’m to get dressed in a tight little T-shirt, a black thong and stilettos. When I’ve readied myself, he orders me into the kitchen and, with firm hands, bends me over the counter. I know he’s intending to fuck me, and I wait, warm, while anticipation clenches in my stomach.

But it turns out to be a false start. So much of this is still new for him too, and this time focusing so much on exercising domliness renders him less than hard, throwing both of us off our game.

He heads to the bedroom, no doubt revising his plan, and I’m to follow. I’m feeling slightly snappish: after my bath I put lotion on my feet as usual, but the order for the stilettos came after the lotion, and I’ve been worrying about the lotion wrecking the shoes, so I ditch the heels. I retire to the bedroom and now spanks are on the menu. Mood or no mood, I’m at least fairly confident that his hand on my ass will get me in a better frame of mind, as well as wet. I can take it a little harder now, and he gets a few nicely stinging ones in.

Once I’m good and warm, and he’s good and hard, the pounding can begin. One: from behind, with my ass in the air, knees together, and chest pushed down into the bed. Two: on my right side with right leg straight down; I start with my left knee lifted a little toward my chest; after a bit I straighten the left leg and hold my ankle up approximating the splits. Three: on my back with my ankles on his shoulders; then I grasp my feet and stretch my legs up straight almost to the wall behind the head of the bed (thanks, yoga); finally I wrap my legs around his hips and draw him into me.

Thinking to encourage him further with a bit of dirty talk, I demand, “Give me that fuck now.” Given the circumstances, it’s a bit redundant, but he manages to give it to me harder. A little too hard, actually.

I rapidly recant: “OK, maybe not quite so much of a fuck!” and we both dissolve into laughter.

I’m not allowed to have sex today

I decided this yesterday and informed my partner. It’s a practical decision: I have a dance performance this evening, I can’t afford to burn up any significant amount of energy before I perform, and it’ll be too late and I’ll be too wiped out after.

Yet lying in bed this morning, when my partner reminded me that I wasn’t allowed to have sex, I felt a little hard done by. We cuddled, and he caressed my breasts, and I stroked his cock, and I was a bit disappointed that this was all I would get for the moment.

Now, zoom out. If you had told me a year ago that I’d get my knickers in a twist that I wouldn’t be allowed to have sex for one day and I’d be pissed off about it, I would have scoffed.

And then maybe the idea would have taken hold, and I would have imagined what it would feel like to desire so much that giving up one day would feel like a hardship, and I would have been a little sad, grieving for the libido that didn’t exist.

And now I laugh a little because I finally solved my mystery and it’s no longer like this. My libido does exist and has come out of hiding. My already excellent relationship is that much richer.

And he’s promised to fuck the shit out of me all morning tomorrow.

wait and see

Morning. He’s already up, and I’m lying in bed trying to warm up by thinking pleasant thoughts, but I’m distracted and I can’t maintain sufficient concentration to get a fantasy off the ground. Although I’m nicely wet, my mind remains largely disengaged.

He comes in and asks how warm I am. “Somewhat,” I answer vaguely. But I am, at least, in the mood for him to be quite bossy, relatively speaking. The night before, we discussed what ‘bossiness’ will look like: for minor adjustments to my position, he’ll simply push me where he wants me; for anything else, he’ll give me terse instructions.

“Sit up. Move out of the way.” He moves my pillow down to hip-level. “Lie down, face down.” It’s cold, so he covers my back with a blanket.

And then he starts on my bottom. Pats and squeezes and caresses. Spanks and squeezes and caresses. After a little while, he asks if I need any more. “Maybe a few,” I respond. More spanks. And still more. Stinging spanks. It goes on about three times longer than I’d expected, with the last few feeling sharp indeed. My bottom is well warmed and I’m so wet that the moisture is practically dripping off my clit. He checks, hmms appreciatively, and licks the juices off his finger.

He deems me ready (and how!) and arranges me with my ass in the air. But the concentration required for running the show so far as left him less than hard. He lies down beside me, we spoon for a bit, and I start to worry that he’s going to give up in frustration. So I ask, “Would you play with my nipples?” And he says, quietly, “I’m still in charge here…” Oho, the game is afoot!

A moment passes, and then he gets up. “On your hands and knees.” He has opened the dresser drawer, I hear the crinkling of a packet. A pause. And then he’s sliding in and he’s fucking me from behind and he’s putting his finger in my ass. I won’t come this way, but mmm.

He comes and then it’s my turn, with vibe and his fingers on my G-spot. The lead-up is promising but the orgasm is anticlimactic. No matter. We’ll take care of that later, maybe later today. Maybe with fingers or cock or a toy. Maybe just once, or maybe more than once. I’ll just have to wait and see.

my hair is too short

I’ve got a pixie cut, short back and sides. Short. Clippers short.

I want him to grab my hair at the nape of my neck, twine it around his fist, pull my head back sharply.

I want him to breathe on my neck and lick me.

I want him to kiss me deeply, control me.

But my hair is too short.

a most pleasant fuck

My bottom is still pink from the heat of the bath. All I’m wearing is a short robe, jacket length, barely decent. In a playful mood, I want to show off a little.

He gestures: I’m to lay across his lap. He raises the hem of the robe and admires me, stroking and squeezing. “Would you like some spanks?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He begins, light and even, a gentle warm-up. My firm bottom jiggles pertly under his hand.

Round two feels pleasant, and I know I’m starting to get wet. (I used to wish I had an ‘on’ button. It seems we have now located it.)

Round three is a little heavier, a little sharper, but still adeptly even. Each spank is followed almost immediately by a small sharp tingle verging on pain, which launches an inner mini-monologue: I’m getting spanked + it feels good + ooh, that smarts a little + this is naughty + mmm. When I’ve had enough, I let him know and he stops immediately. The area around the crease of my thighs is pleasantly pink and warm. We disengage.

He announces, “I’m going to be a bit bossy.”

“OK,” I whisper, trying not to let the corners of my mouth turn up too much.

“On your elbows and knees.” I get into position. “Now, use your vibe.” We’ve talked about using the vibe during sex before but hadn’t yet tried it. For now, I’m to see to myself while he occupies himself with a condom.

When he’s ready, I’m ready too: slick, relaxed and welcoming. He slowly slides his length in then methodically reams me out, holding out as long as he can. I attend to my clit with the vibe, which takes much of my concentration, but I can feel that the vibe makes his in-and-out delicious. When he can hold out no longer, he finishes and collapses beside me. I continue with the vibe, he begins to work my g-spot with his fingers, and I come after just a few strokes.

I few minutes later I realize that I still want. I resume the vibe and the warmup. He joins in a few moments later and begins to slowly finger-fuck me.

Many orgasms are fickle, but this one seems to be manufactured with precise German engineering. The sensation begins well and improves steadily. When I get close, each cycle of the vibe takes me up, up, up, step after measured step. The workmanlike climb gives no hint of the luxuriant peak to follow: I’m surprised at the intensity, and the sounds I’m making feel somehow distant. Shyness hovers around the back of my mind but blessedly sticks to the shadows. A momentary wave of vulnerability and sunshower of tears, and I’m done.

Indeed, a most pleasant fuck.

[This post appeared in e[lust] 66.]