I set a record

The other day I woke up feeling a tiny bit turned on. Doesn’t sound like much, but it was a big deal to me because I don’t remember when that happened last; my libido has been largely non-existent for a year and a half. So I rummaged around to retrieve my vibe and set to it. I’m glad I did.

When I’m engaged in solo sex, I’ve found I have the most success if I’m mentally warmed up with some yummy fantasies. The manual approach doesn’t work well for me, so I generally use just my vibe, always on the “wave” setting.

I use as light a touch as I can get away with because my clitoris gets desensitised quickly and I don’t orgasm easily. If I use more intense stimulation to overcome insufficient arousal, I can usually force one not especially enjoyable orgasm, at the cost of becoming numb. If I’m more aroused, I can use a lighter touch and that allows me to continue to have orgasms until I do finally burn out, usually after 3 or 4. The first one usually takes something like 5-10 minutes. (I’m not really sure, since I’m definitely not paying attention to the time!)

This time, I had some physical arousal and no fantasising (unless you count the dream) and I came in less than 30 seconds! It was so much easier than usual that I was inspired to see how many I could achieve.

For one of them – I think it was number 3 or 4 – I held my breath from when I applied the vibe until I came. That was maybe 15 seconds?

I reached 6 orgasms before I finally felt burnt out. The number itself is meaningless, but the fact that I was feeling turned on at all tells me that my libido is showing signs of life. And the fact that I was able to have more orgasms than ever before demonstrates that I do have a good understanding of my body. My conclusions – that I have some difficulty reaching orgasm, I need everything going well both mentally and physically, I get desensitised easily, and I need to reduce stimulation to almost the bare minimum – all appear to be correct. And that, to my mind, is the big accomplishment.

TMI Tuesday: sex, fetish & orgasm

TMI Tuesday blog

1. Have you ever orgasmed just by hearing sexy dirty talk? No. I’ve never had a hands-off orgasm except a few times in my sleep. Dirty talk can be good, but as a side dish not a main course.

2. Have you ever tried scissoring? No.

3. Have you ever practiced BDSM on yourself (bondage, nipple clamps, hot wax, etc.)? I’ve done nipple clamps on myself. My partner has never used them on me – he just pinches.

4. Have you ever licked or sucked on someone else’s feet or toes? Was it a turn-on for you or were you doing it to please them? No, and it doesn’t interest me. I’ve had my toes sucked and it doesn’t really do much for me either. That said, I don’t find feet to be an absolute turn-off the way some people seem to, and I think I have nice looking feet.

5. Would you say that you have a sexual fetish? What is it? No, and I don’t think I’m likely to develop one. Turned on by an object or non-sexualized body part? Not really my style.

6. What is the best way for you to orgasm? 1. Be very turned on. I’m still working out how to do that. Spanking has been pretty reliable so far, but the physical isn’t enough – I also need to be turned on emotionally. 2. G-spot stimulation with fingers. 3. Clitoral stimulation with my little vibe. 4. Engage my PC muscle.

I can get very close with the g-spot stimulation but so far I’ve never been able to come just from that. I can come just from clitoral stimulation but it’s usually not as satisfying. And if g-spot and clit are happening at the same time, the g-spot stuff sometimes seems to create “noise” so that I can’t really feel the vibe and thus can’t get off. I like to get well primed with g-spot and then use clitoral stimulation like a short fuse.

Bonus: Do you have a crush on a fellow blogger? Yes, you could say that.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Go to the TMI Tuesday blog and copy the questions. Paste them to your blog and answer them there (with a link to TMI Tuesday Blog). Then go back to the TMI Tuesday blog post and provide a link to your post in the comments.


Travel days, especially between countries, lean toward being epic. I’d had a poor sleep, an early morning, a bus ride to the airport almost as long as the flight that followed, a couple more (short) bus rides, capped off with another flight for me — but not my luggage.

By the time I got home I had been awake for almost 24 hours, broken up by a little bit of fitful dozing on the first bus ride and the last flight. Yet surprisingly, when I got home I had a bit of a second wind.

That was it; I was having a bath. A soak and scrub couldn’t wait until morning. Once the water ceased to be scalding, Wolf came into the bathroom and settled himself on the floor beside the tub. He lifted my arm, slid the slick bar of soap along it, rubbing bubbles into my skin. He slowly, gently washed and stroked my limbs and front. No words were necessary. I turned over, my belly pressed against the bottom of the tub, so he could wash my back. He stroked my ass and cunt then had me stand facing and leaning against the wall while he explored and touched and licked a little. When he was done, he left me to finish my bath and I could feel the wetness that wasn’t water. I thoroughly shaved and scrubbed and got sparkling clean. My trip felt completely behind me.

Wolf was reading in bed, waiting for me. After I towelled off, I cuddled with him, straddling his legs with my head near his hip and my legs folded under me, like a frog. After a few minutes, he got me to turn around so I was still straddling, but with my forehead resting on the bed near his ankles. He admired my ass, then began to stroke me and put his finger inside me. He used some lube because I wasn’t particularly wet, but my vagina was still irritated from (I assume) the tropical heat and it immediately started to sting. I had to jump up to wash it off. I wasn’t aroused and I felt rushed. It threw off my mood.

When I returned, we cuddled again, spooning. Wolf began to pinch my nipples, which he knows can get a good reaction but the pattern was predictable and it was starting to irritate me. The novel sensations I had recently experienced with Gawan were fresh in my mind, and that gave me some knowledge that I could share. Oh, but how awkward would that be? My only other options were to make him stop or to endure it and sacrifice my mood. To what end? I chose pleasure.

I asked Wolf if he would experiment some, try different levels of intensity, try rolling my nipples slowly between his fingers, pulling, twisting, try sucking on them and not gently. He said he would try. I was still a little irritable and yet within moments he had me groaning and writhing and wet. Oh yes. That was good.

I suppose he was concentrating on his task, and although he gave me a couple of kisses, it didn’t satisfy my desire to make out.

“Kiss me,” I breathed.

In a low voice, he responded, “Don’t tell me what to do…”

“Yes, sir.”

He asked me what I would like to do next, and he would consider my request. “I think I’d like you to finger-fuck me while I use the vibe.” And so it went. The Hitachi was still in my luggage, which hadn’t made it onto the flight back and so was in airport limbo somewhere; the only option was try the rechargeable vibe (which had been neither used nor charged for a couple of weeks) and hope that it had a bit of charge left in it.

He slid his fingers into me and began to work my g-spot in just the right way. I let him drive me into an intense state of need before switching on the vibe. It worked, hurrah! After just a few moments, my hips were already moving involuntarily. I moaned, I gasped, I cried out and keened as the orgasm took me and shook me. My keening turned into tearful and howling sobs as I crested. I was utterly spent, with tears pooling in my ears.

I’m home.

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.]


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!


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


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.

Gawan: hands and mouth

We were lying on the bed, clothed, kissing. Gawan’s hand reached down, only one possible destination. I stopped him: “I’m not ready for that yet.” And he abandoned the quest.

Later in the day, from much the same starting point, he shifted down the bed and put his hands on my hips, the tips of his fingers curling inside the waistband of my snug, yoga-pant style shorts. The gesture was a question in the form of a statement. This time, my answer was wordless too: I lifted my hips, allowing him to tug down my shorts and underwear. As far as I was aware, the only thing that had changed was the passage of time. Perhaps that was all I needed.

He settled himself between my thighs and leisurely began to explore me with his tongue. Licking and sucking contentedly, he occasionally gave a deep hum of appreciation, savoring me.

Occasionally, he would punctuate his attentions by slowly and very deliberately biting that fleshy spot at the top of my inner thigh — first on the right, then on the left — just to the point where I’d suck air through my teeth or gasp a little as it started to register as painful. In those moments, leading me to the edge of pain seemed to be his goal.

He left me in no doubt that he was happy to be where he was. And a good thing, too.

I don’t come easily. For a long time, oral sex was the only way a partner could get me off, and even then it was never all that reliable. Buying a vibrator (first a We-Vibe Touch, then a Hitachi Magic Wand) has changed my sex life rather significantly for the better. A vibe offers consistency, so once I figure out what works, I can replicate it. Also, it’s a lot easier to find what works when I’m both experiencing and controlling the sensation, rather than trying to give directions when I can’t explain, or don’t know, what I want.

Gawan subscribes to a sort of chivalry that includes the premise that, on the matter of orgasms, it’s ladies first. I had brought the Hitachi*, but his sexual pride eschews electric methods: he much prefers “acoustic”. And to a certain extent, I can see his point: especially when you’re establishing a new connection, mediating the experience with a tool creates a bit of distance and might feel impersonal. Anyway, I wasn’t surprised when we didn’t get there on the first try — he’s a new lover, and we weren’t using the technique that works most reliably for me.

In addition to his oral skills, he also paid attention to my nipples in a broadly experimental way. He rolled them slowly between his fingers, pulled, and twisted them until I groaned. He pinched, trying different levels of intensity until I gasped. He sucked on them lavishly. He grazed them with his teeth and bit gently, but discovered that the sharpness was too much for me.

Fortunately, he is a fan of cunnilingus. He had set himself a task, and he returned to it with enthusiasm. He managed to get me right up to the edge many times, so he got to hear a sampling of my range of appreciative warbles.

The man’s tongue has incredible stamina, and while he took a couple of well-deserved breaks, I never actually sensed him tire during all that time. After a tremendous amount of work on his part (and a tremendous amount of wishing myself over the edge), Gawan finally got me off. As we were later to discover, he had in fact licked me a bit raw.

At another time, despite the fact that I don’t get off on being watched, I decided to be brave and demonstrated how I use the Hitachi to give myself an orgasm in about 5 or 10 minutes. He didn’t have a role in the process and we weren’t really connecting, so the result was more awkwardness than shared intimacy in that moment.

*Note to self: The Touch, which I guess would be considered a bullet vibe, would have been the better choice to bring on the trip. It’s purple and curvy, with a wider handle end and a narrower business end. It has been described as looking like a potato, but I think it’s more like a meaty thumb. Odd as it looks, it’s still reasonably subtle. The Hitachi is good at getting the job done, but it’s huge in comparison — about as long as my arm from elbow to fist — and looks like a cartoonish karaoke microphone. Subtle it is not. Mostly I think I succumbed to the temptation posed by having lots of room in my bag.

on the mend

Before Wolf’s surgery, the doctors pointed out a few landmarks in the healing process.

The first 24 hours was critical. In effect, they go in with science and technique and swap out parts, and then cross their fingers and solemnly wish that the mysterious essence of ‘life’ will work its magic and, for its own ineffable reasons, simply continue. At least the landmark here was clear: they’d take the breathing tube out as soon as he could do without it, which happened a bit earlier than expected.

The next landmark was expected around 3 weeks, but it was rather vague and neither of us can remember exactly what it was supposed to be. Perhaps an absolute minimum amount of time off work? If you had a very sedentary job, you could conceivably go back to work. I suppose. What Wolf does is sedentary, sure, but it requires clever thinking and his brain wasn’t 100% online again yet. Or maybe 3 weeks was the amount of time he could be certain to feel like shit.

As I recall, we were told that after 6 weeks his sternum would be healed, and maybe it was, but Wolf’s research suggests that 6 weeks is a bare minimum. Regardless, his center is holding together well enough that he’s able to drive again. (He’s now able to get himself to his weekly blood test. Um, hooray? His ability to go on his own to pick up Indian food is a lot more fun.)

He has now cleared 7 weeks, and he’ll probably be able to start doing rehab soon to rebuild the muscles that have atrophied — mostly arms and torso, from what I can tell. The scar down his center is still livid.

Pretty, aren’t they? All together like this, they make me think of candy. But they’re not sugary sweet. I’m told the red ones (iron) taste like blood.

The doctors’ landmarks are averages meant to help you manage your expectations and identify when there may be a problem. There have also been some personal landmarks, which are more objective and in some ways more significant.

2½ weeks – first blowjob
3 weeks – first PIV sex
1 month – first time he could finger-fuck me
6 weeks – first time he could cuddle me in a spooning position
6½ weeks – we had sex three days in a row

He still feels “not himself”, and it’s going to be a while before he does (or at least gets used to the new normal). But sexual excitement is good, and a rush of endorphins is highly distracting and makes everything seem right with the world (or at least the bedroom), if ever so briefly. And his male sexual pride should be preening in light of his renewed ability to thoroughly get me off.

I had had a significant drought during which my libido responded by cooling dramatically and then, thanks to my hormone cycle, had reheated to a smoulder that lasted for two frustrating days. But my frustration got resolved in a deeply satisfying way. Finally! It wasn’t quite a screaming orgasm — I wasn’t so vocally abandoned as that — but I was yelping, in a good way.

The next day, I woke up feeling satisfied and remained so for, oh, about an hour, but I soon started to get wound up again and continued to feel aroused all day. So that was rather distracting. That night, as he worked me to my climax, the sensation on the way up was particularly delicious, and the noises I made were more of the savoring and appreciative sort: throaty moans and groans, developing into contralto “oh god”s and “oh fuck”s, as my legs began to straighten and my toes to point. (It wasn’t “toe-curling”, but close enough: it seems that I point rather than curl. That’s probably the dancer in me.)

On the third day, what was most notable wasn’t the noises and the sensations, but rather the feeling afterward of being utterly spent and wrung out.

It’ll be a while yet before he’s fully recovered, but he’s definitely on the mend.

sex, surgery, celibacy

During the 30 days after my partner’s diagnosis and before his surgery, the frequency of our fucking declined, of necessity. He was told not to exercise or do any heavy lifting, and just to take it easy. Sex wasn’t mentioned explicitly, but we figured it would be included in the injunction – at least, the way we were likely to do it. Also, he had found that it felt unpleasant when his heart rate was up, and on top of that it was now also worrying. Our play still tended to end up with one of us getting off, one way or another, but through less vigorous means. Even so, we probably should have taken it easier than we did.

But both of us were concerned about the surgery in our different ways, and that was a buzzkill. He wanted it over and done with so he didn’t have to think about it anymore and he could just get on with his life. I couldn’t think about anything after the surgery until he made it through successfully; planning the future would have felt like wilful blindness to the fact that there might not be an “after” with him in it, even though the chances of things going wrong were very slim indeed. But we found we couldn’t lose ourselves in each other because we had to be so careful physically.

He went into surgery as a fit and healthy man with one issue: a defective valve in his heart that had recently begun to make him feel winded and worn out after only moderate exertions. So they opened him up, cooled him off, and stopped the flow of blood to his brain for over 10 minutes, and when they were done, they put him in ICU in critical condition. That’s the way it goes. Pretty much routine, and yet still scary as fuck. When I spoke to the surgeon afterwards, he told me that there was more damage than he had expected, and I was left with the impression that we’d had a nearer miss than we realized.

They let him out of hospital after a week. Since then his body has been working hard to heal the incision from the top of his ribcage right to the bottom, the punctures from the angiogram and IV and surgical drains, the plethora of needle pokes. And he is getting better. But he is tired and has lost weight and now looks ill in a way that he didn’t before.

Sex? No way. During the first two weeks, I got myself off a few times. I found it easier during that week when he was in hospital because I was home on my own and could listen to the quiet voice of my own desires. I managed to make myself cry once. That was a first. I tend to get good orgasms when using the right toys, but they’re not usually as intense or satisfying as the ones I get when playing with my partner. When I cried, it didn’t relate to any specific thoughts – there weren’t any thoughts, just a bubble of emotion that burst. Perhaps it was a formless, wordless sadness generated by what was going on. Or maybe it had no significance and I just did an excellent job of getting myself off that time. Who knows?

By the end of his first week home, my desire wasn’t exactly gone. More like it was being outcompeted by other needs. There were a couple of times when, having woken in the morning but still being too tired to get up, I laid in bed resting and trying to distract myself with sexy thoughts. Sometimes the thoughts were just fun, sometimes they were coated in a layer of guilt. By the time I was ready to get up, there might be a vague throbbing warmth between my thighs. Sure, I could sort myself out. The Hitachi was handy, though the Pure Wand wasn’t; I could just use the one that’s close enough to reach without getting out of bed. But it wouldn’t feel as good without the other and I didn’t want to get up. And then there’s the fact that he was there and I feel self-conscious about masturbating in front of him; maybe we’ll work on that someday but today is not that day. Ah, fuck it. Easier not to bother. The feeling of arousal was faint and if I tried to act on it, the orgasm would likely be disappointing. I had no way of getting myself any more wound up so that I could extract a satisfying orgasm. The arousal was faint enough that it would go away soon if I ignored it. So I ignored it. I was tired, needing to feel desired, needing to feel nurtured. I hit a wall.

A couple of days later, he was finding it easier to let me get close. He has virtually no upper body strength right now because they cut through his sternum. His whole ribcage is destabilized until it heals, which takes a good six weeks. Right now, he’s held together with stainless steel wire. I can cuddle up under his arm and lie on his shoulder. Before, I had taken to straddling his legs, with my breasts putting a pleasant amount of pressure on his cock. This doesn’t work anymore. I can get lower and put my head on his hip, but he has lost weight and it’s now a bit bony and I think it makes him self-conscious. His body no longer feels like his own; he says he feels like he’s inhabiting a reanimated corpse. Neither of us is into zombies. But despite all this, and despite the red seam down his center and the not very small dividing sign below it, he let me see him and touch him and suck him. After, he told me that he’d gotten himself off a few days before, mostly to make sure it still worked.

A couple of days after that, we gave it another try. I stroked him and he got hard fairly quickly. We had an interesting consent negotiation. I’m still not entirely at ease with blowjobs and he knows that and respects that. So he asked if he could tell me what to do. Maybe, I said. Could he tell me to suck his cock? Yes, I whispered. He managed to warm me up nicely by playing with the notion that he was ordering me to suck his cock, when really it was an elaborate request. Although we still had to be careful physically, we were both getting used to being careful with him all the time, so this wasn’t too intrusive. And he was glad to be a little distracted from his health worries for even a brief time.

Last weekend, we had our first post-surgery fuck. From behind, so there was no issue about supporting his weight with his arms, or my weight on his chest. I couldn’t see any of the healing scars, or his thinness. Though the IV jabs on the backs of his hands are still healing, all I was aware of was his hand grabbing my hair and controlling my head, neither gently nor roughly. He was tentative and slow.

He came hard, taking brief pleasure in the one physical signal that still says “Yes! Good!” Then, as the endorphins were already subsiding, he savored those few moments when he still held the fading feeling of pleasure (so quickly turning to memory), while the feeling of ill health rushed back in to replace it.

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.

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.

sexy solo Saturday

First thing in the morning last Saturday, I put on my thigh-high socks, took some poor quality (but still hot) photos, then sent one off to my partner before our daily Skype. Afterwards, I took some better photos that didn’t feature my ass. Three of these appear in last week’s Sinful Sunday post.

To avoid creating bra- and panty-lines, I lounged about in a state of dishabille until the early afternoon, alternating between pottering around on the internet looking for hot stuff to read, and taking more photos from time to time as the mood struck. The light was good.

When I’d had enough of photos and was ready to get dressed, I decided to give my new butt plug a go. I’ve done very little anal play so far and this is my first wearable plug, so the whole experience is quite new for me. As the plug is also a little bigger than the toy I’d been playing with, it took patience and relaxation (and lube, of course!) to insert.

At first it just felt a little odd. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I just sat (gingerly) on the couch and hung out for a while. As I shifted positions, the different angle and pressure changed the sensation so sometimes it was mmmm, sometimes oohhh, and occasionally even a little ungh. I’m not sure what exactly I was doing to produce the different results, but it felt good. Usually, my brain needs to be well engaged for me to get warmed up, but this was what I’d call a “manual start” — purely physical stimulus that gets me hot. Yum.

When I became a little more relaxed and confident with the plug, I started doing some housework. From time to time, I’d stop for a few minutes and bring myself close to orgasm with my new vibrator (the storied Hitachi Magic Wand), and then resume whatever I had been doing. The plug generated different sensations depending on whether I was moving about, going up or down stairs, standing, or sitting, and what I was sitting on.

After the fear of unexpected and unpleasant bottom-related surprises subsided, I decided to take it for a test walk to a store nearby. On the way there, I found myself walking rather slowly and breathing shallowly; I must have subconsciously felt that I needed to actively hold it in. I felt a little more confident with it on the return; the sensation was still odd but sometimes mmmm or even oohhh.

Later on, back at home, I collected the vibrator and readied my Pure Wand. I had hoped that G-spot stimulation with the plug in place would be enough to get me off. It was not. Vibe it is, then.

That first orgasm set the bar high: it was noticeably more intense than any I’d previously managed to accomplish through solo play. And then the second proceeded to vault well over that bar. It wasn’t the absolute most intense orgasm I’ve ever had ever, but it was still a fucking brilliant, panting, keening, shuddering experience.

Now, I acknowledge that there are a lot of variables here: a wearable plug (nJoy Pure Plug, medium); a technique that probably just passes as edging; a new and very strong vibrator. And these are in addition to the Pure Wand, whose properties I have a fair handle on already. I can’t pinpoint quite what went right because there’s too much new stuff going on.

But I intend to keep experimenting with these (very pleasant) variables. You know, for science.