Lending power

Just wanted to post a link to an article by Stacey May Fowles about BDSM at the left-of-center political site Alternet. It's actually an excerpt from a new book called Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape edited by writer Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti of Feministing fame. It argues that feminism and female sexual submissive fantasies can indeed comfortably co-exist.

Personally, the more I submitted sexually, the more I was able to be autonomous in my external life, the more I was able to achieve equality in my sexual and romantic partnerships, and the more genuine I felt as a human being. Regardless, I always felt that by claiming submissive status I was being highlighted as part of a social dynamic that sought to violate all women. Sadly, claims of sexual emancipation do not translate into acceptance for submissives -- the best a submissive can hope for is to be labeled and condescended to as a damaged victim choosing submission as a way of healing from or processing past trauma and abuse.

However, after several paragraphs of thinking "tell it, sister!", I was disappointed when Fowles then turn turned the frequent feminist mantra of "BDSM porn is bad". She argues that while members of the BDSM counterculture who understand the sacred BDSM rules are capable of understanding the artifice of porn,

the average young, male, heterosexual porn audience member begins to believe that forcing women into sex acts is the norm -- the imagery's constant, instant availability makes rape and sex one and the same for the mainstream viewer. Couple that private home viewing to get off with the proliferation of graphic crime shows on prime-time television and torture porn masquerading as "psychological thrillers" in theaters, and our cultural imagery screams that "women as sexual victims" is an acceptable reality.

Sigh. How many times do we have to have this discussion? Porn -- mainstream or fetish -- is NOT REAL. The majority of teenage boys know this just as well as seasoned BDSM vetrans. I mean, most teenage boys manage to watch all sorts of movies and television programs and know they are fiction. Why assume they are not capable of doing that with porn?

Now, she is right that BDSM is not a community exclusively made up of enlightened feminists. And there are plenty of those among our population who do tend to mix up reality and fiction a bit too much. But this is because the practice of BDSM gets messy. Damn messy. And that is not the fault of porn but the fault of people being fallible human beings.

It's almost as if the author, in letting go of the feminist dogma regarding mindnumbingly dull democratic sex, felt she had to latch on ever more tightly to the other part of feminist dogma that insists porn is bad. As one commenter stated, "There's the problem...You're tied up, butt in the air awaiting the crack of leather, and your mind wanders to feminist ideology. How about just having some good, consensual, kinky fun and saving the ideological crapola for the coffee house?"

Speaking of commenters, I highly recommend a read through the comments section. My particular favorite was one from someone named AMerrickanGirl:

The whole point of BDSM is not to "lose power". It is to allow someone else to borrow your power, with your enthusiastic permission.

Wanting to pleasure someone through pain is not the same as wanting to hurt them.

Sugasm #155 -- Sugasm'd again

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #156? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom

This Week’s Picks

I'm kind of... insatiable.
"She’s gasping already. Each breath a moan, each touch connected to the noises she makes."

The most spankable day of the year
"And for spankos, they are a high holy day to be approached with all the reverence and gaiety of a Pagan-cum Christian holiday."

Private club
"It’s that kind of club - the kind you have to know about, the kind that doesn’t even have a name."

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: Being Childfree

Editor's Choice
I Wonder

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot's Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Seven things you always wanted to know about Natty

Still not much spanking going on here as I was even sicker last week and am only now starting to feel better, though I think there might be some spanking tonight. I have been working on a post about spanking blogging and women, but as my brain has been a bit mushy, I thought this might be a good time to write something easy and (finally!) reply to the meme for which Nadia at Diary of a Kinky Librarian tagged me all the way back in October.

So this meme involves sharing 7 facts about myself. They include the following:

1.) I always eat my french fries (chips) first, then hamburger, fish, whatever. Can't stand cold french fries (chips).

2.) My parents received a letter from then presidential candidate George McGovern on the occasion of my birth. True, it was a form letter the Senator from South Dakota sent to all servicemen who had a child. But hey, I have a bit o' history in my baby book.

3.) I am the oldest of nine, but only grew up with four of my siblings. See this post for the explanation.

4.) George H. W. Bush sent me an invitation to his inauguration, including the inaugural ball (at least one of them). I was a High School Republican (it's true -- hey, don't look at me like that! I was young and stupid!), and I was on a list of people who worked on the campaign (though, I really hadn't). Randomly selected and sent a big envelop with fancy calligraphy. It's more than Murphy Brown got.

5.) I have ten nieces and nephews -- so far. And they're all adorable.

6.) I only like slightly green bananas. If the bananas are completely yellow -- and particularly if they have bits of brown on the peel, I won't eat them as they just make me feel kinda icky.

7.) I am 60 1/2 inches tall -- like I have been since I was 12 years old. But I was one of the tallest kids in my first grade class.

I'm supposed to tag 7 other bloggers, but I suspect a lot of bloggers have already been tagged. So if you haven't been, consider yourself tagged.

The most spankable day of the year

That morning when Pa came in to breakfast he caught Laura and said he must give her a spanking.

First he explained that today was her birthday, and she would not grow properly next year unless she had a spanking. And then he spanked so gently and carefully that it did not hurt a bit.

"One-two-three-four-five-six," he counted and spanked, slowly. One spank for each year, and at the last one big spank to grow on.

-- Little House in the Big Woods

The first time I mentioned birthday spankings to A., I think he thought I was making them up even as he was willing to oblige me thirty-some spanks. Or rather, believed that in my spanking-dominated way of thinking, I was exaggerating the practice. Or confusing what happened in my pervy family with what happens in mainstream America. A quick Google search producing story after story of American co-workers suing after being spanked at work on their birthday or birthday spankings at American schools resulting in arrest persuaded him that perhaps they were real. Though I think he still views birthday spankings right up there with Santa Claus.

But, of course, birthday spankings are real. Here in America, birthdays are the most spankable day of the year. A day when even the most ardent vanilla will go for a scoop of chocolate. And for spankos, they are a high holy day to be approached with all the reverence and gaiety of a Pagan-cum Christian holiday.

While I'm sure I probably received a birthday spanking earlier -- especially given my maternal grandfather's generous distribution of them at any and every occasion -- the first one that I can really remember happened on my seventh birthday. I was in first grade at a private, fundamentalist Christian school where spanking was standard. It was customary for our teacher, before handing out the cupcakes the birthday girl or boy brought for the event, to beckon the little girl or boy to the front of the class, hold him or her by the arm and smack his or her bottom for each year of life. She would add a "pinch for an inch" in which she pinched the bottom and completed the ritual with a "hug to grow on."

As my birthday approached, I feigned apprehension about my impending spanking to my friends and family. I talked about what I should wear that would best protect my bottom. Apparently my birthday landed on a Friday because I remember settling on a pair of polyester red, white, and blue checked pants (it was the 70s) and girls at my school were only allowed to wear pants on Fridays. At one point, I even considered wearing some sort of padding.

It was all a ruse to hide the fact that the imminent spanking excited the hell out of me. I had recently discovered while reading The Story About Ping that spanking held an inexplicable appeal for me. Over the last few months I had been fantasizing about getting a spanking from my teacher, but I wasn't willing to risk my good girl status to get one. Birthday spankings were like a freebie. No getting into trouble. No looks of disappointment and guilt-ridden angst. Yet I still got the savory embarrassment of being summoned to the front of the room, bent over, and smacked like a naughty little girl.

December 8th finally arrived. My mom made yellow Betty Crocker cupcakes with chocolate frosting, placed them in a Tupperware container and dropped them off with me at the babysitter's before heading to work in the early morning darkness. As I sat on the couch before the bus came, watching Ramblin' Rod next to my plastic box filled with flour-and-egg festivity, the smell of the chocolate frosting had me craving sugar and spankings.

Class birthday parties were always in the afternoon. The long morning passed and it was time to break out the cupcakes, as well as the construction paper, crayons, and paste for birthday cards. But not before the spanking. Blushing, I made my way to the front of the class and stood next to Mrs. Leiser. She smiled, held onto my arm softly, and delivered seven gentle, careful smacks to my backside, along with the "pinch for an inch." Before I knew it, the birthday spanking was over and I was enveloped in her arms for a hug that was sure to keep me growing for years to come.

I only remember one other childhood birthday spanking after that. At my tenth birthday party, one of my friends (who were mostly boys by this point) mentioned that I hadn't had my birthday spanking yet and before I knew it, the lot of them started wrestling me down to give me my ten smacks. Laughing and blushing, I fought back without much success, especially as my stepfather decided to lend a hand. Those smacks were definitely not the "gentle, careful" smacks Pa Ingalls and Mrs. Leiser handed out. But they were not exactly disagreeable either.

A. is slowly becoming accustomed to our fine American tradition. After a painful lesson on his birthday earlier this year, he gained a better understanding of how it works and how central it is to the birthday of any spanko. Not that I have to wait until my birthday for a decent spanking anymore, but I still look forward to a drawn out, ritualized spanking each December 8th as it just wouldn't be a proper birthday without one.

Though this year the birthday spanking -- and even my birthday luvin' -- will have to wait a bit as my pelvic/abdominal pain is as bad as ever (and quite possibly exacerbated by an infection...um...down there). And A. may have to take a few pointers from Pa Ingalls and Mrs. Leiser on delivering a birthday spanking as my appointment with the urogynecologist isn't until January 9th. But in a few days, once I'm feeling a little better, I think we just might be able to work something out with a pile of pillows and a belt...

"Can Michelle's ass come out to play?"

It's been very hit or miss these days on the spanking front.

The mojo has been there. It's just that about two and a half weeks ago the pain directly below and to the right of my navel became markedly worse. Which has made me a bit squeamish about getting spanked. The pain isn't very bad if there is no pressure on my belly -- which is most of the time. So it hasn't really stopped me from thinking and even talking about spanking.

As A. and I lay cuddling on the bed the other night, he asked if I was up to being spanked, mimicking a neighbor kid politely seeking the permission of his friend's mom for an afternoon of youthful frolics.

"Can Michelle's ass come out to play?"

Michelle's ass -- as most kids do -- wanted desperately to go out and play. But Michelle's body, being the cranky, over-protective old woman that she is, balked at the thought. She'd even of late been shooing away A.'s perfunctory smacks on the ass in the kitchen.

My ass, however, was undeterred. After thinking it over for a day or two, I decided that maybe the ruler would be okay. And the tip of the belt. Both are very surface-y implements without a lot of impact.

Thanksgiving night, after a day of massive carbohydrate-loaded sustenance at my mother's house (including my famous pumpkin pie and cranberry-orange relish -- though my cornbread-sausage stuffing didn't quite turn out right), A. treated me to a nice spanking and wanking with his belt and the Miracle Massager. I love the belt because it stings, but it's a sting I can get on top of. A., though, isn't as fond of this implement as he finds it a bit unwieldy -- something I've heard other tops say as well.

I seemed to handle that spanking okay. My body pissed and moaned a bit in the form of achiness the next day, though I suspect that had more to do with the wanking than the spanking. Because, you know, God forbid I have an orgasm anymore and not suffer for it...

But I digress.

Sunday is my traditional review and spanking day. When I came home from Mass, A. had my school uniform all laid out along with the ruler. And I must admit, dear reader, it did give me that delicious sense of foreboding mixed with excitement. The foreboding part took over, however, as the review ran into a problem. Namely, I hadn't even been keeping track of my bedtimes, much less actually gone to bed on time. That wasn't completely my fault. It had been a bit of a chaotic week with late night movies, as well as pie and stuffing making. Yet I had been very good about doing my daily yoga/physical therapy exercises and meditation. Indeed I had even done my meditation two days more than I had scheduled.

It had been awhile since I'd been spanked with the wooden ruler. I had forgotten just how much it stings! The spanking was only partly punitive, as well as partly a sampling of what would come should I fail to get back on track in getting to bed on time. One good side to the wooden ruler is that the sting is very temporary. At least, generally speaking, that is.

There is one way that the wooden ruler produces a sting that keeps on giving. Our wooden ruler has a little hole on one end with which to hang it up on a wall, should one so choose. On Monday night before bed, my ass was in a particularly provocative mood. Frankly, all I remember were a few pouty looks directed at A. I suspect he has another version of events. Needless to say, A. took the wooden ruler out again, with vigorous results.

It stung terribly, especially as my sadistic dear kept whacking me on the same spot. I couldn't help but squirm and jerk about. Okay, yes, there may have been the odd glare and complaint here and there. Perfectly reasonable, right? Well, A. didn't think so either. And since I seemed to be feeling well enough to brat, A. took out the evil clothesbrush and...gasp!...the rubber paddle.

To be fair, he didn't use either of them very hard. But my pain threshold was shit and they had me wailing and wriggling about in no time flat, which never bothers A. as he always says it saves his arm. He also accused me of playing up how much it hurt with all my writhing around on the bed. Which might have had some merit. Sorta. But...but...it really hurt, I tell ya.

What was odd was that it hurt a lot more on my left cheek than on the right cheek. As I rubbed my bottom afterward, I noticed a spot that was particularly stingy and sort of wet with some sort of fluid. Being on Coumadin, my first thought was that I was bleeding. A. examined it carefully and quickly concluded that there was no blood.

The next morning when I appraised my ass in the mirror, there was a particularly raw spot on my left cheek that hurt a lot more than all the bruising on my right cheek. Like, say, a popped blister. And that's when I connected it with the mysterious stingy fluid from the night before. Yes, that's right. A. actually blistered my ass. I always thought it was just a saying -- I'm going to blister your ass. I didn't think it actually happened.

It made me think of the "spank his ass raw" line from this old post.

Alas my grouchy gestapo of a body has cracked down on any further play. That pain at the base of my belly got a lot worse after that spanking, most likely from the pressure on my abdomen while laying on the bed. Two weeks earlier my doctor made me cry when he palpated the area during my pelvic exam and told me to call him back if it didn't get better. So yesterday I finally gave in and called. And he ordered another ultrasound (I had one a year ago when I fell down the stairs). Which sucked because any sort of palpation of the area hurts, so you can imagine what it felt like with a gooey joystick rolling around on it.

The lady who did mine this morning was very sweet and tried to be as gentle as possible. After she finished, I dressed while she reviewed the images.

"And I did get the spot that hurts?" she asked before I left.

"Oh yeah," I said with a rueful chuckle.

Radiology techs are generally cryptic when it comes to telling you what they see on your pictures. But I'm kinda thinking that's as close to "I didn't see nuthin'" as it gets. At least I won't have to wait too long to find out if I'm right as I see my doctor again tomorrow.

So, I guess you can say my ass is grounded for the moment. And I can't help but wonder, will Michelle's ass be able to come out to play on Monday for my birthday?

Sugasm #153

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #154? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom .

This Week’s Picks

For tonight, we’ll forget who and what we are.
“I want to play with you all night.”

Please, please don’t
“It will hurt, but it will be fine”

Rough
“I want you on top of me.”

Sugasm Editor
Radical Vixen

Editor’s Choice
Sometimes You Find You Get What You Need

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

A riding crop conversation

Some of you might remember that I'm out to my massage therapist/acupuncturist, who is a little on the kinky side herself.

Friday evening when there was a lull in conversation during my massage therapy/acupuncture session, my practitioner asked me about how my sex toy research was going. I replied that it was going well, and that I had two more toys to write about before I get the next batch (and God-willing that will be sometime this next week!).

"I've always wondered where the best place to buy a riding crop is," she pondered. Which made me giggle a little because it reminded me of where A. bought the riding crop we use.

"We have two," I said. "One I bought down at Spartacus, which we never use. The one we actually do use, A. bought at a charity shop in England. It's a real riding crop for horses."

Which made us both laugh, mostly about the charity shop bit.

"Yeah sex shops never seem to have very good ones," she said.

"I would imagine the best place to get one would be a tack shop," I suggested.

Our discussion then turned to the topic of DIY toys, as she loves the idea of being able to make your own. We both love the site Frugal Domme. I proudly described the electric cord flogger (aka the wankin' spankin' tool) and loopy toy that A. made, as well as the spreader bar I made from a dowel and screws obtained at WalMart.

She thought that was very cool.

I also described with less pride my ill-fated attempt at making wrist and ankle restraints with satin, quilt backing, and Velcro. Which, of course, was not so cool.

It was fun being able to chat so freely about kinky stuff. I love that I can tell her how that spanking on Election Day helped to loosen my perpetually-tight gluteaus medius and have her respond with "that's great! Gets the blood flowing into the area."

Makes being kinky feel a little more normal, ya know?

When Nerd Night gets nasty

I must confess that one of my favorite things to do on a Friday night is to pop some popcorn and watch PBS's public affairs line-up, including Washington Week, Bill Moyers Journal, NOW, and, yes, The McLaughlin Group (though even I have to admit that Foreign Exchange is boring as hell). So loyal a viewer am I, and so geeky the topic, that A. has dubbed it "Nerd Night."

For the most part, he's fairly ambivalent (or possibly silently annoyed) about my Nerd Night television hegemony, with the exception of one show that he has long despised: The McLaughlin Group. With Eleanor Clift screeching to be heard. Pat Buchanan cutting everyone off. And the asinine addition of conservative radio talk show host and Ann-Coulter-wannabe, Monica Crowley, replacing Washington Times columnist Tony Blankley, or "Tiny Tony" as I like to call him. "Would they just stop yelling?!" A. will frequently complain. And it's true, the yelling and screeching gets old fast.

My favorite part has always been McLaughlin himself. The curmudgeon with the outrageous ties. With his questions about metaphysical possibilities. And the way he cuts off a speaker with "the answer is (whatever)! Issue two..."

However over this election I've found myself disappointed in McLaughlin. While I wasn't a big Obama fan myself (I voted for Green Party candidate Cynthia McKinney since I was in a safe state), it was disturbing that McLaughlin was so egregiously anti-Obama. During the primaries, I chalked it up to him being close with Hilary. But in the general election campaign, almost every show was devoted to the faults of Obama, to the point where it almost had a sort of racist tinge -- especially when he called Obama an "oreo." To make matters worse, most of the guest commentators who joined the main three each week had a conservative slant as well (Mort Zuckerman, Michelle Bernard) leaving poor, screeching Eleanor Clift on her own to offer a left-of-center view.

A. decided it was time to act.

Now some have used the McLaughlin Group as the basis for a drinking game. But A. decided that a spanking game would be more appropriate. And rather than make complicated rules about drinking or spanking whenever someone did or said something specific, he decided to keep it simple: whenever someone said or did something stupid, I got spanked. The choice of implement would be up to his discretion.

The Friday after A. arrived was the night we played our McLaughlin Group spanking game. I was to be laying on the bed naked, facing the television when the show started. All of the implements were lined up to the left side of me. As the multi-colored title appeared on the screen, accompanied by the dramatic drum and horn music, I tell you dear reader, my bottom had goose-bumps.

For some reason, A. decided to go out to smoke when the show began. I was completely mystified by this (he's just informed me that the thought of watching the full 30-minute show was too much for him to bear). Yet as the group descended into a yelling match rather early, I was also a bit relieved as this surely would have provoked a serious beating. About ten minutes in, A. returned, sat down on the bed next to me with all the implements at this disposal.

While we watched, he started warming me up with some hand spanks. I brought him up to speed on the discussion they were having about how Obama's press plane replaced three reporters from conservative papers with three reporters from Ebony, Essence, and Jet magazines.

I can't remember at exactly which point the spanking started (the full transcript is here). Was it during poor Joe the Plumber? I do know there was a lot of spanking -- with the riding crop, I think -- when McLaughlin mistakenly said,

"Of those 16 times [that the Democrats have sought the presidency since Harry Truman], the number of Democrats who have won the popular vote is two -- Lyndon Johnson against Barry Goldwater in '64; Jimmy Carter against Jerry Ford in '76."

While Clinton did not win more than 50% of the popular vote in 92 and 96, he did win the popular vote.

Then there was the next stupid thing McLaughlin said (and which was a perfect example of his anti-Obama bias):

"So whom do the Democrats put to break the losing streak? Answer: The number one liberal in the United States Senate, a black American whose middle name is Hussein."

Mind you, this is four days before the election when the polls were showing that Obama was going to win a decisive victory.

I think I got the clothesbrush for that.

There was a lull in the spanking for a bit while the group discussed which poll was best and how all of them had Obama ahead.

But then McLaughlin said this:

"In fact, Americans feel off-put if they think anyone is buying their vote. Obama has set a new all-time record for fund-raising, a total of $605 million in his campaign war chest. That's compared to McCain's $359 million."

That was slightly silly (where's the research suggesting one, that Americans "feel off-put if they think anyone is buying their vote" and two, that that was what Obama was doing and Americans felt that he was?), so I think I just got A.'s hand for that.

Oh but it got so much worse.

"Fifth, the company he keeps. One, Reverend Jeremiah Wright...[cut to video of Rev. Wright]."

So old news. Plus, frankly both A. and I thought Reverend Wright had a point. And even Mike Huckabee came to Obama's and Reverend Wright's defense on some level.

I think A. returned to using the riding crop. Or maybe it was the cane. And continued using it through Tony Rezko and William Ayers. When McLaughlin mentioned Rashid Khalidi, my heart sunk as A. really went at it on my ass.

"Four, Rashid Khalidi, professor of Arab studies at Columbia University, friend of Obama's from Khalidi's teaching days at the University of Chicago; former spokesman for the PLO in the '80s and '90s, when the Palestine Liberation Organization was in militant exchange with Israel's Urgun."

Ugh! The Khalidi issue was a tad bit personal for me and not only was McLaughlin participating in the Republican smear campaign, about the only thing he got right was that Khalidi and Obama were indeed friends when Khalidi was still teaching at the University of Chicago. Which meant, of course, that this merited severe punishment. Again, I think it was either the cane or the riding crop A. was beating me mercilessly with. I was kicking and screaming too much at that point to notice.

Thankfully the group began talking about the Bradley Effect and I was able to catch my breath. That is until Monica Crowley opened her big, stupid mouth.

"The 2003 tape of Rashid Khalidi's farewell party, where Barack Obama attended along with Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn, is being suppressed by the Los Angeles Times. If, in fact, it wasn't a Jew-bashing event and Barack Obama has nothing to hide, then he should clear the air and demand that the Los Angeles Times release this tape. He could make this go away like that."

Oh. Dear. God. I put my head in my hands knowing what was coming next.

"I think you will agree that the "Jew-bashing" comment deserves the wooden spoon, don't you think?"

True, it was an incredibly puerile thing for Crowley to say. It did deserve some sort of chastisement. I just didn't want anymore chastisement on my ass! Especially as my ass was so so so out of practice. Yet A. slapped that wooden spoon down on each cheek over and over. Sure, he wasn't really slapping that hard. I am on anti-coagulants and have to be careful of bruising too much. Not to mention I could barely lay still enough for him to spank me.

And Crowley, along with Pat Buchanan, kept talking. Kept saying inane things like how the problems Obama has had with his associations would have sunk a Republican (yes, because George Bush had so many problems with "Kenny-boy" Lay). And how Obama couldn't close the deal because people were afraid of him (apparently they got over their fear four days later).

"Stop talking!" I cried to the television.

Yet McLaughlin then went on to Issue Three.

"If Barack Obama does win the presidency, it means total Democratic rule -- a Democratic White House, a Democratic Senate and a Democratic House of Representatives. Government unification -- good public policy? The scholars say no. Good public policy flows far more out of a disunified government than a unified government. A disunified government would mean Republican John McCain wins and the Senate and House stay Democratic. If Obama wins, it is bad for public policy.

...There's also the problem of unchecked liberalism. If Democrats gain control, they will need essentially every vote in their party to get anything passed in Congress, which means running the country from the left, with a national population that is fundamentally right of center."

I think A. went back to the cane for that one.

Yet God bless Pat Buchanan. Yep, you read that right. He does make brilliant points from time to time.

"Well, first off, say, Jack Kennedy got through the great tax cut of Kennedy with a unified government, whereas Reagan had a divided government. Lyndon Johnson's Civil Rights Act was a unified government; New Deal, unified command; Medicare, unified government; Social Security, unified government.

Divided government has done good things; I think Taft-Hartley, 1947, I believe, over Truman's veto, excellent legislation. You can have good government both ways, John. Frankly, I do believe in government responsibility and accountability. So if Barack Obama wins, maybe they ought to have the right to run the thing the way they want to, and then we can pass judgment on them."

And the spanking stop. My poor, battered ass finally had some relief. There were a few hand smacks here and there, especially with Monica Crowley's wishful thinking about split-ticket voters voting down a "liberal trifecta" or McCain winning by half a point (those poor, deluded Republicans). But with John McLaughlin's hearty "Bye BYE!" it was time to cuddle.

Don't think for a minute that A.'s itchy palm was satisfied. On Election Day, he made me bend over the bed while he quizzed me on the polls for each state to see if I had been paying attention. Despite pleas that my answers were much closer to the right answer if he used the data at fivethirtyeight.com, he used the polls at Real Clear Politics instead.

Anyway, with the election over, A. has assured me that my ass is safe from politically-motivated spankings. Though after reading this piece about the causes of the credit crunch, he's come up with a new game.

He's calling it Stock Market Correction.

***
P.S: I promise to get to all those wonderful comments for LOL day tomorrow!

Lurker luvin'

Sorry to be so quiet lately. The last week and a half or so I've felt really icky and haven't been online much (it tends to happen at the end/beginning of the month because I've run out of one of my medications). Alas, that has not meant a lack of spankings. A. arrived in an uber-toppy mood and I've been spanked no less than 5 times in not quite two weeks! And if I'd been feeling better, I suspect I'd probably have gotten it just about every day. Two of those spankings were politically motivated -- and literal, not the metaphorical kind the Republicans got last week -- and (fingers-crossed) I'll have a post about them in the next few days.

But enough about me. I want to know how you're doing. This is your day. Yep, you, dear lurker. It's the third annual Love our Lurkers day. The day we honor you, the silent majority. Who lurk hard every day. Or when a new post is up. Or maybe you just lurk occassionally. You read, but never comment. Yet your presence in our StatCounter numbers keeps us bloggers blogging. And for that we salute you.

So stand up. Hit the "leave a comment" button and tell me your story. Staying silent is hard work. Take a break and spill out everything you've ever wanted to say.

Or just "hello" is cool too.

Maybe you feel too intimidated to comment (please be assured that you're very welcome).

Maybe you don't have time (it happens to all of us).

Maybe you think you don't have anything to add (oh but you do!).

Maybe you think there's nothing worth commenting on here (fair enough).

Maybe you don't read/write English well (I'd love to learn the word for spanking in your language).

A. thinks commenting on a blog is like having to write something on a group birthday card: you're in a hurry and you want to write something witty or inspiring but in the end you just end up scribbling something like "Happy Birthday." Yet in the case of a blog, you're not pressured by the group to write something so people just don't bother.

This makes bloggers sad. We love comments. All sorts of comments. Even the brief "nice post" or "this post sucks" comments. Though we hate spam. And we banish those spam comments to very depths of blogger hell.

But the best comment of all is simply an introduction. A brief (or not so brief, as the case may be) note putting a name or remark to those numbers on my StatCounter graph (Blogger allows you to remain anonymous if you choose).

I've received exactly 17 comments both years on LOL day. This year, I'd love to see that double. And if it does (they have to be 34 unique visitors), I'll post a picture of my ass after my next spanking. Which will probably be sometime later today as I've got another one coming...

That's right. The sixth in less than two weeks. You'd think A. was some kind of sick, perverted sadist. :::grin:::

How the hell did I end up here?

I've been thinking over the last few weeks about what an amazing transformation I made in a mere decade.

In 1994, I was living with a family from my Baptist church while going to university. I had never had a drop of alcohol or even been kissed. I was teaching Children's Church, directing a weekly children's Bible memorization program, and leading music for my church college group in addition to my studies.

By 2004, not only had I been laid and drunk, I started writing a sex blog about spanking. Sure, I was still going to church, but I was Byzantine Catholic (and a dubious one at that by that point).

Have any of you, as you've started blogging or going to spanking parties wondered, how the hell did I end up here? Have you found that in embracing your sexuality, it has taken you places you never expected to go? Do you ever wonder who this new sexual deviant is, or asked the inverse question, who was that uptight, repressed person I used to be?

Needless to say, I've been rather pensive lately. It's probably why I haven't been posting as much. I mean, I've actually been journaling...in private.

But A. gets in tomorrow night, and I know we have at least one play session that we want to blog about coming up on Friday night (you know, health permitting), so hopefully my meditative mood will disperse and I'll have more juicy posts forthcoming.

The politics of pleasure is messy

I wanted to point out a piece in Alternet excerpting a new book called Feminism and Pop Culture. What I liked about the article, aside from the fact that it gave a nice review of the rise of sex-positive feminism (aka "do me" feminism), was how ambivalent it was. That the "politics of pleasure" is complicated, with women both empowered to embrace their sexuality yet still finding their greatest value in being sexually objectified.

It made me think about the messy nature of spanking – particularly Domestic Discipline – and feminism. In the discussion on feminism and DD at the Punishment Book almost a couple of years ago (it so does not feel like that long ago), what was remarkably lacking in all the talk about choice was empowerment. Feminism requires both. You can make choices that are inherently anti-feminist when they fail to empower women. Women are empowered when they have the ability to fully embrace their sexuality, regardless of how unequal it may appear. Women are not empowered when they are subordinated to men because of their gender. Both of these occur within the DD community.

There is a great deal of feminist backlash within the DD and BDSM community, including blogs which insist that a woman is required to be submissive because she was born with a vagina or dominant women (and submissive men) who feel distinctly unwelcome in their local BDSM community (which is often run by dominant men). I think sometimes that because we're trying so hard to show that you can be a feminist and a sexual submissive, we fail to call out the sexism that exists in our community. But it's there. It's so there.

Interestingly enough, I often think that within our community the ones who suffer the most from entrenched patriarchy are submissive men. While acting out our sexuality might make us feel a bit uncomfortable with some of our feminist peers, submissive women have it easier in that respect than submissive men because society is still far more accepting of submissive women than submissive men. People grasp M/F on a primal level, but feminism has not yet brought us to the point that people feel comfortable with F/M, except in kinky pop culture references here and there (and frequent illogical dominatrix analogies).

At some point I'd like to write more about this, but my brain has been really mushy the last two weeks, so it won't be tonight. :::grin::

VibeReview Fantasy: Bendybeads

You know my libido has been on vacation because until last Wednesday or so, whenever I tried to create the fantasy that follows this review using a real-life occurrence as a starting point, I got nothing. Just...blankness.

But my deviant imagination has returned, which is a good thing because Bendybeads scream out for a good pervert. Indeed my reviews so far have been a bit vagina-centric for my particular flavor of kinkiness. I mean, we are spankos, are we not? We are all about the ass. And Bendybeads too, are all about the ass.

And boy are they yummy in the ass.

Now, if you're not familiar with anal beads, they are usually plastic balls attached together by a string that are pushed into and pulled out of the anus (along with, like anything else involving the anus, lots of lube). However in more recent years there have been some innovations in the anal beads concept, such as replacing the string (which is impossible to sanitize) with jelly or plastic, or making the whole thing a bit more substantial like a butt plug. Indeed one of the early butt plugs I bought was a jelly one fashioned in graduated, bead-like fashion, similar to the Spectra Probe at VibeRevew (which is what A. used in me for real, inspiring the fantasy below).

I have to say, Bendybeads are a major improvement to Spectra-like bead-plugs. I'm more a sphincter stimulation sorta gal rather than in love with the fullness of a plug and Bendybeads are much easier to push in and pull out of the ass than a plug. They have this lovely little hook at the end which facilitates that sort of activity. The largest of the balls is comfortable enough, i.e. not painfully large, and all balls stay put even with a lot of lube. It is a bit on the long side (indeed too long for my naughty box), but I could still sit comfortably (relatively speaking) with it in. Best of all, it is made out of phtalate-free silicone, which is safer and more hygienic as it can be cleaned easier.

I used mine one night with my wankin' spankin' tool and my Silver Bullet vibrator and had one of the most amazing orgasms I have ever had. No joke. :::Happy sigh::: Ah, that was a nice night....

But when A. returns in a couple of weeks (two weeks from today to be exact), I imagine my Bendybeads being used in the following fashion:

It will be one of my good days, where I'm strong enough to reassert some sort of dominion over the kitchen by washing the dishes. As I find satisfaction in wiping every spot from the glasses and every slick of grease from the plastic containers, A. comes up behind me and begins to grope my tits. Soon his right hand slides down to my ass. He caresses and fondles my fatty cheeks before delivering several sharp blows. Slips his hand down my pajama bottoms and fondles some more. Pulls it out, wraps it around my belly, and with both hands clutching me, dry humps me from behind.

"Keep washing the dishes," he orders before disappearing. Upon returning a few minutes later, he whisks down my pajama bottoms while I hold a sudsy plate. "Let's get these down," in a voice mixing the authoritarian and the lecherous. Next I feel an oozy finger probing my hole. I look down to my right and see the Bendybeads in his hand.

"No! No! Not my bummy hole!" I exclaim with mock consternation, jolting my hand down to cover my bottom.

"Excuse me? That is not yours to decide." It's all authoritarian now. Sharp and impatient. "Spread your legs, please. Ass out."

I obey immediately, albeit with a whimper. I always whimper when my anus is involved. There's something about it being probed and entered that makes me feel so small. Naughty. Violated. Exposed. And terribly aroused.

"Continue washing the dishes, please," he states while smearing a glob of icy toothpaste on my hole. My whimpering becomes prolonged.

"Yes, Sir." I haltingly return my attention to the plate that has sunk to the bottom of the sink. Rinse it off and pick up another dirty plate, letting out a squeak as I feel the first of the Bendybeads pass through my sphincter. And another squeak with each one after that. After every red silicone bead has entered my bum, he swishes them around (making my anus burn even more from the toothpaste) and then begins to pull them out. Then back in. Then back out.

It's hard to wash dishes when your pelvis is thrusting back and forth. But thankfully, the last glass is finally dripping in the dish drainer.

"Don't move," A. orders. He snatches the hard plastic spatula from the jar on the stove and rapidly slaps the flesh on each side of the Bendybeads. I squirm about in an absurd attempt to avoid the inevitable unyielding plastic stinging my skin.

Just when I think I just can't possibly take another stroke, A. puts the spatula down. Grabs a clump of my hair and pulls me into the bed/livingroom. Pushes me down onto my stomach on the bed.

"Push your ass up."

I obey directly. He pulls out a bead or two. Pushes them back in. Picks up the electric cord flogger (aka the wankin' spankin' tool) and whips me as I scream into my pillow. After a few moments, he stops. Puts on a condom. Takes out the Bendybeads. And fucks my ass silly...

*****************

Probably a bit rougher than what I could manage in real life, but at the very least, it makes great wank fodder. :::grin:::

And with only three weeks left in the Election, remember that you can take an additional 10% off your order with VibeReview using this coupon.

Sugasm #150 -- Sugasm'd again!

Whoo hoo! My fellow sex bloggers picked my post on pain and sex as one of the top three posts this week. Thanks so much!

And hopefully I really will get that VibeReview fantasy up tomorrow. Non-kink stuff has had my attention the last couple of days. But my libido has kicked into gear, and I'm so ready to write something hot and yummy. :::grin:::

*******************
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #151? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom

This Week’s Picks

Stolen Time
“The sigh of a kiss that has been too long waiting is a wicked rush.”

Keeping things hot when everything hurts
“While it’s not as fun for him, what I love about those times is how sexy he makes me feel at a time when I probably feel the most worthless as a lover.”

Like lovers do…
“As soon as I got that groove, he felt it. His body started to tense up and tremble.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
At What Point Have You Crossed The Line?

More Sugasm
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Politics stole my mojo!

Sorry to be so quiet the last week and a half. I was surprised to discover on Monday that I hadn't posted anything for a whole week. Time goes by so quickly when you're on morphine and sleeping most of the day...

I think politics has smothered my libido of late. Instead of drifting off to sleep with visions of stern nannies, a strict daddy, and the odd subbie boy, I've been muttering to myself what Obama or McCain should have said in the latest debate. Or what that damn bailout bill should have included or discarded. Instead of reading spanking blogs, I've been faithfully following the polling projections at FiveThirtyEight and CNN, watching as the country slowly turns blue. Checking the bookies at Oddschecker while the odds shorten and lengthen as the Dow falls. A. and I have been sharing our favorite political posts at YouTube during our daily call rather than our latest spanking fantasies. Especially now that Saturday Night Live is funny again.

But my mojo is slowling returning. The other night I fell asleep to the fantasy of an uncompromising nanny taking me to task for failing to take a medication I tend to avoid as I dislike its side effects. Politics has influenced A.'s latest pretext for spanking me, involving a spreader bar and the McLaughlin Group. I suspect there will more information about that one after he arrives on October 29th.

For now, however, I'm just popping in to say that I should return to normal posting in the next few days with a new VibeReview Fantasy. And hopefully when I fall asleep in the next hour or so, the only red and blue I'll be thinking about will be in regards to my ass...

Keeping things hot when everything hurts

Earlier this month I was reading in my American Pain Foundation newsletter that September is Pain Awareness Month. On the front page there was a story on "intimacy" (i.e. sex) and chronic pain, and I smiled a little as I thought of our own efforts with this issue. And with a half an hour remaining of Pain Awareness Month, here are some of my thoughts.

I remember the day after the second time A. and I had sex (indeed the second time I'd ever had sex) many years back. It had been particularly raw, physical sex, and when I awoke the next day, I hurt from my split ends to my toenails. It was that horribly stiff fibromyalgia hurt where laying in bed just makes it worse, despite the fact that I was so exhausted I could barely move. As I dragged myself downstairs to the living room, crying quietly so A. wouldn't hear me while he worked in the kitchen, I sat in horror at the thought that I might not be able to have sex often if it was going to do this to me. How would A. feel about that? Would he be mad because I couldn't have sex as often as he might want to have it?

As it turned out, he was actually quite understanding about the whole thing. For the most part we're fairly compatible as a couple, but we do have times like all couples where he's in the mood and I'm not, or I'm in the mood and he's not. And we cut each other slack accordingly.

But there are also pain/illness-specific issues for me that require some adjustment of how we might define sex. Intercourse is a lot of work and any sort of exercise can make me very ill. Plus, because of chronic pelvic pain (as well as other problems), it is painful. The result is that we rarely have it. But I would argue that doesn't mean we don't have sex. As those of us with sexual fetishes know, intercourse is often an afterthought when we think of sex. Our exploration of bondage or spanking or feet or diapers is redefining sex, which is a liberating thing for those of us who can't fuck quite so readily.

But at the end of the day, fucking is still how many of us satisfy our sexual appetites, and I find mutual masturbation to be a nice substitute. While it may lack the full, penetrative quality of intercourse, there is still a lot about it that is very intimate. Indeed, I think in many ways it's a lot more vulnerable. Requires a lot more communication. And at the end of the day, is far more equitable as it takes each of our pleasure into account.

Though it doesn't always mean an automatic orgasm. One of the downsides of medication and fatigue is that I can't always come. But I'm finding toys that can help with that. The Miracle Massager has proven to be a really great one. I cannot think of a better toy for someone like me who fatigues quickly. It's curved perfectly for clitoral stimulation. It's not too heavy. And if I use the Attachment, I can stick it in, sit back and let it do all the work. Not too mention, it's also handy for massaging my neck and shoulders (what the Hitachi Magic Wand was originally intended for before women started using it on their rosebuds!). Another low-energy toy (which will be featured in an upcoming post) is the Silver Bullet. Shaped like a skinny silver egg, I can position it on my clitoris and then easily control the level of vibrations with the hand-held controller, again allowing for an easy orgasm with minimal effort.

Then there are days when A. is very randy and, while mentally I wouldn't mind a little hanky panky, I'm simply too weak. At those times I usually tell him to grope away, just don't expect much reaction from me. While it's not as fun for him, what I love about those times is how sexy he makes me feel at a time when I probably feel the most worthless as a lover. How he hungrily fondles the enormous tits that I felt so insecure about as a kid (I was in a C cup by the time I was nine). Caresses the belly I've spent so much of my life hating. Strokes the pussy that purrs under his hand. Gropes the ass that can never get enough attention.

Yes, speaking of my ass, the irony that I'm a chronic pain patient who likes getting spanked is not lost on me (being on the blood-thinner Coumadin complicates it further). True there are some days when a nice spanking is the perfect thing to get the endorphines going. And in many ways, taking a hard spanking is sort of my ultimate "fuck you" to pain. A way I control pain instead of it controlling me.

But then there are the times when the pain has been so intense, getting spanked is about as appealing as a giant meal after Thanksgiving dinner. Those times are fewer and farther between since starting long-acting morphine last January. Though that has brought with it its own issues, the most prominent as it relates to spanking is opioid-induced hyperalgesia, in which the narcotic actually makes me more sensitive to painful stimuli. My pain threshold in terms of getting spanked varies wildly. There are some days when I'm an unquenchable pain slut whose prolonged clotting time and propensity to bruise severely limit my explorations into subspace. And then there are days when the hairbrush is coming down just a tad harder than a tap and I'm practically jumping through the roof.

Let me just take this opportunity, however, to note that addiction is not one of the issues that usually accompanies the usage of narcotics, despite what the media suggests. There is a difference between dependence on a medication and addiction. If you give a bottle of Vicodin to an addict, he or she will probably go through it in a few days like a bag of M&Ms. The pain patient, on the other hand, will take it as directed by his or her doctor. Yes, addiction is a possible side-effect, yet the chances of that happening to someone taking narcotics for pain are around 1%. Unlike constipation which happens to almost everybody who takes opiates (but hey, I have always wanted to explore those enema fantasies...).

Lastly, I think one of the big keys to a healthy sex life is imagination, and A. and I spend a lot of time sharing our fantasies with each other. It's certainly helpful when our relationship is over the phone most of the time. And while we don't end up acting out half of what we talk about, I've come to find that it's the imagining and sharing that keeps everything so...hot.

Sugasm # 148 -- I've been Sugasm'd!

Whoo Hoo! My post on the elitist nature of a lot of erotica was one of this week's top picks. I'm so very pleased.

I also highly recommend that "Red, Hot Ass" post at Diary of a Gay Dad. Very yummy.

*****

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #149? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

People I could hang out with

“But it wasn’t just a story, it was a damn sexy story.”

Red, Hot Ass

“I grunted, but held still.”

Smart Girls Make Better Lovers

“Chicks with brains can make you scream.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

Sex Blogging and Writing for the Drawer

More Sugasm

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Front Page Spanking: Divine Discipline

Back before tabloids focused on celebrities that nobody has heard of, they focused on the important stories like...nuns whipping boys. This front page of the Mirror from August 16, 1939 isn't very readable, but it's nice to know that while war was about to break out in Europe, the Mirror had its priorities in order.

So what sort of whipping was this? I mean, surely nuns whipping boys couldn't have been so unusual in 1939 that a run-of-the-mill thrashing merited front-page status.

I like to imagine a stern French nun with a martinet and a smart-assed early adolescent. Our impertinent boy tried to lead a revolt against mandatory Mass attendance but was deserted by his classmates to face alone the wrath of Sister Mathilde. She took down his short pants and applied that martinet with such brutality that it left his classmates fearful of ever misbehaving again. Perhaps the boy's mother was shocked at the horde of angry welts left on her son's bottom and thighs while his father thought the old nun was well within her rights to maintain order. Soon the community was divided over whether Sister Mathilde had acted appropriately or gone beyond common decency until one of the largest tabloids in the country was asking its readers to judge...

Just a thought.

Sugasm #147

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks

Amazing

““You’re lucky I’m not being mean right now.””

Cum Squirt With Me. Confession #131

“Not much research has been done on the female orgasm in general, much less this seemingly new erotic marvel.”

Jealousy, Pornography and the Boundaries of Blogging

“I search to be a sexually free, independent and satisfied woman without the stigma of slut yet with the positive implications of slut.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

Blue Fantasy, Red Silk Rope

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

People I could hang out with

My senior year of college I was invited to be part of a national student delegation to the country of Kuwait. A week or so before I received that invitation, I found out I had been accepted to graduate school at Georgetown University with a full tuition scholarship. As our delegation was meeting in Washington DC for a week of briefings before heading to Kuwait, I went a few days earlier to visit the place I assumed I would be spending the next several years of my life.

The waiting room for my graduate program was lined with cherrywood paneling and upholstered in arabesque print. I remember worrying that my wet, squishy tennis shoes would somehow dirty the place after walking in from the April rain. I stayed the night with a recent alum from my hole-in-the-wall state university, but the next day headed to a posh DC hotel where we student delegates were to stay during the Washington leg of our journey.

It was the first time I'd ever hailed a cab. And I was surprised when a guy in a uniform picked up my suitcase as I checked in. I'd never been to a hotel with a bell hop before. The nicest place I'd ever stayed before that was at a Red Lion with a bunch of girls from my church youth group when we attended a winter youth festival. The bell hop led me to the room, opened the door, set my luggage on a rack, opened the curtains, and then stood at the door awkwardly for a few seconds. Was I supposed to tip him? Or was that just something they did on television but not in real life? The bell hop had mercy on me and left quickly. I felt terribly out of place in this new, fancy world I'd found myself in. And I tell you the truth, dear reader, I broke out into tears as I sat on the immaculate bed.

That is how I feel when I read most erotica.

But I didn't realize it until I read Jacqueline Applebee's story "What I do for my pain." When blogger friend Pandora mentioned that Ms. Applebee's erotica included disabled characters, I pictured blond girls dressed in hip retro dresses sitting in specially-designed wheelchairs -- you know, people with real disabilities, as opposed to someone like me with amorphous pain disorders and controversial multi-systemic diseases.

I was so wrong.

There was no mention of stylish clothes or hip apartments in the city or parties with canapes or exotic furniture where two people with perfect bodies have perfectly aligned sex.

No, instead I was met with a character who bumps into her lover's boob in bed. Who has enough flesh that it can be kneaded. Who wants a tattoo that looks like a sunflower. And whose disability was chronic period pain.

See, I'm clumsy in bed too (among other places). And have plenty of flesh to kneed. I don't know that I can get a tattoo now that I'm on anticoagulants, but if I were to ever get one, it'd probably be something cheery like a sunflower too. And boy do I know what chronic period pain is like as everyone of my periods since I started having them when I was ten years old have been dreadful.

Sometimes it’s a constant cracking against the back of my spine, sometimes it’s a top note sung by a soprano, but held against my groin for sixteen hours. Medication doesn’t seem to help, and heaven knows I’ve tried most of the alternatives.

It sounds a bit silly, but I started crying a little when I read that bit. I just never hear anybody ever talk about the ordeal that painful periods can be -- you know, outside of pamphlets from the doctor's office. And I certainly haven't see someone validate that experience by making it the primary conflict in a story. But it wasn't just a story, it was a damn sexy story.

As I continued reading, I found that this was a character I could so see myself hanging out with. Exchanging medical horror stories or sharing the alternative that has finally worked for me (Red Raspberry leaf tea, as impossible as that may be to believe, considering how exquisite the pain).

And that, that was when it suddenly dawned on me that I don't ever imagine myself hanging out with the characters in the erotica I generally read. Part of that comes down to just how effective Ms. Applebee is in creating such realistic characters. But a lot of it is that characters in erotica intimidate the hell out of me.

I'm not stylish. I'm five feet tall and fat. The last pieces of clothing I bought were a sensible white Playtex bra on sale this month online, a red shirt and a pair of jeans on sale at Walmart about a year ago, and a t-shirt from the Goodwill several months before that. I only own three pairs of shoes (that accommodate my orthotics). So, you know, no skin tight dresses or several hundred dollar fuck me shoes here.

I do live in a studio downtown, but I live in HUD housing with seniors and the disabled which sorta takes away any sort of glamour from the whole living in the city thing. And my part of the city is where the meth freaks and pimps hang out, though personally, I like the color they add to the neighborhood.

Being on Food Stamps means that canapes are never on the menu here, though I do make the best chocolate chip cookies ever. And Two-Buck-Chuck is about the only wine you'll find in my kitchen -- and then only when A. is here because I can't really drink much wine anymore.

Erotica is all about fantasy and so it is understandable that it will reflect what is most perfect in our society. Writing -- erotica or otherwise -- requires a certain level of education to both attain the skills necessary to create worlds on paper (or computer), as well as the ability to think originally about topics, particularly ones that are mostly taboo. And most of those who get that education come from a base socio-economic level and higher. It's hard to think and write about sex when, say, you just barely finished high school and you're trying to figure out how to pay the rent on your trailer despite working four jobs (a common predicament in my family).

I remember years ago listening to essayist Richard Rodriguez on the NewsHour talk about how little poverty makes it into our literature (aside from the Bohemian sort). That we needed people to write about the experience of being poor in the same way that writers such as Toni Morrison have talked about the experience of being African-American or how he had written about being Latino.

I remember thinking at the time, hey, I could do that. I know what it's like to grow up poor. Thanks to an illness which has left me incapable of doing any job in the national economy (as the vocational expert testified at my disability hearing), I still get to know what it's like to be poor.

And if Jacqueline Applebee can write hot, sexy erotica about chronic period pain, well damnit, I should be writing hot, sexy erotica about poor, fat, sick people.

You know, people I could totally hang out with...

Bet this landlady takes no nonsense...

When/if I ever make it Manchester, I totally have to go here.

Actually, we noticed someone with the nickname "Spanking Roger" in some old Guardian archives recently. Does anyone know where the term originated?

VibeReview Fantasy: Decadent Indulgence

Every since I saw that episode of Sex and the City where Miranda introduces her pals to a rabbit vibrator, I have thought it would be very cool to own one. So the good folks at VibeReview sent me one of their top of the line models, the Decadent Indulgence.

And it is a very cool, technologically advanced toy. After popping in four AA batteries among the microprocessors, I was a bit wowed as the substantial shaft twisted about at the same time the little jelly elephant buzzed its trunk back and forth in anticipation of my clitoris. At the base of the Decadent Indulgence is a simple to use control panel where you can choose the intensity of how much the shaft twists and the clitoris tickler buzzes.

I popped it in, using a bit of Climax Burst Cooling lubricant that VibeReview had also sent me to review. Climax Burst does give you a subtle cooling sensation, and if you like that sort of thing, you might like this lubricant. But I didn't find it to be a particularly intense sensation -- which I tend to like, particularly if it burns -- and ultimately it didn't really seem all that different to me than KY Jelly, except that it has these teeny tiny blue Vitamin E beads that give you a teeny tiny bit of moisturization.

So, I had the Decadent Indulgence in with a little bit of lube. I played around with each of the buttons that control the ten levels of intensity for both the shaft and the clit tickler with relative ease. It felt really nice. But I couldn't ever quite get the intensity right. And the base, with those four batteries in it, began to get really heavy. And it had a strong odor, like shampoo, that wasn't necessarily unpleasant, just...strong. Yet I really, really wanted to come with this toy because it just felt so cool.

Alas, after half an hour of holding this increasingly heavy toy and fiddling around with the buttons and smelling that strong chemical perfume smell and my pelvic floor muscles getting more and more sore from the arousal without any resolution, I finally had to turn it off and pick up the Miracle Massager (which I increasingly find myself referring to as Old Faithful) to get the job done. It made me sad (not to mention I was very weak, sore and exhausted and unable to engage in the experiment reader Indy wished for).

Now I'd give the Decadent Indulgence another chance but...that smell! I placed the DI on the table near my bed and all the next day the smell just kept making me feel sicker and sicker. I finally picked up the box to see if it could explain just why it had this intense odor. And there, on the side, was Pleasantly Scented in fancy purple script.

Who the fuck wants their sex toys scented? For the love of God, why? I mean, it's right up there with deodorant tampons!

I should note that I am particularly sensitive to perfumes and all sorts of scents as Multiple Chemical Sensitivities often comes with having ME/CFS. While my MCS isn't nearly as severe as it is for some people who can't leave their homes or have to live in specially built structures, it does mean I don't buy traditional cleaners (my caregiver is still adjusting to cleaning the bathroom with baking soda and hydrogen peroxide or using vinegar for fabric softner) and I've learned to make my own perfumes from pure essential oils (and even that doesn't always work out well). And I sure as hell don't buy anything that's been purposely secented.

But not everybody has my limitations in terms of scents, nor are they as weak as I am and wear out so quickly, in which case the Decadent Indulgence would probably work out much better for you. There are, of course, plenty of other rabbit vibrators available at VibeReview that I encourage you to try out as I hope to myself, particularly those that have a separate control, like the Rabbit Pearl or the Kangaroo, which might not wear me out quite so quickly as those with a heavy base.

Then again, if the toy is too heavy, a good cunt boy might be the answer. A cunt boy who has been so thoroughly whipped that his mind is utterly focused on my pleasure. Sadism does turn me on so.

I imagine turning his white cheeks into a Pollack-esque painting of purple bruises, crimson strokes, and black-blue welts. Laboring with the riding crop, the cane, and the rubber paddle to create my masterpiece of cruelty. Watching his flesh twitch with dread anticipation of the next blow.

And when he has been thoroughly broken and pliant, I will order him to his knees where I will buckle a ring around and fasten a leash to his dick and lead him to the bed. I will see the hungry look in his eyes as they settle on my bountiful breasts protruding in black lace. Yes, that's what he wants.

But instead, as I sit on the bed and spread my legs just enough to reveal a glimpse of my shaved cunt, it is my black-stockinged foot that will find its way into his mouth. Without delay he will kiss and massage it. And do the same to the other. When my feet and legs are in a sure state of peace and bliss, I will nod and spread my legs wide. The nod producing a smile that is part little boy handed the candy shop and part mortal given entry to heaven.

His tongue will do the circuit workout between my cunt and my clit, slurping up my ever increasing juices as he goes along. And while I do enjoy this most focal of massages, my cunt and clit will begin to ache for more.

"Fetch the Decadent Indulgence, please," I order with a short tug of his cock leash.

He'll look up at me, tongue still hanging out slightly between his lips. His face clouded for a second with hurt and disappointment. But only for a second. Perhaps he remembers the motorized assistance he has wished for in the past when his fingers and tongue have tired before I came. At the very least, be it a tongue or a toy, his overriding desire is to please me, and fetch the Decadent Indulgence he shall.

There's nothing that makes me feel more spoiled, more pampered than having my own personal cunt boy to fiddle with the buttons at my every command in order to achieve that most perfect setting for the most perfect orgasm. A cunt boy I will then most certainly reward with those black-laced breasts he has been pining after.

Yes, this is a toy enhanced on so many levels with a good cunt boy.

*******
Don't forget that VibeReview is offering a 10% Obama coupon on all toys from now through the election.

And if I could just make a little appeal, if you're thinking about buying something from VibeReview (or the Stockroom) through this here blog, buying it by October 1st (or donating via PayPay) would really help with A.'s ticket back over before Christmas. Thanks so much!

Sugasm #146

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #147? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom

This Week’s Picks

Nipple clamps, butt plug, Hitachi - oh my!

“Once the plug is in, I’m going to send you on a little walk.”

I discover transcendental orgasm

“It was peaceful, and like holding on to a live wire at the same time.”

When We Were Kids: Thoughts on BDSM

“The tying was always my favourite part, whether I was the one tied who had to escape, or the one who got to do the tying.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

Like a Prayer - Part 2

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Bite Me

Chess

Lunch Date

On the phone

People we’ve always wanted to be

Submitting Again: Part 3

Top

Webcam

While it rains outside…

Your Gorgeous Polish Girlfriend does not feel like having sex tonight

Sex Work

The Age of Porn: Performers, Attraction, and Age

So there I was, with a caller…

The Whore in the House Next Door

NSFW pics

Dana by Goncharov (Met Art)

Fetish Model & PornSLUTkitty Gets Her Head Tattooed

A Fully Naked HHNT

Not a masochist

Sex News, Reviews, & Interviews

The Lelo Mia

Nea: by Lelo

Njoy’s Amazing Butt Plugs - A Sex Toy Review

Sex News Roundup

BDSM & Fetish

After the Party … (part III)

Catalina loves Naughty Secretary Roleplay

Charlotte Vale And I (Mz Berlin) In Bondage Gangbang On The Training Of O

The Enigmatic Angel’s Kinky Cinematic Journey

The Pleasure Of Torment

Push Button Behavior Modification

The Sarge And Backdoor Bondage Have Great Impact Play And Hogtied Style Bondage Content

Shoes, it’s really all about the shoes.

Snap, Crackle, and Pop

Whipped Pussy Reminds You To Always Keep A Spare In The Trunk

Sex Advice

Help, my boyfriend won’t go down on me!

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Can A Threesome Help You Find Your True Love?

Eco Sex and Green BDSM

Femme is a Noun, an Adjective, a Verb…

If You are Charming Smart, but Ugly, I Fuck You For Sure!

It’s a struggle.

Stripper Milf versus Stripper Teen: 69 points to ponder

Where The Hell Did My Boobs Go?

HNT: A phone spanking

I've never felt brave enough to participate in Half-Nekkid Thursday. But after reading Curvaceous Dee's blog for awhile now, I've decided to give it a try. Though I warn you, it will most likely be a very irregular event.

I took these pics for A. to show him the damage from the phone spanking he gave me on Tuesday (I managed to miss my bedtime 6 out of 7 nights last week). I guess one good thing about being on Coumadin (and just about the only thing) is that I can mark even from self-spanking. Especially if it involves a clothesbrush and a wooden spoon.




It's not the most I've ever marked -- not by a long shot. But then, usually the strokes come from a much better angle.

And considering how late it is that I'm posting this, there will be more phone spankings to come, methinks.

When dominatrix analogies go bad

Gary Kamiya at Salon.com managed to work the world of S&M into the whole Sarah Palin buzz. Except it's very clear that he doesn't quite understand how the world of S&M works.

Because to anyone who isn't a true believer, Palin comes across not as a fantasy pinup, but as a dominatrix. And the S/M demographic isn't going to put the Republicans over the top in the swing states.

Now, a dominatrix is generally synonymous with a strong and yes, harsh but definitively attractive and appealing figure, particularly to sexually submissive men. Thus, "fantasy pin-up" and "dominatrix" could well mean the exact same thing. A dominatrix shouldn't be scary to anybody but the person who genuinely wants to be scared by her for his or her sexual gratification. Kamiya's implication is that if someone isn't a "true believer," they would hardly see her as appealing. The word I think he means -- though it lacks the sexual analogy he's going for -- would be bully.

What bothers me is the assumption that a dominatrix -- a woman whose form of sexual expression, or even sexual orientation, is to dominate -- is somehow a bully. That a woman who dominates men is something scary and wholly negative, even if any domination that takes place is between two consenting parties. It's why so many women who commented on the piece found it to be blatantly sexist.

For the die-hard Republicans who at the convention, her whip-wielding persona was a turn-on. You could practically feel the crowd getting a collective woody as Palin bent Obama and the Democrats over, shoved a leather gag in their mouths and flogged them as un-American wimps, appeasers and losers. "Drill, baby, drill!" the chant ecstatically repeated by the GOP faithful during Rudy Giuliani's speech, acquired a distinctly Freudian subtext after Palin spoke. The more Palin drilled the Democrats, the more hotly the base yearned to drill her. (We will leave it to shrinks to determine whether the GOP hardcore has the hots for Palin because she's reaming the Democrats, or because authority-worshippers tend to have secret fantasies of being reamed themselves.)

The problem for the GOP, however, is that for independents, Palin comes across as someone who's going to drill them.

So, in other words, for Republicans she's a dominatrix. For independents (and I assume Democrats and those on the Left), she's a sexual predator. Clearly the analogy section in the SAT (Do they have that anymore? Or is it only in the GRE?) was not Mr. Kamiya's strong suit. And it still gives me that icky feeling of strong women are to be feared. Yes, I know it's supposed to be a funny sort of piece, and I'm sounding a bit pedantic. But words matter. Especially when they pick up some nasty baggage that should be left behind.

Don't get me wrong. After reading this, this and this and watching this, Governor Palin scares the shit out of me enough that I just might vote for Obama instead of McKinney.

But "strong woman" should never equal "scary".

Sugasm #145

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #146? Submit a link to your best post of the weekby emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Being Civil

“They couldn’t understand what the appeal of a civil union was for us.”

Clandestine Rendezvous

“He turned around to kiss me and I melted.”

Hotel Sex

“The excitement is too much for both of us”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

You Can’t Make This Shit Up, Part 2

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Let’s Pretend…

Masturbaticon I

Our Peculiar Erotica

“Pay No Attention To That Man Behind The Curtain”

Taking Charge of Your Own Pleasure

Tease and Denial: In Defense of Subtlety

Things that make you go Mmmmmm

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews

Babygate Continues!

Vibrators of the Future

Sex Work

Pillow Humping Cam Pussy

BDSM & Fetish

Arms to the sky

Beads

brock’s Last Task

My surprise for Daddy

Naughty, Naughty…Nice

The New Pet (fiction)

A proper thank you

The Runaround.

Welcome to Kinky Sex Link

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Bare back HNT

HNT - Stripping for the Bath Brush - F/m Spanking Pic

Sasha Grey (NewNudeCity)

Erotic Writing and Experiences

8:55 - On My Way…

Asian massage parlors

Awakening

Brains in her cunt

The “Ex-Pat” Love [2nd. Revision]

Fantasy Friday: Lips Like Sugar

Hausfrau

In the Early Morning Darkness

Not Quite Poetry

On the Back of a Motorcycle

Release

Your first time with me