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

Join the Sugasm

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

Front page spanking: Birching and branding

Several weeks ago A. and I were perusing old front pages of the Mirror (a British tabloid for those of you outside the UK), and we found a few that headlined a topic we -- and I imagine a few of you -- find of great interest.

This front page is from June 21, 1938. I can't really make out the story (alas, they were not much bigger than thumbnails of the front page), but that headline certainly has a lot of scope for the imagination -- both the birching AND the branding. Though I can't say any of my fantasies have combined the two...at least not yet.

Sorry to make this a short post, but I've been gobsmacked this last week. And watching the Republican Convention last night only made it worse. Good gawd Mitt Romney is a repellent individual. "A man-shaped polymer casing of a spiritual vacuum" in the words of Jon Stewart some months back. Sounds about right. (And no, I'm not a big Barack Obama fan either.)

"People we've always wanted to be": The Spanked virtual book tour continues

The Spanked virtual book tour has been winding its way through the sex blogosphere during August and now I get the pleasure of beginning the Bonus days of September (i.e. I didn't get my sick, lazy ass in gear to answer Ms. Bussel's email in a timely manner -- something experienced by many of you who have emailed me -- and all the proper days were taken by the time I did).

For those of you who haven't come across the book in question through a book review or interview on any of the thirty-one blogs before me, the tour has been promoting the recently published anthology Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica by Rachel Kramer Bussel, a long-time erotica writer, cupcake-lover extraordinaire, host of In the Flesh erotic reading series, former columnist for Village Voice, and occasional writer for publications such as Alternet and the Huffington Post ('cause sex is political whether you think it is or not). You can purchase the book at fine online bookstores like Amazon, or my local bookstore, Powells.


Yes, it's Labor Day. And many of you are at the Shadowlane Party (:::sigh::: someday...). But for those of you who are actually reading today, lemme tell ya a shocking little secret.

I've never bought any erotica before.

In fact, I haven't even really read all that much, at least not the sort that involves sex and not just spanking.

When Spanked arrived, I suddenly started thinking about practical things like, where do I put it on my book shelves? Most books I like to display with pride throughout my studio apartment, but this one, well, what if my nieces and nephew see it? Or my priest when he comes to visit and give me communion? However, eventually I put those questions on hold and actually started reading it.

What I've come to realize is that the reason I've never bought any erotica before is that I don't really like reading about other people having sex. In the words of the narrator of the first story in Spanked, "the curious paradox about spanking sex [is] that the vagina is almost an afterthought." Spanking is all about the ass for me. All about the pain. The submission. The endorphines. The negotiated infantilization. I do like sex. Its intimacy. The achy fullness and the electrical satisfaction of the orgasm. But it's just physical. It never has the power to touch so much of me like spanking does.

So the ubiquity of hard cocks and wet cunts left me rather bored at times. And as someone who lives considerably below the poverty level, I couldn't help but be conscious of class. That the characters in these stories were white, urban and mostly financially comfortable.

Yet there was a remarkable diversity among those for whom such a straightforward act -- spanking -- plays a prominent role in the expression of their sexuality. Submissive males hungry to please a mistress or just to get a spanking from a stranger -- especially if she happens to be a sexy bookstore owner. Bratty males who then turn the tables and take the formally self-righteous female over his knee. Lesbian women using a spanking to even the score or eat that forbidden fruit of hot but straight female roommate. Gay men watching a straight woman spanking a straight male. And, of course, stern boyfriends and co-workers giving spankings to naughty girls in the bedroom, or office, or kitchen.

And while I may not have connected with the explicit sexuality or socio-economic status of the characters, there was plenty I did connect with. Like body image issues, such as experienced by the spankee in Rick Roberts's story, which "just added to [her] vulnerable beauty." The sheer play of spanking in Allison Tyler's story in which a Betty Crocker-wannabe is tied up in plastic wrap and spanked with several kitchen implements (I can hardly cook or bake without A. getting handsy). What it's like to be a strong woman who is worth "waxing and washing for" such as those in Sage Vivant's story. The confusion of where the sex ends and real life begins and how dangerous that line can feel such as Andy Ohio's protagonist finds. The thrill of kink and vanilla life intersecting like we see in Elizabeth Coldwell's story. The fun of participating in Usenet spanking newsgroups, as "Pink Cheeks" knows in Fiona Locke's story and how that increases exponentially when we meet our virtual friends in the flesh. The naughtiness of sneaking a quick spank and fuck in Thomas S. Roche's story while guests wait downstairs. How disturbing our fantasies can be when they bleed into taboos like incest, as Kaitlyn realizes in Teresa Noelle Roberts's story, and the compartmentalization we engage in to cope with our discomfort. Desperately wanting to cry from a spanking, as Dee desires in Rachel Kramer Bussel's story, only to discover that you should be very careful indeed what you wish for.

"...I know what my body can do, but I want to see what we can do together, if we can take spanking somewhere it's never gone before, if we can make it propel us into a new place where we lose ourselves only to find people we've always wanted to be."

Bussel's heroine whispers this to her partner when she asks him to make her cry, but it's really what every couple who engages in spanking seeks. We spank and get spanked to go somewhere we've never gone before and find the people we've always wanted to be -- naughty school girls and cunt whores, or just raw, sex-hungry beings looking to spice things up during a hearty fuck. In Spanked we get a glimpse of those various people and places we can be and go. It may take us to places that are profoundly uncomfortable or make us people we don't even recognize. But in the end we just may arrive at a place more pleasurable than we ever imagined.

Follow the Virtual Tour tomorrow as it heads over to Kristina Wright for another Bonus day.