Social? Media

I’ve been laying low. On Twitter, on Facebook, here. It’s the news, or rather the way the news has gone viral. Two stories in a row that were all anyone could talk about for a week, a rape and a massacre. [probably obvious content note: rape and mass shooting.]

I don’t really want to talk about either of them. But I do want to talk about the way those conversations have looked.

The Stanford rape case didn’t get attention because rape is rare, but we act like it did. Can you believe anyone would do something like that? I stopped counting the people who asked that, when they insisted on talking about it. Don’t I understand that this is important? That we have to talk about it? I wanted to say, Yes, I can believe it. I’ve been raped. I promise, I can imagine it really well. Please stop asking me to imagine it. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to tell my own history every colleague and acquaintance who just had to talk about this rape case. I wonder how many people they tried to have this conversation with. How many women. Whether they know one in five of us has been raped. I know they don’t understand this is a common thing, can’t have really internalized the statistic, because it hasn’t occurred to them that the person they are cornering might have been raped, might not want to talk about it.

Then there was the self-righteousness, the shock, the outrage in social media. Everyone had a post. “Look, I agree with everyone that rape–or at least this rape–is horrible; I am a good person.” You might say I’m being overly cynical. They’re saying it because they do think rape is horrible, right? It’s vocal support, solidarity.

One of the “this is unbelievable and terrible” posts that came across my feed was written by a man who raped me. Not with any acknowledgement that he’s capable of the same, let alone that he’s done it. I wonder if he remembers. I wonder if he justifies it to himself. Maybe thinks okay, I’ve crossed a line or two, but not like this guy, he’s a monster. I didn’t say anything. I wonder how many other women saw their rapist, their attempted rapist, their long-term abusive partner getting congratulated for making the definitely-not-congratulation-worthy assertion that rape is bad. I wonder how many didn’t say anything. I haven’t seen this conversation make women safer. I was just waiting for it to fade away so things could get back to normal.

And then a man shot more than a hundred people in a gay club.

I tried to write about it. Not because I wanted to, because I had to. Rage and grief and fear were building, turning septic, I needed to say something to get it out. I hesitated before hitting publish, over and over again. Anything I could say–any grief, any rage, any fear– felt like offering up another bite of queer pain for straight consumption. I was acutely aware of the media aspect of social media, and feeling none of the social. 

I posted a link on Facebook, how to talk to a queer person who is afraid of dying. Said it’s important for straight people to reach out to queer friends and family right now, show us you care, please. Straight friends and family shared the link, liked the link, “Look, I agree with everyone that massacre is horrible; I am a good person.” Not one of them reached out to me, or to my sister (she’s a lesbian. She used to go to Pulse frequently. It’s a shock and a relief that none of her friends were there that night.) All these not-queer people who’ve never been to Pulse making its logo their profile picture, not one willing to text three words (“are you okay?” “Thinking of you.” “I love you.” “I support you.” Anything.) I talk to other queer people. Also full of fear, and grief, and increasingly as days pass, rage. 

I watched superficial support twist. Straight people started to say this wasn’t an attack on LGBT people, LGBT Latinx people especially; it was an attack on all Americans. I heard–many of us heard–“we will only support you if it is about us as much as you.” I watched the conversation slide away from homophobia and violent men with guns, which is where it belongs. Watched straight people make it about Islam and mental illness and speculate about internalized homophobia, and anything, anything, as long as straight American men don’t have to acknowledge their part and participation in this culture, in this violence. They’ll only talk about helping a marginalized community if the blame can be laid on another marginalized community. In my own communities, I hear straight kinky people claiming solidarity, saying they understand and feel our oppression and they support us–no, they are us. And that’s a whole nother post but no, and fuck you, and no. Kink does not make you queer. 

I watched my government push for gun control (not well, not the right gun control, but something). I watched them do nothing. Straight people decided queer lives mean less than the rights of violent men to guns. They’ve decided the same of black lives, women’s lives, small children’s lives. I’m not surprised. But I hate them, for leaving queer people at the mercy of straight legislation. 

The furor died down. Soon “the tragedy in Orlando” meant a two year old at Disney, not over a hundred queer people at Pulse. It’s been weeks. We’re supposed to get over it. Don’t grieve. Don’t think how easily it could be us, next time. Even though it could. 

 

Room for Improvement 

I’m pretty sure I’m not good at sucking cock.

It’s a shame. I love doing it. I’m greedy for it, even. With my latest partner (this boy who is definitely not a virgin anymore and probably needs a nickname here since I keep fucking him), I try to get him off with my mouth every time we get together. He says it feels incredible. He says it’s a mental block, not anything I’m doing. Whatever the reason, I can’t make him come.

He’s not the first. The person I was married to was more blunt (“your mouth doesn’t feel good. Stop trying.”) Another partner more jovially says that there are other ways he’d rather come anyway. One blamed the size of his cock (I have small mouth. Had-to-have-permanent-teeth-removed-because-they-didn’t-fit-in-my-jaw small.) Another said he’d just never been able to get into getting head. And most of the rest have come, and seemed to enjoy it. (I’m not secretly a lamprey or anything; it’s not that bad…I hope.)

And maybe blowjobs aren’t everyone’s thing and that’s fine. I’m not going to push or pout if someone doesn’t want it. It’s when they say they do want it… it’s when I definitely want it… and we can’t quite get what we want out of it. It’s both of us feeling guilty about substandard performance and cementing another layer on top of our walls of performance anxiety. Because no way that makes anything more difficult.

I’m not going to fall apart, start rending my garments or gnashing my teeth (well, maybe garment-rending, if someone asks nicely). My ego can handle my being less than awesome at sucking cock…mostly. But it’s been enough now that I don’t quite trust “it’s not you, it’s me,” and I’m not sure what to do about that.

Just practice, I guess.

e[Lust] #82

Elust 82 Header
Photo courtesy of Teachers Have Sex

Welcome to Elust #82

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #83 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Take Me

How Do I Love Thee:On Comparing Relationships

Asking all the questions…

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

I Manage My Expectations

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Maybe I’m not a pervert after all
Bad Excuses
Engaging with Sexuality: A Personal Perspecti
I wish there were more porn
Cock Size: Does it matter?
Blue is not a “boy color.”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Watching My Wife With Another Man Story
Afternoon Cunnilingus & Birthday Sofa Sex
Why You Should Shave Your Partner
Oct 2014 Session – Mistress Claire
Two Days Later
Roping a cougarling
Divining Rods
Dorabella’s pink-velvet spanner

Erotic Fiction

Puppy Love
Quick & Dirty
She Says My Voice Changes for Her
THE BLINDFOLD – fear of the unknown
U is for undress…
Stay Baby…Stay.
kink of the week–glasses

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Slutfest Reflection
Love and Fairness
Winnowing
V is for……..
My heart turns blacker: the new rules

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Blast from the Fetish Video Past
The whole person approach to Submission
Down on my knees
Dominant Doppelgangers, Dominant Opposites
Four eyes
BDSM and Depression: Therapy or Self-Harm?

Poetry

Eden, Revisited: A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Stepping Stones
Centering Disabled Characters in My Erotica

 

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Winnowing

There’s an art to hearing input from confidantes, on private things. It’s a challenge to hear past familiar thought patterns and feelings to accept what wisdom they can add. It takes a fair bit of finesse to tease out the words that come from their own histories, experiences no less valid than your own but perhaps not relevant when spun into advice for you. I…won’t pretend to be an expert.

The Chef and Chi have plenty to say. I told them I’ve only had a couple of dates in the last several months. Felt no excitement after either. “I don’t think I’m looking to start any Relationships right now. Something, sex for sure, but the thought of dating exhausts me.” While we’re together, I let conversation flow, save the critical part for later. There’s a winnowing process, which for me takes some time and quiet.

Wheat. “You should keep in mind what you will want, when you are feeling it. Every now and then evaluate whether you still aren’t interested in a relationship, or you’re just avoiding taking any risks.” Anxiety does tell me to keep myself curled up, treat any hint of intimacy as a threat. My gut is unreliable. I have to untangle the thoughts and feelings I’ve generated whole cloth, or out of association with a past that has nothing to do with now, from the ones that match current experience. I’m not always good at it. I don’t always–ever, really–feel that it’s fair to ask someone new to understand. So much easier to spin a cocoon that never admits someone new. I know better than that, but still, it does help to be reminded.

Wheat. “You have some good friends. You sleep with some of them, it works, maybe don’t be afraid to feel out whether that’s an option.” After I’ve known someone a while, if we haven’t had sex, I tend to assume it’s not on the table. I might be down for it but 95% of the time I’ll assume they aren’t. Of course, the most recent exception has become a particularly excellent (if infrequent) source of sexy fun times. There are tiring things about this–friends-with-benefits situations with monogamous people put me in the tenuous position of playing side-chick with people who are single, knowing I’ll be set aside when they find a partner. I accept this at the outset and I’ve chosen it more than once because I’m avoiding risk of intimacy, but it does get hard not to feel disposable at times.

Chaff. “People cheat. They just do, if you don’t keep them interested. You can’t expect that people will tell you who they’re screwing, I don’t care how open the relationship is.” I can. I do. I will. I have no interest in being lied to, and refuse to just accept that this is The Way People Are.

Wheat. “It’s not about what you need. Fuck that, you don’t need anything. What makes you happy?” I can’t answer that. It’s probably the best indicator that I don’t need to be pursuing anything right now, the fact that I can’t answer that. What makes me happy? Fuck, I don’t know, ice cream? Ask me again when I feel like my housing/income/job situation is a little more solid under my feet. It’ll probably be a while.

Chaff. “You can’t tell men what you want. They won’t believe you. Drop hints. Let them think they figured it out. Otherwise they won’t believe it’s real.” This is too often true. I have no patience for it. I say what I mean. I expect to be believed. It’s not a standard I’m willing to lower.

Chaff…I think.  “Jealousy means they care. You always want to work through jealousy, soothe it away, but you should try cultivating it sometime. the right kind. I got jealous as fuck when he made you scream, but it just made me want to do it to you, too.” I don’t trust jealousy to stay in the realm of healthy competition. Maybe she knows how to keep it there, maybe it works for her, but I’ve seen it get ugly too many times. I don’t know. It’s hard, this one. I don’t know.

Wheat. “Date your friends. Date your lovers. We’re not the same people we were three years ago. I still think of you as my girlfriend but that means something different now, doesn’t it?” It does and I’m flattered and she’s right. Relationships, friendships, all of it stays fluid. People stay fluid. We entwine first branches, then roots. Grow closer some places, have to draw back where we damage each other in other. Sometimes we grow apart. The Chef and I have–there’s so much distance, neither of us reaches out often enough to keep us close–but so far we learn each other again and fall into a new pattern that works. I like this. I like that I don’t feel any pressure to expect that it’ll work out again next time.

It was a long evening of talk, most of it simply sweet and fun. We don’t always agree. It’s something I love about them both, that we can feel safe that not-agreeing won’t devolve into fights. Only more to process. I’m still processing some of it.

e[Lust] #81

Hyacinth foe Elust 81
Photo courtesy of A Dissolute Life Means

Welcome to Elust #81

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #82 Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Who Are You Calling Crazy Cat Lady?

Stranger on a Train

Taking Emilia

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Sign
Everyday sexism

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

The Best Sex
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Fist
Johnny on the Spot
Wierd
Caught Watching
A is for the ache I feel…
OVER THE EDGE – but softly
This is Love

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

The NiteFlirt-Twitter Findom-Shout Complex
Donald Trump: Feminist

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Do What You Want
Setting expectations
Control
Held Captive

Erotic Non-Fiction

My Rope Life Rebooted
I Needed my Fix
Beautiful, Loving, Surprise Birthday Blowjob!
Mind and Body
Bukkake, Babe, that’s me! Or is it?
Jun 2014 Session – Mistress Claire & Robynn
Don’t Just Fuck Her!
Mid Week Fantasizing — The 3some
I told him I’m Hy.

Writing About Writing

Captive Audience: Dubious Consent Fantasy

Poetry

He is Risen! A Lusty Limerick
Thin – an erotic poem

Blogging

The illusion of familiarity…

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Be A Better Lover
trust
Who Owns My Sexual Agency?

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Boobs on my Mind
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Strappy Little Things

When it come’s to lingerie, I’m not much for wispy pieces, no diaphanous gauze or teasing lace. It’s all too fragile, makes me feel obligated to act dainty and demure when I am neither. I’m drawn to bands and straps, to leather, to steel boning; lingerie that looks like cages, makes me feel like something fierce and barely contained.

 

Sinful Sunday

Be a Better Lover

It’s not about lasting longer. It’s not about a set of techniques.

I love the idea of getting someone so turned on they can’t hold back from orgasm for more than a moment. So when a man (it’s always a man) tells me he’s deliberately holding back an orgasm to “be a better lover” or “because I don’t want to be selfish,” I want to tear my hair out. “Better lover” looks like code for proving some kind of masculinity or winning an internal endurance contest, not about a partner’s pleasure. Most women don’t orgasm due to penetration alone at all–prolonging it isn’t going to eventually overcome the secret barrier to unlocking her orgasm-from-penetration, it’s just going to chafe eventually. I am one of the ones who can get off that way, but that doesn’t mean I want endless PiV intercourse (see chafing above).

Another common “better lover” technique that has to have high failure rates is taking something that worked with another partner or partners, or something seen in porn, read about in Cosmo, whatever, and ignoring its effectiveness on the actual person you’re in bed with. If a partner stops you, says or signals that something doesn’t feel good, or just doesn’t respond positively to something, odds are it’s not super amazing for that partner. And for god’s sake if your partner says “that’s not working/I don’t like that,” stop doing it. Don’t just obliviously continue. Don’t try again after a few minutes. Just stop. The last time I was with one partner he kept trying to do this uncomfortable two-finger thing to my clit while we were fucking, even after a “that’s making me cringe. Not good.” I’m not real keen on sleeping with him a next time, no matter how exciting his other partners find it. And don’t act like your partner is malfunctioning if they don’t like Magical Finger Technique #3 that was so great with your girlfriend six years ago. You wouldn’t sulk or suggest something’s wrong with a partner who doesn’t eat shrimp just because six-years-ago-girlfriend loved them, would you? Why is sex different?

If you want to be a better lover, stop listening to magazines and ads that tell you what women like or what men want. They’re useless. Listen to your partner. No woman is the amalgam Woman of a Cosmopolitan magazine poll. Ask what they want, listen to the answer, and (unless it crosses some boundary of yours) do that thing. Listen to feedback. Improve. If one of my partners did all the things that I find fucking amazing in bed to someone else, the most common response would be along the lines of “Jesus fuck what is wrong with you? Slow down! Not so hard!” If someone tried slow, sensuous, light touches with me and didn’t escalate relatively quickly…I’d probably suggest we watch a movie instead. There’s no manual. There are no cheat codes. There’s just talking and trying and finding what works.

Mirage

It’s the first hot day, the first day of skin baking as soon as you step outside, of air that scalds your lungs when you breathe deep. I’m lying in the grass eating apricots that she won’t touch. Too warm, she says. Like eating small furred creatures alive. (She says “souris”–mice, not “creatures,” but it’s small, burrowing things she calls to mind). The heat makes my scalp itch. She’s pacing like a tiger in a cage. We’re alone as far as we can see: shimmering air, our picnic bag, Mad, and me.

“You are going to burn.” She’s pouting.

“So are you. Should we find some shade?”

“Too hot. We will die here, all burned up and blistered.”

“Oh. In that case you should kiss me.”

“Tu es folle?”

“You won’t give me a dying wish?”

“Tu veux un baiser?” She’s smiling, finally, looking down at me.

“Yes. No. Je veux…baise moi?”

“I knew you would say that.” She’s grinning. It wouldn’t be the first time we fucked outside. There’s no one here. I hold my breath. She shakes her head. “How can you think like that, it’s so hot.”

She isn’t touching me, and I don’t think she will. It’s too hot. My hair is shifting in the grass. I stifle a shudder at the image of fire ants marching through it. I’m sweating, my shirt stuck to my skin. I am trying to remember that she is delicate. Under this sun, she wilts. Under her, I turn cracked and hard. I want to kiss her–yes, even sticky with apricots. Even with sweat drying salt on my skin. I want her hands creeping under my clothes, clawing, burrowing for cooler earth straight through me. I am wishing her poise would melt along with her makeup, am comforted that it does not. I crave her something vicious and irritable. I want to kiss her like a cottonmouth strikes, again, and again, long after my venom runs out. I want to lick the shimmer from her skin. I want her to make me forget the redness blooming across my skin.

But she is waiting for me to stand, and when I do her kiss is soothing. “Let’s go.” I let myself be soothed.

We leave apricots and dented grass behind.

e[Lust] #80

Elust 80 Penny's Dirty Thoughts
Photo courtesy of Penny’s Dirty Thoughts

Welcome to Elust #80

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #81 Start with the rules, come back April 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Something Meaningful
The debate goes on
Trim

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

No Take Backsies: Sexual “Politeness”
THE Process

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

He’s not a Tumblr Dom
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Non-Fiction

She Strips The Boundaries Away The Black Bra
He enjoyed Playing with My Shoes
One… two… ménage à trois!
Doing Mt. Shasta
What’s Behind that First Strike…
Memories
How To Top Off Valentine Weekend Lovemaking
Watching Cunnilingus
Scened All Night
Spoiled in the Sun
The Tennent
01/14 Session With Mistress Claire & Others
THREESOME HEAVEN – extreme sensations
The neighbours don’t learn my name
home

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Don’t Date on the First Sex
Meat market

Erotic Fiction

Lines
Who’s the Boss? (She is)
A Little Distraction
Let Me Share
Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies…
a bit of filth
Original Sin
Watching

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Day of Punishments Part 1
Filthy girl
Kink Without Sex: What Happens After Orgasms
Dominant roots
Using Our D/s to Get Through Stress

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

First Times
The number of the beast…
Sometimes Love is Not a Pie
Bareback
Looking deep through reflection
Pussy Pics
So I Was Thinking

Events

A Night with Zombies – Cinema l’Amour
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Stormlit

The worst of the storms keep twisting around us. Disaster forecast, then only wind and not too much rain. The city shuts down. Last month, it was tornadoes. This time, flooding, lightning, high winds. I know how destructive they can be, I know better than to say it too loudly, here, but I have always loved storms.

This one only teased: the smell of water, a lightning show in the distance, a spattering of rain. Not the soaking chaos I crave, but enough to make me need to step outside.

Sinful Sunday

Sex at three standard deviations