E[Lust] #66

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Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee

Welcome to Elust #66

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 #67? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Small Breasts

Watching Her Cum

An Ode to Blow Jobs

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Of Skeletons and Secrets
Would you be bored?

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

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

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

Unbroken by Oleander Plume
A Meal And A Show
Fucking Snow
Getting Off Is So Much Fun
Wicked Wednesday – Merry Christmas
Advent Calendar 24

Erotic Non-Fiction

Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth
Unwrapped

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Stat
Masturbation Fantasy’s Unintended Consequence
All Health Care Costs Are Not Created Equal
Keep Private Lives Private
The Myth of Magnum

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Subby Not-Quite-Year
He’s Got The Look
On femininity and rebellion
What Fifty Shades Doesn’t Tell You
Humiliation: hotness and hard-limits
Beginner’s Guide to Electro Sex – Essentials

Poetry

Because of the Way He Held Me
Cricket – A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

7 Signs You’re An Erotica Writer
Why Do I Do What I Do

Blogging

Best & Worst of 2014 & New Years Resolutions

Events

Munches, The Club and Beyond (Part 1)

Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships

He brought me bacon.
Menstruation. Does it weird you out?

 

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Don’t Touch Me

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“It’s from Beckett.” These lines are part of me, a paradox of fear and hope, self-loathing and pride. Ne me touche pas. Ne me demande rien. Ne me dis rien. Reste avec moi. It’s a favorite moment from a play I’ve read too many times. It’s a surprisingly perfect and concise instruction manual for handling my panic attacks.

They are written indelibly across my skin. I’ve run my fingers across these lines countless times. I like to see a lover do the same, in intimate moments.

“What’s it mean?”

But there is that.

For a moment I’m frozen in place, skin clinging to leather, reticent to reveal what I’ve already put on display. I’m thinking of loneliness, which is always safe and always calm. I’m thinking of betrayal and loss. I’m thinking of a mouth so hot and fierce and dangerous that I never want to stop kissing it. Something shifts. I’m on my knees, too close. My fingers are twitching to trace the line of his jaw or choke him or slip into his mouth.

Ne me touche pas.

He looks so calm. How is he so calm? I push my hair out of my face, lean in to whisper. “Don’t touch me.” He doesn’t move. I close my eyes and breathe. I’m swooning into the heat he generates, listening for his breath over the rushing sound in my head. He doesn’t move. This isn’t close enough. I swing one leg over to straddle him, brace my hands on either side of his head. We aren’t touching. I know we aren’t touching because if we touched I wouldn’t be able to stop. There’s an impossible humidity condensing on my skin, unbearable, unbreathable, but nothing next to the storm. My lips pass over his. I inhale his breath.

Ne me demande rien.

The center cannot hold. I bring my lips to his ear again. I’m breathing too fast, trying to keep control. (of whom?) “Don’t question me.”

His breath catches. The movement brings his earlobe to brush against my mouth. It’s too much. God help me but it’s too much. I sink my teeth in, just below his jaw. He growls. I growl back. I bite his neck, his shoulders, his clavicle. Some light nips, some near to mauling. He lifts his hands from the couch. I don’t wait to see what he does. I grab his wrists and hold them down. I bite his shoulder hard enough to make him whimper, even through his shirt. I feel him straining against my hands. He’s strong, much stronger than I am. He’s not trying to get loose, but not about to surrender either. He starts to say something. I put a hand over his mouth before he can.

Ne me dis rien.

“Don’t speak to me.” I’m sitting on his lap, my face inches from his. He meets my eyes when he nods, and I take my hand away from his mouth. He’s breathing hard, almost panting. So am I.

This kiss is a hurricane. I can’t get enough. I am howling wind and driving rain. I am shoving him back, seeking a way in. This kiss should crack him open. This kiss should have him throwing up panicked defenses. It doesn’t. He is brave, or careless. He has come out to meet me and I’ve made him too slippery to catch. I am surging around him and he’s moving through. He should be pinned beneath my onslaught but I can’t hold him down. This kiss is desperate. Please. Please don’t be so sweet, don’t be so gentle. If he calms me, I may drift apart and be forgotten. Oh, but I love this too. This kiss I can sink into. It will drag me down. It will drown me. I don’t care. His mouth on mine is all that matters, and I can’t remember why I wanted it so vicious, so violent before.

Reste avec moi.

“Stay with me.”

I know he won’t. I don’t meet his eyes. This is pressuring. This is cruel. I want to take it back, because I have pride, because I don’t (no, not ever, can’t) speak hope aloud. I can push anyone away, that’s easy, but inviting someone in?

Est-ce que je t’ai jamais quitté?

Have I ever left you?

Tu m’as laissé partir.

You let me go.

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Keep Private Lives Private

“Why label it? Keep private lives private. It’s none of anybody’s business.”

I talk about bisexuality a lot. It’s relevant to my work and current research as well as personally important. It makes my family uncomfortable. Why do I have to bring it up? Why talk about it? Why do we even need the word bisexual, who needs labels, can’t people just live their private lives privately and leave the normal folk out of it?

This argument has lost a great deal of its power against mainstream monogamous gay and lesbian couples. They form meaningful long term relationships, get married, have kids. While homophobia remains pervasive, the particular argument that it doesn’t need to be discussed–keep the x-rated stuff in the bedroom thanks–has been delegitimized. Homosexuality is (again largely, not universally) recognized as a full social experience with the kind of reach that can’t simply be confined to the bedroom. It is just as patently absurd to ask a gay man not to mention his partner in casual conversation as it would be to tell a straight man not to bring up his girlfriend in the same context. Most of the contexts in which we mention partners are not sexual. If they were, no one would ever ever meet their in-laws.

Bisexuality, on the other hand, remains sexualized. Asking us to remain in the closet because private lives should be private is only reasonable given one or more of several false and very offensive assumptions:

1 We do not have the full, rich social experience of relationships such as straight or gay people do. We have only frivolous/deviant sexual ones.

2 If we have a long-term monogamous relationship with a person of another gender, we are heterosexual. If we have a long-term monogamous relationship with a person of our own gender, we are homosexual. If we are polyamorous, it is held up as proof that we can’t commit/are promiscuous.

2a If we end a relationship with a person of one gender, and the next one that develops is with a person of a different gender, we “left him for a woman/left her for a man!” This is said even if months of being single elapse between. Inevitably, people will argue that the former relationship ended because we were “really straight/really gay” all along.

2b If we end a relationship with a person of one gender and the next relationship that develops is with a person who shares that gender, we’re told we’re definitely only interested in that gender.

3 Any casual statement that hints at attraction to a gender other than that of our current partner reveals intent to leave or cheat on that partner. This includes, but is not limited to, such normal everyday activities as referring to exes in conversation, commenting on the attractiveness of actors/actresses, and having an authentic response to the constant barrage of gendered and sexualized messages in advertising, tv and film plots, and pretty much everything else.

Finally, bi people often date straight or gay people. Society assumes people are attracted to only one gender. “Why use a label” means “don’t come out even to your partners.” Keep it in the bedroom, in a locked box under the bed and never, ever share who you are even with those you love.

Eschewing labels is only a useful strategy for people who have no need of labels; that is, about whom incorrect assumptions are not made. If we do not name ourselves, others will not stop pushing these assumptions about our behavior and moral character. The only effect not identifying as bi would have is to prevent us talking about the stigmas we face and the effects they have.

Coming out isn’t making public what should be private. It isn’t sexual at all. Sexuality pervades nearly every aspect of life. Relationships are our conversation, gossip, stress; they’re fundamental to film plots and nearly every song; they significantly impact our social standing. People make assumptions: that whoever they meet is straight, generally, or that they’re monosexually attracted to whatever gender their current partner is. It’s possible to let these assumptions slide, and sometimes safer (I’m not attacking people who choose not to come out; that’s no one’s call but their own). The assumptions aren’t made with intent to harm. There’s no intent to them at all. But they do complicate the landscape that we have to navigate every day. So nah, I’m gonna keep talking about it.