Category Archives: Blog
Now, not to put down events like Pleasure Salon or In the Flesh, which are really the only kinkster/blogger events I’ve been to and are both fun in their own way, this calendar party was a much more highbrow affair than anything blog related I have been to. There was a distinct air of occasion. Everyone was dressed up, suits and ties and corsets and low cut dresses and all manner of finery. There was also a distinct New York vibe, which was certainly apropos.
Coming in a little early the Babeland bags were lined up and the calendar girls were buzzing around. Sinclair looking debonair in a velvet suit. Tess, defying gravity with her almost falling out cleavage. Mariella looking a bit more innocent in her demure black dress and wide eyed loveliness. Everything was perfect as the masses lined up outside, ready to party.
I’d been to the White Rabbit a few times before and I’ve always liked it. The drinks were Happy Hour cheap until 9 and that certainly aided in the crowd’s loosening up. Everyone was super friendly and flirty. There was a running joke about how every introduction had two parts. People were introduced by name followed by awkward handshakes, then they were introduced by blog names which was followed by eyes opening wide in recognition and then hugs.
It sort of blew me away that people actually knew who I was. Fellow tweeters, tumblrs, bloggers and kinky internet denizens. It seemed like everyone there had either corresponded to some degree, knew each other by reputation or had fucked.
I’ll just put it out there since it was in a lot of people’s heads but no one seems to be talking about it. Jefferson had made some rumblings on Twitter about showing up and since a bevy of both his loyal friends and fiercest critics were at the party that would have been quite an event. I don’t know the man by anything but reputation, but personally was kind of excited to see the sparks fly. Drama like that doesn’t come around every day. Alas, we were both robbed and spared that spectacle.
Other than that the night was drama free. The burlesque dancers were both hot and exotic. Three women who were completely different. I’d still like to know what Sinclair was doing with one of them in the bathroom for so long. Bodyguard, indeed.
The auction was raucous and wild. It was also obviously fixed because I didn’t win anything. Viviane was the big winner, but in a wonderful turn of events I was given a Pure Wand by the calendar girls and the awesome people at njoy! My hard work as co-designer paid off! Plus I went home with Miss January! There may have been some panty ripping.
My only real gripe was the lack of a DJ. This party needed some good music and it was very lacking. Next time. And there really needs to be a lot of next times.
Dear readers, you need to know something: Jack is not my given name. It’s not very far from my given name, but until I started this web page very few people ever called me Jack.
But that’s what people do, isn’t it? When you write pretty words about tying girls up you take on an alias. The alias gets used more and it becomes a character. You write as the character and then you eventually meet people as the character and in a way you become the character, at least a little.
To be honest, though, Jack was really born a year and a half ago when my life fell apart and I had to rebuild myself emotionally. Call it a phoenix-like rebirth or perhaps Bionic Man like reboot, I became someone very different. I have different priorities now and different ways of handling things. I adjusted to being 31 and single and I came out of the whole drama a lot stronger and a lot more interesting.
Jack is decidedly more confident than I am. He can even be a little cocky. Jack doesn’t mind talking too loud about rather shocking things in public places. Jack has really good luck with the ladies. Jack is forward and direct and very honest.
Lately I find myself introducing myself as Jack, even in non-blog/sex-geek/sex+ situations. When I meet new people I just introduce myself as Jack and my friends kind of look at me strangely, but it’s not that far fetched. It’s a couple of letters, but it is amazing how much of an effect it can have.
Lately life seems all about changing and realizing things and finding myself and understanding my desires. I am accepting a lot of things about myself, things that I’ve denied and things that I convinced myself weren’t true. Sometimes it is as easy as just letting go and accepting certain kinks. Sometimes it is deeper and it means admitting that certain feelings are ok to have. It also means allowing myself to get into new kinds of relationships. It’s tricky.
Ever since I started this, though, I have felt like my life has been amplified. Everything is far more intense and I am not just talking about sex and relationships. The world seems more accessible, things seem more vivid, life seems better. I used to feel so restrained by all of these rules that I enforced on myself and now it seems like every time I come to one of these self imposed walls I am able to look at it and judge with new eyes if it is something valid or not. I feel free.
So what does this all mean? I have no idea. I guess I am just taking some time to appreciate Jack. He certainly isn’t perfect, but I certainly like him.
I was tagged by the ridiculously hot and charming Thursday, whose pictures and words (and breasts and legs and ass) often devastate me.
The Rules are:
- Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
- Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog – some random, some weird.
- Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
- Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
- I like all kinds of girls. I have found that this is often hard for girls to understand. I like big girls and little girls, so when I was dating a relatively skinny girl and she found out I had some chubby girl porn on my computer she though “I must be fat, that’s why you like me!” and when I was dating a chubby girl and commented on a tiny girl being hot she said “If you like girls like that, why are you dating me?”. Also I have been with girls as tall as 6′ and as short as 4’11″. Even my constant of “glasses and big tits” hasn’t held up lately.
- I have no piercing or tattoos. I dated someone for a long time who was covered in tattoos (10!) and I really love the look of thick black and red ink on skin. I have a few tattoos I want to get, but I am waiting until I am sure (i.e. it has been about 5 years of me thinking about it and I still haven’t done it.)
- People seem to inherently trust me. If often makes me feel like I need to be extra careful. People are constantly telling me secrets. I kind of love being the keeper of secrets.
- I had a criminal youth. I was a compulsive liar as a kid. My head still thinks like that sometimes, but I keep it very much under control. I try to be almost annoyingly honest now. Truth still has a ring of novelty on my tongue.
- The thing I hate most in life is probably corporate chain restaurants.
- Almost all of my close friends are working on Masters or PhDs and are on some form of psycho-pharmacology. I will probably never go for any sort of higher degree and I’ve never been in therapy.
- I took ballet as a child, as well as tap dancing.
- Mariella, because I will take any excuse to tag my babygirl. She’d better do this because she doesn’t post nearly enough.
- D (of Narration by D) because it’s only far that since Thursday tagged me that I should tag her husband.
- Wendy, as an apology for the fact she will never get to do me in the butt like she wants.
- Janie, because she doesn’t post enough.
- Jay, because his recent review of the Aneros is almost identical to the review I am about to post about the Titus.
- Smutty Steff, because she is awesome and her tweets help keep me sane all day.
- Desiree, because she s awesome and she is going to come play Scrabble with me sometime soon.
My fingers slick with her, she lays on top of me, turned around. Her legs on each side of my chest and spread wide right in front of my face. Her mouth far away doing the most wonderful things to me. That is the world I am in now, pleasure radiating and unseen while every secret spot on her is exposed right in front of me.
I know her by now, every twist and turn and little button. I work her like a well loved little music box. My fingers slipping in and bending just so, moving and pushing until I find the angle and the rhythm. Then she is unable to continue with my cock because her mouth is too full of moans and whimpers.
When I add a toy into the mix she is gasping and then suddenly struggling because it is too much. I clamp on to her legs in a wrestler’s lock and I continue as she tried to pull away from the intensity of the vibrations and my fingers. Her moans become frantic and then she is tensing and tensing and her struggling suddenly becomes desperate and she is trying to warn me and then…
At first it is a train of clear water down her thigh and then it squirts like a little torrent. Her body is so overcome she is bucking like a animal trying to escape a trap. It goes on and on until it seems like almost too long, like something is wrong but then suddenly she is still except for her trembling legs.
This is the third time in a row and so I relent. I let her go. She is gasping for air, like she was just pulled from the ocean. Long gulps of the Autumn wind coming in through my open window and she sounds like she is sobbing. I can see her wet sex contracting, still.
When she finally gathers her strength she turns and attacks me with kisses. She kisses me all over my face. She kisses my lips and holds my head and it is like I just came back from a war or gave her a birthday present she has been waiting for all year.
So I am sort of addicted to making girls squirt. Especially girls who say things like “I’ve never squirted!” or “I only squirt when I am by myself!”
Before six months ago I had sporadic luck when it came to getting girls to really gush. There were two full on experiences and another that I am fairly certain about. After my last relationship ended I set my mind to the task and now I am becoming a pro.
It’s not for wimps, let me tell you. It takes some hard work, elbow grease if you will, plus a lot of paying attention. Female anatomy, psychology, not to mention the laundry bills. Plus you have to know when it just isn’t going to work. One of the many keys is not telling them what you are trying to do, but making sure they are comfortable enough to know that they can.
I will not get into numbers, but there have been more than a few girls I have gotten there. By finger or cock or Curve or Miracle Massager. Curve or Miracle Massager being the easiest, fingers being almost as good, cock being really hard to master.
I wonder if there is a doctor who will make my cock into the exact shape of the Curve.
The thing is, there is really nothing as satisfying as physical evidence. I can see where the fans of cum are coming from. Something is produced and you can smile and hold up wet hands and say “I did this!” What’s better than that?
I actually know someone, a family friend of all things, who is doing a documentary of sorts on the g-spot. She looked me in the eye and said “Yeah, I’m still not sure female ejaculation is real.” It took all my strength not to say “give me some lube and 10 minutes” It would have made Thanksgiving a little uncomfortable.
It has come to the point where when I think about past relationships I regret not knowing what I know now. Not to say that female ejaculation is the end all be all of sex, it isn’t by any means, but it is just damn fun and it makes me feel damn powerful, for better or worse. There are also all kinds of psychological and D/s things that can happen when a girl squirts. The bed is a mess, she gets embarrassed to some degree (depending on the girl). There is also the fact that I am big into forced orgasm play and making a girl squirt in that scenario and then letting her sort of sit there tied up and stewing in her own juices is just delicious.
This weekend it went to another level. Often I am kissing the girl or fucking her or something and I only see the puddle forming or hear it or feel it. This time I saw it for real. I saw it shoot out like a geyser. It was more than awesome. I get giddy when I think about it and I want to make it happen again. It’s like a trick, a wonderful little trick that makes girls feel good.
One little note about something that unintentionally came in very handy. About a year ago I, like a lot of New Yorkers, was stuck by the plague that is bed bugs. My apartment was eventually completely fumigated, but one of the safety precautions was putting my mattress in a nylon bag. Now, I put sheets over the nylon so I don’t feel it at all, but it is a wonderfully helpful thing when things get a bit wet. For $14 you can’t go wrong.
We went out on the town for the day, but the whole time it was waiting there back at my apartment and in the back of my head.
A few hours before I met Mariella I removed the Under the Bed Restraints from it’s package, lifted up my mattress and set it up. The black restraints against my plain white sheets were stark and imposing. It was a stage set for something very interesting.
Mariella and I went around town. A picnic, some drinks, fun times in the summertime. She knew what was in store, in fact I had told her every detail out my little fantasy days before.
It was interesting having such a dichotomy within one day. The cooing and hand holding, walking through the park, meeting friends and so on. Later that night it would be so very different. Hands not held, but held down. Where she was once wrapped in hugs, she would be soon wrapped in taut nylon. The amazing thing is that we can go into both with the same care and emotion.
But enough of that mushy stuff, let’s get down to the nitty gritty.
Walking into my apartment she didn’t even really look at my bed at first. We were still high on the sweet air of the day. Kissing and pushing against walls, all those things that are familiar but constantly new. The lushness of her body and all the things it does to me.
She wore a lovely dress with no panties and the whole day I had felt the delicious curve of her hip and the unhindered smoothness of her ass through the fabric. Finally after wanting it all day I was able to pull up that skirt and see that perfect tan-lined hairless triangle that haunts my dreams. I touched her and felt hours of built up heat and wetness and it made me wince with pleasure.
She does this thing that drives me crazy. We will kiss and suddenly she will turn away. She gets this little sneaky mischievous little smirk and it turns me into an animal. Suddenly I am on top of her trying to kiss her, but she turns and pushes me away. When I finally pin her down and catch her lips, the kiss is wild and almost overpowering.
After that I stood up, took her hand, and brought her to the bed. I took off what was left of her clothes. I put two pillows on the center of the bed and laid her over them on her belly. She didn’t fight when I stretched her arms up and opened each wrist restraint and closed them on those pretty wrists I’d held so tight and pushed into pillow or mattress.
I kissed her shoulder and moved down to her legs and took each ankle and put them in the restraints. Nothing was that tight, but it kept her legs apart and her arms from moving too much. I was new to this thing, I really wasn’t sure what to do first.
I stood back and looked at my work. The pillow under her lower stomach pushed her ass up perfectly. With her legs spread every part of her was exposed to me.
There is something decadent about having a girl like this, especially this girl. Crossed legs and dim lights, sheets and panties, busy hands and blushing embarrassment, all these things tend to get in the way of getting a lovely full-on look at a girl’s bits. Now that she was mine, tied up perfectly, I got to look. I got to explore.
There are a lot of philosophies and strategies to being dominant. I’ve read about them, I’ve tried a lot of them. A lot of it has to do with self control. Frankly I probably don’t have enough of that. I don’t think I am a particularly good dom, I sort of hate most formality when it comes to names and titles and I even dislike a lot of them.
I my hand moved over her legs and my nails scratched at her back leaving long red marks. As my hand stopped on top of her ass I felt the resilient, fresh skin of it and the desire inside of me started getting wilder and hungrier.
I spanked her hard. Then again. Then three times in a row sharp and fast knowing that the rapid succession gets her every time. She tried to crawl away but couldn’t.
She moaned and squirmed and I wanted her. As she squirmed she pushed back, her hips higher and her sex open to me. I got off the bed, letting her see that I was getting a condom so she would know what I was going to do. I couldn’t help it, I had to just kneel between her open legs and slip into her. She was too perfect there, like a candy on a table. I needed to just taste.
She gasped as I pushing into her slowly and deliberately, sinking into wet tightness. Every cell in my body sighed at once. Then I was pushing in harder, then thrusting again and again. It was a little difficult with her on her belly and her legs spread. The angle wasn’t quite right. I stopped, breathing hard, head buzzing with the pure pleasure of being inside of her.
Then I went to the box.
It nice to have a specific little box for your toys and implements. This one is a big yellow box on the night stand next to my bed. In this box is all of my best toys. They had all been cleaned and readied.
I bent over her, pushed the hair out of her eyes, whispered in her ear and asked her if everything was ok. She said yes, but she wondered if the restraints could be tighter. I let out a dark chuckle.
I pulled her legs apart and tightened the straps. I moved them from the bottom corners of the bed to the sides of the bed and she let out a little “wow” as I really spread her out and tied her down. I moved her arms to the sides of the bed too and tightened them until she couldn’t raise her arms from the mattress.
I was getting that power surge. The smile that won’t come off and the predatory eyes.
My fantasy was to own every part of her. I wanted to fill her up and make her cum and use every inch of her. I fingered her roughly as I poured lube on the Sensual Bulb and on my fingers.
When I touched her ass with one hand as I fingered her with the other she let out a throaty groan. Her body tensed. We are sex positive people, whatever, it’s still dirty, raunchy, forbidden. I rubbed and
flexed my fingers in her, then I brought up the wet glass smoothness and twisted and pushed.
The thing about the Sensual Bulb is that when it is finally in you just see the pretty flared end with the purple butterfly. Perfect.
The sounds are almost the best parts. Whimpers and moans and whispered pleadings.
When I lubed up the Curve and slipped that into her she started gasping and making shaky overwhelmed gasps for air. I watched her hands ball into fists and pull against the restraints in the most lovely way.
When I added the Miracle Massager there wasn’t as much of a change in her attitude as I thought.
I tried to set up the Miracle Massager, but I will have to come up with some kind of way to hold it to her clit.
I left her filled up and went around to the other side of the bed and pushed my cock towards her mouth. This was the real fantasy, having her filled up, tied down and squirming and sucking my cock. Every hole used and abused.
After a while I realized I wanted a better position. I wanted her really bound. I put Mariella on her side right in the middle of the bed, hands behind her back bound with the wrist restraints. I bound her ankles together with he ankle restraints and then I moved the Under the Bed Restraints to the center of the bed and brought the fasteners to their tightest level. I tied her hands to one side and her ankles to the other. I also got some other restraints I had and tied her legs together at the knees.
It was crazy. The vibrations were intense and focused, I was fucking her hard and fast with the Curve and she was in a completely other state. When she started squirting she pushed the Curve completely out of her.
When I took it’s place I barraged her with filthy names and rough words. She was mine and she was used in every way. I fucked her hard and fast like that, spanking her and holding her hips tight.
Later when I gently undid every Velcro latch, laid next to her, soothed her and kissed her as she came down, it was pure bliss.
Catharsis, orgasm, emotional release. The stress of the week gone and only wet skin and the smell of sex and sweet kisses remained.
Kissing Chronicles – After the Drought
Kissing is one of my favorite things to do. It’s funny, I was in a long relationship where kissing was not really a focus. It was a brief bit of foreplay before sex or a once in a while affirmation of affection, but it was never an activity unto itself. It wasn’t until after that relationship that I really rediscovered making out, how much I love it and how good I am at it!
I’d just reentered the dating scene. I was awkward, nervous, unsure of the rules. Looking back, how stupid was I? I was on a business trip and she was showing me around town. It was nice and friendly and sweet, but we had talked a little about attraction. We had admitted desire and now she was in my hotel room, and it was late. Were we were going to just play Scrabble?
I sat across from her, my heart beating a little faster every time I looked up at those bright eyes and then down at that figure. It seems wrong to distill someone into one characteristic, I mean she was smart and quirky and fun, but it always came back to those tits. It seemed like I spent almost every second near her trying not to look at them.
There were other charms, her eye for details that caught me off guard, her various knowledges and interests. She was awkward, too, but in a different way and for different reasons. As time goes by and it is just a memory I remember the physical things, the way her lips made me swoon.
When she said, “So I thought you were going to kiss me,” I was struck dumb by the embarrassment of not acting on the obvious hints she was dropping.
“I am! I mean, I was going to… I mean…” I don’t know what I was trying to say, but then I was on the couch next to her, our Scrabble game half finished, and I was smiling and she was kind of smirking amusedly and then I was in that trajectory, that all or nothing move in.
We were both laughing a little and then we weren’t. That first contact, that first kiss with new lips, that point at the apex of flirting and smiling and touching and then moving in closer and closer… then the brush of soft dry skin on skin. Then pushing together, your bodies getting closer and hands falling onto hips or backs. You become hyperaware. Aware of where your hands are on her and the warmth of her body under her clothes. Aware of where her hands are on you and when they tighten or loosen or claw at your shirt, hungry for more contact.
We kissed, a chaste kiss, pulled apart and smiled, and then before I could say something stupid we went back for more. Now our lips were wet and our mouths were bolder. Kissing and sucking bottom lips, top lips, experimental opening of mouths. Finding that rhythm, finding out how the other person works.
Kissing is a lot more complex than people realize. Not complicated, but complex because there are so many things going on at the same time. There are a lot of split seconds decisions to be made and a lot of things you can mess up. You have to be in tune with your partner and know how to lead and go with the flow. There is a give and take, like dancing or fighting.
I’ve been with good kissers and bad kissers and aggressive kissers and passive kissers. This girl was a good kisser, which was mind blowing after years of neglect in the kissing department. Her lips were soft and her mouth was sweet. She followed my lead half the time and took control the other half. That’s the way it is supposed to be, a delicate wrestling match. Tides of pushing and pulling and teasing and swooning.
Soft new person kissing leading into deeper kisses, little sighs becoming deeper breathing. Her hands on my arm, on my side. Her mouth opening a little here and there. Then mine opening, then little testing slips of my tongue. The sweetness of her tongue in my mouth, the intimacy of it.
Pushing her hair back, my fingers in the silky tangle, her sigh as I stroke her hair. Then a sudden pull away. She looks at me through hazy eyes. We are both lust drunk. I move in but not to her lips, to her neck. She gasps a little and I smile into her skin.
It’s nice to know her secrets. From the minute my lips touched the flawless skin of her neck forever I knew that it was her weakest point. All my want and all of her charms and I had a key. It sounds almost cold and calculated now to see it that way, but we all have locks and labyrinths to our passion. Finding the way in is part of the whole lovely little game.
As a boy my mind tends to go in certain directions. Sometimes I have to will myself to enjoy the kiss because my hands and body want to take over. I get eager, especially with those breasts calling me, pressing against my chest. My hand just under one and the heat radiating from her body through the soft fabric of her shirt and my eyes and body clenching with the anticipation of softness and as my thumb hits the bottom of her bra my heart starts beating faster.
I moved up a little, testing, the kiss kept up, move, further, wanting her so badly. I kissed her deeper as my hand slipped up and a shiver filled me as I cupped her breast and felt the fullness of it. Who knew such a simple act could be so hot, just feeling her breasts, but it was ridiculous in its intensity.
Her kisses kept pulling me back though. I had to keep up with her tempo and now her body was shifting on the couch. Soon she was lying and I was on top of her. Our parts aligned and our bodies becoming part of the kiss.
We went in little cycles. Focusing on sucking each lip, top and bottom. Little nips and long pulls. Twirling tongues just dancing across each other and then long deep kisses, exploring, wet and decadent.
Her body under me was lithe and hot. She ground against me as I pushed against her. I kissed her neck again and it was still wet where my mouth had been. I pushed up both of my hands, feeling her breasts again, wanting more. The tempo was up and up and up.
I don’t remember how far we went that first night. I vaguely remember going to the bed, awkward conversation as I pulled her shirt off. I remember the hotness of seeing her in her bra for the first time. To this day I’m still fixated on her breasts. They are really spectacular. I also remember finding out that girls who kiss well often do other things with their mouth well.
More than anything I remember kissing longer than I had ever kissed before, like I’d found some new trick my body could do and I intended on taking advantage of it. We spent two weeks straight kissing. Every imaginable kind of this, hard to soft, violent to vulnerable. From the first kiss to the kiss goodbye.
Last night at In the Flesh we listened to Rachel Kramer Bussel read a short little story that was not part of, but was inspired by Ellen Sussman’s new anthology Dirty Words: A Literary Encyclopedia of Sex.
I thought it was really interesting and I’m glad she posted it today.
In other news I join the plethora of people posting about the New York City Sex Bloggers Calendar, which I am co-designing with Sinclair. It’s been pretty fun going to lunches and meetings with the girls and getting emailed that start “Dear Ladies and Jack.” I’m trying to weasel my way into the photo shoot. We will see.
Head on over and pick one up!
I am pretty sure Mister McIntyre’s Secret is dead. I am just not feeling it, but I have lots of other interesting stories in the works and this weekend should be fuel for who knows how many tales! After all I’m going to a picnic and a parade.
I sort of have other outlets to talk about the serious non sex and relationship stuff, but since I write here I suppose I should address something that is kind of rocking my world right now.
I have a weird pantheon of writing heroes and lovers. I don’t write in the same vein as I read, if that makes any sense. I grew up on Dickens and Mark Twain, a lot of Sherlock Holmes and classics. In high school I started my lifelong obsessed with Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, while also reading Stein, Hemingway, Faulkner and the like just to hate them with some foundation of proof. I read a lot of beat writers too but disliked the majority of them, Burroughs being the exception. I dabbled in this and that.
In science fiction William Gibson is my god and to this day his writing style effect the way I write and things more than anything else I’ve read with the possible exception of Nin’s journals. Philip K Dick, obviously, as well as Heinlein and the irrepressible Harlan Ellison top the list.
After high school I started finding the postmodernists. Pynchon, Coover, Barthelme, Vonnegut. More important to me were people like Italo Calvino, playful and fearless when it came to bending the rules. Then I found DeLillo who seemed like the missing link between the PoMo writers and where the world was now. Then I found David Foster Wallace.
It seems like I’ve spent a lot of time defending a lot of these authors. That got boring by the time I was 22. I actually never find myself having good discussions about these writers because most of my literate friends are into very different literary eras and movements than I am. David Foster Wallace was always an argument waiting to happen. Eggers too, though I never liked his text as much as his taste.
In general I have grown accustom to the rolling eyes that come with being a fan of postmodernism as both a literary movement and as a sweeping philosophical and critical movement. Being asking for definitions. Condescending rebuttals followed my pompous explanations of what I am missing. Sometimes I think postmodernism exists only to give other movements something to call pretentious.
The first book I read of DFW’s was his first book of short storiesThe Girl with Curious Hair and it is still my favorite of his work. The short story is my favorite medium, and these are profound, funny, smart and they just resinated with me on so many levels. Then I bought Infinite Jest. I bought it and it just sat there for a long time. I’m not good at long books, I just don’t have the emotional stamina. I never finished Gravity’s Rainbow. I hated War and Peace. When I finally sat down with the damn thing I was never fully hooked in, I was alway worried about time. Then I sort of realized that it wasn’t like an ordinary novel. Like Pale Fire it was fractured and broken. Everything trailed off into tangents. It was schizophrenic. It was even hypertextual. It was funny and sad and honest and profound and it made me look at things differently the way the real important books of your life do.
His other books all have really different and interesting places in my heart and head. Supposedly Funny Things I’ll Never do Again and Consider the Lobster are basically blog posts evolved to the highest attainable degree.
On September 12, 2008 he hanged himself and that sucks because I well never get to read a new book by him. I say that in loving memory because frankly it is the reaction I hope people have when I die.
I’m sort of heart broken. Dave, these footnotes are for you.
 And I don’t mean the good kind of rocking.
 Though I found him later, Thomas M. Disch is also on this list and his suicide two months ago also shook me up and left me bitter.
 Though I have tried many times.
I’m pretty happy, because I am so new to this game. I was voted #71 in the 2008 Sexy Bloggers poll. Fun.
The top five are all awesome people, by the way. Congratulations to them all, especially Sinclair and Ellie!
Don’t worry kids, the angsty self analysis will be short lived and Mister McIntyre’s Secret Part 9 is on it’s way.
I’ve been on this wild dating and sexing roller coaster for about 14 months now. Roughly since the day I ended the six year relationship I was in from 25-31 with… let’s call her The Girl Professor. Not that before that relationship I was a prude by any means, I had some interesting times and I got around, but you know something is different when in the last year you have slept with as many women as all the years before combined. I’d say that’s a change in the status quo.
So many dates, some with new people, some second or third dates, some with the sort of long term friends you make when you are in this kind of run. It’s certainly not all sex, to be sure, but it is all interesting. The constant state of arousal, the flirting from so many directions. New people all the time and new kisses. New bodies and new secrets. I fell into two relationships in that time, each lasting a few months. Both were wildly intense and full of amazing conversation, fun and probably some of the best sex of our lives.
I read stories of emotionless sex, zipless fucks, random group play and in most cases it leaves me cold. I like intense connections. I like learning someone’s secrets and knowing their bodies and kissing and touching for hours. If it isn’t intense then why bother. If it doesn’t make me happy then I’d rather skip it. At the same time I can imagine a plaything, someone to be a pet and to just have fun with. So many relationships seem to move so quickly. People wanting different things. Sometimes I wish for something completely superficial. Someone I can try out all my fun toys on and make moan and cry. A pet. I am ambivalent about the whole thing, no one ever seems to stay emotionally where they say they will, including me.
Lately I have been entering new terrain. I am seeing people whose sex lives are much more public. I mean obviously I am dating on NYC, I know we all have lives and I never presume monogamy, but you don’t ask don’t tell and are completely for each other when you are together. Sex bloggers and other internet savvy loud mouths (I mean this is the nicest way since I am both) make their sex lives much more public, this means one is forced to read and think about things he doesn’t necessarily want to read and think about.
A friend said something that has been rumbling in my head for a while now. When talking to her about the various dramas going on and what I am doing to belay them she told me that I was learning how to “process jealousy”. Now I tend to take phrases like that and roll my eyes, but I realize more and more that it is exactly what I am learning to do.
I’ve never been a particularly jealous person, that is until I was cheated on. When my long relationship with The Girl Professor ended suddenly and very violently. I’m a grownup, I know infidelity (when in agreed monogamy) is a symptom of a relationship that is already over, not the cause of that ending. It wasn’t the sex either, I am a sexual person and I can understand passion even inappropriate passion, it was the love. She fell in love with someone else (or at least convinced herself of such) and that ruined me for a long time.
This was the first time I was cheated on and my reaction was not what I expected. First of all I became repulsed by her. I’d never been into any cuckold type fantasies, but as much as I couldn’t understand them before now they confuse the shit out of me. I didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. Actually I sort of made she we wouldn’t be in the same time zone, which is working out for the best for everyone involved.
I also became uncontrollably angry at the guy, which is very unlike me. I was dreaming of hunting him down and beating him. Literally I would have dreams I was hitting him with a bat. These are the two reactions jealousy has on me, rage and disgust. Not conducive to an ongoing relationship.
Now I find myself trying to work through these feelings, even find to positive aspects of them. I see people I like and trust and watch how they play as a couple and apart. I think about my feeling and why I want to see other people and then thing about my partners and how their intentions are probably similar. It seems like a majority of the feelings are fear that your lover will leave you and when you realize that if that person left it would mean a whole lot about them and where your relationship was… it makes taking the chance seem brave rather than foolish.
But I am rambling. All I know is that for the last year I have woken up happier. Food tastes better and book make more sense. I feel like I am in love all the time, even while I walk around in mortal fear of that word and all of its inky implications. I feel like an adventurer and I feel like I am alive. I don’t see that changing any time soon.
I do feel myself moving in certain directions. Favoring certain people. I don’t know what that will mean or what I am willing to do for that. I don’t know how long I am willing to keep certain people at a distance so that I can keep up this lifestyle. I’m not really worried anymore though. As long as everyone is honest things seem to work out. You just have to ask for what you want and it is almost shocking how often you get it.
Subway intimacies are wonderful little amusements when you are living a life that is amplified. The little accidental meetings of eyes or occidental faux pas. Reading each others newspapers or coming face to face with ample cleavage. The bump and grind of start and stop trains and the forced sardine meetings of strangers. Innocent intimacies must go unacknowledged by most but not to me.
I am helpless to record the ceremonial reactions of the morning after couple in the little two seat bench at the end of the car. She is slightly embarrassed by her somewhat messy hair. He is both proud of himself and sort of straining to get away. Still his hand finds her knee and her eyes close briefly.
The voyeur doesn’t have to stand in the closet or peek through the curtains. Dodging eyes and stolen kisses can be as breathtaking as watching wicked acts.
I am looking for ideas for erotic short stories. If you have a senario, a situation, a character, a kink, a scene or just a concept or image you would like me to write about then please either comment here or send me an email.
Well, I’ve been working on this new project for a few days now. It seems like there are so many NYC sex bloggers and in looking around for them I realized there is no real list of them, so I am making one. Thus nycsexblogs.com was born.
I’m pretty excited about the whole thing, if for no other reason than I think I made it look pretty. Plus I get to make lists, which is always a nice thing. Also it will help in people meeting people and all of us NY people getting even cozier.
Speaking of which, I think I am going to In the Flesh @ Happy Endings tomorrow. Having just listened to Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s interview on Bedroom Radio and having just finished three stories in RKB’s anthology Tasting Her: Oral Sex Stories, I am very curious to hear what will be read. Plus I’m sure there will be all sorts of interesting people in the audience.
As for stories on this webpage, Mister McIntyre Eight is almost done. I had to figure out where to go from the last part, I wanted to introduce a few new people as we take Abigail deeper into her merciless boss’s life. Plus I want to get the first scene with both Mister M and Marcy just right. Should be up soon. Plus some more stories on the way, ones that are actually being edited! (I know you will miss my charming spelling and grammar errors.)
And with that, back to work. No more link dropping for this morning.
I was talking with a friend the other day about secrets and how I tend to be obsessed with them. I like to know secrets, I like to be told secrets and I like to find out secrets, for better or worse. Most of my life has seen the better, though certainly the worse arrived a while back and curiosity killed the cat. Still, knowing is always better than not knowing because let’s face it even when you don’t have proof you always know.
Still secrets are always floating around in my head and they are always tickling my fascination. Looking over the things I’ve written, stories and fragments and smut and so on, I see that the common thread is people finding out things about other people. People eavesdropping or finding diaries, people following people, people spying on people, the skeletons in the closets being revealed. It is a climactic moment and it makes for a good story, I think.
The conclusion of the conversation was that the desire to learn other people’s secrets is the desire to find evidence that the things I think and the things I do are not deviant or unique. To find evidence that perversions, both sexual and emotional are not isolated. More so the feeling that my thoughts and emotions are somehow “not right” is because of my upbringing where people didn’t talk about their emotions ever, so I never got any validation that the things I felt were “normal.”
I also realize that when I am in a relationship I long for my partner to find out things about me. I have this need for my partner to dig and to investigate because if they don’t then they don’t want it enough. Love and passion should always have at least a touch of obsession.
The thought of a partner writing something or creating something and not wanting to read it seems foreign to me. Does that make sense?
I think my goal should be to write stories like secrets so that when someone reads them they are filled with the excitement of finding something out.
Anyhow, tell me some secrets. Comment anonymously. Tell me something.