Following a Mouse, Part One

She seemed like a little mouse. That’s how I thought of her, what I called her in my head. My little mouse. Oh, how I was wrong.

That’s the way it is being a man sometimes. You see a woman and she can’t look you in the eyes. She is sweet and pretty and her cheeks go red when you joke with her and you think you know her. You imagine her small and innocent and you are tall and strong and can show her the world. In a way it is comforting. It makes you powerful. All the secrets of desire are yours to show her.

Real life is far more complex, and far more interesting.
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A Casual Beating

In this new life, I have slipped into a variety of completely new relationships. I’ve always been the kind of person who has a small circle of very close friends and I tended to shy away from the masses of acquaintances people seem to collect in this city. Now I seem to be joining ever-growing groups of interesting and open-minded people. This has led to months of fun, flirty and often fierce conversation. In some ways these connections are almost better than all the sex and exploration. (Almost, but not quite.)

I hadn’t considered my sadistic side very much until about a year ago. If anything, I had often thought that I was squeamish about really hurting someone and that might be a real hindrance to being a dom. After a few enthusiastic scenes and I found that the little seed of a sadist in me was starting to bloom. The key, I realized, was playing with masochists.

It’s funny how your personality changes in certain situations. I’ve noticed all these parts of myself that come out when I am doing certain things. The seducer, looking at sex as a challenge and an artform. The toppy boyfriend, with his sarcasm and teasing. The daddy, who is overprotective while being dirty. The aspiring rigger, with his knitted brow and stern focus. The sadist, who is almost constantly wearing an evil grin and always thinking of the next form of torture.

So as I was saying, besides the cadre of smart and sexy friends with whom I converse, there are a few smart and sexy girls that I beat up on a somewhat regular basis. It’s interesting, because in general these are not exactly sexual relationships, though certainly they all have sexual elements. Mostly, though, they are about administering pain.

For example, here is a tale of a girl – well not really one girl but sort of an amalgam of a few people I know. There are too many scenes in my head and writing about the important parts of each would take too long. But basically, this is what I’m talking about…

We had been on a few dates, after work drinks, talking and flirting and exchanging the social currency of anecdote and background.

In this time we used the complex mating language of eyes and subtext to explain our emotional availability. We danced around our proclivities. We ferreted out kinks and occasionally just came out and owned our desires.

Negotiation came later. By then we had reached that plateau of reasonable trust and adequate acquaintance. The fourth date would be at my apartment.

She was on her mid twenties, bright, educated, good job, interesting life. The city seems to either breed the complicated or pull them magnet like from all points of the compass.

Dark hair with severe bangs and thick glasses. She had a wealth of interests which showed her curiosity, which to me is the most important virtue. She was cute if not pretty but her style brought her look up. She knew how to wear clothes. She was an artist through and through, but more than that she was an artist who could make a living which was certainly a precious thing in this city.

“I’m a masochist,” she said rather plainly. “I had a boyfriend who I finally convinced to spank me, but he never hit hard enough and it always just left me unsatisfied.”

“‘I don’t want to hurt you, baby, I love you,’ is what he’d say.” she quoted in mocking a luggish tone.

I understood very well. The spanking was the gateway from vanilla to kink in many ways. It was still socially acceptable, if a bit risky by Cosmo standards. Still for many it was a glimpse of that new world we wanted to explore a lot more thoroughly.

Back at my apartment we had giddy grins and drinks. A conversation on the couch about work and the world, while both of us shifted closer and thought about how to start things.

“So, you liked that last story I wrote, hm?” It’s a way to gain a little control and bend the conversation towards where we both want to take it.

“Yeah, you could say that. I think I came six times. I soaked my sheets.”

I watched her eyes, there was some instinctual shame, but she actively fought it. She wanted to be bold, she wanted to own it.

“Well, I guess you owe me.” I said, reaching over and caressing her breasts, finding the nipple, pinching it roughly as I watch her reaction.

It was silly, really, but nothing is better than a little ego-stroking to build one’s confidence. I moved in and kissed her, then my hand moved up to her hair and pulled her head back so I could drag my teeth across her naked neck.

I’ll skip the rest of the beginning. I’ve certainly told the tale of a girl being bent over the arm of my couch and spanked far too many times. I will say this: While spanking her and getting her warmed up I did what I always do to partners in this situation. I progress quickly at first to find that line, how much they can take. There is always that level when they start squirming away from the blows. Some of them say “ouch” or the ones who are more experienced in more formal scenes even say “yellow”.

I kept hitting her and measuring and there was no yellow point. Harder and harder I spanked, but she gritted her teeth and took it. The few times I leaned over her body and whispered my little check-up questions into her ear, she just nodded. She was fine, I should keep going, harder.

That’s when I knew I was going to get to cane someone for real.

I only have one cane, though I am looking to remedy this. It is long and black and thin, sting-y and direct.

It’s sad, but I have to chide myself and force myself to start slow. I knew she had to be warmed up. I knew I had to be patient and calculating.

She is obedient and follows my every direction perfectly. Frankly it was all really more sensation play than dominance. A beating, not a punishment. I don’t want her to call me “sir,” I just want her to do what I say and take every stinging lash.

When I start, it is just a little bounce of the cane on her naked ass. Her skin is red from the spanking and flogging, with a circle of light purple where I had hit her the hardest, but the cane makes fresh and crisper red marks. Lines form, even from this light bouncing.

That first real hit, that first time the cane cuts through the air, is perfect. When the first blow lands her back arches. She takes it, but it is a lot even for her. She has only ever really had hands spanking her. I hit her three more times, once on each cheek and then once across both. Her hands don’t come up to protect her tender flesh the way other girls’ have, but she is suddenly still. I let the pain reverberate. I let her feel it and process it. I put my hand on her back and steady her, let her know I understand that it hurts and I am letting her deal with it.

Each time leaves three lines, red, then white, then red again. As I bounce the cane on her skin again I see that the four hard hits have started to bruise already. It makes me hard. It makes me giddy. I want to ruin her. I want to mark her. I want her to feel these marks all week and get wet every time she sits down and winces.

I go to work on her, bouncing the cane harder, making little syncopated rhythms that I remember my drummer friend taught me. I wait until the skin is red and hungry and then I hit her hard a few times, relishing each. I hit her harder, pulling my hand back farther and taking full swings that turn purple immediately.

She finally breaks a little and lets out an “ouch.” She doesn’t block me, though, she just slumps forward a little. I soothe her, I continue the bouncing as I pull her back into place. I place medium hits on spots that aren’t bruised. There is some minute change in her reaction and I take it as a sign we should move on for a bit.

When I pulled her up, her legs don’t respond properly and I am holding her. I laugh and push her against the wall. She gasps and smiles. I know the white wall is hard and cold.

My hand moved down her body and slips between her thighs. She is so wet her thighs are slick. She buries her head in my shoulder as the pleasure overtakes her for a moment. I push her away. It’s not cuddling time. It’s not pleasure time. Those will come.

I slapped her breast hard. Her eyes flash open. I cup each one and slap it down. She looks unsure how to take this. She is squirming.

“Do you like that?”

She nodded quickly, eagerly.

“Has anyone done this before?”

She shook her head. It’s hard for her to talk when she gets in this space. Important to note and damn adorable. I slap her harder, focusing on her nipples. Slap, slap, waiting for her wince, measuring out the limits of this new activity.

“Why do you like it?”

“It hurts.” She has that sort of look in her eyes that tell me that this was once something she was ashamed of, but now she was proud, or at least comfortable. Her tongue is thick in her mouth and it is hard for her to create sentences now, but she tried to continue.

“I also like it because I can see it. Usually it’s my ass and I can’t see it happen.”

I devour the flush in her face when she says this. This is useful information. Information means I can hurt her in more complicated ways.

I hit her breasts a few more times and relished her winces. She is so tough when I am spanking her, but her breasts are a lot more tender and she isn’t used to the sensations.

I was thinking of how else I could hurt her while she watched it happen. I like the idea of that. I remembered back at a sex conference when I watched a guy give a caning demo. It was really the first time I had ever seen someone get caned and the first time it really clicked that hitting someone and making marks on them was something I needed to do.

The top had his demo bottom sit on a table and he caned her lap. Talking to all of us as his rattan cane bounced up and down on her thighs. Progressing from tapping to hitting as she squirmed and moaned. That seemed perfect now. I got a towel and put it down on the cushion and then had her sit on said towel.

Probably my most powerful urge, one that’s been around a lot longer than sadistic desires, it to make a woman have an orgasm. Not help, not assist, but make. To force her to come. To have control over her body and her pleasure and to use a significant and powerful human reaction as nothing more than a tool for my amusement.

This whole time I was fully dressed. That was part of the scene, though I didn’t realize that for a while. She was a plaything, being stripped and used and played with. I was playing and amused by her arousal and entertained by her pain. She was naked because she is a slut and I am dressed because I am above the base needs she is tormented by, or so the game goes.

I got out some toys, fresh from ziplock bags, sterile and ready.

Some girls go into a dreamy place when they are being beaten. Some get feisty and fight back, kicking and cursing. This girl smiled, eyes just out of focus, and she giggled as she was hurt.

I plugged into the wall my favorite vibrating implement and shoved it between her half closed legs. I pushed her back a bit, manhandling her, and got the head of the condom covered toy against her clit. I closed her legs against it, letting the towel and her thighs hold it in position. As I turned it on I struck the tops of her thighs again with my cane.

She bit her lip, she ground against the vibrator and then winced as the cane left thin marks on her legs.

I switched to the riding crop, taking it to her breasts, the only place so far I was able to get a real reaction. I hit the tender bottoms of each breast, then the sides, the quick snaps on the nipples that made her cry out.

When I flipped her around, her knees on my couch and her arms and head hanging over the arm she was starting to get disoriented. I liked it when the pain and pleasure made them stupid. It is the point when you can really start to have fun.

I let loose with the cane a few times, the marks I had left before now a sharp violet. I crossed those line with fresh red and that made her jump. She wasn’t so tough anymore and when she pulled away from the cane I went to work on her with the vibrator.

This cycle started, cries and yelps followed by moans and whimpers. The cane and then the vibrator until she whined every time I pulled the vibrator away. I hit her a few more times and then held her down and pressed the vibrator on high against her sopping sex.

She mewed and tensed and came hard against me, pulling at my arm. When she was done pulled the vibrator away and just as she sighed in relief I pushed it back against her now over sensitive clit.

She fought against the overstimulation, but I held it to her, I let her ride it out until her hips were bucking again and she came even harder.

When she came down this time, I sank into the couch next to her and held her as she gasped for air and shivered. I petted her hair and smiled at her and soothed her, careful not to touch her still hot and stinging ass.

When we finally got up I saw something spectacular. It was my first real masterpiece. Her ass was almost uniformly purple with lines of wine red and angry pink and speckles of her pale skin showing through. I spun her around and marveled at it. Her thighs had a few scattered lines but nothing like her ass.

It was perfect. She kept touching the raised marks and smiling at her little prize. She was just as happy as I was, because this was the first time she’d gone this far and gotten when she’d been fantasizing about.

Through that next week I emailed her, checking in on the progress. The bruises lasted weeks. Those first few days she could hardly sit and she had to go to the bathroom of her office and finger herself because the pain was so intense and the memories so inescapable.

Sex 2.0 ver 2, DC

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The last time I talked about a kink conference was the first KinkForAll back in March. I wrote then how I hadn’t been to many events of this nature. Well, having one kinky unconference under my belt I headed out to our nation’s capital to see what Sex 2.0 was all about.

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A Meal of You

 

 

A story influenced by Alice in Wonderland. A young girl slips into a daydream world and is thrown into a frightening adventure. WARNING! Don’t read this if you are offended by fairy tale type characters of indeterminate age, very questionable consent, attempted cannibalism(?!), obscene cutlery, mammoth root vegetables and/or the misuse of butter.
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Mister McIntyre’s Secret, Part Nine

Mister McIntyre’s Secret, Part Nine

I’ve been given a notebook and a pen and I’ve been told to write down everything. Everything? If I am going to do that I guess I need to give you a little background, after all, who knows who might be reading this?

My name is Abigail. I’m twenty-two, boring and not very pretty. I don’t have fancy dresses or lots of makeup, but somehow I am in a lavish mansion sitting in a room full of interesting people watching a beautiful woman about to get–well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
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Betty the Bruiser

I came home to find the apartment in disarray. A lamp, which was still on, was laying on the floor, shining a spotlight on the half empty bookshelf. The books were strewn about floor and one was soaking up the water that a vase once held, the violets having been trampled.

My Betty was a bruiser, a broad shouldered girl, too tall to ever be comfortable in her own skin. She’d been beaten into shape as a kid by her step-father, that was until she was old enough to kick his ass.

She sat on the kitchen floor with the last of my good bourbon. Unlaced roller-skates, a black skirt, and one of my old white t-shirts. Her tattoos were nothing but shadows under the white cotton, thick black and red lines peeking out.

“We lost,” she slurred and gave me a particularly petulant glare.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned on the counter of the small kitchen, looking down at her as she rocked the bottle of amber liquid on the black and white tiled floor.

I looked over to the living room and then back at her.

“I couldn’t find a book,” she shrugged.

She took one roller-skate and tried to push off the other with it, failing miserably.

“I couldn’t find a book and I can’t get these stupid things off,” she said, and kicked at the floor with her skate.

At 25, with a messy black bob, a cut lip, and the beginnings of a black eye, she did her best to pout like a little girl. Roller derby was good for her because she needed a healthy outlet for her violent nature. Plus I was there to pick up the pieces after a match.

“Help me get ‘em off?”

Kneeling, I took one of the black leathery boots by the thick front wheel and pulled. She winced as the skate slipped off her sore foot. Her shin looked purple and yellow, she had a scrape on her knee. My eyes lingered up higher to the edge of her skirt, then abruptly back to her other skate. I pulled the second one off and I stood up, holding out my hand to help her up.

She groaned as her sore and swollen joints creaked and then she was holding on to me with both hands on my shoulders, her cheeks red, her eyes glazed by the bourbon, but still shining. Our eyes met and there she was, smelling like whiskey and sweat, the Betty I fell in love with. We were about to kiss, but her knees gave out and she almost pulled me down to the floor with her.

“I’ll put you in bed,” I groaned as I lifted her back up.

“Tuck me in, too?” she teased, smiling and limping with one arm around my shoulder, “you can be the big spoon.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Bette.”

“Pshh, I bet you ten bucks you’ll be in bed in ten minutes. And don’t fucking call me Bette, you know I hate that.”

I sighed. I was too old for this.

I was sleeping on the couch because this whole thing just wasn’t working and we knew it. She was all rough and tumble, late night at rock clubs and drunk five nights a week. I was in a PhD program, I had a full time job. My punk youth was long over, though not forgotten. That’s not to say I grew up and became boring, but I just wasn’t in the same world she was in.

That’s one of the many things that can happen when you date a girl who’s ten years younger than you. Even if she is taller than you.

It was more than that, though, and we knew it. We just didn’t click anymore. I was a city boy, through and through and deep down she was a Midwestern farm girl.

She put her weight on my shoulder as I led her to the bedroom. The only light was street lamps coming in from the window. It illuminated tangled sheets and books all over the floor and nightstand.

I sat her down on the bed and she put her arms around my neck.

“I miss you,” she whispered. It made my throat tighten and my heart ache.

“Just get some sleep, Bette, we can talk tomorrow.”

She kissed my chin.

“Don’t you think I’m pretty anymore?” she said kissing my cheek, catching just the edge of my lip.

“I think you’re drunk and sweaty and you have a black eye and probably a sprained ankle,” I said trying to untangle myself from her arms, but she was already pulling me in for another kiss.

“You used to give me black and blues, remember?” her voice was rough, she gave a throaty chuckle, sad and dirty.

“You always end up getting bruised, one way or another,” I started, but she kissed me.

It had been a while, probably three months. She was depressed and her sex drive disappeared. The roller derby brought it back a little, but this was something else. This was goodbye.

I eased her onto the bed, hovering over her. I kissed her bruised face. I kissed her chapped lips. She rubbed her cheek against my stubble. She pulled her shirt off.

It’s superficial, but I’d miss her tattoos most of all. It was the main physical trait that would define her in my mind. As I kissed her shoulders, my lips traces the minute raised skin of the thick black letters and all the little symbols and secrets. I remembered every story, every detail. I still remember the why and where of all of them.

Her kisses grew wilder and so I held her down. Given time every action turns cliche, but just then it seemed more like nostalgia. That was until she started to fight. This wasn’t a little wilting flower, this was a tough girl who could take most people I know in fight. This wasn’t submission, this was making me earning it. I held her down by the wrists with all my strength and all my weight.

I pushed her legs open with my own and pressed against her. She writhed, she bit my lip when I tried to kiss her again. I let go of one of her wrists and she immediately pushed at my chest with her free hand. I pulled the cups of her bra down and sucked at her thick brown nipples, I bit down just enough to make her yelp. Her hand was in my hair, pulling me to her and pushing me away at the same time.

The haze of a long day at work and the sadness of the whole situation were gone for a moment. I was strong and she was hungry. I reached down, pushing away her skirt. I found her panties and pulled hard, ripping them, but not enough. She raised her ass, trying to push me away and trying to get more of her clothes off. I pulled again and came away with most of the fabric.

She was gasping and moaning. This wasn’t playful roughness, this was the death throws of our love. This was the only thing keeping us from crying. I pulled at my belt, I pilled at my zipper, I pulled out my cock. I had to concentrate on her, I had to bury my face in her tits and kiss her copper tasting lips just to get hard. I had to do anything but think.

Still reality was there, in the background, and as I held her down, my fingers moved to the bedside table. There was a little ceremony in that motion, in the creak of the drawer. Familiar squares of foil right where I left them. I remembered these same motions a hundred other times, in the salad days, in the laughing midnights.

She eyed me, ceasing the fight long enough to let me me slip the condom on. Then she smiled as she arched her back in my moan and my cock pressed against the coarse hairs of her sex.

She was wet, I could smell it, strong and tart. It smelled like Betty. She was fighting again, but her hips were bucking up, her legs open, her moans turning into needy whimpers. I rubbed against her, I slipped against her, and then I pushing into her.

Sex with Betty was always a quick affair for some reason. Maybe that was one of reasons it was going to end. I liked to draw things out. I liked to tease and play. She was impatient and deep down very ashamed of it all. All that wanting went to waste with her.

She needed to be hit and be needed to be held down, but she could never talk about it. Those secret moments of violence, when she pulled my hands to her neck. Electric and forbidden and lost once they ended.

All I ever wanted to do was remember and record it all, but that was me. I over-thought it, or so she said. If I tried to make her beg she would grow cold, and really, for me, the begging was the best part.

All that fluttered through my mind as I fucked her. Looking down, her eyes were closed and she bit her lip. She was wet to the point that I could feel it on my thighs. The muscles of her sex were tight; her powerful legs were wrapping around me and pulling me in.

She didn’t want foreplay and she didn’t like her clit played with. It all bored her, she would slap my fingers away. Going down on her was occasional and for my benefit. She just wanted to fuck and she wanted it to hurt.

As I fucked her I remembered that first time in a motel. She was strong and wild, so different from other women I’d been with. It was awkward, because I didn’t know how to top her the way she needed to be topped, I didn’t know if I was strong enough physically or emotionally, at least not in that moment, in that motel room, both of us drunk and high from a concert.

As I fucked her that last time, I felt myself grow more and more detached. She was lost in it, though, and I watched as her body went through the motions and cycles. Her blush spreading down her chest, her breath growing faster. When she came she came hard and punched and then clawing at my shoulder, needed something to hold on to as I fucked her through it.

After the waves of her pleasure broke, I lost my drive. The moment had passed and I grew soft. I just pulled myself off of her and she didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t come. She rolled onto her side, our bodies no longer touching. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or crying. I crawled off the bed and pulled the blanket onto of her.

I cleaned up the mess in the living room and wrote through the night, knowing the next day she would leave, and knowing I had to get the memories down before they were tainted or gone.

After that it was all packing and crying and the long days of uncertainty. I came out better in the end. She moved back west and found another boy to hurt her, one way or another.

Kink for All Rundown

I have a lot of thoughts floating around in my head. I went to the Kink for All NYC (KFANYC) today and although I was unable to present due to a rather serious family crisis I did catch the last few hours of the “unconference” and I enjoyed it a lot. Then again I was probably part of the minority who had never been to a “proper” sex conference so I don’t have much to compare it to, but I liked what I saw and heard.

I have been to a mix variety of kink related outings. Pleasure Salon and the such. Some more private little meet ups as well, but this was probably the biggest kink event I have been to. Surprisingly I felt very comfortable. In fact I would say I felt very much at home and very confident. I listened to intelligent people speak intelligently about gender, identity, sexuality, kink, BDSM, media and everything in-between. I saw a caning demo which was far more intriguing then I expected it to be. I was in general very enthralled with everything and everyone. It was exciting.

It left me with a lot of questions though. As much as I felt like I belonged there seemed to be a part of me that felt like an outsider. Almost everyone there was in some way queer and although I don’t know if I am exactly “straight” in every sense I don’t know if I am far enough from binary male/masculine to consider myself queer. There seems to be a large gap in the talks about the place of straight men in kink society other than johns, pornography consumers or roadblocks. I’m sure I am generalizing a lot, but that’s mostly how it felt.

I grew up in a feminist household with various types of queer folk around me, but I’m heterosexual or at least heteroflexible. At the same time I’ve read and researched a lot of gender theory and queer theory, so at times I find myself examining my masculinity in ways that butches might, but often other straight men don’t. At least not any I know, that is. I would go as far as to say that I have fetishized my straightness. Does that make sense?

Anyhow, just some thought that were floating around. Also thanks to any and all who read this blog and I apologize for it going unattended for a while. I have a lot of very hot stories on the burner, but life has been getting in the way. The economy and various unforeseen crises tend to suck out the drive to create. Of course let me repost an old message so as to remind my dear readers of how they can help inspire:

An Immodest Proposal

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, in that case aren’t a thousand words worth a picture? If you like my stories, anecdotes, reviews and fiction then get out a camera and take a dirty picture for me. You can be as anonymous as you like, I don’t mind, I just ask that the picture be graphic. I need fuel for dirty stories, you know. Don’t worry, I’ll never show anyone. After all, I’m greedy and they are my payment for all these dirty words. Email them or comment with a link.

Shameless Self Promotion

love_notes_antho_498a09e122b68Part of being a decadent hedonist with no spiritual beliefs or moral compass is that I feel no compunction about self promotion. This is, after all, my blog.

My first piece of commercially published erotica is now available in ebook format!

You can get it at Ravenous Romance for only $4.99!

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! Oh wait. Yes it is.

There are stories by other sex bloggers who are nearly as famous and talented as I am, like Rachel Kramer Bussel (who also edited the anthology), Greydancer and NookieNotes.

Synopsis
Our favorite music inspires us to move, dance and, yes, get busy in more intimate ways. Love Notes celebrates dancing queens, rock stars, groupies, anthems and more as the characters stroke each other to the sounds that make them soar. One woman masturbates to her favorite song while a stripper slinks her way into a man’s life. From Madonna to Shania Twain to Led Zeppelin and beyond, they channel their favorite music to make love to.

Love Notes celebrates the erotic power of music to move us, whether it’s listening to a lover rock out, fantasizing about your rock star crush, or making the sweetest and sexiest of music together. Singers, sirens and dancing queens get busy to a sex soundtrack ranging from heavy metal to classical and beyond. Get ready to get serenaded, seduced, and smitten with Love Notes.

Contributing Authors:

  • Jocelyn Bringas
  • Eve Carpenter
  • Heidi Champa
  • Jeremy Edwards
  • Mark Farley
  • Greydancer
  • Delilah T. Jones
  • Shanna Katz
  • Janne Lewis
  • Zach Lindley
  • Jincey Lumpkin, Esg.
  • Madlyn March
  • Mia
  • NookieNotes
  • J. M. Snyder
  • Craig Sorensen
  • Jack Stratton
  • Elizabeth St John
  • Mariana Tolentino
  • Brandi Woodlawn
  • Rachel Kramer Bussel

Review – The Maven

544There are a lot of things in my life that can use improvement, I freely admit this. One thing, dare I say the only thing, in my life that I thought I had perfected it was masturbation.

Unlike many women I know most men have it down pat. Sure the female sex blogging community are usually able to get themselves off easily, but a lot of girls I know have trouble. Every guy I know can make themselves come in a good minute and a half. Why would we need to masturbatory toy?

Well, there is the prostate, given, but that is a whole different catagory. There are a variety of new sensation that a dude can explore, but we surely don’t need help with the actual jerking off part, do we?

I’m a “masturbator” n00b, obviously. I’ve never used a sleeve of any kind. No fleshlight for me. What do I need with that?

Enter, The Maven. No seriously, enter one, they rock.

I’d never heard of elastomer, but apparently is it this silky cushy soft polymer that is phthalate-free and hypoallergenic. It’s porous, so it’s pretty much just a toy for one… though I’m not sure why you would want to share it unless you were putting on a show for someone.

I like the material, but it sort of never gets totally dry once you use lube and wash it off. It is very easy to clean, though. You just use it and then flip it inside out and wash it with soap and water. I keep it wrapped in paper towels between uses.

I use a little Astroglide, but any water based lube will do.

Ok, so how does it feel? Well, it certainly isn’t as good as sex, but it is better than your hand. The softness is interesting, like a blow job from someone with soft lips. That sounded a lot creepier than I wanted it to.

We are men, we don’t need pretty adjectives. The thing is affordable as sex toys go and it lasts a long time and it feel really good and it also reduces cleanup. You use it and then you take it to the bathroom and turn it inside out and wash it out. Fun!

I put a little dress on mine and I am planning on introducing it to my mom soon.

The Maven is not going to change your life, but it may change the way you masturbate or at least give you an interesting change of pace.

Three and a half stars!

Not a Review, a Story about Condoms

I feel like I need to talk about something I found a month ago that has changed my sex life more than anything in the last ten years.

The right condom.

I never really had a big problem with condoms. They were just a thing I had to used unless I was in a serious monogamous relationship and my partner was on some form of birth control. I thought I was buying good ones. I got various Trojans, usually just the lubricated ones in the blue package. I never really thought about it, which come to think of it was odd since I think about everything else having to do with sex far too much.

In the past I had a few experiences where I tried to put on a condom and it just didn’t work. It got stuck half way on and wouldn’t roll anymore. Then I try and pull at it, hold the tip, roll it back a little and then try again. By then my hands are covered in lube and my erection is withering.

I curse. I makeout a little, fool around and get out of my head. I try a new one, but now the pressure is on.

For some reason in the last few months this started happening a lot more. Also a few times I noticed that the condom felt way tighter on my cock, especially around the middle. It got a little painful sometimes.

Now, I have a average sized cock. It is normal and I am happy with it. I have been told it is a little thick but I don’t think it is girthy enough to need some kind of extra large condom. Still these problems were getting annoying so I decided to try a few new ones.

I tried the Trojan Extra Sensitive and liked that one even less than the regular kind. I tried a regular lubricated Lifestyle, which felt very similarly to the Trojan and I even tried a non latex condom when I was with a girl who was allergic to latex and didn’t like that one at all.

So I did a little research. I went on a few sites that had condom reviews. I found that Durex seemed to test very well, especially the Extra Sensitive and the Love varieties.

I couldn’t find the Love so I settled on the Extra Sensitive. From the first go I found they slipped on far more easily that any other I have used. The sex was way better, smoother, it felt more like bareback sex. Also my partners seemed to get less sore and these condoms didn’t smell like latex.

I am so excited I ordered a hundred of the Durex Love condoms.

These new condoms combined with the bottle of Sliquid I got at the calendar party have made for a new world of sex. I swear the sex has been so good I haven’t even had any time to tie anyone up!