The Dirty Whore has been talking about faking it. It’s such a relief to see another sexually aware, indescribably juicy, fully in love with the unh woman admit that yep, she fakes it. Not all the time of course. But my body is greedy about its orgasms. It doesn’t give them away easily. There are times when I can’t make myself come, dammit, and I’m the biggest expert there...
When I started blogging in 2000, there just weren’t a lot of sex blogs out there. Oh, sure, Daze, and a few others, but they were mostly news-oriented blogs as opposed to something more personal. Well, three years later, blogging has exploded (I rarely have to explain what a blog is anymore) and there are some deliciously tasty morsels out there for the blog enthusiast who just loves...
Two things that caught my interest tonight… Couple ordered to stop squealing and groaning during sex: An Italian couple have been ordered to make love more quietly after the woman’s screams of ecstasy provoked complaints from neighbours. The couple, both in their 20s, were taken to court after a family living next door grew fed up at being woken up by high pitched squeals and groaning...
Part 4 of 4. You stand behind me, thinly veiled impatience shimmering between us, your hands on my hips as I open the door. The door closes behind us. You push me up against it. Your eyes glitter in the dark. You bury your right hand in my hair and slant your lips towards mine. I’m rigid, seeking your mouth, wanting this kiss more than I could have ever imagined.
Halloween 1988 was an evening I will never forget. I was sitting beside my very first boyfriend (we had been going out all of two weeks) in my basement, watching the movie Halloween on video. It was completely dark in the room except for the flicker of the screen. My lips were still swollen from our marathon makeout session before the movie, and I had daringly placed my hand on his thigh while we...
Part 3 of 4. You stop in front of a black car. You turn to lean against it and pull my hand, using my forward motion to carry me right into you. Your mouth slams on mine as though eternity would not be long enough to get a taste. I whimper in the back of my throat and bring my hands up to your chest, your arms.
Part 2 of 4. I watch your eyes flare, your breathing change subtly as my finger moves over you. As my words work on you. The look in your eyes tells me that you want nothing more than to drag me out of this bar to someplace with a door to close on the world and a bed on which to lay me down.
Part 1 of 4. I’m in town on business. You weren’t sure if we should meet. In truth, neither was I, because I have pretty firm beliefs about married men, but after months of verbally stimulating each other to the point of madness, my body wants you. It wants your touch.
The short version is that I left my husband because we didn’t have sex any more. The long version is, as you’d expect, a lot more complicated than that, but it hits the highlights well enough. Because it’s never just about not having sex. It’s about all the reasons (the ones you know, and the ones you don’t) why you’re not having sex, it’s about how not...
I promised a while back that I would tell the story of how I lost my virginity. People just love telling these stories anyway, but I've always found my initiation into intercourse to be particularly amusing. To me, at least, and hopefully for some of you as well.