Playtime

Nick walked in the front door and smiled as he heard soft gasps and moans coming from upstairs. Apparently Hilary had slipped out of work a bit early to have a bit of fun. He thought he’d sneak upstairs and surprise his wife; perhaps offer a hand or other body parts and he chuckled softly to himself. Quietly he made his way upstairs, listening to the noises growing louder as he moved.

Smiling, he walked into their bedroom just in time to watch her explode into an orgasm, her eyes closed, body taut and then limp after a long moment. “Well, my dear, I was coming to offer a hand but it doesn’t seem that you need one,” he quipped. Hilary opened her eyes in surprise and then smiled invitingly at Nick. “Oh I think I need more than a hand. Come play with me.” Nick returned his wife’s smile and stripped quickly, before sliding into bed next to her.

He kissed her tenderly and pulled her close to him; his hands tracing her body. She was soft and warm and still trembling from that orgasm he’d watched. All he wanted was to see her like that again, preferably this time because of him. Their kisses deepened and Hilary moaned softly, rubbing her body against Nick’s. She had been horny all day long and him catching her mid-orgasm had only turned her on more. She wanted him. Her hands dug into his skin as she wriggling against him and when she felt his cock stiffen and twitch against her she laughed softly, tore her lips from his, and whispered, “Fuck me.” Nick shook his head and lowered it to her breasts where he alternated sucking first one nipple and then the other, while his hands roamed over whatever parts of her he could reach. His touch set her skin on fire and every time he sucked or bit at her nipples it sent an electrifying shock through her body.

Nick slipped one hand between them and ran his fingers through the tight curls of Hilary’s unshaven mound. She pressed herself against his hand and he gently touched her clit, finding her ready and wiling and began to rub his fingers across her skin, already slick with her juices. “Yes…oh yes.” His touch would increase for a moment before coming almost to a stop, teasing her; he enjoyed her squirming against him, wanting more than he was going to give right at that second. Nick rested his thumb against her clit, gently rubbing against it as a finger drew ever shrinking circles around her pussy. Her wetness was seeping from her and he was going to fuck his wife. But not without making her come for him.

Hilary relaxed into his touch and held onto him, planting tiny kisses wherever she could reach his skin and he purred low in his throat at the feeling. He loved the feel of her lips on his skin. Giving her no warning he quickly plunged two fingers inside of her, fluttering them rapidly against her, before drawing them out and offering them to her. She sucked his fingers into her mouth, tasting herself and sighed softly as he pulled them away. Nick grinned and kissed her, enjoying the taste of her as well and tweaked both nipples before making his way back down to play with her gorgeous, pink pussy. Two fingers in and out, not enough, teasing her and Hilary bucked her hips rocking them back and forth to the rhythm he had set, trying to reach the orgasm she so clearly wanted.

While his fingers fucked her pussy, he held onto her, kissing her fiercely and rubbing his thumb back and forth, maddeningly slowly, across her clit. She gasped and squirmed still riding those two fingers and pulled away from his kisses to almost beg for more. He smiled at her and kissed her again, never ceasing his movements. She growled in simple frustration between kisses and it made him grin against her lips. Their tongues dueled together and Hilary wanted to just beg for another orgasm, but that was proving useless. They were moving at his pace and Nick was enjoying pushing her harder and higher and further before she came for him. Another tiny noise escaped her lips and he loved to hear it. He wanted more of those noises and gently added a third finger to her dripping pussy. She hissed with need and her hips began to rock back and forth nearly as hard as possibly, as he fucked her, kissed her, loved her.

This time it was Nick who broke the kiss and whispered to her, “Come for me.” Hilary’s eyes grew wide at his words and she froze then as he fingered her harder and faster until abruptly, that orgasm she had been chasing washed through her body and she squealed as her hips moved against Nick’s fingers of their own accord at this point. She thrashed about in his grip and he watched her orgasm, smiling a deeply satisfied smile. Hilary collapsed back into Nick’s arms and smiled up at him. “Please tell you’re not done with me?” He laughed and kissed the woman he loved. “Hell, no darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you til you can’t see straight.”

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Book Review: “Ask: Building Consent Culture” by Kitty Stryker

Consent is a vital point to leading a healthy life, not just sexually, but emotionally, physically, and mentally as well. In a world where rape culture is so prevalent, where young men get off with little to no punishment because it will ruin their future (see: Brock Turner, for example), we need to make these changes and start to learn and understand consent culture. Consent culture isn’t sex positive or sex negative, but instead it has become sex critical and is incredibly important to improving everyone’s lives in amazing ways.

Kitty Stryker is aiming to start a conversation we should already be having and to push the idea of consent forward with her book, “Ask: Building Consent Culture.” Covering the idea of consent everywhere from in the bedroom to out in the community and places in between, Ms. Stryker’s book is a striking anthology of consent and how it should ideally function throughout today’s society.

Everything from dealing with how to manage consent when you have a mental illness, to teaching children (and adults) consent in ways that engage them and empower them, to the idea that men need to be able to teach other men the concept of honor and how not to abuse any power they may feel that they have over people, and much more is covered in this book. I wish I could list every single instance and story that is told because in their own ways I found them all moving, learned something from them all, and deepened my own view of consent and consent culture.

“Ask: Building Consent Culture” teaches us that consent should start at home, within the family, and that children should be taught that they do have bodily autonomy and hugging a family member or friend is not required of them. And in chosen families rather than blood families that consent is equally important though perhaps infinitely more difficult to navigate even as adults. It goes on to demonstrate that consent culture should begin at a young age in order to help children understand that consent is necessary for asserting dominion over their own bodies or feelings. Akilah S. Richards’ article “Bodily Autonomy for Kids”, is a fantastic example of just how consent and intuition work together to keep a person safe and aware of their own personal boundaries which leads to a more well-adjusted view on consent culture as an adult.

Ms. Stryker’s book also touches on the idea of implied consent in sexual spaces and how that can lead to people mirroring those same behaviors in a society that is already heavily skewed towards implied consent. Getting an enthusiastic, informed consent is far better than assuming that “yes means yes.” To foster consent culture it must be brought out of those sexual situations and into our everyday lives and “Ask: Building Consent Culture” illustrates the point nicely. In order to have fully informed, enthusiastic consent, the sexual culture itself must change and that is something that “Ask” proposes to have happen. But in the year 2017, changing the culture around sex and sexuality is only the tip of the iceberg, because what really must change is the fabric of society itself. This book has done an excellent job of promoting this throughout the articles and stories written in these pages and is a must read for anyone who wishes to learn more about consent, to be more active in getting or giving consent, or just people who are interested in the modern sexual revolution.

You can pre-order “Ask: Building Consent Culture” on www.amazon.com for $14.95.

Sex with Women vs. Sex with Men (My Experiences)

I’ve had my share of sex with both men and women and it seems like there can be a huge difference between the two. Dating almost exclusively girls all the way through high school I was in awe of their softness and femininity. It was such a contrast for someone who felt they came off as hard and at least a little butch. I loved the way their skin felt under my hands and the softness of their lips. I loved that they often seemed soft and plaint and were ready, willing, and able to do anything I asked. If they said no, then it was no and the same went if I said no. I was very aggressive with them and it worked. I thoroughly enjoyed all the time I spent with my girls. One of my best nights was with my friend (we’ll call her Kitty) and she was soft and plump and her breasts were delightful. We are still friends and even now I love her a little.

Kitty was brave and fearless and would try anything that came up in conversation. We often shared nights at her house making love as quietly as we could so we didn’t get caught by her parents and then have to explain ourselves as neither of us were out yet except at school (although I suspect my father knew about me). But my experiences with Kitty were what shaped a lot of my sexual attitudes and mores because we were both willing to be so honest with one another.

With all my girlfriends and female FWBs learning our bodies and each others bodies brought only pleasure and we reveled in it, delighted by what we learned and shared with one another. Protection never seemed like an issue we had to worry about since we couldn’t get pregnant and the idea that one of us might have an STI never seemed to occur to us.

I did have sex with one young woman who was a few years older than me who was hard and definitely butch, but very tiny. It made for an interesting contract between the two of us because despite her attitude and mine being so similar I still took charge of our activities and she became passive and incredibly lovely for me. I remember that she loved my eyes and I could look at her and that was all it took to have her wanting. And I frequently teased her, by looking at her over the tops of my sunglasses with a wicked smile on my face, just to watch her melt. We didn’t last long, but she is the one who really taught me that my sexuality was more powerful than I knew. And I began to use that power to try and seduce straight friends I was attracted to, which never worked well, although many of them were flattered at the attention as teenage girls can be. When I realized that I could have this power over girls I got curious and began to try it out with the boys.

And when I say boys I really mean young men, most of whom were older than me as the boys at my high school didn’t date “girls like me.” I wasn’t a pretty, popular cheerleader nor was I slender or even considered notable. (It blew my mind that some of my girlfriends found me attractive even.) But I digress. Back to the slightly older young men that I flirted with and teased. They were harder. Their lips not as soft, their skin slightly rougher, facial hair and larger hands. Being intimate with a man became a far different experience for me. I became the passive one, letting them lead me into activities.

I was game for pretty much anything that came along, provided that protection was used, and I always enforced that rule. And the men I fucked all found me attractive despite my being a little chubby, with unruly wavy hair, and an average enough face. And they would tell me so, as much as the girls did, which both flattered me and blew me away. I could understand how another woman might find me attractive, but these men who could have easily been fucking someone much prettier than I was struck me as odd and strange at first. I finally began to believe it and that gave me a desperately needed confidence boost. I kept my circle of FWBs small (because that’s all these men were to me and I to them.) I let them manhandle me, fuck me, make me come, but not one of them was able to bring my submissive nature really to the forefront. Even my husband of ten years failed to do that, although that was largely lack of trying on his part. But even as I was passive with the men that I fucked or let fuck me I was never afraid to say stop or tell them no. And most of them (save my now ex-husband) respected that rule. Consent was important in all of my relationships and I made certain that people knew that. I never felt devalued because I didn’t want to do something. I don’t think sex with the boys at my high school would have been quite the same.

The most striking thing about sex with men that endeared me to them was that, contrary to the rumors I heard, these guys wanted to please ME. It wasn’t all about them, but it was about us. When you’ve heard different for as long as you’ve been talking about sex with your female friends it can be surprising to learn that they were wrong and it is OK to take pleasure in sexual acts with men. And I did, just like I had with the ladies I was with. But there was still something surreal about sharing pleasure with a man for a long time.

Overall, I think the biggest difference in my experiences tended to vary from person to person, more than from men and women. I know that I was the aggressor with one sex and the passive partner with the other, but it was all sex, and usually good sex, although I did have some bombs like we all have I’m sure. Those tended to be more with men for whatever reason. I think it was a lack of communication on both parts. Sex was and is something I enjoy and while today I choose to be in a committed relationship with a man, I would have zero qualms about getting involved with a woman if the timing was right and having that softer experience once again.

Mental Health/Illness and Sexuality

I have spent the better part of a week now trying to figure out just how the connection between my mental health and my sex life intersects. I keep finding a lot of data, but it is difficult to parse and even harder to explain.

What it boils down to is that I have been everywhere from hypersexual to functionally asexual depending on how manic or depressed I was at any given time. Various medications that I have been on have also heightened these effects in either direction as well.

Having an abusive former spouse who did not understand or did not care about the wild variations and how they affected me meant that my own sexuality as well as my mental health was used against me (in addition to bipolar disorder type 2 with rapid cycles I also suffer from an anxiety disorder and, due to the trauma of my marriage, PTSD)

I’ve been coerced, tortured, abused, and more recently, loved for the first time in my life. The decade of the coercion combined with my mental illness has left incredible scars on my psyche. Talking about sex can, at times, be impossible for me (and I’m a sex blogger so that’s gotta change), communicating my wants or needs is an arduous task at best, and simply allowing myself to want something, much less ask for it is a struggle. My partner has been incredibly, incredibly patient with me and wonderful to me throughout everything that has gone on both while watching my marriage fall apart and being unable to help and then afterwards when we ended up together.

Sometimes, an unexpected noise like a door creaking can derail sex because it triggers my panic attacks, sometimes I can’t even bear to be touched because of the flashbacks; other times I wake up screaming. All of these instances work in conjunction to take my sexuality and smash it into a bunch of tiny pieces that I can’t put back together. All because the connections in my brain aren’t wired quite right and someone chose to exploit that under the guise of loving me.

Having spent years of my life viewing my sex life through that lens of abuse has meant that I didn’t really know what to expect from my partner and that my partner has been, and continues to be, very careful with me at times. It is a safety issue for us that goes beyond things like safewords and best practices regarding safe sex. It is what reminded me that consent is sexy as well as necessary. I was introduced to the idea of using lube, because my ex thought that it wasn’t necessary, I’m learning that it is OK to talk and laugh and have fun, that it is OK if things don’t end in an orgasm, or six. Basic things, that I may have learned long before I was married, but I later had ripped from me and dismissed as frigidity, sluttishness (in a condescending usage), or simple stupidity as though I was incapable of knowing about my own wants and needs and clearly too dumb to attend to those of the “man” in my life.

I wouldn’t wish the things that I have suffered upon anyone, not even the ex from hell, but it is my hope that even just one person sees this post and knows that they are more than their mental illness, more than just someone to be used and tossed aside, more than just their cunt, their breasts, their penis, their body as sexual tool. You can be crazy and having a happy fulfilling sex life. You can be an abuse survivor and find a new normal. Mental illness and/or trauma does not have to dictate who or what you are.

That’s your job. Now, go do you.

Love,

Livvy

Why We Need Consent

I know that I just addressed the topic of consent very recently, but today I found an article published in The Washington Post that detailed the results of a survey conducted across 27 of our nation’s top schools, that totaled responses from more than 150,000 students.
Continue reading “Why We Need Consent”