Thursday, August 30, 2007

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Part I

And so I agreed to do whatever She wanted to do. I mean how far could She go, how strong could She be. We don't have many toys to play with, and usually She's so conventional and vanilla in sex, not quite submissive, but never taking the lead, always the follower, the done unto person.

We met in a hotel room, neutral territory, but of Her choosing, and She was already in the room when I arrived. After a quick negotiation about a safety word, which is what She called it, Sheasked me to pull back the sheets, take off all my clothes, and lie on the bed face up. She took off her shirt and skirt, and was wearing underwear that I'd never seen her in, that She'd bought specially for this, a black shelf bra that thrust her breasts way out, Her pink nipples erect, a sheer thong also in black, and thigh hi stockings. Perhaps I'd misjudged the situation....

I lay down in the middle of the bed, and She took three silk ties out of the carryall on the dresser, tying one end of each around each wrist and then securing the other end somewhere off the end of the bed, out of sight. She used the last tie to blindfold me loosely. I was in total darkness, and worried more with each passing moment. I could hear Her fumbling in the bag again, and then felt Her fastening some device around my scrotum,tightening it until the balls felt like they were bulging obscenely, like grapes being squeezed. Another part of the device fastened around my cock, which was now fully erect, and it positioned my cock to almost vertical, forcing it to stand up almost against my stomach.

I heard Her go back to the carryall, and then felt Her climb up onto the bed and straddle my chest at the waist. She pulled hard on one nipple, and then fastened something onto it as She pulled it up...I could recognize the feel of a miniature bulldog clamp, shooting a jolt of pain as it closed. My cock leapt and pulsed, although trapped. "Don't you dare cum yet," She whispered in my ear. "We're just getting started here." She attached the other clamp, and pulled them apart and together several times, up and down several times, around in circles again and again. My nipples felt inches long as She pulled on them, and my cock began to drool precum.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Watching Porn

Guys watch porn, that's a given. Whether it's glossy and high production level, amateur where they can't quite hold the camera straight and steady, whether it's the things you like to do or the things you don't get to do. Guys watch porn. Maybe it's part of the hard wiring process.

For the most part, women don't watch porn. Yet when they do, they seem to be enormously turned on by it. Whether it's the same reaction as men is hard to know, but porn does reach women when they watch it.

Whenever we watch movies or tv with sexual encounters in it, She's always turned on by it, and She always gets into bed fully ready to open Her legs wide and grab my cock. Why doesn't She make the connection and admit to what turns Her on? Would She be admitting to liking something She thinks of, or used to think of, as immoral or amoral? Doesn't She understand or track what's happening in Her mind when She watches sex?

Or is this part of the approach/denial syndrome?

Earworm-Cat Mother and the All Night Newsboys-Track in A

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Carrots (What It's Like)

We go to the Farmer's Market in the village every weekend, and She's become enamoured of the produce of one of the farmers who's trying to go organic (a long and difficult process to certification). And when we went last Saturday, I saw them--a big bunch of multi-colored carrots, not the wimpy ones you usually get at the greenmarket, but hefty, almost tuber looking carrots in purple, orange, white, red. Large and fat, turgid, they looked like a bunch of erect penises.

I've always felt that I should experience whatever She experiences sexually---it's why I started playing around with a butt plug, although that's gotten way further than just mutual experience (my collection is now up to three, and I'm still struggling with the Tristan), but that's another story for another time.

And so I knew what I had to do. I bought the carrots and took them home to play with. I picked out the one that looked most like an erect penis and put it in my mouth, then put it further in my mouth, then lay down on the bed with my head hanging over the edge and put it more into my mouth. I have a terrible gag reflex, and it was all I could do to stay with it, trying to focus on relaxing, yet moving it in and out of my mouth as far as it would go, and I have a large mouth.

In something I read recently, either a blog or in the Village Voice, the writer (a woman) had put on a strap on and was pegging her partner, and she reflected on the co-ordination difficulties she was having. Honey, I sure can understand how giving a blow job, a good blow job, can be hard work, and I can sure appreciate the good ones that I've gotten. And I was essentially doing myself here, at least as far as the oral activity was concerned.

Earworm-Beethoven, Symphony #5-Finale

Saturday, August 25, 2007

"In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye...."

And so summer was over, not this past week, and not this weekend, but about two weeks ago, or so. Jack at the beach told me about this a couple of years ago, and I was able to see it clearly for the first time this year.

The quality of the light changes at a certain point at the beginning of August, and it's all downhill from there. It's not a temperature thing, and sometimes it easier to see it at the beach, where the sun glints off the waves. It can still be hot, vicious hot, and it can feel like the warm time of year, but summer is definitely on the downhill slide. Makes me sad....

Most of the world still views the calendar as a September to August situation, meaning that we all still live on the academic year, not the January to December calendar. Kids know this and those of us that refuse to grow up have known this for a long time.

Singers and readers of the readers of the Old Testament know where the title comes from.

Earworm-None, too late at night, and everyone is asleep

Friday, August 24, 2007


I've always referred to some actresses as broads, although She never liked the term. It was referring to a certain type of actress that could appear tough and yet vulnerable at the same time, who was quick with a smirk or a leer, who picked or chose her moments with men, and who chose when to lose control and surrender.

Ellen Barkin was always like that, long before she got married and divorced. She's that way in the movie Siesta, a film probably best forgotten except for her and for the soundtrack by Miles. Without going back to see it, what I remember is a young girl, tough as nails, making her own way and making her own choices. Holly Hunter is like that now in Saving Grace on TNT. She decides, pure and simple, no matter what the choice is. She decides. Helen Shaver is another.

None of them is a knockout, all attractive and well proportioned (and all blondes, now that I think about it), but all have that certain toughness, that certain edge, that makes you want to do their bidding, no matter what it might be.

Earworm-Allman Brothers-Dreams

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Surrender #2

During the summer, we wind up watching movies and TV shows that we order from Netflix, things we either didn't feel like spending $22 dollars on in the theaters, or stuff on premium channels that we don't subscribe to (we don't get any of them, no HBO, no Showtime, no nothin').

One of the shows we're catching up on this summer is Weeds, second season. The plot gets too convoluted to try to explain, but there's a sequence where the Mary Louise Parker's brother-in-law is trying to seduce the principal of his yeshiva/rabbinical school, only to have her reject him as not being manly enough (not a macho guy, the brother-in-law). But she does like his smooth skin and smooth ways....And in the next scene, she's stripped down to sexy underwear and thigh high stockings, and he's wearing less. She has on a strap on with a black cock that's way bigger than most guy's equipment, he's kneeling on the bed, and waiting on the penetration, as she tells him it's not as big as he thinks it is, and yes he can handle it.

We watched this together, and interestingly enough, She didn't comment on the scene at all, hot as it was. Maybe She's getting the idea, now that she's gotten together with the concept of sticking more than one finger up my butt....

Random Thoughts #1

How long do you stay with an unposting blog? I had been reading Three World Collide until the beginning of July, when they suddenly stopped posting, and one of my alltime favorties, Myths and Metawhores, a truly literate blog dealing with all sorts of sexy issues, now posts photos (of the blogger??) and poetry (not by the blogger, but great stuff, nonetheless) on a more or less monthly basis.

Why do I have more patience with the antics and foibles of Lindsay Lohan than with Britney Spears? Is it because she's done some wonderful movie work and has legitimate talent, as opposed to doing videos for MTV which usually generate leers in the gym when they run on the very large screens there? These are both two sad confused little girls with no serious adult guidance in sight, yet for me one seems more pitiable and sad, whereas the other is just laughable (and sad as well).

And why can I never clean up my desk, no matter how hard I try?

Earworm-Robert Randolph Band, Ain't Nothing Wrong With That

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Test Driving

I've been laid low since last Friday with a wicked stomach virus, and am just now surfacing, and I'll try to post more frequently.

I hate like hell buying new things. It's almost always true that I can never get what I really want, but rather only what's on the market. A year ago, I had to go car shopping, and wound up with a compromise that I'll have for the next ten years (I live in NYC, use a car sparingly, i.e. ten thousand miles a year, and am gentle). It wasn't what I really wanted, but I couldn't test drive the car for a month or two to really find out---bad turning radius, no trunk passthrough, city gas mileage overstated. It's not unpleasant to drive, just so vanilla, and it does have those problems.

Last week I went to my local branch of Babeland to buy toys, and came away just as disappointed. I had gone in to buy something called an Aneros, something to please and pleasure myself with, but was struck by an item on the counter, colored bright blue, called Pandora, which had multi vibrating speeds. Looked very jazzy, went in really easy (made of silicone I think) but didn't quite hit the right spots for me I'm not cumming all over the place...and this always leads to mild paranoia. Are my parts in the wrong places? Am I doing it wrong? I understand that you can't take the toys home, try them out, and then bring them's not Bloomingdales, but I wish there were some other vetting possibilities, other than consumer comments on the Babeland website. Not Babeland's fault, but I wish there were some other way to find out what worked and what didn't.

Earworm-Gerald Wilson Orchestra-In My Time

Sunday, August 19, 2007


I'm trying hard to understand how women and clothing works, but for the life of me I sometimes just don't get it.

In New York City during the spring and summer months, there's more and more skin showing, more cleavage, more boobs coming out of the tops of low cut tanks and camis, more nipples outlined as women of all ages slip from hot subway platforms to iced subway cars, skimpy sweaters come on and off. I long ago stopped understanding how bras worked, but even I understand that the basic function now is no longer just support, it's push up and display, or it seems to be, it's showoff time now.

I've always been a watcher, sometimes choosing to look rather than participate (more about that another time), but I can't figure out if I'm supposed to stare or not. Is the whole exposure thing an "I'm proud ofwhat I've got here, celebrate me" sort of thing, or is it a "Look at me, I've got great boobs" thing? Am I supposed to look or not?

Very confusing....

Earworm-Mahler, Symphony #10

Wednesday, August 15, 2007


We all are looking for some form of surrender. Eminem puts it right in his song Lose Yourself, if that's the correct title. It's all about giving in to the feeling, the losing control of everything in the quest for surrender, about doing things to and for yourself or having them done to you that go far outside whatever boundaries might exist in everyday life, of loosing the bonds so that they fall by the wayside and disintegrate. I think that hardcore substance abusers understand this best, at least at the very start of their abuse, that initial burst of feeling that nothing else matters except what they're feeling right then.

I've been struggling with writing this for almost a week, ever since reading a post by Toy in her blog. The post was about being a slut, totally surrendering to feelings, and doing this to and by herself. (This sometimes leads to a discussion of how "nobody does you like you do you", but that's for another day and another time.) The post put down in words what I had thought about for a long time, and I salute her for that organizational capability.

Two things continually come to mind here that have appeared elsewhere in print. The first was a scene in that discredited autobiography A Hundred Million Pieces, in which the author describes a female friend of his, so smitten with her dealer crackhead boyfriend, that she allows him to whore her out for all comers, and then throws her out on the street totally naked, dressed only in a cardboard box. The total debasement and embarrassment practically make me stop breathing.

The second was an article in Tristan Taormino's Pucker Up column that appeared about two years ago. She wrote it from a convention, although which one I'm not sure. It was about a woman who totally surrendered to being dominated by anyone in the audience. Again, the concept and ability to give in so fully to whatever puts you over edge makes my throat close in the course of being aroused.

This has taken me almost a week to write, because it forces me organize things best left unorganized, and to say things best left unsaid. Once you put structure to something diaphanous, it establishes a form and structure that diminish the thing you're dealing with.

Earworm: Eminem-Lose Yourself

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Dreams: 2 + 1

We're on an island somewhere in the Caribbean, on our annual vacation. It's always a smaller island with relatively few resorts or hotels, and usually relatively little night life except some dancing to a local band. But for some reason, tonight it seems a whole lot more lively, much more dancehall than usual, and everybody is out on the floor dancing. We all have arms up in the air, and She's dancing next to a beautiful woman, seemingly unattached, their movements mimicing one another side by side. The woman has dark hair and high cheekbones, her eyes flashing with the promise of good times, and she introduces herself to us as Lylah. We all continue dancing together, and then She whispers something into Lylah's ear, which elicits a sly smile and nod. She's invited her to come back to our room and join us.

We're suddenly back in the room, all of us damp and sweaty, in a great hurry to shed clothing. Lylah is kissing Her deeply, and I can see their tongues wrapping around one another, Her pale skin and auburn hair a sharp contrast to Lylah's suntan, Her pinkish nipples pointed forward and mashed against the darker points of the other woman. Lylah pushes her down on the bed, the king size bed, and licks a straight line down the middle of her body to her clit, twirling it around and around. Her legs are spread wide, and Lylah motions for me to join in. She's totally taken control, and we're just following her orders.

My cock is as hard as an iron bar, and I get between Her legs to put it into Her. She puts Her legs up on my shoulders, and in one motion, I'm deep into Her and pistoning away. I can tell that I'm hitting Her good spot, because Her mouth is open and She's drooling slightly, Her face flopped slightly to one side. Suddenly, I feel a cold wetness between my buttcheeks, and I know what's coming. Lylah inserts one finger, then two, and she's hitting my good spot. It feels like I'm coming continuously, as she pushes her fingers in and out, suddenly withdrawing them and leaving my anus gaping for a moment. Then I feel the sudden pressure return to my opening, and I know she's come back at me with a strap on, and in a moment she's deep inside me. I'm still pumping, now in rhythm to her lunges. She reaches up and starts to pull on my nipples, gently first, and then harder and harder, twisting them each in opposite directions, and suddenly I can't wait any longer, coming deep and long inside Her, as I watch Lylah's head hit the pillow next to Her, and She sucks her tongue deep into her bruised looking mouth, tears flowing from Her eyes.

Monday, August 6, 2007

***Seeing Stars***

There are some actors and actresses that just seem to speak to me directly, people that light it up for me instantly, that can do no wrong on either stage or screen. It's not a sexual thing, and it doesn't have to me a woman to get that reaction, but rather some sort of instant communication.

And in the converse, some actors just leave me absolutely cold. I could never make sense of Burt Lancaster, even though I knew he was a really good actor. He just didn't speak to me. I never understood Elizabeth Taylor either, notwithstanding that she was drop dead beautiful.

And now I'm finding the same thing with Leonardo di Caprio (sp??). I know he's doing great work in Blood Diamond, but it's like watching a stick figure for me. I wish I understood why.

Earworm: Paul Simon-Graceland

Friday, August 3, 2007

Only Living Boy in New York

I live in New York City. I was born here, and with the exception of a summer in San Francisco (living in the basement of a Chinese laundry in the Polk Street Gulch and not really understanding why all the guys on the street were checking me out), I've never lived anywhere else. And I've come to realize that I probably don't know how to live anywhere else. I'm trying to learn the skills necessary by spending more and more time in a small town on the East End of Long Island (not the glamorous Hamptons).

I check up on about two dozen blogs on a more or less daily basis, most of them based in the bdsm or adult sexual world, and as soon as I have sufficient patience to figure out the software, I'll list them out on a blogroll. Some of them I know are written far far away (subgidget is north of San Francisco, Elodie somewhere in Scandanavia I think, the dirty couple in Virginia, Mrs. Kelly in Tokyo, others elsewhere), and I know that some of them originate in NYC or the greater metropolitan area ). Engrailed shows the city as her address, tess of urban gypsy is also from here, as is plum, I think, and designing intimacy, which I no longer read, is a college student here.)

Living here brings people up close and personal on a constant and consistent basis. We are close to one another walking on the street, in buses and subways, grocery stores and bodegas. I'm always wondering, have I seen local bloggers face to face? And how would I ever know? We are cloaked in a veil of electronic anonymity, revealing ourselves layer by layer as we write our periodic postings, and can only put a face to a name when everyone agrees to do so.

Sometimes I love the anonymity of it, as it allows me to reveal things about myself that are kept sooo private, and at other times I desperately want to know what everybody looks like. I know that tess started worked hard this spring in the gym with a trainer, and thinks she has a long, hard road to get to how she wants to look physically, and shibari, if the photos she posts are of herself, is drop dead gorgeous from the neck down, but the rest of it is a mystery.

Earworn: Rickie Lee Jones, Easy Money

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Read All About It

When I first met her, long long ago in a galaxy far away, I immediately understood certain things about her...she came from a background far different from mine in oh so many ways, and seemed to enjoy sex on a take it or leave it basis. She had a small narrow mouth (more about this another time), and missionary sex was about the limit of her experience.

But she took my breath away, stole my heart and I never wanted it back. And so I embarked on what would be a journey of trying to expand her horizons. She learned about not being on the bottom all the time, what made her come, sex while menstruating, oral sex, how hot it was to have me masturbate her in the kitchen while guests were ringing the doorbell. We never got to anal penetration (of her), and assplay for the most part wasn't part of the picture (again, for her). Sex was almost always my idea, although She was usually an enthusiastic participant. Porn of almost any sort was out of the question. And over the years have pretty much downshifted to weekend sex, which is fine. The sex I mean, not the downshifting. And because She's a girl, it was usually at the end of a nonconfrontational, nonargumentative day. It wasn't an itch that had to be scratched for her, yet she was always happy to join in.

Tuesday, the NY Times featured an article in the Science section about why people have sex, and included discussion of the 237 reasons given by a large group of people (I'm remembering 2000). I know that She read the article, just as I know that she reads the Get Naked column in Time Out NY. It was an interesting article, although certainly not groundbreaking, not for me anyway. Yet when we got into bed, She was all over me, not interested in her own pleasure in the least, but working hard to do all the special things that exist between long time partners in bed that She would know put me over the top.

Yet I don't think She makes any connection between reading the article about sex and wanting to do it. I'll never understand this basic difference between men and most women. I can sure recognize it all the time, but maybe it's just the hardwiring...guys read about sex, get hard as a rock, and want to do it (OK, not necessarily from that article, but lots of other things). Women read about sex and seem to file it away.

I can't figure out what pushed Her buttons, but I'm not complaining.

In the background: Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli