AlwaysArousedGirl

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If I had my druthers, it would have stayed hidden from them forever.

Barring that, I would have loved a different sort of reaction altogether. “We know you didn’t want us to read your writing. We betrayed your wishes in reading after you’d clearly expressed that you didn’t want us to search for you. We’re sorry, but insatiable curiosity and concern for your well-being made us look. Please forgive us.”

And I would have. I have, even though in real life they’ve not asked for forgiveness.

In my fantasy, they would have continued: “It’s obvious how hard you’ve worked on this, honey. Your site is beautiful and professional. The pictures are lovely. Of course we’ve seen most of them already, but they do look wonderful on the blog.”

I would have glowed with pride. But quietly, you understand.

It would have been nice if my parents had noticed the quality of the writing, regardless of their thoughts about the subject matter. A nod toward my understanding, or maturity, or common-sense would not have been remiss. “I never looked at it that way until I read what you wrote,” they could have said. Or even, “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

I would have cherished those praises.

Or how about this? “We’re from a different generation. We’re not comfortable with your topics, but still we appreciate how hard you’ve worked both to express yourself and to make this unconventional career work. We know finances haven’t been easy, and we’re proud that you can support yourself and your family.”

I can imagine the gratitude I would have felt to hear those words coming from my parents. It would have been a miracle to have their gracious understanding.

Or, you know, they could have read quietly from a distance and not breathed a word about it to my face.

Unfortunately I didn’t get one of my preferred choices.

So I suppose I’ll make due with something else.

Well nothing I come up with seems to work
It feels like everything I say is a lie
And never have a felt like such a jerk
I’m afraid to even open my eyes
Because I really don’t want her to judge me
I want to her really know who I am
And then, and only then she will love me
Well at least that was the plan.

If ever a boy needed a holiday
If ever a girl needed someone to hold
I just hope I don’t act the same way
By the time that I get old.

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We’ve had MyBuddies up as swag before and those contests have been wildly popular. Due to the amazing generosity of the creators of MyBuddy, we’ve got another one to give away today.

Dr. Peter, one of the creators, reports that MyBuddy recently made an appearance at The Exxxotica Miami Beach Convention, where it was lovingly enjoyed by everyone who tried it out. The creators were also interviewed by SIRIUS RADIO’s Playboy Channel®; maybe they’ll let us know when the interview is set to air. Cool!

Just leave a comment below if you’d like a chance to win. Use the form to leave a working email address (visible only to me), and be willing to give me your shipping address if you are the winner. I’ll email the winner at some point after the contest ends at 12:01 am Monday, May 12th.

I know there have been many of you dying to try a MyBuddy, so here’s your chance. Good luck!

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***Swag tomorrow!***

A bunch of us gathered around the host’s kitchen island to nibble on chicken wings at the last play-party I attended. Someone had invited an at-home toy party hostess to the event; I noticed the company name printed on her bag and exclaimed, “Oh, I have some of your lube!”

“You do?” she asked, excited that someone knew of the products. “Which one?

“I’m not sure,” I said, and rummaged around in my bag to find the tiny bottle. “Let me get it.”

A loud woman in her 40s piped up. “You carry lube in your purse?” The tone of her voice told me that if her beer bottle had been empty instead of half-full, she’d have pointed and laughed at me.

I paused a long moment before answering. “Of course. Especially on a night when I’m fairly certain I’ll be playing. Doesn’t everyone bring lube to these things?”

“I produce my own lube,” said the nearly-drunk woman proudly. “I don’t need any fake lube.”

Cheeky monkey, I thought. “Bet you don’t do much buttsex. Or fisting,” I added, watching in amusement as the beer bottles and chicken wings froze on their way to people’s mouths.

“Ew, never!” said my new nemesis. “I don’t want to get all loose and stretched out.”

“Fisting doesn’t stretch you out. Neither does buttsex,” I protested, but she’d turned back to her beer and her boyfriend, secure in her little buttsex-less, unfisted, non-fake-lube world.

She has no idea what she’s missing.

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In a perfect world, he decided, we’d both be nineteen.

“I think I’d prefer to be 30,” I said. “I was much smarter at 30.”

“That goes without saying,” he answered. “See, our bodies would be nineteen but we’d know everything we know now.”

“Oh! Well in that case I think I’ll be sixteen. I was hot at sixteen.”

“Fine. You can be sixteen then.”

“You do realize this is impossible, right? If I’m sixteen, then you have to be twenty-seven.”

“Hon?”

“Yes?”

“This is a fantasy.”

So in our perfect world I am sixteen and he is nineteen but we have all the wisdom and experience we have now. We’d live somewhere fabulous, like Hawaii; we’d lie about all day in a hill-side house open to the ocean breeze. We’d dine on fresh pineapple.

“We’ll have tight little asses and six-packs,” he requested.

“Check. I’ve always wanted a tight little ass and a six-pack.”

“And we’ll be rich. We’d never have to work.”

“Naturally. Who can take time to work when there’s pineapple to be eaten and sex to be had?”

We pause. He rubs me in a way that makes me arch and moan into his mouth.

“Honey?”

“Yes?” he answers.

“I wish I had a tight little ass and a six-pack for you.”

“You’re fine just the way you are.”

“We’re fine just the way we are. Even if we’re a long way from nineteen.”

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My grandmother’s mirror, which used to languish in the bathroom and now hangs on the side wall of my bedroom, is placed such that it reflects the face of the man fucking me doggie style.

I didn’t intend for this to happen but I’m certainly not complaining.

The best part? I can glance up and see his face but not see my own. While I’d prefer it if I could see his face and at the same time spare him the sight of my own ridiculous orgasmic contortions, I acknowledge that this violates a basic law of physics. I do prefer strict obedience to all physical laws within the confines of my bedroom.

When I’m not gettin’ jiggy in my new bed, I’m enjoying long delicious hours of unblemished sleep in it. As per your advice, I purchased the best mattress set I could afford and paired it with an ultra-sturdy reinforced bed frame.

I hung something artsy on the wall above the head of the bed in lieu of a headboard. Unfortunately, I didn’t expect for my choice to become the kitties’ favorite toy; but as small strings, the children’s toys, pieces of fluff, and my eyeglasses have also been repurposed as kitty toys, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

My parents contributed a new comforter set. I pulled a chair, lamp and a few other things from the rest of the house into the room. Materials for the temporary headboard were gleaned from a going-out-of-business sale at an imports store. Except for the mattress, I spent almost no cash.

At the same time that I made changes in my own sleeping arrangements, I decided that my little ones were old enough to sleep together in their room for nap time. Thus, I folded up the small travel crib that had resided in my room lo these many months. I converted their cribs to toddler beds. We exchanged baby blankets for small comforters and pillows. All of us have new beds, but I think I’m the happiest about it.

It’s such a pleasure to fall asleep in a room that belongs only to me, that I share with no one, that I’ve filled only with the things I love. I was constantly annoyed when my ex moved extraneous items (exercise bike, treadmill, ironing board, file cabinet, office supplies, printer) into our bedroom. I want my bedroom now to contain only what I need for sleeping and sex.

Oh, and maybe for reading the occasional book.

I’ve taken so much pleasure in introducing my partners to my new digs (”See the restraints under the bed? And here’s where the lube goes!”), as well as going to bed early on my own just to enjoy the room. I straighten and fluff, making sure that things are put to rights before I click off the light and snuggle down with a kitty or two.

In the morning, I’m woken before the alarm rings by an influx of small people who have crept from their rooms. They can do that, now that they are no longer trapped in cribs. They leap on my bed, pulling free blankets and tossing pillows to the ground. They rip the throw off the chair and lose the page in my book.

Briefly I consider adding a lock to the inside of my door (or the outside of theirs). I’m all about setting appropriate boundaries for these little imps, but at the moment a lock seems unnecessary. No men come to my room when my children are home.

But maybe I need the possibility of privacy just for myself. Maybe I should reconsider that lock.

**Keep track of what the other Babeland Sexy Moms are writing about…click the button to see!**

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Not long ago my children and I were visited by friends of ours, a married couple. While I chatted with the female half of the couple, my little ones amused themselves by beating up her husband.

They gave it to him good, mostly by attacking him repeatedly with throw pillows, then ticking his ankles. I assure you that he was in no real danger at any point.

The two smallest ones took turns sitting on his shoe while he bounced them up and down. He held them steady by gripping the backs of their shirts; their giggles said that they were overjoyed by the activity. It all worked really well — until it didn’t, at which point my little girl ran over to me crying.

“I hurt!” she yelled. “He pinched me!”

“What happened, baby?” She showed me a tiny red spot on her side, where she’d moved one way, he’d moved the other and her delicate skin inadvertently got pinched for a fraction of a second.

I held her close while she wept and exclaimed, “I hurt!” repeatedly. When she got herself back together again, I pointed her toward our friend. “You go tell him, baby. Tell him that you’re hurt.”

“I hurt!” she said in a pert voice.

“Ask him to be more gentle next time,” I suggested.

“You be gentle,” she said, pointing her little finger at him and furrowing her wee brow. After he promised to be more gentle, she happily threw herself back onto his shoe for another round of bouncing.

This I believe is the first small step toward teaching my children a sex-positive mindset. Are you confused by this assertion? How in the world can a vignette about a toddler bouncing on a shoe demonstrate a sex-positive mindset?

Here’s how. I showed my child that having physical fun is okay — even encouraged. I told her what to do if the fun gets out of hand, and I helped her find words to express that she wanted to continue playing but in a more gentle manner.

I let her know that when she comes to me with a complaint I will take her seriously. I won’t say, “Quit whining. You’re not hurt. He didn’t mean it. You shouldn’t have been rough housing. Buck up.” Then I didn’t solve the problem for her, but I helped her figure out how to speak for herself.

It’s all about setting appropriate boundaries and learning to communicate those boundaries, even to people who are larger and more powerful. Once of course is not enough, but these very small “safe” opportunities present themselves all the time, if one is watching for them.

**Keep track of what the other Babeland Sexy Moms are writing about…click the button to see!**

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I’ll give no more identifying details but that I’ve christened him Wilhelm and I want him to die.

He leered at me when I propped my heel on the towel rack to see him face to face. “Stick him with a needle,” my friend proposed.

“There is no way I’m sticking a needle there,” I told her.

“You want it gone by the weekend, don’t you?”

“No, I’ll just ask my date to ignore my leering pustule,” I said.

——

“I might not be able to shave for a while,” I told my partner later. “Will you still want me if I’m hairy?”

“I don’t like hairy,” he responded.

“Harsh,” I said, cranky from the pain and crushed by his answer. “After all the time we’ve spent together a little hair would bother you that much?”

He thought for a moment before answering again, perhaps realizing what an overwrought state Wilhelm had me in. “Honey, you are always sexy to me. We have history, and history always trumps hairy.”

——

“Where is it?” my doctor asked the next day, and when I pointed to the offending location, she grimaced in sympathy. “I’ll step out while you strip from the waist down and wrap up in a sheet.”

“Don’t worry about leaving,” I snarled. “It’s not like you’ve never seen mine before. Every time I’m here I strip from the waist down and wrap up in a sheet.”

While she rummaged around between my thighs, I cracked jokes to make myself feel better. “I think I should spackle over the whole region,” I told her. “Make it like a Barbie-doll’s. All smooth, with no openings. Just a little dimple along the rear, you know? That might keep me out of trouble for a while.”

She sent me home with antibiotics, strict instructions to call if things didn’t improve over the next day, and Vicodin.

Mmmmm Vicodin. It made me want to frolic, leering pustule or no.

——

That region has given me so much trouble over the years. Pleasure, you say? Hasn’t the pleasure originating from that region outweighed the trouble? Honestly, right now I don’t remember it giving me any pleasure at all. None!

I mean, why couldn’t Wilhelm have taken up residence on my arm?

——

Emily Simpson, I most seriously hope you enjoy this post.

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We’ve got some really cool swag today.

The Linger from NobEssence has become my go-to sex toy these days. I wrote about it on Jane’s Guide (it’s listed as the Flip by some companies); since then, the Linger has earned a permanent place in my purse.

See, I’m not nearly as organized as some might like to believe. As much as I’d like it to be otherwise, I often lack the time to pack a neat little bag of sex toys, lube and condoms before I flounce off to a date. I’m pretty open about sex and other bodily functions around my little family, but even I won’t trot out a 12″ silicone dong in front of the kids. Or the sitter. Or the ex.

So it’s nice if I can have a sex toy that can stay in my purse at all times, just yearning for the moment when it is called upon to perform. I love the Linger for this purpose because it could conceivably be a keyring or a prettily carved art object. And it’s sturdy enough that I don’t have to worry about it getting damaged as it bounces around in my purse.

And does it work? Oh yes it does!

If you’d like the chance to win a Linger from NobEssence, just leave a comment below. I’ll randomly choose one winner after the contest ends on Monday, May 5th at 12:01 am. Entrants should leave a working email address with the comment (use the form; it’ll be visible only to me). The winner will need to provide a shipping address so the company can deliver the toy. They’ll choose the type of wood, but don’t worry. All the options are lovely.

Thanks NobEssence! You guys are amazing.

Now get your bad selves off to the comments!

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