None of that time was spent doing my hair (unless by “doing” you mean “securing tightly in a band”) or putting on makeup. Instead I scrubbed and shaved and smoothed over rough spots. I painted toenails and filled myself with warm water time after time ’til it ran clear and once again I had to appreciate the ability of that activity to make me so very wobbly, so very poundy of heart and thumpy of cunt that I had to wonder why whywhywhy I only started doing it this year. Why didn’t I do it before on even one of the dozens or hundreds of times I got ready for sex — and not, as you may be imagining, solely for the sake of whatever degree of cleanliness can be conferred by plain water but instead because it’s impossible to be filled with water and not think of being filled with cock.

And then a man must be placed in a chair, tied up and blown so that he can get it hard; service the girl — not that it was difficult to do such a thing or even, technically, necessary, as by the time the ropes were tied and the chair spun ’round my mouth was a treat and not a tool. Don’t come, I threatened halfway through. I want you to put that in my ass, and before he could answer I realized that saying the latter made the former all the more difficult.

But it was managed; I watched from my knees as he prepared by dragging on a condom¹, pulling his cock one-handed off to the side sofuckinghot to snug it tight right down to the base. And then the lube, dripped (and almost dropped, slippery thing) on him and on me and then rubbed on me, and then in me which regardless of whatever other perverse things we’ve done makes me cringe and blush so hard. And then pressure, and then a tiny jolt of almost-pain, and then that feeling of being so stretched open, so spread open, so full and wide and bursting-big as it angled down in me and I screamed and screamed and screamed.

I’m not sure if I could say that half of it is in the getting ready, but enough of the pleasure is there that to skimp on it would be foolish at best and self-sabotage at worst.

I never will.

1. without a single word of complaint, ever, not even once

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This post, Ready, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, March 1, 2011. Tweet This Post!

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Anal sex is painful, unsanitary, unsatisfying for women and creates unique risks for serious physical diseases (if you doubt me, go read the Wikipedia entry on the subject) because the anus is not designed for sexual intercourse, increasing the risk of torn flesh and the intermingling of bodily fluids—blood, semen, fecal matter—that can spread an astonishing variety of diseases. The female partner is far more at risk than the man in these encounters. This should be a feminist issue.

–Maggie Gallagher (read the rest here with blood pressure medicine close at hand)

I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Gallagher. Anal sex should be a feminist issue, and here’s how it would go: My feminine body is my own, and I will do to my anus whatever I choose with no supremely ignorant judgment from you on how painful, unsanitary or unsatisfying you might guess it to be.

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This post, Anal Sex Should Be a Feminist Issue, originally appeared on aag on Friday, January 28, 2011. Tweet This Post!

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Happy day! Oh happy, happy day!

In the four-plus years since I declared myself licensed for ass sex I’ve had exactly one partner³ interested in it. For most of that time I was content; I liked the fact that of all the pleasurable, shocking, intimate and hilarious ways I’ve had sex, he was the only one who’d enjoyed that particular facet of it with me. It was nice at my advanced age to have something shinynew to discover together and regardless of how agonizing long stretches of our time eventually ended up being I’m glad — only glad — to have had him as my first gentle instructor in the art of partnered buttlurve.

But now many months have passed since he took himself out of my life. A new year has arrived and with it a friend who shows a healthy interest in figuring out if my bottom will be as fun to play with in 2011 as it was in 2007. And really, it’s time. It’s time to break the thrall my previous partner once possessed over my bottom. It’s time even if that act wasn’t on my top-five list of Favorite Things To Do While Naked⁴. It’s time. It’s past time.

To that end⁵ I have spent the last week in preparation for this momentous occasion. As it was approximately nine-thousand degrees below zero when this was delivered I’ve set it near the register to warm. Furthermore, each night I’ve practiced acclimating my bottom with this and then this and if I really get brave perhaps I’ll even try this because despite his protestation to the contrary boy howdy is this friend thick. So thick is he that it just may take more than one session for this to work, but as I’m sure you can imagine that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

So think of me this Sunday night, won’t you? Send a happy thought in my direction as I kneel upon the bed and prepare to receive what will be so enthusiastically given. I’m quite certain that your thoughts will add that extra layer of heightened appreciation to what already promises to be a stellar night.

Just don’t call me, ok?

1. Ie, screaming
2. Although that would be awesome
3. Other than, you know, MYSELF
4. Other entries include doggiestyle fucking, naked massaging, fisting and laughing. Why, what is on your list?
5. Do you see what I did there?

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This post, Listen Carefully, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, January 13, 2011. Tweet This Post!

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Picking up prescriptions from the pharmacy, for example. Given how crucial those tiny pills are to your humble narrator’s day-to-day existence¹ it’s typical for me to know to the minute when the bottles are ready to be collected. This week, however, not even repeated phone calls can lodge that information in my brain long enough to do something about it. Oh, the ‘scrips are ready, I think, then immediately my thoughts slide to buttsex. Paying the water bill? Returning the defective Christmas present? Making an appointment to figure out why my mini’s “check engine soon” light is so ominously glowing? You must do that right away I lecture myself, but day after day passes with no progress.

(I just forced myself to visit the utility website and hand over my credit card number, an operation which shut down the notice scrolling across the screen that proclaimed my account Five! Days! Late! Do you see the power of the ass, that can make a usually respectable and responsible citizen shirk her duties so?)

Soon (though not soon enough) I’ll have the chance to forget about utility bills, minivan warning lights, broken presents and psychotropic medicines and turn all my attention to lube and gloves and hours upon hours of moaning, as well as the biggest question of all: Who gets to go first?

1. Also, the fact that I cherish an impossible attraction toward my pharmacy tech, tragically married

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This post, Distracted, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, January 6, 2011. Tweet This Post!

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Consider this document advance notice that I, _____________________¹, am interested in fucking your ass. I have not come to this conclusion lightly, and I would like you to know that I accept certain facts as given before the assfuckery even begins. To wit, I:

• Acknowledge that buttsex often moves at a speed which would make the progress of glaciers across the frozen tundra seem zippy. I affirm that I will not seek to rush or hurry this process as that way brings only tears.

• Recognize the supreme degree of self-control necessary in performing my main duty, which is to place my cock / finger / sextoy / other² at the entrance to your ass and then stay still until such a time as you see fit to wiggle back upon it.

• Accept the idea that your ass’s primary function, no matter how well it is trained, cleaned and disciplined beforehand, may not be interrupted by the presence of said cock / finger / sextoy / other; therefore I will not express shock or consternation at any evidence of that primary function. I will not wrinkle my nose, nor make sounds of dismay, nor run overly quickly to the bathroom. Nor shall I raise my eyebrows, no not even a little.

• Agree to provide a great quantity of black or dark-colored towels to be placed beneath your bottom; additionally, such condoms, gloves and other assorted barriers (both standard and non-latex) as may be deemed necessary.

• Vow neither to push in nor pull out, nor engage in any overactive thrusting nor wriggling until such a time as full leave and permission to do so has been granted by you.

• Promise not to whine, complain, grumble or bellyache nor engage in any manner of fuss either verbal or non should the length of time necessary to achieve full ass-access be longer than I’d ideally desire. Not even a single whimper. Nay, not even one.

Would you like this process of mutual exploration and delight to begin? Please check the appropriate box below, affix your signature, and return it at your earliest convenience.

[y][n]________________________ ³

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter, and know that regardless of your response I think you are the most rad of all the super-rad people ever to exist.

Sincerely,

______________________________⁴

1. Your name here
2. Please circle one or more options
3. Please sign
4. Your signature here

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This post, An Assfucking Compact, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, January 4, 2011. Tweet This Post!

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Well done, aag, and here’s to 5 more years! Here’s what you taught me…

I don’t remember when it was I found your blog, but I think I was directed here from a post on ErosBlog. I immediately got into your writing style and subject and proceeded read the archives for a week until I got caught up. It was quite a whirlwind read that didn’t give me too much time to mull over the topics you brought up as I so desperately wanted to read them all, but when I stopped and re-read and let myself think, I realized that as much as I consider myself a sexual being, there was a lot I was missing out on by not exploring

I came to think of my physical body as a part of me with its own desires and needs and lusts. You have a post about buttsex that I’ve reread several times; it describes the little butt voice that clamors for attention, a voice I realized I’d been ignoring as I didn’t even think to listen for it. Once I thought to lend an ear, I heard my little butt voice begging for touching, for grabbing, for spanking, fucking, biting, stroking…my little butt voice –wanted- so much and it was infinitely grateful to be finally acknowledged!

So thanks, for providing the internet with smart, funny writing on love, sex, life, et cetera, and thanks especially for teaching me to listen to the little butt voice. :)

–Lisa

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This post, I Heard My Little Butt Voice Begging, originally appeared on aag on Saturday, September 25, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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I have a fabulous, wonderful lover with whom I have been exploring new delights as well as being confronted by some faulty programming. Not to be too blunt but I’m having trouble with anal sex.

I never tried anal before but it’s great with this man. However, I’m really bothered by the sensation of the outward stroke because it feels so similar to … well, umm… pooping. I’m terrified that I’m going to be messy all over him! So far, knock wood, it’s been relatively clean. I try to be aware and err on the far side of caution but I also think that has limited my enjoyment and caused missed opportunities. I am extremely bathroom shy and feel really awkward about this. Will this sensation-confusion lessen with time?

I’ve been sexually active for over 20 years and have had many, many orgasms but with this guy? It’s awesome, and I want so badly to be comfortable in reality with all these things that I’m comfortable with in theory. Do you have any advice?

I’m not sure I’d call it faulty programming, Beatrix. I’d be more inclined to call it Tremendously Helpful Conditioning.

Nearly every time since you were two years old that your body has noted the combination of ass-ular fullness plus outward movement, it has sent along a signal to your brain that you should get to the bathroom right now. And nearly every time you’ve immediately trotted your fanny off to the toilet to take care of business in privacy, only returning when all traces of the …er…event were completely eradicated.

You’ve been perfecting this response for nearly your entire life because it’s expected by everyone from the person who toilet-trained you to the guy sitting next to you on the bus that you’ll get it right every single time. Chances are that you’ve grown pretty darn good at it, as the rewards for being good at it (and the corresponding punishments for being bad at it) are high.

When you have buttsex you’re asking your body to ignore nearly 40 years of conditioning. It’s going to take some time to unhook the connection in your mind between that feeling and needing to go right now. The good news is that eventually your ass will learn that the sensation of ass-ular fullness + outward movement does not necessarily mean only one thing. It will learn that it can in fact mean two things, and the longer you have buttsex without the arrival of a poo-pocalypse the easier it will be for your brain to distinguish the two.

Nevertheless, you go rooting around up there long enough and odds are good that something will eventually break free. For this reason it behooves you to speak up to your partner. “Lover,” you should say, sporting a big smile and as much playful chutzpah as you can muster, “I so enjoy anal sex with you. But I’m always worried that I’m going to crap all over your dick.” Or, if you’re feeling slightly less playful and chutzpahish you could substitute “make a mess” for the final five words above.

Either would work, because they both give him the chance to tell you that no good relationship ever fell apart over poo and that he would adore you just as much after the poo-pocalypse as before.

Readers, I feel quite certain that some of you have experienced worries similar to Beatrix’s. Will you contribute additional advice in the comments below?

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This post, Question from a Reader: Anal Sex and Worry, originally appeared on aag on Monday, February 8, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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I love it and find it exhausting, these marathon beginnings to our meetings.  In the midst of twists and turns and position changes and orgasms, I could no more stop than I could turn my skin inside out, though sometimes that’s how it feels as he pumps into me slow and fast and every speed in between.

I somehow wound up with my knees barely perched on the edge of the bed while he stood behind me.  Could anything have been more natural, more expected, more necessary at that moment than for me to beg him to take my ass?

I did, and he did, but that pleasure after so much other pleasure quickly became too much.  My knees slid off the bed.  With tiptoes on the floor and only fingertips propping me up, we must have given off the illusion that he was supporting me primarily by means of his cock.

And then he pulled me upright, hands cupped under my breasts.  Chance had put us at that moment in direct line of a mirror where our images blurred in the dim light.  “Look in the mirror,” he said in my ear with his voice no higher than a growl.  I didn’t or couldn’t look, loath to see the grimace from coming, the sweaty hair, the round tummy.

He gently (more gently than usual) grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled so my chin tilted up.  “Look in the mirror,” he demanded.  “Look at the pretty girl getting fucked.”

I had no choice but to look, and for just a brief moment I caught a glimpse of her too.

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This post, In the Mirror, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, July 29, 2008. Tweet This Post!

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——

Later, when it was her turn, my friend stroked between G’s legs as she reclined shyly on her stomach.  Before long she thrust her bottom into the air and instead of touching, my friend switched to licking her pouty, swollen lips.

I supplied dirty talk, tit-pinching and the occasional cock stroke.

G didn’t realize it, but as her arousal increased, my friend lengthened his tongue-strokes to cover everything from clit to ass. He’s a master of working me up to the point that I lose all sense of the outside world; I become only a clit, a pussy, and a screaming voice.  His talents worked the same on G.  I had to smile as I watched her enjoyment, a sharp contrast to the nervousness she’d expressed earlier.

“Do you know what he’s doing to you?” I smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

Up popped her head.  “No, what?” Her voice was as confused as if she’d just woken from a hundred-year nap.  She rolled to her back and looked at us down the length of her bare body.

My friend told her.  “So that’s what that feels like,” she said.  “Do it some more.”

So he did.  And when the time was right, I lubed up that pretty blue plug and asked her if she wanted it inside her.

“Go slowly,” was her only caution.

I went as slowly as I could with shaking hands, watching all the while my friend’s fingers circle over her fat little clit.

She loved it.  It was in a minute without her knowing.  I let her come and come more before letting her in on the secret; when she knew (and satisfied her disbelief by feeling for herself) she screamed loudly enough that I thanked the universe for giving us a day warm enough to force the shutting of windows and the switching on of air.

I’m not absolutely certain that we replaced her previous bad experience, but I’m satisfied that when her mind now runs to anal play, she’ll have something very pleasant to picture.

——

When the kids were absorbed in crafts, she sidled up to me.  “I love your collection of blue glass,” she said quietly.

“Yes, isn’t it nice?  I’ve been collecting for a long time.”

“I saw your newest piece.”

“I thought you’d like that.” I grinned at her, and then we turned our attention back to the kids.

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This post, China Cabinet, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, July 1, 2008. Tweet This Post!

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We talked it over before hand, my friend and I did.  “We shouldn’t push it,” we promised each other.  “We don’t want to overwhelm her,” we said solemnly.

And we wondered, “Do you think G would like to see our assfuckery?”

So we asked.  Her answer came back as yes, yes, most emphatically yes she would like to see.  She quizzed me hard on the mechanics.  Would it be all right if she watched our encounter from his perspective?  Did it really feel good to me?  And most importantly, would we be gentle when toying with her bottom, and stop if she so requested?

My answers were all in the affirmative, although I’m sure you didn’t need me to say that.

On the night we were set to play, I carefully assembled a cache of supplies.  Silicone lube.  Baby wipes.  Towels.  Condoms.  And the prettiest little buttplug I’ve ever seen.

We ate dinner, we visited, we eventually got naked; when I saw that look in his eye I handed him a condom and jutted my behind into the air.

There have been many times in my life when I’ve felt shockingly exposed.  Receiving oral in public, being the first to skinny dip at an adult pool party, and getting prepped for a c-section spring immediately to mind.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as exposed as I did with my friend entering me slowly from behind while G watched.  She could have been taking notes.  She should have been taking notes, considering how raptly, how intently I could feel her eyes on the juncture between my friend and me.

I lost track of who was touching me, but later found out that it was G who was running her hands up and down my back, G who was stroking my hair, G who eventually grabbed my friend’s hips and pushed him into me while murmuring words of encouragement to us both.

Conventional wisdom suggests that the bottom should be a heavily guarded secret, exposed only to one’s doctor and only in the most severe need.  Shame reigns supreme where the asshole is involved, but why should it?  Properly cared for and after much loving attention, its sexual possibilities are vast.  Having both G and my friend enjoying my behind brought on ripples of greedy, frantic lust — and eventually greedy, frantic orgasms.

Later perhaps I’ll write about what my friend and I did to G, but for now I’ll leave it at this:  I find the combination of blush-inducing exposure and attention infallibly thrilling.

Hm.

Perhaps this is why I not only enjoy the occasional observed buttfuckery, but also why I write a blog?

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This post, Exposure One, originally appeared on aag on Monday, June 23, 2008. Tweet This Post!

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