I know this makes me A Very Bad Person! I know it! And yet after all this time I am tired, tired and disgusted and just done of fending off repeated attempts to get in my pants when I’ve very specifically said that I’m not interested. You might think the threat of a fang-bearing cunt would be enough to warn off the fools. Alas it is not. Here is but a sampling of the even more torrential flood of email — it’s been at least a ten-fold increase — my new profile has invited:

I would love to come. Over and feed your needs for a night of pleasures. Tonight.

I am in town Sunday night and would love to fill your hungry pussy!

Can it really be true, teeth inside your vagina? I would love to do some exploring and see, see for myself!

I’d love to meet ya sometime and feed that appetite. I have no idea what dentata is, but I bet google does lol. I attached a few pics. Hope to hear back from ya soon.

And this gem:

its xciting and refreshing to see a woman that knows what she wants and states. so I just wished now we could get together and you would allow me to take care of that ravenous appetite with this cock that needs a vagina wrapped around it…thanks for stirring my loins with your words wink.

Do you know what is a vagina dentata? I asked, to which he responded “ya I know but I was hopin it wouldnt really bite me just was hopin she would pull back the fangs and invite me in wink”.

And then he blocked me. I don’t blame him. I would have blocked me too.

And finally:

Do you really have choppers in your coochie? Has this had a negative effect in your search for copious non-committal connubial relations?

My answer: Metaphorically, to both your questions, yes.

======================

This post, The Threat of a Fang-Bearing Cunt, originally appeared on aag on Monday, October 24, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

• In which I fist a female friend.
• In which an attempt at fisting-slut-shaming is made.
• In which I answer the question “Is fisting painful?”
• In which my vagina is compared to a room where Cristal is served.
• In which anal fisting is discussed over bacon.
• In which I wonder if fisting makes me too loud.
• In which a unicorn fists.
• In which an imaginary vagina is imagined to be stretched out.
• In which a lesson on fisting is lost on an observer.
• In which for the first time I am fisted.

Head over to Jiz Lee’s to find out more about Fisting Day.

======================

This post, Fisting Day, originally appeared on aag on Friday, October 21, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

Join me in being vocal about fisting! I include my love of fisting on all my bios and do it on camera whenever I can. Let’s celebrate and normalize the act! On Friday, October 21st, post a blog about fisting — what it means to you, what you like about it, tweet about #fisting, Facebook about the act. Share my post, share others’ posts. Tumblr the fuck out of it. Read a fisting how-to book. Watch queer porn online. (Check out my scenes on CrashPadSeries.com and QueerPorn.tv!) And if you want to be one of the first wave of supporters to order a DVD that actually has fisting IN it, October 21st is also the release date of Courtney Trouble’s LIVE SEX SHOW. So get excited. Learn something. Teach someone. Talk about it. Watch it. Love it. Join our FIST FIGHT!

On Friday I’ll talk more about my experiences with fisting but for now you can learn more about the practice from Jiz Lee, Courtney Trouble, and Rachel Venning at Babeland.

======================

This post, October 21st is Fisting Day, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, October 19, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

“Come here,” he said, worry now replaced with orneriness. Not wanting to destroy the illusion of being a good little girlfriend I scooted my chair over with the utmost obedience and rested my arms on the rail of his bed. Immediately he grabbed my hand and, unwary of the constant patter of doctor and nurse separated from us by just a curtain, he shoved it beneath his gown. Some warm words filled me in on the fact that he’d been staring at my tits all morning¹. I felt no doubt at the evidence. I let my fingers rest as he laid out in detail what he was planning on doing to me as soon as we were released, and from this position I had barely enough time to recover as the curtain jerked back and the doctor reappeared.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I interrupt you two from praying?” And we laughed no, it was no interruption at all, and once free we raced home to pray some more.

1. like I did not know

======================

This post, The Power of Prayer, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, October 4, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

Of course those things aren’t true¹. I never really thought they were. But enough time and rejection would make anyone wonder about their desirability.

But August has been a whole ‘nother story. In the first week of this month I baked a pecan pie, his favorite, in a not-too-subtle attempt at seduction. It and a pizza went uneaten while Pulp Fiction went unwatched and since that time, in less than a month, and despite the demands of a whole buncha children and two demanding jobs, we’ve managed to get together in the naked sense nearly ten times.

Ten times! Almost! My poor vagina is so confused! Skin untouched by another for that many months had grown so tender as to be raw for hours and days afterward. This has extended to my poor bottom which has been treated to flogging, spanking and paddling to such a degree that I’m a little worried about it. Better take it easy back there, I said the other night. You don’t want to build up a callus on my bottom.

This is what I said, but what I meant was this: I could get used to this. I could get used to the kindness and intelligence and attention and sex. I have no callus. I want no callus. So let’s try to be gentle.

And I don’t mean to my ass.

1. Except possible the bit about the elbows, because who can really smell their own elbows?

======================

This post, Playing Tricks, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, August 30, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

I need someone to run me over with a car!! I want you to park your car on my cock. I love doing these things and it really turns me on. Can you can handle me?

The long answer is “yikes!”¹:

The logistics of this are baffling me. Surely he didn’t drive the car up and over his body. Did he? He must have had it jacked up and then lowered gently. Right? RIGHT?

1. Technically safe for work but possibly not safe for your psyche.

======================

This post, Short Answer, originally appeared on aag on Monday, August 29, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

I’m in no rush. It will happen soon enough.

As it turns out T. is fond — very fond — of leaving oversize handprints on the backsides of willing ladies. While spanking is not even in my list of Top 100 Ways to Spend a Saturday Night², I am nothing if not a willing facilitator of my partner’s kinks, so a few weeks ago I gamely titled up my fanny for the first few exploratory slaps. These were delivered with slowly increasing intensity until my snickers changed to gasps and then a series of OW!s that cycled through surprise, indignation only partially feigned, and then finally outright pain.

But I didn’t tell him to stop, because I discovered that while my bottom stung the discomfort went no more than skin deep and the rest of me…well. The rest of me rushed brim-full of happy chemicals, sexy thoughts and downright euphoria. More, I said, instead of begging him to stop. And harder.

That session over and floating along in a haze of sensation I introduced T. to the toychest, which I’d not dug into in many³ weeks. So long had it been that I’d forgotten what was stored away in the third drawer. “What’s this?” he said, and if I could have I would have turned back time for what he’d seen was this and holy Honeybadger I did not want him to use it on me.

I hoped he’d forget. Oh how hard I hoped! And steered conversations deftly away! But when next it was time for a meeting he requested — nay, demanded! — that I choose three impacty tools for use on my butt. Three, I thought. Surely I can round up three that don’t include the paddle! Quickly I found this, and this, but the last one…ah. I knew somewhere there was a bunny flogger but I couldn’t put my hands on it. Had I given it away? Or loaned it to a friend? I was on the verge of phoning up the most likely candidate, my very spank-tastic friend, when I found it in the depths of the closet. Oh thank god, I thought. My behind is safe.

And then I got a text. “One of them has to be the paddle,” it read, and no amount of arguing (read: whinging) on my part would dissuade him from this demand.

Fuck I thought, and having turned up nothing useful after Googling “how to make paddling feel less painful” I put on my game-face, picked up the now overburdened ho-to-go bag and went to his house.

He’s good, I’ll give him that. He gave me so many orgasms before flipping me on my belly that I believe you could have lit up a firecracker in the small of my back and I wouldn’t have cared. Also he worked up from most gentle⁴ to most annoying⁵ before bringing forth the paddle.

Which, I’m happy to announce, did not hurt nearly as must as I feared. Oh never fear: it was intense. I squeaked with each blow and wiggled piteously as he held it above my ass, taunting me with its eventual downward stroke, but I never once felt I needed to sing out the safeword and stop the fun. When it was done he brought me a bottle of water partially frozen which I downed in a single greedy gulp before rolling over in his arms.

Surely I needn’t tell you how fired up everyone was after the spankings, right? Everyone was indeed fired up, so much so that I forgot the icy bottle clutched in my hand until a sudden jostle brought it into contact with my breast, and even though in the past ice-on-nipples has never been my thing, with the amount of blissed out happiness running through my brain it felt just grand.It felt so grand that I passed off the bottle to him. He used it on me until I was squirming but I still wanted more: more sensation, more cold, more intensity, more more.

If only I were less of a klutz. If only I’d managed to do what I intended to do, which was to crack the lid so barely that a tiny stream of 0°C water trickled onto my nipple. Alas it did not work that way. The lid came off in whole and out rushed a frigid river onto me, onto the bed, onto him. Reader, I laughed. Of course I laughed, and miracle of miracles so did he. It is a beautiful thing to share pleasure with a fellow human being but even more so when it can transition so easily to mirth.

This is also a test. And we passed.

1. It read in part, and I quote: Everything below your brain is just icing. This totally gave me a boner.
2. Eating sushi? On the list. Indulging in Buffy marathons? ON THE LIST. Cleaning out the sock drawer? Even that would be on the list if not for the fact that I seldom wear socks.
3. Many
4. NobEssence flogger
5. Stupid stingy elastic thingie

======================

This post, Passed Test, originally appeared on aag on Monday, August 22, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

Not just for the math, you understand, but the math didn’t hurt. So when a few weeks later I agreed to come to his house for a short meeting, one that would not be anything close to long enough for sex, I demanded that he be the one to keep things under control. I won’t have much willpower, I said. You’ll have to have enough for both of us.

“I’ll have four times as much willpower as you,” he promised, and I believed him right up to the point that my left nipple was pinched between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand while his left performed a similar move on my clit.

What happened to four times the willpower I gasped. He took his mouth off my breast long enough to remind me what was the product of any number times zero. Foiled! I thought, and then fell into enough pleasure that what we were doing did indeed qualify as sex.

I better be careful around this one I said to myself, and I was! Until last week when he presented me over email with a small conundrum he was facing.

“These are the two choices,” he said. “Tell me the pros and cons of each and maybe that will help me decide.”

Will I be rewarded for my work? I asked, and in response he laid out, explicitly, what reimbursement I should expect. Bearing that in mind I set to work with the utmost of dedication until I was interrupted by the ping of my inbox. Is this a third option, I asked, and upon being answered in the affirmative I said pointed out that he would now owe me 33^1/3% more of the reward he’d previously promised.

There was a pause. “You mean 50% more,” he simply said, and I went crimson because I knew that, of course I knew that, but somehow I’d fumbled the joke.

Right, I tried to recover. I meant that you owed me 33^1/3% more oral plus 16^2/3% fisting.

“Sure you did,” he said, and now I am prepared. Now I will carry about my person at all times up to and including during sex, a calculator. Would that be too obvious? Is there a better way to approach this? Do they make jewelry designed to mimic the abacus? Or am I just going to have to accept that in this relationship, I am the one who is the worst at math?

1. Really all weirdness

======================

This post, Math, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, August 18, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

What should I ask? Post below or email me.

======================

This post, How To Have Sex With Two Women a Day, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, August 17, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================

————————–

Inspired by Jennifer Egan’s “To Do“, which you should read now, and then you should read the book that in 2011 so far has the most blown me away.

======================

This post, A Summary of the Past Month as Told By Words Added to My New Phone’s Dictionary, originally appeared on aag on Monday, August 15, 2011. Tweet This Post!

======================