Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Tips for waking up a sleepy libido

Okay...I'll admit libido waxes and wanes. But, then, for most of us, sexual desire and energy cycles from high to low depending on the level of stress we are under, how overworked or tired we are, how healthy we are, and how happy our relationship is. I'm a happily married girl with a pretty decent sex life (if I do say so myself), but I do, on occasion slip off of my sexual pedestal. So, how to bring it back from the dead naturally? Here's what I found: (be sure to share your ideas by submitting a comment!) 1. Sleep. (Duh...if you're tired, you won't have the energy to bump, let alone grind.) Getting enough sleep every night is good for a lot of things. Our bodies process all kinds of things while we sleep. We problem-solve and heal between the sheets (when we are messy them up in a game of naked wrestling). So, go to bed early and sleep in. 2. Relax. Stress is a huge killer of sexual desire. Think yoga, massage, acupuncture...or get a babysitter or leave work earlier or switch careers or get a housekeeper...whatever will take some of the load off of your shoulders. Your nether regions will thank you. 3. Get outta the house. A change of setting might just do the trick. You look around your house only to see the 400 things that need to be done, the pile of bills, the screaming children who both claim the other one did it...Go to dinner, get a hotel room, go on a walk...whatever - just get the hell away from it all. If you can afford it - take a vacation! 4. Find your aphrodisiac. Some claim certain foods and beverages and herbs can do wonders for your sex drive: ginseng, green tea, celery, avocado, fenugreek, raw oysters, bananas, nuts, strawberries, chocolate, mangoes, peaches, eggs (fish or bird), liver, figs, garlic...just to name a few. (Check out this article for some surface explanations on some of these tasty aphrodisiacs.) 5. Gulp...decrease your alcohol intake...damn! 6. Exercise 30 min. per day ( counts). Losing weight can also help. The sexier you feel, the more likely you are to want it! Healthy body image is a must! 7. Avoid cigarettes, caffeine, and illegal drugs. 8. Avoid white sugar, processed foods and fat; the slow you down and make you sluggish, sapping you of much needed sexual energy. 9. Check your prescriptions. Some drugs have sexual side-effects...see if you can alter your medications if this is a problem. 10. Try pheromones (body washes and colognes). Related links: The Sex-Starved Marriage: Boosting Your Marriage Libido (a couple's guide) Increase sexual frequency naturally How to Boost Your Sex Drive Do you have an idea to add? Please Share!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Vignette 2: Traffic Stop

"Traffic Stop" (original fiction)

"Fuck!" I blurted between clenched teeth.

The blue and red lights in my rear view mirror were the last thing I had time or money for.  But, as a law-biding citizen is wont to do, I immediately began looking for a place to pull over.  It was a dark night on a poorly-lit highway, so I thoughtfully pulled down a side road to keep us both out of harm's way.  (Hey, what can I say...I've got nothing against cops, and I had no intention of watching this one turned into road kill by some inattentive driver.)

I turned down my radio, looked in my rear view mirror again, and killed the ignition.  Then I sat in the dark and waited for the lecture.

As I watched the officer walk up alongside the back of my car, I began to roll down my window.

"Good, evening ma'am.  Did you know you had a tail-light out?"

"No, I didn't."

He had a strong jawline and high cheekbones.  His lips looked soft, but his five o’clock shadow looked rough.  He’d obviously been on shift for awhile.

“Can I see your license and registration?”

I handed over the requested documents, and licked my lips.  He looked them over and handed them back to me.

"Where you headed tonight?"


"Is it far off?"

"No...just a couple of miles."

"Is your foot feeling a little heavy tonight?" officer with a sense of humor.  I began to relax a bit.

"Not particularly.  I suppose I just wasn't paying attention to my speed.  My cruise control is out and I tend to get caught up in the music."

"Well, try to slow down a bit.  I'm gonna write you a warning for the tail-light, but you need to get that fixed tomorrow.  Can you do that?"

"I'm sure I can fit it in a heck of a lot more easily than another ticket."

He emitted a weak laugh, and the corners of his mouth turned up a bit. 

I love a man in uniform, and his smile made him that much more attractive.  I relaxed a bit, knowing I wasn't going to receive a ticket.  Maybe it was the late hour, or the full moon, or the fact that I hadn't eaten since yesterday...but something made me consider the idea of asking him to follow me home. 

The invitation stuck in my throat, for fear of being rejected, or worse...pissing him off and ending up with more than a warning.

"I'm headed up the same way you were going," he said.  "I can follow you until your turn off so you don't get pulled over by someone else."

"Oh.  That'd be nice."'s now or never.

"Maybe you could follow me all the way?"  I bit my lip, figuring I could laugh it off as a joke if he seemed offended by the proposition.  I wasn't really sure how to go about this...seducing a cop.  What was I thinking?

"All the way?"  His eyebrows raised.

"Yeah...all the way."  I hoped he picked up on my intonation.

"To your house?”  He paused, considering.  “Suppose I could do that.  Got nothin' else goin' right now.  You have a good night now...I'll be right behind keep that speed down, right?"

"Right.  Thanks, officer."

I rolled up my window, turned the key in the ignition, and wheeled my car back out onto the highway, my heart thumping between my breasts.  He was right on my ass.  And I began to think of how I’d like him to really be on my ass…his hands searching me and patting me down.

I really did only need to drive a few miles.  I made a right turn and then a left onto my road and pulled into my driveway.  He pulled up behind, and I decided to play the only card I knew how to use…the damsel in distress.  As I walked up to his car, waving a bit as if to get his attention, he opened his door and stood up, one leg still in the car, one on the gravel drive.

“You’re never going to believe this, but I seem to have left my other key ring at work…the one with my house key.”  Lame.  I know.  But, I hoped it would work.  “Do you think you could help me get in?”

“Are you sure this is your house?” 

I hadn’t thought this one through.  Of course he was going to wonder if I was just trying to break into someone’s house.

“I can show you my ID…it shows the address.”  I started nervously digging through my purse to find my wallet.

“Ma’am, I know your address.  I’ve seen your ID.” 


“So what do you want me to do?  Pick the lock…kick down the door…or call the locksmith?”  He was poking at me…but it was obvious he was willing to help.

“Ummmm….maybe just boost me up the kitchen window?  I’m pretty sure it’s unlocked.”

He shut his car door and walked up toward me, shifting his duty belt, and adjusting his hat.  He didn’t say anything; he just followed me up the front walkway, around the side of the house, and watched me drop my things on the grass.  I pointed up, designating the window.  I removed my heels as he clasped his hands, creating a hammock for my foot.  I put my hands on his shoulders, put my foot in his hands, and hoisted myself up to the window.  Thank god I was wearing a skirt.  And thank god I was wearing a thong.  I hoped the view was enticing.

I slid the window open and pulled myself up over the sill.  Once I made my way in, I looked down at the officer.

“Come around front…I’ll open the door.”

I ran down the stairs and opened the front door.

“Thank you sooooo much.  I don’t know what I would’ve done.  I guess I’d have had to drive all the way back into town….with one tail-light.”  I smiled what I hoped was a flirtatious smile.  He tipped his hat and bid me goodnight.  

As I watched him walk away, I breathed in every bit of courage I could find and blurted out, “Would you like some water?  Maybe a cookie or something?”  Oh, good lord…I was pathetic.  I figured he’d turn around, laugh…and continue on his way.  But, he walked back up to the door.

“Ma’am…are you attempting to invite me in?”

I bit my lip and looked up at him with my head lowered and my eyes raised…looking, I suspect, much like a little girl in trouble.

“Yes.  Yes, I am,” I stuttered.

“Huh…well you have perfect timing, because I just called myself out of service, and I was about to head home.”

“Huh…what do you know?”

Something grabbed ahold of my good sense, strangled it, and left me with nothing but gumption.  I put my hands up to his face, but in my suddenness, he grabbed hold of my wrists to stop me, swung me around and cuffed me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Playing along,” He said.  

He shut the front door and pushed me up against the entryway wall, pulling my skirt up.  His hands rested briefly on my hips and then caressed my ass.  He released his duty belt, letting it down to the floor, and unzipped his pants, letting them slide down around his ankles.  He pulled me toward him, pressing his bulging hard-on into the crack of my ass and reaching his hands around to my breasts.  He pushed my shirt up, unclasped my bra and slipped his fingers in across bare skin to my nipples, which hardened at his touch.  

He guided me to the stairs and bent me forward, my head lying on one stair, the rest of me bent with my ass in the air.  He grabbed hold of my cuffed wrists, slid the fingers of his free hand from the small of my back, down my crack, pulling my thong out of the way.  His fingers continued their slide, from asshole to clit, where they subtly and softly began to circle.  Letting go of my wrists, he licked his fingers and traded hands, inserting two of his now wet fingers into my throbbing pussy.

“You’re wet…that’s nice….” He bent over me, breathing his words in my ear.  My ass instinctively pressed up and back, beckoning his entrance.

He pulled his fingers out and moved my panties further to the side, allowing room for him to push his dick into my waiting cunt.  The top of my head and my right cheek pressed harder into the carpeted stair, making a light thumping sound with each thrust of his hips.  He kept his hand on my cuffed wrists, using them like a handle to pull me towards him as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into my wet folds.

I began to drip, my own pre-ejaculation running down the insides of my thighs.  Gripping my hair, he pulled my head off of the stair, suspending my entire body in space, my back arched, neck exposed, mouth open, shoulders impossibly bent.  My legs spread taut, grounding me to the floor, thighs tight, I clenched my muscles around his dick, letting out a scream, the heat rising from my cunt to my throat.  Quick and powerful, my orgasm began…a gush of clear fluid dripping and running down my legs.  He groaned, shuddered, and bucked in response, letting loose a flush of hot cum.

He gently released his hold on my hair, lowering my head back to the stair, letting go of my wrists.  As his shaft slipped out, I dropped to my knees.

He pulled up his pants, re-established his duty belt, unlocked the cuffs, tipped his hat and said, “Thank you, ma’am” before he walked out the door.

 Right then and there…I knew I had no intention of ever fixing that tail-light.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Too tired to touch myself...

I'm too tired to touch myself...
so could you please take over for me?

I have a drink in one hand,
leftovers in the other,
and my eyes are fighting
the light of the computer screen.

My mind wants to think about sex,
about a quick and dirty orgasm...
the maintenance variety...
just to relieve my body's tension
and close my thoughts to the world.

But my cunt is not cooperating.
Sometimes she can be such a bitch like that.

Maybe if you were here
with your head between my thighs,
tongue flicking my clit and
sliding between my lips,
your fingers slipping inside
to find the place that always
my back arch and my legs spread further...
maybe I could muster a little excitement.

But you aren't.

You're reading this
somewhere else.

So, I'll watch a little porn instead,
in hopes that I won't have to work too hard
to get off tonight...
or even worse...
that I won't be able to at all.

God, I hate nights when I can't climax.
I try and try...
put every fiber of my physical and mental energy
into coming, and it just won't goddamn happen.
My thighs become so tired in the struggle
they start to twitch
and my muscles give out.
On nights like this,
I know my thighs and calves
are going to hurt in the morning:
all that isometric tension,
building and building without release.

It's the definition of disappointment
when not even my trusty vibrator
can get me off.

I go to sleep hardened and hurting and frustrated.

It's not always like this when you aren't here.
Most nights, I can lick my fingers,
slip them between the sheets,
spread my thighs and my lips,
roll my fingers around and around my clit,
slip them inside and out,
my palm pressing,
my fingers (first one, then two, maybe three)
striking a beat
working my pussy
into uncontrollable wetness,
a gushing release,
an audible relaxing of the mind and body.

The "little death" really isn't that little.
It's quick...a crescendo rising
to an explosive, momentary blindness...
but it isn't small.

I so wish I could make it last:
that one moment right before...
when the warmth becomes fire
coursing under and over my skin,
down my thighs, up my belly,
between my breasts to my throat,
settling as a brilliant rose flush
in my cheeks.

Even writing this isn't working.
Which is depressing.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Vignette 1: Researching

I ran my fingers across the spines of the books, searching for 900.09 SMI.  My research was grinding to a halt.  Finding sources was like looking for the proverbial needle in a cliché haystack.  I sighed audibly.  So audibly, I actually had to look around to see if I’d disturbed anyone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the silhouette of a young woman on a step ladder in an adjacent aisle.  Young, cherubic, and thrift-store chic, she was an obvious employee of the library. 
I was tired.  I was rummy.  I was weak and my boundaries were slipping.  I’d have done anything to make my project disappear.  And she looked promising.
I wandered over and began looking, nonchalantly, at books around her hip level.  I bent just enough and squinted, inching my way closer.  Suddenly, at least for her, I was inches from her thigh.  Brushing my arm against her leg, I reached for a book.
“Excuse me; I just need to reach past you for a moment.”
“Oh…I can move; let me get out of your way.”
“No…no.  No need.  Stay right where you are.  I’ll only be a moment.”
To test, I slipped the book back into place, hovering near her thigh, so close I could feel the warmth of her skin, through blue fishnet tights.  She didn’t move.  But she did look down as I looked up.  Briefly.
There were no words.  And my fatigue clouded my boundaries.  I placed my palm on her knee.  She looked only at the shelf of books, but she did not say a word or retract from my touch.
My palm moved to her inner thigh.  Moving upward, to the warmest part of her body.  I rubbed my hand across the seam of her tights until I reached the place where her legs met and her folds rippled in momentary softness.
I reached my other hand between her calves to run my fingertips back and forth across the numbers.  700.06 to 700.27.  This steadily encouraged the spreading of her legs just enough to reveal the blue and skin previously hidden by shadow.
She was not wearing underwear.  Her skin, pink and glistening through the strings of the fishnet, was just beginning to swell.
It was enough.  Enough to turn my mind back to my purpose.
I selected a book I didn’t need, stood away from the stacks, and thanked her.  I walked away, placed the book in a nearby empty cubicle, and went back to the reference section.
The quiet was deafening, and I could hear the blood flowing in my ears.  My neck was warm, and my skin was covered in goose bumps.  Every hair was alert to the possibility of contact.  It was an intoxicating feeling that trumped the effects of caffeine, liquor, or medication (prescribed, or otherwise).
In a sea of red reference books on Valentine’s Day, alone on a Thursday, in a quiet university library, all I could think of was blue.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Women who hate sex?

Somehow, in my internet travels (I get lost in cyberspace about as easily as I do on the road), I came across this article from the Advocate:  "Stephen Fry: Straight Women Hate Sex".  Whoa.  Back up...did you say what I think you just said?  Understandably, I had to stop everything and read this ridiculousness.  Here's my favorite section:
"Women would go and hang around in churchyards thinking, 'God, I’ve got to get my ******* rocks off”, or they’d go to Hampstead Heath and meet strangers to s**g behind a bush.

"It doesn’t happen. Why? Because the only women you can have sex with like that wish to be paid for it."

Fry added, "I feel sorry for straight men. The only reason women will have sex with them is that sex is the price they are willing to pay for a relationship with a man, which is what they want.
While I may not go and hang around in churchyards to do my sexual fantasizing, I do meet up with strangers to "shag" (though not behind a bush)...and I don't expect to be paid for it (as my darling husband likes to tease...I'm a slut, not a whore; there's a big difference).  And if I read his comment correctly, the only people in the cold here are straight men.  Apparently gay men and lesbians are having all the good sex these days.  I beg to differ.  While they may be having good sex, I do not believe for a second that simply being homosexual = loads and loads of amazing coitus.  I'm sure there are plenty of gay men and lesbians who are not having sex, are bored with their partner, or are simply unwilling to "shag behind a bush" because they have standards.  To Fry's credit, the article does accept that he may have been joking and/or quoted out of context.  Really?  The media quote someone out of context?  Never.

Anyhow...this led to the ADD.

Hence this horrendous piece of crap (and yes I do realize he's trying to be funny...I just find him to be a dreadful failure at it): - "Why Women Hate Sex" and "Why Women Hate Sex, part II" (I would venture to say that women don't hate sex...they just hate sex with assholes like this guy - even if it is a joke and/or alter ego).

But then, in all seriousness, I came across this forum: - Why do women hate sex? The poster is actually quite well-written and under the very real perception that women do, indeed hate sex...or at least just use it to get what they want.  Hmmmm....makes me think of a great quote one of my friends brought up when we were discussing how to talk to young people about sex:  "Guys play at love to get sex.  Girls play at sex to get love."  Alright.  I suppose this might be true for some...especially the young.  But, I'm waaaaaayyyyyy past the need to buy a guy's affection by spreading my legs.  I may have done that in my teens and early '20s, but age has definitely made me wiser (and hornier).

What I think it really comes down to is this:  society aims sexual gratification at men.  Ads, magazines, porn, etc. are, the majority of the time, geared towards men.  It's very visual, simple, and to the point.  Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.  Graffic.  Raw.  Emotionless.  Just sex, for sex's sake.

I'm cool with that now.  But, I usually do expect a little more.  Story, ambiance, mental stimulation to go along with the physical.  Not that men don't like a bit of that, too.  But, as long as we're talking stereotypes here, I might as well tell it like it is.

So back to society's aim...all this sexual stimulation...with men in control and women swooning.  The big hulking manly beast who holds the quivering female in his rough and work-calloused hand.  That's the image.  And I must say, it's a hard one even for men to live up to.

For all of the strides that women have made, I'm surprised that this stereotype still exists.  Our Bodies, Our Selves.  The Joy of Sex.  Dr. Ruth.  Penthouse for women.  The Vagina Monologues.  A few women are getting the point.

And ultimately, if women hate has a lot to do with men.  Yes...indeed, I am pointing the finger (at men, and at the women who helplessly let it happen).  If your girlfriend or wife hates sex...what the hell are you doing wrong?  And if you aren't doing anything wrong (and be honest with yourself), then get that girl some medical attention.

Let me put it this way.  At 16, the idea of sex was awesome.  The foreplay rocked.  But the sex...well...the sex sucked.  Why?  Because he was 17 and could hardly hold himself in check long enough to care about whether or not I was enjoying it as much as he was.  To his credit, I'm pretty sure he didn't have a lot of control over the situation once the actually sex act had begun.  That is the curse of the young.  Boys tend to come to masturbation earlier than girls.  They figure out what feels good...and, let's be just isn't that hard to get a teenage guy off.  Girls, are a bit tougher.  Many don't yet know their own bodies well enough to know what they are missing or how to get it.  Guess that is the curse of having our sex organs on the inside rather than the outside.  They're a mystery to everyone, including ourselves when we are young.

If all goes well...we get to know our bodies better.  It doesn't mean we can get guys to figure them out, or that we will have the confidence to ask for what we want.  Some girls have that early on.  But, I'd venture to say that a lot of women hold out for fear of sounding bossy or having their desires ridiculed.  Which is silly really.  I'm not sure I know of too many guys who would balk at a statement like..."I want you to put your fingers here, your tongue there, and slow down on the suction.  Eat me like you're licking an ice cream cone on a cold day...not like it's melting and you have to gobble it up before it's a puddle at your feet.  Slow down, and you might just get a puddle at your feet anyway."  In fact, most guys I've talked to would really appreciate the guidance, if the ladies would simply speak up.

With age comes confidence and greater knowledge.  We stop caring about the ridicule, start trusting our desires, and have less fear about sharing our needs.

Especially if we find a lover who is intent on drawing them out.

There is the added trouble of children and their effect on a woman's interest in sex.  It is true that hormonal changes occur before, during, and after childbirth.  Did I avoid sex after I had a baby?  Yep.  For a lot of reasons.  First of all, it hurt like hell.  Second of all, I was exhausted.  Third, everything in my genetic make-up told me to concentrate on providing for the small one.  It's a common problem.  Woman has baby...woman focuses all energy on feels put off.  And, I can totally see why the man might have his nose out of joint.  But, honestly, there isn't much you can do about it.  Except wait.  And not give up.  And keep pressing the issue.

For me, it took a frustratingly long time for my libido to return.  To the point of tearful arguments and raging hormonal fights.  I cried because he wanted something I thought I couldn't give.  He cried because his sex life seemed to be over a mere few years into marriage.

Eventually, the drive did come back.  After trying, exercise, vitamin D, sleep, medication (which, ultimately seems to have been the kicker).

Did I hate sex during this ordeal?  No.  I just didn't want it very often.  I was content to avoid it.  Why?  Mostly, I just think my hormones were off.  Which is why I'd say, men...don't give up on your long-term ladies.  If you aren't having enough sex...then do something about it.  We nearly gave into marriage counseling (which made me feel like a complete failure), but after talking with my doctor, it looked to be that depression was more likely.  Prescription filled, and voila!

When I came across this post, I felt downright awful for the OP.  But, I found it disturbingly similar to my own situation.  While mine was resolved in a lot less time...the arguments were pretty much the same.  Except for a few details, this could've been written by my own husband 3 years ago.  I was content with our sex life (or lack thereof); he was not (duh!).  He felt like he married one woman and was now doomed to spend all of eternity with a sexually frigid bitch.  We'd fight, and I'd come up with ideas of how to make it better.  He'd try them.  They'd fail.  We'd fight again.

Ultimately, it comes down to this.  If both partners are not having as much sex as they want, then both partners are responsible and both will need to come up with solutions and commit to trying them.  I was a resistant party.  I did not want to talk about it, go to counseling, or admit that anything was wrong with me.  I felt like I was being accused...and I felt completely helpless because I truly believed I might be broken.

I didn't hate sex.  But, I sure didn't love it.

Sheer determination on my husband's part eventually pulled us through.  My panic over losing my marriage lent a healthy dose of help, as well.

He tried being more romantic...tried helping around the house more...tried having sex earlier in the evening...and I admitted I had a problem.

In the end, men and women are different.  They need different stimuli.  And to make it more complicated, their needs are forever fluctuating.  Today, I might not need any foreplay at all.  Tomorrow, I might need a lot.  And the next night might just be sexual "fail".  It isn't always great.  But, when it's mind-blowing.  And the more mind-blowing sex a woman has, the more she will want.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Masturbating while driving

The powers that be have really cracked down on texting while driving and talking on your cell.  And we all know that doing anything while we drive, other than paying attention to the road, can be dangerous.  Eating, putting on make-up, reading a map, having someone masturbate you or go down on you...

But what about masturbating yourself?

It can be done...and is apparently more popular than one might think.

Once, many years ago, when I was just beginning a long drive after having had lots of juicy, wonderful sex the previous night, I just could not help myself.  I thought about pulling over...but then, what if someone saw?  Or worse yet, pulled over?

So, I decided to just give it a whirl.  I unbuttoned my jeans and slipped my hand right hand down the front of my panties.  For a few minutes, I just stimulated the clitoris, but as the heat rose to my throat, I felt the unstoppable desire to thrust my fingers inside.

I continued this way for quite awhile.  Given my angle and the difficult position, I really couldn't get my fingers where they needed to be...or straighten my legs to tighten my thighs (it just works better).

I don't know how long it took...though it seemed forever.  Eventually, I finally came, and nearly drove off the road.  I'm right hand my poor left hand was responsible for entirely more than it could handle (steering, thinking, and keeping me alive).

Thank god for cruise control, or I would've been pulled over for erratic speed...faster and slower...lurching and stopping as my fingers pushed in and out and the palm of my hand pressed harder and harder against my clit....rubbing in circles.

When I stopped for gas, I had to zip and button my jeans before exiting the car.

I'm glad I wasn't prone to gushing orgasms back then, like I am now.

What goes on in a girl's mind when...

She has her first kiss:  am I doing it it supposed to feel like this...did I brush my teeth this morning...what should I do with my hands...what if he wants I want more...should I breathe through my nose...oh, god, what are those my body supposed to be doing this...what do I do when this is over...what do I say...oh shut up and just enjoy it...are we going to get caught...what's that noise...

She masturbates:  mmmmmm...yes...that's it....right there...why is this so easy for me and so hard for everyone else...(envisions lover...boyfriend...boyfriend's friends...husband...husband's friends...girlfriends...cute, nameless guys she's seen recently)...(watches porn from corner of eye, maybe)...oh yeah....(massages clit and inserts fingers in various places) it comes...(touches breasts, insides of thighs)...god that is the best kind of warmth (heat comes from within from groin to the belly to the chest to the throat to the cheeks)...holy mother of...ahhhh...I think I'll roll over for a little nap...

She's having sex:  (see above)...oh, fuck, I wish (s)he'd just give me the dick/pussy....why does he/she have to tease me...fuck...fuck...shit, the spot is just fucking out of's maddening (in a good way) when his/her dick/fingers/tongue just clip it over and over and over....oh god...(see above) is so much better than masturbation...nothing beats having something in my hands to grab besides myself...(lots and lots of emptiness and beautiful numbness in the head)...

She's being watched having sex:  what does he/she want to see...what will turn him/her on...let's try this...(looking at him/her for verification)...oh, the eye contact turns me me...(and then she pretty much gets lost in the act because being watched is such an utter turn on)

 She's watching someone else have sex:  that's what I'm talkin' about...mmm....let me try...I wanna that to me...let me do that to her/him...that's hot....

She sees some hot guy (or gal) bent over digging around in his (or her) car looking for something in the passenger seat:  if I could only get away with grabbing his (or her) ass or reaching my hand between his (or her) legs...damn...

She's getting dressed for a date where sex is imminent:  which panties make my hips and ass look best...which bra provides the best cleavage...which perfume smells the sexiest...which dress is tightest, shortest, and has the lowest cleavage...why can't I live in a town where I can get away with wearing this...which jeans are tightest and make my ass look round and smooth...which shirt shows off my boobs without letting them fall out...will this leave unsexy marks when he/she takes it off...will this be easy to take off...will this be easy to get back on...will this look good from behind...will this make him/her hot all through dinner...will this be fun to take off...does this cover up (insert body part(s) she hates here) will this look on the floor...

She's alone in bed:  I wonder if my vibrator needs new batteries...let's check....mmmmmm....

Contrary to popular belief, most women think about sex nearly as often as men do, we just don't talk about it as much (well, some of us do), which leads the world to think we abhor it, or at least would rather do without it.

I love sex...I love watching and being watched.  I love to touch men...and I love touching women; a writhing mess of bodies is where it's at, but I love being alone and intimate with just one person, as well.  I love masturbating (the easiest way on the planet to forget everything...if only for a few minutes).

I think about sex.  I talk about sex.  I write about sex.  I dream about sex.

But from what I've read...there does seem to be a stereotype that women aren't supposed to be like this.  That somehow it is wrong or less acceptable than when men do the same.

Recently I got the internet ADD and found several forums and articles addressing the issue of "women who hate sex".  E'gads...I said to myself.  What a horrible way to go through life.  I'll be exploring this in an upcoming post.  So stay tuned.