My Writing

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Masturbating for an Audience

UPDATE (DEC. 2012):  I HAVE, INDEED, NOW MASTURBATED FOR MR.LL.  AND, YES, HE LIKED IT.  WILL I DO IT AGAIN...PROBABLY.  SOMEDAY.

ORIGINAL POST:
On "Ask Me Anything" a reader inquires about my willingness to masturbate in front of my husband or watch him masturbate in front of me.

Interestingly, this is a topic that has come up often in the L.L. home.

Mr. LL would love to watch - is totally intrigued by how I go about pleasuring myself.  He sees and hears just about as much as you do, dear readers.  I'm not much of an exhibitionist in that regard.  In fact, for some odd reason, it makes me downright uncomfortable.  It seems so personal.  But, then, I understand - the intimacy of it...seems I should be willing to let my lover/best-friend/husband see that part of my sexuality, right?  I guess I feel like I'm on display - which makes me feel self-conscious...no matter how silly that is.

I've watched him do it.  I've asked him to.  It's interesting to see someone else take care of their own needs because you can learn more about how to please them yourself.

Ahhhh...maybe someday I'll relent.

But, for now - I masturbate in private.  Much to the chagrin of Mr. LL.

I'm also completely aware of how hot it is to watch a chick do her thing.  When I watch porn, it's often to watch women masturbating.  Maybe that's weird, but I think it also plays into the fact that I know exactly what they are doing and how they are feeling - and so my body reacts similarly when I see it.

Here's a great site for your female masturbation viewing pleasure -  http://www.ifeelmyself.com/public/femalemasturbation.htm

Picture taken from:  www.eroticamusements.com

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Where do you play? (Home vs. Hotel)

Usually, we do not invite people with whom we "play" into our home.  We like to keep our vanilla and our "multi-flavor" lives separate.  On occasion, we have become close enough friends with another couple to invite them over (or vice versa).

Our preference is out of town and at a hotel.  We like to chat it up at a restaurant, flirt, fondle, confuse the waitstaff by switching seats, get tipsy and handsy...even downright dirty in public.  And since we live in a fairly small town, why on earth would we choose to play in our own back yard?  It can't always be avoided...hell, it's hard enough to arrange a "date" with our busy schedules.  And we are lucky enough to have a few "local" couples we like to hang out with, who understand the need for discretion.

But, it is a helluva lot more fun to throw caution to the wind and let it all hang loose.

The irony here is that it's a lot easier (for me, at least) to relax and get wild in my own bedroom.  Let's just say I ain't a quiet little thing...so being in a hotel can kind of make me feel self-conscious.  In fact, we have a running joke based on an incident in a local hotel - a friend of mine was "shooshed" by her husband because she was enjoying herself too loudly.  Neither one of us like to be "shooshed".  And we do what we can to avoid it.  "Shooshing" is a libido shrinker...a mood killer...a pretty instant way to piss a chick off.  So, that's the drawback of a hotel.  At least, in my own home...I don't have to worry about being "shooshed".

So, what about you?  Where do you play?  Do you prefer a club, a hotel, a house party, your own home, someone else's?

Just wondering.


Friday, August 17, 2012

Perfume - a necessary part of a balanced wardrobe

Thanks for the question, N.A.

"perfume ? a sexual starting place....the thought of " he loves this one...if i put this on now, he's going to want me.... " etc . ever happen, or does not apply in the LL household?"

Answer:

Oh goodness, yes!  The sense of smell is a huge part of who we are.  Smell can draw up both good and bad memories, send us to a particular place, impact our mood and our ability to think, process, and remember.

Both Mr. LL and I have different scents for different occasions - daily wear and date nights.  And the differences between the scents are quite dramatic.  For example, my daily scent is light, sort of sweet, and crisp.  My "date night" scent is deeper, muskier, and much more powerful.  The same goes for Mr. LL's day vs. night choices.  In fact, his going out scent is actually called "Sexual".  Go figure.  And let me tell you....it lives up to its name.  When we went searching for a new fragrance for him, the whole point was whether or not I liked it, and whether or not it made me hot.  This one made me want to maul him right then and there in the perfume department at Macy's.  It was a clear and instant winner.


One of my going out (or staying in, what have you) scents is shaped like an hourglass and comes in a box that resembles a corset.  Subtle marketing, eh?  It does seem that our choices for "sexy" scents have a lot more going on in the musk and spice department.  They hang onto the skin longer and probably blend with and enhance our own natural scents in a complimentary way.  At least that's my guess.



I also very much like Angel, but it's quite a bit more expensive - so I use it sparingly.  However, it is a guaranteed ticket to a night of neck-nuzzling and ear-nibbling.  This one is Mr. LL's favorite.  He calls it my "whore stench".



And I've always loved DKNY's Cashmere Mist.




Fragrance is such a personal pursuit.  Every scent smells different on every skin.  So, a recommendation is a waste of time, really.  The only way to do it is to grab someone whom you hope to turn on, and run to your nearest perfume department.  Try a few of them.  Make sure to give them time to set into the skin to see how they change with your own chemistry. We make a whole day of it.  And, ultimately, considering the cost of a good fragrance, putting in the time is worth it.





Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Dom's Dom?



Mr. LL and I were having one of our usual sex conversations (we talk about it at least as much as we do it, if not more), and an interesting few questions about submission and dominance came up.  Looking at a photo of a woman in a black corset with a whip, standing over a man, face down on a bed, with his hands stretched out above him, tied to the rails of the headboard, we considered the possibility of me being in that position.  Mr. LL and I have tried it - the role play of myself being in control...over him.  Doesn't work with us.  Gave us both a bad taste in our mouths.  But, could it work if it wasn't Mr. LL?

Hmmmm.  Since we're simply speaking theoretically, I suppose I can say "possibly" - given the right circumstances.  Could I see myself dominating another person besides my husband (with or without his witnessing it?).  Yes.  Maybe.

So then, Mr. LL broaches the possibility of it being a woman...could I dominate a woman?  I guess.  More easily than a man?  Hmmmm...I don't know.  I guess it would depend on the woman...just as it would depend on the man.  S(he) would have to be, in my mind's eye, more fragile than me - not necessarily weaker, but more feminine?  I don't know if that's the best description.  And I do get that it's about giving up control to someone, willingly, so everyone is making a conscious decision about their place in the relationship.

The following night, we continue the discussion.  Only this time, Mr. LL hits the nail on the head.  Could I, he inquired, do to another what he requested.?  Could I take directions, instructions, orders from him and then carrying them out on a Submissive?  Be the intermediary?   Immediately, it made sense.  Yes, absolutely...I could see myself doing it this way.  I wouldn't really feel comfortable doing it on my own, but if he was telling me what to do, such as "Smack her ass for me."  Mmmm hmmm.

I have this weird need for the traditional.  Not that I don't have a kinky streak...but I like my men to be "men"...to take control of the situation.  I don't mean to control me per se.  I've done the whole tie-me-up thing.  And, don't get me wrong, there is an element of sexiness about being restrained and having to give up control to someone else (there's a huge trust element here, as well - at least for me).  And I love reading about it - The Story of O, The Sleeping Beauty series, several stories by Anais Nin.  I get it.  I just haven't done it.  And if I did, honestly, I think I'd make a more natural Sub - just because I'm not much for telling others what to do (odd, since I do it professionally every day - but I suppose that's more common that not, huh?)

Mr. LL's name for a woman in this type of arrangement...him leading me to lead another:  The Dom's Dom.

The funny thing here is that Mr. LL is not really my Dom.  There is very little BDSM in our mix - a smack here, a few ropes there, without any sense of commitment to the regimen.  I am not into humiliation or subjugation.  I don't judge those who are, it just isn't really for me.  Now.  That's not to say that my needs and wants won't change over time.

I'll have to continue mulling this over.  We talk about a lot of crazy shit - and do about a third of it.  But, then, we wouldn't have done even that third if the conversations hadn't happened.  Talk, in our house, is not cheap.

So, the catalysts to this conversation?

Client Nine and Half's post "Top in the Streets, Bottom in the Sheets" (what a witty little title, eh?)
Words on Screen - "Owned" (part 4) - yummy little bit, this - a must read!
Under Contract to Wife - Slacker Reports for Duty





Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Peaches and Gushing Orgasms





Peach


It sits alone, so ripe
I can smell its heavy sweetness.
I reach in and press the skin,
leaving an impression
too easily.

Carefully, I pick it up,
stretching my lips to take in
as much as my mouth will accept,
letting the juice gush down my chin
in slow syrupy rivulets.

When all that is left is the pit
and the mess, I gaze down at
nature's currency in my palm.
Wrinkled and hard,
this could still give life.

But, I throw it away
and wipe my face and hands.
A tidy end to the forgettable slaughter.
Yet, I can still smell its ghost
on my fingers.


Sunday, August 12, 2012

The insecurities of aging

Yes, I'm going there.  Why?  Because, honestly, if this "blog" is to be anything more than trite, I have to tell it like it is. How else is it (am I) going to be different than anything else on this vast, deep, and growing thing we call the internet?

I told you I was thinking about where this blog is going to go.  And sure, I plan to continue with my fiction and poetry.  But, the personal writing has to be more than just something to turn a crowd on.  I can't just write for my husband (though, I do love to, honey).  I can't just write for people I am trying to seduce (though my words are one of my most potent aphrodisiacs - which, oddly, and sadly, seem to flow only from a distance and in the comfort of my empty living room).

No, I have to actually do what my subtitle says I am trying to do....navigate my inner landscape.  Gag.  Really, it sounds cliche.  Or maybe too much like I should be lying on a red velvet couch baring all (and I don't mean that in the sexual context).

So, here it is.

I've had several readers, including my husband, say that the joy of reading a blog like this is that men are offered a very rare glimpse into the female psyche.  It's sort of sad that the way they get this is by reading the blog of some woman who could be anyone, living anywhere.  Hell, I could be lying for all you know.

But, I'm not.

And, I'm not giving you enough.

No...I'm giving you "safe".  I'm giving you what I'm comfortable giving you.

I think that needs to change.  Gradually.  But, it needs to...if I plan to stand out from the crowd.  And really, I'm doing it for more than that.  I think I am doing it more for me.  But, I suppose that the exhibitionist quality of it is motivating.  What can I say...write out loud...that shocks me?  Or embarrasses me?  Or makes me uncomfortable?  Because that's when I know I am being honest.

And for my first feat?  Let's talk about my body.  What I like and what I don't.  Because, I'm pretty sure I'm a lot like other women in the run down I'm about to do.

And since I'm on glass three of my $5 dollar bottle of crap red wine, sitting on the couch, surrounded by clutter, dressed in a sundress - dried sweat making my skin sticky and salty, my hair up in a clip, quite aware of my inadequacies in the "sexy" department:  I'm going to start with what I like.

My eyes are a very distinct clear blue-green.  Depending on my mood or clothing, they change.  Several years ago, I got a wild hair and decided to try blue contacts.  I wore them for a week and then gave up.  They took away the soul of my eyes....made them flat and common.

My lips are that perfect shape for lipstick.  Perfect points.  Full and feminine.  Strangely, I have my father to thank for these.

My fingernails.  Wouldn't need a French manicure any day of the week.  Small, uniform, perfectly shaped, pink with white tips.  I remember my mother used to tell my I'd have ugly nails if I kept biting them.  I love it when she's wrong. 

My pale complexion (which, though not perfect, is easy to deal with and looks good most days...even without make-up).

Now the things I don't love:

My stretch marks (they seem to be popping up everywhere these days), my cellulite, my "mom belly", my inner thighs, my mousy brown hair that is now turning gray regardless of how much I color, my neck (which has begun to lose its tightness), my bikini line (I swear, I've tried everything to keep it under control and it betrays me by rashing up, multiplying ingrown hairs, and itching like fricking mad when I shave it).  My "spare tire" (which only shows when I'm wearing clothes), and the fact that I can't seem to lose a pound now that I'm over 35, even if I eat less and move more, like I know I'm supposed to.  I jog 3 miles 3 times a week, do cardio and weights and yoga, and all it does is keep me from getting fatter (most of the time).

It really isn't that I don't feel sexy.  Most of the time, I do.  Or at least I know I have to ability to.  It is hard, as a woman (maybe it is for men, too), to keep from dwelling on my aging form, though.  Especially, when I'm as open with my husband about what we find attractive in others.  Sure I find younger men hot.  And likewise, why wouldn't I expect him to find younger women hot.  And I find him hot...even though he doesn't look like those younger men.  So why would I have a hard time believing he finds me hot?  Actually, I don't.  He does a lovely job of proving it to me on a regular basis.  But, I think there is something primal about envying the young.  I do not look like I once did.

Do I mourn my lost figure?  To a degree, I suppose.  But, I can say that even with that figure, I never had sex then like I have now.  That came with time and knowing myself a hell of lot better than I used to.  I guess it's a give and take then.  Sure, I wish I looked 25 and could have sex like I do now.  Not gonna happen, though.  And I'm not getting any younger.

Funny thing...the other day I was complaining about the white streaks beginning to take up residence in my hair and that I needed to make an appointment to have it colored.  My husband said, "Just don't...stop coloring...let it go."

Why was I shocked by this?  I love him.  He loves me.  Why would I feel that it's weird he would find me sexy even with graying hair?

I think women (or many of us) take things too personally and too far.  For example, and to clarify the hair color confusion, he likes all colors.  For awhile now, he's encouraged my transition to blond.  Further and further.  But, he also loves red.  Real red.  And so, I've indulged.  I prefer brunette.  Why would I go blonde when I prefer brunette?  Because he thinks it's sexy.  Dumb, I know.  Have I told him this?  No.  (Guess he's gonna find out, though).  But, gray?  Ummmm...maybe on men, yes.  Distinguished.  Aristocratic.  On women?  Well, it just makes us feel old.

And another moment in my "so this is me getting older, huh" journey:  having sex in broad daylight, atop my husband, leaning forward, I glance under my arm to watch my hips undulate and I notice (*gasp*) that my belly is not just "a belly", it's actually sagging forward on the sides...a bit of cellulite mixed in for good measure.  Good, fucking Christ (sorry to offend)!  I could hardly get my rocks off, and it took me days to figure out and admit why I was then in a crappy mood for the rest of the day.

And that's when it hit me.  I'm terribly insecure about getting older.  So, here is my toast to beautiful older women.  May I follow (even just marginally) in your footsteps and accept my changing form as gracefully (if unwillingly) as you have done (and with probably just as much insecurity as the rest of us...if not more).









Saturday, August 11, 2012

Absence makes the heart grow....

Or, it can lead to numbness.  Pretty much opposite ends of the spectrum, I know.

So, here I am, at another crossroads.  Been here before, but each time, I'm a bit changed and rearranged.  I mean, let's be honest, I'm not the same person I was yesterday, or a year ago.

This blog started out as an anonymous place for me to spout off about sex and share the writing I otherwise could not with my name attached.  The world in which I live would not allow it or accept it.

And, in all seriousness, I like my world.  And I don't want to fuck it up.  It's sad, really that people can't be honest.  That we have to censor ourselves to be accepted and to avoid hurting others.

I've been off the radar for about month.  Partially because I just had nothing to say.  Partially because I was tired of "talking" and just needed to retreat.  I do that from time to time.  I suppose it's necessary to regroup and reconnect with ones self.

What I've found in my head, after weeks of ignoring and then days of scrounging is this:  I'm not sure where I want to go with this.  I love to write.  I love sex.  But, my audience is quiet.  And, oddly, expanding.  I know I have readers, but few of you comment, and honestly, it has a lot to do with why I do or don't write.

When I first stated this blog, no one read it but me.  I wrote for myself, with a tiny speck of hope and interest in someone else stumbling upon my words.  It was more like walking around without any underwear - I was the only one who knew, but the possibility of someone else finding out was a little enticing.

Soon after I started, I told my husband...we talk about everything and are very open with each other, but, I can't lie...it did color what I did and didn't write.  I wrote for myself still, but in the back of my mind, I now knew I had a reader...not one who judged....but one who knew me.

Now, years later...I have offered up parts of myself, secrets, inside information...and I have stopped just writing for myself.   I have anonymous readers and readers whom I have spoken with, touched, had sex with....

And that changes what I can and can't say.  Suddenly, I find myself in a predicament.  This place that I initially created as a refuge of truth now has become yet another place where I must censor myself.

I hate that.

And so I stopped.

Now I have to decide how to continue.  Does the site become a place now just for literary reviews, erotica and photos only.  Have I stamped out my freedom to share personal information?  Because let's be serious about it, how likely am I to share, complain, compare, or investigate events or relationships with people who may be reading about it later?  Not likely.

It's a shame really.  Disappointing.  But, it's reality.

Give me some time.  I'll try to figure it out.

And thanks for your patience, if you're reading.