On Squirting

I can squirt when I orgasm, sometimes.

It's a pretty infrequent occurrence, and I used to think that it was more-or-less random, but I've discovered that there is a semi-reliable way to make me squirt: play with my clit while forcing me to keep a cock in my mouth, e.g. by holding the back of my head or my hair. The last few times Master has done that to me, I've squirted, and I'm fairly certain the one or two times I squirted with a different partner were under similar conditions.

I'm not sure why that particular situation causes me to squirt. It's not a breathplay thing, as I can breathe just fine with a cock in my mouth. My instinct when I'm getting close to orgasm is to flail around, be very vocal, etc, so maybe it's something about being restrained by the head? I think it might force me to "focus" more because I can't "dispel" my energy via flailing and such. So it's like a buildup of more and more energy, and I can't release it the way I normally do, so I squirt. Almost as if it were condensing, hahaha.

I'd be very interested to do some experiments and figure out which particular variables cause the squirting. For example, maybe restrain me but leave my mouth free, and see if I can squirt that way. And maybe try with a ball gag or something similar, see if it's the mouth specifically that triggers it.

Science!

Good influence

Recently I visited Ume and Gene to celebrate their birthday. (They were born on the same day!) When I was regaling a friend of the event later on, I ended the story with, "The events immediately preceding me falling asleep are kinda blurry. And then I woke up in a bed with four other people, and my skirt was missing." I thought it was quite funny.

"...Wow," my friend said. "I don't think I've ever heard someone tell that kind of story as if it were a good thing."

I realized with a start that he was right - in a different context, what I said could be horrifying. But for me it wasn't; it was pretty typical with how parties with my friends ended. In fact, that party was downright chaste compared to what we usually do - I hadn't done anything more than some close dancing, a kiss or two, and clothes-on snuggling while in bed. (I learned soon after the party that Master had helped me out of my skirt because he didn't want me to wrinkle it in my sleep. So thoughtful!)

That level of trust, that kind of casual intimacy, is normal to me, but I forget it's not normal for a lot of people. Which I suppose isn't a bad thing if people don't want to be that physically close to people, but I certainly wouldn't have it any other way. It's the kind of environment where I really came into my own in terms of my sexuality (and other things, for that matter). I'm glad that my friends and I are making a real effort to keep that network of intimacy even as we spread out across the region post-graduation. I don't know how I'd survive without it.

I've gotten around.

Find out where I've journeyed on the Map of Human Sexuality! Or get your own here!

Eureka!

Recently I have discovered that gently stroking/massaging/tickling the tip of the cervix feels REALLY DAMN GOOD.

I suggest everyone try it.

New experiences

I had my first professional spanking the other night! A goth club in my hometown has regular bondage nights with prodommes, and I went with Lupa. I wanted to get her a spanking, but she was too shy - no one else had gone up yet. So I went first.

The mistress was so sweet; she asked me how much experience I had, whether I was wearing underwear and whether it would be okay to expose said underwear, whether she could use a paddle, how I was doing, if she could hit harder, and so on. And she gave me a hug afterwards. :) AND SHE WAS SO PRETTY. My goodness.

But she also hit really hard. After she shackled my wrists up by my head and tilted me forward (she had a dentist chair-like thing; riding it was very trippy), she warmed up my bottom with a lot of quick, gentle slaps. That actually felt really nice - almost like a massage. But then she really went to town. She used her hand, mostly, and a leather paddle with hearts cut out of it. She took a couple thwacks with a wooden paddle, too, but she went easy with that. Even so, she definitely pushed me; maybe I'm just out of practice, but I don't think I've taken that severe of a paddling in a while, if ever. My bum was still red the next day! But it wasn't especially sore, remarkably enough.

The public aspect was... almost a non-issue. Like, even though it was the first time I'd scened in front of strangers, I was very comfortable and enjoyed myself too much to be embarrassed. And I was able to be as loud as I wanted! That was very nice.

I also met up with a guy I've been chatting with on FetLife. He's a fellow photo buff, though he does digital instead of darkroom. It's the first time in a while I've talked to someone from that site who didn't seem like a total creeper! Though I'm glad that I've met someone who I'd actually like to be friends with, I'm kind of sad that I have to wade through so many, "Hey baby I like ur profile hurr hurr hurr," comments. *sigh*

Also got to see Master, albeit briefly, and we had lunch with my folks. Pretty sure we've successfully maintained the illusion to all three of our families that we each only have one partner. Heh. I'm sad Master and I only had time for sex once, though. :( Of course, he's been teasing me mercilessly about my sex drive, even though his is just as high. I'm sorry, but once a month is not going to cut it! I'm fairly certain most would agree, too.

But I'm going to go visit him in just a few weeks, and then he'll be up for my college graduation. So the dry spell won't be quite as long this time.

A Personal History of Sex

I'm in a sociology of sexuality course this semester, and our first assignment was to write a paper describing our personal definition of sex and how we came to that definition. I decided it was worth sharing here. Enjoy!

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I distinctly remember the first time I learned what sex was. I was young – probably second grade – and was at my friend’s house. We were playing with a girl a year or two older than us; I can’t recall what led up to the conversation, but at some point she felt she needed to enlighten us younger girls. “This is the man’s penis,” she said, holding up her index finger. “And this is the woman’s vagina,” she added, touching the thumb and fingertips of her other hand together to make a circle. Wordlessly, she poked her finger into the circle.

“EEEW!” my friend and I shrieked, covering our faces with our hands in disgust. At that point, all I knew was that penises and vaginas were for peeing[1], and peeing was gross. Why would grown-ups want to touch things that pee came out of?

My concept of sex stayed about the same through the beginning of high school. Though I’d discovered masturbation by sixth grade, that wasn’t sex – there wasn’t anyone else involved. I’d heard of fellatio, but that sounded disgusting; I still couldn’t get over the fact that guys peed with their dicks. Cunnilingus never even entered my sphere of awareness.[2] Anal sex was something gay guys did because they didn’t have vaginas to stick their penises in.

Then, during tenth grade, I came to the realization that I was bisexual.[3] Suddenly, sex with another woman became a viable option. Awesome! But… how does that work? Obviously I’d need to do some research. Since I was a total anime nerd, I turned not to live-action lesbian porn but to yuri, its anime equivalent. There I discovered cunnilingus, which seemed pretty neat, but the two dominant acts depicted were frottage and using a dildo.[4]

These made sense, given my current definition of sex. If “normal” sex is putting two genitals – i.e. the penis and the vagina – together, then lesbian sex is either a) rubbing two female genitals together, or b) bringing in a synthetic penis to do the penetration. Since I never actually had sex with anyone – male or female – during my high school years, this rough definition was good enough to satisfy me.

When I came to college, though, several things happened that influenced my definition of sex. First, I became sexually active with both men and women – sometimes simultaneously. As I explored my sexuality, I discovered that I liked being tied up, ordered around, and beaten. This conflicted with my liberal, quasi-feminist upbringing, which said that women needed to be strong and confident and not let men boss them around. Perturbed, I began researching feminism in earnest for the first time in my life, and I discovered not only were my sexual preferences totally okay[5], but maybe I should rethink what I mean by “sex” in the first place.

Why, feminism asked, does society think a penis needs to be involved for something to be “sex”? Why is male orgasm the definitive ending point of sex, while a woman doesn’t necessarily have to orgasm at all? And what’s with our culture’s obsession with virginity, anyway? We can’t even agree on what a “virgin” is!

These questions blew my mind. The mainstream definition of sex was sexist! And heterosexist! And generally not very good! I’d need to change this.

I decided to leave masturbation as something separate from sex. While it was certainly sexual, my emotional and physical relationship with masturbation was distinctly different from sexual situations involving other people. It’s like having a good relationship with yourself vs. having good friends; both are important, and they are related, but they’re not the same.

So, sex involved at least two people. Looking back on my sexual experiences, I noticed there was a distinct difference in intimacy/emotional intensity between encounters involving genitals (meaning the penis, testicles, vulva, and anus) and those that were restricted to kissing and caressing other parts of the body. This is no doubt because of the societal importance placed on genitals; they must be covered at all times in public, and even most of the time in private, and they generally shouldn’t be touched, either, except by people whom you were very emotionally attached to and trusted a lot.

However, I didn’t see anything particularly wrong with this cultural importance attached to them, so I decided to include it in my new definition of sex: touching of someone’s bare genitals[6] must be involved. But, taking a lesson from feminist critique, a penis does not have to be involved. Indeed, only one set of genitals is required – the other person might use their hand or their mouth or some other implement, but it’d still be sex. Also, it has to be consensual for all parties; otherwise it is rape and an act of violence. And, finally, gynecological examinations are excepted because they don’t bring pleasure to either the doctor or the patient, and pleasure is the biggest reason why we have sex – now that we have effective contraception, that is.

Thus I came to my current definition of sex: consensual, pleasurable activity between two or more people that involves touching of at least one set of bare genitals, whether with another set of genitals, a different part of the body, or with an implement like a dildo. This definition is considerably broader than many people’s, as it includes oral sex, anal sex, hand jobs/finger banging, rimming, and frottage. However, I prefer this definition because it doesn’t erase homosexual partners and it elevates everyone involved to equal importance. I also hope that more people come to a similar definition of sex as the queer and women’s rights movements gain momentum.

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[1] I didn’t learn that the vagina and urethra were separate things until fourth grade. Suddenly tampons made a lot more sense!

[2] Thanks, patriarchy!

[3] That’s a whole ‘nother paper.

[4] Or many, many dildos. All at once.

[5] Well, depending on which feminists you ask. I prefer the ones who say I’m not a sick freak and/or a brainwashed tool of the patriarchy, which is admittedly a very biased opinion on my part.

[6] I stipulate bare genitals because having a layer of clothing between them and whatever is doing the touching is not as intimate. Also, despite not technically being “bare,” I still consider it sex when someone is wearing a condom or dental dam because the latex is so thin it doesn’t impede sensation anyway, and the emotional level of intimacy is about the same.

Kinky vanilla?

(Taking a quick break from working on my final portfolio for my writing class.)

The other night Master and I had completely vanilla sex. Before we began, he laid out the "rules" - no spanking, no dirty-talking, no biting, no calling each other "Master" and "kitten." It was to be as "normal" as possible.

Let me tell you, it was weird. I mean, it was still sex, so it was nice, but it was absolutely bizarre. It felt so much more staged than our playsessions. I suppose it was - we were roleplaying as a vanilla college couple.

It was kind of cool, though, how I could feel Master restraining himself. I could sense that he wanted to grab me, to hold me down, to bite and smack me, but he didn't. He was practically trembling from the contained energy and violence. Oh man, was that awesome. That was definitely a turn-on.

Still, it wasn't something I'd want to do a lot. I definitely prefer kink. It's hard to believe that Master and I used to have sex that way all the time for an entire year. Buh. We talked about it afterwards, and we both agree that we could never go back to a plain vanilla relationship. No way, man. I've been too thoroughly corrupted. ;)

Master-bation

Hahaha, it's a joke. Get it?

Ahem. Anyway.

Master and I are in our respective states for T-Day break, and in the two days we've been apart I've masturbated twice.

I'm actually kind of weirded out by it. And I'm weirded out by how weirded out I am.

When I was in high school and junior, I masturbated on a fairly regular basis - at least three times a week, sometimes every night. Then I came to college, I became sexually active soon after, and my desire to masturbate just... petered out. However, it didn't stop - sometimes I get the urge to masturbate mere minutes after I've had sex, so it leads me to conclude that my sex drive and my masturbation drive are separate, though highly influenced by one another. That, and I find the act of masturbation to be a turn-on in itself; I don't need to fantasize about sex to get turned on because thinking about masturbating turns me on.

Even when I'm apart from Master for the summer, though, my masturbation drive doesn't really rebound much. Once, maybe twice a week is it - except for when I suddenly get a streak and I'll masturbate three times a day. It's all very erratic.

Which leads me to wonder why I suddenly have the drive now. I know that some women's sex drives are influenced by their menstrual cycle, but I no longer have a menstrual cycle, thanks to my nifty little IUD. Maybe I still have the hormone fluctuations, but not the external signs (i.e. the period). But I don't recall any regular changes in my sex drive even when I did have a period. It was basically random.

It's a little frustrating. I get thirsty when my body doesn't have enough liquid to perform essential cell functions; I get hungry for the same reasons. Sleepiness is a little more puzzling, but we generally understand that we get tired when our body has been running for too long without a chance to regenerate via sleep. But what triggers our levels of horniness? Why do I sometimes crave sex multiple times a day; why do I sometimes go for weeks during the summer without even thinking about touching myself?

I dunno. It's all very strange.

Why I don't like talking about sex

You may not be able to tell from this blog, but in real life I am extremely private when it comes to my sex life. Late last year, I would semi-regularly play with two friends, R (a guy), and S (a girl) in addition to master. What I did with R and S I never really shared with Master in detail, though he was aware of my time with them; similarly, I didn't tell R and S much about what I did with Master. At the time, I thought I was just being polite; it isn't very nice to compare your sex partners, after all, and I didn't want to make anyone jealous. But mostly I think I was just shy.

For someone who is such a staunch advocate for healthy and exuberant expression of sexuality (I suppose you could call me "sex-positive," though like a lot of people who may fit the label I have some quibbles with the term), it's really weird that I'm so reluctant to share my own sexuality with others. I'm sure a good portion of the cause is our dysfunctionally prurient society, which teaches everyone that whatever you do behind closed doors, make sure it stays behind closed doors. (Unless, of course, it's something freaky, at which point it's dragged out for the general public to gawk at.)

But blaming society is too much of a cop-out. There's gotta be more to it than that.

In high school, I was decidedly part of the "relationships? Pff - who needs 'em!" crowd. Even though I had a girlfriend for two-thirds of my high school experience, we were low-key about it, partially out of necessity (being the only lesbian couple in a school that had no gay community to speak of) and partially because we were both pretty laid back. Not only that, but my friends and I were band geeks, science nerds, orchestra dorks - the kind of students who tended to not have boyfriends or girlfriends. At lunch, the gussied-up preppie girls two tables over would gab on and on and on and on about their boyfriends, and my friends and I would mercilessly mock them behind their backs. The message was clear: don't talk about your boyfriend/girlfriend because no one likes a braggart.

And even though I had a great girlfriend, we both identified more with my sullenly single compatriots. We were the outcasts, the unloved, the cynical realists. We scoffed at the bubbly depictions of high school romance in the movies and our peers' airheaded attempts to replicate it, which ultimately ended in drama-filled breakups. We were simultaneously above the rest of the student body, since we saw through all the pettiness, and jealous of their dates and their parties and their steamy encounters.

So then I entered college. I still considered myself one of those ragtag (virgin) misfits that no one really pays attention to except fellow misfits. That was fine; I liked it that way - misfits are more interesting. It's fun to laugh at the mundies and all that.

Then I met Master. He was simultaneously everything I loved about my friends and everything I hated about the "popular kids": a gamer with a goofy sense of humor, smart, incredibly handsome, and popular! My lord, it seemed everyone on campus loved him! Well, according to the paradigm I'd brought along from high school, his popularity automatically precluded me from any chance of dating him. I was a geeky, naive freshman, and he was a suave, well-liked upperclassman; there was no chance in hell he'd notice little ol' me.

But he did. And, to my shock, he actually took an interest in me! It was so much more than anything a little dweeb like me could hope for! Now I had another reason to be quiet: I felt like I was committing a horrible transgression - I was reaching beyond my rightful "place," as it were, and I didn't want anyone to lash out at me in retribution.

When I finally got over my inferiority complex, a new reason for me to stay my tongue emerged: we were both going to be on the Residential Life staff next year, and it would be... less than professional for two staff members to be openly seeing each other. Not only that, but throughout this time Master was still in a long-distance relationship with a girl in Chicago. Though they had agreed it would be okay to sleep with other people, it would still look sketchy to people who didn't know of their agreement. So I kept my head down.

I did allow myself to tell two people, though - two high school friends who didn't have any connection with my college, so there was no way the information could leak back to campus. The first person I told called me a whore and a sex addict when he found out I was having sex (gasp!) three times a week. I can only imagine what he'd think of me now. Needless to say, I didn't remain friends with him much longer. The second person I told, F, I had a significantly more complicated history with. F was my best friend in high school, the very first woman that I developed a full-on crush for, and the catalyst for my self-discovery as a bisexual (she says, and all the bisexual women and lesbians nod with sympathetic understanding). As you can guess, it did not end terribly well. She was attracted to me, but maybe not, but... We made out a few times, I made my first fumbling, awkward attempt at lesbian sex, and then we went our separate ways, never to speak of it again.

I assumed that F wanted to put her ill-fated brush with bisexuality behind her. So I was shocked when, after telling her I had lost my virginity, she was incredibly hurt and jealous. The reason why dawning on me, I asked, "Are you jealous of me or of him [Master]?" A pit of dread settled nicely in my stomach as she affirmed that it was him he was jealous of because he was intimate with me.

Great. I had done a fine job of alienating the one person I was actually comfortable talking about my sex life with (besides the person I was actually having sex with, of course). Lesson learned - best not say anything to anyone.

It's possible that these are just convenient excuses that I latched on to in order to cover my shyness, but I think there's some legitimacy behind them.

So what do I do to overcome my aversion? Well, I post here, of course. I can start posting at my non-anonymous journal too - little bits, at least at first. Master wants me to talk to F about it, but so far my efforts have been for naught, mostly because I have no idea how to go about it and end up being incredibly bumbling and awkward. I'll have to try again soon.