My Own Private Babylon

I love her. She doesn’t get nearly the praise she deserves, because (to quote her quoting me :), the problem with having a blog-worthy life is that you have no time to blog about it.

But I love her. She has a fierce passion and an unpretentious sexual appetite that I find hypnotic. Like all good friends, she probably doesn’t realize how important she is to me…but she’s truly one of a kind.

Supportive information: We’re both sick with the flu.

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

What kind do you make for me at home?

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

It’s green tea with honey. If it’s late I make chamomile tea with rohypnol.

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

Rohypnol? YOU GIVE ME RUFFIES!!!

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

What, you think you suddenly passed out and woke up hanging over the side of the couch by accident?

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

There are times when “I love you” just doesn’t say enough. This is one of those times.

I FELL DOWN THE STAIRS!!! DIAL F-B-I, TELL THE FBI IFELLDOWNTHESTAIRS!!!

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

You say that now. Madonna says peeing on feet kills bacteria. I wanted to see if that would work on your junk, too. When you’re sick your balls smell like salted bananas and dog biscuits.

That and I wanted your girlfriend and her sasquatch ilk to sniff your crotch and recognize that I will turn her skin into a car tarp if she second-guesses me again.

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

And just when I think you max out you find some way to raise the bar. OK, you want water sports, we’ll do watersports, god help the security deposit!!!

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

Actually, I do. I really like the taste of it. Next time, could you make the tea?

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

OK. Fine, I’ll make the tea…I will MAKE the tea…

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

I’d like that. I can lie on my back on the coffee table and you can kneel over me and put your junk in my face hole and pour the kettle of pee-tea over your butt and while it drips onto my eyes you shout “Oh what a lovely tea party!”

To: Lilith / From: Blacks / Subject: Tea

Why’s my butt gotta get wet? Why you gotta go there?

To: Blacks / From: Lilith / Subject: Tea

Because if it’s dry you’re going to squeal like a little piggy.

————-

Dear Husband,
When I was a little girl, I used to pretend my toys were sold into the sex trade. I’d asphyxiate them with plastic bags from the dry cleaners, tie them up with elastic car straps, and gang-rape the stuffing out of them with the appropriate complements. Thank you for being the Ken to my Barbie. You make all my dreams come true.

Happy Valentine’s Day.
Love, Me

1. Drop and Give Me Twenty
Kegels are only the beginning. There are four important sets of muscles around your vagina, and with exercise, you can grip a man’s cock as firmly as if you used your own hand, move your cervix out of harm’s way, press your G-spot against the penis, and have the best orgasms of your life. Controlling these muscles individually is key. Personally, I constrict the inner muscles deeper in the vagina while relaxing the muscles near the entrance (by constricting them all, I bruise). To identify your PC muscles, put two fingers in your vagina and clamp down on them. Congratulations; You can now do kegels. If you can (I find this is easier while lying on my back), try to release the muscles clamped around the base of your fingers and try to tighten your vagina only around the tips of your fingers. This may take some practice but you want to learn to control them independently. The uterine muscle is trickier, and the time-honored technique for discovering it is a little gross. While on your back with your knees raised, tighten the various muscles you can feel in your lower abdomen. If you feel air flow through your vagina as you tense a specific muscle, congratulations, you’ve found it. This muscle is my best friend, but we’ll get into that around #4. The fourth orgasm-enhancing muscle is your diaphragm, believe it or not. Tensing it causes pressure on your lower organs which push down on your vaginal wall, pressing it against the penis, particularly around your G-spot. If you feel your body press down as you come, you may be doing this instinctively. If you can learn to control it, you can only enhance the sensation. As for sexually pleasing the penis, you want to learn to independently control the muscles higher in your vagina, and you’ll want to use a real or artificial penis to perfect this. To me, it feels like “rings” of muscle, and I like to contract them in ascending order, like closing your fingers individually as he thrusts inside you, and alternatively relaxing them as he pulls out (to rest them). This, above all things, drives Micheal to orgasm almost immediately. Men, learning to control your sexual muscles can help to delay orgasm, but I’ll let someone else talk about that marvel.

2. Snake-Charming (and The Belly of the Serpent)
Men are more sensitive on the underside of the penis, and the most sensitive spot is the triangular area where the shaft of the penis meets the head. Rub the tip of your tongue, the underside of your thumb, anything warm and wet (and possibly vibrating) on that spot. When the penis crosses your lips, tighten them (but never allow the teeth to touch them). Keep your mouth as taut and wet as possible, but always allow free motion of the tongue; it’s the primary advantage your mouth has over your vagina. When the penis is in your mouth, swirl your tongue along the length of it, like the way a snake’s body moves, flicking the tip as if your tongue were a finger and you were telling someone to “come here.” Do not, however, allow the movement of your tongue to interrupt your rhythm. Frequent interruptions can ruin the experience. Speed is important but too much and you’re wasting your face. I like to measure about three thrusts every two seconds or two thrusts per second as he gets closer to climax. If the cock is in your throat, try to moan with a deep, guttural sound. The effort is less about “noisemaking” and more about creating vibrations in your throat (like the moan you make when you stretch). Your throat is a narrow passage and the penis is likely to be pressed against all four walls. The reverberations of your throat will ripple through the cock like a vibrator. Personally, I like to bring the man to the brink of orgasm and change pace or style, as it seems to strengthen the orgasm, but as a personal rule, I do not do this more than three times per orgasm, because continued stimulus without release can make orgasm much more difficult. The male orgasm seems less like a simmering pot waiting to boil and more like a roller coaster with rising slopes. Each is harder to climb, but the succeeding rush is stronger. Still, three hills is my maximum gamble. Beyond that, it’s just hard work. : ) And ladies, I highly recommend drawing the first orgasm from the man through oral sex. The second orgasm is not only stronger, but it lasts longer, and is preferable for intercourse.

3. The Fourth Wall
Women are more sensitive on the vaginal wall adjacent to the clit. It’s where the G-spot is, it’s where all the good feelings come from. If your penis bends in a specific direction (up, down, to the left) try to position yourself and your partner so that you rub against that wall. The most sensitive spot on that wall varies from woman to woman; some claim it is closer to the mouth of the vagina, while others (myself included) argue that it is several inches back. It’s wise to explore with your fingers before inserting your penis, to establish a clear and individualized treasure map in your mind. When performing cunnilingus (and I can’t stress this enough) use your fucking hands. Put your fingers inside her and stroke the most sensitive wall (without applying “real” pressure, as if you were pulling her toward you), while you lick her clit. This is the technique I have always taught, because women have two kinds of orgasms. We masturbate using our clits because we can’t reach inside ourselves. You can, and vaginal orgasms are five times as strong as clitoral ones. Increase speed and force as she responds to you; it’s much easier to perceive sexual pleasure from oral sex than it is through intercourse, which is one of the reasons I prefer it. Some women are rumored to enjoy it when you suck on their clit, but I’ve never met any of those women. In cunnilingus, I like a flicking tongue on my clit and two fingers buried in my vagina, rubbing in the appropriate spot, with the rest of the hand coincidentally caressing my swollen vaginal lips. No exceptions.

4. The Sweet Spot
Women who can control their uterine muscles and remove their cervix from the penile line of fire can open up an extra inch or two of space. For less-endowed men, doggie style also frequently results in hitting this magic spot. Ladies, when in that position, try to lean into him, raising your legs forward and allowing for deeper penetration. Now that I’ve covered the basics for reaching the El Dorado of the woman’s body, oh my god. Instant, sheet-tearing, panting-and-clawing multiple orgasm. That’s the real reason we do yoga, so we can get into the myriad of positions that will allow for deeper penetration. That’s also the reason we love big cocks; it has nothing to do with how much ground they can cover, but whether they can ring the bell at the top of the tower. It’s the big secret most women don’t discover until they’ve had an orgasm or two and are slamming against their partner in an unusual position. I found out about this by accident after I mastered my vaginal aerobics and was able to dodge the jousting lance that once speared my cervix. It is worth the exercise. It is worth practicing them every day. There’s no sex toy like it. It’s better than a shower massager. It’s better than the hottest fantasy. It’s fucking as gods intended. Of course, it’s also dangerous territory, because you’re dodging the cervix, and any woman will tell you that getting bopped in the cervix feels an awful lot like getting punched in the nose. Still, fuck dangerously; it’s so worth it.

5. Get Your Hands And Tongue Dirty
When convenient, loop your first finger and thumb around the base of the penis and pull the skin a little bit. The more taut the skin of the cock, the more intense the sensations. Don’t waste all that voracious tongue-dancing. And, as much as we like a thick, fat tongue on our vaginal walls, men love to have their balls kissed, licked, and caressed. And don’t forget your hands. Balls should never be ignored; they are as sensitive as the lips of our vaginas, and they aren’t nearly as fragile as they look. If you’re performing oral sex, prop yourself up on your elbows to free your hands. If you’re in a 69, hold yourself up on your chest. If you’re on top, let him play with your tits and reward him with a reach-around. Most of all, I just want to revisit the idea of licking and sucking on them. I don’t have a male friend who hasn’t specifically mentioned how much he delights in the sensation. The penis may be the act in the main ring, but don’t forget to pay some attention to the other two rings in the circus. Some men love having their balls sucked, but the pressure they enjoy varies from person to person. Also, balls vary from man to man; some are difficult to fit into your mouth at all. Some men enjoy it when you tongue their ass while you jerk them off, but I’ll leave that to another author.

6. Love Thyself
Masturbate in front of your partner. Show them how you like to be touched, teach them about your body, even as you pleasure yourself. This is true for men as much as it is, for women. Do you like to be stroked roughly? Quickly? Do you favor a particular area? Focus especially on the taboo that you enjoy. Some women love to have a finger or two inserted into their asses, others are repulsed by the idea. Show them your favorite toys and how you like to use them. They may surprise you; your favorite vibrator might only be enhanced by the feeling of their cock in your ass. Some women love to have their tits treated roughly, others are shy about them or almost ignore them completely. Some men love to have their nipples touched, some could care less, and some don’t enjoy it at all. Love your body first, and then your partner’s, the way they want to be loved. Don’t forget to enjoy the sight of both of you, the sight of his penis sliding in and out of your cunt or ass. Leave the lights on and position some mirrors around your bed (or wherever you like to fuck). Both of you worked hard to make yourselves ideal for this act. How many Olympians perform in the dark?

7. Talking the Talk
Open your mouth and speak. It doesn’t have to be flowery, witty or unforgettable. It should be the voiced expression of passion and intent. “I’m going to suck your cock, and then you’re going to fuck my face, cunt and ass.” Or, you can be less brutal; Michael recalls a time after he came in my mouth and I didn’t stop. He started to pull me away and I looked into his eyes and said, “Don’t be so greedy,” and spread my lips over his dick again. The second orgasm was never so easy. Talk is cheaper than a costume, less uncomfortable than anal sex, and it can really spice up a session. Everybody moans. Even the meekest attempt at dirty talk is hot, and it only gets easier. Open your mouth and let your lust pour out. How you speak is entirely up to you; are you deep and breathy, or do you whisper your intent? Men, that goes double for you. “Nice tits” is not as memorable as “I love your tits,” and every woman, including the ones who knot their brows over the idea, wet their panties when someone talks to us in the voice we long to hear. Commands are excellent fodder for talk, too. If you want his fingers in your ass, tell him so. If you want her to lick your balls, say it. Sometimes, we (of either sex), really don’t know and everybody would love to hear what their partner really wants.

8. The Up-The-Butt Girl
When I was in a sex shop the other day, I learned that some women just dive into anal sex as if it were a gauntlet they run for their men. Ladies, I must introduce to you the Dilation Kit. Personally, I own Juli Ashton’s but they’re all the same. It’s a series of triangle-shaped butt plugs, each a size larger than the one before. The idea is that you work yourself up from the smallest to the largest over a series of days, as they are comfortable. It works, believe me. Now, I don’t expect you to lube these things up and shove them into your ass without some benefit of your own. I strongly advise that you get some clitoral stimulator…and I’m not talking about those bullshit butterfly things. My favorite personal clit stimulator is a chrome-painted dildo (that I have never once stuck in my vagina). It’s about 8″ long and maybe an inch wide. You spin a dial on the top to control the speed. If you rest your hand on your mons pubis, the barrel leans on your clitoris and the rest of it sits between your inner lips. It’s the most powerful (but gentle) vibrator I could find, consistent with the force of a massage tool. I tell you, I have worn the paint off those things, followed by the chrome. They’re white plastic, underneath, if you wanted to know. You get one of these (or a toy of your choice), your dilation kit, you turn on some porn if you want, or you just fantasize about your favorite actor/actress. The first plug is no larger than a finger, and there are few of us who haven’t enjoyed that in our time. Do it every day for a week, and the anal sex thereafter will be more comfortable than vaginal sex. Of course, if you stop training your body, you will tighten up again…Don’t learn that one the hard way. : )

9. Rough and Tumble
It seems to be the general consensus that everybody loves rough sex. It’s fiery, it’s passionate, and let’s face it; since we were kids, we loved to wrestle. So, how do you do it? Men, if you’re going to pull hair, grab it at the base of the neck. Women are like cats in that way; we have virtually no feeling in that area and you can yank us around like dolls. Ladies, if you’re going to scratch, do try not to draw blood. Squeeze, but don’t pinch; grab big handfuls of tits and ass and squeeze as tightly as you would squeeze a piece of fruit before expecting it to explode all over your hand. If you need leverage, use the body of your partner. By special request, I’ll describe the suspension bridge, which is an excellent example of this; I was on top, holding on to a particularly loud headboard, with my calves wrapped around his thighs, for leverage. Before he came, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and lifted himself up to kiss me, so that we were suspended over the bed. It’s impractical, but it’s visually impressive and we had a large audience. But the theory holds, whenever you’re in a position that requires major leverage, including the ever-popular standing position where, ladies, let’s face it, our movement is based entirely on the strength of our legs, which are braced against their hips. As for biting? Everyone is most sensitive around their neck and shoulders, along the strong muscle lines. This can be really hard when you’re on the bottom or otherwise indisposed (such as the standing position), but becomes easier, the sweatier you get (when moving around becomes easier). Personally, I’m partial to a half a bite and a tongue against my neck, anyway; my neck is sensitive and it drives me right over the edge, and I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who responds that way. In short, if you want an animal in bed, be one yourself; we are, all of us, lovers based on empathy.

10. Role-Playing, Sex Toys and Other Devices
In a word, try. If you don’t like it, don’t do it again, but the most important element in maintaining an active, healthy, invigorating sex life is always keeping it fresh and new, always outperforming the “you” from the night before. What haven’t you tried? What fantasy haven’t you shared with your partner? What strange new thing have you heard about that sounds a little interesting? Sex in public? Sex in private, where you might get caught? Sex in costume? Sex with a third party? Sex over the phone? Have you tried sex toys? All of them? All the positions? Do you own the kama sutra? Have you tried tantric sex? Have you given your partner three orgasms in one session? Four? Five? Have you tried anal sex? On him? Prostate stimulation? Tit-fucking? Deep throating? Have you watched porn together? Tried what they do? Have you poured everything in your kitchen over your body? What about body shots? Bondage? Dominance/Submission? Have they watched you with someone else? Can you jerk him off with your feet? Watched each other masturbate? Stripped for one another? Had sex in every room in the house? On every piece of furniture? At someone else’s house? In a car? Your car? In a limo? In a hotel? At the beach? On a rooftop? Over Times Square? In photographs? On film? The possibilities are literally endless, and your sex life will be as interesting as you allow it to be.

Happy Fucking. : )

With Love, From Mom

Wow. It’s been great making out with you, a real live boy, on this couch for 15 minutes. I can see that now, after the conversation we had and the beer you bought me after your friend introduced us at the party, you think it’s about time you enjoyed the fruits of your labor. About time you got a blow job from me.

And let me tell you, you came to the right place. Because the world is populated by guys like you; in fact I’m willing to bet there’s not one man in the whole wide world who doesn’t think he deserves an on-the-couch blow job the first time he makes out with someone, so fear not. This is territory that any girl over the age of 15 has seen many, many times. So don’t think I won’t do it. There’s just a few things I need from you first.

First, I would appreciate it if you would wash your genitals once a day. Just once a day. Heck, you can even do it while you’re IN the shower washing anyway. Because guys like you — don’t blame me for presuming — often live under the gross misunderstanding that their genitals do not stink. Oddly, this is simultaneously the VERY SAME reason they give for not giving us girls oral sex. Listen while I compare the maintenance habits of me and you — it’ll only take a second and I’ll get right to it, swear to God.

So. Here’s what girls do. We scrub our genitals — front to back, inside and out — every day under a high-pressure stream of hot water, using expensive soap designed to both moisturize and leave a pleasant scent. Then we shave most of our genitals. You might think that’s an easy task. No, no, my friend. It is not easy. It requires bending, twisting, squatting, stretching and sometimes a hand-held mirror. It must be done every day, but it cannot be rushed. What may be passed off as a “nick” on, say, my knees or your face, can rise to the level of emergency-room-visit when wielding a sharp object so near one’s particulars. So. The shaving. Then once a month we go to a snooty spa and spend $80 — without tip — for a wax. That’s even more fun. That’s where we climb up on a table wearing paper panties and then a stranger walks in and starts applying hot wax to our genitals. Often they ask us to assume a particalurly demeaning position — on all fours, say, or holding one ankle above our heads — to get every last hair off. And, dude, it hurts. Really. Once we’re properly hairless, then we apply TendSkin to prevent red bumps, lotion to prevent any flaky skin and high-priced exfoliating scrub every other day to prevent ingrown hairs. When all is well, we scent our panties and go about our dressing for our big date with you, the super cute boy. Why all this preparation, you ask? It’s just so that when we DO manage to be making out with you, you can scrunch up your nose, look at our genitals and say that you “don’t do that.” You’re like, “Sorry, it’s not you, I just don’t…” And we’re like, “Oh, no. It’s OK,” secretly resenting every painful minute of our genital-prep time. OK, OK, that’s us. Now here’s you.

You probably run a wet bar of Irish Spring under your armpits every morning and, if we’re lucky, maybe take a swipe near your unmentionables. That’s the beginning and the end, am I right? You might be surprised to find that Irish Spring or no, you STILL may be stinky. It’s true! See, guys secrete sweat and stuff down there, just like girls. And it’s an area that never gets any sunlight or fresh air, just like girls. You piss and shit and sometimes it doesn’t all go away, just like girls. You have hair down there, just like girls. See where I’m going with this? You may stink as bad — nay, worse! — than me, the lucky lady about to put your cock and balls in my mouth. But have you ever heard a girl say she “doesn’t do that”? Exactly. We don’t say that. So do me a favor, please, and tomorrow start scrubbing your gentials with the same fervor I scrub mine. And consider buying wet toilet paper, it really does help you stay clean throughout the day. Anytime you think you might be perfectly clean, just rub a finger around your testicles and butt crack, then smell it. If comes up Irish Spring, perfect. If not, just think. I’m going to have to put my face in that.

So. Sorry to blabber on so long. I promise I’m almost done and we can start the fabuloso blow job I know you’ve been thinking about ever since that fateful night when you looked at me and said, “‘Sup?” Just a couple more things. Listen to me now. I give pretty good blowjobs. Seriously. I do. For a non-porn-star, I’m willing to bet this is about as good as you’re ever going to get. But hear me out. If you want to put your dick in my mouth, that is perfectly fine with me. But you need to respect the fact that my teeth were there first. I can’t, sadly, do anything with them as the Good Lord has seen fit to leave me all my teeth at this late age of 26 and I don’t have dentures. So if you have a serious problem with teeth touching your penis, here’s what I suggest you do: Don’t put your dick in other people’s mouths. See, that’s where all the teeth are. It is soooo easy to avoid getting my teeth against your dick. Just stop putting it in my mouth. Voila! If you insist on putting your dick in my mouth, and I can see that you do, I can promise to do my best to dis-locate my jaw to give you a blowjob that is all suck, spit and tongue. But sometimes you may feel a tooth. Whoops! No need to freak out. The same goes for anal sex, should we ever find ourselves down that path in the future. If you ever want to put your dick up my ass, and don’t even pretend, I know you will, that’s OK. As long as I feel like you care about me and respect me, that’s totally OK. But if I let you put your dick up my butthole, please don’t freak out if, afterward, you discover a speck of fecal matter on your penis on our way to the shower. Wow. That really embarasses me, believe me. No need to point it out. And if you do point it out, I can tell you there’s a simple solution for not getting fecal matter on your penis. What you do is, stop putting it in other people’s assholes. See how easy that is?

But I digress. We’re not talking about anal sex here, are we? We’re talking about oral sex, about the blowjob you expect from me because you got me that Amstel Light at the show, when you totally could’ve just gone Coors Light. My hat’s off, sir. You deserve a treat. So here goes. Now that we’ve had this little talk, I hope our oral sex experiences can be positive for both of us. Oh. One last thing. I’m going to swallow, OK?, and that doesn’t mean I love you and want to marry you. That means I’ll taste it less and won’t have your semen coursing over my tongue as I spit it out. So don’t read anything into that. Thanks for listening, and enjoy.

TWO YEARS. TWO LONG YEARS I HAVE WAITED. VICTORY IS MINE.

Ladies.
If you’ve ever spent the night with a boy, you’ll sympathize.

You’ll jolt awake at 5:00am to the stark realization that a snoring, drooling, hairy, stinky, 200+ pound St. Bernard has crawled into your beautiful bed beside manicured little you.

Oh wait, no.
That’s the guy who looked so hot beneath the dark of night and the ruse of wine.

It feels like you’re lying in a tepid pool of suck. You can feel the gross of their sweat and smell and unnecessary body hair and slimy skin oil and everything that makes them not a woman creeping over you like a descending fog. You’ll have to wash these sheets. Suddenly you feel like a frilly pair of panties shoved into a dirty old sweatsock.

So you do the only thing you can do.
You get the hell out of there.

But you can’t wake them up.
They might want to talk. About their feelings.
About how long it has to be until they can soil your next set of sheets.
About whether you can cook for them
And dress them
And tell them how to distinguish their asses from their elbows
So they can turn you into their mother
So they can reject you. Because you used to be beautiful.
Everybody’s fucking beautiful when they’re free to be completely self-absorbed.
Before they spend every waking moment and ounce of energy doting on an ungrateful, middle-aged CHILD.
Yeah, fuck those boys. This is my house and my life and they are just the
skidmarks of our libidos.
They’re not staying for breakfast.

You wonder if there is any way to get them out of the house.
You can’t carry them. Maybe you can drag them. On the sheets.
No. They’d wake up. Maybe you can…hit them or drug them or something.
That’s when you realize you’re not fully awake. Hopefully.
If you don’t, you’re my sister. And you should be in prison.
Which isn’t to say it wasn’t my idea.
But hey, if you’re going to do it, do it when you lose your virginity.
Anyway. We’re normal, not virgins, and sane.
We cat-burglar our ways away from them. God forbid they wake up.
Please don’t wake up.
You stretch one leg into the dark abyss, leaving all your weight on the bed.
Please don’t wake up.
You slowly shift your weight to your free leg, rising up on your toes and tensing half your ass, slowly dragging yourself toward freedom.
They stop snoring.
You FREEZE, your tiptoeing foot holding up 3/4 of your weight while your half-clenched ass continues to twitch.
Oh god. Stop twitching. The twitching could wake him. You flex your stomach and try to balance your weight with your shoulders. You realize you’re holding your breath.
Your tiptoeing foot falls asleep before they start snoring again.
You raise your upper body on your elbows as if they were a forklift.
You curse them, those motherfuckers.
Your neck twangs in pain like overtightened guitar strings being strummed by a toddler.
You rotate on your outer elbow.
Still snoring. Sounds like cow farts. Smells like cow farts.
Are those feet or a head at the end of the bed?
Where the fuck are your decorative pillows?
Doesn’t matter now. You can buy new pillows.
With your inward arm, you grab the edge of the mattress.
Snoring stops. They roll toward you.
OH GOD OH GOD PLEASE NO, NO!!!
You take your one desperate shot, yanking with all your power and spinning yourself off the bed, breaking a nail but landing lightly like a cat on the floor just as they roll into your space. Three more seconds and that assface would have landed on top of you, coating your gorgeous hair in a thin slime of liquified Doritos and Chardonnay.
He smells like your crotch after you run a mile on a heavy flow day.
His hair looks like something your cat threw up.
His face…oh god he’s drooling all over your beautiful pillow!

You really should be gay. Girls are so much more beautiful.
You make a note to yourself to figure out how gay girls meet each other.
Tomorrow.
God you can’t believe something like you had sex with something like this.
Look at you, look at how cool you are, pulling super ninja moves.
You are Awesome. You are like Jane Bond.
You stand with a smug grin. Stupid bastard.
You turn to walk out of the room. Your foot is still asleep. It crumbles beneath you and you fall against the wall, smashing your toe and slamming your elbow against the door frame.
Need. Coffee.
Warm feet. Cold tile floor.
Going to have to have that conversation.
Should probably put some clothes on.
Head hurts. Hurts to think. Walking on autopilot.
Wonder where the painkillers…
Turn…and…SPLASH.

Motherfucker left the Seat Up.
When? You saw the seat before you went to bed.
You were careful. You’re oh-so-careful. Because it always feels weird and invasive to have a dirty, yucky boy in your Girl Space.
It’s like your best friend asking you to dog-sit their St. Bernard in your petless house.
You triple-check everything, because everything is potential disaster.
And somehow, you are STILL never careful enough.
When the hell did he leave the seat up?
Oh, right. When he came in here to wash the lube off his dick after sex.
That was his cue to leave. Bad form, stud-boy.

This is why I don’t believe in one-night stands.
WHILE he is in the bathroom scrubbing his rubber duckie, wrap his clothes around his shoes and throw the whole mess outside the front door. When he chases them like a dog, hobbling and clutching his diminishing testicles, let the door hit him on the ass on his way out.
Then lock the deadbolt, turn up the stereo, and spray some perfume.
One sexual encounter does not mean you have to SLEEP with someone!

So I wake up, Blackstopheles and I pounding on each other as we are prone to do when we dream about fighting monsters, giants, and gorillas. It’s 3:17am. I stagger, as we do, into the bathroom. I don’t turn on the lights because THE LIGHT IT BURNS.

Yep.
Splash.
Expletive. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

I walk back to bed, wet, naked, and angry (as we spend so much of our lives), and I lie face-down on top of the comforter. I coil my arms under my head and I go back to sleep.

This is a trap.

In October of 2006, my darling Naamah Darling posted this image:

It’s her cat. It’s funny. It’s adorable. It’s Nammanian.
Blacks found it hysterical and has continued to gnaw my ass ever since. I’ve stopped complaining about it because every time I tell someone, it seems to immediately infect their mind with this carnal, almost vampiric lust for meaty mouthfuls of booty. It’s a social virus, I tell you.

Also, complaining about it resulted in the most uncomfortable conversation I have EVER had with my father.
Dad: No, Blacks’s a wonderful guy.
Lilith: He bites my ass, Dad.
Blacks: It’s delicious!
Lilith: …And yet you will still be the good guy and I will still be the demon bitch after this conversation.
Blacks: What? He knows! Tell me you don’t bite your wife’s ass.
Dad: I used to bite Lilith’s ass when she was a baby.
Blacks: See?
Lilith: Ah, cute. Now that I’m immune to “Look at the pictures I took of Lilith while she was two and urinating,” you’ve got to come up with new ways to torture me.
Blacks: It’s a biteable ass! I’d bite your ass every day if I could.
Lilith: I will dye your hair green while you sleep.
Dad: Yeah. I remember when I realized I had to stop. That it was no longer a cute father-biting-his-daughter thing and she was old enough for it to be inappropriate.
Blacks: Yeah?
Dad: Yeah, she was like five or six.
Lilith: …
Blacks: …I’m sorry dear. I won’t bite your ass any more.

But HE LIED.
He STILL bites my ass, even today.
Well, he DID.
Something had to be done.
He had it coming.

So I lie face down on top of the comforter.
And I WAIT.
And the beast stirs.
Drawn by the scent of tender assmeats, the buttocksbear wakes from its hibernation and begins its own serpentine crawl from beneath the covers.
I waited. I pretended to sleep. I quivered a bit.

Like a cobra it pounced.
And instead of shrieking in pain, I howled in hysterical laughter.
“HA HA! I FELL INTO THE PEE!” I screamed.
“BLECH!” Blacks screamed, falling backward and spitting.
“OOO…IT’S SALTY BUT IT’S DELICIOUS!” I screamed. (reference 1:20)

He will never bite me again.
I am Jane Fucking Bond.

Today I have to write porn for someone for whom I have no sexual attraction. Of course the ideal is to limit the number of times we have to do that but sometimes it will happen. It’s good, I think, to be able to perform without attachment. A good exercise, anyway. I think I can I think I can…

In response to this:
On my personal journal, my friends and I have had conversations about everything from bloodplay to bondage, from feet to furries, from exhibitionists to erotica. I wanted to make a private forum that was a no-holds-barred exclamation of desire. Pictures, stories, narratives, questions. Whether you’re a masochist who’s curious about fleshhooks or a businessman who likes to dance to Billy Idol in a bunny suit (there’s a visual), I wanted to make a community where there was one thing that bound us; The unstoppable, undeniable pursuit of pleasure, of living this life to the fullest, of admitting and realizing our dreams and personal joys. Pretty, pretty please, be kinky with me.

ErisReg drew this:

Happy Friday, everyone. I get the impression it’s been a long week for everybody.
Better entries to come tomorrow. I just wanted to glow a little with this radiant joy.

Oh, and I stumbled across this tonight.
It is so good to know I’m not alone. My god, I thought I was alone.

What words can be said that haven’t passed between us already?
What is there that doesn’t connect us…from where you sleep…to where I stand?
I stand there watching the moon rise…I can smell you on the wind.
It brings you to me whenever we part.
For years all I get are…tiny pieces of the whole…
I smell the fabric that covers your soft naked flesh.
The scent of your sweat deep in the pillow sinks deep in to my mind.
Do you feel me, as well?
Can you sense where I am?
Can you feel the muscles of my back tense as your arms wrap around me?
Do your thighs feel my legs as you wrap yours around my waist?
Our lips touch and the world dissolves…into the nothing that is everyone else…Are they real?
Are they really there?
Are we alone and did we make them up, so we could drift apart?
Did we invent our pleasures and pains just so we could feel what life is like without the other there?
Is this life or just a dream to make us smile?
I can see you sleeping…under the covers…to protect you from the thought of me.
You’ve build your fortress with everything there to keep me out.
You have so many different ways…distract you…keep me safely at a distance.
But it doesn’t always work does it?
If I can feel you, how long do you think it’ll take for you to do the same?
So sleep, darlin, sleep well.
Dream those quiet safe dreams knowing that I’m so far away.
You’ve built your life…don’t you miss the passion…
How do you keep so wild a side hidden from so many for so long?
You have to be burning inside every second of every minute.
But go ahead and sleep and dream…
Your dreams melt away…notice my form…standing…watching from the shadows.
That’s what you want…

The night we met, I had set out to seduce your friend to sate my sixteen-hour appetite. I was dressed as a demon and laying siege to a gathering of Christians, so that we could have religious sex on their altar. I didn’t expect you, with your starched white collar and All-American football-jock looks, to see the woman in me.

It was such a shame you were a virgin, then. I still hate virgins.
Combined with your wicked nature and maniacal smile, your looks and ultra-rare voice reminded me of the forgotten Christian Slater role which has always been my favorite. Months later I would laugh until I fell off the bed when I learned that you left the knife on the lawn in the wake of the explosion. It was so foolish, but so poetic. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Everything that will keep me awake tonight - I’ve been aware of all of it since the very beginning.

In the few weeks that passed since we met, I’d been someone’s Lolita. When guilt and fear of prosecution weighed heavily upon him, I signed myself over to the dark cults as a vessel. They fought in the street, and while I waited for the outcome I worked my next mark. Your friend, my former lover, was jealous of the new infatuation. I would have been pissed (because that lover was only jealous on the random and rare days when we actually saw each other), but the jealousy fueled my mark’s appetite as well. He asked me to fetch his bisexual bartender from her place of work, down the street. “She’s a tiger in bed,” he advertised.

I was walking down the street when I heard the rattling of chains in the darkness behind me. My lover and your friends wound them around me and hoisted me into the air like a tribal conquest. I screamed bloody murder for two whole blocks but people only cheered and threw coins, as if we were some sort of tourist sideshow.

They rested my mummified body in the back seat of the car. My lover held a long, bladed weapon to my chest and informed me that he too ran a little cult, to which I was now “pet” and “property.” The words infuriated me. “Why?” I protested. A few weeks ago he had spilled semen over me and tonight I was to be branded? What, had the guy who stoked the fires been on vacation until now?

“Because my boy has taken a liking to you,” he replied, jerking the chain until my chest slapped against the seat. “Initiation’s over.”

The unpolished floorboards bit into my cheek as I strained to view the sliver of light beneath the door. As icepicks were hammered into the edges of the doorframe like coffin nails, dust swirled into the humid night air and covered my face in a caking layer of ash-like filth. I tried not to breathe and squinted against the pale yellow light glinting against the laminated wood. My hands were raw from beating them against the door. Exhausting myself would only benefit my captors, so I willed myself to calm down and conserve my strength. I sat back and ran the tip of my tongue along the outside of my hand, busying myself with removing the splinters.

I heard happy shouting and the emptying of aerosol cans. My lover said they had secured a “present” for you. You were the sadistic muscle of the group and he would reward you with the only other pleasure you would know in this life…starting with me. The door opened and your broad shoulders eclipsed the brilliant light. I watched you turn your head and smile your approval. The sonofabitch smiled back at you, as if delighting in all this. I admit I would have done the same if my bitch was obstinate and disobedient. But I’m no one’s bitch. Tearing your tattered shirt from your chest, you stepped into the darkness and the door closed behind you. A man with a whore smiles contentedly and expectantly, just like you did that night. You’ve always been twice my size, but I had every intention of killing you there in the dark and feeding your flesh to the man who would force virgin down my throat.

I would make an example of you; a warning to those who would dare set foot in my cage, to all the little men who dared hunt wild things like me. Before the door locked on its hinge, I lunged from the floor like a tiger. The door splintered as we crashed against it and I could hear them hustling to nail the icepicks back into place. The metal teeth poked cruelly through the wood like the face of an iron maiden. I pushed you against it and tore at your skin as if the key to my freedom had been sewn beneath the muscle of your chest. I could hear you chuckling in the fevered darkness and one swipe at your face confirmed you were still smiling. Clenching your throat between my clawed hands, I pinched the sinewy muscles as hard as I could. I felt for the muscle spasm. I wanted you to try to swallow and to fight for air. I wanted to feel the gasping fish in my hand rupture and bleed like an overripe fruit. I wanted to feel the red pipes in your neck run dry.

Your laughter bubbled between my fingers, then you wrenched your head and flexed your neck muscles, loosening the grip of my little hands. There was no spite in you; you earnestly enjoyed it. You wrestled back in broad, painless swipes that made the walls tremble as we crashed against them. We clattered to the floor, your hips falling between my parted thighs, our chests colliding and your face pressing against mine. I loved your smile and I wished you’d sink your teeth into me. I loved the way you grabbed my hipbone and shoulder, with the solid grip that you might have when you slammed your cock into me. I could hear lust in your breathing, feel it pressed against me as I struggled against your muscle and weight. You fought and taunted me, begging for more. I slapped and punched you until my skin sang with pain and you laughed at me. Fire burned in my arms and legs as I struggled to endure your appetite, to punish you until you were sated. I sank my teeth into you as if to bleed you dry, but you just sucked in your breath and ground your hips against me, driving me into the wall. You were inexhaustible and would throw me down as if with every strike I was begging you to give it back to me rough and dirty…and I was. We understood each other completely. I so wished I could hate you.

When I could do no more, when I was soaked with my sweat and your blood, I sank against the far wall. Hearing the room go silent, they opened the door. You exited triumphantly, smiling, while I stayed in the dark, defeated and defiant. You had survived me. I’d given it everything - I had tried to kill you, and you walked away. I was just property now, too weak to win my own freedom, feast for the wolves who crept toward the door even now-
After your third step, you collapsed face-first to the floor.

I don’t know why you did it. Maybe I’d actually done that much damage to you, but I doubt it. I’ve never met another man with your endurance. Because you didn’t do it for me, I can’t thank you. But in all our moments, that one most resembled love. If you ever afforded me a solitary kindness, that was the most important. I earned my stripes on you…and you became my pet and property.

Yeah, go ahead and laugh, you rabid and merciless beast of a man. Despite the white collar and lack of experience, you outpaced even the men I know today. Whenever I look down at a man in my bed, I experience a flash of memory, of delicately sliding my fingernails over your chest and abs while you lied on your back with your arms folded behind your head. Every time. I wish everyone would let me work on them like you did. I wish I had your body beneath me in this very moment. Oh, the things I would do to you. But no one would ever know, because I’d never stop long enough to write about it.

I miss breaking my furniture to pieces and tearing my clothes to shreds. I miss staring into the eyes of my many partners while you fucked me like an angry rapist. I miss when it wasn’t about including the whole world; when it was just us seizing every possible opportunity every day and every night. I miss the sight of your naked body and the way you felt inside me. There wasn’t an inch of you that I didn’t find perfect.

Everything I wanted, I found in you.
You have the best wicked smile I’ve ever seen. I love your rare ice-blue eyes and the sheer strength of your body. I loved your undying, unyielding, unrelenting sexual appetite. My journal, which was meant to document my life, was filled entirely with passages detailing what we did to one another.

We only wore tiny portions of our wardrobes - only things that could be ripped off with minimal damage. Whenever we visited one another, we never got more than four steps into the house. At least I had the grace to lay down a couch. At your house, we simply wore a tread into that sad little floor. The walls were slate blue and the sliding glass doors were to the right…stage right, when I was kneeling on the floor where you ground me into it until my knees bled.

You know I remember everything. Every morning I would appear in my short dresses and my combat boots. You’d be playing something from the London Symphony Orchestra. I would walk through your house, undressing as I went, until I finally reached the shower. Sometimes you would join me there, pressing me up against the tile or sneaking up behind me. If you walked out first, we would fuck in the next room, the one with the sliding-glass doors, either against it or on the floor in front of it.
I still can’t get anyone else to do that with me.
They’re too afraid of the public eye. Fucking cowards.

We used, bruised, bit, and bled each other in every room in that house, except your bedroom. I think we were only there the day you read erotica to my friends while acting it out on my body. You made me want to write porn, do you know that? I use them like scripts, now.

I loved so many people, but my infatuation with you consumed my life. Whenever someone stepped out of the room, we would fuck like animals against the nearest flat surface. I would miss out on meaningful conversations because the speaker would walk back into the room and find you pinning me to the wall. We would stand close and sometimes they wouldn’t even know. In those moments, you would slide your cock in and out of me slowly, torturing me, and you would make me grind against you or you’d stop. Do you realize that there is not a single picture of the two of us where we aren’t fucking?

I hate talking with you. I wish I didn’t - Your voice makes me so hot, but we never engaged in idle chitchat. We are too good for conversation. You use words as devices, as I do. You call me by the pet names I used to seduce you. It’s not a word, it’s the message “I want the part of you that belongs to me.” Between us, there is no care. There is just heat. The same heat with which you used to answer the door before lifting me up onto the countertop.

I know you read everything I write, but it has nothing to do with subject or talent. You can hear my voice right now. You can see me in my descriptions. You can see and hear and taste me again through my words. You can feel my naked body against you, feel me shudder and grind against you. But you know it isn’t my face or my body that simmers in your balls, darlin. And while you are hot, that has little to do with my attraction. Hot is everywhere. Hot is a small credit card bill and a membership to the gym. You light my world with the way you think. In an endless sea of men, I can’t find anyone as wild and wicked and fun as you are.

I wanted what you wanted. I want what you want.
I can lie and say that I don’t want to dress up in any costume you want to see. That I wouldn’t bleach my hair blond again and stand in nothing but my underwear beneath the gates of Disneyland.
And you can pretend that you wouldn’t paint your body blue to feel me against it.
I miss the way you feel against me. I miss fucking you.
I don’t want your voice or your words or your pictures. I want you. I want you to fuck me until it feels like my body might fall apart. Like you do. Drag me like a toy across the floor. Fight me while I ride you, to fuck me harder than I fuck you. I want to hear you talk in that hot fucking voice of yours. I want to hear you tell me how much you want it and how good it feels. I want to play out the sickest, dirtiest fantasies we ever had.
I want them to have to call the fucking ambulance and the fire department when we’re done. And not just because you’re on a first-name basis.

You are mine and I am yours in a way I’ll never share with anyone else. In that way, yes, the rest of the world is just noise and background lighting for us.
We have always been, we will always be, the very same sexual being, drawn back onto itself.
Love you to pieces, darlin. Thanks for giving it to me so well every day. I promise to bleed your balls dry at the earliest possible opportunity. I want a picture of myself lying back on the bed with your cock buried in my throat. I don’t have any deep-throat pictures and you seem to be amassing a photographic collection of cock ornaments. That’s the way I’d like to be remembered.

Unless you want to revisit Threesome again.

I think the world we pretend doesn’t exist would prefer to see that.