Men are so precious: How to weed out the idiots with your online profile

Let me set the stage.

I have a lengthy and well thought out profile on FetLife that outlines my requirements for a sub (fit, hung, significantly bigger than me to name a few) with an additional requirement nestled in it to vet the lazy, self-absorbed, and/or impatient.  It’s a line towards the bottom where I ask them to tell me what their favorite vacation destination is.  I have this kind of question in all my profiles, actually.

Remember that story about Led Zepplin or some ridiculously huge and famous band whose tour rider was 45 pages long and towards the back, but not at the very end because it’d be easy to spot, was buried a request to have their M&Ms sorted into different groups by color? [Update: it was Van Halen and “no brown M&Ms.”]

Yeah, well, if they showed up to a venue and there weren’t sorted M&Ms they’d walk out the concert promoters wouldn’t get paid.  It was a quick and easy way to know their rider hadn’t been read and they weren’t interested in rewarding folks that half-assed it.  Likewise, I’m not interested in dealing with a sub (or regular man, for that matter) that half-asses it with me, either.

The other thing you need to know is that I bother Ferns with my sub-tales all the time and as soon as I read the last message I copied it and sent it off to her with my thoughts.  Like, instantly. Thank god she loves me.

::

[My thoughts are in bold italics.]

Amongtheclueless
27M Sensualist
5w
Candidly speaking, I love your profile and would like to get to know you. If that feeling is mutual I would be quite happy. I have a lot to offer in the some of positive sexual energy and friendship. Im a pretty creative, intelligent, and naughty type. Hope to hear from you.
Happy to share more pics too, I actually reduced my images on here to be a bit more privacy oriented after it came to my attention that others were cat-fishing me.
[Lame ass form letter, but he’s hot and hung, so…]

Hy Jones
43F Domme
3w
Have you read my profile?

Amongtheclueless
3w
Yep
[Clearly he has not]

Hy Jones
3w
Prove it ;)
[I immediately regretted the winky face]

Amongtheclueless
3w
How so?
[Are you fucking kidding me??? BUT HOT SO…]

Hy Jones
3w
Read my profile and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Amongtheclueless
3w
favorite vacation part? I love Paris. Riviera. France.
[What a fucking idiot.  I let it sit and 3 weeks later I get:]

Amongtheclueless
6h
Not interested ?

Hy Jones
1h
It’s not flowing, kid. This entire thread has been me pulling teeth. I haven’t enjoyed or been impressed by your correspondence. So, yeah. At this point I am not interested.

Amongtheclueless
45m
Kid? Get off your high horse. You’re not above anyone.

You can’t respond to this conversation because Amongtheclueless has deactivated their account, you’ve blocked them, or they’ve blocked you.
[BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA]

[Immediately copy and paste and send to Ferns]

::

It’s painful to read this for so many reasons, but this is what dating is like: someone routinely totally and completely misses everything that’s laid out in front of them, gets pissy, huffs off and learns absolutely nothing and goes and does it to someone else.  Me me me me me me!  TL;DR: it’s sum’ bullshit.

The additional preciousness of this correspondence is that he says to a Domme he’s hoping to hook up with, “you’re not above anyone.”  Oh man hahahahaha I can’t even!

Needless to say, I recommend to one and all to bury a little request of the reader/potential lover into your profiles.  It makes culling the herd that much easier and you might get a good fucking laugh out of it, too.

e[lust] #79

Elust 79 headerPhoto courtesy of Marie Opens Up

Welcome to Elust #79

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Joy of Sucking Cock

Making Porn

My Valentine

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The One

Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Marionette
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.

Erotic Fiction

Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
Taste
The Session That Went Wrong
Be Careful What You Wish For
Motivation
porn
The Tube

Erotic Non-Fiction

For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Marionette
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)

Writing about Writing

Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.

 

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I burned my boobs.

I should probably save this for Boobday this week, but fuck it.  I find my current boob state alluringly funny.

Hy burned boobies
Oops.

Guess I should’ve applied more sunblock yesterday.

I get some fucked up texts.

Oh, Online Dating, how I love you.

You bring me the most amazing little digital gifts in the form of texts, chats, and emails.  Here I’ll share some of my favorites from the last month.

Like this fella who introduced me to some new shorthand.

Bad texts - IIIW::

Or this guy with whom I made a date for a couple of days after this thread who helped me understand that you’ve got to jump on an opportunity the moment it presents itself no matter what the fuck else you’ve got on the hopper.

Bad texts - got a gf
Compliments are nice.

 

Bad texts -got a gf
Clearly, he’s into me.

 

Bad texts - got a gf
Until he’s not.

 ::

Then you brought me the dude who — in case I wasn’t already clear – helped me clarify my stance on making jokes about rape.

Bad texts - rapey
I wondered if he’d had a small stroke.

 

Bad texts - Rapey
Or maybe he was drunk?

 

bad texts - rapey
Or maybe he thought treating me like a misogynistic bro was the way to my heart?

::

You also put this guy in my path.  He sent me a goat .gif.  Then offered to send me an awkward email from his mother by way of explaining his sense of humor.   I never got back to him on that.   I mean, who doesn’t love goats?

This goat had mad skillz.

 ::

And lastly, Online Dating, I have to thank you for this dude who once again reminded me that, just like my mother used to tell me, bragging gets you no where.

Bad texts - eat for hours::

Is it even necessary for me to add what happened next?

I have to be honest that I sorta miss the ongoing IV of humor I have whilst out in front of all the men trying to impress me.  It’s sorta like watching internet cats.

Poor kitty.

xx

Hy

Don’t do this.

Wanna get laid?  Don’t have a monologue with a woman and reveal your “emotions.”

Little backstory, this guy and I have not met.  He’s my age, has a Beemer (cuz he’s posed with it on Adult Friend Finder), and really, really wants to meet me.

I’ve explained to him multiple times that I am not free (Ann is loving on my dog as we speak after she helped me fold all my laundry – who’s the hostess with the mostest??), but he insists on nailing a day down.

And then he sends this:



This does not feel good, you guys.

NO.  BAD.  WRONG.  BOUNDARIES.  ICK.  WHY?!

These are the thoughts going through my mind.

I rarely do this kind of post, but seriously, people. I feel like this is a public service announcement: be reasonable, don’t cross the line, learn to recognize the line.

If I could teach a class on THE LINE I would.  You’d know how to flirt and tempt, challenge and attract.  You wouldn’t offend or turn off and you’d certainly never shut down the openness of a potential amour.

There’s a degree of natural talent to this, yes, but I think it’s mostly a skill that’s honed over time via trial and error.

Sadly, probably lots of error.  Lots and lots of error.

I take sexy selfies.

I have a good eye.  I can find beauty in anything and any one.  The gnarled bark on a tree, the broken wing on the stiff little corpse of a cardinal, the age spots on my grandmother’s hands, the jut of an erection, the beautiful asymmetry of a face, the eery ascent of fungi on a log on my favorite trail.

Mostly, I have mastered the art of my own body, how to coax it to produce images beyond my wildest imagination.  I know how to take sexy selfies, not just selfies.  I embrace those things I once eschewed when I thought I had to look a certain way: the swell of my belly, the crease in my waist, my rounded arms and large, pendulous breasts.

With my good eye I see things differently.

Hy with her pants hanging off

The pliancy of flesh.

The curve of a muscle beneath flesh.

Hy with her pants hanging off.

The curious anticipation of hidden treasures.

Hy with her pants hanging off.

The idiosyncratic angles of joints which mark me as me.

Hy with her pants hanging off.

I know how to use light to my advantage, to let it spill in behind me like a wave.

 

Hy with her pants hanging off.

A good eye tells me when I arch *just so* that my friend, the light, will wrap around me like silk.

And a good eye tells me what you might see if you were on your knees before me.

Hy with her pants hanging off.

I hope you see it, too.

I know how to fix a texting mistake.

I’ve gone on 3 dates with a man I really dig, but who is a shit texter.

Earlier today Troy and I were chatting about my dating life and I told him about this guy.  Troy wasn’t sure what a “shit texter” meant, so I hopped over to check our thread and typed back a reply regarding the frequency of texts.

Except I forgot to return to my thread with Troy.

It was on the Shit Texter’s thread.

My stomach dropped, my heart stopped, I clapped my hand over my mouth.  I might have yelled at the phone in a long, drawn out, “Nooooooooooooo!”

I hadn’t texted him since after our quick coffee date yesterday where we sat snuggled up together on a couch for about an hour before we both had to run.  He walked me to my car and we kissed sweetly; I wished we could have done more, but the clock was against us.  I really like this lughead.

An hour or two later I texted him a smiley face and note that he didn’t need to respond.  It’s an open, running joke that he sucks at texting.  He proudly owns it and this early in our dating I feel weird to demand any changes.

He replied with a laugh and a note that it was nice to see me that day.

I told him I’d had a nice time, too, and would like to see him when he returns from his 10-day vacation which starts today.

I hadn’t heard from him in 18 hours when I sent him that mistext.

Dating is difficult and strange; we try to become mind readers.  I’m done with trying to interpret people, so while his texting habits drive me fucking crazy I truly enjoy myself when we spend time together.  The odd thing is, he’s easier to hang out with than just about any other man I’ve met.  He’s on time, funny, affectionate, open.  He’s also sweetly nervous.

We also don’t “date.”  He doesn’t, I don’t, we don’t, but we kinda are.  I haven’t been as nervous to see anyone as I have been him and there’s something between us that draws me in.  I’m intrigued.  He can also eat pussy like a champ.

All this from a shit texter.

So how does one fix a faux pas such as revealing that you’re talking about his bad texting habits to someone else?

I did the only thing I could think of:  I sent boobs.

 

Hy text oops!

Within a minute or two he responded with “Well played.”

I texted back, “Thanks.”

Of course I didn’t hear anything else from him and now he’s on a plane to London.  It remains to be seen what the fall out from my texting seizure will be.  It also remains to be seen what the fall out will be from his horrendously bad texting habits.

I learned to masturbate in the shower.

I had my first orgasm on the back of a horse at around the age of 12 or 13, but I can’t claim to know at that moment what was happening to my body.  I only knew I was gripping the saddle with my thighs, my stirrups were long so I could sit deeply, and I was driving this giant animal forward into my hands in order for him to do an extended trot.

My hips began to tingle and then it spread lower.  My trainer was yelling at me with her megaphone because as I lost control the horse was, too, and I was failing at the exercise.  I had no idea the pommel being ground into my mound was the culprit.

Fast forward a year and I was surreptitiously perusing the bible of all women’s books, Our Bodies, Ourselves, and discovered a chapter which included a woman’s discovery of water as a sexual toy.  She was 9 and would use a faulty sink faucet.  I had a detachable shower head massager in my bath.  It was a Eureka! moment.

That first time I stood in the shower stall holding the head to my crotch.  I didn’t know what I had down there or even really where anything was, but the sensation was immediate and profound.

I pushed my hips forward and closed my eyes.  The build was swift and complete in a minute.  It stayed in my legs and hips only and I immediately recognized it as what had happened to me on the horse months earlier.

I became a showerhead aficionado that day.

A shower became so much more; I came in there every chance I could get.  I even boldly came with a young lover in there many years later.

When I left home, I also left my shower massager behind.  It was a sad day.  But I’d sneak into my roommate’s bathroom and use hers when she wasn’t around until a friend told me of an ex who’d lay on her back beneath the tub faucet.  That got me through for years until I bought my own massager again.

By now my orgasms were explosive and blew out the top of my head.  I no longer stood primly with my feet together like that first time, but with legs spread wide and my back against the cold wall.  I came with many eyes on me, sometimes hands, sometimes a mouth.  I hadn’t met the Hitachi, yet.  Water was my only toy.  And the occasional horse.

My senior year in college I joined the equestrian team and early one morning while training I was in a two-point position, stirrups short, but legs in a new style of riding.  I perched above the pommel again and as my trainer yelled, “Yes, Hy!  Like that!  GOOD!” I came and came as I cantered in a circle on a giant-barreled steed.

Later that season, while competing in an equitation class, I began to cum on the long side of an arena and nearly fell off.  I won the blue ribbon that day.  For me, doing it right equaled the reward of orgasm.

It wasn’t until I was 25 that I got my first vibrator and things have never been the same since.  In fact, I think I’m going to see my old friend now, before David comes over tries to murder me with his giant cock.  See ya on the flip side!

 

 

Welcome to Masturbation Monday and Masturbation Month! So the prompt isn’t super steamy this week, but I have no doubt the stories that bloggers and writers will share will be. Go show them some love and help spread the word about Masturbation Monday! You and I know that masturbation is wonderful and delicious, but too many people think it’s bad or shameful. Let’s show people just how yummy and hawt it can be.

Masturbation Monday

There are casual sex rules.

I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that there are casual sex rules.  I’ve written about how to fuck a neighbor and I’d say casual sex in general isn’t that different.  If anything, it’s easier because there’s no forced proximity and emotions might be more easily moderated.

Below are the rules that I live by.

Hy b&w in polkadot shortsRule #1: He doesn’t have to say everything right.  Just some things.

I don’t over-emphasize sapiosexual foreplay and keep in mind the connection that needs to be built is the physical one supported by the emotional.  Not vice versa.

The Little Marine wore shorts, a polo and flip flops.  Again, the bar stool beside him was reserved for me and I pulled it out and sat down gingerly next to him.  I ordered a cheap French red and he sipped on a beer.  We ordered some apps and settled in.

He was wound up and chatty and when I asked him a little bit about his history he launched into an overwhelming monotribe of a dozen siblings, some alluded racial stereotyping, and a passionate love for pitbulls.  I sat there for quite some time musing that he was handily opting himself out of any kind of long-term potential, but reminded myself that my personality and beliefs criteria were different here.

I needed him to be kind – check.  I needed him to be smart – check.  And I needed him to be hung – possibly check.  Where he fell on the political spectrum didn’t matter, how he handled his family didn’t matter, his seeming inability to ask me questions about me didn’t really matter either.  I was happy to listen.

When there was a break in his story, I shared some of mine, then injected some raunchy ones to lighten the mood.  It worked.  Then I nearly lost him.

“Do I look as fetching tonight as I did the other night?” I asked flirtatiously.

His face fell and became hard.  “You’re setting a trap for me.”

“What??” I shook my head.  “No, I’m not!”

Apparently, he didn’t like my hair pinned up into a loose bun and didn’t know how to tell me.  Forget that my breasts swung loose beneath my dress and I was wearing heels and I looked like I did on Monday when he thought I was the best thing since sliced bread.

Deftly, I navigated us away from a confrontation.  “Look, Marine,” I told him as I took his elbow and we headed back to his apartment.  “It’s not all or nothing.   You can still be honest about how you feel and complimentary.  You could say something like, ‘You look beautiful, but I like your hair down better,’ and I’d have laughed and not thought twice about it.  Put your mind in Date Mode, not Logic Mode.”

“I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted.  “You’re right.”

Rule #2: He doesn’t have to be my physical ideal, he just has to work what he’s got.

I don’t overlook someone right under my nose because they’re not what I’m used to.

He looked good.  And compact.  He had the V from shoulder to hips that I like so much and his hair was cropped short.  If nothing were around him for scale, you’d have no idea he was only 5’6″.

Later, on his couch, I accidentally spilled red wine on him.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed.  He sat there mostly unbothered.  “You should take your shirt off,” I suggested laughing.

He laughed, too, and got up to throw his shirt in the wash.  I watched him as he peeled it off and his muscles flexed under the canned lighting.  He was a miniature Adonis.

He turned towards me and the tattoo on his pectoral curved outward with the muscle.  His abs were rock hard and long and his biceps were mountainous in a size-proportionate way.

He looked fucking edible.

I thought about all the women who pass him over because he’s short and thought what a goddamned shame that was for him.  He didn’t care, though.  He loved to crawl over any woman taller than him who was willing to let him.

Hy purseRule #3: The sex isn’t supposed to be mind-blowing.  It’s just supposed to be satisfying.

(However, in this case, it was pretty fucking great.)

Sitting shirtless on the couch now, he invited me to sit on his lap.  My panties were shoved down into my purse in anticipation of this moment.

I straddled him and we began the dance.  Nibbles and bites, moans and soft, wet tongues on warm, clean skin.

I slid down to the floor between his knees and released him from his shorts.  He was clean-shaven and bigger than average just as he’d promised.  I couldn’t call him hung, but I have been ruined by The Neighbor in that regard and I looked at him hungrily for a moment then fell on his shaft with my face.  Fuck The Neighbor and his giant, glorious, perfect cock.  I was going to show this one a great time.

I slurped and gagged and pulled on him while he shuddered and clung to his control.  I pushed him as far as he’d let me, then he pushed me off of him.  He stood and pointed at the bed and his eyes gleamed with passion.

I quivered inside and felt 9-stories tall.  I hadn’t seen a man filled with this much desire because of me in very long time.  He fucking glowed.

I pulled my dress off and laid down with him.  The paper light in the corner cast a soft glow on us as I mounted him and sunk down on him.  It felt so good to be penetrated by something other than a cold, 9″ silicone dildo.  His warm human-sized cock pressed into me until it completely disappeared inside.  I began to move.

It didn’t hurt like it did with The Neighbor and I bucked and rode him harder than I’ve ridden any other man in two years.  I came and I screamed and I clawed at his flexed chest.  He gripped my wrists and told me to go easy on him.

I leaned back and let him grind up into my neck.  I grabbed the backs of his knees to pull him in further.  He moaned, wild, and his hips slammed up into me and I came and gushed all over his waist.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he panted as he suddenly began to lift me off of him.

“All over me,” I panted back.  “My tits, my fucking face, anywhere, everywhere!”

His jizz spurted out and hit me in globs.  I rubbed it into my sweat and it kept coming.  It hit my chin.  I heard him exclaiming at the sheer volume.

I preened under the layer of cum on my body — a badge of goddamned honor — as he looked down on me, mouth hanging open and lids heavy.

We lay exhausted on the little full-sized mattress and I couldn’t think.  Or move.  Stars bloomed behind my eyelids and my limbs felt like anchors.  Minutes passed in quiet satisfaction until he bade me to get on my back. My hands were heavy with the lead mittens of orgasmic bliss, but I silently complied.

Hy with no filterRule #4: Don’t compromise on what I want.

My current dating criteria are: he must be kind (respectful), smart (quick), and hung (empirically large).   My body needs a larger man, my mind wants someone nice.

On my back I lifted my knees and he gently guided himself in.  Our eyes locked.  Neither of us could feel the other.  I was so wet, so opened, so soft and throbbing that he’d have to have been twice as big as he was for us to feel it.

“There’s no friction,” he whispered.

He pumped a few times and it made it worse.  He stopped and lay beside me and invited me into his nook.  I limply cuddled in and dozed on the post-coital clouds that still floated about me.

“I’m too wet,” I murmured.  “I came too much before we tried that.”

“Yeah,” he said and kissed my temple.  “I didn’t think of that before.”

Frankly, neither had I.

The Neighbor’s sheer size prevented him from becoming completely invisible to me, though I could lose him in the cavity of my body after too many orgasms.  He felt me more than I him and The Little Marine was about three-quarters the size of The Neighbor.  Not small, bigger than average, but not huge like The Neighbor was.  No wonder we couldn’t feel anything.

Fuck me…

Hy on her tummyRule #5: Know your limits.

This isn’t a relationship that requires traditional nurturing.  It’s an agreement between two sentient animals who have needs and who have an understanding between each other.  My limits are time and emotions.  I won’t give a whole lot of either.

We lay there for a while and he jokingly said I wasn’t allowed to leave for another 45 minutes when he’d be ready to go again.  Just then my phone alarm went off signaling it was time for me to go.

“Wait,” he said and pulled himself up and rolled me onto my stomach.

He spread the cheeks of my bottom and began to press at the pucker.  “I fucking love your ass,” he hissed and I felt his hardon on my cheek.

I raised my hips and let him play with my asshole.  He suddenly seemed to have 8 arms then and rolled on a condom, kept my cheeks spread, his finger on the star and pushed the head of his cock at my pussy hole.  It felt like a soccer-field’s worth of area being stimulated and I moaned and writhed and smeared mascara all over his white fucking sheets and didn’t give. a. fuck.

He pushed into me and we both felt it: tight, throbbing, scorching hot.  He pumped and slapped and poked my asshole slipping his finger inside every few strokes of his cock.

“Grab my balls,” he barked.  “Now!”

Mindlessly I reached through my legs and grabbed his soft, dangly balls and tugged.  He moaned and thrust harder.  I reached out a finger and pressed against his tight little asshole and he moaned louder and cheered me on.

I gripped the headboard with my other hand and yelled.  He shushed me and I told him to go fuck himself.  He laughed and kept at me until I had to pull my hand back to hold onto the earth.

I came and went limp.

He flopped back down next to me and began to jerk off as I whispered how fucking big he was and how tight his ass.  How many times I’d cum and how I wanted him to cum all over me again.

He leaped up onto his knees, hissed where did I want it, and came all over my offered breasts.

What seemed like 10 beats later I was dressed and he was escorting me to my car.  It didn’t even occur to me to kiss him goodbye; I was in a fog of sex and I wanted to be home.

I thanked him and robotically drove home thinking about The Neighbor the entire way and how beneficially medicinal casual sex can be.  My heart felt better in a way I couldn’t describe: I was bringing myself pleasure and that in itself was pleasurable.  I was answering my own question of Why Hyacinth? with positives and not negatives.

The thing about casual sex, especially when all the boxes get ticked, is that it feels like self-care, like meditation after a long day.  It recenters me and reminds me of my humanness.  Participating in this thing that practically every other person on the planet also participates in connects me to the essence of what it is to be alive and safe and healthy.  Forgiving myself for my preferences and my urges is one step, maintaining a healthy distance is another.

Next step, unrelated to the rules of casually fucking, is making sure I protect enough emotional energy for the real healing I need to happen lest I get sucked down the drain of 1000 cocks again.  At some point, none of these rules will apply and I’ll need something real.  I’ll want to be loved again and hopefully love in return.

 

 

e[lust] #66

Elust #66

Elust 66 Header image
Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee

Welcome to Elust #66

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #67? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Small Breasts

Watching Her Cum

An Ode to Blow Jobs

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Of Skeletons and Secrets
Would you be bored?

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
Lust Fish

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Fiction

Unbroken by Oleander Plume
A Meal And A Show
Fucking Snow
Getting Off Is So Much Fun
Wicked Wednesday – Merry Christmas
Advent Calendar 24

Erotic Non-Fiction

Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth
Unwrapped

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Stat
Masturbation Fantasy’s Unintended Consequence
All Health Care Costs Are Not Created Equal
Keep Private Lives Private
The Myth of Magnum

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Subby Not-Quite-Year
He’s Got The Look
On femininity and rebellion
What Fifty Shades Doesn’t Tell You
Humiliation: hotness and hard-limits
Beginner’s Guide to Electro Sex – Essentials

Poetry

Because of the Way He Held Me
Cricket – A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

7 Signs You’re An Erotica Writer
Why Do I Do What I Do

Blogging

Best & Worst of 2014 & New Years Resolutions

Events

Munches, The Club and Beyond (Part 1)

Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships

He brought me bacon.
Menstruation. Does it weird you out?

 

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