My social circle has been minimized to actual circles. My once-close friends are small, unmoving profile pics. They are spontaneous strings of text that I read like short snippets of stories in real-time.
My very best friends are now blinking ellipses. They are little square nightlights of cold, touchless communication.
They’ve become less and less human, and more of a transmission. My only connection to the outside world, and I’m getting numb to their effect.
I’m an older millennial. Though I never really liked dividing and labeling our age groups, because it causes too many stupid stereotypes, I’ll comment on my millennial status as far as what society assumes it to be. …
My libido has taken a nose-dive. These past four weeks, I’ve had no sexual desire to speak of.
I know I’m in good company. We’ve all been dealing with stress, loss, grief, depression, anxiety, social isolation, and “challenging times” for about nine months now. And even though I still enjoy reading, writing, and talking about sex, I haven’t been up to actually having any.
Until this morning.
I often sleep in on the weekend while H tends to wake up around 5 or 6 in the morning and take a nap later if he’s tired. …
I’ve been having sex with the same man for over a decade. And as most every long-haul couple can attest to, sex in a committed relationship has its ups and downs. As inherently imperfect partners, we all experience bouts of lovemaking that are stale, lazy, and just…not that great.
But I recently had some of the hottest sex ever with my husband.
My orgasm was longer, more intense, and it soaked the couch (and his face) because he made me squirt.
It’s not very often that I experience a squirting orgasm, but when I do, it’s an incredibly powerful, mind-altering climax. …
My husband and I had a blow-out argument about his family after visiting them over Thanksgiving. Talk about a way to celebrate gratitude.
His parents love Trump. They eat up every word he says. They want to stop the steal. They also won’t wear a mask in a store because masks make people sick. (And where they live, they don’t get kicked out for it either.)
All these things came up in our argument in the car. I cried a lot while we debated because I was furious (I’m one of those gals where yes, tears can mean I feel hurt, but they are often, for some reason, the main visual signifier of my WRATH and FURY). …
When my husband and I were dating, he learned early on that I was sexually submissive. My heart sped up and my arousal intensified if he did something as simple as pin my wrists above my head in one of his large hands during sex.
When we first started venturing into the use of bondage toys in our love-making, we started small. Ties and scarves. Then handcuffs. Then, we tried out something that took our kinky exploration of BDSM to a whole new level: an under-the-bed restraint system.
With this kind of restraint, both the wrists and ankles can be easily cuffed at the top and bottom of the mattress. The first time we used them, my hubby had adjusted the straps so that my limbs stretched out wide, reaching toward all four corners of our mattress. …
As kids and teens, friendship is an important part of learning who we are. Our social circle enables us to become independent from our parents, learn more about ourselves, and challenge the thoughts and beliefs we were brought up with.
As adults, friendship is still crucial, but for different reasons. While we go on to develop careers and form families, we may not have as much time to spend with friends as we’d like, but we still need them for emotional support, a shoulder to cry on, making us laugh, and relieving stress.
Friends also help us see that giving friendship is as beneficial to our health and happiness as getting it. …
I don’t say this to offend any of my penis-owning friends, but — writing about semen in a sensual, erotic way can be a huge challenge.
Ejaculate. Splooge. Jism. Spunk. Baby batter. Clam sauce…The colorful language possibilities are seemingly endless, but the sexy factor just isn’t there for most of them.
And then there’s come or cum (both spellings in noun form are perfectly acceptable — see?).
But, whatever a sex blogger like me decides to call it during her many, many uses of the word, one thing’s for certain — I have plenty of opinions of where I’d like a gentleman to come when we’re making love. …
All writers make observations.
It’s one of the most important foundations of the job. We pay attention, observe, and reflect on how our observations make us feel. Then we write it down, cut out the crap, and release our newborn word-baby into the world.
The best writers pay really close attention to their experiences. And we love to use the knowledge we gain from human interactions as inspiration for our creative endeavors.
Whether we write fiction or non-fiction, when we share stories, our lived experiences influence not only what we write, but how we angle it.
And if we write about sex…well, just look out! …
I have a fetish for lingerie.
I love the look of an itty bitty nightdress or the shaping power of a sexy corset. I get turned on by the feel of silky smooth stockings and garters. And the way lingerie highlights the curve of my breasts, thighs, and ass can take me from zero body confidence to feeling like a sex goddess.
There’s, of course, something to be said for ripping each other’s clothes off and going at it bare-ass naked, but sometimes the naked-only thing can get a little same-old.
Lingerie is a good way to help a couple break the routine. Taking the time to prepare for sex — to put actual effort into things like music, candles, twinkle lights, champagne, and a sexy outfit — can make sex seem like more of a special occasion. …
When I was 7 years old, I went next door to play with my neighbor in her backyard. We were always in each other’s backyard, playing as much as possible. Lexie was 9, with a strong personality. Between us, she was the worldly and wise one. And she wasn’t afraid to remind me that she was the gal in charge.
Despite the fact that we’d argue here and there, I had a lot of fun with her. We were at each other’s houses constantly, and both of our parents were used to having an extra kid around.
We grew up together, doing everything kids do. Playing dress-up. Running races. Creating sidewalk chalk masterpieces. Going on backyard excursions and pretending we were exploring the jungle. …