To hear more about Nina, her career as a feminist, activist, and porn star as well as her personal sexual experiences, I highly recommend her interview on the podcast Tangentially Speaking that’s hosted by Christopher Ryan.

I won’t go into detail about the discussion, because that is Nina’s story to tell, and because I have a mission in this post. What I want to share with you are two main ideas I took to heart. The first is a precursor to the second and I believe the second is something I really valued hearing from her. I wanted to conceptualize relationships with others in a healthy, happy way, and Nina worded it beautifully. I don’t think I will do her words justice, but here are my impressions of what she talked about.

1) Communicate. Talk about sexual wants and needs, fantasies, desires, kinks, boundaries, hard limits, and so on. Even if someone fits within the social “norm”–heterosexual and monogamous–what that person really ought to do is put into words what is pleasurable. Only after this is discussed can possible crossovers be found in order to see whether a sexual experience or relationship might progress.

2) Being okay with limits (and noes). Being happy and appreciative within relationships while respecting the parameters is important. It’s very easy to turn sexual desires and pleasure-seeking into a selfish game. Don’t push others to meet all of your needs; find what pleasures and interests are shared with that person(s) and set up the relationship’s boundaries around that. Being offended and whiny that someone does not fulfill all of your wants is immature. Instead of becoming grumpy about limits set upon relationships for various reasons, just enjoy and appreciate the experiences for what they are. This also involves being patient, because things change and opportunities might crop up in the future.

It’s very easy to fixate on the negative aspects of things. It’s easier to lash out in hate, jealousy, and overall “butthurt”-ness (Nina said “butthurt”! So funny.) because you turn the sexual world into a world that revolves around yourself. Try to be happy for others and their sexual successes and adventures, while enjoying living your own life and exploring your sexuality. It can be quite an honor to be involved, even remotely, in someone’s sexual adventures.

Besides, anger, jealousy, hate can be such exhausting emotions. I’d much rather expend energy on orgasms.

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A girl kept dropping her pockets.
She couldn’t keep them attached
To the seam line of her corduroys
Olive-stained and soft, cheeky
Almost, as if her pants had a voice.
She held on tight, though,
To those dear pockets that tried
To pack a knapsack and run away.
Run away, from potential disaster,
From responsibility. The pockets don’t
Want to hold prized possessions of the girl’s.
What if a teeny-tiny hole of
Imperfection in the pocket lost
All that meant something to this girl’s heart?
The pockets would never be able to forgive
Themselves, for gravity pulls their spirits
Down, so that something will inevitably fall
Out of this girl’s pocket, such as Chester.
Chester was an acorn given, humorously
From a boy. He cared for
The acorn that day. But alas,
Two steps on a nut–even accidental–will crack it.
The boy slipped the broken nut into the departing girl’s
Pocket. The acorn held potential for the future.
Chester is filled with borrowed dreams
But remained broken himself.
How could he even live if he doesn’t have a face?
For faces are what represent lives.

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I propped my laptop on the edge of my bed, straddling it with my legs. You watched as I slowly undressed, reveling in your gaze. I certainly admired my view of you, naked and erect, grinning like a fool who just won the lottery.

I traced your tattoos with my eyes, taking in the sight of skin, wishing I could rake your bare chest and arms with my nails as we make rough love. I couldn’t resist peaking quickly and powerfully as I fucked myself senseless. I’m an exhibitionist on my stage: watch me as I buck and purr for you, daddy.

I came for you in my most vulnerable state. Grief-stricken and lost, I knew I had you and your desire to pull me through my troubles. I needed your appreciation and adoration. Being able to play for you brought such sweet joy.

I could have cried upon seeing the love in your eyes. The way you blew me kisses and thanked me for sharing myself with you emphasized the chasm that preceded that moment. I was selling myself short rather than demanding for more. We both came intensely and tirelessly such that we rode the waves of pleasure as it swam through our bodies, never wanting it to end, but grinning even when it did.

It opened a new chapter of healing for me, with you at my side throughout. Sometimes it is enough to fulfill a role for each other, for the time being. But I look forward to the possibility of it becoming more someday. xoxo

Happy 1st Birthday to Wicked Wednesday! See who else is celebrating:

Because I identify as a highly sexual person, this somehow means that I should be fucking every person I meet. This means that I should be actively pursuing people to fuck. This means that every day/hour/minute I’m not fucking someone(s) I should be rubbing my clit and fucking myself excessively because that’s what being a highly sexual being must entail, right?

I can be a bit sarcastic, but you hopefully get the point. I am not at the point in my life, nor with the right people, to be able to maximize my sexual relationships and experiences. This doesn’t mean that I am not a highly sexual person and this doesn’t mean that I am unhappy. Sex finds its way into my life every single day through various mediums. Sometimes I read articles about sexual health or I review a sex toy. Other times I share feminist, sex-positive news with people and other times I watch porn. At times I masturbate a bajillion times in a day, and other days I don’t masturbate even once. Often On occasion I have phone sex or I write an erotic story. I am a single, independent, sexual woman. I am a young professional out in the world, finding my way, earning a living and the frequency of intercourse does not define me.

I want to find a significant other(s). I want to live with someone I love. I just happen to be alone for the time being, and that is not a bad thing, nor a deficient thing. I don’t want to have random sex with strangers (yet) because I am looking for something else, and I am happy to wait to get what I want.

There is a piece in Best Sex Writing 2013 that resonated with me because it addressed how society shames virgins, because a person shouldn’t wait to have sex with someone special, but a person should want to fuck at any given opportunity that crops up–and in fact, create opportunities through which sex is likely to happen as soon as fucking possible. This is unfair. People should be allowed to lead the sexual or asexual lives they want to lead. I expect my future to be full of lots of sexcapades and experiences to learn and try new things with people. Others don’t expect a future filled with sexual plans like mine but instead expect intimacy on many other levels.

We as a society should be more aware of when we are applying our judgments upon others in a negative way. For example, a 40 year-old virgin isn’t a deficient person and isn’t leading an insufficient life merely because he/she/they is a virgin. There’s value in waiting for whatever life situation is perceived worthwhile to be waiting for. I lost my virginity a few years ago and in some ways I wish I would have waited at least for my first serious relationship, because then it would have been more special. However, I was a content, sexual person even before I lost my virginity.

My current rationale is that I’d rather fuck myself than fuck someone who might not do it as well as my hands and brain and toys can. *wink* But who knows. I do think I sense new partner(s) on the horizon. If you try to say toys are replacements of partners and even cocks, I will lecture you. Inanimate objects never replace people. Toys allow people to explore, learn, enhance, and embrace their sexualities more easily. I still want a partner in crime, duh.

And quite frankly, when I wait longer between sexcapades, or masturbation rounds for that matter, the reward is only sweeter.

And do you know what’s even sweeter and sexier than waiting? Knowing I’ll blog about it. xoxo

Am I to play Barry White? *NSYNC? Celine Dion? Tchaikovsky?

How would I make the scene as romantic as possible? Do I need to own candles and silky sheets and massage oils and rose petals? I do not enjoy silky sheets, I’ll say that much.

At present, I have not had sex while music played that I can recall, so the importance of mood setting hasn’t really become an essential component to me. I’ve learned that music isn’t all that important and that there are other things that come to my attention during sex–more important things than the background music, or sheets, or rose petals. I’m  busier paying attention to the shared experience of pleasure and oftentimes I am giggling, joking, and playing around. Such fun aspects of intimacy are what’s important to me and the background elements aren’t so critical.

I do remember thinking that dirty, catchy tunes would be fun to listen to while having nasty sex. Ludacris’s “What’s Your Fantasy” comes to mind.

I suppose thinking of this week’s prompt (Radio) helps emphasize that 1) I am a planner/worrier and I like to be prepared, 2) I am a romantic, and 3) I am a horny pervert. This points aren’t new, but it’s fun to see them retrospectively in my younger self.

See who else is being delightfully Wicked this week! xoxo

PS. This post title is the name of a song by Regina Spektor. Yes, I would fuck while listening to her tunes.

Green fingernails trace the soft pink flesh surrounding pert nipples. The tips stand at attention, which is also what they crave. These nipples desire pain. Sloppy, wet, tooth-inducing pain.

Show me your teeth.

Sharp canines sink deep into my neck, pressing on a jugular such that the pulse presses hard and fast against those hot, full lips entrapping it.

Let me live.

Deliberately slow fingers admire pale flesh, inviting goosebumps to pop up along their journey across the terrain. It’s as though the body responds instantaneously to touch; it quivers and quakes, begging to be touched twice over.

Give in.

The taste of a salty tongue intrigues. A voice unleashes itself into another’s entrance; pleasure is spoken and shared.

 Words.

Thank you, Mr. Payne for another sexy work of art based on an image of me.

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As I pushed the shaft deeper into my mouth, my arousal grew and my panties dampened. I sucked on the tip and barely suppressed my own moans of longing. I craved it. My performance was all for me.

As I lifted my lips off, my tongue lingered. I traced circles and curly q’s on and around the rim. Over and over I engulfed what I could, filling my mouth in a hopeless attempt to sate myself. But satisfied I could not be.

With a long, breathy sigh, I closed my eyes, and tilted my head back. My hand grasped the cool, hard shaft and I gulped down all the liquid that poured down my throat. I swallowed what I could and licked my lips to gather up the droplets that I missed.

I exhaled deeply once I realized I was holding my breath. I’ve enjoyed what I could of this, but alas, both of us are now drained.

A tale of me, drinking a beer. xoxo

Loosely inspired by this week’s prompt: ? + ? = ?; My interpretation is 1 + 0 = 1

Often I imagine sexual fantasies when I am on my own, especially when I become inspired by others. The other night I was drinking a bottle of beer, when a sudden need came over me–I wanted to suck a cock. I didn’t necessarily want to be fucked or loved; I wanted a cock in my mouth for me to taste and enjoy.

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“I can’t,” she insisted, knowing her body better than he. It was either honesty or she’d fake it. Sometimes she wondered if he preferred the latter.

He looked slightly surprised but did not push her further.

“Any way I can help you along?” His eyes shiny and expression sincere.

She suggested cuddling and kissing. She wanted to feel the length of his figure against hers, warming her skin from the crisp air. His hands trailed her curves in adoration.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Mhmm,” she murmured in agreement, a smile grew, enveloping her dimples. “So are you darling.”

He wrapped his arms around her, to be kind and cradle her breasts. They were rather heavy so the support was appreciated–not to mention that the task pleased him almost as much as coming did.

They enjoyed the simple closeness of their intertwined bodies as they talked about less interesting things. xoxo

Partially confused, I wondered what the next move of his lips and tongue will be. Trying to anticipate his actions didn’t work and I am left feeling disappointed he doesn’t try to taste my throat or swallow my tongue. As we part, his attention remains transfixed on me. I am his if I let him have me.

My curves are graced by his adoring hands, he rubbed my crotch as if reading my mind, making me wet, drenched with the guarantee of being satisfied. If I allow it.

Then he sits back down, insistent I sit on his lap even though his legs are slightly parted. I feel his bulge welcoming me; its presence arouses me further until I nearly want what he wants. I resist. I only want teased, this time.

His attempts at worshiping my bare ass prove fruitless; I control this game. He pouts but still pets me through my layer of clothing. Perhaps he is trying to entice me through his handiwork, I think; nevertheless I relish in it and glean all the enjoyment I can get from his rubbing. I’ve missed foreign hands.

Once we get up for the last time he stands behind me, pressing my ass against him. I imagine we are grinding to an imaginary song we both hear. He whispers into the nape of my neck as he cups my breasts. I ignore his plea and reel in arousal.

He glorifies my body, heralding it for the beauty that it is. But I won’t let him see me exposed just yet. While he may perceive this delay as suffering, I much prefer this slow, agonizing path to heightened pain and reward.

Nothing like bringing in the new year with a kiss. And a tease. xoxo

Happy 2013! See who else is being wicked this week:

First read Kitten in the Tub Part 1.

Daddy strokes her hot pussy, petting her clit as he pushes two fingers into her. Kitten purrs; she is his now. He notices her legs quivering slightly from the pleasure he gleans from her cunt. She half-squats for Daddy, holding onto his free arm as he slowly teases her into submission.

“Piss for Daddy,” he murmurs, rocking his fingers inside her. Kitten fiercely wants him to press her spot, to bring her to orgasm but she first must empty her bladder onto Daddy’s hand. She whines softly as her breathing becomes more labored. In her bent position facing Daddy, she watches his face as she begins to allow a little bit of pee dribble into his hand.

His eyes shine with arousal. His fingers become more urgent; he guides Kitten closer to the edge as her hot piss rushes down his forearm. Daddy begins stroking himself with new-found vigor. The hot scent fills his mind with dirty thoughts, plans of what adventures he wants them to embark upon.

Kitten takes control, slowing the flow and prolonging the sensation. The wave of pleasure surges through her; his meaty fingers urging her to pant, her release pushing her to finish. She leans forward and presses her open mouth on his, her tongue vigorous with need. Sharing their fluids makes her feel closer to him now, she feels more vulnerable. Kitten needs him to care for her, and she needs to come for him.

Daddy feels suddenly more loved by his kitten. He takes his hand from his cock and begins stroking her body, tracing the soft curves of her breasts as he teases her erect nipples. She cooed softly in his ear as she emptied her bladder on him. His fingers gave a final press before he removed his hand from her cunt, half covered in arousal, half in release. Daddy’s eyes watched his little girl’s reaction as he slowly licked every finger clean.  She was both repulsed and aroused by their urine covering each other, but as they caressed, stroked and loved each other, her arousal won out. The kiss they shared was a salty-sweet one, and their desire as fiery as when they first met.

Fucking in the bathtub was imminent but he knows she wants to be clean first, as aroused as she may be, so first he turns on the water and lathers up the sponge. Time to take care of his brave little Kitten. xoxo