Unknown. At this point at least. I haven’t had a chance to try. I doubt it. If anything, I’m bi. I love my men too much, but maybe I also love my women?

I got hit on hard tonight by the most beautiful androgynous woman I’ve ever seen. As soon as she walked into the bar, I devoted my attention to her. My girlfriends didn’t notice at first, until she walked over with her male friend and poignantly asked which of us had been checking out which of them. I think I blushed while my girlfriend covered. “We’re just people watching,” she said. “You looked like you were having fun,” she said. Androgynous lesbian stared at me out of the corner of her eye.

“I think we were split half and half.” I turned to my friend loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’ll say I was checking her out if you say you were staring at him.” Deal. We both smiled huge, enticing smiles. I winked. Androgynous lesbian saw.

They leave and my girlfriends and I laugh, talking about how brazen they were and how hot that is in anyone, any gender. Next thing I know, androgenous lesbian hands me a drink while her male friend buys my friends another round. We laugh, thanking them. Smiling. They leave.

My eyes don’t leave hers. We stalk each other around the bar, catching each others eyes and biting our lips. I’m enticed. I’m interested. She knows. She stares back.

And then we’re ready to leave. Stand up, grab purse. Catch androgenous lesbian’s eye. I smile. Grab the napkin that I’ve already written my number on. Walk over. Thank her for the drink. Slip her the napkin. We both smile.

I walk home. Get a text. It’s her. I’ve got butterflies that I don’t know how to handle, and I’m drunk off the last round she bought me. I hope she calls.

I think…

I’ve needed a rest from blogging. It got to the point where my entire world was focused on my blog. Writing became a chore and sex became an outlet for new material. So I stopped both, temporarily of course, and two months later I’m back. Fresh. Excited. Ready to expel my figurative guts all over the figurative page and once again share with my favorite comunity.

So to start us off, I need to address some fan mail.

Curious asked me to discuss the female’s preference when it comes to male anatomy — particularly (surprise surprise) concerns about size.

I’m a firm (ha!) believer that confidence trumps size and style, every time. In fact, I’m convinced that those men with confidence develop those skills that make them an excellent lover. They’re less nervous and less focused on their insecurities and as a result they can take more time to listen to their partners vocal and non-vocal cues. They can feel when their partner slightly moves her hips to position herself. They sense the delicate changes of tempo as their partner climaxes and push their own body to do the same.

Granted, that’s not the answer you want. You want me to give you a number, some quantitative measurements so you can match yourself up and see where you fall, like those childhood growth charts. There are no magic numbers, and even if I could give you my ideals, there’s no way it would be the same for anyone else out there.

I like curve. I like a cock that hits my g-spot and I don’t care if it ever touches my clit. I’d think a 4 incher could do that fine. Sometimes I like to feel full. Short and thick is great for that. Sometimes I want deep. Clearly, longer is better on that one. But there’s tons of different ways to make one man’s cock fill all those different needs. If I’m getting fucked from behind, everything feels deep. If I clench my PC muscles in any position, I feel full. If I arch my back, I get that g-spot stim that I love. And the best lovers are those that can just go along with it, who can be as flexible as I am and work with me to hit all those lovely little erotic points on my body.

You still want a number. Three different studies put the average penis size at around 5 or 5.5 inches. Yes, there are some men who are way more endowed than these studies suggest, but that also means that there are tons of men who are smaller as well. I’m sure they’re all doing just fine. Does circumcision make a difference? I like it, but some girls don’t. It’s not a deal breaker either way.

And sometimes guys, too big is just too damn big. Every girl has been there at some point. The largest cock I’ve ever seen was on a guy I fucked once. He was so convinced that his large size made him excellent in bed. He didn’t try. He hurt me. It was in fact one of the worst nights of sex I’ve ever had.

And lastly, oral vs. vaginal preferences? I didn’t know girls made distinctions. I love sucking dick, so I don’t care what size you are. And chances are, after I’m done sucking that beautiful shaft of yours, I’m going to want it somewhere inside me. Use it right and it won’t matter how big or small it is. I’ll be screaming for more and all I’ll remember is the starts behind my eyelids, not how many inches long you were.

You want to hear from the other female readers. I do too. Leave your thoughts.



I’ve been fired. Or dumped. Whatever you want to call it, it happened to me. And I don’t care in the least, or at least only for purely selfish reasons.

The boy in question: Homeboy. I know, I know. It’s sad and the end of an era, but I saw it coming. He told me I made him feel hollow.


He’s upset because I didn’t visit him this summer. He’s upset because I won’t date him. He told me he always wanted me for himself and that he thought if he hung on long enough, I’d come around. That he would change me. Yes, he said this. And yes, I was glad it was the end.

I don’t know why people think they can change others. People change when they want to, when they make a concerted effort to change their thinking or actions or interactions. Change happens when it’s least expected.

I’ve been told that I take suggestion to change well. I hold no qualms about taking criticism and I have no problem considering another’s opinion. I’m not always right, and I know this. What’s been working for me in the past may not be the most efficient way to do something, and I know this too. Some may see it as me letting others mold me, as me not standing up for my convictions. But those who’s suggestions I take to heart most are those who appreciate my willingness to do so.

So, am I upset about being fired? Slightly, only because the sex was good and I’ll miss that. Am I going to miss the drama that came with it? No. Not in the least.

On a good note, I’ve purchased a ticket to visit him in a month. 4 orgasm filled days and sleeping together, holding each other nights. I’m ecstatic. I hope the next few weeks fly by.

I love sucking Homeboy’s dick. He’s perfectly shaped — not too thick or thin and not too long or short. It fits perfectly in my mouth, my lips flush against his abdoment. And he responds perfectly. He moans on cue and entwines my hair in his fingers. Every time I whip my tongue, he shudders in perfect time.

It’s strange, but when I’m going down on him, I think of mathematical patterns, colors and shapes and rhythms and numbers tha fit together perfectly, like replacing shards of broken glass until each is accounted for and the pane is flawless. I lose myself completely. I don’t think of his skin on my lips or the movements of my tongue. I relax, let my muscles take over and get lost in the comfort in the swirls of color that I see behind my eyes.

When he comes in my mouth,n in a burst that forces me instantly back to reality, tears stream down my face. I swallow him, catching my breath and wiping the salty drops from my eyelashes. And he sighs, relieved and relaxed and he pulls me to his chest where I rest my head and share in his afterglow.

All I can think about right now is being beaten. I want nothing more. Naked, tied to a bed. Blindfolded and bent over. Spanked red. Pulled taught between the bedposts and teased.

Oh, the teasing.

I don’t care what’s used, a finger, a tongue, a toy, a knife. Just tease me until I’m begging you to stop or pull me over the edge. Teasing is better than oral sex. You can multi-task. Read a book while you trace your finger around my cunt lips. Watch TV if you can keep your eyes off of me, while I whine and squeal and writhe under your fingertips. See if you can pull yourself away when I arch into the hand you place on my breast, squeezing my nipple. Roll it back and forth and hold yourself back as you do the same to me.

I’ll start to cry out. Soft whimpers at first, but soon I’ll be full on moaning, beging you to touch me harder, to rub me longer, to slide your finger in me just a little bit deeper. Maybe I’ll tear up and buck my hips off the bed and lean into your hand. And maybe you’ll pull away and slap my face and tell me to stop, to relax, to just enjoy the delicious teasing and let you have your fun. Let you watch me, restrained and blinded and present for your torture.

And when you’re done, when you think I’ve had all I can take and you lick your lips with hunger for me, hold me tight and slide into me. Push my legs to my chest and thrust deeply, letting my pussy throb and constrict around your cock. Pull out and let me cum, the fluid splashing up around my chest and onto my face. And dive back in and pound me, and break me, and bruise me. Finish with me, the heat of our bodies drenching both of us in sweat as we shudder and call out in pleasure.

Lay with me.

Untie me as I breathe quietly.

Rub your hands softly down my back to calm me down and bring me back to reality.

Hold me, and I’ll curl into you, rooting like a baby and reaching to hold onto you. Maybe I’ll fall asleep or maybe my eyes will flutter open and I’ll be awake long enough to sip some water. Either way, I’ll be happy. Fulfilled. Complete.

Homeboy and I had a date the other night. Simple- an impromptu dinner at a local cafe followed by a light drink at my new apartment. We sat on my bed, sipping our drinks, listening to music and chatting about the upcoming semester. Then we’re laying down,  watching TV and laughing out loud. Before I realize what’s happened, I feel his arms around my shoulders and his legs entangled in mine, and he plants his lips firmly against my mouth. I blush hot, amazed at the butterflies that have spring to life in my stomach, choosing that very moment to burst from their cocoons and expand their wings.

We kiss and he runs his hands through my hair, gripping a handful and pulling me closer to him. I’m kissing him back, ferociously. I’m out of breath.

He puts his hand under my shirt and finds a nipple, rubbing it lightly between his finger tips and squeezing every so often. My shirt is off. Then his. His hands are down the back of my skirt and he’s grabbing my ass, fingering the satin material of my panties as he debates slipping a finger underneath. He flips me over, settling on rubbing my cunt through the fabric, marveling aloud at the damp heat radiating from beneath. I see him staring at me through the squints of my eyes which flutter closed as I whisper a  moan and grind against his hand.

“You’re so sexy. I love watching you.”

He leans over and puts his mouth to my ear, his hot breath sending waves of pleasure to the tips of my toes.

“I can’t wait to take that pussy. I know what you want. You just can’t wait to have my dick inside you.”

I moan and he slides my skirt off, removes his own pants and presents me with his perfectly curved cock. I grab it in my mouth, savouring his taste and drawing out his pleasure as I suck and lick and swirl my tongue around his head. I know he’s approaching orgasm so I stop, letting his breathing return to normal as I run my hands over his abs. Then he’s below me, pushing my legs against my stomach and thrusting into me with such urgency. He comes and I come with him, a huge but silent orgasm that leaves me lightheaded and dazed.

Just like old times.

It’s been one week since I left him and my sanctuary in NYC, returning home to the hot, humid, and hellish Miami. I’ve been horny as ever with virtually no relief. Self touch is only marginally enjoyable after a summer of another’s touch, especially a touch that gives me chills and hot flashes simultaneously and brings me to orgasm countless times.

My new toy has joined its mates on a brand new shelf in a brand new apartment. The smaller toys already have their own home, a cozy hand-knit bag with drawstring tie that I made last year. He saw it and promptly named it snufflufagus. But this has presented a situation that now needs remedy: where do the new toys go?  They look so delicate and precious in their boxes, but are still hidden from view by a plastic shopping bag. I suppose it’s time to knit a bigger bag.


I haven’t felt much like writing. I’m filled with this weird mess of emotions, including to but not limited to the following:

  1. Sadness: I miss him terribly.
  2. Loneliness: After a summer with someone by my side, to return to singledom seems like hell.
  3. Anger: My new roommates have a much higher mess tolerance than I do.
  4. Pleasure: I’m incredibly happy with my life right now. I’ve made some good choices which I’m only benefiting from now.
  5. Confusion: I need to start having some more sex, but I haven’t yet determined the best way to go about that. I haven’t met anyone particularly enticing and my will to do so has been stunted by numbers 1 and 2.

I know I’ve asked this of you a lot lately, but forgive me again for my failure to write. Hopefully I’ll get out of my funk soon and will once again flood the wires of the internet with fantastic sexual endeavours. Until then, standby.

My need for abuse is mounting. I have a beer in me and I’m well rested and the combination makes my skin tingle with sensitivity and anticipation.

We have a few fingers of ginger in the fridge which have had me on edge since I bought them. My previous experience with ginger (which I thought I’d posted about but seem to have only composed and narrated in my mind) was fantastic. That afternoon, we were in each others’ heads. He knew exactly what I needed and wanted and how much of it. The sensation on my lower lips only intensified as each minute passed and I sank into glorious oblivious subspace.

I haven’t been there in awhile.


We had morning sex the other day which went surprisingly well. It’s not ordinarily something I crave or even enjoy too much; I don’t think I have as much control over my muscles first thing in the morning and therefore my orgasms aren’t nearly as climactic or intense. For whatever reason, I awoke horny as hell and longed to be touch. He was thrilled and within minutes we were rolling around on top of each other. He rubbed my clit — slowly at first but gradually peaking with intensity as I did the same.

He grabbed my chin and examined my face and asked me to suck his cock, and I happily obliged. I eagerly drew his hard dick in my mouth, restraining myself so I could draw him in and slowly intensify his excitement as he had mine. I ran my tongue along his shaft and slid my tongue against his balls. I felt him shudder against my lips and held him on edge as I climbed on top of him.

Within minutes I had orgasmed  but not squirted. I apologized and said I thought I wouldn’t, but he wasn’t having it. He flipped me over onto my back and shoved my legs behind my shoulders. He thrust his hips into me and I felt myself clenching, then gushing all over his bed. He still wasn’t satisfied. He made me cum three more times before finishing himself and collapsing on top of me, into a heap of sweaty sticky limbs.

I have a new toy, and I may never leave the bedroom again. It was a birthday present and quite clearly a perfect one.

The rosebud caught my eye in my first pass through Babeland and tormented me with thoughts of it making itself a new home in my toy box until I finally walked out with it in my hand and 4 fresh batteries.

The Rosebud is soft to the touch, made from 100% silicone and silky as hell. Similar to the Rabbit Habits of Sex in the City popularity, The Rosebud consists of a quickly vibrating tickler attached to a circling dildo. The conjoined sensation is amazing as it hits my g-spot and clit simultaneously bringing me to one blended orgasm after another. The rotating head continued to swirl even as my PC muscles clamped into a death grip.

Unlike the rabbits that make their home in the display case next to it, The Rosebud is neither intimidating nor threatening. It reigns as princess of the shelf and commandeers awe from those who witness its beauty.

The serenity that I felt a few days ago is completely gone. I’m filled with an inner turmoil that I don’t know how to reconcile. My time in New York City has been better than anything I’d ever imagined. I’ve fallen in love harder than I ever have before and I feel an overwhelming, tight bond to Him. I’m afraid I’ll never feel this again with anyone else. I don’t want to feel this again with anyone else. I want to stay with Him forever, come home to him after work or class and spend my nights wrapped in his arms where I’m safe and warm and loved.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world. He appreciates me and all I do for Him, and I obviously feel the same towards Him. He’s good to me. He takes care of me and He worries about my well-being and does all He can to make sure I’m happy. Anything one desires in a man, He has for me and gives it willingly.

I feel like a dumb school girl or like one of those teenagers I hated in high school, who’d change their plans and dreams to accommodate a guy. I constantly remind myself that the choices I’m making, I made long before I met Him. These dreams are mine and they happen to coincide with his. He’s an added bonus, but one I’m more than willing to consider as I formulate my life’s choices.

As the end of my summer quickly approaches, I can’t help but feel incredibly apprehensive about what this next year apart will bring. I don’t want to spend a day without him. I already ache inside and I’ve been pushing away these thoughts for weeks. Only now, I can’t run anymore. Soon enough, I’m going to be out of town, packed into a car as I drive down the East Coast and head back home.