Saturday, July 30, 2011


It's been a while... Suffused With Heat has been neglected during the birth of, which is more about pictures. Pretty pictures, dirty pictures, silly pictures. Feel free to browse!

Back soon, when I actually have something to say.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

uninformed judgement

Rachel KB wrote this piece about the blanket judgement of bdsm practitioners that happens so regularly. IT reminded me of a train of thought I'd had while loading shopping into the car the other day.

When your friend tells you they're going to take up running, with a view to completing a marathon, chances are you'll be impressed and supportive. Well, you may think they're crazy and that you would never do that, but you would still think they're impressive. As people get obsessive about their running, and talk about how they are addicted to the endorphin high and can't handle their daily stresses as well without it, we continue to think it's great.

We don't think they're crazy for suffering through the lung burn and muscle spasms and knee damage and all the rest, to get to their goals of endorphin highs and fitness and competition.

Chances are a lot of people who like their sex a little rough don't suffer half as much physically as your average runner. But people are appalled at the thought. And feel free to comment derogatorily about people who enjoy denigration. Ironic!

I do think that fetishes are born out of unmet needs. I suspect that it's even possible to unwrite those fetishes, with a lot of work. However, I don't know that the onus is on kinky people to do that at all. Or that it's necessarily the right thing to do. I'm all for being self aware, but bdsm sex seems to award people such a huge amount of fun and satisfaction. If your fetish doesn't do anyone else any harm and you get something good out of it then... well, I wince more at people in knee bandages running on concrete than I might do at a little creative filthiness.

Monday, July 11, 2011


Female toplessness is legal in a lot of places in the US (although not where I live), and I’d be meeting the letter of the law with a couple of Band-aids. But I have a gut feeling that if I go anywhere that there are people—and particularly anywhere there are children—nobody’s going to be too happy about my Band-aids. The enforcement is social; women just don’t go around topless in the US.

It bothers me because it’s unequal, but it also bothers me in its implications: that my body is inherently sexual, and a man’s body isn’t. It feels like men are being viewed through the first-person lens of “it’s nice to feel the sun on my skin, and I don’t mean anything by it” and women are being viewed through the distinctly third-person lens of “it’s inappropriate for me, a heterosexual man, to see her sexy parts.” It ignores the experiences of people who are turned on by male chests and somehow manage to contain themselves when they see one.

I like this point. It's hard to explain to my kids why half naked men aren't considered naked. Why flat chested little girls have to cover up their chests that are no different to little boys's chests. Sigh. It's all so silly. 
Now I have no urge to go round bra-less and topless myself, quite the opposite, though I have often had dreams in which I suddenly realise I'm out and about in underwear, or topless, and it's usually not as horrifying to me as it would be if I realised I'd gone to work with no top on in real life... but, yeah. 
I confess, though, I have perved at (on?) a tanned and topless muscly builder or two in my time... 

Saturday, July 9, 2011

I had this book!

The clitoris is pure in purpose. It is the only organ in the body designed purely for pleasure. The clitoris is simply a bundle of nerves: 8,000 nerve fibers, to be precise. That’s a higher concentration of nerve fibers than is found anywhere else in the body, including the fingertips, lips, and tongue, and it is twice… twice… twice the number in the penis. Who needs a handgun when you’ve got a semiautomatic.

I think my sister gave it to me. It was excellent. Worth a read.

Friday, July 8, 2011

I had a bruise on my wrist, initially prefectly four sided, from one of the links in my bracelet watch. Little rounded, black and cream art deco squares. Lined up with one, on the side of my wrist, a maroon shape that has spread and  blurred, pressed against the bone. I didn't notice it happen, the metal forced against my skin.

On the back of my other hand, a long dark rectangle, half way down the fourth Metacarpal, intruding on the interplay of bone and vein. I do remember that one. Door handle. I'm so unbalanced, clumsy.

I wish they were yours, these marks. I wish you had given them to me. So I could run my fingers over their colour, press into the tenderness of them and know you'd been there. Feel your touch linger on me. My skin would be a diary, a calendar, mark the days since I was claimed. The change and shape of the memory of you  would blur and spread and fade until I could feel it and see it no more. Until I was new again, and waiting.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

merrrrrmaids :)

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

omg cupcakes!

April Flores... so creamy skinned... 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

A Sommer freebie

A sweet F/F story from Sommer that feels a little different to the other stories of hers I've read. Touches a chord for mothers who've lost a little bit of themselves.