Note to anyone whose erotica sensibilites were offended by the porny blow job picture - turns out it's even harder to find an appropriate lollipop picture than a blow job one (and I spent a lot of time loking for both!) So after extensive searching, I've given up on trying to be tasteful for now.

My friend was telling me yesterday, that her friend asked her what semen tasted like. Because, she'd never given anyone a blow job. She'd got married to the man she met when she was 16. He'd recently left her, with a debilitating disease and low confidence.

But she'd never gone down on anyone. Sounds like no one had ever gone down on her either.

I find it hard to fathom. In some respects. I mean, I'm not queen of orgasms, it's true. But still... I remember refusing a friend who asked me to go a little further, and suck on it, please. And I said, er, no! But even then, at 14 or thereabouts, I'd read Cynthia Heimel's Sex Tips for Girls and countless Cosmo articles on the best ways to please your man and so on. And it wasn't long before I'd found someone I was comfortable practising on. And because I'd never been taught that sex, or pleasure, or genitalia were disgusting or repugnant or evil, or whatever the fuck hangup you have to have to banish oral sex completely from your repertoire, I loved it, I loved being good at it. Back then it was great to be in control of someone's pleasure, to give something. To be too hot with an aching jaw under an airless duvet working on their pretty cock while they gasped and panted hoarsely above me. Asking if it was ok, to hear,

'Are you serious? Didn't you hear my breathing? And I didn't even come!'

Ah, yes, to be mistress of that.

But don't we expend such energy, being disgusted by things? Don't get me wrong, I'm as fond of laughing or ew-ing at random weird fetishes as the next girl, as I think the humour potential is strong in some cases. But dismissing blow jobs? Aw. So sad.

Plus, you know the fact she's asking about them means she's curious... I just pray that if she does decide to go down on someone that he doesn't have lumpy semen. Because that would be so ironic, Alanah might be tempted to write a sequel.

a validating thought

A message from our hero, Janine Ashbless, that I found in her interview with Nikki Magennis, that cheered me, and made me feel like cheering:

“Sex is important. ” I think that’s what pretty much all of my stories express. The establishment would have us believe that sex is trivial and a bit silly, a footnote to anyone’s life story. This is bollocks. People pour time and money into sex, they destroy their relationships and their careers for sex. And – on the positive side – in the loneliest and bleakest times of our lives sex is a gift of solace and pleasure. Fictional sex might be as important as the real thing, because let’s face it the stuff that really matters is what goes on in your head, not the bumping together of hairy bits. It’s what’s going on in your head that makes sex not just a trivial genital spasm but a place in which to find something more: escape from the self or connection to the human race, punishment or redemption, love, responsibility, surrender, empowerment, validation, intimacy, even transformation. So I write about those things. Sex in my stories isn’t always happy but it always matters. And I try and make it hot as hell too, of course!

Nikki's got an interesting question going on her blog today as well. Worth a click*

ack

One for Danielle

Ugh. I have this story that's been sitting with me for a while. It's due to be submitted. And it doesn't want to come out onto the paper. I've had it in my head for ages. I've blocked it out in notes. I've lost those notes, somehow, they're not in any of the three notebooks I might have scribbled them into... but writing it down, it's just not coming out right. All that intense prettiness that I can see in my head skids and scrapes as I try to lay it down on the screen the same way. It doesn't want to be out there. For three days I've been opening the folder and looking at it, and doing other stuff instead. What is up with that?

Hot Fuck Sunday

A Celtic Dom! This is a first!

Would you trust a red-bearded man to take care of you?

I can't get the photo to size right for the blog, so here is a better resolution original somewhere else.

tongues

I thought I'd be good at languages. With a sensitivity for cadence, and rhythms and structures and words, the taste of them. But no. It never came easy. Not even what's supposed to be my mother tongue, mo theanga fein.

And now along with the distance between us, there are unfamiliar words and meanings. It's not easy to stretch my tongue around your syllables, these multiples, they're hard to swallow.

So so much goes unspoken. Written into the pauses and the silences. They're universal, where translation fails.

It will do, perhaps, or have to, until we find another language, and I can learn you a better, more wordless way.

new fascination. archive diving

I'm a little bit in love. With MonMouth. Who I've read before, and liked, but never got involved with, bloggilly for some strange, foolish reason. But here I am at 00.48 am, with the cream cheese sitting unblended in the blender, lemons unzested, cheesecake uncaked and I'm still readingreadingreading his delicious, enticing, heartwarming posts about sex.

There's this tender, naughty compassionate enthusiasm for women, and people, and sex and lust and communication and so on, that I find irresistible, so real it makes me want to cry at times. I'd email him and ask if I could do an interview, if there was anyone visibly reading this. But two comments a post do not an enticing readership make, methinks. Especially when one of them's me.

Maybe it's only because he reminds me of someone. Maybe it's because his posts are so exceedingly hot. But yes. Little bit in love.

For something beautifully, achingly, breathtakingly dirty, try part 1 and part 2 of Parts for Wholes.

there's a cream for that...

Bahahaha, this makes me laugh. Inwardly.