Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2009

The list is up over at Between My Sheets

With thanks to anyone who nominated or voted for me x

I Love You

I finally got around to catching up on the back issues of Saturday's The Times and the week of 17 October was a very rich vein of blog content.

This column certainly deserves some additional exposure:

Hannah Betts's Things you only know if you're single…

that “I love you” may mean: I want to love you; I love this; do that again; don’t leave; I feel I should love you; I love ****ing you; my previous boyfriend/girlfriend would never have done that; I’m sorry; I appear to like you more than all the others; shush; do what I want; you are infuriating; this silence embarrasses me; I have to go; I feel old; I feel responsible; I feel obliged to love you back; help me; I’m ending this; life without you may be preferable, but would be terrifying, rudderless, unknown; everyone else seems to love you; I love the look of you; stop shouting; I’m punching above my weight; I would appear to be in some way addicted to you; seeing you with someone else makes my chest hurt; there must be a reason why I have never felt more awful; I think about you as a way of not thinking about something else; I hate you; that song is playing; you cause me more pain than other people; I’m tired of being on my own; it’s comfortable having you around; I am sick of everyone else coming in two by two; you fit the definition of someone I might be expected to love; you appear to love me; I’m exhausted so this will suffice; loving someone makes me look like a functional human being; you make things easier while not yet having become an albatross about my neck; I’m tired of myself; Christmas/Chanukkah/Kwanzaa is coming up; I love myself in your company; you pay me the requisite attention; I relish our sense of conspiracy; you are a(nother) glorious and necessary distraction from my inglorious and unnecessary existence; you unnerve me; you raise my game; say that you love me.


How many ways can you love someone... or not love someone...?

It's when Ruf says that he is 'in love with me' that I really melt.

Mute Monday: Spock Touches...

Remembrance Sunday

In an era where a large percentage of children in the UK believe that Adolph Hitler is a striker for the German national football team, where people who purport to be politicians deny the existence of the Holocaust, Remembrance Sunday has become such an incredibly important event.

The televised sight of the Queen and the Royal Family, followed by the leading Members of Parliament laying their wreaths at the Cenotaph in Whitehall, the Last Post, the solemn march past by survivors of various armed conflicts to the strains of the service bands: all so important in reminding us as a Nation of our indebtedness to the few who gave so much.

For as long as cubs and scouts attend the church parade on the Sunday nearest to 11 November and silences are observed at the start of football matches which are close to that day, then young people will ask questions about the reason for this event.

Whilst parents switch on the radio or the television at 10.45 on the morning itself and stop what they are doing at 11am to remember, then the memory of those who made the supreme sacrifice will live on.

Disconnect

"I'm worried about Kitty. I'm worried about you and Kitty.

"I didn't see this at first but, Robert, when she talks about you now... She's a little detached, a little clinical."

"Well, she's coping..."

"Or she's pulling away. Ive seen her do it. Right before she left for New York, she and my mother used to have these terrible knock down fights. They couldn't be in the same room together. And then there came a point where she just stopped arguing. She grew very quiet, very polite. We were all so relieved that we didn't realise that she had just distanced herself. And then she left."

"Well, I appreciate your concern and I don't think you should make assumptions about the marriage."

"I'm not making assumptions. I know my sister. For Kitty, arguing is her way of expressing love, passion. When she pulls away...?"

"She's not pulling away. I know Kitty. She's tired, she's got a lot on her plate and we have been going through some stuff, but she's adjusting..."

"Or she's so angry that she doesn't want to fight any more?"

"What has she got to be angry about?"

"I'm not saying anyone's at fault. I just thought you'd want to know."

Sarah Walker and Robert McAllister, Brothers and Sisters, Episode 19, Series 3



I suspect we all do it when things start to go wrong within a relationship.

We may not do it deliberately but our subconscious begins to draw away.

Detach. Disengage. Disconnect.

Two bodies separate. One united soul splits once more into two discrete entities.

It is the only way to begin to end it. To put distance between the two parties, both physically and mentally.

The clear, cool, calm of courtesy and politeness where once there was white hot passion and frenetic energy.

No longer do we know what the other is thinking. We cannot work out the meaning of their behaviour, whereas previously we could have finished their every sentence.

We spend hours in isolation, trying to work out what went wrong? How we can fix this? But something deep within our psyche has already made the decision that it is over.

Done.

All but the final details of our departure.

And eventual divorce.

HNT: Underworld

Of course you don't get the full effect without the leather trousers, the boots and the fabulous soft leather full length coat, but such is life and my self-timer just couldn't seem to get all of me in... so here's the leather basque.


For non-mousers, click here

Take It Bitch!

Mr Vanilla Edge wrote a post last week that got me thinking.

He ended with this:


Some people enjoy the subjugation aspect of BDSM play. I’ve read of women getting so wet that they actually drip their lubrication when they think about past or upcoming scenes. I’ve read about men who go weak in the knees when thinking about being forced to serve under cruel, dominating women. Some men — and some women — become sexually excited when told by their partner to “take it, bitch!” while being fucked; their turn on is their own subjugation and submission by someone more powerful.

And yes, this is fantasy, not real life. That should make it different, right?

Yeah, sure. But if you consider that fantasies play out in the context of the culture of the the partners, isn’t it possible that those of us who enjoy sexual subjugation can only do so when the concept of real subjugation is extant in society? That is, in a culture in which “Fuck you!” never had the connotation of penetrative violence, could such fantasies arise?


Having spent the morning being spanked and taking it like a bitch, yes, the lead up to it does make me very wet. Ruf certainly enjoys the whole dominant male scenario, especially when the resulting sex produces the kind of orgasm that leaves splashback all over his shirt. However, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't find it anywhere near so exciting if it happened every time... or if there was actually real fear involved.

It made me think back to a time when I was quite innocent in terms of sexual acts and perversions. As a child, I used to bury my head under the bedclothes and touch myself, imagining scenes where 'bad guys' had captured and restrained me and were going to do 'things' to my nether regions. What those 'things' entailed, I was not quite sure but there were definitely implements involved of which I had no knowledge and, whilst I was apprehensive, I was not afraid... just very excited.

As I lay there in the warm dark safety of my single bed, my fingers were busy. There was no penetration or even active stimulation of my clitoris. I just used to touch and squeeze and pinch at the folds and lips of my vulva and labia, applying pressure to my clitoris from the outside, without actually realising that this is what I was doing.

I'm not sure I ever actually gave myself an orgasm and I don't recall noticing any lubrication since my fingers were always on the outside of the vulva, but it certainly produced a very pleasurable experience that would culminate in my stretching out with my thighs pressed together to elicit the most pressure and feel the wave of excitement surfing from between my legs, up my torso and into my brain, where it broke and then dissipated with a fizz of electricity inside my skull.

At that time, I had no real knowledge of sex other than for procreation and I don't think I linked my excitement with that type of act since I believed that in the middle of the night, whilst both were asleep, the man's penis grew like a hosepipe and entered the woman to deposit the seed for a baby.

There was nothing particularly appealing about that particular activity as I understood it then, but there was something very arousing about the idea of being captured and having that part of my body used in some indistinct and undefined way...

I had no knowledge then of penetration as dominance. And, even as I got older and learned a little more about sexual intercourse per se, I didn't link my nocturnal fantasies of capture, bondage and something more with the far more unpleasant real life versions that I was beginning to notice on the news.

Just that there was a concept which made me very excited... where the captor and captive shared a more romantic bond and something very pleasant physically was going to happen between them, despite her feelings of horror at his behaviour.

I think I must have read far too many romantic novels in my teenage years but, prior to that...?

Perhaps it's just somehow genetically pre-determined.