There is a moment, a glorious moment, in anal sex, where everything just…opens up.
There is a moment when something switches in the person you’re with, where there is a perfect moment of trust and relaxation. When their ass opens up to your, and in that moment, they are totally yours.
For me, it is a moment when I feel the person I’m fucking trusts me implicitly, enough to actually give me their ass.
It is at that moment that I am completely in my element, and riding a beautiful edge.
→ 1 CommentTags: Ode to Anal · thoughts
This is quite the blast from the past! I started this post in…May 2009? If even then; I started it a few weeks after the last time I saw Sebastian, before he once again developed a case of Teh Girlfriend. We punch fucked. It was good.
I have to say – the ‘science experiment’ with the lube went well. Very well. I mean, it led to punch fucking! If something leads to punch fucking, it is a Good Thing.
You see, when I showed up at Sebastian’s this last time, he had this idea that he had picked up somewhere about mixing 1/3 silicone lube with 2/3 water based lube for anal. (I think that was the ratio, I’m not sure.) I thought it was a little weird, since I like to stick with Babelube (I swear, it’s like my crack. Babelube, and Lomy Fic. They sort of go hand in hand…and if I don’t get enough of either, I get a little twitchy and irate.) Anyway. It is almost impossible for me to say no to Sebastian, because he’s fucking adorable and he knows it, so we set everything up, and then headed to the blender.
He mixed it all up while I watched. All I could keep thinking was ‘God I hope he has another blender, I wouldn’t want to clean that out to make a smoothie.’ And ‘Jesus his ass looks good in those jeans’. The latter more than the former – he’s got a great ass. Thinking about a fantastic ass beat thinking about practical stuff any day – though nonsequitorial thoughts and statements are just part of my nature.
The mixture took some fine tuning, but what we wound up with was actually pretty good – the best of both worlds. I generally avoid silicone lube like the plague, because I heart my silicone toys and don’t want to mess them up, and because I don’t like the way it feels in me, but it *does* last for about ten minutes short of forever. However, what it doesn’t do is stay where I damn well put it, or go where I want it to. But water based lube of a gel consistency does. Mix them together, and BAM. A lube that won’t quit that GOES WHERE I PUT IT. Plus, it was nice and warm from the blender. Though honestly, sometimes I don’t know why we don’t just use Crisco. They make it in sticks now and everything, and it doesn’t break down gloves, as its a vegetable based lube. (And it’s traditional for fisting. At some point, as a fister, I NEED to use Crisco, just once. It’s like getting married, when you need something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.)
We jumped into play pretty quickly once he had the experimental lube mixed to his satisfaction. I think I was sitting there with my gloves on the whole time, next to the play area with all the toys laid out and paper towels at the ready. (He sets the play area up so nicely. I couldn’t do better myself. I actually find it calming, to have everything set up and right there, just so and in easy reach. It’s part of the reason I generally like to play at my own home when I can. Living with family has put the kibosh on that. There is also the toppy part of me that likes when people listen to me when I say things like ‘Have everything set up, music playing, and wear those tight jeans I like’)
It seems that the goal, when Sebastian and I play, is to push the envelope. We play fairly heavily, because we can, and because its hot.
Sebastian is a *fantastic* anal bottom, for a variety of reasons. 1) He knows what the fuck is going on – he is aware of his ass, his experience level, what’s going on the day we’re playing, and all the technical aspects of buttsechs – he tops too. These are good skills to have as a bottom. 2) He’s not afraid to communicate with me while I’m doing stuff to his butt – I always know if what I’m doing is good, bad, or indifferent. (It also doesn’t hurt that he’s young, full of awesome, and hot like a thing thats really hot.)
Communication is supremely important, at least for me, as the penetrative partner. I’m paranoid and always think about worst case scenarios. I could seriously hurt a butt if my partner and I don’t communicate – the worst that could happen to me is a sprained hand (or possibly a broken wrist. However, I think any event that led to my wrist being broken would probably be hilarious. Sucky, since I need my hands for massaging, but hilarious. I’m sure it would involve me slipping on lube or something while wrist deep in Brock Sampson.)
And I think I’m pretty fucking good anal top. I’ve done research. I’ve read things. I study anatomy. I have had this stuff done to me (excluding being fisted. So far.) I listen to what my bottoms are telling me. I also try to research as best I can topics or activities I’m wary or unfamiliar with.
The last time we had played, Sebastian had mentioned punch fucking. I was wildly turned on by the idea of it, but wary of the practice. (Plenty of things that turn me on wildly belong in my head and in my head alone)
However, I was fortunate to attend Tristan Taormino’s anal sex class at Winter Fire last year. It was more of an Anal 201 type class – the assumption was that we had the basics down, and were interested in bringing anal to the next level or bringing it into power-play. Lots of talk about fisting, extended butt plug wearing, etc.
I figured, if I was nervous about punch fucking, she was the person to ask. So ask I did! I think, more than anything I was asking for permission – I wanted to know that this was an ok activity, and I wanted to hear it from someone who both loves and knows the butt. Her advice, or answer to my question (Which was pretty much “I have a friend who’s interested in me punch fucking him – can I do this/is it ok/do I need to know anything?”) was basically “Well, if he can take it, than sure!”
Subjective, of course, but that’s really the only answer. ‘Can I punch fuck?’ is very general. ‘Can I punch fuck YOU’ is different. Butts are like snowflakes; they all taste a little different when you catch them on your tongue.
Anyway, as far as ‘Can Sebastian take a punch fucking?’ I had a good feeling the answer was yes. And this time, when I was wrist deep in him and he asked me to rip my fist out and punch it back in…I did!
It didn’t start out as a punching motion. At first, while we were warming up, I was narrowing my hand back into the pre-fisting position on the way out and the way back in, but as his ass relaxed and opened up (Ah, that glorious moment when the ass finally opens, its glorious, glorious! It always makes me marvel at the form and function of the human body, and the mind/body connection and how that all ties together…) I was more and more able to keep my hand in the ‘fist’ position until I was…well, punch fucking him!
Joemigod. It was hot. So, so hot. I don’t remember the last time I actually *soaked* my panties while fisting. The combination of the power of my position, his vulnerability, the feeling of my hand pushing into his ass…and I just can’t describe the feeling of having your entire hand buried all the way to the wrist inside someone’s ass.
And I must admit, there is a part of me that enjoys the fact that within a taboo act, I can go even farther. I guess when it comes to fisting, I’m an edge play? But to me, it doesn’t seem like an edge. I’m perfect comfortable with what I’m doing and it doesn’t feel edgy to me, just hot. I look forward to more punch fucking, and do a very deep fisting. I’d love to get inside someone to the elbow…
→ 3 CommentsTags: Anal · babeland · edge play · fisting · sebastian
So, I love trying different standing-to-pee devices. I have had the chance in the past to review the P-Style, the first STP device I’ve tried, and I reccently got the Go-Girl. I find myself having much more success with the Go-Girl.
The Go-Girl is silicone, which means it can be reused, and boiled to sanitize it.
The P-Style is hard plastic, which can also be washed and reused, but not boiled.
These are both good things – I like the idea of having a device that is re-useable! I mean, I use a DivaCup for my period, I might as well use a re-useable device for peeing while standing!
The G0-Girl is bendy, easy to fold up and place back in the plastic tube it came in.
The P-Style is hard plastic, and rather long.
In this instance, the Go-Girl wins out for me. One of the main reasons I want to be able to stand and pee is for when I’m out and about. If I need to take a piss, and there isn’t a toilet around, or if I’m in a skuzzy, skuzzy bathroom in the subway or something, or a bus, or a train, I want to be able to do it quickly and easily.
The Go-Girl
, in its little plastic tube, fits in my bag so much easier than the P-Style. This, I like. Anything that folds up small so I can fit it in my bag is good by me.
Now, the P-Style doesn’t fit in my bag, it doesn’t fold, and it doesn’t have a handy tube to be carried in.
The Go-Girl covers most of your vulva, and you’re essentially pissing into a cup that goes to a tube.
The P-Style is open top, and you have to place it by your urethra.
Now this is another case where, for me, the Go-Girl wins. My main problem with the P-Style was a fear that I would make a mess if I let go and had a nice thorough pee. I was afraid it was going to slosh all over the place or something. While it hasn’t happened in my experiences with the P-Style, I prefer the confidence I have with the Go-Girl, where I can let go, take a whizz, and not worry about it getting anywhere. While wearing pants, I feel more comfortable using the Go-Girl as well, because I’m not worried about pissing on my clothing.
Over all, I prefer the Go-Girl over the P-Style. The Go-Girl is cheaper, more portable, made of silicone, and easier to use!
So, I guess this is the part where I say ‘You go, Girl!’
→ 1 CommentTags: babeland · pissing · reviews
I have realized that through out my life, none of my thoughts or ideas about living with a partner actually involved sharing a bedroom.
I thought this was weird at first, but really, I just like my space. *My* space. I like having my bedroom set up just so. I like my books organized in my special OCD it makes sense to me order. I like to make my bed every day, and I HATE when people mess up my sheets.
I also like to have a space that is *mine* for me to retreat to. Sometimes, I need to curl up under the covers and hide.
I am also full of OCD. I clean my room lots. I re arrange shit. I dust my books. I know this drives people crazy.
I keep weird hours. I like to putter.
I want to share an apartment with a lover – as long as I get my own room. And my own closet. Definitely my own closet.
This isn’t to say I don’t want to sleep with them in the same bed at all. I love that! I just want to be able to have my own space.
And sometimes, I *do* want to sleep alone. When one of us is sick (I actually sat up one night actually wondering if I could murder Franklin and get away with it. He was sick, and I had to be up in four hours.), or when someone has to wake up super early, or sleep late. The last thing I want if I get to sleep in is someone waking up and making noise when I’m trying to sleep. Sometimes, I just want to sleep alone curled up with my stuffed kitty. (Or Snoopy. I have both.)
For a while, my ex, who was also my roommate (we dated, broke up, found new partners and moved in with each other) were sleeping with each other. It was great. We’d hang out in his room, have some hot sex, cuddle, and then I’d go back to my room. “Thanks for the orgasms! See you at breakfast!”
It was pretty sweet. Not what I want from a live in lover, but having the option of going back to my bed, in my room with my stuff is nice.
I like sharing space with people – I love having flatmates. I love having other people around, to talk to, eat with, play games with, all that good stuff. But when I’m done, I can always go to my room. I figure, there’s nothing wrong with wanting the same thing from a lover.
One of the things I adore about Anon is that he also agrees with me about the separate bedroom idea. People who live together need a place to retreat now and then. I anticipate us spending 99/100 nights in the same bed. Maybe more. But having space that is *mine* and *his* is very appealing to me.
Practically, it makes a nice place to keep guests, and also serves as offices for each of us – he works from home, and sometimes I need to be on my own to write…when I get around to it, which is harder these days.
In the past, my friends used to think this was so super weird of me. Now, I find a good chunk of my friends agree, or even have set ups in their own home similar to this. It just makes more sense. This idea that two people who live together MUST share the same room is so…weird.
And I don’t actually see it in practice, either. 85% of my dad’s clothing is in his office. My mother actually uses 90% of the closet (which is an entire 12 foot wall), and my dad has two suits hanging up in there, and one pair of dress shoes. At least one of my aunts now sleeps in one of their spare bedrooms because of her husband’s snoring.
I can see and understand the idea of having separate space (my mother’s craft room in the basement and my dad’s office) and coming together to sleep, but why not be up front about it?
It gives me the chance to not foist my OCD off on another person, as well. While I stay at Anon’s place, and an fine with it, there are things that would drive me *nuts* if that were my room too. I still look at it as his space, which I share, not ours. And if it were ours, I might get twitchy. This is nothing on him, of course, but my OCD raring its ugly head. (Separate book cases might come in to play as well…I actually ‘edge’ my books to the edge of the shelf. And have them in a weird order that only makes sense to me. Though I’m tempted to catalog them on the computer, and use either Dewey or Library of Congress code. IDK which is more efficient yet.)
It also plays into my fantasy of having my consort have his own suite, so I can summon him when I wish. I’d *love* a set of bedrooms connected by a bathroom, but with separate entrances. I could have him draw nummy baths for me, and chain him to the radiator to serve me wine and cheese while I take a bubble bath!
Yeah. Bubble bath. I like that idea.
→ No CommentsTags: boys · flatmates · possible rambling of no interest to anyone but myself
I was trying to get my keys out and in the door, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anon bend over and pick up some mangy looking piece of cloth up off the stoop. It was soggy, and there were leaves on it.
“Ew! Put that down! What is that?”
“Uh, its underwear.”
“Put that back down, is that yours?”
“Yah”
“Ew ew ew, no its not! Put it down! If that’s yours, how did it get out here?”
“It is too mine!”
“Then how did it get there?”
“Well…remember before, when I took all that time in the bathroom at Lowe’s?”
“Yeah…oh! Holy shit.”
———–
Earlier that day
Anon had picked me up from the bus station, and started to head over to the Lowe’s hardware store. It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, and I had plans to chain him to the radiator for a few days, as you do.
While we were driving, we got to talking about underwear. I don’t remember how it came up or why, but I said to Anon, “You know, I bet I know you so well I can tell you what you’re wearing – either girls panties, or nothing.”
“Yup, you got it. You’re right!”
“Well, which is it?
He just smiled and said “You’ll see later”
I liked the sound of that, so I let it drop.
When we got to Lowe’s, we both stopped to go to the bathroom. I pee like a man; I’m in and out and ready to go in about five minutes. Anon, however, has the bladder and bathroom habits of a pregnant woman. He’s always got to pee, and he always takes forever.
I was grumbling to myself standing out side the men’s room, drinking my milkshake and waiting for him. I debated grabbing the next man heading into the bathroom and telling him to get my boy, but once I started looking for one, Anon finally came out. I grumbled about his womanish bladder, and we went off in search of chain.
We found it, had it cut, and poked around a bit more to see if I could find any other things I could do things to him sexually with, but the store was closing and we didn’t have much time. We went home, dropped the chain off, and went back out.
Now, at some point, Anon had taken his coat off, since it was warm. I carried it in, since he was getting all my luggage and the chain. (I don’t travel light.) We got inside, rested, cuddled, and then went out to visit friends.
Earlier in the day, I had been suffering from terrible vertigo. There must have been some residual ickyness left over, because on the way out, I didn’t notice anything but the start of rain.
Hours later, and slighty fuzzy brained from some herbal delight, and we’ve looped around to the start of this post.
———–
I was trying to get my keys out and in the door, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anon bend over and pick up some mangy looking piece of cloth up off the stoop. It was soggy, and there were leaves on it.
“Ew! Put that down! What is that?”
“Uh, its underwear.”
“That’s gross! Is that yours?”
“Yah”
“Ew ew ew, no its not! Put it down! If that’s yours, how did it get out here?”
“Well…remember before, when I took all that time in the bathroom at Lowes?”
“…oh! You took it off in the bathroom? That’s why you took so long?”
“Yeah. Remember when you said you figured I was either wearing girls panties, or nothing? Well, I wanted you to be right, so I went and took them off, and stuffed them in the sleeve of my coat.”
“Ahhh, they must have fallen out when I was carrying your coat in before. But ew, they have been sitting there all day in the rain.”
“….I’ll wash them.”
→ No CommentsTags: Anon
