Originally posted to Adult BackWash.

Sooner or later everything you say you will never do will come back to bite you in the ass. I know this from experience. This week something has been nibbling my ass just in case I started to get forgetful about the whole thing.

I said I would never smoke, I did. (Though for a short time and I quit cold turkey). I said I would never live in the US, I did. I said I would never run a red light, I did. I said I would never (again) do a certain act with a man body, I did (and licked it). I said I would never ... well, I am tomorrow. I am also leaving that blank. It's not one of my prouder moments.

Perhaps, if I never again in my life said I will never about anything I will actually be able to keep some good grrl pride and principles. Perhaps not. Then again, perhaps I'd die a dried up old prune who never had any adventures or new experiences in her whole life. On my tombstone someone would write about what a great personality I had. There would be no mention of anything really interesting, nothing that would make someone blink or second look. I'd just fade into sand dust as my tombstone became one more weathered rock on the lot.

Yes, I am making a possible mistake. I may regret it. But, I seem to be doing it anyway. Sometimes the wants overwhelm, and kick the butt out of, the needs. Later, they come back and bite you in the ass.

For every action there is a consequence. But, who doesn't have regrets in life? Why not just run right for them rather than puttering around and trying to avoid something you're going to get stuck with eventually. At least this mistake is on my own terms, at my discretion. I can't see anyone but me being damaged either. There are people who seem to make a career out of this. Then there are people like me who always said they never would ever do anything remotely like this.

Yet, here I am.

Tomorrow morning, at about 10:am, I will be doing something good grrls don't do.

Originally posted to Adult BackWash: Monday September 06, 2004  

Men get off lightly on the body maintenance thing. I sometimes think they should pay us rent for all the oogling, touching and sex stuff. We are the ones who maintain the hair, face, skin, body that they desire. They don't have nearly as much work to their own bodies, shave, wash and that's about it. It's not fair.

I tried to ease up on the whole thing. My exhusband didn't like my unshaved legs. I was ok about them. They still worked for all the regular stuff of life. I could still wash dishes, do laundry and that other stuff. I just skipped that extra 15 minutes of scraping my skin off. Nair is better but it seems to miss spots and the hair grows back far too soon. Plus, if you leave it on too long you get weird marks on your skin.

Not every body part requires that kind of work. Breasts just pretty much keep to themselves. Put on the boulder holder in the morning and they're ok for another day. The problem is when we actually look at them. The magazines tell us how much we sag after 25, 30... 40 (shudder). We are told how unattractive our boobs are once they lose the teenaged perkiness. We don't live in bubbles, some of us have saggy boobs with stretch marks and less than perfect shape and peaches and cream skin is something we think we can still remember.

What if men had boobs. Suddenly, they're faced with the business end of boobs rather than the sex toy side. It's their turn to cope with breastfeeding, breast cancer and bra shopping. I bet that would change their outlook. Let's see them walk around (jog?) with those massive DD cups they lust over. It's different when you're attached to them. Much simpler to just admire them on someone else.

True, the cosmetics, beauty and fashion industry is catching on. Realizing men have been coasting along on aftershave and soap for far too long. But, you can see a huge difference in the beauty aisle geared to women and the small shelf space in the toothpaste aisle set aside for men's beauty treatments.

I think men should take more care with their appearance. After all, we have to look at them. If they want us to stay looking they better do something about it. Of course, some of them look just fine to me.

Originally posted to Adult BackWash.

It all started when someone said women were more sadistic and men were more strict. It got me thinking about women and BDSM and what we want, really. I know, you're looking back in the archives here and wondering if I'm repeating myself. But no, this is a new thought and I haven't even had my shower yet. (I do my best thinking in the shower or while driving but right now we have no hot water).

Anyway, I think it's true that women tend to be more sadistic or proactive. Men want us to come to them while women want to bring it to the men, in their face. This makes it an uneven match up when it comes to Dommes and male subs. The men are looking for what they want, that strict, rule making, stand back, kind of control. The same control they'd give if they were in charge. So they expect to serve a strict task master.

However, when I think about it, I really don't want a man serving me. What I really want is to torment and abuse/ seduce him. I can wash my own dishes, open my own jars and make my own dinner. What I really want is to make him weep with sexual need. I want to watch him squirm, hear him gasp, smell him in full lust, touch his body and make him shudder, desperately waiting for my permission to orgasm. If I choose to let him.

I don't want a man serving me, I'd rather torment him till he weeps for release, mercy, whatever I allow him. When I think about a D/s situation with a man I tend to think of me being the one doing wicked things to him. I don't see him scampering around fetching things, serving, instead he is held in place till I'm done with him.

So, men keep writing about how they will serve the right Domme. Yet, they are aiming in the wrong direction. Instead they should also tell us how much they want to be seduced, tormented, teased and abused. Tell us how they want us to use them and how much they will love it, knowing this is what we really want from them.

Of course they can also see to our comfort and pleasure by performing tasks such as making our coffee in the morning, reading aloud from our favourite books in the evenings and washing our hair for us. That's an added bonus and a chance for them to display their eagerness, their willingness and their attractiveness to us.

Maybe it's all service. But it's certainly not the domestic service they write about in the profiles I read. Do any of them have an idea of the kind of service we want, really? Not with a smile but with a grimace, a moan and heavy breathing. I like the odd shudder, wriggle, squirm and twitch too. Men live in dread, some day one of you will be in for quite a wicked journey. Poor bastard.

Visit my boudoir.... http://sex-kitten.net/laura.html

Originally posted to Adult BackWash: Friday August 27, 2004  

The best part of sex is the ache. The craving, the need, the feeling that your pussy wants it, now.

Once you get over that hump (aren't words fun) it's all downhill. You rest, you wait and maybe you take matters into your own hands (literally) and get a round two.

What makes you ache for sex? What makes your pussy need it? Is it an odd little fetish? Is it seeing a hard cock or making a cock hard? Is it just not getting any for awhile and... wanting it like a cat in heat?

I'm ornery tonight. Sometimes that's a good thing. It makes thoughts come in more sharply, or less humbly and polite.

If you were tied to the wall in a darkened room, your eyes covered and someone began making lust to your body, would it matter if it was a male or a female? If you're bisexual it wouldn't. What if you were straight or queer. Yes, your body could get caught up in the moment, reach that sex ache stage and you likely wouldn't care whose hands were on you as long as they stayed there, doing a good job.

What about afterwards, when the lights come on? How would you feel, really?

I went to a munch (a casual BDSM dinner party) and I was asked how I knew I wasn't bisexual. She asked me about the scenario above. It was interesting. But, I know I'm not bisexual. I don't feel that need to have a woman's body that I do for a man's. Maybe it's a thing leftover from my relationship with my Dad, a need for male approval. Or maybe I just lust for man hands over my body, all over. (More in some places than others). I don't feel romantic about women either. We can be friends but I'm not aching to have them tied to my bed begging for mercy.

How do you know you're not bisexual? Or, how do you know you are?

The following is from a messageboard post on Adult BackWash. I quoted my own posts only, below the fragment that set me off. This is definitely a sore point for me. I've had it happen twice now, with different men. Luckily I was only married to the first one.

#...or if later down the road your feelings change and you have to hurt them to get out of the relationship.

That's bullshit. If you're that immature you should never be in a relationship. I went through about a year of hell cause he was too big of a weenie to say he had changed his mind. You have no excuse for pulling that kind of crap on anyone.

Falling out of love is BS. You were never in love if you can fall out of it. People drift apart and all that crap because they'd rather have disposable marriages than stick together and get through the bland, the hard, the years of being together. If you love someone, you love them. You don't fall out of love with your children or your pets. You may not always like them but you don't just stop loving them.

Hurting someone to get out of a relationship is the act of a weenie. If you "fell out of love" you tell them up front. You don't piss around for weeks, months, years and leave them wondering what THEY did. You be direct and tell them you failed and don't have staying power. Anyone who can't be at least that honest with someone they claim to have loved should never get involved with anyone, ever.

By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is Infinite, undying – Lady, make a note of this: One of you is lying.

Dorothy Parker