October 7th, 2010
Blogging, writing, screaming to be noticed – silently. Watching the numbers on the stats graph rise and fall, seeing them fall more often than rise. What am I doing this for? Who and I doing this for? Why? Every Thursday I spend hours staring at the screen, wondering what to write about, wondering how it will be taken, if anyone will even read it, will even care. Last week someone asked to reblog a post I made and I was shocked, especially given the topic. Today I’m at a loss, after spending the afternoon rambling at him over a variety of topics, none of which is “fit to print,” as they say.
I wonder about this blog, this weekly posting on a random topic. A lot of the books I read on blogging suggested posting every day, at least a few times every day, if you really wanted to have a successful blog. I have a hard time getting one post written a week, I couldn’t imagine posting every few hours. Isn’t that what Twitter is for? Let’s not even go into how I don’t even begin to use Twitter correctly. I’m not a social person, an introvert trying to join the social network.
And I’ve got this blog in two different places, splitting my audience between a WordPress sponsored blog and my personal website. It isn’t much of a site really: the blog, a bio and a couple of pictures, but I like the theme better, and some day, maybe I’ll have a book to promote or I might review products in the sidebar. Technically, I’ll have a book to promote come November. The first of my flash fiction pieces is due out the first installment of a year long anthology on October 31st if all goes as planned. They’re looking at publishing three months worth at a time, instead of it all at once.
So what do those social people talk about, those ones who blog all the time, or use twitter correctly? Their lives, details and stories taken directly every day from what they are doing currently or did last night. Sharing far more in depth than a shy anonymous blogger like me would consider safe. Safe? I share a lot of details, and while I say this is anonymous, people who know me could probably figure it out, and I have shared it with people I trust. But to share more, would feel like an invasion of privacy, and not just theirs, but mine as well. I don’t have enough to say to the public at large to fill a blog every day. I hardly ever update my non-kinky Facebook status more than once a week.
I’m not sure why I’m sharing this strange and non-kink related ramble with you, my dear readers, other than to say it’s been a scrambled kind of day. I want to share with you more often, but I don’t know if that’s possible. Though I feel that after this post, I owe you at least one over the weekend, if not a handful of tweets as well.
Let me leave you with these thoughts. Winter is coming, I need stockings and a warm coat. It’s hard being sexy when your teeth are chattering. And no one in his right mind is going to offer his cock to distract and warm you if it looks like you’re going to bite it off involuntarily.
April 8th, 2010
Sex was never discussed in my house growing up. Mom never had “the talk” with me, I had it at school from a silly video. It was mentioned by her twice in my life. Once, when a friend of hers had been embarrassed when her 8 year old daughter told her not to have sex if she didn’t want more kids and described the act very poorly because I had misinformed her, being only 9 and just previous to the talk at school when she had asked Me about it. So Mom asked if I knew how it really worked now, and I said yes and that was that. The second time was when we were out buying flowers for my wedding and she wanted to know if I had any questions and to tell me the first time might not be great. I rolled my eyes and said Mom… in that tone most of us perfect as teenagers. My Dad never discussed sex when I was growing up, though as he’s gotten older he’s discussed a lack of sex due to the ineffectualness of Viagra… thanks, Dad.
I only dated one boy for one weekend in High School, and that was only a couple phone conversations, so I’d never even been kissed before I got to college. My first three boyfriends freshman year took me from kissing through oral sex at a not-too-fast pace. It was not until the summer after my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. Subsequent first visit to OB/GYN for birth control was a godsend as far as period control. I am now nearing 30 and have had a total of 8 sexual partners, 9 if you count 3 seconds of penetration as a sexual partner, I generally don’t. Only 4 of which were/are continuous sexual relationships. I had a few STD tests a couple years ago at the request of a life insurance company and in the past couple weeks, my new doc ran a full panel for me, results still pending, but I’m not expecting any surprises. (That’s why they’re called surprises, eh?)
So that background is all well and good, but what am I really on about? One of my hard limits is sex in public. Public generally being defined as more than two other people(other than the one I’m having sex with) being present. I blush when talking about sex, avoid using sexual terms in public and even in private sometimes. I’ll swear like a sailor, but ask me to say cock or admit I’m thinking about oral and I’m suddenly shy and flustered. Sex, to me, is a private thing, but even more than that, it’s something I find it difficult to be forward about.
One, on the private matter of sex. It is a personal thing, a private thing. Sex, to me, is an expression of intimacy shared between two people, maybe three. It’s a special kind of energy and I don’t fancy the intrusion of other energy into the mix. The excitement of having sex somewhere inappropriate and public has its allure, but the thought of other people watching and the threat of being arrested most often kills it for me. That’s not to say I haven’t had sex in a public park at night, but only when those two factors have been reduced to almost nil.
He asked me to go without panties recently and it was a huge deal. Let my most private and intimate bits be exposed under my skirt? Proper girls just don’t do that(when the hell did I become proper again?). What if someone sees? What if someone grabs me randomly? What if I get pulled over? It took some very serious conversation for me to get past the fear and realize that I was in control of myself, my safety and my personal space. Not to mention, my friends would be around me to protect me should anything go wrong. It was a very freeing experience, and the edge of fear kept under control was wonderful.
Two, on not being sexually forward. Communication is key. I’ve learned, though my journey in kink, that I have to ask for what I want, be clear about what I want and to accept what I want without being ashamed or embarrassed by it. Why hasn’t this transferred to sex as well? I looked back at my posts, even my erotica, I only mention fucking once at the very end. I don’t write overt sex scenes very often and it is even rarer that I share those that I do. I could blame my parents, I could blame my sheltered early life, I could blame being an introvert and generally shy, I could blame a Puritan society. Excuses, excuses, excuses. These are excuses I have let run my sex life.
How do I stop that? How do I let go of fear and embarrassment? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Rejection? Do I think that if I suggest sex or oral or say I’m thinking about your cock, he’s going to say “No, how could you? What kind of girl are you?” How ridiculous is that? Seriously, I can asked to be beat, set on fire, tied up and swung from the rafters, and yet sex, that pretty much everyone on the planet has, trips me up. How silly and neurotic is that? Talking about sex is my Boggart in the closet (yes, a Harry Potter reference). Laugh at the fear to make it go away.