Why I’ve Fallen Out Of Love With Sex Blogging (For Now)

It feels too simple to say that it just became less fun for me. There are so many reasons why I feel like I’ve fallen out of love with sex blogging and I want to get that love back. I miss it.

Part of it is being in a long term relationship. There is someone there for me to spill my guts to rather than running straight to this blog to write down my troubles. And it’s different writing about a one night stand or a failed relationship compared to writing about the potential ‘love of your life’, someone that you plan on spending the rest of your life with. Gosh, how naive I sound. It is harder to keep the writing fresh, to keep it exciting. And it is more personal, more intimate. It is hard to separate yourself enough to write about it. I’m sure other single sex bloggers who have suddenly found themselves in a long term relationship suddenly feel very different about blogging.

There has been general comments about the loss of community that is attached to sex blogging now as opposed to a few years ago. Maybe that’s true; maybe facebook and twitter do drive down the number of comments and make people feel like no one is reading. I think for me this feeling of loss comes from my own doing. I still spend a lot of time reading blogs but I do so on my phone and it’s harder to comment with the slowness of my internet. My Google Reader loads quickly but loading blogs with all the graphics is too much effort. I know, first world problems. So my lack of commenting certainly means that less people make it over here. Plus the more time I spend at work and doing other things now that I am not a student means I have less time to find new blogs and forge new relationships with other bloggers. I would love for you to leave me some recommendations that aren’t on my blogroll in the comments if you think there’s someone I should be reading.

Part of it is my libido. Or perhaps more accurately, the amount of sex that I am having. In that, it’s a good amount for me. And as such it doesn’t seem like I have much of a libido at all, because it’s usually satisfied. I know it’s there, but it’s not at the front of my mind all the time. When I first started sex blogging it was during a time when I was still discovering my sexuality and sadly not having any sex after a break up. That is not to say that I have come to the end of my journey of truly figuring out how my body works and exactly what I like. It ebbs and flows like all things do. But having regular sex with someone that I trust means that I communicate with him how I am feeling about these matters rather than sharing with the world. I’ve already processed them in my head before I get to the (virtual) paper and so I find myself with nothing to say.

I also feel like I can’t add anything to the discussion. I have definitely fallen out of love with erotic fiction, for the most part. I enjoy it sometimes but it is not something that I really want to work on in the way that I used to, and I don’t enjoy reading it (even good quality writing) all that much anymore. It takes a very skilled writer to truly capture my erotic imagination these days, and I know I can never be that good and so it feels futile to try. Similarly with incredible bloggers like Holly Pervocracy and Rachel Rabbit White saying all I could ever want, or even think, to say, I don’t feel I can contribute anything that people want to read. This isn’t a plea for compliments on the worthiness of my writing (if there are any coming!) but more a reason why I can’t sit down and write properly without that niggling doubt in the back of my mind which hinders me and makes me delete anything that spews into this space.

So I am trying to fall back in love with sex blogging again. I want to try again, I want people to want to read this. I have enjoyed this blog as a hobby, a release, a sanctuary and a social space. I want that back. I am going to make a concerted effort now that things have settled down into a routine to comment more on the blogs that I enjoy, to find new blogs to read and to blog more myself. I can’t promise anything, and I’m sure I will write posts like this again but I can only try my best and do a cute face and hope you forgive me? Pwetty pwease?

Birthday Sex

We were too poor to go out for Patrick’s birthday. I was unemployed at the time and he was supporting both of us; we’d had an expensive weekend before and there were other expenses coming up. So a day and a night in, his favourite food, a bit of XBox and sex were on the menu.

We were lying in bed together, his hand running over my ass, patting occasionally, languidly moving over my skin as I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations. I was lying on my front, face buried in the pillows, in that place half way between awake and asleep.

I slipped my hand down between my legs and began to play, moving my fingers slowly over my clit, dipping down to feel my wetness.

His strokes grew firmer, his fingertips digging into the flesh of my ass. I pushed up to meet the strong movements of his hand, knowing what was inevitable. When his hand broke contact with my skin for the first time, I braced myself for the sharp pain that I knew was coming.

I wasn’t wrong. It stung, and I winced. I didn’t feel ready. We hadn’t played this way for a long time. But I wanted it, so I steeled myself and when he asked my if I wanted more, my reply was a whispered ‘yes, sir’…

He played with me, I could sense him bringing his hand down but the impact never came. He teased me, interspersing spanks with strokes and caresses. I heard the distinctive sound of his hand stroking his own cock, and my desire for him to hurt me increased, my fingers moving faster.

The blows got heavier, I could feel the heat where he had hit me. I could hear his heavy breathing, and my own. I could feel myself nearing orgasm, and knew he was close too. I urged him to hit me harder, losing the fear that I had before.

As his cum hit the burning flesh of my ass, soothing me and paining me at the same time I let myself go over the edge; my body wracked with orgasm as he covered me in his cum. He collapsed half on top of me, and we drifted into a lazy snooze.

A good birthday present, no? You should have seen the bruises…

Moving On Up

Moving up North has been tough. Not as tough as some of the other things that have been going on for the last year or so, but it was certainly rough going for a while. I had such an incredible time the last few weeks of University that I was definitely experiencing ‘graduate drop’, as I like to call it. That high of constant partying, of having nothing better to do than laze around and put the world to rights in a sunny beer garden, of being around good and proper friends, of feeling like you’re right where you want to be and everything is just how it should be, all just suddenly taken away from you. And you know it has to end, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck any less.

And then I had nothing to do up North except from get rejected from jobs, and stare wistfully at all my friends’ holiday snaps on facebook. Not knowing anyone in this city was also a bit depressing, spending most of my time alone was not helping the over-thinking. Did I really want to move here, or is it just because I have nowhere else to go now? Do I really want to do this Masters degree or is it because I don’t know what else to do? Do I want to make this massive move with Patrick? I love him a lot, but I definitely went through a serious moment of commitment-phobia. The idea that this was it now? That was freaking me out.

But I got over it. One of my best friends visited me. I went back for graduation and got to relive a bit of that University time. I got a job. A boring office job but one that pays well and even if it eventually depresses me further I’ll have enough money to indulge in retail therapy. I maybe should start listening to Patrick when he says it’ll all be okay, rather than questioning it.

I wanted to leave just four weeks ago, I occasionally seriously considered just packing my suitcase and going home. I thought about how I would get the rest of my stuff home. I worried about what people would say if I did leave. I wondered if we could just have a break, or whether that would be it forever. Was I willing to give it up just to get some space?

But now I feel the exact opposite. It’s funny that. I think it was just everything getting on top of me, and escaping seemed like the best plan. I hate not having a plan, plans and lists are what I rely on to get through the day. And now I have one; it’s a temporary one but it’s enough for now. I’m happy again.

Reignited

A year ago I started to lose my submissive streak. Or at least, it was hiding. I went through a rough patch with friends and family, and I think I just needed something different. I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to get into that space with Patrick. I needed him to cuddle me and tell me how beautiful I am, not spank me and tell me how slutty I am.

But now, I am going through what feels like another vulnerable time, and yet I find the submissive in my reignited. It’s a different kind of vulnerability, not one shaken to my very core but simply worry and fear about the future. Easier to deal with perhaps, although I’m sure most other graduates would not say so!

This week I have felt the stirrings, culminating in a steamy text conversation with Patrick about him spanking me before cumming on me. Using me as his little whore. I don’t know whether it is the flirting with other people that has jolted me back into my sexual self, or whether it is finally having no stress from Uni, everything settling down with my friends, or what it is. But it’s back, and I’m excited to see how things go.

Flirt

It’s intoxicating, being able to do it. To go from meeting someone to having them beg to come home with you in just a few hours. It’s bad to toy with someone like that, of course. But being able to is just too tempting to resist.

Of course, it doesn’t work on just anyone. But that guy who offers to get you a drink from the bar, who sits next to you at dinner, who seems to be paying the right amount of attention, he’ll do nicely.

A hand brushing against a thigh. A glass topped up with wine. A bit of teasing. A lingering look. More wine. A shared joke laughed at a little bit louder than usual. More wine. There’s always wine…

As dinner finishes and people move to the bar, there’s mingling and some networking. But he’s nearby the whole time. He’s definitely interested. There’s some flirting with other people, but nothing like with him. It’s a fun night and I feel sparkly. Like I want to dance. Like everything is happy and right with the world. That’s probably the wine.

Moving on to a club after that, there’s shots and Jagerbombs and my super-high heels seem like less of a good idea than they did earlier in the evening. They make my ass look fantastic, so I walk in front despite the concentration it takes to stay upright and not bump into people. The tight dress probably helps…

I’m a happy drunk. And an affectionate one. I love all of my friends more than ever. And I like hugs. I think he appreciates this fact, hands wandering a little when I turn my drunken affection towards him. The music is cheesy and we sing loudly. The group dissipates a bit, some going off with potential lovers, others to get more drinks, some to throw up (classily, we’re VIPs tonight).

Someone bumps into me whilst dancing over-enthusiastically to ‘Summer of ’69′ and I stumble on my unsteady heels. His arm goes around me to steady me, but it doesn’t leave once I have my balance back. We’re definitely dancing together now. Laughing at the ridiculously cheesy music.

Our lips meet only briefly, but it is enough to make me feel guilt for days. I want more, of course, but I have to confess to him that I just can’t. He knows about the boyfriend thing, so he’s hardly surprised. It turns out that Patrick wasn’t all that fussed, which would have been great to know at the time. It’s a good kiss, it makes me catch my breath but sadly I’m not in a position to take advantage. He texts me that night asking if he can come over, but I have to refuse, not least because all the alcohol is making me fall asleep.

The next day I am torn. Hungover and torn between guilt and pleasure and just a tiny bit of nostalgia for singledom. It has dissipated now, but I am still somewhat smug that I can make a guy feel that way straight away. When I’ve been having a bit of stress about weight gain (slight, but noticeable to me) and general insecurities, it’s certainly the boost I needed.

What does it mean to be sexually liberated?

I asked Twitter what sexual liberation means to them, and here were the responses that I received:

@JephSamson ‘My feeling is knowing what you want and not being ashamed by it’

@alive_she_cried ‘to be free to experiment, to sort out what you love without fearing rejection or reprisal’; ‘ideal relationship = partner(s) sharing with you; all free to say ‘yes more!’ or “let’s try something else”. In safety.

@LoveHateSexCake ‘At home with my body, my desires dark and light; pushing my sexual boundaries; giving and receiving pleasure in its variety’

@innocentlb ‘To me, sexual liberation means not being scared of sex’

@ladypandorah ‘Sexual liberation – feeling free to express your desires with someone you’re intimate with & not be ashamed or fear rejection’

There’s a definite consensus about sexual liberation being about freedom to explore and feeling comfortable in your sexuality. And since liberation is a synonym for freedom, it’s unsurprising.

But what I want to explore is how you can achieve sexual liberation in your life? I think we can all agree that it’s something positive to strive for. It means different things to different people of course, my answer would be an amalgamation of those that others gave me. It also means taking a liberated attitude to the sex lives of others, shaking of ideas of forced monogamy, heteronormativity and vanilla sex as the only acceptable way of life. And honestly, I think that is easier than taking a liberated attitude to your own sex life.

I often struggle with being as liberated as I imagine myself to be. It is hard to shake off years of cultural conditioning and putting pressure on myself to be perfect and good. I know, woe is me. But I suspect the same may be true for a lot of people. It seems to me that to explore and experiment that sometimes you have to slip up; you have to make a mess and sometimes get it wrong and laugh it off. I’m not like that in the rest of my life. I like to do things right the first time I do them. I find it difficult to disappoint people, to screw up and to make a noise. And it is hard to take that slight reserved-ness, that fear of messing up into the bedroom and feel liberated. I am also so *not* spontaneous. Ask anyone, I hate it when plans get changed at the last minute.

This is not to say that I live a life of sexual repression, far from it. I have experimented with things that have intrigued me. I have felt comfortable with the partners that I have chosen, for the most part, to ask for what I want in the moment. And in the long run, when the relationship has lasted that long. I have had good sex and great sex, and not a lot of bad sex. So why do I not feel completely sexually liberated? I buy sex toys with no shame, and discuss candidly with my friends sexual topics, including giving advice. Maybe the answer is to not keep worrying about being sexually liberated and just *be* it, because on paper it sounds like I’m pretty much there.

@alive_she_cried gives the good advice ‘Know Thyself’ when seeking sexual liberation in your life. This is good advice for all aspects of life to be honest, and I like to think that I know myself pretty well. The inimitable @dangerouslilly also counsels ‘honesty and communication, be it with yourself, or you & partner’.  Once again I don’t think these are my problem. However, I will be exploring on this blog over the next few days/weeks how I can feel as sexually liberated as I have been known to act. Would love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment!

The best and the worst

Neighbour that is. Depending on whether you like to look at half naked women.

I’m not someone who has the curtains closed a lot. And I like to be naked. The two could be brilliant for the opportunistic voyeur or disastrous to the unwitting prude.

I sometimes don’t realise I’m doing it. I’ll be drying my hair and staring out of the window absent-mindedly, just out of the shower. Sometimes it’s because I am trying on a million and one outfits so bras have to be changed and tops are pulled off and discarded as my wardrobe is raided for the perfect look. Sometimes it’s just because a good song comes on when I’m getting ready and I have to have a quick dance in my underwear before I continue.

And living in the quiet suburbs has meant this has not been much of a problem. Or at least, I have never noticed anyone watching me from behind twitching curtains, or frowning at me across the road. Although that may be a product of my absent-mindedness as to my state of undress.

It wasn’t until a friend at work, whose boyfriend’s house is on the road parallel to mine told me that she could see my bedroom window from his that I realised fully. As I was getting ready for a barbecue at his house I stripped off my current outfit, the curtains open and the lights on. And as I fretted about being late I looked over for signs of a party and realised exactly what he could have been seeing this whole time.

So like I say, the best or the worst neighbour, depending on your point of view…

Yes, Daddy

‘Do you want my fingers inside you?’

He was propped up next to me, his hand on the back of my neck as I lay on the bed, legs spread wide. I blinked up at him.

‘Yes, Daddy…’ I whispered tentatively.

This was new ground for us, we’d discussed it before but not agreed a time to try it out. I was worried that it would freak him out a bit, it’s a loaded term for reasons I’m sure you’re all aware of. But I shouldn’t have been so anxious.

‘Good girl…’ he growled, his fingers tightening on my neck as he slid two fingers into my aching pussy.

‘Play with your clit for me,’ he demanded as his fingers expertly played inside of me. I curled one arm around his neck as I reached my other hand down, rubbing my clit with my middle fingers.

I could feel the orgasm building, and when he asked me whether it felt good, I tried it again,

‘Yes, Daddy.’

His sharp intake of breath suggested that he was enjoying this as much as me. Pressed up against his warm chest, having him call me his good girl, I felt safe and relaxed. The second time I said it, he started to finger me harder. I closed my eyes as the pleasure built.

‘Come for me…’ he whispered in my ear as he pressed his fingers hard against my G-spot and I increased the speed of my own fingers.

‘Yes, Daddy….’

Watch This Space

I’ve been having moments of commitment-phobia recently. The big move up North to live with Patrick is both exciting and terrifying, and I’m sure you’ve all felt that mix of anticipation, fear and happiness all rolled into one.

Patrick and I have talked about opening up our relationship before, but my recent commitment-phobia and a bit of a slip up on my part has made me realise that it’s definitely something I want. That I cannot be monogamous for the rest of my life, even though I want to spend that life with Patrick. That no matter how amazing Patrick is (and he really is, people are always telling me so), he can never be everything to me. That I miss flirting and that frisson of excitement and uncertainty you get with someone new.

My friend Max ended up sleeping on my sofa after a party, and we ended up curled up on said sofa in our fancy dress having a bit of a heart-to-heart. We’ve always been flirty together, although I always thought that it was harmless since he’s that way with everyone and, well, I have a boyfriend. He was telling me about a girl who had screwed him over, and about his job, and about my moving away, about our mutual friends. Really about most things.

And there was definite sexual tension. There was hand-holding and a couple of lingering gazes. It sounds very innocent, but I knew how easily it could become less than innocent. I was a little tipsy but not enough to not know what was going on. It was easy to lead him on. A hand on the thigh, a well-placed compliment. I’d forgotten how thrilling it is, to be in that position, to play someone and to be played and for everyone to know exactly what’s happening and be loving it.

That electricity. The unknown. The coy smiles and meaningful eye contact. It’s fun. It makes you feel sexy and wanted and turned on.

It’s not that Patrick doesn’t make me feel those things. It’s just in a different way. There’s no uncertainty when we flirt, I know that we’ll eventually sleep together for sure. I know he fancies me, that he loves me. There’s no chase. These aren’t bad things, but I want both. I want that love and support and trust and the great sex I have with Patrick; but I also want that uncertainty and that thrill.

I felt terrible the next day, although Max actually apologised to me as well. He had made the actual move, but I had been leading him on the whole time, and he was much drunker. Nothing happened, so no doubt my guilt could have been much better. I felt terrible because I had wanted so bad to say ‘yes’, and felt a bit resentful that I couldn’t. Stuff like this has never really happened to me before and it’s just typical that it happens now when I am unable to do anything about it. I also felt terrible because of feeling that resent and for having been so aware of what I was doing; I love Patrick a lot and I would never want to hurt him.

We ended up talking about it for a long time. Patrick reassured me that he was not mad and that I should not feel guilty. I feel like we communicated well, and that we’ve made a tiny baby step on that road towards open-ness. It’s somewhere in the future for us, although I couldn’t possibly say when. So watch this space.

Blast From The Past

I got an email from an ex last week. Not just any ex. The Ex. Everyone has that one, the one that deserves capitalisation, whether for better or worse.

I won’t go into details, but suffice to say it was a sorely disguised and ill-advised attempt to get back together. After two years of not speaking. And when I’m about to move in with Patrick. You can imagine how my reply went.

But inevitably there was a lot of stuff brought up from the past because of it. There were a lot of reasons why we didn’t work out, but the one that stands out to me was this one time we were just lying on his bed, probably naked although I can’t remember exactly.

And I plucked up the courage to tell him a fantasy of mine involving role play. And that I wanted to try phone sex, since our relationship was relatively long distance. His response was to be rather disparaging about what I had just confessed, and I was left with tears in my eyes, feeling disgusting and abnormal.

Only, I knew I wasn’t. I read a lot of sex blogs, even all those years ago and I *knew* that it wasn’t my problem. But obviously I was still cut deep by his words and his attitude. And it made me realise how important good communication and respect for each other was. I wasn’t upset that he didn’t want to do those things with me, just that he was so mean about it.

It felt awful at the time, but it has helped me move forward into a better relationship where I can say whatever I want without fear, where I am loved and supported and there is constant give and take. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that my unpleasant blast from the past was a good thing after all, that it made me appreciate the great relationship I’m in now. Would I really change that old, awful relationship if it meant I couldn’t be where I am now? Of course not, I just wish it hadn’t hurt so much the first time round.