All of the stuff that’s supposed to numb parts of your body so you can perform sex acts is wrong and unnatural. You’re supposed to feel when you’re having sex. Isn’t that the point? If you give in to the fear of pain, you deny yourself the pleasure of the act.

The key to amazing anal and oral sex is foreplay: lick, suck, get it all wet with spit and juices, probe, spank, talk dirty. Our bodies relax and allow penetration when it’s at play. Trust your body. We are meant for pleasure.

Speaking of safe sex, take it from these puppets:

Smut I’m reading on Kindle for iPhone: “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty,” by A.N. Roquelaure.

Short bits of naughty reading: This past Thursday was Dirty Haiku Day at Susie Bright’s Journal.

Violet Blue posted a call for submissions for Best Women’s Erotica 2011. I’m really enjoying Best Women’s Erotica 2010. If you’re looking for short naughty stories to read in bed, go get this paperback.

P.S. How do you feel about Christina Ricci? Hot or not? (via @Be_Better_Guys)

I’m feeling witchy.

Late last year I read Frank Baum’s “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” to my wee one. It took us about a week to finish the novel, reading two to three chapters a night before bed. By the time we finished the book, we had both fallen even deeper in love with the classic tale of Dorothy, Toto and the amazing characters in the land of Oz.

I was surprised by the violent scenes, mostly involving the Tin Woodsman and his ax. I did not censor the book for my 5-year-old. I read her the book, as Baum wrote it a hundred years ago. If it was good enough for children in the last turn of the century, it is good enough for mine. Besides, what kind of a free speech advocate would I be if I started censoring my child’s reading?

After the Baum book, I itched to read more so I picked up “Wicked,” by Gregory Maguire, which I already had in my library. A friend gave it as a gift over ten years ago but I never got around to reading it until now. This is the grown up version of Oz. Sex, politics, philosophy, the earthy lore of religions… I love it! Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, is practical, passionate, skeptical of lies and illusions. She comes undone, not because she is evil, but because she loves deeper than any one in the story. She is not unlike Dorothy in her innocence.

When I was way into the latter part of the book, my wee one got curious enough to ask me to read “Wicked” to her. I obliged, reading from the part I had gotten to, in which Dorothy comes to Oz. The book was over her head, though she liked listening to me read, and it put her to sleep in less than a chapter.

This dress is my homage to Dorothy. These photos were taken a few years back, when I didn’t have a pair of ruby red slippers. Now that I do, I can click my heels and say, “There’s no place like home.”

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MAYCAM has a larger version of these photos.

We had a party at home. Friends came to play music. Downstairs, instruments were plugged into amps, the guys started jamming. Upstairs in the kitchen, Sam helped me do dishes.

I played the video for Jay. Sam was doing dishes, I was behind the camera, undoing his jeans, pulling his hard-on out of his pants and putting it in my mouth. I handed the camera to Sam so I could concentrate on swallowing his cock. I watched him watch me push it back and forth into my throat.

We heard a skirmish from downstairs. It sounded like someone was going up the stairs to where we were. We stopped everything. After making sure everything was all right downstairs, I went back up to finish the dishes.

Sam had already done them all so I started getting food ready. While I worked, Sam put his hands under my skirt. We rolled the camera again, this time he pushed his hard cock inside my pussy and fucked me against the sink as downstairs Jay wailed with the swell of the music.

I gripped Jay’s hard cock while he watched the video, which ended abruptly when guests knocked on our door. I could tell Jay had mixed feelings.

I had gotten drunk that night at the party. I wanted to be the drunk girl Jay fantasizes about. That one girl who still hangs around after everyone has left the party and is waiting to be taken advantage of. But I drank too much. I passed out cold. I woke up at three in the morning still wearing my party dress, and jumped Jay’s sleepy bones. By that time, though, the giddy excitement was gone.

I had a knot in my stomach. I had failed to share with Jay the excitement I felt with Sam while the moment was still hot.

The morning after the party I was hung over. I took a shower, ate a banana, took some Vitamin B to help nurse my hangover. The house was still asleep, so I laid on the couch reading “When God Was A Woman” by Merlin Stone. There were two chapters of great interest to me that morning, Chapter 7, “The Sacred Sexual Customs,” and Chapter 9, “And the Men of the City Shall Stone Her with Stones.”

The book describes an ancient matriarchal culture centered around a temple devoted to sacred sex, orgiastic free flowing sex with no strings attached. Through snippets from the Old Testament, the author tells the story of how the patriarchs violently slaughtered all who worshiped at the altar of sacred sex, in order to establish a patrilineal culture, one in which a woman’s virginity before marriage and her fidelity as a wife was imperative under penalty of death.

“I feel so guilty,” I told Jay. “No matter how far away I’ve gone from my Catholic upbringing, I still have inside me this fear in my gut of being stoned to death. I’m an adulteress. I’m a sinner.”

My man answered me, “Did you know that the word ’sinner’ really means someone who worships the moon? Sin is a Sumerian Moon God.”

My head cleared. Words are powerful. Used as a weapon words can stone a woman to death from thousands of years away. Used as a balm words can heal a body and soul.

I love this man. How I found him all the way from the other side of the world can only be a blessing from the Gods and Goddesses of Love. Everyday he reminds me of what is truly sacred in our lives.

Jay planted a garden into a hollow tree stump today. From the deck above I saw the crescent moon shape of the new plants in the potting soil he laid. There were tiny blue flowers and blue crystal marbles catching the sunlight.

Tonight, after I got him hard I asked him to take me outside. I only had a flimsy nightdress on, he had just come out of the shower and was wearing a thick warm bathrobe. The night air was cool but there was no breeze. A perfect summer evening.

I laid on my back on the picnic table, legs wide open for his cock. I watched him above me, constellations twinkling behind him. I thought of all the Gods and Goddesses frolicking in the night sky, kissing and licking and sucking and fucking and shuddering and cumming and laughing and hugging and loving and birthing and smiting and forgiving and starting all over again from kissing.

He pulled me off the table and down to suck his cock. He covered me with his warm robe, and I swallowed his cock in the snug darkness. He bucked hard and I gagged. He bucked harder then lifted me up to fuck me from behind, pulling my nightdress off my shoulders.

“I like seeing your tits,” he whispered. “They’re so pointy outdoors.”

We fucked and fucked dirty. He pushed his cock into my ass, my pussy, my mouth interchangeably and told me how happy he is to have a wife who gives herself fully to him. I told him I let him do anything he wants to me because I trust him fully.

“You dirty whore,” he called to me while he rammed his rock hard cock into me.

“I like being your dirty whore,” I am starting to like that name. I’m claiming these words as mine now: whore, adulteress, sinner… I take them as words of power and freedom. Love has set me free.

“She?” Jay interrupted. I stopped reading. The patriarchs don’t refer to the feminine by accident. Is it just a politically correct translation?

There was a footnote that referenced the Book of Sirach Chapter 15 Verses 1 to 8:

“He who fears the Lord will do this;
he who is practiced in the law will come to wisdom.
Motherlike she will meet him,
like a young bride she will embrace him,
Nourish him with the bread of understanding,
and give him the water of learning to drink.
He will lean upon her and not fall,
he will trust in her and not be put to shame.
She will exalt him above his fellows;
in the assembly she will make him eloquent.
Joy and gladness he will find,
an everlasting name inherit.
Worthless men will not attain to her
haughty men will not behold her.
Far from the impious is she,
not to be spoken of by liars.”

The Book of Sirach is not included in the Hebrew Bible after the first century A.D. It is also not accepted by the Protestants. It is, however, considered divinely inspired by the Catholic Church.

Wisdom is a she.

The Book of Proverbs also refer to Wisdom as feminine. Chapter 3 Verses 13 to 18:

“Happy the man who finds wisdom,
the man who gains understanding!
For her profit is better than profit in silver,
and better than gold is her revenue;
She is more precious than corals,
and none of your choice possessions can compare with her.
Long life is in her right hand,
in her left are riches and honor;
Her ways are pleasant ways,
and all her paths are peace;
She is a tree of life to those who grasp her,
and he is happy who holds her fast.”

The Goddess of Wisdom is called Athena by the ancient Greeks, Sophia by the ancient Romans (from which the word Philosophy was derived: “love of wisdom”).

The Goddess Ninki, half-sister to Enki, the Sumerian God of Wisdom, was said to have given birth to Adam, according to ancient Sumerian tablets, likely the source of the earliest chapters of the Book of Genesis. She was known as Ishtar to the ancient Babylonians.

There are references to the Star Fire, the Goddess menstrual blood, as the source of wisdom and long life of the early patriarchs.

Blood, anyone?

Jay always says, “Mischief!” We share that spark of naughty excitement that keeps us young and sexy to each other. We’ve defined marriage based on who we truly are instead of being stuck in the trappings of what a marriage is supposed to look like. Our marriage is 100% handmade, homemade, us.

In college philosophy class we defined that love is not a feeling. Feelings are fleeting, they come and go like the wind. Love, I have found, is a commitment. It is staying through good and bad weather. It is being willing to get ugly in front of the other. It is accepting what is ugly about the other and saying, “Ok, I can deal with that. I still love you.” That is love.

I’m reading this book right now. It’s almost 20 years old. It’s called “Women Who Run With the Wolves,” by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. It feels like I’ve been reading it forever, because I keep stopping to take a look within myself and my life. The subtitle of the book is “Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype.” It contains ancient folklore with a timeless message: nurture your soul.

One of the stories is about the Skeleton Woman. Let me paraphrase. A fisherman hooks a bunch of bones from the ocean, it is the Skeleton Woman. He is terrified, he rows as fast as his fear could take him back home. The faster he rows, the faster she follows helplessly tangled up in his hook. At first he hides, then eventually he comes out, perseveres in untangling the fishing line and mess of bones until there she sits, the Skeleton Woman, and he finds she is not as scary as before. He sleeps and weeps in slumber. She drinks his tear and it fills her, remakes her into a fully fleshed woman. He wakes, they love each other forever.

I love that story, and there are many more poetic elements I decided to leave out for the sake of brevity. But I love it because it’s about seeing what is ugly and fearsome about one’s beloved, and still persevering, trusting, and working on the relationship. That is the kind of relationship that bears deep and fruitful rewards.

Jay and I have a friend who has had many many good relationships that lasted years. Her latest one just broke up, and I remember her saying that she wanted to break it up before it got to the point when they couldn’t be friends anymore. I understand to some extent. Memories are indelible. Harsh words echo in the mind long after they’ve been said. I wonder, though, if their relationship could have survived the ugliness if she only gave it a chance. I have a feeling she has done this all her life. Every time she found a mess of bones in her fishing hole, she threw it back overboard. The sad truth is that without investing in bringing the bones home, looking the ugly heap over, and patiently untangling it, there is no chance of discovering a treasure that will last her lifetime. Her only hope is that someday she will hook someone who will follow wherever she may run and take the effort of untangling the messy bones she has become.

When Jay and I first started dating it was clear we had sexual chemistry, but we were really quite scared of each other. Deep inside us, we knew we could change each other. There was something about us together that felt catalytic. I remember early on we were walking to the Staten Island ferry one winter afternoon. He bent down to pick up a plastic batman ring on the ground, and impulsively put it on my left ring finger. The finger. The gesture struck us both with fear. We walked in silence, terrified of what just happened and what it meant. The wind howled and whipped all around us. It felt cosmic. It felt like the old me was dying right there, and a new me was being born.

Jay and I don’t have a perfect relationship. Sharing our deepest and darkest selves with one another is not always a pleasant experience. We are individuals with our own sexual, creative, idiosyncratic needs that sometimes meet in harmony but also sometimes clash. Every layer of self-revelation takes with it a risk: will he still love me after this? When he and I fight, it is fierce and ugly. Few of our friends have witnessed it, and those who have cower from the crossfire. (Sorry, you know who you are!) But no matter how hard we fight, how primitive our ways of communication descend to, we keep communicating, we keep listening, we keep forgiving, and we keep taking that risk of becoming truly ourselves with each other. Neither of us would settle for less.

Related Post:
10 Years

I love my new home. We still have a pile of boxes unopened, but everything I need is out and getting some play. Life is good. A bit busy maybe, but really good. There’s a lot to do, you know. Making my home beautiful, spending time with the people I love. We’re eating well, living well, loving well.

When I crashed my blog in July I took a little break from the internet and have been spending a lot more time in real life. It was very frustrating to lose 6 years worth of diary entries. I moped around for a couple of days, but after that I just decided I would move on. I could spend my time trying to get my xml file to load on to a new blog platform or enjoy a beautiful sunny day happening outside my window. I chose the incredibly sensuous world of the beach.

Still in the back of my mind I itched to type up silly nothings. Jay and I have been taking naughty pictures here and there, getting excited about sexy projects. This new diary will be the portal for all that fun media mayhem Jay and I get all turned on about.

I still am attached to my diary entries from 2002 to 2008, some of the entries a very emotional record of my life. I wish I could compile excerpts from my past diary archives into a book. With dirty pictures, of course. Now if only I can find a publisher or printer (for self-publishing) that would print porn…

why men worship shaved vaginas

Posted Oct 07, 2007

Based on Py Kim’s book, “Sex Secrets of an American Geisha: How to Attract, Satisfy, and Keep Your Man,” she talks about why men should worship their women’s shaved vaginas and why women need to shave pubic hair.

Why men should shave pubic hair

Posted Oct 23, 2007

Funny comedy sex web TV talk show with hot sexy Korean woman Py Kim about why men should shave pubic hair

Ladies, remember that the allure of enjoying sex with a woman without the prospect of a committed relationship is what straight single men desire when entering a threesome scenario with a couple. (Bisexual men have altogether a different intention.) Infatuation can be a powerful illusion of love, and unknown possibilities may seem more delectable than familiarity. Don’t be fooled. If your relationship is so good that you are capable of letting lovemaking overflow to more partners than the two of you, then protect it, keep it safe, enjoy the warm security of the man who knows and loves you the most.

In Juliette, the Marquis de Sade wrote:

“‘Tis a long and wearisome study for a wife, to come to know her husband; and once the job’s done, there’s no need for her to have to begin anew with another; and it is not sure that the second will be any improvement upon the first… success is better assured by long habit than by novelty.

“… variety, multiplicity are the two most powerful vehicles of lust. Fuck with the maximum possible number of men; nothing so much amuses, so much heats the brain as profusion; no one in this crowd will be unable to afford you some new pleasure, be it but the pleasure of one conformation or gesture the more, and, my child, you know nothing at all if all you are acquainted with is one prick. Were you to be served by an army, it could make no difference to your husband: you’ll agree that he won’t be more dishonored by the thousandth than he was by the first, indeed he’ll be less dishonored, for it does seem that one somehow effaces the other. Furthermore, if he is reasonable, the husband is always much more prone to excuse libertinage than love; the one offends personally, the other assumes the look of a mere flaw in your physical make-up.”

(Translation by Austryn Wainhouse)