If you find yourself getting turned on watching this video, I implore you to contact your favorite porn retailers and let them know you want to see more fisting on video. Spread the word on your social networks (twitter hashtag: #fisting). I can’t even believe fisting is being censored from commercial porn, can you? Let’s all together end this nonsense. Let’s see more fisting on film!

Watch this video full screen at MAYCAM. You can download this movie to your iTunes by clicking “iTunes” above.

International Fisting Day links:
Fisting Day Tumblr
Attend Fisting Day on Facebook (and invite your friends!)
How to Fist
Courtney Trouble’s Fisting Day Post
Jiz Lee’s Fisting Day Post

I’ve had a little crush on him for the past three years. I’ve noticed how dark his eyelashes are, the cute way his lips curve into a smile, jet black hair that makes my insides do the tango. I’ve been friendly but turned the flirt volume down to zero. His wife is a very nice person, his kids are great, I love his family. I don’t want to complicate anything.

Jay and me, we’re complicated. We’ve weathered many a storm, some of our own making, and what didn’t kill our relationship made it stronger. We don’t shy away from complications. It is boredom that is the enemy.

This morning started out boring enough. Dropped off the kid, walked back to my soccer mom van to take the dog out for a walk. I noticed him sitting in his muddy truck, just sitting in the driver’s seat letting the truck idle. No big deal, I went on with my routine and took the dog out for a walk on the beach.

When I got back to my van, he was still sitting there, his truck idling. What is up with him?

As soon as I strapped my seat belt on and ignited the car, he backed out of his parking spot and left. I felt this overwhelming instinct to follow him. So I did. With a naughty smile on my face I couldn’t contain, I drove my soccer mom van wherever he went. It wasn’t that far. He stopped at a secluded parking spot just off the very end of the beach. I parked right next to him.

Neither of us said a word. We crawled into the back seat of his truck, kissing carelessly, fumbling for flesh under buttons, zippers and underwear. His big dogs got restless in the truck bed. My little dog shivered alone in my van.

I combed my fingers into his thick dark hair, gripped his olive shoulders tight as he pushed his raging cock into me. The smell of my cunt filled the tight space of his truck. Soon it mingled with the salty smell of his sweat as he rode me. Our eyes remained open the whole time, our hands searching, memorizing every detail. We both knew this would only happen once. It will have to do for the rest of our lives.

The windows were fogging up. I pulled off him and sucked my juices off his cock. He tightened up and lost control, muffling a moan as he came deep into my throat. We both smiled, laughed a little, embarrassed. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to look at him at the PTA meetings ever again.

I shook the sand off me and pulled my clothes together. He started putting his wetsuit on. By the time I drove away he was all ready to go surfing.

Typically, I am the opposite of my mother. I am the Saffy to her Edina Monsoon. And Patsy? Well, that’s my dad. Patsy post-rehab, that is. My mom, though, is still her Absolutely Fabulous self. The last time I saw her she fanagled a photo opp with PNoy (Philippine President Noynoy Aquino) on a flight from SFO to Manila.

Believe me, I don’t Like being Saffy. I have moments of escape much like the decadence alluded to in the episode in Morocco. But for the most part I am a mousy girl, and I am willing to bet you wouldn’t notice me if I walked past you in broad daylight. Ok, maybe I’m not quite willing to bet the house. I do realize I have a low opinion of myself right now so let’s just bet m&m’s.

When I was in theatre school in NYC I once revealed to a group of actresses that I was thinking of getting a boob job. I was extremely self-conscious of my flat chest. I wore these horrible miracle bras from Victoria’s Secret, which not only had the uncomfortable underwire for pushing what little breasts I had upward, they also had a lot of padding to create the silhouette I wished I had. My revelation led to an afternoon of beautiful women, actresses, urging me to feel their breasts. I’ve lost sight of what point they were trying to make. Were they trying to convince me not to get a boob job by showing me that naturally full breasts can be lumpy, hard, saggy, insert unpleasant adjective here? I suppose they succeeded indirectly because I forgot all about getting a boob job and enjoyed the attention instead.

It was Jay who convinced me to ditch the padded bras. Before I dated him, I felt apprehensive when it came time to remove the bra and get in between sheets with a man. I felt like I had falsely advertised boobs where there were none. Here was a man who actually liked small breasts, and preferred them to the pendulous giganticus boobs most men tend to favor. After he posted nude pictures of me online, I learned there were more men like Jay out there. I learned I was beautiful just the way I was. I realized I didn’t need to change a thing. I set my perky nipples free.

Eventually I got my big boobs when I became a mother. They were so raging huge I couldn’t fit into any of my clothes. During the first week or so after giving birth I wore Jay’s shirts and overalls. After my breasts got used to supply and demand with my baby, they trimmed a little. I loved having big boobs. I loved being milky. Too bad I didn’t have more time to show it off back then. As my kid shed her dependence on me, I too shed the mom boobs. Now I have more time, but less boobs.

Getting naked online has helped me appreciate what I have. At every stage of my adult life I have found people who made me feel beautiful and courageous. It has shaped my perception of my body and myself. It has helped me find confidence in my real life. It has given me a little secret something to daydream about as I live the daily mundane. So I thank you for Liking me, and for helping me Like me.

On Mother’s Day they came
Back to their childhood home
Carrying their mother’s ashes
Hearing the voice of her wishes,
“I want my ashes to feed the roses.”

I woke up on Mother’s Day with a funeral outside the tall windows of the Master’s bedroom. The old man who built this home had passed decades ago, but his wife, the woman who looked out those tall windows in loneliness all those decades to the rosebush that blooms red in the California winter, just recently died.

And her children, who themselves have grown old and lonely, formed a procession outside what are now our windows and fed her ashes to the rosebush to fill their dead mother’s last request. This is what I did on Mothers’ Day. I walked outside and stood in my grey wool dress and red shoes, and silently hugged these lonely people before they walked back to their cars and drove away. I had nothing to say. There was nothing that needed to be said.

Later my daughter picked a ripe rose from the bush and gave it to me. The rose looked plump, juicy, full of life. Too soon the petals will dry and crumble to dust, just like the woman whose ashes joined the dirt under the bush. I hugged my daughter tight, smelled the freshness of the sun in her hair. On this Mothers’ Day I am alive, juicy, maybe even a tiny bit plump. I feed on the ashes of those who have died, smack my lips and say, “I’m alive!” Someday it will be my ashes that will feed another rose, and it will be the sexiest, most fertile ashes any rose has ever fed on. She will smack her lips and look up to the sky quivering in ecstasy.

“I’m alive!”

(Update: Read the edited version below.)

“You will never hear anything more about Oz, because we are now cut off forever from all the rest of the world. But Toto and I will always love you and all the other children who love us.
“Dorothy Gale” (from The Emerald City of Oz, L. Frank Baum)

I read this to my daughter last night, and for a second I thought of Jay’s mother, Gail, who was dying. An hour later, Jay came in and told me that Gail was gone. 16 days following her father.

I couldn’t sleep. All night I had a vision of Grampy in his 20s, coming upon Gail, a mere wisp of her former self, aged by the ravages of medical slash and burn. In my mind I heard him call her, “Let’s go, Gail.” She twitches at his voice, finds herself growing younger. As she grows younger, she says goodbye to the cares she had accumulated with each year. Her grandchildren, her home, her sons, her husband, the family land. She steps toward her father, each step yet another year back. 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4… She is skipping now, bubbly, jumping into Grampy’s arms hardly able to contain herself.

“Daddy!”

The two of them look so much like Jay and our daughter. Tall, thin man with dark hair, apple-cheeked little girl with auburn hair. “Your mother has been waiting for so long,” Grampy whispers to her as they head toward the old white farmhouse that used to stand on what is now Jenkin’s field.

The storm rages outside, the snow piles high in Maine. The life we used to know is now invisible to us, the ones who remain.

I cannot stop Jay from weeping. I massage his belly, tight from sobbing. I hug him tight and hold his head on the slope of my neck. That is all I can do.

This is my daughter’s first experience of loss. I hold her tight, as close to me as I can. We cannot come to Maine and mourn with the others. Jay’s folks are not much for ceremony. The winters are not friendly.

We count ourselves lucky that we shared life with these, Jay’s elders, when there was life to be shared in Maine. We count ourselves lucky to have known them, broken bread with them, loved them.

I admit I shudder at such close encounters with mortality. Often people approach the subject of death with such certainty. One group would say for sure that there was life after death, a last judgement of sorts, when God would place us in heaven or in hell. Another group, just as certainly, would say there was nothing. No God, no soul, just nothing. Consciousness dies when the mind dies.

I am not so sure death is as simple as either side says it is. Some atheists/evolutionists are just as close-minded as their Judeo-Christian/creationist counterparts. I prefer the openminded humility of agnosticism.

I take everything I read for what it is, someone else’s experience and theories about life. I refuse to live my life second-hand, accepting hand-me-down ideas without question. I intend to form my own experiences and theories first-hand. Jump head-on and immerse myself in the messy chaotic disorganized pot of life and death.

I have dredged up fluids in my womb, grunted out a beautiful child and marveled at the process of creation. I will quake with fear and reverence every time I am forced to stare into the mysterious inevitability. All of creation decays, crumbles and dies. The moon waxes, wanes and becomes invisible.

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain. Time to die.

August is World Breastfeeding Month. I didn’t want the month to end without sharing my breastfeeding story with you.

As soon as my baby was born, I marveled at how intuitively she latched on to my nipple. I didn’t immediately produce milk and suckling hurt the first few days but I kept at it, knowing my baby and I just needed to get into it. On the fourth day, Jay and I took our baby in to Children’s Hospital because she looked orange. She had jaundice.

I felt so inadequate. I couldn’t produce milk. My mother convinced me to let the nurses feed my baby formula during her stay in the hospital so I could rest. Walking away from my baby was torture. It was as if someone had cut my limbs off.

My parents took me and Jay to our favorite Indian restaurant for dinner. As soon as I had some raita I felt my nipples spurt. From that moment on I associate raita with breastmilk.

That night, my first night as a mom without my baby, my breasts felt like they would explode. My midwife advised me to hand express milk so that my breasts would keep flowing. Without a baby, my milk would dry up.

The next day I sat in the hospital nursery and fed my baby as often as I could. (She was getting a tan under a bili light.) I was determined to remind my baby not forget my tits. After two nights without her, I finally got to take her home.

From then on, it’s Mama’s milk for the first 3 years of my baby’s life. Yes, three! The kid is superhuman! She’s smart, healthy, and strong. She’ll kick your ass. I mean it.

Breastfeeding my kid as long as I did was one of the best things I’ve ever done. I consider it quite a feat because there were so many obstacles to doing it: disinformation from previous generations’ mothers (my mom and those other 70s moms), the rough road we went through on the first week and condescension from people when I breastfeed around them. Fuck them all! None of that mattered as much as giving my baby this irreplaceable gift that she will have for the rest of her life.

Ladies, Moms-to-be, check La Leche League for information, resources and encouragement. I didn’t join a mom group but I bought the La Leche League book, “The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding,” which is like the Bible of Breastfeeding.

Gentlemen, you can help. Keep your ladies healthy and hydrated. Soups are nutritious and hydrating, always keep drinking water by her side, offer to massage her when she’s taking a break. If you’re into it, you can offer your suckling services too if her milk ducts ever get clogged up. Yes, it will happen once the baby starts eating solid food and throws the boobs off schedule. It happened to me a few times and it hurt like a mother! A steamy shower, hand expressing and a little suckling helps get those milk ducts flowing again.

Breastfeeding is free, always at the perfect temperature, ready on demand and is the best food on the planet. It’s one of the most amazing tricks my body has ever done.

Photos above can be viewed larger at MAYCAM.

For the past five years, my sex life survived on quickies. Jay and I seized time during our kid’s afternoon naps or late at night. We mourned the days of leisurely exploring each other. Often, we play “beat the clock,” or more accurately, we play “get off before the kid wakes up.” Sometimes we win, a temporary victory until the next time; sometimes we lose, no consolation prize, just blue balls and frustration.

Needless to say, we had to adapt. Quickies, it is, but we have to make it count. We had many failures, but over time we’ve also succeeded. Let me share our successes with you.

This is 1 of 11 new photos in MAYCAM. Click the photo for more.

3 Ways to Maximize a Quickie

1. Talk dirty.

Sure, I can’t be tied to our bed while being ravished by my lover while I am on-call to tend to a baby that may wake up hungry and cranky at any time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk about it while we’re having a quickie. Start with, “If I could I would…” or “I’d love it if you…” Fill in the blanks. The possibilities are endless.

Know what else I learned about talking dirty? There are some things that drive my lover wild but I’m not as enthusiastic about doing. For instance, just the thought of shoving his cock from my ass to my mouth makes my man rock hard. I indulge him once in a great while, but more often I just say something like, “I know you love it when you shove your cock in my mouth fresh out of my ass. I don’t think I’ll let you do it tonight, but if you’re good, I might.”

This is one of those remarkable applications of the power of suggestion. We could be indulging in purely vanilla sex while our minds are exploring the dirtiest extreme hardcore scenes we can come up with. A little roleplaying also elevates the play. Something as simple as, “No, please don’t,” can take the quickie into a mini Dominant/submissive scene. Make sure you agree on a safeword before playing. It’s amazing how quickly play escalates when time is of the essence.

2. Tease. Always.

I play a little footsie at the dinner table. I grab my man’s butt while he washes dishes. I send naughty sexts while standing in line at the post office. I’ve even sent a dirty picture I took of myself in the bathroom while my kid was in gymnastics. A few naughty emails sent while we’re both at work doesn’t hurt anyone and goes far in keeping the anticip… ation of the time we will get to spend together. Technology allows us to keep in touch. So let’s.

Invest in sexy underwear. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t wear lacy panties under my jeans and sweater. It gives me a sexy secret to amuse myself with while I go about day-to-day chores. The thought that underneath my wholesome granola Mom look, I’m a femme fatale keeps me feeling sexy. What’s more, it’s a really great way to surprise my man when we…

3. Do it anywhere. Do it everywhere.

If we have time, we seize it. Remember when we were horny teens and didn’t have a place to call our own, and we had to sneak around behind our parents’ backs to get some? It’s the same thing over again, only this time we have to sneak around behind our kids’ backs.

We’ve done it in my parents’ laundry room during a family gathering. We’ve done it in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the garage, in the backyard late at night, in closets, and in the shed. If we think we can get away with it, we give it a try. Our sex life is worth it.

Do you have any more ideas on how to make the most of a quickie? I’d love to add some more to my list. Variety is the spice of life, and when it comes to spices, a little can go a long way.

“Understanding how the arrival of a baby can affect sex and intimacy is exactly why we decided to launch GoodVibesSexyMama.com. Good Vibrations has nurtured our female customers through many lifecycles – from the ‘first time’ experiences to menopause. Why not help guide them through this period of their lives as well?” says Dr. Carol Queen, Good Vibrations’ Staff Sexologist.

Why indeed not? I can’t think of anyone more deserving of special attention.

Being a Mom is a juggling act. I remember Jay asking me why I wanted to complicate my life when we were having so much fun being a couple. I admit I wasn’t being rational when I decided I wanted to get pregnant. It was an emotional reaction that felt like the cosmos calling me to fulfill my purpose in life. As soon as I gave birth and the amount of work involved became apparent, I wondered why on earth I couldn’t have been satisfied with my other purpose in life, pleasure!

Between breastfeeding, diaper changes, naps, baths and playtime, Jay and I barely had any time to be intimate. Before our baby was mobile, I wore her in a sling. When she became mobile, I lost all my baby weight chasing after the little monkey. My parents visited every weekend, but it wasn’t enough time for me and Jay to go off and do something romantic. Our sex life survived on quickies during naptime or late at night. If our sex life was a baby, it would have died of neglect.

Now that our kid is in school, we have a little more time to spend together. We’re luckier than some couples because we work at home, and can organize our schedule to accommodate sexy time in the day. Once in a while, our kid spends the weekend with her grandparents, so that Jay and I can have playmates over. Now that we’re parents, though, things will never be the same. No matter what I’m doing, and with whom, in the back of my mind, I wonder if my daughter is eating right, if she brushed and flossed her teeth before bed, and if she is safe and warm.

It takes a lot more to take my mind away from Mom mode to Sex Goddess mode. I imagine other Moms feel the same way I do. I’m glad Good Vibes is focusing on providing not only a web resource for Moms, but also “Mommy Playdates,” a quarterly event for Moms to have a personalized store tour and a one-on-one consultation with Good Vibrations’ Staff Sexologist and author, Dr. Carol Queen. For at-home Moms like me, it’s a chance to meet other Moms and talk about more than just which kindergarten I’m sending my kid to. I would love to trade recipes for an exciting love and sex life. What do you do to keep your love and sex life exciting?

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