On Friday my post Made the FLESHBOT SEX BLOG ROUNDUP! Mad props to Madeline Glass for the Fleshbotty loving.

And if you wanna spread some loving my way, and can take a second to surf on over to Between My Sheets and nom-nom-nominate me for a SexyBlogger nod, I’ll be thankful and shit. Or something.

A few years back, I saw an insanely rough sex moment in an adult flick.

A man was hitting it doggie style, shagging the hell out of a woman while pulling her arms into a painful stretch behind her. He then abruptly folded her arms together on the small of her back, swung his leg up to the couch, and planted his foot firmly on her head.

Suffice to say I found this deprecating cruelty terribly arousing. Pervert, remember?

Then a few months ago I came across the same thing again, and squealed in delight.

And then I wondered…as I often do, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

OK, pervs…come on. Is that not…hot??

It could only be better were he fully clothed, wearing boots. There is something hot and humiliating about being nude when your partner is fully dressed.

I simply adore the sensation of being vulnerable and bare in front of someone who is dressed and dominant.  If clothes make the man, boots make the man hot as fuck.

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Let me be perfectly clear.  I neither use nor believe in the term “topping from the bottom.” There are lots of reasons for that, which I’ll explain later if enough people hound me about it. Suffice to say the obvious reason is this: once I am topping you, I am no longer on the bottom. By definition.  So there.

But this SMSS kiiiiiind of bucks that definition, so you can decide for yourself.

Click through to see this week’s tale!

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Shibaricon marked the first BDSM Convention for which I’d made multiple play-dates, all of which I initiated. I’ve spent the past year-and-a-half of so building up my kink résumé with many events, cons and classes: and all but a handful of them were out of state. I haven’t played much locally of late, and I have a very particular approach to letting people cane, slap, punch, whip, bind, beat and abuse me. Call me picky but the way I need to play, if I’m gonna fucking do it, requires people with a certain level of skill, compassion, emotional and physical attractiveness that is a rare fucking thing to find in mutuality.

As it happens, my travels have allowed me the privilege of meeting and mixing with kinksters from coast-to coast and, in my crazybrave mode, I managed to get up the nerve to actually ask for play-dates with several people I’d admired for varying lengths of time. Some I’d admired from afar for years, and some people I’d only recently met, but felt that easy bond of trust and friendship I think of as “Spiritual Family.” Shibaricon turned out to be stellar when it came to that type of connection, and I am still mulling how wonderfully the stars aligned to make that experience as unique as it was.

One of the high points, for me, was the opportunity to not only spend time with but also play with a woman I’ve admired since before I even had my first taste of real-time BDSM. That is Lolita Wolf. She is someone whose name I’d run across in my exhaustive year of pre-scene research: this being the soul-crunching time I spent before going real-time in the scene. Reading books, lurking on mailing lists, websites, et al. There aren’t many women I’d found whose opinions seemed straightforward, stripped of gloss, faux mystique and the veneer that made so many people talking about kink seem, to me, “personalities” rather than “people.” Lolita walked the walk, talked the talk and was so down to earth I felt like I knew her before I met her, several years later, at a local BDSM event.

Fast forward to today, when our social circles overlap and we now run into one another at kink events now and then. And finally I worked up the nerve to ask for a play-date. Admittedly, it was a bit of a roundabout “ask.” Over diner with friends at the Sex 2.0 Conference, there was a lighthearted discussion about Lolita’s”100 Diva’s” list, and how one became eligible, and I waved my hand in the air like a kid in the back row who really had to pee and asked if I might be a candidate to be one of the 100. Not that I consider myself a “Diva,” as I am far too dorky, but it was as good an “in” as any, right?

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I was lamenting the fact that I had not only the bitterness of not being able to perform in the run of the musical I’d been rehearsing for months, but also how that had precluded my being able to take a presenter’s berth for few BDSM events.

Several I’d really been interested in I hadn’t even applied for, and why would I? I was busy busy.

Then, of course…not so much.

But The Lord (Ganesha, of course!) moves in mysterious ways, and I am tickled to announce that, in the past 3 days, I have been offered two spots at two different events on two different coasts!

My East Coast pervs, you ain’t rid of me yet because my happy black ass (soon to be my sweaty black ass…Jersey!?? in SUMMERTIME?!) will be at Floating World in August!

I’ll be talking about Taboo Play, Playing with Race, and Role-Playing. Lots of fun, funky, fucked-up topics, for sure.

Then over Folsom Weekend and closer to home, I’ll be at one of the events nearest and dearest to my heart, the SM Odyssey Folsom Fringe.

Not sure what I’ll be on about at that event. Stay tuned!

Will I see you here or there? Will I see you everywhere?

Ducked into the Little Girl’s Room for this quickie HNT. I’m still a little wonky in the head from coming off of all of the pain medication I was on since the Ovary of Doom made its presence felt. But I’m hauling onward!  I think I like my reflection better than myself.

But then, my reflection is what I’m used to seeing.

Happy HNT

Which is a pithier query than one might think.

See, being uninitiated in the vagaries of my journey and experience within the BDSM community, he couldn’t have been aware of how charged a question this was for me.

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Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Sometimes the smack-down from the Universe is intense.

Within a scant 3 weeks of turning 40 I fell and fucked up my knee and wrist and then found myself in the ER last Friday. Why, you ask?

Angry, angry cysts. Cysts in my ovaries.

I can't tell you how much this fucking hurt. Seriously. I had one that was 3 x 5 cm large.

The female reproductive system is as Byzantine, mysterious and random as the US Tax Codes. More so, even, because at least female reproductive systems actually occasionally work as intended and produce bundles of joy or some shit.

At least this is what I hear from the sleep-deprived zombies I know who masquerade as new parents but are actually automatons in service to the liberated parasitic overlords that are their offspring.

But I digress.

So I had the awesome experience of 10 hour stint in the Kaiser ER, being poked and prodded, having my insides scanned, not once, not twice, but three times a lady, and receiving so much conflicting information that I was glad I was on morphine just so that the confusion I felt was muffled by the opiate haze.

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Sugasm #169

Jenny McClain courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks
Clothespin Communion
“Surrender to the sensation.”

Remembering the Pain
“And it really was that bad.”

Short And Sweet
“Why don’t you turn over”

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Financial Submission

Editor’s Choice
Belonging

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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