All Posts – Page 255
How fashionable are your tits?
My tits are sort-of-round-ish, perhaps not as firm as they were when I was nineteen, and they have nipples that sit a little bit lower on the breast than I believe is currently fashionable. They’re probably a bit bigger than they were when I was young, which I think makes them a bit more fashionable, and because I am a white girl who barely gets out in the sun, I never have tit tan-lines. Which is great because as far as I understand it, tan lines are less acceptable than no tan lines, in this year of our Lord 2016.
Does that paragraph sound a bit weird to you? Like I am rambling drunkenly on a subject which should by no rights even exist? Of course. Yet all you need to do is look at some old-school porn to realise that there are distinct fashions in what we expect people’s bodies to look like.
I’m not talking here about hair – beards, bushes and fantastic 80s perms all seem to pop in and out of porn fashion depending on the country and the year. Things like body hair can be changed, so although naturally it’s shit that anyone’s expected to either grow or shave their hair, to a certain extent fashions are inevitable. I’m about as fashion-conscious as a dead rat in Marks and Spencer, but I do understand that for many people fashion is fun. You can play around with your clothes, hair, make up etc: making yourself look scary-executive-badass one minute and rainbow-coloured-punk-prince the next. Ace. Likewise when you’re picking your sexy look, you can have all-over body hair one minute, and the next decide you want to wax half of it off leaving just a hairy heart shape in the middle.
But there are also fashions for what breasts should look like. And that is WEIRD, people. Really fucking weird.
Two things: the #WhatWomenWantIn5Words hashtag
Sometimes Twitter’s hashtag games are total genius, and sometimes they fuck me off. Today’s was a combination of the two, so here are two things from the game – one annoying and one delightful.
One Weird Trick To Blow Their Mind In Bed
I thought there were none. I thought there were no bed-located tricks that were universal. I assumed that all humans, due to our unique-like-snowflake sexual preferences and genital configuration and kinks and quirks and loves: I thought there would be no universal Trick To Blow Their Mind In Bed.
But if there were one, and I’m not necessarily saying there is, then it might be this:
Guest blog: Knife play
This week’s guest blog tackles something super-intense: knife play. It also does something that I adore, in that it tells the story from two perspectives, giving an insight into what each partner is thinking during the session…
As with anything sharp and shiny, safety comes first.If you’re interested in knife play, then check out this safety guide and, of course, negotiate and communicate with your partner.
The author wanted me to add a particular note to this post: “My partner and I play without a safeword. It’s something we’ve both discussed at length and have agreed upon together. He is a medic, is trained in and trains others in martial arts and we have both had extensive training in body language and the subtle nuances of human behaviour and the human body. Whilst this works for us, I’m not suggesting this kind of practice for others – it’s all about knowing and trusting yourself, your partner and your relationship.”
Please welcome Alice and the Wolf.
“I want you to hurt me because it makes you hard.”
This is one of those posts that goes into the sometimes dark places in my brain. As a result, it involves discussion of things like pain, BDSM, and roleplaying sex-as-punishment. Everything in the post is 100% consensual, but I’m just giving you a heads-up so if those things are likely to disturb you please don’t read on.
We’re discussing the difference between corporal punishment and what I’m going to call ‘angry punishment.’ I explain to him that, in previous role-plays, I’ve struggled with the idea of rigid, ordered punishment. Counting spanks, measured chastisement, that kind of thing. The type of role-play where I am a naughty girl, and a guy in a position of authority is responsible for correcting me:
He orders me to bend over and touch my toes, stretching my thighs and arse taut for the cane or tawse. He makes me wait for what feels like an achingly long time, as my calves tingle and my cunt gets slick, and I wait for the first thwack.
At that moment what I’m hoping for isn’t one sharp stroke. I’m not anticipating a measured, precise stripe across my backside. But usually that’s what I get. One stripe – carefully applied – then the inevitable order:
“Count them.”
And I count. One, two, three, four… I count the strokes and I thank him for each one. This controlled, dominant guy, who will dish out exactly as much pain as I deserve and no more.
That’s nice – it is. But it’s not the best.