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Sure they can, it's why I tatooed my hamsa between my shoulderblades.

Jealous of closets.
 
Reportage

Softcore, by the metro standards, but this has been driving me crazy for days.

I wrote that boys are the new girls the other day and I'm convinced they are. I can't shake this one. It's making me nuts.

Netzach you stupid whore, you're not supposed to want to ask "can I see you again?"

If you've never played with a pretty T girl, not a scary one, nor a skanky one, not a sad one, nor a crazy one....you are missing out.

To a fister's fist, ass feels remarkably like *harder to get into* cunt, once you are there. It's divine. Especially clean, shaved, exquisite girly pornobutt, incongruous below cock.

It's really divine. I remembered B massaging my cunt for me, she's a kind of new agey woo woo bodywork kinda lesbian. She was making me feel all kinds of good, and suddenly she said "holy shit you have powerful pussy...." Wide eyed, earnest and meaning it. I had to think she was right.

This girl had powerful pussy. Domme composure be damned, I was willing to take direction and watch my hand get sucked in.

A flexible creature, sweet smelling, like a six-foot posable bondage barbie. I always wanted a human doll. Soft spoken, emotional, tasteful and intelligent. "You're a rather cerebral slut aren't you?" I had said to her as I cinched her ropes. She smiled in a yes kind of way and said yes.

Can I see you again?

Wish me luck, perverts, that I get so lucky someday.
 
Netzach said:
Sure they can, it's why I tatooed my hamsa between my shoulderblades.

Jealous of closets.
Click to expand...

No, no my child. Tattooing a sign of protection on your back is the same as fearing to turn your back. THere is no "back" and "front" in the spirit world, only feelings.

I have one big closet that I can't decide whether to make into a meditiation/recapitulation woomb, with carpeted floor and a white xmas lights- or a torture closet. Probably the former, since, as recent vanilla single Jizzo Mizzobizzo reminds me in the humiliation thread, I've no bitch to call me own at this time nor for forseeable future.

:p
 
A room of contrition with white X mas light, soft cushions and a lot of time to think on one's misdeeds could be quite effective.
 
Netzach said:
A room of contrition with white X mas light, soft cushions and a lot of time to think on one's misdeeds could be quite effective.
Click to expand...

That's a good combined option.
 
Netzach, that sounds delightful. Wishing you luck for future encounters; it's good to love your work.

The thinking closet just gave me a childhood flashback to being confined in my room during a tantrum, viciously kicking the white-painted closet door with my Mary Janes, leaving permanent little half-circle dents.

This is my fantasy sex partner of the moment: a short, bantam-weight guy, macho, with a bit of a Napoleanic complex. He would be pushy and aggressive in a slightly histrionic way, but melt into a willing puddle at a sneer or a moue or a glimpse of stocking. My boy twin: someone as labile and switchy and narcissistic as I am. We could wrestle and duke it out and I'd actually have a decent shot at winning; in every contest there would be some suspense as to the outcome, unlike with the consort, who outclasses me severely in size, strength and will. With him, every battle is lost before it's begun, which is gratifying in a different way.

But if I had a strutting boy like that, I would wear him out.
 
Have a look: story

I think some perverted ones might get a kick out of this story, just up--based on reading this thread.

Not your usual "No, no; oooh, oooh; yes, yes" fantasy.

Topic: assault.


Link to my story

I'd prefer to leave its origin a mystery. Please don't comment on that issue.

Enjoy!

Tail_Teller
 
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One can learn something new, every day:

Pearl Dragon :/

Noun
Definition 1: When a girl is giving you head you "gently" smack her on the back of the head before you blow your load and it shoots out her nose.



===

Or, am I just naive? And why did I think of Roscoe?

J.
 
There are three differences between me and those "Jackass"/frat-boy style malaccas who invent those terms. (There is a whole website devoted to them.)

A. I'd actually do something like that; as opposed to just getting stoned and watching a lot of hardcore girl-humiliation/bangbus-style porno and then licking vagina like a good boy and whimpering for an occasional BJ.
B. I find that stuff crass and gross-the sniggering little terms-the childish humour reeks of repression and drives not assimilated nor understood---see below.
C. I am fully aware of the sexual rage and insecurity behind my drives.
 
RR: There are three differences between me and those "Jackass"/frat-boy style malaccas who invent those terms. (There is a whole website devoted to them.)

A. I'd actually do something like that; as opposed to just getting stoned and watching a lot of hardcore girl-humiliation/bangbus-style porno and then licking vagina like a good boy and whimpering for an occasional BJ.
B. I find that stuff crass and gross-the sniggering little terms-the childish humour reeks of repression and drives not assimilated nor understood---see below.
C. I am fully aware of the sexual rage and insecurity behind my drives.


I've seen a couple of those sites. Could not exactly pinpoint why they made me uneasy. I think what you're saying is that the thing is a macho imposture. Or like a skinny little teen I met recently, commanding a muscular, kung fu monster in a video game.

I'm not sure of the 'repression' and Freudian theory, etc. It's hard to demonstrate. But there are certainly desires and impulses a person will vehemently deny having. There are also desires usually kept in check, like to rape, which may get acted upon in unusual situations.

Whether they can be said to 'lurk' in the unconscious, or 'below/behind conscious awareness' or are 'buried' may depend on your choice of metaphor. In a word, many of the people you want to call repressed, have some awareness of what it is they are keeping under wraps, or in check. I do like the concept of 'not assimilated,' however.

Sometime you'll have to say what a 'malacca' is, besides a cane. I suppose it's some kinda jerk.

J.
 
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"Malacca" is Greek for "jerkoff" or "cocksmoker" or something else equally contemptuous, but amusing.

There are mucho malaccas in my new neighborhood. Trying to establish a new Base of Operations; which due to circumstances must needs be a quiet bar with pay phone, I settled upon the local COlombnian watering hole, mainly because each night of the week featured a different miniskirted, push-up bra'd, swollen-lipp'd knockout of a Latina barmaid. They lean across the bar, tits in your face, and ask you where you are from and what you are drinking, lips brushing your ear. An excellent way to garner tips from lonely fellows, let me tell you.

Anyhow, I'd been going there about a week when one night, I fell into conversation with a fellow borracho; a wisened gnome apparently suffering alopecia;with nut-brown skin and vague and generic features that could have originated with any of the races of the globe. He claimed to be Colombiano, and had milky bluish eyes of deep creepiness. Said he'd earned his keep as a "Professor de Tirando" (professor of shooting) at an unnamed local military academy. He also asked if I "parle'd Italiano" and pointed to himself and said "Me CIA."

He said I was "griego Malacca"; which could have been possible since we were in Astoria, Queens and my features have a distinctly Mediterranean cast; deriving from the distaff side of my family. He asked my trade, and when I translated it into espanol as "mechanico industrial", he began to laugh and couldn't stop. Later, after much talk in broken spanish of the ancient greeks, we fell into a drunken contest. He'd name a famous philosopher and I'd follow suit. He was far drunker than I, but still kicked my ass.

Then, I laid a creased 50$ on the bar, ordered a round, and looked away for some reason. I looked back a moment later and the 50$ was gone, replaced by a new 20$ I looked at it in shock and the smiling barmaid picked up and made change for the round. One of those two malaccas had pulled a switcheroo on the gringo. I left immediately, without saying goodbye, filled with sadness.

And that's the news from Astoria.
 
I’ve been lurking for a while, but this thread is the only one that has at all inspired me to post (enough to get over the shyness). Some amazing thoughts here, had me saying “exactly, exactly.” to myself many times.
anyhow, it reminded me of a recent article I’d read and I thought I would post it (sorry for the fulltext, but it’s less evil than the ads). Hope you all don’t mind the intrusion...

http://www.salon.com/sex/feature/2003/10/01/marlowe/

It was after seeing "Thirteen" and noticing the display rack of handcuffs at Sam Goody on Sixth Avenue that it hit me: the polymorphously perverse, gender-is-just-a-construct future that radical feminists and academics used to dream of has actually arrived. Men no longer have any authority, either in their own eyes or in women's, the genders are distinguished socially mainly by stuff they buy, and eroticism has fled from the bedroom to the store. It's sexier for most of us to go shopping than to make love, and so we do. As a friend said when I told her I'd spent much of the weekend in bed with a man, "Who has time for that? The weekend is the only chance I have to do my shopping."

And handcuffs -- well, seeing them at Sam Goody made me wistful. Once upon a time, you could still shock a guy by pulling them out. I suspect that there's a connection between the collapse of masculine authority and the mainstreaming of S/M; neither gender is too good at distinguishing power and authority and nostalgia for male authority can translate into fetishizing symbols of power. Women secretly want men with authority, but they fall for insecure passive-aggressive guys who view every aspect of life as a power struggle, or for cranky killjoys or petty sadists.

The collapse of the patriarchy was supposed to make women happy -- we were supposed to get more sex, freer sex, better sex, more loving sex and better relations between men and women. If you went to an Ivy League college in the last 20 years or had a professor who did, you probably heard something about this.
But instead men treat women worse than ever, women are retreating to 1950s notions that sex is something men like, and the nearly successful effort to stamp out gender contrast has made upper-middle-class American sex miserably dull, with or without handcuffs. Men and women are just too much alike stylistically now for much erotic energy to arise from their conjunction.

This is especially true of those in their 20s. Here's a relevant confession: Ever since I've been in my early 30s I've tended to date younger men. I'm now 45, and in the last five years I haven't been able to get interested in men in their 20s, no matter how cute or buff. Men in their 20s -- well, the Ivy League, professional sorts I meet, with their yoga classes and exquisite sensitivity about treating a woman any differently from a man -- just aren't masculine enough to be bedable.

Thus the legacy of two decades of feminism in academia. Younger people have bought into the idea that your lover or spouse is a friend of the opposite sex -- although one who will exhibit bad manners you wouldn't expect from your friends' pets, much less your friends. The bad manners and androgyny go hand in hand; along with the erotic aura, tenderness and respect have disappeared. These young guys feel free to admit to physical fears, grooming preoccupations and social anxieties their fathers had the good sense to conceal, if they had them. They dress like overgrown toddlers, in oversize T-shirts and baggy pants, clothing that begs you not to take them seriously as grown-ups. They're pussy-whipped and tamed by 30, but just below the surface they seethe with hostility and resentment at women, because they're quite aware that their girlfriends or wives treat sex as a commodity to be doled out in return for something better. Neither the young men nor the young women enjoy it as much as they were told they would. Maybe the situation is worse for the women because, after all, it's the men who are more like women, not the women who are more like men.

The women have won, if you've won when you have worse sex than your grandmother did. Secretly they don't find these men very exciting, either. And they don't feel feminine when they're with them. What does "feminine" mean anyway, besides the result of a lot of grooming rituals drag queens can do too? Maybe it means having a baby. Sex is for corralling a man long enough to secure a "commitment" and then a baby.

The new joylessness: Talk with someone in their 20s about marriage and they bring in the word "work" in the first three minutes. I didn't think like that when I was with a man for seven years in my 20s, and I don't recall that my friends did either. This "work" goes along with the ubiquitous use of the word "relationship" in the romantic sphere, a word first used for a sexual connection in 1944, according to the OED; before that it was only used in a business context. And now that the patriarchy's gone, everything isn't pleasure, as radical theorists imagined, but business.

It makes perfect sense that the most popular sex act among younger people is oral sex, which lends itself so well to exchange. One for you, one for me. Check any online dating service and you'd have the impression that the male sex organ was the tongue. A recent scan revealed that of the 4,108 men on Craig's List seeking women for "casual encounters," 209 used the word "fuck" in their ads, 219 referred to their "tongue" and 363 to their "oral" predilections. Heaven knows what the rest of them planned to do in bed.

Oral sex is what American women say they want, and they have their men trained to do it, but do either men or women really prefer it to intercourse? No one dares say it, but the clitoral orgasm might be as much a myth as the vaginal -- or as little. If you return to the original article that debunked the idea that women enjoy fucking, Anne Koedt's "The Myth of the Vaginal Orgasm" (1970), you'll notice that she gave no medical evidence for her belief that the clitoris rather than the vagina is the source of female sexual pleasure. You'll also notice that she has a strong aversion to the vagina. It's one thing to say that women only have clitoral orgasms, but one doubts the sanity of someone who writes that "women need no anesthesia inside the vagina during surgery." Who's first in line for that?

My bet is that just as many or more women have orgasms from fucking as from oral sex while many others don't have either and fake them. That's right, they fake the clitoral orgasms their boyfriends congratulate themselves on having the sensitivity to bestow. If we're ready to believe that many women fake vaginal orgasms, even over many years with their husbands, why are we so sure some women don't fake their clitoral orgasms too? It's likely that many men believe they can tell more easily that way -- and that, not some extraordinary new access to kindness and generosity, might be the source of the new male "enthusiasm" for oral sex. But pin them down and they'll admit they can't be sure.

Meanwhile, women who have orgasms from being fucked have learned to be quiet about it. Fucking is a suspect preference these days, as handcuffs used to be; after all, everyone knows that penetration is politically incorrect, involving all sorts of issues of gender difference and dominance and submission. Women who want a man to do what only a man can do in bed have to stick to over-40s or men from the Third World who haven't heard that they're supposed to pretend to like cunnilingus. But most American men have to pretend if they want to get laid, just as many women over the millennia have pretended to enjoy intercourse.

Nothing I say is meant to deny that oral sex is pleasurable for some people to give as well as to receive. But cunnilingus can be interpreted just as fucking can and neither is simple. Each has a cultural role. And just as some people like fucking partly for its cultural baggage, some people like cunnilingus for its associations or its lack of them.

The new American ideal is an equal relationship, satisfying our craving for justice and for simplicity. When I hear American women in their 20s and early 30s talk about their boyfriends, they seem preoccupied with whether they do 50 percent of the dishes and whether they spend 50 percent of the time talking about their problems and anxieties. Of course this is compensation for years of institutionalized unfairness, but it also sounds a lot like a defense against the powerful feelings they have for the men they love. And so with oral sex. It fits the 50-50 ethos better than fucking.

It also fits our new suspicion of deep emotions. Another reason fucking is out of fashion is that it makes us feel too much. Part of the appeal of oral sex -- and why it is rapidly becoming a favorite of teenagers -- is that it's lite sex. No one loses control, loses track of where they are, forgets that music is playing, screams, or weeps, when someone performs oral sex on them. But fucking stirs deep emotions that go to our core as animals and humans. And with the absence of tenderness and trust between men and women, we're more and more inclined to banish deep emotion from our post-patriarchal lives.

What's often lost in the insistence on equality is quality -- how the people feel about each other, how much love they can give each other. We now feel queasy about the romantic language of our ancestors, who used the metaphors of slavery and devotion unabashedly. But is there another language with which to speak of love? Love does involve two people putting themselves in the power of each other. We've forgotten that what we are looking for between men and women is fairness and compassion, not identity, and there can be justice between people who acknowledge that their balance of power is unequal. The heterosexual act of love does involve women putting themselves literally in the power of men. And we no longer trust enough to do so.
Click to expand...
 
Very interesting article, Justina. "Fake clitoral orgasms"-- hmmm, hadn't thought of that.

I liked the part about 'work'; it apparently comes from psychoanalysis, which said you have to 'work' through things, and pop psych, 'work' on your problems. Now it's 'work' on the relationship, which is what? self-inflicted marital co-counselling.

Whenever a split occurs, I hear, "They had not worked on the relationship."

Speaking of pathetic males, toddlers, "Everyone love Raymond," on TV, is fabulously successful, with the two brothers: ineffectual wimp and the ineffectual muscleman. Esp. they are ineffectual against their Mom, who's a total tyrant. Of course, at one million $$ per episode, Ray Romano may be laughing all his wimpy way to the bank, esp. since he's making twice what the actresses playing the 'effectual' wife or 'effectual' mom make.

J.
 
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Here I am thinking I'm a macho pimp all these years and it turns out I'm just old fashioned. I hope I don't find out I'm really a Republican.
 
I love the mainstream whining of salon.

It's one more reason I feel like a freak of nature every minute of my existance. That's cool, it's nothing I didn't know, it's just something I'd almost forgotten. This salon chick sounds not like the intelligent and radically bent sub girls of the Topopolis metro, but like my college girlfriends who I just want to smack upside the head till they learn something. Anything.

Ok, fine. Till the rest of you girls figure out how to enjoy your newfound balls, status and scary power...more for me.

Nothing pisses me off more than women in a severe state of stupidity. Yes, dear, we won. While the rest of you run back to the 50's in a reactionary tizzy, (which is fine for you) I'd appreciate it if you didn't include *me* in your screeds about my g g g g generation. Danke. Or equate a vague, socially appropriate and "nice" zeitgeist of longing for a mainstream return of compassionately fair (?!?!) male power with the *need* for authority, the absolute existential "must have" that drives a submissive woman.

I'm enjoying too many clitoral orgasms and having too much fun twining an indie rock androgyne with a penis around my fingers to wistfully pine for a stwong man to take care of me.

That last sentence, about the heterosexual act of love, proof positive that I am radically unalterably queer. My act of love, the paradigm of passion and connection and intimacy involves my fist curled up tenderly in my lover's ass, a situation in which it's quite likely that nobody comes.

While I've enjoyed being fucked for the intimacy, while I have a fondness for a couple of privileged penises in the world, I don't get off that way. It's an option on the smorgasboard, it's not the be all and end all and it never was. So while I tend to choose, over and over, the partner of the penised variety, I guess I am right in claiming that I am not, cannot be, and never was "heterosexual."

This is something we get to pathologize again, and now pathologize it more, not only as a defect, but as a denial of literal pleasure, a lie. I've been told, challengingly by many an eligible lesbian "sure you can, I bet you've just never met the right tongue/fist/dildo/self-exploratory finger" The woman who only has clitoral orgasms has been trained into the existance of vaginal ones by her friends and lovers, OK, they exist, that's fine. The woman who's come, vaginally, thinks the rest of us are misguided, missing out, and of course, repressed. I will have to come up with theories about this persistant neurosis in search of the G spot, the need for a G spot on every table, a vaginal orgasm in every honeypot.

Dominant, sexually carniverous, sexually aggressive women don't make good press these days or any days. Be castrating, be a pricktease, but still, don't dare to dream that this is anything but passive aggression.

What's radical to my stance, and to the stance of the honestly Dominant woman, is that a mainstream woman conquers her man then feels a sense of revulsion against her new creation. What the honestly Dominant woman feels, having overpowered her man, is a capacity to love, and madly turned on to him. We can then play with the revulsion I'm societally supposed to feel, we can explore this unease, but not for a moment do I actually view my own, personal, submissive partner(s) as worthless, disposable, or weakened. Do I exist? Can I exist? Can I possibly be real as we head into a reactionary wave, the predictably reactionary wave of now?

That you can have sex as a woman on your own terms is still a radical turnoff to the majority of men and women out there, and is still liable to earn you the title of whore, the status of freakish rarity, impossible, repressing herself, and in denial.
 
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I feel like a freak of nature every minute of my existence.

But that's the thing I like most about ya! You're even freakier than Sacher Masoch (if less freaky than Sade)!

:rose:
 
"no one screams weeps or loses track of where they are when having oral sex performed on them."

Well, I guess I just learned more than I needed to know about the salon chick's sex life. It's too bad, maybe if she met the right tongue she'd know.
 
Thanks for posting that, Justine.

Salon writers are always so needlessly angsty and navel-gazing. This woman makes a serious mistake when she tries to extrapolate from academia to the rest of American culture. Yes, privileged, intellectual 20-something boys are mostly effete and self-absorbed and passive-aggressive. They always have been!

If she's really jonesing for old-fashioned machismo, masculine energy, and fucking that won't quit, she'd be better off hanging out at the bus stop than at yoga class.
 
"Marlowe" said, "no one screams weeps or loses track of where they are when having oral sex performed on them."

Netzach said,
Well, I guess I just learned more than I needed to know about the salon chick's sex life. It's too bad, maybe if she met the right tongue she'd know.

I did notice that. I always thought that was a male capability to be at the office at ones desk on the phone, getting a bj (Clinton?)

There can be a lack of body contact, with oral sex, but I fail to see how its alleged limitations support her view. I have been hearing of its casual occurrence in young teens, girls getting game tickets for blow jobs, etc. (But is that new?)

I do see something 'regressive', i.e., like babe in arms, about sucking/being sucked. (But hey, I don't know 'regression'--even in service of the id)

J.
 
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justine, no one here bites...too hard. "Women secretly want men with authority, but they fall for insecure passive-aggressive guys who view every aspect of life as a power struggle, or for cranky killjoys or petty sadists." I believe those are what have been known as 'the constituency' around here in the past.

That article does good work being inflammatory, but i think decrying the decline of her definition of manhood, is a difficult argument to make without upholding another, unneccessary, standard for hard-up men and boys to try to live up to. Damning us all to another round of people who cannot be forthright and honest, and must be something they're not for the sake of intercourse.

"They're pussy-whipped and tamed by 30, but just below the surface they seethe with hostility and resentment at women, because they're quite aware that their girlfriends or wives treat sex as a commodity to be doled out in return for something better." I love this part. In fact I do sense this from a lot of men, but I think it's part of the inter-sexual paranoia that American culture oozes with.
 
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