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So You Want To Be a Sex Blogger

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Uhmmm…  WHY?

No, seriously.  It’s a legitimate question, and it’s the second one that consistently pops to mind when people contact me with questions about sex blogging.  (The first being, “Why are you asking ME about this?”)

And typically, when I ask people the WHY? question, I get a response something along the lines of:

girl in pigtails holding palms upward with "I don't even know" caption

Ah.  So this is obviously a well-thought-out plan, then.  One you decided to contact a total stranger for advice on how to enact.  Via the interwebs, no less.

Hoo boy.

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Deluge

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lightning flashing across night sky

Image by the amazing Tyler Knott Gregson

There is something intoxicating about thunderstorms.

Not just rain.  Whether it’s a drizzle or a downpour matters not; there is nothing special to me about droplets hitting the ground, no matter what their speed.

But a thunderstorm

Thunderstorms create an escalating somatic reaction within me, one that echoes the crash and roll of the atmospheric turmoil roiling in the surrounding air.  My womb answers the call of the pregnant ozone pressing its electric weight into my skin with slick clenched pulsing response.  Each bead of sweat formed from the charged humidity rouses voltaic spherules of lustful wetness that drip down my sugared walls, coating the insides of my thighs.

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Modern Dating

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-or-

What I Think About When I’m Up at 4:00am And Can’t Get Back To Sleep

I think I would suck at dating.

I mean, I’ve pretty much always sucked at dating.  It’s just so…  I dunno.  Formal, or something.

I know how to be friends with people, and I’m happy to let those friendly vines grow up and over whatever walls they will, seeking heat and sunshine even as they root deeper in the dirt.  (Look at me, being all metaphorical and stuff.)

I’m not overly concerned about things like labels though, so keeping my various relationships in neatly packaged little boxes is not high on my priority list.  Which means that mostly – and this has been true throughout my entire life – I just let my relationships work themselves out.  I don’t date.

Dating my first love was an exercise in WTF.

Dating my husband…  Yeah, that didn’t really happen.  We met, we meshed, and then we were just…  Together.  We didn’t ‘date’.  Still don’t.

Dating, quite frankly…  Well…  The word alone makes my insides squeege up in revolt.

For some reason, people do it though.  And these days it’s apparently much more gadget-induced and app-enhanced than ever.  Which I might be down for if we were talking about sex toy tech.  (You mean I can control that vibrating butt plug remotely, from my phone, three thousand miles away???  Sign me up!!!)  But alas, that is not the case.

From what I understand, it’s more like Fill This Out and Upload Your Photos and Share Seventy Billion Private Things About Yourself and ALL THIS, Only $179/month!  (Cost of headaches not included.)

Or, y’know, get the free version and knock yourself out.

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It Reminds Me

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Visuals don’t often appeal to me – I don’t “do” disembodied carnal bits without emotional context – but this one is…

Different.

Familiar.

The cropped-shot gif contains the barest of movement, but it is enough.

A masculine hand, strong fingers gently probing against the opening between her labia, insisting on entrance.  A woman’s hand, press-swirling in tandem with her lover’s, stroking herself to pleasure in just the way she needs.

I watch the barely-there motions again, and it strikes me:  That could be us.

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Birthday Suit

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I always wanted to be Wonder Woman when I grew up.

woman wearing Wonder Woman shirt

No time like the (birthday) present.

😀

What do you think of my costume?  (It was a gift from my nieces.)  I’m calling it my birthday suit.

Happy Birthday To Me!