I remember hearing a few years ago of a woman who taught preschool by day and financially enslaved men by night. I don’t remember why the story made the news, but I was puzzled as to why this woman could say such mean things to her clientele, only to have them obediently lavish their life savings upon her.
I was asked the other day about my opinion of the morality of financial domination. What is financial domination, you ask? It’s a type of power play where a dominant partner “forces” a submissive partner to remit money. The play is entirely consensual and often involves blackmail, punishments, and other venues of humiliation by the dominant partner toward the submissive partner for the mutualistic benefit of both partners.
So, where does a reasonable person draw the line between sexual expression and placating an addiction to the point of destitution? (more…)
In celebration of my beau’s move into his new apartment this weekend, we (read: I) decided the best way to celebrate was to christen the new whiteboard on his bedroom wall with a game of I-can-do-anything-better-than-you. Behold — genitalia! (more…)
I read recently about the celebrity Twitter scornfest regarding Kendall Jenner’s now minorly infamous tweet about wishing “things could be easier sometimes”. Frances Bean Cobain chastised Jenner’s self-involvement during a time when “poverty, draught, disease” and worse continue to plague our world. And yet, I sympathize with Jenner’s plight.
A friend of mine once confessed during a depressive episode that although she feels sad about her personal struggles, she also battles guilt because there other people in the world have “bigger problems” than hers. What right does she have to feel bad about family, friendships, her own self-esteem, or her direction in life when there are millions of people living in war zones without sufficient access to clean drinking water? (more…)
You know what pisses me off? In light of my typical political ramblings, this week’s post is about a different tragedy. I’m declaring war on the rent-a-cops at my local courthouse.
I visit the courthouse twice a week for work, and over the past six months, the security personnel have gone from merely having us walk through an archaic metal detector to requiring us to remove our shoes. Requiring!
At first, flip flips and sneakers were fine. Then, sneakers were banned but flip flops were fine. Now, we’re forced to bare all as we trudge across a filthy, fifteen-foot carpet. Shoes are the enemy, and — apparently — so are we.
I live within an hour of the museums at our nation’s capital. Those museums house priceless treasures yet do not request shoe removal to enter. What does my courthouse house? Paperwork… hundreds of thousands of pieces of paperwork. That’s it.
What does shoe removal accomplish? I should not have to strip bare below the ankles to enter a courthouse. It’s arbitrary, barbaric, degrading, and unhygienic. The lawyers merely show their bar ID badges and whiz past the line, so why should the rest of us have to subject ourselves to spreading fungal foot infections? Smells like class warfare to me. If anyone knows a quick way to stink up a shoe — and I mean really stink up a shoe — please share.
To my dear boyfriend, please read with caution, though none of this will come as a surprise.
In follow up to this article I recently shared on here as well as on my personal Facebook page about vagina-bearers having unintentionally painful sex, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I know the pain the author talks about all too personally. Although my boyfriend and I have attempted intercourse several times in the past few months, it has never been pleasurable because I’m in too much pain for us to actually do anything. At best, we try to insert him into me, then lay motionless until I’m sufficiently numb from the stinging to naively think I can tolerate more. Thrusting hasn’t even been a possibility yet, just (barely) insertion and the occasional wriggle forward and back a couple of times. Who’d have thought that something with such a soft, pliable tip could feel so sharp, like a dagger piercing through my flesh? (more…)
Painful sex — when you’re not into pain — is a devastating reality about which far too few of us are talking. Ladies, we need to start speaking up to each other, our partners, and ourselves.
“It’s sure as hell not getting any better, is it? You’ve slept with four men now — three of them long-term boyfriends — and it’s hurt every time. Every single time. With condoms, without condoms, with lube, without lube. It doesn’t matter how turned on you are, how badly you want them, or how badly you want it to just please, for the love of God, work. It hurts every time. When he puts it in, when he thrusts, when he pulls it out, and for a half hour afterward. Sometimes it feels like your body just won’t let him in; the muscles that should be soft and giving, that shouldn’t feel like muscles, are tight and tense. You want to give him sex. You have no give. It’s like trying to dig change out of firm and tightly packed couch cushions, getting him in, and when you push him through the tension, you’d swear he’s tearing a hole in you.”
I don’t have any secrets, at least not my own. I prefer to live my life as an open book, with relatively few exceptions (looking at you, current employer). I do, however, consider myself a collector of the secrets of others, which is especially fun when I can partake in those secrets.
Most of my friends don’t know what I’m about to share with the world. Tonight’s juice is about the first time I had penetrative sex. It was during my college years with a trusted partner, and despite the college norm, my first time was actually anal sex, not vaginal. If you want to get technical, the more common name for what I transacted is pegging. (more…)