Having my cake...

I love the slow tease when my face is pressed against her taut stomach, my hands slowly caressing her arms. I rain soft and tender kisses to her there, and can feel my cock harden in my jeans when I press my jaw against her own denim-covered nexus.

As I snap the button, my head of my cock is straining against the denim I'm wearing, and the rough material makes my glans widen as I anticipate the scent of her.

The zipper gets lowered and I'm gently tugging her jeans down from the waist, while my eyes are greedily taking in the sight of her soft panties. I'm squirming under her. She raises her knees. One by one, her legs emerge from the jeans, and when one is raised enough to remove the pants entirely, I sneak a glance at the small stain of wetness on her covered crotch.

I want to bury my face there, and do. I'm drinking her in, flicking my tongue against her and over ther underwear, soaking her panties more. My hands are massaging her thighs, caressing her, biting her, enjoying her muscles and her skin and the cute ripple that comes from a gentle smack.

Slowly, teasing myself, I tug the hem of her panties lower. Her navel entrances me. The first sight of a wisp of fur captures me. My cock is made of steel and my tongue is wet velvet. I close my eyes, move even closer, and fill my lungs with her clean, feral allure.

I roll the cotton downward until they seem little more than a string connecting one outer thigh to another. I kneel up and peel them away, smiling as each of her legs, each of her feet, escape its confines. I lay back down, and she rests an ankle on my back.

I look into her eyes. I don't close them again until her moist, tender warmth has met the width of my curious, insatiable tongue and her essences seethe across my mouth, lips, and into my throat.

If you didn't know already, tomorrow is Cake and Cunnilingus Day. Enjoy.

The hazard.

The scene: In my car as I'm cruising toward Kara's house.

Radio host #1: "...and Tiger's gotta know that everywhere he goes, everyone he's with, everything he says is being watched now. He may as well live like a cloistered monk. He can't even be seen asking a hotel cleaning maid for a box of Kleenex without..."

Radio host #2: "Saying a 'box of Kleenex' is an innuendo for something?"

Radio host#1: "No, I mean, he can't ask for a real box of Kleenex without someone with a camera phone jumping out of..."

Radio host #2: "You know, he said that he had 'hit bottom.' Right. I bet he hit a lot of bottoms."

Radio host #1: "Well, I was gonna say 'a camera phone lurking behind every bush,' but I reconsidered that one too!"

Who's your Daddy?

The scene: Three Desi
construction workers during a lunch break.

Worker #1: "So, I picked up this girl, she just come in from India..."

Worker #2: "She's horny then, right?"

Worker #1: "...and so I'm banging her doggystyle, right? (Makes fucking motions) I'm banging her hard and holding her hair back..."

Worker #2: (laughing)

Worker #1: "... and I'm like, 'Yeah! Yeah! Who's your Daddy? Huh? Who's your Daddy, bitch?..."

Worker #3: Uh huh yeah!

Worker #1: "...and then she looks up and says, 'What?! Who's my Daddy? Why you sayin' that? You've met my Daddy!'..."

Workers #2 and #3: (laughing louder)

Worker #1: "...'Why you askin' me who's my Daddy??'..."

A shameless plug: kinksters helping kinksters.

I don't normally do this sort of thing, but Ali is a comrade.

Ali and her tribe operate Edges, a volunteer-run, pansexual playspace in the South Bay area of San Francisco. Part playdungeon, part (sub)cultural centre, Edges offers safe and legal ground for kinksters of all orientations and interests a place for fun, education, support, networking, and exploration. In my experience, such spaces are few in number, and fewer still are those who genuinely work toward the overall greater good and wellbeing of the fetish community.

Currently, the club is experiencing some challenges with their municipality that require them to undertake some expensive planning studies. Being a volunteer-run, grassroots effort, the fees entailed are a stretch for them.

They deserve a little help.

Reaching out to like-minded folk everywhere, the club is actually offering an online bake sale and magazine rack for your edible and readable needs. Like chocolate chip cookies? Already planning to renew your subscription to Sports Illustrated or Vogue anyway? Why not go through their online fundraising site and help out your brother and sisters while you're at it.

And if you're in the Bay area, let me encourage you to drop by the club on April 3 for their upcoming fundraiser.

Besides, Ali is dropdead yummy. Suddenly I have this craving for cookies.

It'll take your breath away.

In a recent Ontario court ruling that should be of interest to kinksters everywhere, the province has decided that providing sexual consent in advance, that is, prior to the actual fucking, constitutes valid consent overall.

This may seem like a no-brainer, but consider the appeal which led to this conclusion:

In 2008, a submissive Ontario female kinkster (only identified as "J.A.") was in the fifth year of her common-law, kinky relationship with her dominant male partner (whose identity remains protected under court order). Part of their kink included breath play, and it would seem that their consensual agreement included such play to the point of J.A.'s losing consciousness while her partner continued to do his thing.

For most people, a scenario like this is pretty heavy-duty, even by bdsm standards. The larger majority of kinksters would never normally consent to such a level a submission where consciousness becomes compromised, much the same way that it's taboo to leave a partner placed in bondage alone in a room. Such practices, while potentially hot for many people, are clearly dangerous (and, in the case of breath play, potentially life-threatening).

Evidently, J.A. was also a newbie to anal sex, and it would seem that while she and her "partner" had discussed exploring ass fucking, evidence presented in court would suggest that J.A. hadn't exactly completely opened up to the idea.

This is because she accused her "partner" of sexual assault when she awoke after a session of (consensual?) breath play, and instantly uttered her safeword, "Tweety Bird," when she realized that her "partner" had completed the backdoor act while she was out of consciousness. J.A. wasn't ready, she argued, and her "partner" should have known and accepted this. One wonders if she was in the process of invoking her safeword before her consciousness was actually lost. Her "partner" was convicted of sexual assault.

But the Ontario Court of Appeal has since overturned the conviction of her (former, one might hope) "partner" in a 2-1 decision, with Justice Janet Simmons arguing that in situations "where a person consents in advance to sexual activity expected to occur while unconscious or asleep is entirely consistent with the principles of human dignity and autonomy... and (if such a person) does not change their mind, (fails to demonstrate) how the Crown can prove lack of consent."

Dissenting, Justice Harry LaForme had argued that acquiring sexual consent under such circumstances would be impossible, and would be "negated when she was choked into unconsciousness."

But both Justice Simmons and Justice Russell Juriansz drew comparisons between the couple's kink-related consent agreement and arguably similar agreements normally and regularly made between medical patients and physicians, where consent-in-advance (such as prior to surgery) is standard practice.

Such are the decisions made in a world where argued precedence sometimes trumps common sense.

This decision is extremely relevant for kinksters, and most especially for submissives and bottoms who know how to think, because it behooves us to be vigilant about whom we trust with our sexplay. One might have expected that J.A.'s "partner" would have respected J.A.'s limits, but tragically in her case, her willingness to explore erotic asphyxiation to the point of lost awareness also resulted in nonconsensual anal sex.

And could possibly have been worse.

No, really.

No, really, I'm still alive. No, really, I intend to write more soon. No, really, I've just been that crazed.

A new puter remains on my agenda, but until then I squeeze what online time I can between stops at Kara's place or at one of the assorted net cafes in this city. So much to add, so much to share, but right now I'm about to strip nekkid and join my sexy schoolteacher slutmuffin in bed. Yes, at this moment, I'd rather do that than write. You understand. So there.

Meanwhile, here's some sensual work by Seattle artist Aaron Coberly.

Losing my head.

Hey.

I'm coming up for air long enough to say that life's just been getting in the way of being in better touch. Between my excellent iMac buying it some time ago, plus a pretty intense work schedule, it's been a challenge lately to sit down with you and share the wealth.

For the moment, suffice to say that things remain awesome. Kara and me recently enjoyed a trip to St. Jacob's, Ontario, where we discovered the incredible, sensual treats of Olivier Soaps and thoroughly enjoyed some doggystyle luvins in a perfectly charming skeevy motel. That is, after we had a hot bath together and were virtually kowtowing to the microwave as it warmed up our chocolate brownies.

We continue to attend playparties, and very soon now, I'll be sharing the story of her birthday spankings at a recent event. Things between us remain really good, and we've begun planning a cruise sometime in the future. Yeah, baby.

You'll hear more from me very soon. Until then, send good vibes as I continue to try to keep my head between my shoulders.