And now for something completely different.

Another fellow sybarite.

Again, I always enjoy it when someone else cites Urban Roguery on their page. Thanks, Clem. Welcome to the world of sex blogging.

You've got mail.

Clem writes to ask:

I was directed to your site from yet another sex blogger's, Anal-Amy. I really liked your story that you posted on 23 March.

I had somewhat of a similar encounter with a young woman from Craig's List last summer. It deals with a young girl and an older man, uh, yea, me. It's a bit odd, but the sex was great. Wonder if you'd like to read it, or then, if I should 'blog' it too.
I'm a bit hesitant, as it seems all so tawdry, and frankly, a bit self-centered, but that's what blogging is about, right?
Anyway, I like Amy's blog as it deals a lot with anal sex, and my story from last summer deals with it too, as does yours. Got time for a reply? Your thoughts?

Clem


I love tawdry. You love tawdry. Everyone here is here for tawdry, friend. No shame in that.

I do think that delivery counts for a lot though, and that could make the difference between whether someone's blog reads as self-centred or simply sharing one's truth. Would one be writing to share one's fun and pleasure with others, or with humour, or as a poem, or with gigs of porno, or make it the electronic equivalent of scrawls on a men's room wall? I suspect that if the writer is being self-centred, that's what would probably result showing through the blog.

Me, I try to write from a place of fun, sensuality, and sharing for the sake of it. I want readers, and especially women readers, to have as much fun as I am. Sometimes I write from my Top headspace. Sometimes I write raw and explicitly. But I always try to demonstrate the respect and genuine affection I feel for my partners, and even if I'm just commenting on the sexy ass of some woman I see during my day, I want to write from a place of real appreciation rather than leering objectivication. Unless the leering is part of the fun.

But that's me, no better no worse than anyone else. If and when you write, let it be from the place in yourself where you're having fun. There will be people who will want to read it.

I think sexblogging can be an empowering experience. We live in a culture where our sexuality is heavily governed by billions of media messages that command us to act and think and stylize and live in certain ways. Both men and women are constantly feeling judged and underappreciated for who and what they are, what they get off on, what they fantasize about, what they really want in their lives when they stop looking at billboards and reading magazines.

I think sexblogs are awesome because people can be themselves. For women (I imagine), this can be liberating because women's sexual voices have been repressed and controlled for so very long. Thanks to visionaries like Nancy Friday, Erica Jong, Susie Bright, Xaviera Hollander, Camille Paglia, and many others, that's been changing. (And I think women are fucking hotter for it.) For men, I think this can be liberating because it affords us an opportunity to be sexual outside and away from the media images we're forced to accept as solely legitimate for what we're supposed to like, if we choose to.

And I believe any opportunity we have to use media to be ourselves, rather than some corporation's reconstituted image of what it means to be ourselves, is deliciously subversive and healthy.

So, dude, write. Tell us about your first time and how goddamn scared you were. Tell us about the time you saw stars when you came inside her amazing pussy. Tell us about the time your spouse blew you in your car when you were dating. Celebrate your sexuality because you can, because you have a right to, and because the rest of us sluts want to get off for chrissakes. Help us out!

As for your young girl experience from Craigslist, hey, I can tell you that Shayne loves the Daddy scenario, and I'm sure we'd love to learn all about it, you bad boy, you.

And I really enjoy Anal Amy's writings as well. Such a deliciously naughty tart, no?

More partners in crime.

It's always a treat when someone else shows they enjoy what you're sharing by adding you to their blogroll. Thank you both,
Sexual Adventurer and Dude.

Scandalously fucktastic.

Shayne: I like the way you described Stacy's asshole in the blog. I'm looking forward to feeling myself wink at your touch too.
Me: Glad you enjoyed... but to be honest... its your gorgeous ass Im dying for. In your bed. In my tent. Bent over the back railing of your place. On the grass.
Shayne: Against a tree. In an alley. Bent over your kitchen table. In my shower.
Me: I want a scandalously fucktastic summer with you, wench. You understand? By autumn you'll be crying for mercy.
Shayne: You promise?
Me: I do. Your ass is mine.
Shayne: O! Good! Good tingles just thinking on it...
Me: Shuttup and suck it. *tug* ;)
Shayne: Yum!

To know in the woods.

Shayne: I obviously can't help myself. I'm reading urban rogue blog. Wishing i'd known you in the woods by now. And... as alix would say, wanna fuck?
Me: Then lets make a camping trip this summer a Must-Do, no? Yes: I wanna fuck. You.
Shayne: Yes. Me. You. Woods. Beltane? You can teach me about godly sensuality?
Me: Why, yes, young nymph, I most certainly can. Why dont we stroll to the bed of oakmoss beside the river...
Shayne: Bare foot? Naked? Dappled sunlight...mm...
Me: Petals behind your ear, its honey nectar on your neck. Small bells around your ankles. Grass stems on your back. Your soles brown with living earth.
Shayne: Heavenly. Purely good.
Me: Twigs in my hair. Sun-kissed shoulders. Dew in my beard. Sweet sweat on my arms and chest. My penis thick as a trunk, smooth as moss, salty like sea spray.
Shayne: I love it
Me: I want you.
Shayne: And I you.


Shayne and I have been having complications in our plans to see one another lately. It's become a mission in my life to amend this as soon as I can.

We continue to define our relationship, and I value the communication even if sometimes it means understanding things that I'm less than eager to understand. But, in the big picture, we're both appreciating how important we are to one another.

Besides, I'm dying to fuck this woman in the woods. I need to hear branches creak as her cries resound in the dark, on the earth, fire smoke in our hair and twigs knawing at us from between our toes. I need to smell her flesh, her sweat, her sex as I drive deeply into her while my knees get scratched from wayward pebbles.

Her dirty little secret. My weird little adventure.

Sometimes Aphrodite's gifts can be pretty interesting.

Last autumn, completely on a lark, I posted on Craigslist. I wrote seeking to exchange body massage and possible oral with a laid-back partner whose schedule was as crazy as my own. I wasn't really expecting a response. A long while later, I got a response from Stacy. We arranged to meet over coffee.

We never got to the coffee.

Stacy came to my place to see me three times during this past winter, and I quickly figured out that things were going to be a little weird. We would only meet when she contacted me first, and that could be on the spur of the moment. She didn't tell me her last name, or even her age, until our last meeting. She was very hush-hush about most of her life and world. Generally, I was encouraged to not call her, but textmessages and emails were fine. By our second meeting, I figured out that I was supposed to be her Dirty Little Secret. She agreed.

As it turned out, Stacy was a grad student with a very troubling life. She was living with the after-effects of beating a major illness. She lived with terribly ill parents, had a workday full of crisis and strain, and grad school. Stacy responded to my ad because she sought straightforward, no-strings-attached escape. She wanted to fuck, pure and simple.

At age 29, she was almost totally sexually inexperienced. She had never had an orgasm. I know she came close at least once when we were together, however. I would have enjoyed ushering her through that completely.

During our first time, she showed almost no interest in kissing. She enjoyed my oral, and I enjoyed the sweetness of her completely bare pussy. She eagerly sucked my cock, but her technique was mechanical and dispassionate with one very bizarre exception.

Apparently Stacy really wanted to learn how to deepthroat dick. However, her way of accustoming to the technique was by forcing herself to take as much as she could, reach the point of gagging, push a little further... and then suddenly leap off me and speed herself to a sink where she would spit and probably puke. And then she would come back for more. Over and over again.

Now, maybe with thanks to pornstars like Anastasia Blue and sites like Throat Gaggers, "forced blowjobs" seem to be a thing. (Shayne recently told me about an encounter she had with Don, a Top who did the whole fingers-in-mouth, gag-on-my-dick thing with her, and apparently she found it really hot.) Me, I appreciate how that kind of rough cocksucking fun could have a place in d/s play, but as far as being blown is concerned, the act of having one's cock sucked, the sensation isn't anything particularly special.

Give me wet, wanton slurping. Give me intense suction. Give me your moans and groans. Tell me how much you're liking it. Grasp my shaft and stroke me while you suck. Hold and caress my shaven, full balls. Caress my legs. Let me tap my cockhead on your face, making your face glow with your spit.

But have me actually try to gag you? Hrm. I'll experiment with Shayne (hear that, baby?) sometime. All in the interests of science, of course.

But when Stacy repeatedly forced herself and ran off to puke, it kept me from enjoying her sucking enough to cum. I just don't respond well to start-and-stop nonsense. Then she'd get frustrated because I hadn't filled her mouth with my load. I'd be frustrated too. This is all a big real shame, because she otherwise really enjoyed sucking my cock, and I love it when a woman really enjoys sucking my cock.

I gave Stacy her first anal fuck during our second time together. To my amazement, she took me in with much less preparation than I'm usually expecting to give an anal virgin, and she was both confused and thrilled that she liked it so much. Her ass was exquisite. She was full, very round, and while she was a little (and charmingly) self-conscious with how big it was, she was shaped in such a way that it was a beauty to behold. A real booty. Her anus was delightful to see: crinkled and pale, readily winking at the slightest touch. I'd really been looking forward to fucking her lovely ass again.

She opened up that she had rape and bondage fantasies. We touched on this during our last time together, with me hoisting her wrists far above her head in my grip as she stood against the wall, her toes barely on the floor.

"I've been watching you," I whispered huskily into her ear. "I see your comings and goings. And I know what you're really about. Everyone else thinks you're this prim and proper woman, this sweet grad student, the perfect daughter... but you and I know the truth about you... that you're really a dirty, whorish little slut who craves sucking thick cock and getting fucked in your tender little asshole. Isn't that right, you little skank?"

She would swoon and nod her head.

"I'm going to fuck you. There's nothing you can do about it. Do you fucking understand?"

She got very wet.

"You have only one decision to make, slut. Am I going to take you hard and rough, force you and leave you bruised and battered? Or are you going to be a good little cocksucker and yield to me? Either way, your fate is sealed: I will fuck you, no two ways about it. Or would you rather accept your fate and start sucking my dick like a good little whore?"

She dropped to her weak knees then and started sucking. But, again, something intangible was amiss.

I'd like to say that sex with Stacy was the hottest thing ever. It had all the hallmarks of a man's fantasy: a young, very attractive, very inexperienced but eager woman with a fantastic body seeking no-nonsense NSA sex. But the truth is: it was an effort, and sometimes my gentlemanly skills had to be called into play. Stacy approached sex like she had something to prove and had to do it this instant.

Maybe it would have been better if I were an uncaring, inconsiderate prick and just fucked her senseless without regard for her. Great fantasy and d/s play maybe, but you know, so sorry, just not my style.

I did everything I could to escort her through a rewarding experience, but somehow I just couldn't overcome the fact that her inexperience and lack of sensuality kept me from my orgasm. Part of the challenge was how our arrangement was so skewed, with me almost being expected to drop my world to be available for her, or how she always seemed to be in a huge hurry to fuck and leave. Positions happened staccato, rather than fluidly and with shared pleasure.

Sometimes sex with Stacy felt like what I'd imagine sex with a hooker would be like, dependent on my pleasure but also hurried and without sensuality, except that it was free.

In the end, the fact I hadn't had an orgasm with her distressed her so much that she would email me to cancel our occasional get-togethers. To her, that I hadn't cum indicated that something was wrong with her. In her mind, a man should be able to get it up and get it off in no time, no muss, no fuss.

Maybe when I was 18 that could happen, but that wasn't because I was more of a stud then than I might be one now. It's because I didn't know better, because I was less sophisticated about my sexuality, my cockwants, women's bodies.

While she definitely had some issues, I also think I could have nurtured her more, and certainly could have shown her more about what it takes for get a man to cum. (Like, stop hurrying. Like, have some fun yourself, dammit.) It's unfortunate because I had begun to plan something more no-holds-barred for her, but hey.

Sometimes I associate certain drinks with specific lovers. Shayne is dirty martinis and Wiser's whiskey. The Grrl was Frangelico. Diva was Bailey's. Stacy introduced me to frozen Limoncello, which I would later discover was even better with a fresh raspberry. It seems fitting to me that as I write this entry, I've taken the bottle of Lemoncello from my freezer and nursed it. I had saved it mostly for Stacy's visits, but now it's appropriate that as I conclude this, it, this post, and my fucking Stacy, is finished.