Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Live, Laugh, Fuck

I know it's a cliche, but I do think a sense of humor is the sexiest part of a person. Oh sure, I've had a lot of fun with people who aren't particularly funny, but making me laugh is the surest way to get my juices flowing. And, boy, did they flow last night. Reggie might be one of the funniest men I've ever met, and it's sexy as hell. It helps that he's good looking and a superb lover, but even if he was average looking and mediocre in the sack, I'd be just as eager to spend time with him.

We'd spent the evening at a small party with several of my friends playing music, watching silly videos, and just generally chatting and joking around. Watching as he effortlessly won over each of my friends with his intelligence (another sexy quality) and humor was a very effective aphrodisiac. By the time we got back to my place later that night, I wanted him so badly I could barely contain myself. I took him into my bedroom and turned on the TV for a little background noise. I spent several minutes trying to pick out the perfect movie to accompany our impending coitus and landed on a terrible horror movie about some kind of mutants . A few minutes into our makeout session, I stopped and decided we needed something different on the TV.

"Really?" He mocked, "this mutant thing isn't doing it for you?"

"No, I think we need something more upbeat and fun. How about some MST3K or...oh! How about this movie about a teenage zombie girl? That looks cute!"

"Wait a second, is this a cartoon?" Reggie asked as the movie began.

"Yup!" I replied with a giggle.

We went back to our kissing and groping, but something still wasn't right. "Nope. I can't fuck to this. Let me find something else." Okay, at this point I have to admit to you that I was remarkably stoned and a little bit drunk. That's really the only explanation I have for why I was fixated on the nature of our background noise when I was so eager to ravage this man (it also explains why I dumped an entire glass of water on the stairs as we made our way toward my bedroom). He poked fun at me and had me almost in tears (the good kind) when I finally exclaimed, "Aha! This is it! It's a French film [actually, it was Spanish] about these two girls in a hotel room that has a ton of lesbian sex in it. And it's in a foreign language [it wasn't], so we won't get distracted with dialogue."

"Are you sure this time?" He grinned as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and began stroking me through my jeans.

"Oh god, yes." I said, and tossed the remote aside, dramatically.

Our tongues found their way back into each other's mouths, and our hands resumed their aggressive groping. He pulled his shirt off as I unbuckled his belt and slid my hand down into his boxer briefs. I took his firm cock in my hand and began stroking it as he pulled his jeans off.

"You need to take these off," he said, tugging next at my jeans. I obediently unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down past my knees. He pulled them off the rest of the way while I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. I went back to stroking his cock as his fingers gently penetrated my pussy. "You are so wet," he said, slipping in a second finger. I could only moan in response. It felt so good I could barely think, let alone speak.

I almost came several times as he worked his fingers in and out of me. Finally, I grabbed his wrist and made him pause for a moment. "Hold on," I said. I grabbed a condom out of a drawer in my bedside table and set it on the bed next to us. "Here's this, for when it's time." I let go of his wrist and his hand began sliding in and out as I, once again, melted into a state of bliss.

It wasn't long before he grabbed the condom and ripped open the package. I took a moment to relax and compose myself as he put it on. I'd been so close to orgasm, I was certain I'd come the moment he slipped his cock inside of me. But he didn't. Not right away. He rubbed the length of his cock along my vulva and teased the opening of my pussy with the head. It took every bit of willpower I possessed not to grab him and shove him inside of me. When he finally did enter me, I let out a groan that was as much an expression of pleasure as it was of relief. He leaned over and kissed me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. We stayed in this position for several minutes, his pelvis stimulating my swollen clit as his cock glided in and out of my pussy. Next, he sat up and put my ankles on his shoulders. Having been working so hard to keep from coming, it was a relief to give my clit a break as his cock drove into me over and over again at this new angle. But he didn't give me a break for long. He leaned forward to kiss me, pushing my knees up near my shoulders. His pelvis once again made contact with my clit and his cock went so deep inside of me that I knew it wouldn't be long before I exploded. This last position was intensely pleasurable. I suspect he may have been hitting my g-spot at this point. My moaning grew louder and I could tell it was especially pleasurable for him, as well, because he whispered, "Oh fuck yes," and his thrusting intensified. He grunted and moaned with each thrust until finally he roared, and I knew he was coming. Seconds later, my moans turned to screams as I erupted in my own orgasm.

Knowing I would be extremely sensitive for a short time following my orgasm, he continued thrusting in and out of me. "Oh fuck, yes! Oh god!" I yelled. It was almost too much, but I didn't want him to stop. Finally, he began to slow his strokes as my sensitivity (and yelling) died down, until finally he stopped and pulled out.

"Wow, you got this blanket - and my balls - really wet. You're going to have to do some laundry." He joked.

"Well, it was your fault." I replied, in a mock pout.

"You were dripping wet before I even touched you." He contended.

"Yeah, I know." I smiled and bit my lower lip a little. "Just don't get a big head about it."

We laid naked on my bed for another ten or fifteen minutes. Giggling and joking and watching TV. We were laughing so hard I was certain we were keeping my roommate awake, but I didn't care. Eventually, he got up and dressed to leave. I walked him to the front door, still laughing and giggling, and gave him a long kiss goodnight. Then I returned to bed, turned off the movie, and drifted off to sleep with a big smile on my face.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Using Tinder to raise awareness - is it appropriate?

I'm having very strong feelings about this article, which describes a new ad campaign by an organization in Ireland to bring awareness to sex trafficking. The organization is creating fake Tinder profiles designed to look like those of sex trafficking victims. Each profile starts with a photo of an attractive woman, but with each swipe the photos get progressively more alarming, showing the girls with bruises, cuts, and other signs of abuse. The final two photos feature disturbing facts about the realities of sex trafficking, as well as a call to action. I can't tell from the article whether Tinder supports or knows about this campaign.

While I do appreciate an attempt to raise awareness of something as appalling as human trafficking, this seems like a gross misuse of the Tinder app. I think part of what's bothering me is that campaigns like this reduce the legitimacy of the app. Okay, Tinder is not sacred, but there are already so many fake profiles on dating apps/sites that it gets frustrating. Will campaigns like this lead to other misleading, but legit-looking posts/profiles/etc on other types of services? I would support an obvious ad campaign that uses Tinder's style to get the point across, but I think I have a problem with the bait and switch method.

Additionally, despite the organization's claim that feedback from Tinder users has been "great," I have a hard time believing this will be very effective. The main profile pictures of these girls are very attractive, and I imagine most guys will just swipe right without looking any further. I'm guessing the most the organization will get out of this is a lot of media coverage, which is still a win, I suppose. 

I don't know, there's just something I don't like about this, but then I feel bad for not liking it because it's a very worthy cause. What are your thoughts?

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Misty's Rules of Dating

I date a lot. I've made a lot of mistakes and learned a lot of lessons. I've compiled this list of tips and rules to save you from turning your lovelife into one big blooper reel. This list is updated frequently, so be sure to check back often.

1. Always have an out for a first date.
Avoid that awkward moment when your date wants to order another drink but you just want to get the hell out of there by letting them know ahead of time that you have a "hard out." I like to set up a first meeting with a two hour window. This gives you time to get to know each other a bit and see if there's a connection, but not so much time that you'll be pulling your hair out with boredom if things aren't going well.

2. Don't give a first date your prime social hours.
Let's be honest, unless you are incredibly lucky or way better at this than I am, most of your dates won't lead to anything. Don't give away your prime dating and socializing hours to someone you're not sure deserves them yet. We only have so much time to have fun outside of our responsibilities, so it's not overly self-important to treat your spare time like a precious commodity. And if it doesn't go well your date will also benefit from your smart planning. For most of us, the peak hours for social activities are Friday and Saturday nights, so arrange your meetings for early evening on weeknights ("Let's take advantage of those happy hour prices!") or during the day on the weekends (Brunch, perhaps?).

Saturday, August 2, 2014

This is the story of me: The Moody Floozy

I love sex. I have since the very first time I experienced it.  Maybe even before that. For most of my life I struggled to maintain a balance between my strong sexual desire and societal backlash against "loose" women. In my late twenties I stumbled into the sex-positive community. Finally, I was free to flaunt my sexuality, and celebrated rather than shamed for my desires. I had found my home.

For several years I enjoyed an active sex life with many partners and wrote about it in a sex blog that gained a large following.  Each week I'd post intimate details of my exploits for thousands of strangers all over the world to fantasize about, usually accompanied by a naughty photo taken by one of my lovers. But eventually the posts started to slow down. I was lucky to post once a month, and many of those were responses to other people's sex lives (answers to reader questions, commentary on articles, etc.) rather than accounts of my own, because my own was non-existent. I no longer desired sex. When I did have sex, it was mostly for maintenance of my relationships. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy it, I just didn't care about it. I stopped reading erotica and watching pornography. I stayed away from parties that I knew would have a strong sexual element. I just wasn't comfortable around sex anymore, and I had no idea why. Furthermore, my friends knew me as a proud, sexually charged exhibitionist and expected things out of me that I could no longer deliver. Any time I was in a social situation that had any kind of sexual energy I felt as if I was pretending to be someone else. Well, not really someone else. Still me, but the Old Me.

I missed her, the Old Me. I missed the attention she enjoyed. I missed the pleasure she experienced. I missed the confidence she flaunted. I wanted to be her again, but feared that time in my life had passed. For several years I struggled with my identity and my direction in life. I'd wrapped my entire personality up in my sexuality and was on the path to becoming a real sex writer. Who was I now, and what was I going to write about? And why had something that felt so right and come so easily suddenly become so foreign?

I spent the next several years trying to create a New Me that felt as good as the Old Me. I started a business. I took dance lessons and began performing. I got a dog. I even wrote, occasionally. None of my writing was very interesting or inspired, but at least I was doing it. My life was very...comfortable. But I didn't want comfort. I wanted passion. I wanted excitement. I wanted my writing to have that special spark that it used to have. I wanted to get that electric charge I got when I was describing the taste of a lover's vagina or the feeling of a hard cock ramming into my eager, wet pussy. But it just wasn't there anymore.

Finally, at the age of 36, I started seeing a counselor. It wasn't long before she identified the deep state of depression I was in. It was so obvious to her that I was surprised I hadn't seen it myself.  The social isolation, the low energy, the monotone voice, the lack of interest in anything at all - these were all symptoms of depression. Not sadness, but real depression. The disease that sucks any and all motivation out of you. The condition where you walk around in a thick fog and don't care whether you live or die. And, most definitely, the disorder that destroys any drop of sexuality you have in you. As we discussed the possibility of medication I began to feel a glimmer of hope that my spark was not gone forever.

Even though I was hopeful that I would soon be feeling better, I did not fool myself into thinking that medication would turn me back into the sexually charged vixen I was before. It may lift the fog so that I could start enjoying my life again, but I'd heard countless accounts of the havoc anti-depressants can wreak on a person's sex drive, and I didn't want to expect too much and be disappointed. When, at the recommendation of my counselor, I visited my doctor to discuss a prescription for anti-depressants, I timidly mentioned my concerns about the medication's effect on my sex drive or ability to orgasm. I wasn't having much sex at the time, and the sex I did have was only mildly pleasurable, but I didn't want to risk it getting worse. She was very understanding (I adore my doctor) and knew exactly what to prescribe. It turns out that there are some anti-depressants that don't affect your sex drive as much as others. One, in particular - Wellbutrin - has even been shown to increase sex drive and sexual enjoyment. BINGO! This was the one. I was so excited I could barely wait to get out of there and over to the drug store to get my prescription filled.

Most anti-depressants take several weeks to take effect. Wellbutrin, however, has some benefits almost immediately. Within the first week of taking the medication I was already feeling more energized. The fog had started to lift. And, best of all, my sex drive was coming back. Oh boy, was it coming back.  For the first time in years, I had hope that the Old Me was still in there somewhere, and this medication might be the key to unlocking her.

And that's what this blog is about: My journey to rescue my sex drive from the suffocating grip of my depression.  There will be good days and bad days. There will be great sex and mediocre sex. There will be reflection and titillation. I'm very excited to share this experience with all of you, and I hope that my posts will both excite you and give you someone inspiration if you are experiencing similar trials and tribulations.

Look out, world, because this (moody) slut is back in action!

Monday, June 23, 2014

Back In The Saddle

Hello internet, it's nice to see you again! I've been in hiding for a while, and I'm glad you found me again. If you're looking for all of those old dirty stories and naughty photos, I'm afraid those are gone. It's time for a fresh start with a whole new blog, all new dirty stories, and all new naughty photos. Stay tuned, babydolls. I've been up to no good, and you're going to love reading about it!

Misty Kaye

p.s. Here's a little something to whet your whistles...