This November, for the third year in a row, I will be attending Kansas City, MO’s Fall Roll Fest.
Except this time will be different.
I’m not going with Loserman. He’s completely out of the picture.
This November, for the third year in a row, I will be attending Kansas City, MO’s Fall Roll Fest.
Except this time will be different.
I’m not going with Loserman. He’s completely out of the picture.
I can’t wait to feel your skin… Your body and flesh in my hands… Trembling at my touch…
The way your moan feels on my neck, in my ear… Like a caress of breath because you are so close to me…
I can’t stop thinking about last Saturday night, how you put me to bed so sweetly with your words… Like you were here with me…
The silence between us, quietly holding us together…
I can’t wait to sink my body into yours and feel your heartbeat…
Feel your energy, your emotion, your passion, your heat coursing through me…
It was a good thing that I’d memorized the (very simple) way to get from the airport to our hotel. Because, even though I handed the post-it note with the directions to TC and asked him to navigate, he obviously had other intentions.
He caressed my fingers and I squirmed. He caressed the back of my neck and I squirmed. I wanted so badly to just close my eyes and enjoy his hands on me; I had to fight the urge not to melt (or squirm harder 😉 ). It was totally unfair that he was doing any of this to me while I was attempting to drive and navigate! (Little did I know how much more unfair the weekend would get as it progressed.)
It’s nothing short of a miracle that we found the hotel, let alone made it there alive.
It’s so simple
I want someone to hold my hand
To support me when I need it most
To fix the water heater when it’s broken down
To kiss me before bed
To kiss me when I wake
To cuddle up to after a bad dream
To make love to me in the front seat of my car
Or the shower, or the movie theater, or in my bed
I want someone who enjoys the same things as me
Someone who knows what I mean when I can’t make the words come out right
When I got married, I was too young to know any of these things
How I wanted my relationship to be
How I needed my husband to be
What intimacy was
Now that I know
I am lost in discovery…
Men — this is going to be a post about something ‘girlie’. Consider that your warning and stop here if you don’t want to be too grossed out — but maybe you should read to the end anyway, because I kind of have a question…
Last week I mentioned that there was a “bad part” to our date night last Tuesday. It’s feels silly to me, but I want to talk about it because I totally didn’t know how to react and I definitely reacted badly (I think I am more ready now for when it happens again).
I am going to be 42 next week (the perfect age: the meaning of life) and my mother keeps telling me that I am going to “get menopause” any time now. I think it’s adorable (not!) how she talks about it like it’s a horrible disease or something.
Apparently “early menopause” it runs in the family and she just wants to make sure that I am keeping with the trend (my mother and I aren’t close AT ALL so this would be the VERY LAST thing on the planet that I want to talk to her about — I just read that women don’t even talk about this with their doctors!). Anyway…
Loverman woke up next to me in the middle of the night last Tuesday and tried, very amorously, to wake me up as well. It took me a few minutes to realize what was happening and sadly, Vanilla was fast asleep and didn’t want to have anything to do with Coconut. *I* sure did, but Vanilla was totally dessicated and she wasn’t about to let anything (or anyone) change that! I started to get physically uncomfortable after about 10 minutes and after about 10 more I started getting very upset with myself. Eventually, I had to ask Loverman to stop. It was sad (I was sad)…
I got so upset with myself, in fact, that I started crying and (felt like I) needed to leave the bed. Loverman didn’t take it personally and was beckoning to me to get back into bed with him so at least we could cuddle. At the time, I wanted no such thing.
For about 15 minutes I just sat in the chair across the room from the bed, sulking like a baby. Thoughts were spinning around in my head and I didn’t know which ones to listen to. I had just been woken up to something glorious and sexy, but my traitorous body had rejected it. I was so angry at Vanilla that all I could do was fight back the tears of failure.
I was completely upset with my hormones (or lack of). I felt betrayed by my own body!
I was thinking about how much of a let down I was (both to myself and to Loverman), knowing the entire time, that I wasn’t letting anyone down, it is just my body changing.
I was frustrated as hell that I wasn’t able to perform sexually for/with my partner and he was really into me that night.
But, it didn’t take long before I wanted to get back into the warm bed with Loverman and feel his strong, forgiving arms around me. I can’t believe how emotional I get about such uncontrollable things. I curled up next to him, with tears in my eyes. He had fallen back to sleep (see?!?!? It didn’t bother him at all! He didn’t take it personally…) and woke briefly when I crawled back into bed. “It’s okay, Mamacita. We can try again in the morning,” and he curled up behind me, drawing both his arms around me and he held me tightly in his arms as we both drifted back off to slumberland.
Is this how men feel when they can’t get it up?
This lovely article was posted back in October of 2011, but I found it a few months ago and stowed it away for future reading and reflection (and I really love the Wizard of Oz connection at the end).
It’s great to be a man in our society, the perks seem to be endless. Everything is built with the intention of accommodating our needs. It’s fantastic, really. We men are constantly validated.
And the bedroom is one place where we receive consistent validation. I’m talking about women faking orgasms and giving us the sense that we’re the greatest lovers that have ever lived.
What a terrific arrangement for men. We get all the sexual pleasure and the feeling that we have satisfied the woman we’re sleeping with, without actually having done so.
A woman faking an orgasm is now sort of, just part of the deal, isn’t it? You just do it; it’s almost like something that’s passed down from generation to generation, like makeup tips or a recipe. It’s a gift women give to men, because it’ll just keep him satisfied and calm.
I couldn’t disagree more.
I think it’s a major offense to women and their sexual selves. And it shouldn’t be casual water cooler conversation nor should it be reserved for women’s magazines like Cosmopolitan.
The fake orgasm should be examined as a systemic problem in our society.
A Temple University study, featured in the CBS News column, “Study: Most Women Fake Orgasms—But Why?” shows around 60 percent of women have faked an orgasm.
This all comes down to conditioning. From a very early age, women taught to satisfy the fiery male ego. The fake orgasm is just another moment in which a woman sacrifices for a man without receiving anything in return and worse, it leaves them feeling sexually unfulfilled.
Today, when we see the female orgasm covered in the main stream, it’s dealt with in a comedic way. We see Meg Ryan’s character in When Harry Met Sally screaming at the top of her lungs (in a diner) or we see an Herbal Essences commercial with a woman having a massive orgasm over fabulous shampoo. We find the sound of a woman faking an orgasm to be funny.
It’s not. It’s the sound of an unsatisfied woman working to satisfy the already exploding male ego.
We don’t talk publicly about the orgasm gap in the mainstream—but that doesn’t surprise me. Our male-dominated society would never want to expose that women are faking orgasms, that men really aren’t satisfying women in droves.
However, the numbers reveal something more clarifying. According to the ABC News article, “Female Orgasm May Be Tied to ‘Rule of Thumb,’” 15 percent of surveyed women have NEVER had an orgasm (I wonder if its much higher in reality). And the same surveys show that 75 percent of women don’t reach orgasm during intercourse—that’s right, gentleman.
So why do women fake it?
Two major reasons stick out as I spoke with many women over the past two months: feeding the male ego and time.
“It just makes him happy, it feels more complete,” said one friend.
“But does it leaving YOU feeling complete?” I asked.
“No, it leaves me feeling like I am just a tool for his orgasm.”
That comment reminded me of what my friend D’Andra’s grandmother used to tell her, “Sex is for men, sex is for their benefit.”
Imagine growing up with that ideology…
Many women fake their orgasms as a means to end an un-pleasurable sexual process.
“I don’t have time. I can’t sit here while he plows away like a jack rabbit, it’s not fun for me when it’s like that.”
A woman writer I know mentioned that a man should never ask a woman if she fakes it.
I disagree. The male ego has been coddled for way too long. Enough is enough. We have to blow the cover off the secret world women are living and in this case, it’s a world where we get everything we want and they usually get nothing. And we teach women that it’s just the way things are and always have been.
This is how I see it: the fake orgasm is not compartmentalized from the rest of what women have to do. It sits at the core of a larger dismissal of a woman’s needs and desires, extrapolating across all parts of their lives, work, life, home. Women are not simply a tool for our sexual pleasure, they are ultimately a tool for making every part of our lives easier.
Many of the women I’ve talked with see faking an orgasm as a little gift, a favor for the man they’re with. That makes no sense to me. Faking an orgasm is not like making him a snack after he comes home from work or remembering what kind of beer he likes to drink.
It’s not that having an orgasm is critical during every sexual juncture; it’s that faking it takes women away from themselves. Faking it with any regularity generally leads to a path of a lifetime of sexual dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction in general.
But too many women treat sex as an activity left in the bedroom—they see it as an isolated activity. I disagree. Sex is important and if the man displays a lack of care in the bedroom, is he thoughtful in other areas of a woman’s life?
As I’ve noted in previous columns, we condition men to maintain women, to keep them satisfied on a periodic basis. We don’t condition them to think about their day-to-day needs—the same basic needs women think about with regard to the men in their life.
Most women have yet to discover their true sexual power—not power over others—but the power they can feel within themselves. So when men maintain women by doing a little here and there in the bedroom, and women fake it, it just leads to a diminishing of female power.
What I find to be remarkable is the lengths to which this culture will go to ensure men are sexually satisfied. We spend billions of dollars to produce drugs, like Viagra and Cialis, for erectile dysfunction, providing seventy-year-old men with the possibility of a thirty-six hour erection. But discussion about the millions of women who don’t have orgasms or are sexually dissatisfied is shoved into the fringes.
Most of the women I spoke to saw porn, and the men who watch it regularly, as a root cause for this need to fake orgasms. For the record, I don’t fundamentally see a problem with porn. Rather, my issue is with the kind of porn that is defined as mainstream and is made specifically for men. An entire generation of porn watching men (thanks to the internet), now have this idea that women climax by instantly screaming at the top of their lungs as soon as they see a penis…give me a break.
My friend Nina Hartley, feminist, registered nurse, and porn icon, has a take on porn that may come as unexpected, given her vocation, “Well, if any person is watching porn to get an idea of how actual people have sex, then they need their heads examined. Porn is FANTASY, like a live-action cartoon, and shouldn’t be taken seriously as sex ed.”
But there seems to be a bigger issue here: how our society sees women and their needs.
“Women are so complicated,” one of my guy friends said, when I asked him about women’s sexual needs.
No, actually they’re not. While certain women may need more concentration, effort, or focus to reach orgasm, I don’t think that makes them complicated.
We persist in this illusion that women are sexually and emotional complicated so we don’t have to show them the care and affection they need. We can put it on them. It’s really easy to say, “Oh, she’s so complicated,” as if a woman is a labyrinth that only three men in the world can solve.
As a result, we can justify why we don’t or can’t give her what she needs, because it’s just too hard to figure her out.
There’s a pretty simple formula here: women want what we men want.
Don’t be a jerk. Ask her what she wants, and when she tells you, see it as a fantastic opportunity to please her. Don’t think it’s a personal assault on your manhood. Basically, do what she does for you.
For most men, sex is carnal; it’s about the raw pleasure. But for too many women, sex is often a cerebral process. One in which they have to think and plan when to fake an orgasm, when to make everything perfect for the man in their lives. They are pleasing our massive egos, instead of pleasing themselves.
I’m tired of the fake orgasm being treated by women’s magazines like the newest lipstick color or the season’s best handbag. We treat a woman faking an orgasm so casually. It is a BIG deal. It should no longer be seen as an act of convenience or consideration, but rather, an act of submission: submission to the male ego and submission to our screwed up rules about women and sexuality. We condition and encourage women to submit across the board, and in the case of sex, it is the most fundamental part of a woman’s identity, whether they know it or not. And by her sexual identity, I am not necessarily saying that it’s about sex with others, I am referring to her sexual self.
So how does this all boil down in terms of the role men have to play? I think in terms of our perception of sex, women see it as an experience and men are conditioned to see it as a performance. We see it as a one-man performance, one in which we are the star, the director, the producer—it’s how we condition men to exist in life with respect to the way in which they relate to women.
It’s like the Wizard of Oz. On the surface, you see a lot pomp and circumstance, but if you peek behind the curtain, there’s a scared little man who has not only been taught to focus on himself, but has also been taught that focusing and pleasing a woman, on her terms, is an act of submission and weakness.
I try to avoid being and sounding prescriptive in my writing, but in this case I am begging women to put the fake orgasm out of business. Men don’t need or deserve more validation—we get it every day, in many different ways.
It’s time for women to seek the sexual (and all other types of) pleasure that has been, for too long, absent or lost in their lives.
And it’s time for men to stop automatically assuming that they are fantastic in bed.
Frankly, it’s time for men to assume we aren’t that great in bed, until we are told otherwise…and not by a fake orgasm.
The husband seems very much like the man in the article that said, “Women are too complicated.” He used to finger me until I told him he was hurting me, then he would climb on top and ‘assume the position’. The foreplay always hurt because he applied way too much pressure with the heel of his hand on my pelvis (I would feel tender like a bruise for days, and not in the good way), and he would never in a million years kiss me down there (I stopped giving him blow jobs a long, long time ago because of it)! Then, he would slip his dick in me and, 4-10 thrusts later he would be done and regaling his fantasticness to me: “That was the awesome! That was the best sex we ever had. Was it good for you?” He stopped fucking me when I stopped saying Yes. I just got sick of gratifying his ego when I was left unsatisfied and uncomfortable.
A perfect example:
The very last time we had sex it was in the afternoon, (about 3 years ago) he did the finger-bang thing to me (literally), stuck his dick in me three times (I am NOT kidding), came inside of me, slumped his 315-pound body down onto mine in a huff and told me over and over again how awesome it was (like the more he said it the better it would be for me. Also, he was making it last longer by
cuddling smothering being with me.). He asked, “Did you come?” Under his massive weight I managed to squeeze out the words, “No. I didn’t.” He peeled his body away from mine (yay, I could breathe again!), huffed at me, slammed the bathroom door and took a shower by himself. After that he didn’t speak to me for 2 days. No Shit! No wonder I faked orgasms for this guy! I could give a shit if he felt complete because I sure as hell didn’t, and I was sick of it! I was just “a tool for his orgasm” and I had my own tools for orgasms in my dresser… Also, I had Loverman…
That is the day I started sleeping on the couch.
Maybe I had to have experience with an exponentially-shitty lover so I can be ever-so-much more thankful for Loverman! I am so glad that he has shown me that my body is a wonderland. He has caused me to realize a sexuality inside of myself I never knew existed!
He loves to love my body as I love to love his. Every time we are together it’s like exploring new territory — even after we’ve already covered so much! And I can now feel the female sexual power coursing throughout me — something the husband was unwilling (or too lazy, or too cowardly, or too selfish) to help me discover.
Watch out boys, because this girl has stopped faking it forever!
As of last Friday, I had not caught the bug yet, but I knew I would get it sooner than later. Not that I wanted to be sick and broken, but my apartment was swimming in germs and it’s nigh-impossible to sanitize everything. Not to mention that when the husband sneezes, gale force winds come shooting out of his lungs at such supersonic speed that it actually creates a sonic boom! And he does not have the common decency to cover his mouth. I am not exaggerating! I have heard his own father admonish him for it multiple times! In fact, when I ask him to cover his mouth he tells me that it hurts him! (I’m not asking him to hold it in, just to cover it up!)
So it happened… Saturday morning when I woke up I had a tickle in the back of my throat and some of those tell-tale sneezes. I knew it would be bad but I thought I could make it through my night with Loverman and be sick Sunday after I got home from our awesome night together.
As usual, I picked him up and we went to McDonald’s. Except this time we got the buy-a-McRib-meal-and-get-the-2nd-McRib-sandwich-free instead of our normal cheeseburgers. Then we checked into our lovely (Motel 6 — gotta love ’em) room and ate our bar-b-cue-y sandwiches and I rubbed out his kinky back until it was time to leave for skating. Of course the back rub involved that I undo his belt and then unbutton and unzip his pants (and lower them, just a little bit…) because I wanted to work out some of the lower back pain he was telling me he’d been having.
When it was time to leave, I kissed him on the back of the neck, stood up and started putting on my jacket so we could go to the rink. While I’m doing this, Loverman looks at me curiously and asks, “What are you doing?”
ME: Ummmm… I’m getting ready to go?
LM: Are you sure? (eyes twinkling madly)
ME: Yep, looks like I’m sure. (I love teasing him…)
He stood up and walked over to me, put his arms around my shoulders and slid my jacket off of me onto what would end up being the “later” bed 😉 then spun me around so my back was against his chest so I was facing the “now” bed. Skillfully from behind, his fingers unbuttoned, unzipped and lowered my pants (just enough…) and then he tossed me onto the bed, face first, and had his way with me!
I still mostly had my pants on; my legs practically touching. There wasn’t much room for his swollen shaft, but I was so wet. So ready… I heard him, “Mm mm mm,” as he deliberately slid his thickness inside me. It was exquisite! Feeling his hard cock enter me from behind while I laid below him… That was all I needed for immediate release. I could hear him, “Yeah, baby, are you gonna cum again all over that dick?” as he was slowly gliding his stiffness into and out of me, waiting for my body to tell him that I would have another orgasm. He always knows right before I cum and his body, pressed hotly up against mine, was eagerly ready to respond to my next tremor of ecstasy. But he held back as my body began to quiver and shake again. Again he slowed his rhythm, and he began kissing my earlobes and whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I could sense the eagerness within him seconds before he exploded inside of me! His release plunged deeply into me. I felt his body arch above mine as he buried his face in the side of my neck. It was only moments before his body relaxed and he slumped onto me. For a few moments we laid there reveling in the afterglow. Oh…. That was nice. Him laying on top of me like a blanket… Even with our clothes still on I could get used to that feeling of closeness.
We pulled up our pants. I sorted out my hair. And we both got our jackets on this time. While I was hopping my way out to the car, Loverman walked past me and said, “Wait till I show you what the ‘later’ bed is for.” He made this sexy grunt that he does when he wants me, then he winked at me and opened up my car door to let me in.
As you know from (if you read it) yesterday’s post, he had a lovely time skating and I enjoyed a little reunion with my buddies.
After he finished skating and everyone was done checking out my cool “owie”, we went back to our hotel room. I was completely beat. I guess he was too, because we both got each other undressed and climbed into bed. I curled up into a ball next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. As I was falling asleep I remember saying, “I really like sleeping with you, Baby” and his response, accompanied by a loving kiss on the forehead, was “I really like sleeping with you, too”.
But, it wasn’t long before I woke up again. Sick. Really sick. Coughing, nose running. I could feel that I had a temperature… The whole nine yards. I was up and down for the rest of the night — each time that I had to get out of bed, hoping that I wasn’t bothering my sexy Loverman.
Of course it was inevitable that I would wake him up, but when I did he was so sweet! He told me that I wasn’t bothering him and every time I crawled back into bed after that, he made sure that my body was exactly the right temperature. If I was laying there and I felt too warm, he would remove a cover. If it seemed like I was starting to get cold again, he covered me back up. I’m telling you, this man is totally awesome! I don’t know how I got so lucky! I even told him that a couple of times he was pampering me.
Because I was so restless, at about 7AM I decided to just get up and start doing my physical therapy. I could stretch and exercise my ankle in the chair and he could get some better sleep (well, about 30 minutes of it anyway 😉 ). I finished up and looked over at his naked back gloriously laid out on the bed, the thin white sheet just barely above his waist as if it was teasing me to look beneath it. I couldn’t resist his sexy peacefulness and returned to my place in the bed next to him.
I took a few strands of my long hair and, while he laid there in total serenity, I traced those few hairs up and down his back and arms just to see him squirm. He squirmed. I smiled. But he wasn’t awake yet. I knew that I could do this to him for quite a while without waking him up. He would just make pleasant sounds and shiver every now and again when I hit the exact right spot. After awakening all the flesh on his back (I could see the goosebumps! Oh, the power!!! This must be how he feels!) I whispered, “Roll over, sweetie.” He drowsily complied, but when he rolled over, that pesky sheet stayed right there, just barely in the way! Oh well, that will not be there for long, I thought.
I proceeded to molest his chest the same way I had his back, but this time I got a reaction. Someone was waking up. Lucky me! I do so love to give him a good blow job! Especially in the morning! A man’s penis is like a work of art to me (if an ice cream cone was a work of art!) and I enjoy showing my lover how much I appreciate his art… Plus, I just recently picked up some tips on what I can do to better appreciate his art, and I was looking forward to seeing if he liked them.
Ohhhh…. He liked those new tips all right! Moaning and groaning all the way (go me!)! After a few skilled kisses on his tender frenulum, my tongue languidly drew a line down the length of his magnificent design. I lovingly massaged his rock hard dick with my right hand while I took each of his balls into my mouth to cradle them, one at a time. Acknowledging each of them and their glory, I could feel their skin tightening and loosening in my mouth. My left hand reached below and I began stroking his g-spot — something that I have severely neglected in the past because I didn’t know… My Loverman couldn’t keep quiet. I was so proud! I could tell he was holding back.
My Loverman is not a person to make much noise. When he does, it’s mostly just grunts. But what he does very well is talk dirty. I can’t do that (surprising, huh?), but what I can do is bring him to nigh-climax with everything except my pussy. Then slow down, start over, and do it all over again. However, I can only do that for so long before my body needs to feel him inside. And, with all of his moaning and squirming while I worshipped his artful cock, I definitely needed to feel him deep inside of me. I sat up with my back facing him and mounted him in the Reverse Cowgirl position and rode that horse for all it was worth!
This is my favorite position on top — especially when I’m sick (because, remember, he doesn’t like sharing sick germs, ewwww. So, NO KISSING! LOL!). He can penetrate me so deeply and I can control each thrust to make it deep, or tease the tip… He was back in his groove of dirty talk, “Baby, let me see you cum again,” smacking my ass more than ever before. He must have really enjoyed the art appreciation session earlier!
When he finally climaxed (and it was a big one!), I plopped myself down onto the bed next to him, completely satisfied, spent, sweaty and very, very thirsty! He dozed back off to sleep and the two of us cuddled together in post-coital bliss until it was time to take our shower and go home.
Ultimately, Loverman got sick too. Not even 12 hours after I dropped him off Sunday… I feel a bit guilty because I know that I am the one who made him sick, but at least my messing around with him on Saturday wasn’t what did it… I had already shared my germiness with him last Thursday evening when I surprised him at bowling.
All day yesterday I thought about how much I wish I could have gone home to Loverman and make him some warm chicken soup and crawl into a nice warm bed with him and watch whatever movie on his little computer that he wanted to. As it was, I am sure he was fine being left alone… After all, he is sick!
The other night when we were getting in bed to go to sleep, Loverman asked me, “Do you want to sleep on this side of the bed?”
It occurred to me that I had never really thought much of it before. I used to have a favorite side of the bed, I can’t remember now… But I don’t regularly sleep in a bed any more so I can’t really say. I sleep on the couch in the loft-bedroom and he either sleeps on the couch or the floor (when his back hurts), so he doesn’t have a preference either. Now that I think about it, whenever Loverman and I have spent the nights together, it’s on random sides. Lately I think I’ve been on the right side more, but it’s not on purpose — not on my part anyway…
Do you have a favorite side of the bed? (Imagine you’re standing at the foot of the bed looking towards the head of the bed…)