Category: The Sexual Woman


"Perhaps you know the expression from the movie Hustle and Flow, “It’s hard out here for a Pimp”? Well, let’s just say, it’s not so easy out here for a non-monogamous woman either. You run into difficulties untold. There is no “you are here” map- everything is on the fly. I mean, The Rules -don’t call him or kiss him and just basically make him think that you hate him and then hook him and know that you will live happily ever after- don’t quite apply. It’s an unfamiliar nakedness, the nakedness of being stripped of any role, be it boyfriend or girlfriend or even booty call (because this isn’t that either) or even mine or yours which has a lot of built in auto-responders. There is a whole set of “his and hers” conversational etiquette that gets a big N/A stamp when you hit that category. Even the word “baby” as in “ooh baby” or even “I want to have your baby” sounds garbled in scripted at the same time. Yes, this is my most recent challenge of the non-monogamy road, recognizing the artifice that overlays sex-the ways that I have, unbeknownst to me, secretly injected future concepts (not the least of which is I will love you tomorrow or something of that nature) in an effort to pump up the sex. I had no idea that my sex was being constantly injected with a love steroid until I started stripping away all of the additives and let it roam the full expanse of my bed noticing what it migrated to, what it ingested naturally. View full article »

A few musings and discoveries from a woman recently unleashed, unhinged and undone.

Uncomfortable Discovery Number 1

Most men are terrible in bed-

Now that I am sleeping with more than one guy and now that I don’t have to convince myself that this is as good as it gets in order to get love so that I can then get security, I am confronted with a very disturbing truth-most men are appallingly terrible in bed.  I’ve heard the stories, but in the world where I come from, the men are trained by the time they get to me.

Now, the stories have come to life in my bed- and I think, dear lord god, how did his last woman handle this?

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On the path to awakening, sexual awakening, a woman comes to admit that she loves cock. Loves to suck it, stroke it, look at it, hold it, feel it, engulf it. It is a time that can be neither feigned nor faked. It comes from overflow – and solely from overflow. It comes when she is so full of orgasm that her body needs something to spill over onto. It is a significant point in a woman’s experience because this moment of realization is built on having passed through a lot of gateways. It means that she has moved through the first stage where she gives with the hope of getting. The mainstream depiction of a woman who wants cock which is so far removed from the truth that it is not only an inaccurate portrayal; it is the absolute antithesis of such.

This position, of giving to get, is founded on several beliefs – the first is that sex is for barter: that there is an underlying understanding that you must give to get and that the giving is in an action. I would say that the antidote, the belief that would dispel this is the idea that the price of pleasure is pleasure. One of the things that I most often hear is that there is no greater turn on than “turning my partner on” and yet in engaging the part of our minds that feigns pleasure, we are activating the very cortex that would prevent it. In other words faking and juice do not happen in the same arena. Pleasure is entirely involuntary and so to consider the effect you are having (a volitional thought) takes you out of the mind-set where you would be experiencing pleasure.

As women, we know that a man wants to experience us devouring his cock and we get a sympathetic turn on from this – but there are gradations of turn on. The first is egoic power. “I can control him”. But it is also based on the notion that men are dumb and can’t tell the difference between a woman who wants something, and a woman who simply wants. It is based in this idea that men are so desperate and hungry that they don’t care whether or not we are actually experiencing pleasure. Which, unfortunately, is to often true. And there are two responses a woman can have. The first is get together a gaggle of women, all of who believe themselves superior and talk about how dumb men are. The second is to make men smart. The way we do this is to give them the real thing. Think of it like McDonalds. The way you get someone off of McDonalds is to give them real solid good healthy food. It is to replace the craving for an empty calorie by replacing it with a nourishing calorie.

The best way to make a smart man, in other words, is to give him the real thing.
And the real thing is your unadulterated pleasure.

Your unadulterated pleasure can only be experienced when you need nothing from him but the pleasure of him.

In other words, you cannot wonder how you look and truly allow yourself to take, to devour, to receive what you want. There may be snot dripping down your nose, mascara smeared down your face, tears, laughing, gas… the whole gamut. And if you are looking for a man’s love or approval, you can only find it stepping outside of yourself and your total surrender.

The key is to remember that every stroke you fake, every moan, every time you “just let it go” and don’t ask for what you want is that much more time that you are postponing your own pleasure and confirming that it doesn’t really exist, your guy is a dud, the best you can hope for is to learn how to become a better and better pretender.

When the truth is that your surrender-to your own pussy, to the craving inside – is what draws out the brilliance in another.

The day a woman genuinely wholeheartedly loves cock, where he is just an innocent bystander from which your pussy takes what it needs for yourself, is the day that you have left the world of being a “dealer” and allowed yourself to become a “user” and this is where both people become equally vulnerable and intimacy is experienced and both are fully drenched in the same orgasm, together.

When I announced that I was non monogamous, I thought It was more like a confession than a declaration.  It felt, at the time, like I was admitting that I don’t compost, or that I sneak cake when I said I’d be sugar free.  I hardly expected it to be a pronouncement of independence.

I am discovering that my declaration has reverberations untold.  I feel a bit like a teenage boy going through puberty.  Turn-on abounds. What I’m realizing is that, lo and behold, turn on is the natural state. When you take that big sweaty saddle of romantic love off, the ride is smoother and more natural.

Case study one: Subject One is a man View full article »

Yesterday, I had the fairly shocking and disconcerting realization that I am a Non-monogamous woman.

Several decades of non-monogamous behavior was simply not enough to clue me in.  It may sound terrible but I am a high-brow non-monogamist and so, looking at what would be my peer group, I identified not at all.

First of all, the culture of non-monogamists looks to be comprised of approximately 335, 000 men and 7 women.  And it is not a mere matter of not donning a wedding ring and driving an SUV, but along with the cultural ethos of  non-monogamy (likely one of the most unattractive words in the human language) there would seem to be an attendant prescription for “using one’s body in ways unimaginable”—from the wearing of strange fabrics, from hemp to animal pelts, to the insertion of objects into places that were meant to be exit-only.  My Alice and Olivia sweater and Tory Burch boots were not on the suggested attire.

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In moving from being a girl to being a woman, you are going to have to move from being cute and edgy to being beautiful. And that is a very difficult transition. You will have to develop a whole new level of backbone, because being cute doesn’t get your ass kicked, but being beautiful will. Being beautiful, you confront every other woman who has to make that same transition and is terrified.

 

My experience is that most women are in the business of beast management and oh, what a challenging vocation it can be.

I was in a café.  Sitting next to me was a gorgeous Nordic looking woman-that white blond hair, the perfect application of simple adornment, lips of the young.  She was talking with her equally beautiful dark counterpart of a woman, likely Mediterranean, with waves of dark brown hair.

The Nordic woman had an unsettling and discordant panic in her voice.  Her voice was all car alarms and dogs barking, rather than the tone of an angel you were expecting.

“Well, yeah, I mean okay so I used to purge, I mean a lot, I mean like 500 dollars of food a day, a lot” screech, clang, crunch “but it started affecting everything, I mean my teeth and I was getting wrinkles.  I had to find another way.”  Mediterranean nodding to the gospel that Nordic is speaking, “okay but I couldn’t gain weight, right?” head nodding as in yeah, that is soooo obvious, “so now I just can’t stop consuming”. View full article »

[Desire]

Perhaps I should confess.  Sitting across from each woman – I am in silent prayer.

Please God, let it be that she is totally, utterly, completely consumed.  By something.  Anything.  Okay, maybe not sugar or shopping.  But let it be that this woman in front of me – this intelligent, put together, gorgeous woman finds herself on her knees tonight, crawling, reaching, yearning, aching and tormented by something she cannot outrun.

Let it be that someone or something reaches up through her pussy, her heart, into her mind and yanks down.  Hard.  A grip in the center of her soul that re-orients her – forces her to live every moment in relation to that thing.  Let her flail against it, rage, ignore, withdraw, cry, pray, beg.  And let it be that it remains unmoved and unmovable.  Something entirely, for once out of the domain of her control.  Let it please take her, trembling and if necessary, humiliated, out of control.  View full article »

This morning I woke up both settled and rearranged, as if a crew had entered in the middle of the night and consolidated everything from two apartments, the penthouse of my mind and the little place next to the power station of my pussy, and like one of those Dwell magazine homes where the whole front is View full article »

Today could easily be described as 52 card pick up. That is, if my soul were a deck of cards.  And there were someone there to pick it up.

I feel like I need to preface what I am about to say by saying that in a room full of people, I would fall on the relatively sane side of the room.  Like some terrible high school dance, I spent much of my life on View full article »