Category: Turned-On Women


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.

I imagine some of you have had great “white light” experiences, the kind that wake you up to changing your life. If you haven’t taken heed, you probably know that what you get instead is a slow erosion of your life. An erosion that takes you down, all the way to the bottom, so your self pity and pride can be chiseled away and who are really meant to be finally shines through.

 

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 »

I try, really I do, to not put crazy talk on my blog. I come from a kind of blue collar spirituality, salt of the earth, as one woman beautifully called it. I’ve never dreamed of ascending to that big silent still house on the hill. I am quite happy in my working class neighborhood where you work hard for your lessons. The work for me is the reward, the lessons and dispensing of such, the necessary act to sustain my enjoyment of the work. In other words, I don’t work in order to teach. I teach in order to work. The teaching pays the bills as it were (well, that isn’t really the case as my accountant will testify) so that I can get in there, practice and get back to the manual labor aspect I love.

I think this is the case with any obsessive-compulsive personality type, for which I definitely qualify. We just love to tweak out, and when we are called to the task of results, meaning sharing with the world our findings, we can get a little grumbly. It goes something like, “Well of course I can do that, but why (when there are so many wires down here in the basement that I could be playing with)?”.
View full article »

“If you pretend that you are easy to get inside of, you will attract low grade players that have no idea of how to penetrate you. You can intoxicate them to stay for awhile, but they will eventually drain you. With each one, you have less and less power to attract someone who could actually give you what you want. This is the result of impatience.”

 

[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 »

In the spirit of the profusion of “Apologies to Women” that sprung up on Facebook a while back, I thought that as a species, we women were remiss in offering a response. Poor guys, taking the brunt for all of it! No way! Here you go guys, a response. May all sentient beings now have very good sex.

It is with deep regret and sadness that I write this letter.  It is to every man that I have ever dated (or something of that nature) and I want to say the most difficult words that will likely ever cross my lips:  I apologize.

I apologize for the fact that I did not do the work to recognize that – despite whatever delusions I desperately indulged in – there is no way around it: nothing but everything from you will do.  I know I told you it would be alright if you bought me another pair of shoes, or if we spent the next seven hours processing.  I know that I made subtle promises that you didn’t have to do anything but be there, hang out and let me love you, or that once we “settled down” I would be happy.  I lied.

I apologize that I was unwilling to answer this question of what women want, leaving you frustrated and confused.  I left it open-ended and murky because I View full article »

If you’ve dated me, you know that each night before we go to bed, we play a game. This game is called “what do you want me to know?”. It can be anything. It can be a secret that you’ve been keeping, something you like, something you wish for.

So, I would like to play the same game with you as a relatively benign way to step in, make yourself known and to let me feel you. Like I said, “interactive turns me on”.

I would deeply appreciate it.

N

P.S. Oh and if you made it here, to the blog or the back of the blog and have asked me to be your friend on Facebook but have a name here that I would not recognize, just ping me and I will give you special preference. I have two pages, one is the fan page that you can just get on easily and my personal page that has a huge backload of requests and I want to make sure we are connected. xo

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 »