I used to be able to say that, for the most part, the sex I had on camera was very much like the sex I have at home. Sure, I don’t usually groom my pubic hair, shave my legs, and put on a full face of makeup for sex in my personal life. There’s also the attempt to avoid showing the camera nothing but the back of someone’s head or blocking penetration with one’s thigh and the interruption of makeup artists running in for touch ups. However, the pounding, biting, spanking, scratching, choking, slapping and shoving a dick so far into my throat that I gag are all par for the course at home. Fun fact: gagging produces a thick, clear fluid somewhere in between spit and vomit that works better as a lubricant than anything I’ve ever purchased in a bottle. 

At least in my experience, there have always been guidelines for sex on camera. Four fingers in an orifice are ok but a full fist is largely banned. Rough sex should be continuously asked for and visibly enjoyed or accompanied by a disclaimer explaining that it’s a fantasy being acted out by consenting adults. “Squirting” or female ejaculation is acceptable in most parts of the world but urine is not. Feces and blood are not shown.

The ways that media is purchased and distributed have changed. Streaming video and downloads on the web are now more popular than DVDs. This means that we now cater to the tastes of the credit card and billing companies, which means even more guidelines. At the company I work for, as of a couple of months ago, we are required to refrain from biting, spanking, scratching, choking, slapping, and - while gagging has yet to be discussed - the hands of a blow job recipient on the head of a blow job giver are not allowed. Sex can absolutely be quite enjoyable without these things, but further rules being applied to the way that I copulate at work made me start thinking about some of the other differences between sex-for-pornography and sex-in-real-life. 

For instance, let’s look at anal sex. At work, there’s a process of clearing out all traces of fecal matter before we start filming. Sometimes it involves sticking my finger in my rectum and making sure it’s clean, and sometimes it involves 20 minutes to an hour of enemas with bottled water. Sometimes all that water just makes the intestinal situation liquid and we only get five minutes of footage or the anal part of the scene has to be cancelled. In my personal life, I’m more casual about the whole thing. It’s a rectum, and while putting things in my rectum is fun its main purpose is temporarily storing feces. If you want to stick your finger or penis in an anus there’s a possibility that you’re going to encounter some poop and I believe you have to be ok with that. It’s buttsex. Small (or sometimes horrifyingly large) amounts of poop happen. Wash whatever has poop on it with soap and water before putting it anywhere else and move on with your life. Or fingerpaint with it if that’s your thing. While I’m sure my personal disgust for playing with feces is coming through, I’m not here to judge what you do for sexual gratification.

And what about blood? Germaine Greer, one of the luminaries of mid-20th century feminism, wrote in The Female Eunuch that “If you think you are emancipated, you might consider the idea of tasting your own menstrual blood - if it makes you sick, you’ve got a long way to go, baby.” Menstrual blood is a significant part of being a woman between puberty and menopause. I’ve spent almost a quarter of the past thirteen years with blood coming out of my vagina, and I’ve never let it stop me from having sex. Some people think menstrual blood is gross, others find it arousing, and I see it as yet another type of fluid that happens in my underpants. For the camera we have various techniques including cold water douches, absorbent sponges, and cutting multiple times during the sex scene to wipe up any traces of blood. Also, people may try not to book scenes when they’re likely to be bleeding heavily. If I wanted to play with context and phrasing, this could easily be construed as billing companies deeming the visible evidence of my natural fertility offensive.

Keeping my legs open in a particular way for the camera, twisting my torso so my face is visible, and refraining from certain acts that make a product more difficult (or impossible) to sell is part of doing my job well. Pornography is a business and the sales are the reason that I get my paycheck. However, when the portrayal of women in media and the cultural effects of pornography on sex are being talked about the (incorrectly perceived) lack of pubic hair gets plenty of discussion time but I frequently find talk about the realities of menstruation and anal sex conspicuously missing.

… to a number of private questions asking variations of “Is there something wrong with me if I like/don’t like ____?”

At least in the United States, you have the right to be wanton, sexually provocative, and promiscuous. You have the right to wear as little clothing as legally allowed by the government where you live. Actually, I guess you can wear less clothing than legally allowed as you don’t mind dealing with the hassle of being arrested and having a record. You can have sex with men, women, people who identify as in-between or as neither. You can find consenting and enthusiastic partners for the most depraved erotic acts your brain or someone else’s can imagine. You might not have the legal right to engage in these acts according to the state or county you live in, but if everyone involved is a rational, consenting adult and you keep your metaphorical blinds closed you’ll probably be ok. I am not a lawyer and “you’ll probably be ok” does not in any way mean that I have any idea what I’m talking about when it comes to giving blowjobs in Virginia. You have the right to communicate your desires in what is ideally a respectful manner and hope that the person(s) you’re attracted to share them.

Conversely, you don’t have to exercise any of those rights. 

Neither the sex industry nor recreational promiscuity are for everyone. You can be friends with known pornographers and prostitutes without being one yourself. Being accepting of whatever safe, sane, and consensual acts people want to engage in with their bodies is awesome. You shouldn’t feel like you have to engage in the same acts as your friends or what you see on the internet to prove your solidarity or something.

Asexuality is definitely a thing. I don’t personally understand it, but if it makes you happy go for it. Or don’t go for it. Go for not-it? I’m going to remove my foot from my mouth now.

Liking sex doesn’t mean you have to be up for it 24/7, do it with thirty-five different people in a week, or walk around with the majority of your ass hanging out whenever the weather permits. I’ve had sex with plenty of men and some women who don’t understand or care about my love for fancy lingerie and who find pajamas, jeans, and sneakers hotter than french lace and high heels.

If you only want sex every three months and you love doing it with the lights off missionary style, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. There are potential partners who want the same, or who like it once every three months with the lights off doggy style and will be willing to take turns with your favored position and theirs. 

If you fantasize about banging raccoons I’d be willing to bet there’s someone out there who wants to dress up like a raccoon and make whatever noises see plausible while getting banged. I recommend not banging actual raccoons because they are animals and can’t consent. Also: claws and potential rabies. (Cue the one person who believes in the rights of raccoons to consent to and enjoy sex with humans.)

If you want it filthy, rough, and hard three times a day for half the month and maybe once or twice a week while gazing into each others’ eyes for the other half, you can find one or more people willing to accommodate. I may be talking about myself here.

You’re highly unlikely to find any of these things until you figure out what you want and get comfortable with asking for it. 

tl:dr There’s nothing wrong with you if you aren’t that into sex. Communication is super important. For every “weird” thing you’re into, there’s someone else out there that’s into it too.

Wrapping up from parts 1 and 2:

Are you totally freaked out and considering never having sex again or only having sex with a completely faithful monogamous partner? Some of you definitely are. I know this because some of you have said so privately and publicly. 

That’s ok. You have this really awesome thing called free will. You have the privilege of deciding what you are and are not comfortable with in any situation. You have the right to tell your partner(s) and potential partners what you want and expect them to respect your limits and boundaries. They also have free will and may have desires and boundaries that are different than yours. 

You can choose complete abstinence. You can choose to masturbate alone only after carefully scrubbing your hands with bleach. You can choose to kiss and masturbate together without exchanging any fluids aside from spit. You can choose to only have sex with partners who have been tested within the past three days and use every form of barrier protection available. You can choose to never ask about tests, never get tested, and never use a condom, much less a dental dam or latex gloves. In my opinion, that last one is an extremely unsafe choice, but you have to make your own decisions. Ideally, you make these choices after looking at the benefits and consequences of each of the possibilities. Ideally you only act on these choices after coming to terms with the risks you’re taking.

Sometimes people who you want to have sexual interactions with will not agree with your choices. You can choose to compromise but it’s really important to remember that you can also choose to say no. You can say no at any point. You can say no when you’re already back at their place and a part of you is inside one of their orifices or vice versa. 

When you say no, you have to say it. If you don’t say it, they can’t hear it.

They might not want to take no for an answer. They might get offended or not like you anymore because you rejected them. It sucks when that happens, but here’s the thing: there are going to be people in the world who dislike you for no reason at all. There are going to be people in the world who dislike you for reasons that come from places of bigotry or misinformation. There are also probably going to be people in the world who dislike you for valid reasons. To me, deciding what you’re comfortable with sexually, expressing those limits, and expecting others to respect them doesn’t seem like a valid reason for dislike.

When you want to say yes, it’s pretty awesome to say yes, too. 

Personally, I’m shy when it comes to the yes part. Most of my yeses are communicated through a wide variety of noises which are not actual words, body language, and text messages that actually cause me to blush when I push “send.” Let me reiterate: I, a woman who gladly has all sorts of sex for public consumption in front of super high-def cameras and regularly tells the internet (and friends/complete strangers who make the mistake of asking in real life) ALL about her menstrual cycle, get shy about expressing specific sexual desires. I can’t imagine how difficult it might be for people who grew up with sex-negative parents or were frequently shamed early in their sexual development without a helpful support system. 

The point here is that after educating yourself and choosing the protective measures that you want to use in a given situation, the next step is to communicate.

If you’ve been following my twitter and tumblr in the past couple of weeks, you’ve hopefully seen my explanation of how pornography’s self-imposed safety regulations work. You’ve also hopefully seen Kayden Kross’s practical discussion of Measure B on xbiz.com and James Deen’s blunt opinion on his blog. To my knowledge, Nina Hartley has not felt the need to weigh in on the subject recently, but as a veteran performer who started working in porn in 1984, is still in the adult industry, and is a registered nurse, I believe she has the most credible and educated opinion on the subject of safer sex in the straight porn industry. I’m not linking to anything that the AHF or Yes on Measure B has to say because I have faith in your ability to google it and I kind of just don’t want to. 

Ideally, you’ve ingested the information and formed your own opinion. Likely, some of you have done this and others are blindly cheering us on or wholly swallowing the opposition’s propaganda. I frequently struggle to come to terms with it, but I can’t force people to listen, fully comprehend, or think critically.

Our point is that Measure B and other condom laws attempt to fix a problem that doesn’t exist. We do not have rampant HIV transmission in pornography. We have not had a single case of performer to performer HIV transmission since 2004. In my experience, we openly tell each other when something may not be right with our genitals. Digital Playground has replaced talent the morning of a scene because the performer called in saying their genitals felt or smelled off and they needed to re-test before exposing others to them. 

I work at the glossy, couples-oriented contract performer end of the industry. I choose not to use condoms at work. I do choose to use them in my personal life when I have partners that are not in the adult industry who I am non-monogamous with. I did four girl/girl sex scenes before signing my contract with Digital Playground. I have never worked with an agent. I cannot speak for the women and men who perform in the majority of the sex scenes produced each year. 

Wicked Pictures requires condoms. Most companies say they are condom optional. From what I hear, with some companies the option is to use a condom or not, and with others the option is to not use a condom or not work for that company. Ideally this should be an industry-wide actual choice. Requiring that all performers in a section of California, or even all of California or the USA use condoms at work does not give us that choice. It either forces us to use condoms when some of us do not want to and find it less safe than the testing system we already have in place, or strongly encourages the adult industry to move to places where condom use is not mandatory.

Here’s the thing though: Performers who are unhappy with the amount of condom-optional or condom-mandatory work don’t have to work in hardcore pornography. There are softcore and solo options. Nude photo sets for websites and magazine spreads are options. Also: webcamming, solo or masturbation scenes, and niche fetish-oriented clips involving (sometimes non-nude) acts like tickling, wriggling of toes, or consumption of phallic shaped foods. One day I’ll tell you about the time I was hired for a day of “sweater fetish” work, but that’s way off topic right now. Sure, there isn’t as much money to be made and it is more difficult to build a popular or recognizable brand, but disposable income and notoriety are not a right.

According to the US Department of Labor, 2,289,010 people in our country wait tables. I waited tables for a little over eight months when, unhappy with my working conditions at Digital Playground, I made a choice to use one of the loopholes in my contract and stop working in the adult industry. Part of using that loophole meant that I wasn’t able to write, perform on stage or appear in front of a camera as Stoya or under any other name without putting myself in a more precarious legal position. It was scary and I spent the entirety of my savings on lawyers. My boss was aware of my employment history when he hired me and, due to the size of the town, a significant portion of the patrons knew as well. It was actual work every day, it wasn’t glamorous or exciting, sometimes my hands got burned because I didn’t know how to hold a plate, and my entire life smelled like old duck sauce. This is called a job. I kept doing this job until the (now former) owners of Digital Playground and I were able to work out something acceptable to both of us. Some people make a profitable life long career of serving food. Most people in the US work jobs that aren’t glamorous or lucrative. Working two jobs or working while getting a college degree or vocational training is common.

Now that we’ve established why the problem that Measure B attempts to fix does not exist, and briefly discussed the fact that most adult performers unhappy with the work available to them are capable of finding some other type of employment, there’s another concept in this mess that really stands out to me.

It isn’t the pornography industry’s job to provide sexual education. If you look back through my archives here on tumblr though, you can see that I feel and act on a personal responsibility to try. In the US we have this intense squeamishness about sex. Practical, easily understood information can be difficult to come by even for someone who makes a career out of sex. The same line of thinking that led to anti-drug PSA’s from Pee Wee Herman and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles leads me to believe that there are cases where an adult performer would be seen as a more credible source than say, Dr. Ruth (who, by the way, is AWESOME). As discussed in the post I linked to at the beginning of this paragraph, some performers and companies do try to raise awareness about and encourage safer sex practices, some of us do try to further discussions on sexuality and sex performed for entertainment vs. sex performed purely for personal enjoyment. We just aren’t as effective as we could be, and I’m not sure how to get there.

A production assistant on a music video shoot I did recently works with children during the week. She said that, for her, the most effective way to get the attention of a group of kids is to stand at the front of the room, loudly say “If you can hear me, touch your nose” and then wait for everyone to have their finger on their nose. She uses this method for large groups of adults, too.

So: If you can read me, touch your nose. 

Thank you.

Pornography is entertainment. Pornography is a business. Pornography is not a substitute for sexual education. The scenarios in porn plots are not a guide to dating or picking up partners for casual sex.

I always figured that anyone old enough to be legally viewing pornography would be able to comprehend the difference between entertainment and real life. I forget that we don’t all understand that a movie like Forrest Gump is not the same as a History Channel documentary on the Vietnam War. I also forget that we don’t all understand that a History Channel documentary on the Vietnam War may not be entirely accurate. I forget that even though pornography is made to be entertaining and portray fantasies, there is a large void in practical sexual education that people sometimes attempt to fill with porn.

I want to believe that people use critical thinking skills. I want to believe that people see Brazzers/Manwin’s Get Rubber campaign and the safer sex/condom use speech at the beginning of Vivid’s DVDs. I want to believe that people watch the pre and post scene interviews included in Kink.com’s videos. I really want to believe that people don’t need to see these disclaimers and interviews to understand that what they are watching is done by tested, consenting professionals. Apparently, though, this comprehension is not always the case.

As adult performers, our job is to show up with a clean STI test and act/perform in an adult production to the director’s satisfaction. It isn’t our responsibility to take on the task of educating people about sexual technique or safer sex practices. Our job description does not include worrying about the people who can’t differentiate between what they see on a screen and what is acceptable behavior in real life, the same as it isn’t Bruce Willis’s job to go around reminding people that action movies are super cool but shooting actual people with real guns isn’t, or that calling 911 is a much better tactic than shooting someone full of adrenaline in the event of a heroin overdose. But some of us do…

There are adult performers and sex workers who talk about these things: When Nina Hartley recounts a recreational sexual encounter on her blog, she regularly mentions the use of condoms and gloves. Sometimes she mentions less standard practices, such as having a specific pair of boots for BDSM that don’t touch the ground outside so that they can be licked without concern for what they’ve walked through. Danny Wylde writes frankly about his experiences in sex work and openly discusses his thoughts and emotions. There are countless others who do frank interviews or keep blogs discussing topics relating to sex work, the adult industry, and sex-for-work vs. sex in personal lives. If someone actually wants to know about porn, there’s a wealth of information online from a variety of perspectives.

We just don’t get nearly the amount of traffic or visibility that a major news outlet gets. Our voices need to be louder, because we are talking. 

I’m about to do something that is probably a terrible idea. I’m about to talk about STIs. I’m not a doctor. I am familiar with how things said on the internet are quoted out of context or read without full comprehension. I feel like these things need to be said anyway.

The way that I see it, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, and Syphilis are kind of like Strep Throat for your genitals. They’re all bacteria. They’re all easily cured with antibiotics if caught early. If you don’t catch and treat them early, they can cause serious damage to your body. Untreated Syphilis will eventually eat your brain, and kill you. Strep Throat can progress into Rheumatic Fever, which people used to (possibly still do) die from too. If you have one of these infections, it’s really freaking rude to pass it around. Do you see the parallels here? Sweet.

First let’s talk about catching things early. You’re aware of your throat. You’re aware of how it usually feels when you swallow and how things usually taste. You’re familiar with what your tongue and mouth look like on an average day. You know when something isn’t right. How aware are you of your genitals? Do you know how they usually feel? Do you know which parts are sensitive in which ways, what they look like in their resting and aroused states? If you have a vagina, do you know what goo happens during which parts of your cycle and what the typical texture and taste of these goos is? If you have a penis, I’m sure there’s some kind of equivalent, but I’m not qualified to speak on that. If you’re good friends with your genitals, you’re more likely to notice as soon as something out of the ordinary is going on with them. However, some STIs don’t show symptoms. Some people don’t show symptoms. Sometimes things get overlooked or written off as symptoms of another issue. This is why frequent STI testing is recommended, even if you’re diligently using condoms. Condoms can break, they can slip off, and they only cover part of the genitals. STIs can be transmitted through oral sex. STIs can be transmitted via shared toys, a finger that goes in a vagina and then into your mouth. 

Moving on to how it’s rude to pass it around. If your throat hurts and you feel sick, I’d like to think you’d call out of work. I’d like to think that you’d wash your hands frequently, cover your mouth when you cough, and be careful about where you leave your tissues. You might warn people you’ve been in close contact with you’re sick and remind them to drink their orange juice. If it burns when you pee, you have an odd rash, or your genitals smell different than normal, I’d like to think you’d keep them in your pants until they can be assessed by a doctor. I’d like to think you’d immediately tell your sexual partners that they may have been exposed to something. 

This paragraph is kind of random but definitely related: Most sexual education materials seem to have a worst-case scenario approach to what STIs look like and how they present. The most readily available pictures of each disease are, frankly, horrifying, but they don’t stop people from having sex. They don’t even stop people from having unprotected sex with near-strangers they’ve picked up at a bar. I think these worst-case images may actually contribute to an unrealistic feeling of ability to spot someone with an STI. For instance, you meet someone at a nightclub. They seem nice, smart, clean. You take their pants off later and see one small irritated bump. It could be a shaving injury or an ingrown hair. After all, it doesn’t look a thing like the cauliflower-like growths you’ve seen in pictures of HPV and certainly isn’t a blistered mass of angry red sores like the images of HSV2 (genital herpes) you were shown once in 8th grade. You really want to get your dick wet, and they *do* seem nice and clean. Maybe it is just razorburn, or maybe you end up with an incurable viral STI, partially because you were making decisions based on faulty information.

Why don’t we approach sexually transmitted infections the same way that we approach the flu or pinkeye? Why isn’t practical, easily understood information about STIs readily available? Why, in a world where Jenna Jameson is a household name and people can (and do) google up every sexual act imaginable to watch video footage of it, are we still so uncomfortable discussing sexual health?

There’s a video involved. I leave it up to you whether you read or watch first.

I’ve never understood vibrators. I’ve gone on record numerous times saying various versions of “I dislike them all except for Lelo’s Nea which I really only appreciate aesthetically.” I think it’s the buzzing that bothers me. I’ve posed for plenty of photospreads with toys, but I’ve always seen them as a poor substitute for a person and I’ve never had an orgasm from one. Less than a month ago I was on a panel at Exxxotica   with some of the adult industry’s most successful female performers. Someone in the audience asked what our favorite vibrator was, and every single one of the other women shouted “Hitachi” in unison. That night I received an email from Clayton asking if I’d be interested in his new project.

He’s filming women sitting at a table reading literature. The twist is the things going on below the table. I like these sorts of things… This Empty Love was the first video work I enjoyed doing, making hardcore work with Digital Playground an interesting option later. I think the interesting parts of sex are in the hints of what can’t be seen. Penetrative sex, after all, is an exploration of something dark, moist, and cavelike.  

I’ve chosen a section of Supervert’s “Necrophilia Variations.” I’m fascinated by Supervert and their (his?) body of work. I went with the Necrophilia themed volume because I’m currently in an oddly non-morbid obsession with something triangulated by the way an orgasm affects brain chemistry, the reasons behind the french nickname of la petite mort, and why my mind goes completely blank when I’m at the height of a sexual experience. There’s something in there, death and sex, maybe change or growth, and I’ve been focused on it since shortly before I posted “Touch.” Sometimes I can brush this concept with my fingertips, but I can’t grab hold and inspect it yet. The only way to understand is to wallow in anything that might hold a clue until it all clicks together (or am distracted by something shiny… but it would have to be *really* shiny.) Tl;dr: That’s the book that felt right.

I’ve been told to dress as I would for a date with a man, not a boy. I’m wearing a dress from Vivienne Westwood’s Anglomania collection last year. The cut limits the range of motion of my arms, but ideally I wouldn’t need to open my own doors or feel the desire to talk on my phone while on a date with a man. My makeup is simple, my heels very high but relatively practical, and my panties are both sophisticated and expensive. Also, damp in the gusset. Sexually speaking I really enjoy things that I can’t predict and things that are new to me. This attempting-to-read-aloud-and-maintain-composure while being sexually stimulated game is new. The video camera adds a dash of exhibitionism which I always appreciate. Most interesting, though, is the Hitachi that my vagina is about to be making very good friends with for the first time.

When I tell Clayton’s lovely assistant for the evening that I’ve never experienced the Hitachi, her eyes light up. I’ve obviously gotten myself into the most fun kind of trouble. Lights get set and everyone assumes their positions. My underwear lays on the floor out of frame. As I start reading, my disbelief is suspended. I forget what is about to happen. The first touch on my thigh sends all available blood to my vulva. I continue to enunciate properly, focusing on the text. I’ve broken a sweat. If this goes on for much longer my hair will be plastered to my head with perspiration as though I’ve been working out or engaging in acrobatic man/woman penetrative fucking. I stumble over a word, my concentration breaks as I go back to pronounce it correctly. Neither the Hitachi or the woman wielding it will be denied, but in the interests of art (and because this feels so beautifully filthy I don’t want it to stop yet) I hold out as long as I can. This section of the world that I’m inhabiting slows down, zooms in. Like a stretched rubber band it suddenly contracts, and I am lovingly punched with an orgasm. 

I giggle-pant, hands on the table. Once enough pieces of my mind have come back I deliver the closing line.

Somewhere in this is Kayden’s eloquent description of what it’s like to engage in sexual activity with me (and a couple of other girls)…

clubkayden:

I’ve rediscovered girls in a life changing way. It started as something behind the scenes, like a tugging, a program somewhere deeply buried cycling out of latency and into full-blown pervedom. It came slowly at first. An intangible. I began to notice there was something that would tighten the…

What do you think about when you’re having an orgasm?

Nothing. 

Maybe you’re thinking, but I know I’m not thinking. My mind is clear. My mouth goes on autopilot, the sounds coming out of it may occasionally be words but they have no intellectual thought behind them. The “oh god”s and “fuck”s are almost a mantra. I am a blank puddle of nerve endings, completely open to sensation. I have no control over my rapidly contracting lower abdomen or my flailing limbs. My back arches, dragging my shoulders over the now damp sheets, pushing my hips down into the mattress. Warm inner forearm skin pressing into my hip bone and leg hair gently crunching against the back of my thigh. 

What’s going on here is pure haptic sensation. Touch. 

Touch is a basic human need. My go-to example for this is the post-Ceasecu situation in Romania’s orphanages. We need physical contact with each other. We need to touch and to be touched. Both sexual and non-sexual snuggles produce Oxytocin, which scientists say appears to stimulate bonding and might do things like help our bodies heal faster. I’m not a scientist, but I know anecdotally that skin-on-skin contact relaxes people. A good hug really does help. Laying around with each other like a pile of kittens is so delightful that Jess and I’s couch for years was an almost non-stop cuddle-puddle of whatever friends happened to be over at the time. 

Yes, I am going directly from a paragraph that starts with abused orphans into a paragraph about sex.

The process of peeling my clothing off with another consenting adult and finding the most enjoyable ways to fit our naked bodies together is something I think of as my inalienable right as a person. It might be one of the main points of being human and alive. When I share my body with someone, I’m sharing more than the purely physical. When everyone involved allows themselves to be truly open, we all come away with more of something (amazing and indefinable) than we started with. Putting someone’s appendage into one of your orifices and opening yourself in a personal and emotional way are two different things. When they happen simultaneously, that is where sex becomes so wonderful that poets start to make sense and you lose the ability to pronounce ‘fine motor skills’ much less make use of them.

What do you think about when you’re having an orgasm? 

I’m too busy feeling.

We’re in the car. I’m tired of wearing clothing, I feel constricted. I pop the clasp on the back of my bra open and remove it. You encourage me to take my panties off as well if it’ll make me feel better. You’re filthy. So incredibly filthy in the best ways imaginable. My pussy contracts involuntarily and starts to get wet. I slide the matching net briefs down my legs and put them in my purse.

When we get to the parking garage I keep my knees together as I get out of the passenger side door. We walk back to my building and as we’re headed up the stairs you put your hand up my skirt and run a finger down the length of my lips. I know you can feel how much I want you. You slowly enter me with that finger. I can feel the calluses, the muscle. Who the fuck has muscular fingers? You do. I love your hands.

“Let’s go, cutie.”

I’m pretty sure you’re walking me up the stairs by my vulva. You’re in control. You have the control because I’ve given it to you and we both seem to enjoy this arrangement very much.

I take my skirt off and sit on the bed. You spread my legs, kiss the inside of one thigh and breathe on my pussy. I shiver. You do it a couple of times, alternating this with blowing a cooler, more focused puff over my clitoris or towards my asshole. You can be such a tease. It’s hot and cold and I might melt and then you touch me with your tongue. Yes, touch. Not lick. I know you’ll get to that eventually but you keep your tongue virtually immobile on my clit until I really may not be able to stand it any more. The first lick is slow and almost torturous. Can torturous be used in this context? You’re so delicate with your tongue. Precise. So very purposeful. You eat pussy like a chick. Like you know where we’re headed but you’re going to take your time getting there because you know this part is enjoyable too. Yes, torturous can absolutely be used in this context. I need to come. It’s maddening. I’m trying to push a little harder against your mouth when suddenly you grab my clitoris firmly with your lips or teeth or something and start doing something that feels like you’re suction cupped to it. You drag the orgasm out of me. You take it because you know you can. I can’t control myself any longer. My legs come up and wrap around your neck, my hand on the back of your head. I’m humping your face, probably cutting off the supply of blood through your jugular with my thighs. It’s like dying. My brain shuts off. All I feel is tactile pleasure. I may explode, I do explode, and then I’m sliding down, away from your mouth. The half grown out facial hair feels nice. My vaginal secretions are dripping off of your chin. I hope you can understand now why I enjoy it so much when you come on my face, in my mouth.

“I wish I could fuck you and do this at the same time.”

You’re filthy. You’re amazing.

——-

I am coming down from a series of orgasms which culminated in one so intense that it re-set my vagina. My only option is to lay there under you and glow for a few seconds before my body can even consider building towards another one. You’re thrusting into me with a steady rhythm. I feel sated and relaxed. I just want to push back with my hips and give you some dedicated you time. I want to make you come. I want to pay attention to every detail.

I can feel you get slightly harder. This always surprises me. Your cock fits me so nicely that when it swells up that little extra bit I can feel it push against the inner circumference of my vagina and it drives me crazy. Every time, I can’t believe you could feel any better than you did a few seconds earlier, but you do.

You’re going to come. You say you want to come inside me. You say this because you know it turns me on, and I think because it turns you on, too. Sometimes you try to fake me out, you say you’re going to and mimic an orgasm inside me and the thought of it is so hot but I know you’re far too respectful and responsible to do that unless I asked you to.

Unless I asked you to.

It’s a terrible idea, but…

“Do it. I want to feel you come inside me.”

I grab you by your butt cheeks and pull you in. Your pubic bone brushes against my clitoris, it feels nice but every single nerve in my vaginal canal is so awake and so tuned in to what’s about to happen that it barely registers. I feel you fall into me hips first. Your cock twitches, expands, a burst of hot, tingling fluid fills me up. I feel it splash off of my cervix and this moment is so beautiful I want to hang suspended in it forever. One more spurt of liquid and I’m full. You gently lay your upper body down on me. I run the pads of my fingers gently over the warm skin of your sculpted back and shoulders. You make a slight backwards movement with your pelvis as though you might pull out. I think you don’t want to squish me.

“No, please, stay.”

This feels so good I want to draw it out as long as possible.

A trickle of your semen dribbles out of me and over my asshole. I can feel you still engorged, pressing against the front wall which so loves to be pressed up against. I am so turned on that I am teetering on the cusp of another orgasm, but to do so would stop the feeling I have right now and I don’t want it to end. It’s delicious, being right on the edge and holding back like that.

“You just came inside me.”

“I did. It felt so right in the moment.”

It did feel so right. So very right. I could fall asleep like this, you on top of and inside me, your face nuzzled next to mine, your big hands holding me so gently by the waist. You start to go limp and I treasure every centimeter of internal caress as your dick slides out. This is something so much more than lust.