How to?

The more time I spend within the kink community and the more time I spend around sex positive and considerate people, the less tolerance I have for the same old bullshit around sex and gender. I spent my weekend with amazing people who all seem so keen to learn about and celebrate everything sex, sexuality and gender. Then, I come home with my usual research enthusiam. At the first googling of my fingers, I am faced with the mantra of “how to please a man.”

After a few interesting conversations with some new friends I thought I’d start my research with tantric sex. Honestly, I’ve always been a skeptic in this area, but my curiosity was peaked. With the words “tantric” and “how to,” I was given a barrage of:

“How to give a man…”

“How to please your man…”

“How to give him a tantric massage…”

There are no words to express the depth of my guttural sigh, in response to this. I am all for pleasure for people, no matter where you fall along the gender spectrum, but let’s stop polluting the world with this suggestion that women always blindly give and men always selfishly take. What kind of message does that give the eager teens of the world?!

To turn it around, I’m going to direct you to a woman I came across lately. I listened to an interview with her and was immediately struck by how confidently she speaks about herself, her body and her desires. Psalm Isadora talks about sex and tantric sex as though she was born to seduce the world! Or at least help others to. I’m yet to delve further as a lot of her info seems to come from in person workshops. However, it’s always good to remind myself to keep digging past that surface level of misogyny that is often pumped out by media. So, please, throw out that copy of Cosmo, and delve a little deeper. There is a lot of feminist, sex positive stuff out there, you just gotta search for it.  

Sploshing

Hello again fellow Bloggers and Bloggees!

I’ve had a combination of holidays and ‘real world’ things to deal with, which is why I haven’t posted in so long! But, I’m back at the keys now and I have loads to share with you all.

I have to admit, my enthusiasm to dabble in different kinks and report back, may be biting off a little more than I can chew. As such, we’ll have to call this part of my blog semi-regular, at least until I can find some kinky connoisseurs to interview. With that disclaimer in place, here’s my view on…

Sploshing

Experiences so far:

I’ve known that food and sex have paired together well in my mind for a long time. I still remember sneaking around with a high school boyfriend at 2am, trying to decide whether chocolate sauce or honey would be more fun to pour all over him. Since then I’ve add post coital chocolate and pre or during coital strawberries. And, there have been many an “accidental” spillage of whipped cream. One of my fondest memories is of a friend, pouring cream all over her breasts in a rented dungeon and declaring “Oh no!” in the not-so-innocent voice.

Still, thus far, my experiences with sex and food have all felt fairly mainstream or, vanilla. (Accept maybe having a strawberry dipped into my cunt – that felt very cheeky).

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Where to go next:

Of course, my first step in exploring this further was to talk to my partner. “How would you feel about sploshing?” and “I’m thinking of exploring this with other people also…Thoughts?” were my go-to starting points. The later is yet to unfold, principally due to the interference of life and the encumbrance of scheduling. As for the former, my partner was willing to give it a go.

Getting turned on:

Next I had to think about what “did it” for me or could turn me on, by adding food to sex. Or simply by playing around with food. After looking at the kinkier version of ‘food porn,’ I came across a lot of spaghetti and meats ripped and smeared all over bodies. As it turns out, split spaghetti makes me think of a toddler trying to eat and the ripped meats made me want to go vegetarian. Not exactly turn ons!

What I needed was texture, smell and taste. Vanilla, sweet, smooth, thick, warm and cold were all appealing to me. Again, I found myself remembering where food had cropped up in my life previously. Pouring powdered milk into a warm bath and using it to wash a former girlfriend. That. That was a turn on. Sucking the whipped cream from the aforementioned friend’s chest. Again. Turn on. With this and the enthusiasm for something playful, we started with cakes. Soft, fun, sweet.

Where it went:

Playing with cake was actually a major turn on for me. It felt fun and easy. Nothing too heavy and lots of giggles. Safe words and after care plans really weren’t needed for this one. After we tried cake, we revisited this activity a few weeks later with yoghurt.

In both cases, I feel myself and my partner had loads of fun. We got very turned on and enjoyed taunting each other, smearing food on each other and of course licking, licking, licking. There was also a very 1st world feeling of taboo within this. The thought of ‘wasting’ food for our own sexual pleasures was quite tantalising. We were ruining something and not using it for it’s original purpose. It felt a little perverse. Which, can often be fun.

Afterthoughts:

I think I would need to explore this one further and talk to more people, in order to get a more complete picture of why this particular kink turns people on. I would definitely do it again, but despite some arousal, this felt much more like a cheeky food fight without clothing, rather than a debauched sex act to jack off over.

 

If you have your own experiences with sploshing that you’d like to share, please go ahead and comment. If you’d like your opinion to be heard anonymously, shoot me a message and I will consider adding your thoughts to another queer and kinky post.

 

 

 

Anything you like

This piece of writing is NOT SUITABLE for those under the age of 18 years. Please turn back if you’ve come here by mistake.

I’m not 18. Take me somewhere else.

“You’ve been taking care of me. What can I do for you?” He asked. He smiled as he spoke and sat straight up, awaiting my response. “How about a massage?” He offers.

A massage sounded wonderful and god knows I needed it. Physically. Mentally, I needed to stop thinking. I needed to be cherished and loved and desired. And I needed someone else to decide what form that took. I needed a break from my own planning and decision making.

I told him what I wanted. “I need you to decide. I need you to be in control.” He paused. “Even if it’s only for 20 minutes. Really. You can time it if you like. But I want to lay down and have you take whatever pleasure from me that you want. Do anything you want and ask for anything you want. Even if it is simply silly, and has nothing to do with sex.”

He half laughed to himself and I realised he was already turned on from my request.

“20 minutes then.” He announced and began to set a timer on my phone. “20 minutes, but you’ll use your safe words if you need them and I’ll stop. Only then will I stop.”

I nodded. He stared at me and declared he wasn’t starting the timer yet. “Yellow means I need to pause, red means…”I repeated the rest of our safe words and what they meant. He kissed me, pushing him lips hard against mine. Took a deep breath as he looked down at my body, and started the timer.

I was so curious. Would he start with something silly? Would he simply rip my clothes off and pound himself into me? Use me as a masturbatory aid? I sat breathing and staring at him for so long that I was glad I couldn’t see the timer ticking down.

He began by running his hands over my body. I was clothed in a small top and floaty, blue, summer trousers. He pulled my trousers and socks off, commenting on my mismatched choices as he did so. He continued to explore my body with his hands. Pausing on my thighs and breasts. He moaned as he watched my skin beneath his.

I was still waiting.

Then, with clear conviction, he clamped his lips onto the top of my nose and suckled. I giggled. He did it again. Then moving away from my mouth his fingers poked and lingered over almost every ticklish part of my body. I kicked and squealed and tried not to pull away from him as he pushed under my arms, behind my knees, across my ribs.

Finally, he stopped. I could breathe again. “Shirt off” he demanded. I complied and lay back down, flat on the bed. He picked up my hand and used it to guide my arm upwards. Straight up in the air. My back flat on the bed and my arm 90 degrees to my torso. It was unnatural, yet oddly comfortable.

“This stays here.”

I melted at the confidence in his voice. Fuck. It began again; poking and prodding and pushing. My arm stayed exactly where he had placed it, whilst the rest of my body jerked and wiggled beneath his hands and mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. But I could keep that arm still. I was proud of myself.

“Good.” He announced as he lowered my arms. “Now take off your bra. Don’t use your hands.” After a lot of awkward wiggling and shimming, I pushed my bra to just above my waist. As I desperately tried to hook the clasp on a door handle, he frowned. He told me to stop, tenderly placed me back on the bed, rolled me over and removed this last piece of clothing himself.

“Stay there.” He fetched pens from a nearby shelf and brought them back to the bed. As he straddled me, he took the black pen, slowly pulled the lid off and pondered my body. He delicately and smoothly drew shapes on my skin. Circles around my breasts, ovals over my parts of my waist. I wanted to ask him if he was marking his favourite parts. I didn’t. He continued with circles and lines across me. Always mirroring each side, making sure that his designs were symmetrical. He was drawing with more speed now. Furiously adding more to the patterns he was making. Finally, he took the bright pink pen and began to write in large, block letters, just below my naval. I felt the first clear letter, but didn’t know what it was.

“I’m going to write ‘fuck me’ across you now.” He looked at me and waited. I re-affirmed my consent. I’d seen photos with people covered in patterns and dirty language like “fuck me” and “ruin me.” I’d never really understood the appeal. Until now. Still, I did my own kind of self check. Did I want this? Yes. Yes, I wanted this. I was wet already. The words made me ache. I wanted it. I gave him our safe word for Everything is fine. Please keep going. And he did.

He was near shaking when he’d finished writing. On my thigh, I could feel that he was as hard as he could get. He switched to the red pen and began drawing lines across my arms and thighs. Long, deep strokes, covering me. It felt dangerous. But I knew, in the back of my mind, it was only red pen and everything was as it should be.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

And he did.