The Wettening

The great orgasm drought of 2007 has broken!

This, unsurprisingly, pleases me mightily, as I was getting quite tetchy about my lack of libido. It first disappeared when I came down with a chest infection a few weeks ago, and as the chest infection turned into bronchitis, my libido (along with energy and appetite) disappeared completely. All that time in bed, and no desire for sex – it was a crying shame, which I buried under a tonne of reading and sleeping. Unfortunately for me, while both energy and appetite had returned by the next weekend, my libido malingered … pesky creature!

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Friday Poem: Poly Dinner

I’m sitting at the tablewith my lovers all aroundHaving raucous conversationsthat are occasionally profound

Aphrodite’s sitting by me with Adonis at the head Medea’s in her corset and Demeter’s by the bread

We all have our connectionsIt isn’t only meShe’s slept with herAnd her with himAnd him and her with she

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Raunchy Review: Baby Dee Collar

I was so damned excited when my package from Libida.com arrived! I’d been invited to select toys I was interested in reviewing (thank you again, Petra!), but I had no idea which ones would actually arrive. So finding scissors and cutting the tape and opening the box and digging through styrofoam packing peanuts was great fun – like my birthday come early, because I didn’t know what I would find.

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Found in Translation

Adonis, upon reading this, told me that it sounds like I’ve written about Medea. Perhaps I did. Or perhaps they words are about the lovely woman in the photographs below. Not even I know which is more true.

You tell me so much with your choice of words, but when I am with you I see so much more (and see how you share your expressions with all who see these photographs? Who will translate them so they can understand?)

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Stiletto Mistress

She’s a vision. But she’s not a goddess, not a ma’am, not someone who’s boots I should kneel and lick (although I am tempted, now, as I haven’t been for boots before). I call her mistress, tonight, but only in this room, while she wears those boots. They’re fuck-me boots, Dom-me boots, do-what-you-will-with-me boots. Her eyes gleam as bright as the leather, as she realises what she has to play with tonight.

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Friday Poem: Libido doll

Oh where, oh where has my libido gone? Oh where, oh where can it be? It last was seen a full week back at dawn And since then it has not been seen.

I’ve searched for my libido both up and down Inside the house and on the street. It was quite well known both here and in the town Now I fear it ain’t been discreet…

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Raunchy Review: Vibrating Go Go Stick

The Vibrating Go Go Stick looks like a cool toy, which is why, when I had money to burn and was looking for a butt plug, I came home from Eroxxx with both a butt plug and, well, the Go Go Stick. I’m sure my train of thought made sense at the time: I like being tickled, and I like being vibrated. What a funky concept, being able to do both.

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100 weeks of Sugasm

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

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Out of Whack

I have so much to share with you all, dear readers. Unfortunately, my life isn’t always happy naked fun times (although sometimes it looks like that, reading this blog). Granted, there is a lot of sex (I have a backlog to write up, after a threesome last Thursday, and D/s session with Medea on Saturday, and a threesome with different folk on Tuesday. Not to mention masturbation and trying out new toys). But it’s hard to get it all written down sometimes, with the rest of my life getting in the way.

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Ironic? Or Iconic?

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint. ~ Erma Bombeck I actually quite enjoy ironing. If I have a quiet afternoon or evening to myself, I’ll put some Buffy on the television (favourite seasons: three and five for plot and humour, and six for the hot Spuffy sex), fill up the iron until it’s puffing steam, and open the back door so I don’t melt from the heat. Then, well prepared, I’ll work my way through the monstrous pile of clean clothes (piled on the dedicated ‘to be ironed’ chair) until they become tidy stacks of folded pillow-slips, handkerchiefs, tea-towels; and a chair with de-creased shirts and trousers carefully laid across the back.

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