Three in the Bed

This article was originally printed in the January 2012 issue of Cosmopolitan (Australia / New Zealand), sealed section – my first professional publication! See the image below to read it as it was in the magazine. However, I prefer the version with the words unasterisked, and with my original usage of cunt, rather than vagina, so you can read that here as well. 

I should tell you, before we go any further, that my first threesome wasn’t awesome. It was good – they were excellent kissers, the oral was great, and there were orgasms for all involved – but it wasn’t what you’d call awesome.

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The voyages of Dionysos

For those of you come part-way through the tale, let me tell you about Dionysos. He was part of this story right from the very beginning, as together we discovered what kink was – he from the top and myself from the bottom.

Over the years, we experimented with rope and chains and orgasm denial and pegs and flogging – all sorts of wicked and wonderful things. With him we learned swiftly that I adored having photographs taken from every conceivable angle … and somehow that it was extra funny when ducks were involved.

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Don’t be afraid of your freedom

Does anyone else have their own theme-song? You know – the one song, that whenever you listen to it, feels thematic/resonates with your life? And cheers you the hell up to boot!

Me, I most definitely do – which is good, as it means I have something to write about.  I’ve had a theme for as long as I can remember, and while it has changed a few times, I’ve had the same one now for the best part of twenty years.

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Family

I am the keeper of my family history.

Four people, sharing a house and a life and making a family together. A father and a mother, a daughter and a son.

All gone, but for me.

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Spunky and Slippery

The sex education I had growing up wasn’t too bad. Not that it was terribly memorable either (unlike finding and devouring my father’s Playboy cartoon books. Which I now own).

What do I remember? I remember making rockets out of tampons at eleven. I remember being amazed  at sixteen when I found out that spunk (a term we used for a sexy guy) was slang for sperm. I know that I was taught about condoms and spermicide and the pill – and early enough that I used all of those things. Just.

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Ancestors

Because I’m a curious person, I get to wondering about how sexual the previous generations of my family were.

(This isn’t as weird as it sounds. My parents are dead. All grandparents bar one are dead. And the greats? Long gone.)

Obviously they were sexual enough to reproduce, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. That goes for the ancestors of most everyone on the planet. But were they happy? Did they smile, or ‘think of England‘? Did they have relations because it was part of marriage and  expected of them, or necessary to survive, or did they take pleasure – and give pleasure – and feel joy in coming together?

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Repost: Musings on Curvitude

Today is 11 years since my mother’s suicide. I don’t feel up to saying anything new, but I did want to repost something I wrote a few years back.

From March 2007.

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Toi Toi and Seagulls HNT

Toi toi is part of my memories. When I was a growing up we had a large hillock fronting a shared driveway, and toi toi, cutty grass, and the ubiquitous biddy-bids grew there. It was a great place to burrow into, make caves or nests or simply wriggle in and read in sunny shade. And, of course, toi toi could be pulled free and imagined into swords, flags, or whatever took my fancy.

There’s a particular smell that I can remember when I think of that hillock. It’s summer and grass and pollen and petrol fumes (from the road), sunshine and dirt and safety.

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Silberhaar

I really do love my hair. I enjoy the soft weight of it against my shoulders. I delight in brushing it across the chest (or lower down) of a lover. I am pleased that I can plait it, bun it, put it in a ponytail, curl it in fat pigtails, or just clip it back.

And I love the colour of my hair. It’s a luscious dark brown, with red and auburn highlights in the sun, and has delicate silver hairs radiating out from my temples.

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Slow Dance

I wrote this as an entry to Wilhelmina‘s ‘First‘ competition, now closed. It’s a true story, and one I’ve not shared on this blog before. Let me know what you think!

We had been doing the slow dance of flirtation for months. She was unconventionally attractive – her slim legs ending in Doc Marten boots beneath her skirts, a laughing mouth and teasing eyes – but it was quite some time before I realised I was attracted to her. A girl. Another woman. Not a man, in other words. That was a first for me, and it was some weeks of heavy pondering in the early hours, before I came to accept that I was attracted to whomever I was attracted to – in this case, her.

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