Archive for October, 2012


I am having a lot of sex. This is a fact. And I am starting to learn something about it all.
Perhaps to say all of it is a little overzealous. I would say that I am starting to get a good sample space to hypothesize about the demographic of mostly white, educated, middle-upper class, slightly overweight, mid to late 20s heterosexual males. As an avid OkCupid user, I am finding, drinking and doing it with these young men, frequently on the second or (as is much more popular as of late) the first date.

I am also walking away from these encounters with little remorse, and an even littler desire to ever see them again. That latter part is not exactly true, as I am actually becoming good, jovial friends with quite a few of them and hope to keep them around for companionship and laughter, at least for a little while. At least a couple I hope to artistically collaborate with, so that’s an exciting area of exploration. Networking! Friendship! Casual sex!

I think I can do better than these folks. And by better I mean better bodies and bigger dicks. To be frank. I hadn’t realized how perfect I found PM’s body until I was ready and willing to entertain all sorts of body positivity (a lot in part, I realized now retroactively, because of my own insecurity) for my sexual partners. This does not mean that I am not attracted to a heavier set body, indeed, I would say I am drawn in particular to them because, as a large woman (in height and therefore size, but not heft — I remain a 38B for those who will relish in that sort of detail) I still feel insecure about being ungainly and/or immune to vulnerability. I need protection and I find that most in loving touch from caring, sure, passionate, loving humans. These humans can come in large packages. There is just one small, yet essential item: I need my sex to be, for lack of a better word, athletic.

This is not the same as huffing and puffing over me, at such an erratic and high strung rate that I (more than once) wince at the mental association with being humped by an epileptic walrus. This is not what I want to be thinking during sex. I want to be watching the sculpted Herculean body sensually, rhythmically, robustly pumping away at my supple, silky, smooth curves in a mirror that we have perched above our bed. I want to watch the muscles in his buttocks clench as he drives into me, as deep as he can go and then I arch my back and clench his shoulder blades as he goes yet in deeper.

I’m not getting this kind of sex.

In the meantime, I’m mostly being poorly fucked by mediocrely endowed men. You, sirs, cannot afford to have so little technique in addition to your little predicament. I hadn’t thought that size mattered but let’s remember my statistics, shall we? It took me 20 years to have sex with one man. I then had sex with him, the PM, the poorly postured but otherwise perfectly proportioned problem that he was, for TWO YEARS. In the subsequent weeks since my self-removal from that catastrophe, I have notched my belt an additional 5 notches in my belt, totaling my tally to 6.

And, yesterday, I had sex with 2 people. Not at the same time, mind you. (Yet.) But I definitely went from a first date/one-night-stand-where-I-left-instead-of-staying-over and then, instead of sleeping alone in my bed post date, I was booty-called and a man showed up on my doorstep and fucked me into the night. Entertaining? Yes. Enjoyable? Yes. Exhausting? Yes. Exactly the same next time? No. Needs improvement.

So, here is my advice to the demographic whom I expect to keep pursuing, even though I also may extend my casting net into higher leagues. I think I might be a pretty high league now, which is astonishing. I also think I may have dropped 12-15 lbs or so since arriving in the city but having stopped weighing myself around 3 years ago because it was making me insane, I wouldn’t quite know. I do know I feel slimmer, trimmer, and SO MUCH HORNIER. That’s the lack of birth control and I’m almost inclined to stay off of it, but then I remember I’ve had sex with two men in the last 36 hours and I remind myself that if I have a baby before I get a master’s degree, my family may disown me. #firstworldproblems

So my advice to all the young men in this age group looking to please a woman in bed, or:

How To Get Her (To Like It Enough To Want You) Again

1. Kiss her neck.
Don’t necessarily rub your face (especially if recently stubbled) against it.
Kiss, not bite, I said.
Slobber is not necessary.
A light sucking, occasional slip of the tongue, all along her collarbone, up her neck, along the jawline and then gently tugging on her earlobe.

2. Be gentle with her breasts
You don’t know where they’ve been (or what they’ve been supported by, what they’ve also been carried with, what time of month it is, how sensitive her nipples are)
Do not bite her nipples (unless she asks for it.)

3. Hickies are only acceptable in places where standard business casual clothing covers.
No exceptions.
Be conservative if you have any doubts.
Please.

4. Do not ram me for more than 2 minutes at the same tempo, frequency, gate, and stamina unless I am obviously reacting very positively. And even so, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that long without changing something up.
Pumping is a no go. That word is just … that’s what the problem is. You are not having sex with, making love to, boning, fucking, or sleeping with me. You are just pumping my body and I am not into it.

5. Ask me, preferably early on, when you are clearly horny but not close and/or already finished, how I best come and then for the love of god help me get there.
If I say, no it’s okay, then it’s okay but you just got mad points for putting me first.
Protip: I always put your pleasure first, because watching you be pleasured (by me) is what turns me on the most. BUT: there are very particular things that you can do that will help me get going right along and then it’ll be smoother (wetter) sailing for everyone (if you get my drift).
I don’t want you to grunt and sweat and squint your eyes so much while you hump me dry that you forget to notice 1. that I’m a human there, receiving your skidding latex-sheathed dick and that 2. your latex-sheathed dick is skidding back and forth inside of the human below you.

Too much Ow; not enough Ahh.

Please and thank you.
Raynbow Phoenix thanks you.

P.S. As we all remember from last post, I give amazing head. One of my Pleasure Him Party Tricks, if you will. The one thing I will say about all you belt-notch boys is that you have been astoundingly grateful and for that I am flattered and charmed.

I keep saying I’ve put him in the friend box, except that most of the time I’ve fallen in love with my friends over time. That’s part of why I miss them so much when it is no longer possible for us to be together. A lot of times that’s because I’ve decided to live my life.

So I’ve been dating and I can’t tell you. It’s okay, because I’m learning a lot. About dynamics, interacting with strangers when you’re awkward/horny/tired/not interested/not sure/– and those can change in an instant! I’ve been learning a lot about penis size and have to say I’ve been mostly disappointed. There has also been more than one occurrence of that infuriating (to this li’l cat in heat, anyway) phenomenon commonly called “whiskey dick,” to which I say: The difference between a boy and a man is the ability to hold your liquor; this is to be as drunk as you want to be and also have the patience, power, and stamina to make a woman shudder at your touch. Alcohol makes me randy. I have no tolerance for those who can’t keep (it) up, if simply because in order to actually admit defeat, there is always the initial “yes, I’m interested, let’s begin!” which peters off as the peter … let’s just say peter is having some trouble with his (pepper pickin) pecker. It then leaves some of us other participants stranded with half the Boning Brigade having just walked out of the kingdom… whether because of defeat, or because of the alcoholic wooze, they somehow forget that maybe their interest wasn’t the only one.

For the love of God, will someone else learn how to pleasure this body?

No one else in the whole wide world has been able to do it without my input. And by input I mostly mean control. There have been some helping fingers in other areas, but always my fingers and mine along must be on point. Is it a matter of trust? I think so, although not exclusively. I do believe it is also a matter of skill. That none of these boys knows yet how to do it. Gently, friends. If ever you chose a moment to increase anything, you should probably wait two more minutes before starting to consider again whether you should change anything. I don’t like change. I like consistency. I like to know what is happening.

The Evolution of It:
First It** is foreign, then it is accustomed, then it is familiar, then it is intimate.
**It can mean Person, Someone Else’s Touch, A Woman’s Reaction To A Man’s (in my experience, anyway) Particular Stroke (Penis or Finger or Tongue) On Her Privates, Breastfeeding, Kissing, … there are many things.

Oh, so many children in my life. So many boys. You, PM, have been a boy this whole time merely in a man’s body and with a man’s rage. A man’s rage, but a child’s focus and empathy; the self-centered bliss of a precocious child with too many invisible privileges and a sniveling distaste for being denied any enjoyments he might so desire. You are a spoiled, entitled child who did not deserve me. You do not deserve me.

Do you remember the first time you made me feel shitty, PM? (Problem Man – see full definition in one of my other posts) It was before we were dating officially, but through your newfound singleness and my willingness to be persistent, we would frequently sneak a kiss or two in the upper balcony of the space. But, this fine day full of sun and my relative freedom from work, I came to smooch you before running off to one of the brief meetings I had for the day and you retreated. No, you said, and then you stuck out your tongue to reveal a small white square film, with some sort of inane symbol blearily dissolving into your tongue.

I don’t want to be with someone who can’t kiss me because he’s doing acid instead. I want you to fucking be there for me. I’ll be there for you.
Maybe my sense of reliability comes across as too vulnerable, or too needy, or too persistent? I just want you to know what is happening. I want to make sure we are on the same page. I worry that we are not on the same page.

I think the person who is right for me will know how to calm me, even in the darkest inner spaces of my being.
That is why no one has gotten through to me yet; no one knows how.

My father’s best friend refers to him as his “Soul Brother.”
I wish not for a ‘Soul Mate’ but a ‘Soul Lover.’
I look forward to you.
And I hope to love you as easily and effectively as you do me.

What I Am Seeking

I am learning to love my body
Although depending on the angle
Sometimes I slip back
Into doubting
Its Profound Beauty

So please remind me
of my allure
with your eyes traveling along the curve of my
waistline
hips
shoulders
clavicle
stomach
breasts

Everything about me is delicious
I am falling in love with
My muscular thighs
They are not going anywhere
I realized
So I can work them
Sweat them
Trim them
Shape them
But they will remain
At least in presence
So I embrace them

And by God, you had better, too.

Because this body
As my good friend Rabi’a said:
This body, all in all, is good enough for embracing –

But the Friend who lives in my house
Is the lover of my Heart.”

I would like you to be both
Lover of my heart
and my body
Because I am all of me.
Please love all of it.