Delinquency...

"How did it get so late so soon? It's night before it's afternoon! December is here before it's June. My goodness how the time has flewn! How did it get so late so soon?" - Dr. Seuss

Dearest readers, I am incredibly sorry that I have neglected you and my writing for the first half of 2012.  I am always working on several entries at once, and the months have just gotten away from me!  I'm going to publish several in the next few weeks, post-dating back to January and adding about once a month, as originally promised, in keeping with the natural progression of occasion and time.

I hope you can forgive me and be excited for some new entries and lots of reader feedback!

Always yours,

JN

Love and Black History Month

Here it is, the ever promising, always chilly month of February when the world (and Hallmark) take every chance to remind you to appreciate your loved one and respect the African-American heroes of days past and present.  So, as a tribute to entirety of the month, I'm going to combine them and appreciate a different kind of loved one: the Big Black Cock. 

Oh, yes, I said it.  And, if you've never had one, you absolutely must!  You really must.  It's like never trying proper New York style pizza or southern cooking or a crisp sunrise or the ocean lick your toes!  It's an experience for the books.  Now, I never discriminate on race, creed or gender in my bed, but as there is no other racial appreciation month, I thought I'd just illuminate this one with a story of mine.  One of many, but certainly one of the most unique and enjoyable...

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I had spent all evening with my friends and co-workers...and, as we tended to do, we proceeded to bar hop our way back to our hotel...
After about three bars and several wines, I'd hit my max and decided to cash out and split out on my own. Leaving my team at the bar, I grabbed a cab and quickly found myself in the company of a very dark, esoteric driver. I'd been wearing my sexy stilettos all evening, and my poor feet were extremely unhappy with me. Once in the cab, I tossed off my heels and let out a few moans as I stretched out and wrung my aching feet. The cabbie, watching me intently in his rearview, offered to massage me in his deep Ghanaian accent. I repeatedly declined until the pain (and his accent) got the best of me, and he convinced me to put a foot through the partition so he could offer me some sweet relief.

While paused at the stoplight, I slipped my foot through the opening and into his strong welcoming hand. After several minutes of massaging ecstasy, he smoothly suggested that he could do a much better job in the backseat with both hands on both feet. After some duress, I acquiesced, but only if he promised to keep his hands on my feet and nothing else. He pulled us alongside a well-lit hotel (for my peace of mind and safety), and let himself into the back seat, across from me. Our backs pressed against opposite doors, he pulled my legs onto his lap and got to work on my feet. I lulled off into a seductive trance as he plyed out my aches, from my ankles to my toes, stroke and tug after glorious stroke and tug for what felt like hours. I was so relaxed in my half-drunk, massaging euphoria when I was jolted awake by a very sudden warm, wet and squishy sensation. Oh god. My eyes flew open, only to realize that my toes were, indeed, in this strange man's mouth. After my initial alarm, and somewhat wary reassurance to continue, he coaxed me back into a sensual relaxation I have never known. He confidently licked and kneaded, from ankle to toe, one foot then the next, as I became increasingly aware of his urgent arousal. He gripped my heel fervently, stroking me into his mouth as I felt his cock swelling under my calf. With an easy rhythm, he'd pull one foot to his mouth and push the other along his bulging cock, throbbing inside his slacks. I was suddenly very curious...I had never gotten a man off with just my feet before...could I actually do that?? I could see where this was going, but I felt safe and uncompromised in every way. I was fully dressed, in jeans, naked only from the ankles down and intrigued, if not intoxicated, by possibility. I silently decided I was game, but feet ONLY, I promised myself. He dutifully continued with the alternating cock and foot massage until he gestured if he might take out his big black cock for more direct stimulation. I smirked and nodded. This man had magnificently milked so much pain from my feet, I felt equally compelled to milk the desire from him.

He gently pulled out his glorious black cock, as incredible an organ as I'd ever seen, and allowed me to roll it between my soft, moist feet. He'd suck one foot as I stroked his smooth dark cock with the bottom of the other. Every part of me resisted my carnal instinct to reach out and touch it, stroke it, wrap my lips around it and worship it properly; I was determined to do this with feet alone. I rubbed one foot alongside the shaft while resting my toes, ever so lightly, under the head and making quick, deliberate strokes, trying to mimic two handed stimulation. He let out a long gutteral, encouraging moan, and leaned back to let me work. I stroked with one foot along the bottom of the shaft, and one brushing lightly under the head, then one foot on each side, working separately, then together. Finally, I slipped one foot between his stomach and his hard cock, while using other foot to press up and stroke up the entire shaft, coaxing out a loud, urgent and glorious release all over my feet. After a few moments and several satiated deep breaths, he seductively lapped up every drop of himself from between my toes. With a big sigh and several thank yous (from both of us), he rearranged back to the front and deposited me at my hotel. The meter read $53.12, but after our hour or so of pleasure, I just blew him a kiss and headed upstairs to sleep.  Alone.
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Sometimes the most simple acts can be the most intimate (e.g. foot massaging).  Something to consider before you come pawing at us in your uni-directional horniness next time...

With a lascivious sigh,
JN

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Ok, as it's a new year with new resolutions, and in my ever-fervent effort for full disclosure, I must admit something, out loud, to all of you...

I fake orgasms.

I have always taken great pride in never having to remember stories or secrets, what I told to whom, or if I omitted details, because I simply do not lie in my daily life, especially about myself.  My motto has always been: "I'll answer any question you have, just be sure you really want to know the answer."  I never want to be punished for my honesty through over-disclosure, but I don't generally arbitrarily volunteer information either.  And, yet, here I am, confessing to this gorilla of a lie, the biggest, hairiest, meanest one of them all: If you and I have ever hooked up, in any capacity, I am here to tell you that I have faked at least one orgasm with you/on you/for you. Even if you're convinced I haven't or believe you're the exception to the rule, I promise you, I have, at least once, but more likely, multiple times.

And while my admission is a truly tragic one, it has recently come to my attention that we ladies are ALL faking, and with more and more frequency...and I say this with a deep sigh and huge regret...that somehow, somewhere, we women let our insecurities get the best of us, and we decided it was easier to just fake it.

Men always want to know WHY we women fake, but it's not that simple, and it's not necessarily for the same reasons.  The primary reason I fake is because rarely am I asked what it's gonna take to get me off (nor do these men convince me they are particularly interested).  Men jump into bed and assume that we women, like cars, have similar mechanics with standard assembly line parts that they can jiggle and twist until something will just pop into place. (And, although, some women are at fault for this too, it's on a much smaller scale and not without craving our partner's instruction.) I fake because there's an epidemic of "assistance is insulting" going around.  How come it's hot and acceptable to use a vibrator for masturbation purposes but not as a helper during actual sex?  I've dated both men and women who take any assistance to their abilities as an insult, but it's really much more (for me, at least) about taking the performance pressure off of them.  Since I am especially familiar and comfortable with my body, I'd much rather focus on sharing the experience, the moment, and enjoying their presence as the pleasure catalyst.  If you're really into the connection and enjoyment overall, why would you NOT want any and all resources at your disposal?

The problem I've found is that so many partners want to appear very "GGG" (GoodGivingGame-a la Dan Savage), but they also fear that the toy will be a needed/wanted all-the-time kind of thing...so we fake rather than rock the boat by talking about it.  It's just easier.  We make sure to milk the times we're allowed to have toys in bed and then try to stroke our partner's ego all the other times when we're faking our heads off.  I say "we" and "our" because I conducted some impromptu studies among my female friends, (single/dating/married/21-50/all walks of life) and was horrified to find that even more women are faking and more frequently than I originally thought.  Almost every single one of them fake an orgasm on a regular basis.  Men, you should see this as a testament to how much we actually give a damn about your precious egos.  We don't want you thinking you're inadequate, and because partners before us haven't "needed" vibrators with you (allegedly), and we're not trying to make ourselves look difficult, but, the truth is...nobody--not them before, not us now--are getting off with just your magic penis during old-fashioned in and out penetration.  This is not to say we don't LOVE your penetration, because we do!  But, it, by itself, isn't going to get the job done. (disclaimer: if you are one of the 4% of men that have a large and spectacular cock AND can talk deliciously dirty, then maybe you're the occasional exception...but every woman still needs help sometimes, even with a delicious donkey dick.)

The number ONE reason for faking orgasms comes from...(you ready for it?)...lack of communication and fear of discussion/rejection (usually paired with lack of confidence)!  We would honestly love it if our partners were confident enough with themselves to allow us to be open and honest about what's going to get us there.  A vibrator is just a helper, it's in no way a replacement for our partner's body and taste and touch and smell.  Fact is, our clitoral tissue, stretched end to end is actually longer than most penises and wrapped around far deeper inside our bodies.  Because of this, incorporating vibration helps reach those deeper nerve endings, and combined with everything we are experiencing with our partner, we can have a much more satisfying climax.  We don't want it to be either/or, we just want it to be a natural inclusion in the routine!  Having a vibrating bullet between our bodies allows us to relax into the act rather than anticipating and fearing we're not going to cum or how we're going to fake or why the hell you didn't go down on us first.  We want you to be confident in your abilities as our partner, but if you truly care about our pleasure, then please be comfortable with whatever it is that's going to get us there.  And, the only way to know what's going to get us there is by ASKING (and being truly invested in hearing the answer).

Being able to talk about sex with your partner is a necessity for intimacy, and generally, talking about sex when you're not having sex is the most comfortable and safe time to connect.  Too often, we wait till we're in bed, all naked and vulnerable, striving for what may be an impossible (if not misdirected) orgasmic goal, while casually attempting to give subtle directions like a sexy GPS, all while our partner may not be open to much guidance.  We all say we want to know what our partners want in bed, but when it comes down to it, are you actually having the conversations?  I find for those more timid people or when you wanna test the sex talk waters with a partner, electronic conversations can be the way to go; they allow you the safety of saying exactly what you want without the other person's reaction being in your face.  The most important part of this exercise, of course, is finding a partner that is actually very interested in your pleasure, if even for their own gratification.
We know that (almost all) women CAN physically have orgasms; however, most of those orgasms occur with clitoral stimulation coupled with some kind of penetration (vaginal/anal) and other breast or body contact. In all my years of living, I've only had those whole-body, deep, vaginal-only orgasms with 2, maybe 3 partners. The biggest problem I run into is the ever-present lose-lose situation: men don't want you to use vibrators on yourself during sex because it makes them feel inadequate, so you don't pull them out and subsequently wind up perpetuating the problem because, well, without that little extra kick, they are actually going to be tragically inadequate in a strictly penis-vagina intercourse situation. It's such an unfun vicious cycle.

After collecting all my orgasmic research, I've realized this is not unlike the LGBT community's movement: "We are each just one woman faking one orgasm, but together, we are contributing to the bigger problem of men not knowing between what works and what doesn't."  Together, we women have perpetuated this problem by not demanding that we get what we actually NEED in bed.

So, women, today, I urge you to start imagining what fulfilling sex would look like, feel like and sound.  And, men, I encourage you to put your egos aside, realizing we are still choosing to have sex with you, and ask what might make it that much better for us.  If we can at least get to working on the "trying" part, we'll be getting that much closer to the actual "doing", and soon, we can all be legitimately cumming all over the place.

Good luck, everyone, and keep me posted on your journeys towards authentic sexual pleasure!

Yours,

JN