Ok, ok, OK! Alright already! I get it! I realize I have left all of you alone as I've been down for many months too many! I AM SORRY, dear readers, but no excuses. I'm going to do my best to pick up where I left off, if at least to avoid anymore (unnecessary?) punishments at the hands of my adored. I have committed to writing regularly, and I intend to keep my commitments.
So, after sifting through piles of emails and other lusty commentary, I'm putting together some very important posts, both informational and anecdotal (as necessary) for 2013. If it's any indication by how 2012 went down, I have a strong feeling that 2013 is going to be quite the year, especially here on this blog, ladies and gentlemen.
And like Heinz always used to tell us (before the brilliant invention of the squeeze bottle), "Good things come to those who wait..."
Yours,
JN
"For last year's words belong to last year's language, and next year's words await another voice." - T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Friday, January 25, 2013
Sunday, January 8, 2012
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
Sunday, September 18, 2011
"He asked me if I wanted to dance...I said I might take a chance...and then he kissed me..."
The last time I saw him, I shattered his heart. We were on a secluded beach in the Caribbean when I finally confessed to him that I was in love with another woman. It was emotional, not physical, infidelity, but it was infidelity nonetheless, and it was devastating.
A year or so later, I'm sitting in his driveway with nervous excitement. He's invited me for dinner and to see if there are any remnants of "us" worth salvaging. It's now or never. I take a deep breath, grab the wine and head towards the front door.
I knock and wait. He answers, and we are alone. I'm anxious for him to kiss me like he used to upon meeting: wrap his arms around my waist and pull me snug against him, lean in and press his closed full mouth against mine, eyes shut, breathing me in. Even when the kiss was over, he'd keep his eyes closed, smirking and savoring, waiting for me to kiss him again, soaking me in. Sadly, I haven't yet earned that kind of relishment, but I still get a hug with that "do we kiss or not kiss?" moment of hesitation. No kiss.
He's prepping the vegetables and meat for dinner, so I go ahead and crack the wine, smiling and making small talk; our tension palpable. We briefly toast to possibility before easing back into our roles with one another, him cooking and me entertaining. I walk around to refill his wine glass when he finally touches me; he slides his hand down my back, to my waist, pulling me to face him when he kisses me softly, then intensely. We can't stop, we're starving for each other. He urges me toward the sofa and pulls me on top of him, never loosening his grip. We are gentle yet frantic with each other, mouths, hands, arms, heat, flesh, legs, devouring. Like a drowning person desperate for air, we are for each other.
He flips me on my back, gets on his knees, yanks my jeans off and buries his face between my legs as I gasp in delight. He pulls my panties to the side to take a good look and a few teasing licks before sliding them down my legs. Wrapping his arms under my thighs, he presses his mouth into my pussy and lovingly devours me, repeating only how much he has missed my taste as I swell in his mouth. He is phenomenal with his mouth (to his credit, he's done his homework with Nina Hartley), and he knows I'll cum all the harder when he slides two fingers deep inside to coax it out of me, slowly...steadily...then just barely faster. He's a tease, coaxing me, lapping at me till I'm just at the brink, pleading, begging him not to stop when he'll retract his tongue, his warm mouth still enveloping me as I throb and scream for him not to stop! He smiles at my frustration and urgency, suddenly thrusting his fingers deeper inside me and making his tongue wide against my swollen, throbbing clit, making circles around my whole pussy till I explode in his mouth. As I am still shuddering, he stands over me, dipping his tightly swollen cock in my mouth 3, 4 times to get it good and wet then stuffs it inside my pussy, stroking slowly first, then rocking faster and faster as he gets harder and harder inside me, and I know he's gonna cum. I beg for it all over my tits, so he swiftly pulls out and explodes all over me as I rub it around my nipples, then lick my fingers. Out of breath, we both collapse with giant smiles on our faces.
God, it was so good and so overdue. There is really nothing so good as reuniting sex with someone you loved, but, then again, there is NOTHING like in-love sex. Nothing. Even the best sex with someone you care about is never as good as average sex with someone you love. There are just not enough words.
I've been open-hearted enough to have been in love (and have the subsequent amazing in-love sex) at least 4 or 5 times in my life so far, and for that I am immensely grateful. I know it's life-enhancing, possible and probable if you can open yourself up to the emotional risk. Yes, pain and heartache are equally as possible, but how else can you fully experience being alive? I'll take the possibility of pain for the probability of pleasure any day. And, although my ex (from this story) and I did not stay together, I will always be grateful for our times together. For me, it's not about forever, it's about not missing opportunities in the present.
Just a little temple worship for your Sunday...or as Chelsea Handler said this week, "Men would get a lot further if they'd slide into third base face first!" My thoughts exactly.
JN
A year or so later, I'm sitting in his driveway with nervous excitement. He's invited me for dinner and to see if there are any remnants of "us" worth salvaging. It's now or never. I take a deep breath, grab the wine and head towards the front door.
I knock and wait. He answers, and we are alone. I'm anxious for him to kiss me like he used to upon meeting: wrap his arms around my waist and pull me snug against him, lean in and press his closed full mouth against mine, eyes shut, breathing me in. Even when the kiss was over, he'd keep his eyes closed, smirking and savoring, waiting for me to kiss him again, soaking me in. Sadly, I haven't yet earned that kind of relishment, but I still get a hug with that "do we kiss or not kiss?" moment of hesitation. No kiss.
He's prepping the vegetables and meat for dinner, so I go ahead and crack the wine, smiling and making small talk; our tension palpable. We briefly toast to possibility before easing back into our roles with one another, him cooking and me entertaining. I walk around to refill his wine glass when he finally touches me; he slides his hand down my back, to my waist, pulling me to face him when he kisses me softly, then intensely. We can't stop, we're starving for each other. He urges me toward the sofa and pulls me on top of him, never loosening his grip. We are gentle yet frantic with each other, mouths, hands, arms, heat, flesh, legs, devouring. Like a drowning person desperate for air, we are for each other.
He flips me on my back, gets on his knees, yanks my jeans off and buries his face between my legs as I gasp in delight. He pulls my panties to the side to take a good look and a few teasing licks before sliding them down my legs. Wrapping his arms under my thighs, he presses his mouth into my pussy and lovingly devours me, repeating only how much he has missed my taste as I swell in his mouth. He is phenomenal with his mouth (to his credit, he's done his homework with Nina Hartley), and he knows I'll cum all the harder when he slides two fingers deep inside to coax it out of me, slowly...steadily...then just barely faster. He's a tease, coaxing me, lapping at me till I'm just at the brink, pleading, begging him not to stop when he'll retract his tongue, his warm mouth still enveloping me as I throb and scream for him not to stop! He smiles at my frustration and urgency, suddenly thrusting his fingers deeper inside me and making his tongue wide against my swollen, throbbing clit, making circles around my whole pussy till I explode in his mouth. As I am still shuddering, he stands over me, dipping his tightly swollen cock in my mouth 3, 4 times to get it good and wet then stuffs it inside my pussy, stroking slowly first, then rocking faster and faster as he gets harder and harder inside me, and I know he's gonna cum. I beg for it all over my tits, so he swiftly pulls out and explodes all over me as I rub it around my nipples, then lick my fingers. Out of breath, we both collapse with giant smiles on our faces.
God, it was so good and so overdue. There is really nothing so good as reuniting sex with someone you loved, but, then again, there is NOTHING like in-love sex. Nothing. Even the best sex with someone you care about is never as good as average sex with someone you love. There are just not enough words.
I've been open-hearted enough to have been in love (and have the subsequent amazing in-love sex) at least 4 or 5 times in my life so far, and for that I am immensely grateful. I know it's life-enhancing, possible and probable if you can open yourself up to the emotional risk. Yes, pain and heartache are equally as possible, but how else can you fully experience being alive? I'll take the possibility of pain for the probability of pleasure any day. And, although my ex (from this story) and I did not stay together, I will always be grateful for our times together. For me, it's not about forever, it's about not missing opportunities in the present.
Just a little temple worship for your Sunday...or as Chelsea Handler said this week, "Men would get a lot further if they'd slide into third base face first!" My thoughts exactly.
JN
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Go Fuck Yourself (and I Wanna Watch)!
Oh for fuck's sake. What is the deal, people???
From everything I know and have experienced, everyone I have ever asked enjoys watching (or the idea of watching) their partner pleasure themselves. Everyone! Yet, of all these people, many of them are admittedly not comfortable enough (or even willing to entertain the thought!) of rubbing one out in front of their partner! Where is the disconnect??? (and I assure you, only a handful of these participants were actually raised Catholic.)
What is with so many women a) not willing to masturbate in front of their partners or b) allegedly not having masturbated at all? In their whole life? And men, what's the hangup about not wanting to jack off in front of your partner? Someone is going to have to help me understand this unfortunate phenomenon.
I guess I'm mostly just bummed that this VERY pleasureable act is not being extended over a party of one. Help me understand. Most everybody does it, if you're a human male, you likely do it with porn and/or your "highlight reel". (spoiler alert: every man watches porn...even if he tells you he doesn't, yes, even yours, yes, even if he's very CSI about it). As a woman, I can only masturbate about partners I've actually had; I was never one who could get off thinking about Jonathan Taylor Thomas or DiCaprio or someone random when I was young, and I think, for the most part, most women are much more specific. Men can generally get turned on by a stranger and imagine fucking that stranger and that's sufficient, but I don't know many women that operate like that. It's much more personal for us. Which is why, especially for me, phone/text/cyber sex can be very fulfilling with a partner I actually know and desire. Maybe I'm oddly unique, but one of my biggest turn on's is watching a guy stroke his own cock till it cums, especially if I'm his stimulus. So. Fucking. Hot. And, yet, I have a very difficult time getting partners to do this for me! WHY??? I just do not understand.
Problem #2: how many people have run into the guys that can't have an orgasm during intercourse...? I'm hearing about this more and more (and tragically dealt with it myself). So, here's a link to an awesome article by the great Dan Savage about the "death grip" problem:
http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=10817
Basically, he says that if you train your dick (or pussy, for that matter), to only get off in a certain position with certain pressure for years and years, you will have to work very specifically to recondition yourself. This is also why I tell women that can get themselves off with only their hands to NOT start using vibrators because they will desensitize you over time. I am jealous of women that can get themselves off without a vibrator, as I am not one of them, but I can urgently cum under the delicate coaxing of a warm mouth and soft tongue or a great cock and lots of dirty talk.
On a side note, many years ago, I went out with a guy that used to hump his pillows to masturbate. This was one of the most unique methods I had ever heard of at the time, since I thought all guys just used their hands. I remember going to his house once and accidentally tripping over this..."fuck buddy". Let's just say he was clearly not a proponent of safe sex with his pillows. It think it actually crunched when I tripped on it. Gross.
That's enough for today, but write to me more about your issues surrounding masturbation, and if you don't listen to Dan Savage's free podcasts on iTunes or read his column, I suggest you do, especially if you're as interested in and facinated by human sexuality as I am.
A smack and a kiss,
JN
Monday, April 4, 2011
Fetish, Fantasy or just Preference?
First things first. Everyone needs to listen to this link; it's just 3 minutes and explains the differences between Fantasy and Fetish. (and, no, I don't like Oprah, I just love Dr. Laura Berman)
www.oprah.com/oprahradio/Fantasy-vs-Fetish-Audio
What I'm going to dissect, though, is far more of the gray areas in between. I hate to even call it a Fantasy or a Fetish, I'd rather call them Preferences. Most of what I have encountered/experienced/studied, is more of a Preference: not something required to get aroused or reach orgasm, but something desired to make sex hotter some of the time/most of the time/occasionally/ideally.
Everyone talks about "Fetishes" but mostly incorrectly. Foot fetishes, hand fetishes, choking, biting, beating, spanking, flogging, golden showers, anal play/penitration, cock rings, piercings, stockings, heels, lingerie, white cotton socks and panties, cross-dressing, sex outdoors, sex in public, sex in uniform, and the other ten thousand turn-ons people have are mostly just Fantasies or Preferences. The real difference between a Fetish and a Fantasy is whether or not the person MUST have the object or scenario in order to actually reach orgasm. At that point, the point of necessary, it becomes a Fetish that can isolate and impersonate your partner. Sex becomes about the need, not about the interpersonal experience. And while there is ALWAYS going to be something in your partner's Preference/Fantasy category that makes you squirm (if they trust you enough to tell you), it can be an awesome opportunity for intimacy if you allow yourself.
Lately, I know of a few people that have taken Preference and feared it into Fetish, only to realize that they are afraid of what it could become, not what it actually is. For example, a reader described her partner's Preference for being dressed as a woman when they have sex. He's not gay or closeted; he's simply very aroused by the nurturing, welcoming, feminine penchants of womanhood. Now, he doesn't need to be dressed up in order for sex with her to be marvelous, he would just like to incorporate it every so often, and if she's uncomfortable with it, then he'll gladly take care of his own needs when she's not around. She would prefer that this Preference of his simply not exist, but even more so, she'd prefer that he feel serious shame about this desire, too. The biggest problem has been that she's gotten to where she's almost afraid to talk about it with him because she hopes that by ignoring it, maybe it will go away, fade into the past and not be part of their future together. Maybe he'll just forget that he was ever turned on by that in the first place! Bollocks. By not addressing it, openly, in the daylight and with acceptance (even while afraid and uncomfortable), she's slowly shutting the door on the trust they've built; she's showing her partner that it's not safe to talk to her about his deepest desires and fantasies. She's showing him that she doesn't trust his boundaries, his ability to make it safe, keep it personal, keep it honest. And that's why there's a shame spiral... If you cannot safely talk about absolutely anything with your partner AND trust their reaction and willingness to hear you, then that's probably a good place to begin the work.
As we've discussed before, opening up about your Fantasies is all about trust. Everyone can talk about the "socially acceptable" Preferences, it's when you get into the sticky and the dark that you stir up your own opportunities for growth in your discomfort, together with your partner and on your own. Not that everyone is going to pop open the wine and delve into the darkness right away, but when you do, or when your partner trusts you enough to open up, I encourage you to resist the urge to gasp or snort or make that disgusted, horrified expression and instead, just listen and ask honest questions. Don't shame your partner for their desires, embrace them for trusting you, and if their desires cause you fear or spark your insecurities, just be aware that that's coming from inside you, not inside them. And...most importantly, just because they are talking about what turns them on, that doesn't necessarily mean that they're going to jump off the deep end or open some giant Pandora's box of wild and crazy shit. If their desires start eating you up inside, seek third-party help if you want to maintain the relationship. The worst thing you can do is try to change your partner (or shove them back into the "perfect mate" mold you had previously bound and gagged them in). You can only change yourself and manage your reactions; please don't punish your partner for triggering your own insecurities.
Take a deep breath. Connection is why we're here; achingly trusting, open, possibility-for-judgement-and-likelihood-of-pain, real breathing-bleeding connection is what gives life meaning. It's our only real reason for existence, it IS the meaning of life, but it cannot occur without sincerity and trust and that takes extreme courage. I encourage you to grab your balls and open up to possibility...no one regrets taking the leap of faith, they just regret having waited so long to jump.
I'm curious to hear about your conversations and what bubbles up...
With a bite and a smack,
JN
(As always, send me your questions at: north.jillian@gmail.com with "JN Blog" in the title, and I'll reply personally and/or incorporate your questions into the anonymous discussions.)
www.oprah.com/oprahradio/Fantasy-vs-Fetish-Audio
What I'm going to dissect, though, is far more of the gray areas in between. I hate to even call it a Fantasy or a Fetish, I'd rather call them Preferences. Most of what I have encountered/experienced/studied, is more of a Preference: not something required to get aroused or reach orgasm, but something desired to make sex hotter some of the time/most of the time/occasionally/ideally.
Everyone talks about "Fetishes" but mostly incorrectly. Foot fetishes, hand fetishes, choking, biting, beating, spanking, flogging, golden showers, anal play/penitration, cock rings, piercings, stockings, heels, lingerie, white cotton socks and panties, cross-dressing, sex outdoors, sex in public, sex in uniform, and the other ten thousand turn-ons people have are mostly just Fantasies or Preferences. The real difference between a Fetish and a Fantasy is whether or not the person MUST have the object or scenario in order to actually reach orgasm. At that point, the point of necessary, it becomes a Fetish that can isolate and impersonate your partner. Sex becomes about the need, not about the interpersonal experience. And while there is ALWAYS going to be something in your partner's Preference/Fantasy category that makes you squirm (if they trust you enough to tell you), it can be an awesome opportunity for intimacy if you allow yourself.
Lately, I know of a few people that have taken Preference and feared it into Fetish, only to realize that they are afraid of what it could become, not what it actually is. For example, a reader described her partner's Preference for being dressed as a woman when they have sex. He's not gay or closeted; he's simply very aroused by the nurturing, welcoming, feminine penchants of womanhood. Now, he doesn't need to be dressed up in order for sex with her to be marvelous, he would just like to incorporate it every so often, and if she's uncomfortable with it, then he'll gladly take care of his own needs when she's not around. She would prefer that this Preference of his simply not exist, but even more so, she'd prefer that he feel serious shame about this desire, too. The biggest problem has been that she's gotten to where she's almost afraid to talk about it with him because she hopes that by ignoring it, maybe it will go away, fade into the past and not be part of their future together. Maybe he'll just forget that he was ever turned on by that in the first place! Bollocks. By not addressing it, openly, in the daylight and with acceptance (even while afraid and uncomfortable), she's slowly shutting the door on the trust they've built; she's showing her partner that it's not safe to talk to her about his deepest desires and fantasies. She's showing him that she doesn't trust his boundaries, his ability to make it safe, keep it personal, keep it honest. And that's why there's a shame spiral... If you cannot safely talk about absolutely anything with your partner AND trust their reaction and willingness to hear you, then that's probably a good place to begin the work.
As we've discussed before, opening up about your Fantasies is all about trust. Everyone can talk about the "socially acceptable" Preferences, it's when you get into the sticky and the dark that you stir up your own opportunities for growth in your discomfort, together with your partner and on your own. Not that everyone is going to pop open the wine and delve into the darkness right away, but when you do, or when your partner trusts you enough to open up, I encourage you to resist the urge to gasp or snort or make that disgusted, horrified expression and instead, just listen and ask honest questions. Don't shame your partner for their desires, embrace them for trusting you, and if their desires cause you fear or spark your insecurities, just be aware that that's coming from inside you, not inside them. And...most importantly, just because they are talking about what turns them on, that doesn't necessarily mean that they're going to jump off the deep end or open some giant Pandora's box of wild and crazy shit. If their desires start eating you up inside, seek third-party help if you want to maintain the relationship. The worst thing you can do is try to change your partner (or shove them back into the "perfect mate" mold you had previously bound and gagged them in). You can only change yourself and manage your reactions; please don't punish your partner for triggering your own insecurities.
Take a deep breath. Connection is why we're here; achingly trusting, open, possibility-for-judgement-and-likelihood-of-pain, real breathing-bleeding connection is what gives life meaning. It's our only real reason for existence, it IS the meaning of life, but it cannot occur without sincerity and trust and that takes extreme courage. I encourage you to grab your balls and open up to possibility...no one regrets taking the leap of faith, they just regret having waited so long to jump.
I'm curious to hear about your conversations and what bubbles up...
With a bite and a smack,
JN
(As always, send me your questions at: north.jillian@gmail.com with "JN Blog" in the title, and I'll reply personally and/or incorporate your questions into the anonymous discussions.)
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The Art of Closing the Deal
I'm in sales. Obviously. And regardless of what or where you sell, the reason we are in sales is because of how it feels to win the deal. The extreme giddy high we get as we leave the customer with our contracts signed and order ready is our EVERYTHING. The possibility that we could get a nibble of that high is what gets us out of bed. You can sell a great product or complete shit, but all that matters is that you believe in it enough to convince a stranger. It's the Pilgrim's Progress of negotiation: you begin with their perception, power through the reality, holding onto your patience, all while gaining their trust. Once we gain their trust, the rest of the deal falls into place. It is absolutely a delicate dance of teasing, foreplay and a steady hand. With that consistent and steady stimulation, we encourage them to let go, relinquish control and let us takeover from here. We then coax them into the close with a lusty urgency. A little push, a little pull and a rush towards the finish. We sales people are in it for the win. The magnificent, euphoric, engulfing, orgasmic rush of the win.
I feel the same way about blow jobs.
(I'm sure I could/will feel the same way about cunnilingus, but I'm not quite as skilled at that yet.)
Giving impeccable head is all about getting the win: the excruciatingly explosive, hard-reset, you-don't-give-a-fuck-if-the-world-combusts-this-instant-type of orgasm. Luring them, urging them, drawing out every drop of energy as they hurdle up the hill, towards the finish line, pummeling towards the point of no return. Going down on someone as only a kind of intermission, or worse, duty, reminds me of chores and subsequent procrastination. Don't even bother. Seriously. Don't. It's not sexy.
Due to the unfortunate anatomical circumstances of my last long-term partner, he did not particularly enjoy my face below his waist for prolonged periods of time. This is like telling a pastry chef she is suddenly violently allergic to sugar! Oh, he'd let me get in a few strokes, maybe a lick or two, but no long-term stroke-lick-suck rhythm. This is the tragic result of sexual shame, and I find so many men just get their's all over me.
It is terribly unfortunate and downright sad that men have been told by any female or partner that their desires are wrong or dirty, and as such, have shoved them in their proverbial locked box under the bed, only to pop out when their amiable loving partner least expects it. Poor girl is usually so terrified that both partners run away screaming. It only takes one frightened response for men to believe that what they want in bed will scare off the good girls (read: potential mates). So, they then consciously or unconsciously, learn to save that stuff for the fuckable rather than the dateable. More often than not, men believe they must sacrifice their most raunchy desires in order to keep the peace with their precious Madonna. I get more calls/emails/texts from women who are completely shocked by what their husband/partner is now "suddenly" into and what should they "do" about it? I assure you, ladies, this is not something new, but at the most base level, it is a very deep gesture of trust. When a man opens his sexual shame pantry, he is choosing to expose himself to your potential rejection. Please, "do" tread lightly. If they trust you with this, they trust you with their guts.
But I digress...back to the lost art, and appreciation of, fellatio.
So, in addition to the internal issues interfering with fulfilling men's desires, there are always external issues. You cannot properly suck a dick if there is not a proper dick to be sucked (see previous post). And today, I am just so happy that I finally got to make mad sloppy face love to a proper man dick. Thank GOD. I can go without intercourse, if I must, but I am formally opposing not properly using the big juicy mouth God gave me anymore. The next day, I practically bounced out of bed, savoring the events from the night before. I longingly licked and lovingly sucked every last thick drop of juice from that yummy cock. I lightly grazed my fingernails across his balls, up the insides of his thighs, up and down the shaft...lingering, sweet pauses to enjoy every throb of desire swelling in my mouth. There is no better satisfaction than making a man come so hard, so fervently by your own doing. Proper fellatio, for me, is infinitely more wholly satisfying than ordinary intercourse. I get to do the work, the negotiation: navigating their fears and perception, the slow buildup past reality, pushing through my patience, then eagerly rushing towards the finish for the win. An authentic win-win situation.
All in a day's work...
JN
I feel the same way about blow jobs.
(I'm sure I could/will feel the same way about cunnilingus, but I'm not quite as skilled at that yet.)
Giving impeccable head is all about getting the win: the excruciatingly explosive, hard-reset, you-don't-give-a-fuck-if-the-world-combusts-this-instant-type of orgasm. Luring them, urging them, drawing out every drop of energy as they hurdle up the hill, towards the finish line, pummeling towards the point of no return. Going down on someone as only a kind of intermission, or worse, duty, reminds me of chores and subsequent procrastination. Don't even bother. Seriously. Don't. It's not sexy.
Due to the unfortunate anatomical circumstances of my last long-term partner, he did not particularly enjoy my face below his waist for prolonged periods of time. This is like telling a pastry chef she is suddenly violently allergic to sugar! Oh, he'd let me get in a few strokes, maybe a lick or two, but no long-term stroke-lick-suck rhythm. This is the tragic result of sexual shame, and I find so many men just get their's all over me.
It is terribly unfortunate and downright sad that men have been told by any female or partner that their desires are wrong or dirty, and as such, have shoved them in their proverbial locked box under the bed, only to pop out when their amiable loving partner least expects it. Poor girl is usually so terrified that both partners run away screaming. It only takes one frightened response for men to believe that what they want in bed will scare off the good girls (read: potential mates). So, they then consciously or unconsciously, learn to save that stuff for the fuckable rather than the dateable. More often than not, men believe they must sacrifice their most raunchy desires in order to keep the peace with their precious Madonna. I get more calls/emails/texts from women who are completely shocked by what their husband/partner is now "suddenly" into and what should they "do" about it? I assure you, ladies, this is not something new, but at the most base level, it is a very deep gesture of trust. When a man opens his sexual shame pantry, he is choosing to expose himself to your potential rejection. Please, "do" tread lightly. If they trust you with this, they trust you with their guts.
But I digress...back to the lost art, and appreciation of, fellatio.
So, in addition to the internal issues interfering with fulfilling men's desires, there are always external issues. You cannot properly suck a dick if there is not a proper dick to be sucked (see previous post). And today, I am just so happy that I finally got to make mad sloppy face love to a proper man dick. Thank GOD. I can go without intercourse, if I must, but I am formally opposing not properly using the big juicy mouth God gave me anymore. The next day, I practically bounced out of bed, savoring the events from the night before. I longingly licked and lovingly sucked every last thick drop of juice from that yummy cock. I lightly grazed my fingernails across his balls, up the insides of his thighs, up and down the shaft...lingering, sweet pauses to enjoy every throb of desire swelling in my mouth. There is no better satisfaction than making a man come so hard, so fervently by your own doing. Proper fellatio, for me, is infinitely more wholly satisfying than ordinary intercourse. I get to do the work, the negotiation: navigating their fears and perception, the slow buildup past reality, pushing through my patience, then eagerly rushing towards the finish for the win. An authentic win-win situation.
All in a day's work...
JN
Sunday, December 26, 2010
"Sex is like snow...
"...you never know how many inches you're gonna get or how long it will last."
In light of this being the holidays and all, I would like to express my gratitude for something that often goes unappreciated: the average penis.
Recently, I found myself naked, excited, on my back and begging for it, only to reach out for what appeared to be, quite possibly, a thumb...? Surely not. I leaned up to address my very aroused partner and where a throbbing and somewhat normal-sized member should have been, there was...an acorn shaped stump of a penis!
Now, as we all know, I've seen every kind of penis from every country--giant, tiny, yellow, purple, crooked, uncut, etc., but this experience thrust me back into a brief and drunken encounter in college. A friend and I had hooked up with these two guys during a football game; they were in town as alumni of the opposing team. We took them back to her place and proceeded to divide and conquer. Although I was drunk, I know a penis when I see it, and I'm quite sure that what I saw was the finger of an infant. Surprisingly, this virile young man proceeded to have no fewer than four intense fluid-filled orgasms over the next 30-40 minutes, all the while telling me about the girlfriend he was in love with but not quite sure if he was ready to marry. I assured him that if they enjoyed sex with each other (especially she with him), he should absolutely marry this woman. I knew that no other woman in her right, devirginized mind would ever give him a second thought.
In the years since this encounter, I have gone back and forth as to whether or not he should even be counted in my "number" since, technically, I think I was fingered, not fucked. But, if it comes down to technicality, then I guess it should count. What's even funnier, was that the next morning after the boys left, my friend emerged from her room and expressed her great disappointment in her lover's equipment. "I'm not any kind of size queen, but, Jesus, that was a poor excuse for a man dick if I ever saw one." I could only chuckle and regale her with my own story; perhaps they hung out together so they could feel good about themselves? I was most confounded that my partner had zero performance anxiety at all! Had no one ever guffawed at the sight of his naked body? Asked him when he was gonna put it in after he had finished? I do feel badly for these men who have been dealt an unfair and unfortunate hand, but of all the tiny penises I've seen, not one has been attached to a man with any shame about it! That, to me, is the true phenomenon.
So, in the spirit of the season, and my recent tryst with an infantile penis, I would like to express my gratitude for all the men on the small scale of normal who have had shame or performance anxiety about the size of their member. I assure you, you are above average and much appreciated.
Happy Holidays,
JN
In light of this being the holidays and all, I would like to express my gratitude for something that often goes unappreciated: the average penis.
Recently, I found myself naked, excited, on my back and begging for it, only to reach out for what appeared to be, quite possibly, a thumb...? Surely not. I leaned up to address my very aroused partner and where a throbbing and somewhat normal-sized member should have been, there was...an acorn shaped stump of a penis!
Now, as we all know, I've seen every kind of penis from every country--giant, tiny, yellow, purple, crooked, uncut, etc., but this experience thrust me back into a brief and drunken encounter in college. A friend and I had hooked up with these two guys during a football game; they were in town as alumni of the opposing team. We took them back to her place and proceeded to divide and conquer. Although I was drunk, I know a penis when I see it, and I'm quite sure that what I saw was the finger of an infant. Surprisingly, this virile young man proceeded to have no fewer than four intense fluid-filled orgasms over the next 30-40 minutes, all the while telling me about the girlfriend he was in love with but not quite sure if he was ready to marry. I assured him that if they enjoyed sex with each other (especially she with him), he should absolutely marry this woman. I knew that no other woman in her right, devirginized mind would ever give him a second thought.
In the years since this encounter, I have gone back and forth as to whether or not he should even be counted in my "number" since, technically, I think I was fingered, not fucked. But, if it comes down to technicality, then I guess it should count. What's even funnier, was that the next morning after the boys left, my friend emerged from her room and expressed her great disappointment in her lover's equipment. "I'm not any kind of size queen, but, Jesus, that was a poor excuse for a man dick if I ever saw one." I could only chuckle and regale her with my own story; perhaps they hung out together so they could feel good about themselves? I was most confounded that my partner had zero performance anxiety at all! Had no one ever guffawed at the sight of his naked body? Asked him when he was gonna put it in after he had finished? I do feel badly for these men who have been dealt an unfair and unfortunate hand, but of all the tiny penises I've seen, not one has been attached to a man with any shame about it! That, to me, is the true phenomenon.
So, in the spirit of the season, and my recent tryst with an infantile penis, I would like to express my gratitude for all the men on the small scale of normal who have had shame or performance anxiety about the size of their member. I assure you, you are above average and much appreciated.
Happy Holidays,
JN
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