Her beauty took his mind prisoner.

2008-06-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

Testing 123

Some Erotica, Part II

2007-10-28T23:55:00.000-07:00

Here is some erotica. It contains some oral sex sort of, rope bondage, some power play, and a little bit of pain. If you don't dislike those things, read on. But please be kind to it. It is the first erotica I ever wrote, so it's a little bit silly.

He grabbed my wrist and flung me across the little room, face down onto the bed. He bent over me, and I could feel his chest pressing me to the covers, his quick breathing on my ear as he held my wrist to the bed post in one hand, using the other to tie it in place. His hands left invisible bruises: the kind you never see, but can feel for weeks after. He tied off the knot and started working on my other hand. I tried to turn over, but the rope had been tied expertly, not tight enough to hurt, but firm. No matter how I struggled the smooth coils would not give an inch.

Something must have gone wrong with the play again. He was a stage manager, and a good one. When he walked into a room everything in it was suddenly under his control. He would glance in, step out, and be able to tell you everything that was there, and where it was, who was talking to whom, what they were doing, everything. He knew what needed to get done on a set, how to get it done, or who to call to do it. People were drawn to him like nails to a magnet. The only thing he didn’t have a firm grip on was his temper. When things were out of his control, which rarely happened, he was upset, he came home looking for something to be firmly in control of.

He put his hands on my waist and pressed against me from behind. I could feel his penis against my thigh. I gasped as he leaned against me. The bed was high, and my toes barely touched the ground. I strained to keep my weight balanced, to keep my feet on the floor. He slid one of his hands up my back and I felt his fingers run through my hair before he grabbed a fist full of it and pulled my head back. He pushed his other hand under my body from my stomach down to between my legs, and pressed a finger against my jeans over my clit. I ached for him already. “Tell me what you want, ” he breathed into my ear as he slid his whole hand between my legs and pressed harder against my jeans, nearly lifting me off of my toes. He knew I hated it when he made me beg. A little moan escaped my lips, but I didn’t say anything. He let go of me and stood up. Cold air washed over my back. He stepped away, and I could hear his footsteps as he paced, but I couldn’t turn to see him. The ropes held me too tight. I wanted him to touch me again. His even footsteps taunted me. “Tell me,” he said again. He stopped and held a hand over the small of my back where my t-shirt didn’t cover, nearly touching me, but not quite. I could feel the warmth of his skin near mine. “Tell me!” He moved it up, trailed a finger over my shirt, up the back of my neck, behind my ear, into my hair again. He pulled it back, and walking around the foot of the bed he entered my field of vision, twisting my hair and pulling it until he was in front of me and there were tears in my eyes from the pain. He let my hair go, and gently lifted my chin. “Tell me,” he said, softly this time.

“No. I hate it when you do this to me.”

“Tie you up?”

“No.”

“Tease you?”

“No.”

“What do you hate then?”

I had fallen for his little trick. Shit. Well this time he won’t get what he wanted. I closed my eyes. He kissed me softly, his head tilted to avoid bumping his chin on the bed. Then harder. “What? What do you hate?” Silence. He pulled away and glared at me. I glared back. He turned away from me and sat on the edge of the bed. I lifted my head, and saw his wrist just in front of my face. He had thrust his hand into his pocket. It created a tiny window with his sleeve cuff. I blew a little stream of air onto his wrist. He turned, and I pushed my toes against the floor, straining to brush my nose against the sleeve of his shirt. He glared again. He was in no mood for nonsense. Neither was I. I gave him a smoldering look. His eyes started to close before he remembered himself and turned away. I heard his breath quicken though. He walked back to the side of the bed and straddled me. His thighs pressed against my waist, and he sat down, pressing my hips into the bed. I moaned a little at the pressure. I felt his muscles tighten as he bent over to untie one of my wrists. When it was done he rolled me over twisting my other arm against the bedpost it was still tied to. He bent over to kiss me, and the pain in my shoulder, or the heat of his lips on mine, on my neck, disarmed me for just a moment. I moaned as his fingers brushed my nipples through my t-shirt, sending aching all the way through my body. My back arched. I wanted to feel his weight on top of me, to push me against the bed, and I gasped when my shoulder felt like it wouldn’t twist any farther. He must have seen the pain on my face, or heard it in my breath, because he immediately slid his hand under the small of my back, lifting my weight off of my shoulder, just before I let our safe word escape my lips. I have never had to say it. He always knows how much I can take, and when to stop.

“What do you want?” he asked again. And immediately I remembered myself. I stiffened and looked away. I reached up with my free hand and ran my fingers up his chest, around his back to the base of his neck. I looked him in the face. I wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around today.

“Untie me.” I commanded, though really I was in no position to command him to do anything. He glared. I ran my hand back down to his shoulder and pulled myself up, a pain shooting through my tied arm as it twisted the other way. I gasped, as my lips brushed his chest. “Untie me,” I said through clenched teeth. “I hate it when you want me to beg. Untie me.” I let my teeth graze his skin, and felt his body relax a little, press into me a little. He gently set me down on the bed. He was as quick to shake off his anger as he was to loose his temper, and must have been glad to know that he didn’t have to make any more decisions for the day. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the knife he always carried, which he flicked open expertly, and used to cut the rope binding my other hand. I pressed my palm to his chest, raising my self on my elbow and pushing him down onto the bed.

I straddled him, as he had done to me, and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. He tilted his chin up, trying to put his lips to mine, but I pressed his chest down and he couldn’t reach. I ran my hand over his temple and into the hair at the back of his head, holding him down as I ran the tip of my tongue up the side of his neck, to just behind his ear. I took his earlobe in my teeth for a moment before letting a breath of warm air into his ear. This time it was he who moaned. I moved my mouth back down his neck, sucking until I felt his body arch upward and his head pulling against my hand. I let him up only long enough to take his shirt off, and then pushed him down again, running my nails down his chest, and lowering myself from my knees just enough to feel his cock straining against his pants.

“Please…” he breathed as my hand reached the waist of his pants, I brought one hand down next to the side of his head to support my weight and kissed him hard, smothering his words while the fingers of my other hand undid the button and zipper of his pants. I would have none of this taking nonsense. I didn’t want him to beg like he wanted me to. I pulled away slowly and looked him in the eyes for just a moment. He slid his hands to my hips and pushed me back a little as he sat up. He pulled my t-shirt off and quickly reached behind me unhooking my bra. He kissed my neck, and cradled my breasts in his hands. I trembled as his fingers circled my nipples teasing me. And then his tongue, warm and wet started flicking back and forth over one nipple, then the other. I was breathing hard, my head tipped back, and felt my fingers grasp at his back, my nails scratching him. I could tell he felt them, he pulled me closer to him. He eased me down onto the bed and undid the row of buttons on my jeans, pulled them off and stood up, looking at me in just my underwear.

I blushed, but looked him strait in the eye and sat up. When he came to the edge of the bed I undid the buttons of his shirt. He let it slide to the floor, and this time it was I who looked him over. He was handsome. Deep brown eyes and light brown hair, strong from working at the theater, and slender, as he had always been. I knew that body like I knew my own. I grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of me. He crushed me to him and thrust his tongue into my mouth. My nails dug into his back again. He gasped and then smiled at the pain, pulling one of his arms from around me to slide his hand over my collarbone, my breast, my stomach, and under my under wear. And then he stopped, his hand poised with one finger on my clit, for just a moment.

Slowly he slid his finger inside me. I moaned with aching and pleasure all at once, and just as slowly he pulled it back. With strong slow strokes he pushed his fingers in and out of me stopping for that torturous moment each time, until I was moaning and panting. When I thought I couldn’t take it any more I pushed him off of me and knelt above him, leaning forward to reach for a condom in the drawer of the night table. My breasts were just above his face, and he kissed them as I fumbled with the drawer. When I found the condom I held the corner of the wrapper in my teeth and stood up, pulling off his pants and gray boxers. I carefully opened the condom and held it between my lips over my mouth. Bending over I pressed the tip of the condom to the tip of his penis with my tongue and rolled it down over his shaft with my lips. He moaned and I saw his fingers grip the sheets next to his hips. I crawled over him back onto the bed, letting my breasts brush against the entire length of his body.

He tried to kiss me and I pulled away again, sliding his cock into me instead, and sitting up. He gasped, and with his eyes closed he had the look on his face, like he was concentrating very hard. His whole body was tense and trembling. I raised myself partly onto my knees and came back down again, feeling the tip of his penis deep inside, and the shaft sliding against my nether-lips. His expression intensified and he forced one of his hands to let go of the sheets and reach for mine. I put my hand into his, and his fingers promptly closed around mine, squeezing them together so hard they hurt. I put my other hand on his chest to help support my weight. I could hear his hard breathing, and feel it under my palm. I could smell him, see his face his face and feel his skin hot against mine. He was rocking his hips under me and our pace went faster and faster, though the strokes stayed long and steady, until my whole body was shaking and raised nearly all the way up on my knees. While I came he kept rocking his hips, and put his hands on my hips, pulling me back down toward his body as he came too. It wasn’t till I felt one of his fingers across my lips that I realized how loud we had been. Poor neighbors. Oh well, they must be used to it by now. I wondered what it was that had made him so mad at work. I’d ask later. I laid down next to him, resting my head on his chest, and gave him a kiss.

“How was it?”

“Amazing, and for you?”

“Great. I need a shower. Feel like making dinner?”

“Sure babe.”

The hot water ran over my face, through my hair, and I heard it rushing in my ears. I smelled the soap and the world shrank to the size of one person again. That guy and his temper. I know him better than anyone, but fuck if I’ll ever understand him. Perhaps there will be insight over dinner. I wonder what he’s making.

Sexism

2007-10-03T13:43:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a pretty liberal household. My parents always told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up, and never told me not to do this or that cause I was a girl. I was always a bit of a tom-boy. I stopped wearing skirts and dresses when I was 6 or so and didn't wear one again until high school. I've always been interested in science and good at math. I don't cry much. I don't consider hormones an excuse to be a bitch to people. I've always been pretty tough, and generally opposed to letting feelings have anything to do with my actions and choices. I hate asking for help and especially "emotional support". I'm not the most stereotypical girl. Until very recently I would never have said that I grew up with sexism.

Recently, however, I am beginning to see ways that sexism has always been a part of my life. Perhaps I am such a tom-boy because of it. My father never would have told me "You can't do such and such, you're a girl," but when ever I spoke to him about problems I was having he would take things into his own hands. When I complained about it he would say "Well that's just something you should learn about men, if you tell them a problem they try to fix it. They don't just want to talk about it like women do..." Now that, in my mind, boiled down to, "Girls just want to bitch about stuff and boys actually want to fix it," and since the second option sounded more productive, I went with it. I stopped considering it useful to talk to people about problems unless I wanted their practical help fixing them.

There were also constant cautions about guys. "Judith," my dad used to tell me, "Guys are always just going to be looking to have sex with you." I translated this one as "No guy is ever going to want anything from me but sex," Which has lead to a problem or two when people want to be friends with me, or are looking for emotional support. In relationships with guys I tend to figure that there might as well be sex and nothing else, since that's really all they're looking for any way. Of course that's never true, but I always worry that people asking for support, or wanting to help me, are just trying to trick me into looking weak, to make them feel like they're in control.

There are pressures put on guys as well, to either conform and be strong and stoic and hardcore, or rebel and be sensitive and open and sweet. To grow up with the idea that women want emotional support and not sex, or that they should always try to fix problems that people present them with instead of just listening and being there for their friends, pushes them one way or another as well. It frustrates me that so many differences between people are attributed to gender, even though perhaps they are nothing but personality traits, and how many personality traits I see in myself that I have developed based on gender stereotypes.

Very few people in middle class liberal society today says that individual girls can't do anything individual boys can, (though I think a few more would say that individual boys can't do anything that girls can) but there are still a set of assumptions about gender rolls that everyone must react to by either conforming to expectations or rebelling against them. The frustrating thing is that even rebelling against your gender role is not helping to get rid of sexism, because you are still acting in a way that was defined in one way or another by the stereotypes you were trying to obviate. Even if you would rather do nothing about them at all, and just follow your personal preferences, society reads your actions through a big pink or blue filter, and puts you in the conformity box or the rebellion box.

How can we escape this really stupid web of mess and gender gender gender gender? I'm going to go ahead and be a pessimist and say that we can't. Or at least not individually. I'm only starting to be aware of these issues, and at this point, I feel like many of the character traits I cultivated as a reaction to the sexism I encountered when I was a kid are really now a part of me. I am a little insensitive, and a little bit cynical about the motivations of most of the people I encounter. These things make me who I am.

In my dealings with people though, I think it is important to try to minimize the stereotyping that I do. I am trying now not to say "Guys are like such and scuh..." or "Girls are like such and such..." I am ready to admit that it is difficult. I find it difficult to separate my personality from the prejudices that shaped it, but I think it is possible, at least in my behavior to come off a little less sexist than I am, and therefore prevent my sexism from rubbing off on people. If everyone could do this, eventually perhaps the stereotypes would just fade. This doesn't mean that we shouldn't talk about the stereotypes that we have in a serious and reflective way, just that we shouldn't perpetuate them by taking them for granted or even mentioning them in jest.

I was talking to a friend the other day who said that the most important thing to do about getting rid of sexism is to talk about it, and I would agree with that, as long as we don't make it an issue of men oppressing women. Sexism isn't just the Man keeping you down. Many women have expectations that the men they interact with will behave a certain way, and pressure them to conform to or rebel against those expectations. I sure do. Pressure comes from within genders just as much as it comes from the opposite gender. Sexism isn't about men and women; It's about a way people think. I wouldn't call myself a feminist, but would say that I'm an anti-sexist. I'd like to see that way change.

Some erotica: Part I

2007-10-01T17:24:00.001-07:00

Here is some erotica. I wrote it for someone once. It contains a shower scene, and a blow job, and some stuff about temperature, and a little bit of biting, so if you are opposed to any of those things for any reason, you may not want to read further. Otherwise, enjoy!

It's cold and raining. We've been out wandering around outside somewhere and are drenched to the bone. My toes squish in my shoes as we make are way back to my apartment. Your hair hangs in thick dripping tendrils over your eyes, and they splash me a little as we dash across the street, holding hands, to my apartment, which is at least dry, though not very warm at all. We take off our shoes and coats at the door, but it doesn't help much, and our cloths drip all over the floor making puddles where we stand.

You pick me up, so I'm hugging you around the waist with my legs, and our faces are level. We look at each other for a second. Then I push my fingers through your hair and pull your face toward mine, kissing you hard on the lips. Rain drops drips over my eyes when I close them, and run down my nose onto your cheeks. Our shirts are wet and cold but I can feel your body heat warming them up, through to my skin. You put me down and pull my shirt off over my head, dropping it on the floor. The cool air against my wet body is a little bit shocking, and I feel my nipples swell against my bra, which is the next thing to go.

You bend down and breath warm air onto one of my breasts, then the other. Then you put your mouth over one of my nipples and I feel your warm tongue flicking back and forth over it. I want your whole body pressing up against me, and suddenly you wet shirt is the most frustrating thing in the world, so I start clumsily un-buttoning it. but eventually decide that it's more efficient to just pull if off over your head. I unbutton your pants, and pull your hips toward mine with your belt loops, pressing you against me. You gasp as I run my fingers under your waist band, around your hip and down your thigh. I slowly pull my fingers back up the center of your leg, and stop just before I reach the top.

"Get undressed. We're taking a shower." I tell you. We leave a trail of wet cloths all the way from my front door to the bathroom.

I'm already running the shower when you get there, and steam is filling the room. You walk in to see me totally naked, standing in the shower, letting the hot water run down the back of my head. The wall of warm air hits your skin and you climb in to join me. I move out of the stream of water to give you a turn. The water runs through your hair and down your back. you put your arm around my waist and pull me toward you so our bodies are pressing against each other. You're hard and I can feel your dick pressing against my stomach.

I pull you toward me and bite down on your shoulder. It's very smooth and wet. I run my tongue over your chest and down your stomach. I take your cock in my mouth and you tip your head back, letting the watter run over your face, and down your body. I put my hand around the base of your cock, and the water runs into it, keeping it wet as I stroke you and suck on you, flicking my tongue over the tip of your penis and moving my lips over the shaft in time with my hand slowly at first, then faster. You're panting now, and put a finger under my chin, tipping my head up to look at you, and then pulling me back up to standing. We kiss hard wet and press our bodies together, and then you pull away and whisper in my ear, "Judith, do you want to have sex?"

"Yes, do you?"

In answer you grab my hips and turn me around so that you're pressing up against me from behind. I arch my back and press into you. I can feel your cock hard against my back, and I want it so badly. I reach behind me, finding your hips with my fingers. Then I bend over, putting my hands against the cold tile wall, which is shocking after all that warm water, look behind me and smile at you. You put one of your warm wet hands against the small of my back, and I can feel water running off it and trickling over my waist and between my legs.

I reach behind me with one of my hands and run it up your thigh till it reaches your balls. I run my finger the length of your penis, pausing with my finger on the tip for just a second, and then reach around behind you and pull you toward me. You push your cock slowly between my legs and into me. I am pulling hard on your hips, and you know I want it, you do to, but you tease me any way. I moan, and my breath comes in little bursts as you go a bit deeper each time until finally you thrust all the way into me and I scream with pleasure. I push myself back onto you with each thrust, and am standing on my tip toes so that you can go deeper into me. You have given up on teasing me now, and are pushing into me fast and hard. You bend over me and bite my shoulder. I scream, half with pain and half with pleasure, and dig my fingers into your hair. Then you reach around my chest so that our whole bodies are against each other and whisper into my ear "I'm going to come..."

That puts me over the edge, and you feel my body shudder as I cling to you and lean against the wall, and yell and writhe and come and come. You do to, and thrust into me so deep and for such a long time that I can hardly stand it. We're breathing hard, and covered in sweat and shower water. You moan and hold me to you, and we press together as you come into me.

I'm panting when I turn around. I bury my face in your chest and let the water run over it. I hold my breath and close my eyes. It's warm and dark, and I'm tired and happy as I feel your heart beat gradually slow, and listen to the water rushing over my ears.

Deadlines

2007-09-19T15:24:00.000-07:00

Dropping the impersonal tone. Makes me sound like a douche.

I just recently finished a lovely affair with a lovely person who I have been flirting with for quite a while. Due to changing circumstances, the end of the affair was planned from the beginning. I was more comfortable with so and so than I have been with anyone in a good long time, and I believe that a good part of my comfort was due to the defined end of the fling. Not one moment was wasted wondering how or why or when things would end (as all good and bad things do) because we already knew. I was enabled to engage in enlightening physical contact of every sort, and unbridled musshyness, because there was no danger of giving the impression that we would be stuck together for long periods of time. I was leaving at a definite time, no matter what happened and no matter how much I wanted to stay. The relatively near end to the affair allowed me to be free within the time I had.

Who likes whom more, and maybe too much, is a moot point when the time an affair can last is limited. The end is no ones fault. It just had to happen. In this case I just had to leave.

There is an opposite situation, when there is no definite end to a relationship. In those cases I'm constantly worried that I will not show enough affection, or will show too much, or make some mistake and the whole thing will end. My worry dooms everything. Frequently I err on the side of showing too much affection. In these cases the other party starts worrying that I like them too much, and that's the one suspicion that it is almost impossible to dispel. The lack of a time limit, and the indefinite end causes nothing but trouble, cause I can never stop worrying about how it all will end, and how I will go wrong to make it end. Nothing ruins a good time more than an unhealthy dose of self consciousness. I am never comfortable with situations when I don't know when they will be over. I only feel free to act honestly when I know that I will only be able to for a short while. There's some sort of freedom of action that comes with time restriction.

Do it or have it?

2007-09-13T20:18:00.000-07:00

Do you do sex or do you have it? In some cases one and in some the other, I think. Most of the time for me sex is a hobby, like video games. One is doing well or doing poorly. One is in control of the situation, he or she acts, and the other party responds, and then he or she responds and so on. When it's done one can review how it played out. Which moves were wise and which were unwise? Which were "totally sweet!"? In these cases one has done sex.

In a few rare instances one swept away. One is not thinking about one's next move. One is not planning strategy of attack. One is not thinking at all really, but actually feeling what is going on. When one has sex it is like having an ice cream cone. One does not do an ice cream cone, one has an ice cream cone. Sometimes, one does not do sex, one has sex.

Why is it that it is so much easier to have an ice cream cone than it is to have sex?

Maybe it's about complexity. Ice cream cones are much simpler than sex is. Sometimes one has to have a non dripping strategy, but that's all there is to think about when having an ice cream. There are more complicated factors at work during sex. Timing, pressure, intensity. Breathing and touching and all that is complicated. It may take lots of thought. The strange thing is that one has sex rather than doing it, one deals with all those factors without even considering them. Having a strategy is useful sometimes, but definitely not necessary, and sometimes gets in the way of having sex.

I think the difference is self control. When one is in conscious control of one's self one is doing sex. Without that conscious control, one is having sex. I was thinking about this distinction because a partner recently wanted me to do something and tried to reassure me by telling me it had nothing to do with control. It was then that I realized that sex may not have anything to do with control on my partner's end, but for me it is always all about control. Not control of other people over me, but of me having control over myself. That is why sex is more enjoyable than an ice cream cone when you're having it, and more fun than an ice cream cone when you're doing it. Err... I mean, I rarely feel in danger of losing myself over an ice cream cone.

Compatibility and circumstance

2007-09-01T03:54:00.000-07:00

How much does compatibility have to do with circumstance, specifically the presence or absence of stress? One usually thinks of personal or sexual compatibility in absolute terms. "I'm compatible with so and so." or "We're not compatible,". What if compatibility depends on the pressure either party is under. Of course there are cases when you get on best with another person if you are both calm, but I think there are more instances than one would expect of people getting along well only when they are both stressed, or only when one party is under lots of pressure and the other is not.

At the college I attended there was a specific romantic relationship which would occur between seniors and freshmen. Many freshmen are fairly relaxed, and have a good amount of free time, while seniors tend to be under a lot of pressure to complete their theses, and are generally stressed out. Freshmen contribute energy and enthusiasm to the otherwise burnt out seniors, and seniors impart their relative wisdom to the freshmen, along with making them feel needed, and helpful. These relationships rarely last beyond graduation, even when the senior will be staying in town when they are finished with college. The give and take of the stress and relief is no longer present, and in fact the rolls tend to reverse themselves, since graduated seniors tend to go out and get low stress jobs, where the former freshmen enter what is generally termed the sophomore slump. Few relationships survive this roll reversal. Compatibility deteriorates with changing stress levels, or perhaps changing life situations.

I have been in relationships that only held up under extreme stress, which fell apart immediately as soon as one or the other party was no longer under pressure. I find some people attractive when they are battling their dragons, and not at all appealing when they aren't pushed to the limit. Other people are delightful when they are not under any pressure and endlessly irritating when they are worried about the slightest thing. On the other side of the coin, I can only deal with some people when I am calm, and others when I am freaking out.

I suppose there is a person for every moment really. It is unfortunate that love or comparably deep emotions don't seem to be nearly as circumstance dependent as sexual compatibility. Whether or not I am in love with a person seems to be completely independent of our sexual compatibility. It seems too much to ask that a person should find one other person in their whole life who they both love and are compatible with most of the time. Perhaps I haven't found the one, maybe I am cynical, but permanent commitment seems like a problem to me, and always will until it somehow takes into account the changes in compatibility which are byproducts of continually changing circumstance.

Some bold content

2007-08-29T16:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to look at a vagina? I mean really look. It's true that they're not running around all over the place getting into trouble most of the time. They don't need to be put away or adjusted or anything, they just hide out most of the time, and are really quite reclusive. Even so, I am surprised, now that I think about it, that the only one I've really seen up close and personal, so to speak, is my own. Some people who have them never even bother to look, and those who don't possess their own may never get a chance to really see one face to face.
Even in establishments where it is theoretically possible to pay for the privilege of looking at one you still never really get a good look. They're always performing complicated evasive maneuvers of one sort or another. As far as I can tell the only people who really get to look are gynecologists, and they have to have years of education, loads of fancy equipment, and a sheet so that whoever the vagina belongs to can't see that they are really looking at it. Billions, of people have buried their faces in one at some point, but how many people have actually been able to really see one in a non sexual context where they could really explore?
Even in contexts when you are allowed to explore another person's vagina by touch, it seems (to me at least) to be much more invasive to ask if you can look at it. In my experience, this has not been the same case for penises. Perhaps it is because it is so much more difficult for one to look at one's own vagina that it is to look at one's own penis. If I were unsure of what mine looked like I would be very hesitant to let anyone else see it. In any case, it's an odd discrepancy. If you have a vagina, would you consider showing it to a partner? If your partner has one, would you ever ask to look at it? Just food for thought.

Created for the real people

2007-08-29T01:04:00.000-07:00

Everyone is getting real people blogs, and I'm jumping on the band wagon. I don't know what the content of this thing will be yet. Perhaps it will have something to do with travel, or sexism, or just sex, or science. Or a little bit of all of it. In any case, I probably won't write much. We'll see what real things I have to say.