Sin of a Double Life

If there is joy in being an educator, I can’t seem to find it underneath the stress, the anxiety, and the overwhelmingness of the burden of having to go it alone. That last one is indeed the most important part of it all.

You’d probably think it’s the students, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, they are the best part of what I do, however I cannot truly appreciate them. I cannot appreciate this experience because I am not in my best place.

I don’t enjoy complaining although I find myself doing it way more than I care to these day. Instead I search of reasons to be grateful, to be joyful, to be thankful yet I cannot ignore this sinking feeling that I feel. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not at all as fulfilling as I imagined it to be. I never expected it to be easy, but I certainly did not think for a second it would be this difficult.

Psychologically and emotionally draining, desperation invades every cell of my body as I beg the Universe for a peaceful escape. It never comes. I rage over the tiniest little things. My children cry out for my sanity to return. I’m sorry. I’m sorry is something I say too often. I’m just doing my best to cope with this mania marked by intense moments of euphoria right before plummeting into the darkest place I’ve ever been in my life. I’m a Capricorn; naturally prone to depression. I just wish I could disappear.

Anxiety has become my best friend; an omnipotent companion. Patiently waiting to send my world into a tizzy of spinning rooms, shifting hallways, and dizzying blackouts. This isn’t safe nor healthy yet I can’t quite afford to do anything about it…yet.

Yet….this word is a constant in my life. I’ve come so far yet I have not arrived.

Do you know what it’s like to be a single parent with no help at all? And I don’t mean no help as in no other parent: no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or just a good friend to help out. When my children are sick or the daycare is closed there is only me. When there are places to be and things to get done, there is only me. Doctor’s, dentist, dance, and dinner…it’s all me. This society is by no means, single parent friendly.

My kids think I’m super woman. They believe I can do anything and everything. I plead for their help. There is no-one else to ask. I’m constantly on the brink of a break down as I try to get them to understand that I cannot do everything. It’s just not possible. They don’t understand. Perhaps one day they will. Until then, I grow resentful of the fact that my children handcuff me to my every promising word yet they do nothing more than make excuses for their father. I try not to say ugly things about him even when I know they are my truth, because it only makes me look bitter. I promise myself I’ll do better.

It not easy to not pass on your stress to the persons closest to you like flu to a weakened immune system. Everyday I tell myself, I’m doing the best with what I have and somehow that doesn’t feel true. Truth is, I’m afraid. Fear is an overseer; a slave driver and I am the slave. Everyday, I think of just getting in my car and driving away. Then why don’t I just do it. Nothing is stopping me…nothing but fear. Fear has me tethered to this life; bound under ball and chain; a cage bird, no locks on the door. Even as I feel how much I don’t want to be here.

I’ve been jobless. I’ve been car-less with two kids and no access to public transportation. I’ve been homeless. I’ve been dependent. I’ve been broke and broken. I’ve been in all these spaces, left feeling like I never want to be in such a place of vulnerability in my life. There is no rest for the weary. I’m afraid to go back to these places. I’m afraid of being a burden to someone else. The mere memory of it gives me anxiety. I just want to be able to do this without all these feelings of icky-ness.

Where is my tribe? Where is my village to help me raise brilliance? Why is the world so “every man for himself”?

I feel so displaced even as things finally seem to be falling into place. A little voice whispers to me constantly….spiritual blocks leave me with pain in my lower back, tightness in my chest, and labored breathing. My words come out jumbled. My vision is sometimes blurry. I reassure my body, I am listening.

Between being a mother, working this day job and the million things that each of those encompass, there has been so little room left to invest in my passion, my experiences….to invest in myself. Every fiber of my being is resisting this way of life. Everyday I have to coach myself to get through the day; cheering myself on at each milestone; celebrating the short lived victories only to begrudgingly wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I wish to meet my days with joy instead of dread.

I love this blog. I love doing this. I love talking about sexuality and all the things I talk about here. This is what I want to do. Summer 2017 was hands down, the best summer ever. For the first time I experienced what it felt like to find a sure thing; to discover something I’m truly passionate about. You have no idea. My personality oozes disinterest. I do not easily excite except when it comes to sex. It’s obvious why I never made this connection about myself before this stage of life. I had been too busy hiding and being ever so careful to separate myself from social stigmas I hadn’t been consciously aware of….conditioned to believe that I was the one in the wrong. I’m still hiding; still for protection, only now for a different reason.

Not being able to do this and feeling like I “have” to do something else instead in order to fulfill the basic human needs of me and my offspring has be feeling angry and defeated. Feeling like I have to choose this or that makes me feel sick.

The sin of a double life is such a fucking burden. I want off this rollercoaster.

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Summer 100 June Recap

June has been such a busy and wonderful month for Pretty Pink Lotus Bud and the Summer 100 sex blogger blog challenge. I am absolutely elated about all of the wonderful and creative content that is being shared by everyone participating. I’m very thankful for the relationships I have formed and am continuing to build.

Just in case you missed all the gems, because it’s definitely been that kind of summer, don’t worry…I’ve got a detailed recap right here. There were so many great posts. It wasn’t easy to narrow it down to my personal faves and ones that I found intriguing. So yes, this recap is a bit biased but no worries. Biased or not, these are awesome and very educational posts.

Sex+Parenting

Now you lovelies might be aware of how deeply I feel about being both a mother and a sexual being from Free My Postpartum Sexuality. I love, love, love Victoria’s Mom in the Spotlight feature. In her most recent feature, she asks mom about her sex education and how it might be different for her children; an awesome thing to consider when you’re raising children.

Needless to say, sex positive parenting is important to me but if you weren’t raised in such an environment, I’m sure you have lots of questions and concerns. Kristin, who is a licensed Sexual Health Professional, addresses many of the questions that you may have in her Sex Positive Parenting piece. Please, share with others seeking advice on sex positive parenting.

Sex positive parenting must, must include us talking to our children about consent as Lydia talks about in her post. It is always my goal to raise sexually empowered children and consent is such an important component of that goal.

No Anal for me, please.

Everyone is into anal sex, except me. I’m so with Isabelle on this one. I’ve tried it several times with huge gaps in between tries and it’s just not my thing. Sorry, not sorry.

Sex bloggers against Slut-shaming

Sexual shaming makes me livid so I was having so many Yasssss! moments for the lovely pieces against sex and slut shaming like this one, Can We Hurry Up & Stop Slut Shaming  and this one by Life Coach Alex, Sex Shaming is a Recipe for Disaster. Of course, I’m all too familiar with this experience, Slut Shamed for Being a Sex Blogger so I am here for it all. Yassss!

Experience Alt Porn

Confessional moment, I thoroughly enjoy watching porn. I’ve only been exposed to mainstream, popular genres of porn which is horrible. Yes, horrible. I am glad to have discovered these wonderful and detailed feminist queer Crashpad reviews by Carly of Dildo or Dildon’t.

Carly and I are part of the WOC bloggers on our way to Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit in Washington, DC. We’re still raising money for that so please check it out and consider donating. We appreciate you!

 summer 100 Pretty Pink Lotus Bud Presents sex blogger blog challenge

Bad A$$ Blow jobs

If you don’t know how much I love to give a good blow job, you should definitely be headed to my Joys of Fellatio Blog Series right now. No, I mean go NOW! Then once you’re done checking out my series, you can hit up Life Sexual for a male perspective on Tips To Give Him The Best Blowjob of His Life.

Popular Poly

My oh my, there has been a lot of poly chatter around the sex blogisphere and I’m not mad about it. Ideally, I love poly lifestyle. For those of you who don’t know much about the many facets of poly life (and are interested), looking into the post I’ve listed below is something you want to do.

Take Back Your Sex Podcast Episode 008: Poly Talk with Katie Speaks

Tantric With: Polyamory the magic of loving many

Sharp Sweet Bella: Mediator’s Toolkit: Encountering Myths about Polyamory

Vixen Coaching: Polyamory Q&A

Love this matter of fact post by Ana of The Story of A: I’m Sorry, Where Did Poly People Say Everyone Had to Be?

And once you’re done exploring those you must check out 7 Truths About Being NonMonogamous

Sex Toy Reviews

And if you’re looking for awesome sex toy reviews A Mess of Reviews is definitely where you should be right now. I’m just saying.

HIV Awareness

HIV awareness is near and dear to my heart and you can discover why in my piece To Love Someone with HIV. That being said, I was very glad to see this post on HIV Awareness for National HIV Testing Day on Chronic Sex.

As I said, this month has brought some amazing, amazing posts! Yay, for the #Summer100. Keep up the great work, everyone.

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Slut-Shamed for Being a Sex Blogger

Since launching my blog in February, I have been so delighted to tell people that I am a sex blogger. And as I watch my growing subscribers and social media followers I am excited that people actually enjoy reading about the things that I write. Even though I only just launched in February, this blog has been years in the making.

I originally started blogging about sex and relationship back in 2006. I was a newly single, sophomore at a college smack dab in the middle of a major city.  I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend of two-years and found myself back on the dating scene; loving every minute of it. I was young, free and running wild. Over the years, a lot has changed about me, but that is one thing that hasn’t. I’m still young, free and running wild and I know this will always be true.

Since then, I’ve written on several other “safe” blog topics: beauty, language learning, motherhood and marriage, but sex and dating is my OG.

I stopped blogging about sex after conceiving my daughter. I just figured I wouldn’t have much to blog about anymore. I certainly wasn’t planning on going on any dates any time soon and things were different. Being pregnant made things different as I explained here in Free My Postpartum Sexuality.

It has taken long, way too long for me to journey back to this place where I feel at peace to openly express myself sexually. The reason why it has taken so long to get back to this place is largely due to fear. As a small town run away, I was concerned about what people might think of me, what my grandmother might say, how it would make her feel, and how it might affect my employment. I was also very self-concious about my postpartum body. I certainly had a lot of growing to do. Although it has taken a long time, I realize I needed every bit of that time to grow into myself and rediscover my passion for intimacy and connection through sexual intercourse.

Even so, entering the arena of sex talk and topics, I knew what I’d be up against. It’s the twenty-first century and sex is still very much taboo. We write songs about it, make movies, watch videos, but we are only just now, in this precise moment beginning to have truth conversations about sex. The topic of sex makes even the most sexually liberated individuals squirm a little mostly because of our cultural conditioning.

We are the sex positive individuals but we still live in a sex negative society.

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And even though I know this, I was still a bit taken aback by my recent slut-shaming attack on a blog forum. I won’t name names or places but I joined an open forum where bloggers are welcomed to introduce themselves, share what they blog about along with a link. Cool, I jumped right in and introduced myself as a sex blogger and shared the link to my blog. **SEND**

Shortly after my post, I received this reply from Girl1,

Are you saying you are sexually active or sexually deprived? A lot of people who boast about themselves sexually on the internet are actually sexually deprived. I lose a tad bit respect for the attention whores (this one cut me deep). May I ask why sex is your main theme? I have to write an essay about prostitution for English. So any insight on sexual exploitation would be helpful.

My goal in life is to always take the high road. In the words of Michele Obama, “When they go low, we go high.” That doesn’t always work out for me though but I try. I responded,

Fortunately, I don’t do this for respect or attention. Your perception of who I am is merely a reflection of who you are. If there’s anything you’d like to learn about me, what I do, or why I do it, you are welcomed to visit the blog. I’m sure you’d find some insightful information to add to your paper. Sex is my main theme in the same way that teachers love to teach and doctors love to save lives. It is something I am passionate about.

Then another joins in on the “hoe-bashing” and asks,

Girl2: “Do your partners know that you’re writing a blog about them?”

Me: “Sure, the ones that are in my life currently. They’ve even suggested names they’d like to have used when I talk about them.”

Girl2: “I find that both shocking and maybe a little disturbing.”

She then goes on to explain that she’s not trying to be hostile but like Girl1, she doesn’t like when people talk about their sex lives on the internet. Then she starts asking me about what if scenarios that I honestly had no interest in responding to. I simply told her that it was my experience. I own it and I will write about it if I want to. As long as I’m not naming names, it will be fine.

Later, Girl1 returns to the conversation,

I’m not into BDSM and talking about sex in that way makes me uncomfortable. Unless you are married then that’s a different story. I am a mother. I don’t publicly broadcast about sex. My blog is about battling anxiety, depression, social pressures. That kinda thing. I’ve mentioned a couple of things like marriage, and Cosmo subscriptions. BDSM is a fairly popular topic probably due to the popularity of 50 Shades which I don’t plan  to read.

Here’s the thing that makes me uncomfortable regarding sex. It’s things like hook ups. Tinder. Grindr. If anyone here is blogging about hook ups, then I’m out. Been there. Why does everything have to be about sex?? And thank you for agreeing with me, Girl2. I have an issue with it because unless I go seeking sex advice, I’m not asking for it nor should I feel obligated to read someone’s blog about their sexcapades.

At this point, I was done being nice but I still wanted to remain on the high road. I also wanted to end the conversation. So I told her,

Girl, get your panties out your ass and remove the stick while you’re at it. No one is forcing you to read a blog about sex because is that even possible? Free speech is a thing and people can talk or blog about whatever they want. There are people who exist outside of your comfort zone and will continue to do so regardless of how you feel about it.

I am also bisexual and non-monogamous. I am a mother as well who has no interest in getting married [again]. The hetero-monogamous Christian narrative is not for everyone but you never stop to think about those of us who don’t appreciate having it shoved down our throats from birth. Imagine how uncomfortable that makes us but we are expected to just accept it, which is precisely why I started my blog.

At the end of the day it is simply about respect. You don’t have to agree with anything I do in order for me to get it done. That will happen regardless. Good day, lady.

I was surprised to discover she had been an admin of the group. Oh, wow! Needless to say, she is no longer an admin. One for open sexual expression; Zero for sex negative slut-shaming.

Yes, this slut-shaming incident is quite unfortunate. However, I was very proud of the way I stood of for myself and what I stand for. I felt the fear and I did it anyway. I was also very proud when a different admin stepped in to inform Girl1 and Girl2 that it was an open blog sharing forum and that any and all were welcomed to share the link to their blog. And that, indeed, no one was forcing her to read it.

Overall, I was very proud of the conclusion of this experience. I know it won’t always end this way. But this shows me that I am ready to stand by the thing I am most passionate about (Finally!). . .open sexual expression.

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Love or Lust

If you’ve read my blog, then you already know I love sex. What you probably didn’t know is that I also love poetry. From time to time when I’m feeling inspired, I enjoy writing poetry as well. After all, sex is poetry in motion, right.

It being April, National Poetry Month, I’d like to share this rare side of myself; this poem that I wrote. Enjoy!

Love or Lust

What is it about you, this attraction? It makes me forget the ways of this world.
I am drawn to you as we embrace in a kiss, I forget.

I forget that I was supposed to make you wait.
To let you ask me out on a date.
Somehow this, this just feels like fate.
Like we were meant to mate.

In the primitive way that predates time.
When our preoccupations with our mannerisms didn’t consume our mind.
If only we’d choose to strip away this mask, what would we find.

Humanity in heat.
Standing naked, bare feet. . .
to the ground
becoming one with the sound. . .
of a heartbeat.

We dance in that rhythmic way we once knew
before things became new.

Mixing energy,
a perfectly balanced chemistry or
like an anemone;
wild, brilliant, and free.

A biological attraction of love or lust?
Perhaps the perfect combination of both.

What is it about you that makes my vulva swell like the evening tide.
That makes me want to climb on top as I slide you inside.
I scream in passion as I arch my spine,
my body twists with pleasure as your eyes meet mine.
I dig my nails into your back and you yell out in pain.
My love showers you like a monsoon rain.
Passion, pleasure, pain. Passion, pleasure, pain. Passion, pleasure, pain.
Passion pleasure pain. Passion pleasure pain. Passion pleasure pain.

It all becomes a blur.
A blood rushing, juices gushing, no one shushing blur.

Let us be loud.
Let us soar high as our judgement clouds.

Our breath, our bodies, hot, wet, mangled.
I love it when we dance in this way and get tangled
in pure ecstasy
that requires no nominal fee,
no college degree,
nothing that we should be
except Be. . .
nothing require except you and me.

What is it about this attraction that makes me want to abandon my inhibition.
To lose myself in blind ambition.
To journey into nothingness and find what I’ve been missing.

To embark on this mission reaching new orgasmic heights
when nights become days and days blend into the nights.

I want to forget all of the things I think I know
Exploring the part of myself I’d dare go
extending into the beyond as we explore the sensuality below.

Between you, between me, between legs and lips,
feeling the pulse as we thrust our hips.

As we stare into the eyes of the universe,
we play the parts of a script unrehearsed.

“The Passion of Life”

I’ve been where others fear most to go
because I don’t want to be afraid, I only want to grow. . .

more in this light, more in this love, more in this lust if you must.

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9 Tips for Her Better Oral Pleasure

Did you know that many women cannot reach orgasm without clitoral stimulation? That being what it is, I am always surprised when I come across a guy who has never performed oral sex on a woman or who is really bad at it (even when he think he’s good). The disappointment is riveting.

Once when I was in college, I was a judge in a pie eating contest, and I’m not talking pies you bake in the oven. A couple of friends, a few of us girls knew, wanted to know who was better at eating yoni, and they asked us if we’d be the judge. I was down 100%.

red-current-pie-1321766-640x480All the girls undressed from our waist down, kinda like you do when you’re getting a pap but without the gowns. Then, we laid horizontally across the bed, legs spread, as we waited for the competition to begin. The guys each performed oral sex on two different girls for about three minutes (or until she came) but no one was really keeping time. When they were done, they’d switch to a different set of girls.

No one came. Just to get that out of the way.

Even so, there was clearly a winner. When the guys asked us who was the better muffin muncher, I was surprised that the girls eagerly revealed who did it best, but they were reluctant to tell them that they were both horrible. As the winner did his victory dance, in my mind, I could not just watch on as he celebrated a failed performance. That’s when I had to speak up and to let them know, neither of them were very good at eating pie. When I said that, all the other girls begin chiming in. Every girl agreed; they were way to rough and aggressive, and they also lacked rhythm.

How did the guys react? They wanted to know why. They wanted to know what they were or weren’t doing correctly. They also wanted to know how to do it better. The winner even asked me for private lessons *wink* *wink* to which I enthusiastically agreed because I already had a little crush on him anyway.

He and I ended up having numerous sessions that resulted in more than just oral instruction as one could imagine. Needless to say, we both learned a lot.

Now, I’d like to share a few things I’ve taught (and learned) about how to be HER
better pie EATER. As a bisexual woman, I have quality experience in this area. So take heed.

Let’s start with five common issues (that I’ve encountered) in giving great oral orgasms.

Ask her what she likes.

Every girl has the same parts however, every girl varies in what she likes and how she likes it. What worked for the last might not work for the next. When in doubt, ask. Even if you aren’t in doubt, ask. Don’t take it personally if you don’t know. It is ok as long as you express a willingness and desire to learn.

I’m never turned off by someone who doesn’t know how to do it for me. I am turned off by someone who doesn’t listen to the direction I give on how to make it better for me. Ego and selfishness have no place in the bedroom.

In reference to the advice given above, she may not know.

I don’t know anyone who’s gotten it perfectly right the first time. Not even me. And before someone got it right, I didn’t really know what right was. Don’t be surprised if a woman doesn’t know how she likes it because for every man who has never done it he must have been having sex with a woman he wasn’t doing it with. Same goes for the ones who aren’t good at it. Here’s your opportunity to teach her what she likes and learn something new in the process. My best advice for this process is to be patient. It’s worth it. The skills you’ll gain are priceless.

You’re doing it too hard.

The clitoris is the most sensitive sex organ on the female anatomy with about 8,000 nerve endings. It has been called the “powerhouse of pleasure”. The best advice I can give is to be gentle. When you do it too rough and too hard, it can be painful or uncomfortable, the sensitivity in the clitoris can decrease significantly and it can become numb for a while. Reaching orgasm is unlikely at this point.

Rhythm is not restricted to the dance floor.

The dance floor isn’t the only place you need to have rhythm. If she’s getting you to move around it doesn’t necessarily means she wants you to be all over the place (although she might) but more than likely it means you haven’t found the right spot. Because if you had, I guarantee she’d be saying “Right there, right there, right there”, instead of wiggling her hips to get you to the right place. Pay attention to her body language if things are a bit jerky and jumpy instead of rhythmic and smooth, you might not be doing so hot.

Killing me softly.

What? Yes! Sometimes when a girl pushes your face into her vulva, she’s trying to get you use a little more pressure. I call it the sloppy tongue. Sloppy tongue can mean sloppy technique. You don’t eat yoni with the same tongue you use to lick those rainbow colored, flat and round lollipops. Being licked like a lollipop might sound good, but you need a firm yet gentle tongue to do it best. Your goal is pinpoint accuracy, not maximum surface area as it would be with the lollipop.

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Good cunnilingus consists of two main things finding the right spot and using the right tongue, which varies according to the lady.

When I met my ex-boyfriend he had not yet made his sexual debut. I was the first woman he’d ever been with and he gave me a whole spiel about how he doesn’t eat pussy, he never will, and that I shouldn’t ask him to do it because he thought it was the most disgusting thing ever. Then he added that he wouldn’t ask me to do oral for him either.

At this point, I had only ever had clitoral orgasms, except for that one time I had a vaginal orgasm by accident (don’t worry, I’ve had many since then). Any who my point is, I ended up teaching him how to do clitoral stimulation without oral. I did an amazing job *toot* *toot*. I later learned, by comparison, that he was also a very good student.

Eventually, he changed his mind about performing oral. I knew he would. I just needed to let him come around on his own time; No pressure. Of course, he had no clue what he was doing and there was very little light to see. I kept saying, “Move up, too high, move over, no the other way.”

Annoyed, he got out of the bed, flicked on the light, and opened my labia. Looking into my vulva, he took his right index finger and asked, “Where? Here?” as he touched the area around my clitoris. It is by far the sexiest thing a man has done to me to this very day.

Here are five things I learned from that intimate experience with my ex.

Turn on the lights. Do I really need to say this? Yes, it’s 2017 and people are very much still having sex in the dark. Trust me, I get it but you need to have some light: mood lighting, spot lighting, some low lighting or something. Imagine walking through a dark house that you’ve never been in before. You’re gonna bump into a lot of stuff and it’s not going to be good. Lights are your friend.

The gynecologist will see you now. Role playing is so much fun and a great way to get to know a woman anatomically. How can you master that which you do not know? You can’t! Grab a diagram of the external female anatomy. Learn the names (because names give things identity) and locate the parts identified in the diagram on her actual vulva (because identity gives things significance). You can grab this vagina-gram I create which includes two fun games that you and your partner can play. Remember, women are important. #WomensOrgasmsMatter

Touch her. Inspect, analyze, admire, worship, and give thanks to the yoni. Whatever you do at the very least, look at her. I can’t count the number of times a person has just dove, head first, into my vulva. Do you even know what you’re diving into? You know that IS important, right?

Try everything. Don’t only rely on your tongue and don’t always stick to a licking motion. Use your lips. Use your fingers. Use toys. Suck and kiss her, gently. Tease her. Try not to dive in so quickly. Inner thigh, mons pubis, closed outer labia are a great place to start a good tease. So close yet not quite there. Seriously, try it all and if you want to use toys, food, or anything else that isn’t your fingers or mouth, get her consent.

Think, fast or slow, long or short strokes, horizontal, vertical, or circular motions, more or less pressure, stiff or relaxed tongue, with or without fingers, alternate between each. Textures, patterns, speed, and consistency all affect the feel. Create a vibration by moaning into her yoni as you kiss and lick.

I cannot overstate how necessary it is to have an entire Q & A when it comes to oral sex. Ask her where. Ask her to show you where. Ask her to put your finger there. Ladies, if you feel comfortable, gently, let him know how he can do it better.

Sometimes achieving great oral sex isn’t as easy as show and tell. Working with someone who might be selfish, egoistic, isn’t a good listener, or is really bad at taking directions can be quite frustrating and bad for oral business.

In the past, when I’ve encountered these issues, depending on how invested I am in the relationship, I’ve expressed to my partner how important this is for me and why. Usually, after such a conversation things do change and they may revert back to the old ways for whatever reason. I hope all these things are as helpful to you on your journey to a better oral sex life as they have been to mine.

If you enjoyed reading this or you know someone who could benefit from reading it, please share this post.

Comment below or email me and let me know if any of these work for you. And finally, ladies, let me know how you like it when it comes to oral sex. We’ve been silenced for too long. We’re long overdue for speaking more openly about better oral sex.

#bettersexbetterworld
#womensorgasmsmatter

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A Touch of Self-Love

I’m curious, what is your relationship with masturbation? As I’d said in the Creating the Sexually Liberated Woman post, I have been masturbating a long time, however, my thoughts, approach, style, perspective, and even my technique has evolved over time.

Female masturbation is not talked about very often. I’ve heard great things about its many health benefits including a couple I’ve observed on my own: stress relief and sleep aid. Masturbation has spiritual benefits as well. In my personal experience, it fosters an intimate level of self-awareness, sexual confidence, and self-love: physically and psychologically. Friends who know me know I have no reservation about telling someone that I masturbate should they ask. Asking me when’s the last time I masturbated is no different than asking when’s the last time I drank water. They each occur at roughly the same frequency. . .roughly.

There is an art to masturbation. Something like an artist applying paint to a canvas, waiting for each layer to dry before applying a new coat or color, and then finally leaving Her signature. Yes, the evolution of masturbation is much like this. With each new revelation and the increase in frequency, I feel closer to creativity, closer to the Goddess.

Feelin’ Myself

Growing up I was taught that although inappropriate, it was normal for boys to touch themselves and masturbate as a means to release their sexual urges while going through puberty. I guess girls don’t have sexual urges. Any who, we’re certainly not allowed to release them.

As a girl, I was taught that a vagina is a smelly place, that my cycle was a disgusting punishment bestowed upon women by god and that I should never touch down there unless to clean, wash, or wipe. Funny, I do not recall being taught very much about other people touching. But since it was such a dirty and smelly place anyway, I wasn’t very comfortable allowing others to touch. If they “knew” what I “knew” why would they want to touch it anyway.

When I was a girl about eight years old, every night after my bath, I’d place the big mirror over the closed toilet lid, squat down over it like I was gonna go, only my legs were a bit more opened, and admire the way my vulva looked. It was mostly dark pink like someone had taken a drop of black paint and mixed it with pink. The color looked bright against my brown skin. On my inner labia major there was a dark mole. Surprised, I remember thinking, “Oh, moles can be down there, too!?”

I suppose it was surprising because the skin of my labia is not like the skin on my face, chest, or hand which are the other places I had moles. My labia minor were fleshy and slightly wavy (it’s more wavy, now); the color formed an ombre effect from pink to light brown as it extended to the outer edge of my labia. I had no good or bad thoughts; just pure fascination.

Usually, I would get dressed and place the mirror back behind the gas stove, but one day I forgot. My grandmother scolded “What took you so long in that bathroom? You know other people have to bathe. You got this mirror on this toilet like you been looking up your ass.” That likely could have been enough to shame me into never taking a peek at my vagina again.

The Peeping Tom

In third grade, while using the restroom a girl peeped inside my stall. When I walked out all the girls were quiet and staring at me. Eventually, I asked, “What?” And one girl told me that another had peeked into my stall and said I was nasty because I was playing with myself. Given the limited restroom time that we had, I doubt that I was actually playing with myself. Perhaps I was touching myself a bit longer than she felt appropriate. Either way, I can’t recall. I do remember that they seemed to be staring at me like I’d committed an offense punishable by death as they awaited my response. I simply replied that she was nasty for looking into my stall. They all agreed and that was the end of that.

After I got my cycle, I didn’t look at my vulva for a very long time. I didn’t masturbate for a very long time either. Whenever I did, which was rarely, it was stealthy, over quickly, detached, and impersonal. I eventually learned that masturbation is absolutely inappropriate for girls however, boys were always “beating their meat”, having wet dreams, and after school porn watch parties with jacking off contests and this was completely normal. It was more acceptable for a guy to touch you than for you to touch yourself. No wonder men fetishize women masturbating.

Sophomore year in college, I began masturbating regularly, again. I had my own, private room. I didn’t have to worry about doing it sneakily in the bathroom or waiting until I thought everyone was asleep or concerning myself with who might pop in on me. And while I had really, really great sex during this period of my life, there is no intimacy quite like the intimacy of pleasuring one’s self. That release had been a long time coming; All puns intended.

Love Yourself, Touch Yourself

Now, masturbation is a sacred ritual and while I enjoy using toys, I mostly prefer to use my hands. I love the way I feel; the way I swell as I become aroused; the way my vulva becomes a frictionless surface, the way my body pulsates through my climax, and as I reach resolution. I am both comfortable and open with masturbation. I masturbate at least three times a week whether I’m having sex regularly or not.

Masturbation is my way of showing love and appreciation to myself. I use it to complete my stress cycles and release excess energy before bed. Night time puts me in nesting mode. When I’m preparing to masturbate, I like to lie with my back slightly arched, legs opened and relaxed. I explore the entire surface of my bare mons and vulva. With my fingers, I slowly slide two inside my vagina to smell and taste. I love the way I taste and smell. No one knows my body better than I do. I roll my hips in full circles as I climb higher and higher, pinching my nipple between my index and middle fingers as I squeeze my breast in one hand the other between my legs. My relationship with Desiree is a slight obsession. I love her so much. I like to express my love in others ways as well. Here’s a portrait of her I recently drew.

My favorite things to use during masturbation are coconut oil and my imagination; no penetration. I enjoy exclusive clitoral stimulation only. I have the sexiest imagination. Although, I don’t have access to another imagination to compare. All I know is once it works its magic, no lube necessary.

Occasionally, I like to have more elaborate masturbation rituals which involve Marsha Ambrious, Trey Songs, some sexy mirror dancing (this girl is talented with these hips), incense, and crystals. I’m such a romantic and there are few things I enjoy more than not waiting for someone else to romance me. Especially given the fact that I am more single than I’ve ever been yet I’m having my most accepting, self-intimacy sex life ever.

 

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Book Review: Come As You Are Pt I

Read Part II of this Review

Come As You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Transform Your Sex Life

By Emily Nagoski, Ph.D

This book is organized into four parts, 9 chapters (plus an introduction and a conclusion), and 335 pages (400 including acknowledgments, appendices, index, and reference). Since the book is pretty thick and contains such a wealth of information, I’ve decided I will review it in its four parts. Here’s an outline of Part 1:

  • Introduction: Yes, You Are Normal
  • Part 1
    • Chapter 1: Anatomy: No Two Alike
    • Chapter 2: The Dual Control Model: Your Sexual Personality
    • Chapter3: Context: And the “One Ring” (to Rule Them All) in Your Emotional Brain

Book Review

Yay! I made it through part one which consists of the first three chapters. I’ll warn you, this book is a lot to take in. Make sure you’re in a distraction-free setting while you’re reading it. You’ll be making a lot of personal references. My mind kept straying so often to how each part applied to my own sexual experience that I couldn’t remain focused. Reading it provides quite the cathartic release.

You know how when you’re actively reading the words on the page, only thing is, your thoughts are elsewhere. Then once you realize this, you bring your focus back to the passage only to realize you didn’t comprehend a thing you read. . . “Just calling words,” as my granny calls it. Only you’re doing it in your head and not out loud. So I had to reread a lot.

Isn’t it amazing how you’re able to do things simultaneously!? Further proof that the mind is separate from the soul is separate from the body yet all have to function in a single form: the metaphysical. No wonder the world is so crazy. Even within our individual selves we function in form yet not in sync the way that we should. What an epiphany!

Anywho, back to this review.

Throughout Part I, the author gives the most awesomest analogies. I love analogies. I am the queen of analogies. They work so well in putting life into simplified perspectives. My ex-boyfriend used to tell me my analogies didn’t apply to everything. Oh but they do, and Dr. Emily Nagoski proves it in “Come As You Are.”

I appreciated Dr. Nagoski’s suspenseful prelude leading into the subsequent chapter and her exquisite introduction to each new chapter. Everyone, one sprinkled throughout with just the right amount of imagery in the short stories to give this visual learner a well-informed illustration of the science behind the sex.

Yes, You are Normal (Intro)  & No Two Alike (Ch 1)

I used to skip reading the introduction. Sometimes I still do but in this case, do not skip the intro. It’s an important component to understanding the book and its organization. Also, it explains how it applies to you (or doesn’t apply to you). So transgender ladies, this may be the book for you but it’s not a guarantee.

Sex positive and body positive blog, Subscribe to PrettyPinkLotusBud.org for a refreshing perspective on sex, relationships, and spirituality. Tearing down social constructs one patriarchal perspective at a time.The first chapter was all about the sexual hardware, brain, and body. It emphasized how we all (anatomically), men and women, have the same parts organized in different ways yet no two are alike. If you’re having any concerns about your physical make-up, you’re likely to find the answer here. My favorite part of this chapter is the garden analogy which explains that our sexuality is cultivated by our family, our culture, and our religion until we are able to cultivate it on our own. I learned that there isn’t a lot of information on the anatomy of women of color. This has me wanting to take pix of my moon flower and donate them to science instead of sexting them to my forever boo.

We spend so much time in school, isn’t there a way to incorporate teaching students about themselves. It would definitely help them navigate their life more easily. I have digressed once more.

The Dual Control Model (Ch 2)

Although we have the same parts organized in different ways, as men and women, we learn and respond to sexual stimuli differently. If you’re curious about why men have a pill and women don’t, this is the chapter for you. Chapter two is in some ways a foundation for chapter three and I suspect three for four and four for five and so on and so forth.

Chapter two explains a little about the study of sexual stimulation, arousal, desire and the introduction of context. It explains how there are stimuli, physical and psychological, that makes us go and those that make us stop. Dr. Nagoski tells us all of these stimuli are learned through that garden metaphor mentioned in the first chapter.

The part about the rats had me thinking, “Nah, I’m much more complicated than this,” but as you progress through the chapter, it will all come together. I haven’t made all of the connections however, I’m also still reading so we shall see.

Context (Ch3)

And here is where your “Ah-ha” moment will occur. I’m not usually an excitable person outside the bedroom but chapter 3 is certainly a cause for arousing curiosity.

Emily teaches us about the emotional one ring (you’ll definitely want to get the book for this one) and provides a beautiful context analogy about how 72 degrees feels on a scorching hot day versus how it feels on a bitterly cold day. Perfect, perfect analogy; My entire sex life starts to make sense right here.

It explains why I mourned the temporary loss of my sexual interest after giving birth to my daughter. I was so relieved to discover that it was indeed, only temporary **PHEW**

This is the chapter where you take full control of your sexual transformation.

Read Part II of this review

Artist Feature

Woman Reading Book with Orange” by Georgy Kurasov

“Georgy Kurasov was born in 1958 in the USSR, in what was then Leningrad. He still lives and works in the same place, but now the country is Russia and the city is called St Petersburg. Without any effort on his part whatsoever, Georgy seems to have emigrated from one surreal country to another.” -Excerpt from Georgy Kurasov personal website

To see more of his art visit Kurasov Fine Art

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Free My Postpartum Sexuality

There is relatively universal consensus that pregnancy and motherhood is a beautiful and blessed journey. For the most part, it is a common belief that “A child is a blessing from God.” That is how I’ve always heard it, but you ever notice how pregnancy and motherhood is a huge source of cultural shame?

The Dome of Shame

The moment I became visibly pregnant at 21 looking every bit of 17 as a black, unwed expectant mother, I could feel the difference in energy of the way I was perceived in the world. I could feel the stares and I could hear the whispers. Some of it didn’t come in whispers, just outright questioned expectations, disappointment, blame, ridicule and the like. I was excited to become a mother within myself but as I heard the words “Your life is over,” as I’m sure many women and girls had heard before me, all I could do was cry in spite of the joy that resonated from my womb. I felt weak, vulnerable, and strapped inside the “dome” of shame, referring to my taut, dome-shaped pregnant belly. I felt like I could not fully embrace the spiritual jubilance of carrying my child.

There is so much shame and blame associated with becoming a mother coupled with the details surrounding your journey: How many kids do you have? Do your kids have the same father? Were you married to their father? How old were you when you had your child? Did you graduate college? The list is endless. It was like I had less privilege without a man to validate me, without a marriage as proof of that validation.

God forbid you have three or more children with different fathers, be unwed, and never married. You carry the scarlet letter of shame. This was exactly the case with my own mother. I, her only daughter and eldest child, had to watch as she toiled in the psychological damage that resulted from her self-criticism and the constant judgement she received from others. Somewhere, I made a promise this would never happen to me.

Are you a bastard?

In 8th grade, a girl walked around the class pointing at students asking, “Are you a bastard?”, “Are you a bastard?” “I know you’re not a bastard.” “I’m not a bastard, because my parents were married before I was born.” She stood in front of me, pointed, and asked, “Victoria, are you a bastard.” I recall rolling my eyes and ignoring her as she walked over to the next student and posed the same question.

Of all the things that had happened to me in middle school, why do I remember this so vividly; why was this particular incident so effective that when I think of this moment, a part of me says, “Ha, now I have two children with the same father and all of her five children have different fathers,” despite the fact that I know in the grand scheme of life, it matters not at all. Why do I think this way? Because this type of cultural shame has been reinforced in our lives as women, as mothers over and over and over again.

Postpartum Bodies

Then comes the postpartum body judgement. Your lovely new “kangaroo pouch”, for those of us that don’t snap back or who were never snapped in the first place, means you are no longer suitable for male consumption.

Oh yes, let us not omit the infamous “Ewwww stretchmarks”. Yet another scar-let letter of shame. Pun intended. I watch mothers on Instagram, who flaunt their postpartum tummy (@powertoprevail) get grueling insults hurled at them so much that an entire campaign (Love Your Lines) uplifting the journey into motherhood and the bodily changes that come with it, was erected in their honor.  We shame mothers into hiding through the idolization of perfect bodies and the condemnation of what we categorize as imperfect ones, after they have emerged from the perilous yet miraculous labor of childbirth.

Honor & Celebrate Transition

Author Emily Nagoski proposed a beautiful idea in her book Come as you Are. “Let’s invent a ritual where women celebrate the transition into their postpartum bodies.”

When Maya Angelou traveled to Africa she stayed with a tribe who bathed communally. She said the women began to weep and console her and she didn’t know why. They thought she was childless because she had no stretch marks. In their society, marks are a badge of honor. They said that even if the baby died and she was kidnapped into a new village, if she passed away and could not speak for herself, the marks would tell her story and she would get the proper rites at her burial.

We must guide in a different way, uplift, honor, and empower ALL women and girls on their journey into motherhood. ALL of them and not just a select few who did it the “right” way. It is imperative that we love and embrace our transition into motherhood both physically and psychologically. Now more often than ever, we hear reports on the rise of postpartum depression. I do not wonder why.

The lack of appreciation for being the giver of life is beyond disgusting.

Welcome to postpartum motherhood, the land of “damaged goods”. The place where your shitty baby’s father threatens to leave because no one else is gonna want you anyway. I actually heard one of the guys from TeenMom say that to the mother of his child. All I could think was, “Oh wow, is this what we think of our child bearers?” The place where you get likened to an old car that has lost its value with your “high mileage pussy.” I swear I didn’t make any of this up. Why do we treat women like they’re property and products; An asset that decreases in value over time and sexual experiences?

Postpartum Sexuality

As a mother, how can I be socially barred from being associated with sex when it is the very act of intercourse that brought me to this place of motherhood. To be a mother and to also be sexy creates a feeling of cognitive dissonance from both a personal and social perspective, a dichotomy that artist Michael explores quite nicely in his post “Cognitive Dissonance: Hestia vs Aphrodite.” In his post he talks about Hestia, Greek goddess of the hearth who is a virgin and Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. In summary, it mentions the way the goddesses represent two extremes of a single spectrum which mirrors the way women see themselves, the way that men view us as well as the way we are expected to exist in the real world. Essentially, it is difficult to accept us as being both; A feeling I can readily identify with as a woman, as a mother, and as a former wife.

There is such a dissociation between sex and motherhood that the thought of a mother having sex and being a sexual being is complete taboo. The idea of fucking someone’s mother is a repulsive turn off and she should tread carefully on any consideration of having sex with anyone who is not her child’s father or any other sexy behavior for that matter as not to be labeled a slut, whore, sorry excuse of a mother, poor example for her daughter, and an embarrassment to her family. And please don’t let a child result from such a union without a solid commitment to redeem her respect. The postpartum period of a woman’s life is a laundry list of things you shouldn’t do, clothes you shouldn’t wear, and people you shouldn’t be.

Free my postpartum sexuality.

Mother Slut

Get you a girl that can do both. We are not one dimensional. Yes, I am a mother. I am still fucking sexy and ****NEWS FLASH**** I also love to fuck. I still wear crop tops, booty shorts, and bikinis,  my stretchmarks proudly on display. Body dresses, stilettos, and brightly colored lipstick, fly by romance and one night stands are still a valid occurrence in my life. I twerk, I flirt, and in the bedroom, trust that I werk *snap, snap*. I wear what I want. I do what I want. I’ll be who I want. I embrace my postpartum body as my version of sexy. I am a single, sexy mommy. Yes, I am a fused duality of Hestia and Aphrodite; mother lover, mother goddess, mother slut.

Get you a girl that can do both. @juiceboxxqueen

Artist Feature

Eve” by artist Eric Heard.

To learn more about Eric’s work and how you can give his art a new home visit his IG. Check out his beautiful work, like, share, and buy, buy, gift.

thatsharveyson

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The Myth of the Slut

Long ago when matriarchy ruled as patriarchy does today, men competed for the affection, attention, and approval of women. Women were worshiped and the Goddess ruled the heavens. Women had reign to choose any man they desired to fulfill their most imaginative fantasies. The most physically and sexually capable of the bunch were always top choice.

Men had no power

Men had to justify their existence, for they had very little importance beyond their ability to fertilize female eggs and move heavy objects. They were very much like worker ants and bees. They did the heavy physical labor, and made sure that children were produced and protected. (Walsch, 41)

Women would hold lavish ceremonies. They danced, chanted, ate, drank, and sat in prayer and meditation to bestow gratitude upon the Goddess for her love and abundance. During these ceremonies, each woman would spend time have sex with various men she felt an attraction to in order to select a suitable well-endowed, handsome, and physically capable strong mate who would bring her great pleasure and healthy children. The women would dress in almost nothing to seduce the men, who proudly walked about naked and erect, and observed how they measured up.

These ceremonies would last from the fall of the full moon until the rise of the new. Women participated in duos, trios, and group experiences of multiple orgasmic pleasure. Their climaxes could be heard for miles. The women even indulged in bringing one another pleasure while others watched on. Sex during this time was not a private act nor was it an objective act. These acts were the purest expression of boundless, authentic love. To do it openly and often was to pay homage to the Goddess.

Several offspring were born of these rituals with no concern of whom the father might be. All the men participated equally in the protection and rearing of the children. It was an amazing celebration of sexual pleasure and spiritual connection as they worshiped the Goddess of the Yoniverse.

It was indulgently wonderful, except everyone did not get to enjoy these ceremonies. Only the strongest, most handsome, empathetic, and intelligent of the men were invited.

Overthrown

Unfortunately, not all men measured up. These men became bitter and resentful. They began plotting to reverse the roles. After centuries, of playing the subservient role of meat suppliers, the men finally convinced the women to give them more power, but those men became greedy. They began to spread rumors of the Goddess having given birth to an evil son (later known as the devil) who planned to overthrow the spiritual kingdom and the male God was brought forth for protection.

As time passed, the rumors began to grow. The Goddess pledged her loyalty to God, forsaking all others. Women began to follow Her example as it was their ultimate desire to be all that the Goddess was. Many women knew this was a trick and continued to follow the original ways of the Goddess. The men could not let this happen. They could not allow the women to realize their divine essence and reclaim their power over men. Fearing the loss of their own power, the men turned to social manipulation. Women who refused to pledge their loyalty to one man, acting out in rebellion, were shamed into conformity. Thus, the slut came into being. The Goddess soon disappeared from worship altogether.

Myth and Magic

Women were socially ostracized and physically punished for being with more than one man. Social constructs were invented to define virginity (the hymen story). Sex in exchange for goods and services, once seen as a lavishly, prestigious role performed by the most seductive women, was given derogatory labels (whore and prostitution) and declared illegal. Women’s breasts were regarded as obscene. Female genitalia and pregnancy out of wedlock became a source of cultural shame. Social suppression of sexual desires turned into self-suppression of sexual desires; All invented to control women’s sexuality and prevent their reemergence to magnificence alongside the Goddess.

So you see, the slut is a myth, no more real than Sasquatch or the Loch Ness monster. Although, like Sasquatch and the Loch Ness monster, some people still believe she exists. Slut is a shameful label given to magical women, the boldest and the bravest of us all. In truth, slut is the essence of a woman rekindling her spiritual beingness as a sexual goddess; doing her due diligence to unlock the treasures of her deepest desires rendering her worthy of becoming one with the true Goddess once more. The one labeled slut is a woman who recognizes her freedom to pursue her sexual potential and all the wonderful pleasure it brings.

Sluts are like Unicorns; although they do not exist, they represent something quite rare and truly magical.

 

References
Nagoski, Emily. Come As You Are: The Surprising New Science That Will Transform Your Sex Life. Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2015.

Walsch, Neale Donald. Conversations with God: An uncommon dialogue book 3. Hampton Roads Publishing Company, 1998.

Artist Feature:

Try Me Once” by Artist: Joel Dietz, TouchMeDeeply 

To learn more about our featured artist and his work visit, Touchmedeeply.com. If there is a specific piece you’d like, please contact via email: deeplytouchme@ gmail.com to purchase art prints and more.

touchmedeeply

 

 

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