#sex writing

[mumblingsage]

We won’t begin to attempt to talk about the difference between “erotic” and “pornographic,” except to say the best definition we ever heard was this: “Erotica is what I like. Pornography is what you like.”

from The Poet’s Companion, Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux

[campgender]

I am angry all the time lately, and being angry makes me horny, makes me itchy, makes me want to shock strangers and surprise the girls who ask me, please, out for coffee and to talk. I don’t want to talk. I want to wrestle in silence. It isn’t sex I want when I am like this. It’s the intimacy of their bodies, the inside of them, what they are afraid I might see if I look too close. I look too close. I write it all down. I intend that things shall be different in my lifetime, if not in theirs.

Paul, Geoff—I am doing it as much as I can, as fast as I can. This holy act. I am licking their necks on Market Street, fisting them in the second floor bathroom at Amelia’s, in a booth under a dim wall lamp at the Box—coming up from her cunt a moment before the spotlight shifts to her greedy features. I have tied her to a rail in a garage down on Howard Street, let her giggle and squirm while I teased her clit, then filled her mouth with my sticky fingers and rocked her on my hipbone till she roared. We have roared together. Everywhere I go, the slippery scent of sweat and heat is in the air, so strong it could be me or the women I follow, the ones who follow me. They know who I am just as I know them. I have ripped open their jeans at the Powerhouse, put my heel between their legs at the Broadway Café, opened their shirts all the way down at Just Desserts, and pushed seedless grapes into their panties at the Patio Cafe. The holy act of sex, my sex, done in your name, done for the only, the best reason. Because we want it.

I am pushing up off the bed into Alix’s neck like a great cat with a gazelle in her teeth. I am screaming and not stopping, not stopping. Frog fucking, pussy creaming, ass clenching, drumming out, pumping in. I am doing it, boys and girls, I am doing it, doing it all the time.

from “Her Body, Mine, and His” in Skin by Dorothy Allison (emphasis added)

[haystackpancake]

Bright, boundless, translucent phallus pries into a sea. Through sheet of ice like auger needle Drilling blissful, fish full Depths of me

How I love the water To explore this salty warmth pouring, sloshing, pulling, tossing, careening by my touch

Fuzzy inferno in arctic night 'neath jealous sky, boy and sea Come to dying fire's light Drowned in fantasy

-what's the point of an anonymous blog if I can't shitpost with dildo poem.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

HOLY SHIT ALL OF THIS

[kascking]

She tells everyone who her type is XXX

Settings your mind while he asks you how you are but when your body is ready for orgasms something needs to be fixed and she is very horny waiting for him to reach its little pussy hole, break it and abuse her vagina cumming on this cock until it gushes out and enjoying his biggest cock jump on her boy, she finished and falls on her knees but she can't stop feeling satisfaction and screamimg like a bitch starts sucking... It doesn't fit and she gets very excited soaking the lips with cum and then eat it. He punishes her actions and hits her face with the veins of cock, she fights, its vagina spitting it out and got on all fours calling me daddy then asks for her ass to be destroyed. She says that is my whore covered in sperm.

[mumblingsage]

Make a list of what’s erotic to you: parts of the body, traditional and nontraditional; foods, objects, clothing, words, smells, sounds. Pick seven to ten words from your various categories and make a poem out of them.

Begin a poem with the phrase “I want” or “Tonight I want...”and use things from the lists you made in the previous exercise. If you get stuck, keep repeating your “I want.” 

exercises from The Poet’s Companion, Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux

[campgender]

I walk into the room. She stands with her back to me, a large woman dressed for business. She turns to me: “I have been waiting.” I need to know my arrival is important to her. She approaches me. “I will do what you want, I will do it better than you have ever had it done, and you will give me everything there is in you to give. You will pour it out on my hands, and I will hold you open.” I love her for those words, for her knowledge of what I need and her caring enough to do it. We are alone in this room, having left outside all our accomplishments, all our other powers.

Here we will face each other, naked and yet dressed in ritual recognition. We will have the courage to bring to the surface the messages the body carries from older days. Here the daily camouflage of acceptable activity will be dropped. My submission in this room with this woman is my source of strength, of wisdom. It informs all my abilities in the other world, but here I can give it time to breathe its own air, to break the surface and show its own face.

There is a table in the room with sharp square edges. It looks uncomfortable, but I long for the feel of its edges against my back.

I am wearing a long dress that hides my body, my body that I have hated so long for not being lean, hard; hated for its flesh, thighs without tight muscles, large buttocks mocked for many years but with a hunger all their own; and now yearning for penetration by this woman’s hand, her erotic acceptance that will free me from the crime of being a big-assed woman. I know this woman, my friend, will bring my body to light, will make me use it and hear it, will strain it to its fullest, and she will help me through her demands and her pleasure to forget self-hatred. Through her gift of taking, I will be given back to myself, a self that must live in this body and thus desperately needs reconciliation.

from “The Gift of Taking” by Joan Nestle, published in A Restricted Country (1987)

[haystackpancake]

The jeering face was back this morning

Guttural barks, growling, horny, like the jeering face came back this morning. goosebumps flutter, hairs sent soaring by the jeering face came back this morning.

tore off my cellophane flesh, teeth sink into stained chicken breast through sheets unshaded eyes heat frozen, thawing, deer meat thighs

Wolf skinned grandma reads her a story like the jeering face came back this morning girl's ears cant handle all that gory, but your jeering face was back this morning.

sweat buffalo soaked and sitting up your belly full, not had enough cream skin yanked lips attempt a smile "fetch me a bowl for wing bone pile"

poultry a-chase, jackal snoring, like the jeering face I saw this morning feathers plucked and juices pouring turned your head and said good-morning.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[foldingfittedsheets]

Every sales job I’ve worked has that one item. The white whale. The biggest ticket you can sell. The sale you brag about when you’re chatting with other industry people.

When I sold mattresses it was a split king adjustable base. That’s two twin extra long mattresses next to each other to make a king, but each side can move independently. They’re insanely expensive and honestly kind’ve impractical but it was the biggest ticket thing to sell.

When I sold sex toys though our white whale was the 20lb ass. It was a female pelvis, a cut out from the waist to the tops of the thighs. It was hyper realistic material and cost about $500. I definitely had bigger tickets but not in one item typically.

In my time at the sex shop, I sold three. Each time was completely different in terms of how the guy acted about buying it. The first man was a little embarrassed and shy about it. I was professional and supportive as I rang it up. Once I handed him the receipt he looked at the box. Then he looked at me.

If you’ve ever wondered how big a box has to be to fit a 20lb ass let me just tell you: it’s pretty damn big. It’s an uncomfortably large armful of box and every side has a picture of the sex toy inside on it. It’s not subtle.

“Could I get a bag….?”

There was no bag that existed that could possibly contain all that ass. “Hang on,” I told him.

I got scissors and tape and covered the box in cut up black bags. Looking relieved he picked up his purchase and left.

The next man to buy one carried it proudly to the counter; self assured and not embarrassed in the least. When I said I didn’t have a bag, but I could wrap it for him he gave a hearty shrug and hefted it into his arms, marching out the door with the butt on full display.

The last man to get one was just kind’ve an odd guy. Not creepy, but eccentric. We got along great, and as I rang him up I said, “Well one guy wanted his taped over, and one guy carried it out. What would you prefer?”

“There’s no bags?”

“No store bags. I think our jumbo trash bags in the back might fit it….?” It seemed rude to suggest putting a $500 item into a trash bag, but he wasn’t bothered.

He considered this then said, “Bring me the trash bag.”

When I delivered it to him he still managed to surprise me. Instead of shoving the huge box into it he opened the box. He took out his new $500 sex toy, and all the little things it came with, tipping them unceremoniously into the trash bag.

“There! Now I don’t have to deal with the box later!”

I was slightly stunned but agreed that I could easily deal with the trash. Then in a move I still think about with delight he flung the trash bag over his shoulder like a Santa with a sack full of ass and sauntered out the door.

If this or my other escapades made you laugh you could pop a tip into my Ko-fi! For more like this check my tag "ffs foibles".

[elreinodelpurgatorio]

Why is this so bad? 😭

[mumblingsage]

Often, in both manual and oral stimulation, men make the mistake of assuming that they need to take the lead and provide the majority of the stimulation--hence all the fuss about tried tongues or worn-out wrists. If you ever feel this sort of fatigue, you're probably working hard but not necessarily well. More often than not, all you need to do is provide a consistent point of resistance and pressure, whether it's the tip of your tongue or the flat palm of your hand.

-Ian Kerner, She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman

I finally got my hands on the library system's 1 copy of this, only to need to finish it in 2 sittings because someone else has it on hold and I can't renew it. It does my heart good to know so many people are reading it! Some of the writing can be a bit cheesy--to be fair, there aren't many good options when writing about sex, especially when trying to hit an encouraging practical self-help sort of note--but the information is fascinating; I even learned a few things about my own anatomy.

[mild-lunacy]

'Women are the Weaker Sex... in Sex' trope

This may be an old complaint in slash fandom, although it's actually been so long since those days, I don't remember the 'issues of the day', so to speak. Anyway, so I'm reading 'A Winter of Ice and Iron' by Rachel Neumeier. It's a great fantasy and m/f romance (unconventionally so) and I love the in-depth characterizations-- it's all good. It's just that it has a slash trope I find Problematic, although I must admit with some chagrin that I'm fine with it in m/m romance. Perhaps it's just so common I have become resigned?

Basically, the male main character is said to generally prefer men because they are... sturdier and he doesn't have to be so careful. He can let go, he can be rough with other men. It's funny, because the thing about Neumeier is that she generally eschews tropes and cliches, and this is definitely a cliche, at least in slash.

You could certainly argue it makes sense, both in this m/f book and when it's used in most m/m romance, because often enough the male character isn't fully human, but is a werewolf, vampire, demon or what have you. So he has a lot of power and it's sort of A Lot even for him to deal with. This 'iron self-control' narrative is itself a cliche of Western masculinity to the point where making him a werewolf or whatever is just... kind of an exaggeration rather than a fantasy, almost. This is an archetype more than a trope at bottom, in many ways. And archetypally, of course, that self-controlled powerful man is not gay, but it's a logical enough progression. Sort of like an argument of reductio ad absurdum, perhaps. Still, it bothers me because I don't think it's meant to be absurd. People believe it. That makes it problematic, especially so in a book that displays no major glaring 'issues'.

Many women probably prefer gentleness, but this (in my opinion) is in response to abuse, not to 'loss of control' or roughness. If anything, reading romance as I do, I notice women fantasize heavily about 'safe' violence in sex. Of course, in this book's context, it makes sense that the male main character has this issue, because his father was abusive and so he's extremely sensitive to that potential in himself. So perhaps this is not meant to be the authorial intent but merely his male lover's self-serving interpretation of the man's trauma. The character's lover is reassuring himself, while the bisexual male main character is traumatized and reacting to a history of abuse, so maybe I should take this characterization of his needs with a grain of salt. Especially because he's not in a sexual relationship with the female main character yet.

Anyway, to be honest, I doubt I'm supposed to take this claim of the lover's uncritically. He claims there won't be that freedom to be rough within sex with any woman, but how would he know their dynamic? While I doubt the male main character will be rough with her, this is primarily due to her magic (more or less), and the fact that she doesn't fear him, which soothes him. Is it 'better' to let go and have the safe space for sexual violence, or is it 'better' for your partner to be able to help you stabilize your emotional self-control?

In the real world and not a fantasy scenario, this is probably like asking if self-medicating with (gay) S&M or actually getting therapy for your emotional issues is better. Probably the latter, huh?

I intended to write this to assert women are actually better at endurance and handling pain than men. I mean, sex shouldn't be about endurance, but it's like... well... at least women self-lubricate. Potentially, even rough sex is actually easier. It's also not like women's bruises are somehow more debilitating for them. It's entirely a mental block, not a fact of gender essentiallism. Like, if it's not your kink to hurt women, I guess that's great? Although a little patronizing. But you can't really claim that about this character, either. It's not that he doesn't want to indulge, he's just afraid to lose control to violence. And this is the sort of thing that an emotional safe space can resolve. I'd bet it's more about the trust that the male main character has with his lover that made the biggest difference, rather than their gender. And given that trust can exist between a man and his wife... well.

To be honest, like I said, I can't see him ever hurting her, emotional safe space or not. At the same time, all the other characters who say the same thing about him are actually wrong, because I don't think he'd be 'gentle' on purpose, at least not entirely. It's because her presence simply allows this natural behavior to emerge, IMO. The result is because it's not a real sexual need of his, in my opinion, but rather kind of an emotional side-effect of a magical issue. Since the female character helps create calm, he's unlikely to still need that release valve with her. And you could probably argue that it wouldn't work even if he still needed that release, but this is because they just don't have that top/bottom power exchange dynamic. You can't really argue it's about gender in their dynamic. She's not his bottom, she's his equal partner. Even though these two roles can coexist, I don't think they could in this case.

Normally, I actually think that too would irritate me, if it's a case of Madonna vs Whore stereotypes, but he doesn't actually idealize her (or overly sexualize his male lover, for that matter), so it's fine. Neumeier is really good at threading that needle for me, it seems.

I dunno. At this point I'm just imagining this scenario, since this isn't the sort of book that'll actually go into it. I dunno how I feel about the long-term prospects of the male main character keeping his male lover, which I assume he will. I think the 'release valve' aspect will almost certainly change the longer he has his emotional needs met with his wife. Even though the release valve is magically driven, because his wife also impacts/steadies his magical control. So... I can only imagine his need for that sort of relief will slowly dwindle to nearly nothing. This now reminds me a little too much of (what I heard was) the plot of Fifty Shades, haha. That definitely sounded lame, but in this case I don't see a different scenario. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[steddiecameraroll]

ao3 (includes pt2)

Eddie knows he’s gonna lose it one day. Every single time he watches Steve put his hands on his hips and reprimands the feral teens, he wants to jump the man’s bones.

He ends up pinching whatever exposed skin he has when the urge hits him, leaving itty bitty bruises behind.

It works for months until one evening when Eddie lets his guard down and is 3 beers deep. Steve is leaning against the wall with his shoulder holding himself up. Eddie is telling him about how he had to haul Mike off Dustin the day before and Steve out of habit slides his hand up onto his hip.

Eddie stops midsentence and lets his eyes follow the long lean line of Steve’s body to his fingers.

“What?” Steve asks in confusion.

“Huh?” Eddie’s mouth is open when he looks back up.

“You stopped talking.”

“Well fuck, man.” Eddie sighs and flops against the wall near Steve, his back hitting flat and puffing out a huff of air. “You-you do that bitchy fucking stance and it drives me crazy. I wanna…UGH!” He covers his face, the beer can he’s holding presses against his cheek.

“You wanna what?” Steve sounds nervous.

Eddie whines and stomps his feet a little, trying to hold back his answer. It’s so close to falling out, resting on the tip of his tongue.

“You wanna what, man?” Steve’s voice coming out stronger like he’s daring Eddie to be honest.

Eddie drops his hands and pouts over at Steve. “Don’t make me say it.” He shifts from one foot to the other.

“Say what? You’re acting weird.” Steve stands up straight and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh goooood, then you do that.” Eddie whines. “You don’t even know, look at you.” He sighs and flops his arms in defeat.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Steve stares like he’s watching a car crash.

“I WANT TO FUCK YOU! You stand like that and-and I can’t think. It makes me crazy. Like-like feral animal crazy. I want to rip your clothes off and scratch my nails down your chest and watch you tell those little shits off. I can’t fucking take it!” Eddie groans, spins on his heels, and stomps away.

Steve stands in shock, letting Eddie’s words sink in. After a brief moment he shrugs to himself and murmurs, “ok.”

Robin’s head pops around the corner. “What’d you say?”

Pt 2-ish

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

I agree, Vox. Seeing your enemy suffer is better than sex.