No lubrication required

Unlike my sister and her amazing ability to be wet with a look, I have the tendency to be dry. This is embarrassing for me many times as I try to explain to the man that OF COURSE he turns me on, my body chemistry plus allergy medication just prevent me from producing all that much moisture.
Because of this minor flaw in my body makeup I have a large enough selection of lube that it has raised some eyebrows. Apparently 8 different choices at a time are far too many for some strapping young infantrymen. What can I say, variety is the spice of life and I'm a damn good cook.

There have been two notable exceptions to my lubrication situation in my lifetime: Michael, who got me went once just by sending a picture of him in his dress uniform, and my new favorite object: baby's first Lelo.

I have wanted a Lelo for ages... Especially after my sister gave me reports on hers. I was looking for a good g spot vibe and decided it was time to break into the big leagues. I went to my local adult store and bought the Gigi.

I was so excited I practically pranced my way home. Just opening the box got me wet. I even took pictures of the thing. Splayed everything out for a sexy showoff photo shoot. My messages to my sister and friends read something like: "it even has it's own special bag, and you should see the BOX it comes in!"

It was a sex toy Christmas and I had been a VERY good girl.

As I impatiently waited for it to charge I could hardly sit still. I was curious if it would actually work. G spot searches haven't always gone the best for me, but with my Lelo, I was confident it would be a snap.

Once my Gigi was charged up I took a few minutes just to play with it in my hands. The motor is powerful, silent, and placed such a way that you get the strong vibrations throughout the entire shaft of the toy, without feeling like you're going to vibrate your hand into numbness while controlling it.
The user controls are well placed and easy to manage with one hand. The top of the toy is flared and flat and angled perfectly. All in all, my Gigi delivered on it's promises and then some. This vibrator is perfect for clitoral stimulation as well due to those design features. In fact, I would've bought it just for that because oh my word, I orgasmed so hard the aftershocks lasted for ages.

Much like Michael, the Gigi has enabled me to be lube free more than once and that is possibly the best review I could give a product.

...Now I just have to save up to get one of every toy Lelo makes and the next item on my hit list: the we-vibe 3 .

Men are like shoes

Our mother told us frequently: "Men are like shoes. You must try on a lot of them to find the right fit."

All of us girls have tried on many, many different pairs. For myself, I am all too aware of what fits and what doesn't, and which to keep, and which to pass up on. It is a unique and personal decision. What may not fit me, will have another delightfully happy. I've always found this odd, true, but wonderful advice.

Stick it in HIS ass

When Michael and I first entered into negotiations for anal, I resolutely determined that what goes around comes around. In fact, it was this very instance about turn about being fair play, that saved me many a drawn out begging sessions for anal from other partners.

The second the words were out of my mouth, Michael instantly said "yes"...

Dammit. Now what!? While the merest of seconds ticked by, while I tried to process a rejoineder, it felt like the world paused for eternity. Did I just somehow talk myself into a corner? Yes, yes I had. And that corner had no way out except the path straight to anal.

I had misgivings about anal for me, but I had never even thought about wanting to stick a vibrator in a man's ass. I was scared it would emasculated him in my eyes. The thing I like about men is being a MAN. How could I still view him in the same light if we did this? This perfect match, this incredible lover. This would RUIN it.

Somewhere, under my initial misgivings, laid a naughty, curious little sexual minx who thought "try anything once!" and I knew, Michael was nothing but a virile masculine man. He carried me around like I was a feather and made me beg for release sometimes. Nothing could change that.

While we were still warming me up for the big show, Michael immediately agreed to start our experimenting with his own anal experience. Much like mine, it was a bit awkward and uncomfortable at first. Uncomfortable for Michael (duh, first time taking something in the ass), and uncomfortable/awkward for me because I didn't know what I was doing. I DON'T HAVE A PENIS.

However, I'm a woman, and I do own more than a couple of vibrators. Once we got started it got easier. The best part about Michael and I is that we can communicate during sex. We would rock at team building exercises, that's how good our communication and understanding is in bed. He was able to tell me when to slow down, adjust angle, pressure, intensity so I didn't feel like a fumbling idiot and he didn't feel like a baby-faced new inmate at the county lockup.

After my not-quite-successful first anal attempt, and the subsequent hilarity, we decided it was Michael's turn to attempt a realistic sized vibrator. This was it, the big moment. Michael had assured me he could take it like a champ (read: much better than I did), and much to my shame, he did.
We decided the vibrator would be controlled by him because he would handle it better. While he was reaching behind himself, I was in front in my oh so favorite position, doggy style. I was a bit bummed there would be no hair pulling with his hands occupied, but I knew I'd still get an incredible fuck. Michael never failed to deliver. So while I was in charge and occupied with keeping his rock hard dick sliding in and out of me and bringing me to a heart racing orgasm, Michael was experiencing anal for the first time simultaneously. We both achieved one of the hardest, most consuming orgasms that day. Something about the situation and how much pleasure he got gave me that much more, and according to him: he now loves his prostate.

As we lay there beside each other, panting and glistening with sweat and shivering with the aftershocks of our pleasure, Michal turned to me to say something... it was then that the air escaped... from him. My eyes grew wide and we both started laughing. Cue more air. I was doubled over laughing so hard I could barely hear it when he said, "well dammit, now I know what you're talking about, you really can't control it," as he sat there passing air two or three more times.

It was at that moment that I realized one other side effect of having participated in anal with Michael. He got it. He really did. He knew what I was talking about with the initial muscle threshold you had to get past and the ridiculous sensation of needing to go to the bathroom that is so weird. He understood everything, and although he got more pleasure from it, he still had to overcome those initial awkward, uncomfortable moments too. This understanding, plus the need to show him up, made me redouble my own curiosity and readiness to keep pushing those anal boundaries myself.

Stay tuned to see if I just talk a big game or if I ever actually successfully completed anal in the last part of the trilogy!

The birds and the bees

We have a twitter! Now all those random, sexy little one liners have a home! You can follow us by clicking here
Or if you like things the hard way (don't we all wink wink), then you can find us at @cammiesonfloor on twitter without using the fancy link above.

Visiting traditions

My sister (the one I share this blog with) pointed out to me the other day that we go to a sex store every time she visits me, and a strip club every time I visit her.

In our defense, she has better strip clubs in her area. Waaay better. The strippers are hotter and the men drunker. Entertainment at its finest. And I just happen to be in toy stores regularly, so it's no surprise I go there even if she visits.

I think we're also starting a tradition of me buying her a sex toy every year as well. They're just so many varieties and factors of coolness that I can't resist. You're supposed to give thoughtful gifts,
after all.

Thoughts from A:

I love my sister. She's always given the best gifts in the family, hands down. She got me my first vibrator at 20 (late bloomer with masturbation, early with sex), and she also got me my first rabbit. This last trip she purchased a remote controlled bullet for me with 10 different settings. Now during my long car trips I am no longer in danger of falling asleep.

A very merry Christmas for me, I assure you.

When we first went to a stripclub in her area I couldn't believe it. My patronage of stripclubs started here and that's how I assumed all stripclubs were. Man was I surprised to see what I wouldn't even call the "B" team here up on stage on a Saturday!

The men here... The thousands of men here are not only drunk, they're young, handsome, and ready for anything you want. Sigh, I love my town.... Though not as much as I love my gifts from my sister. At least with myself I know the sex is always good.

Stick it in your ass

About a year ago I had the pleasure of finding my perfect sexual partner. No subject was taboo, no inch unexplored. He stripped away my insecurities and made me delight in the pleasure we could find in each others bodies. Any fantasy the other had was instantly fulfilled, no matter how awkward it might have been with our first attempt, if you could think it we would do it.

... Of course he wanted anal.
I'd had what we refer to as the "8 second anal experience" before. You don't really want to, but think "Okay, if he wants it THAT bad I'll give it a try". It never ends well and he never gets it in before you squirm, jump, yelp, and generally get the Hell out of there. I didn't have much hope for future anal experiences.

Something about Michael though made me want to try. I knew he cared about my pleasure, safety, and happiness and if I was ever going to be able to accomplish it, this was the man. I also figured anal is a skill set not many woman have and I pride my self on being a very good bedroom experience, so this could only be to my advantage to figure out.

The first time we tried he spent hours worshipping my body from head to toe. I wasn't allowed to lift a finger, this was about me. He worked me until I was more pliable than putty. We had purchased a small wand vibrator and it was time to put it into play. Michael and I had invested in a very good silicone based lube which was ok to use with the plastic based vibrator; a choice we made deliberately and with prior planning. I was at the height of pleasure, every nerve ending vibrating with the taunt tension of desired release. He went so slowly and made sure I was adjusting.

I'm not going to lie, it was uncomfortable, but also a tiny bit pleasurable, so I was able to keep pushing that boundary. That first experience was short, minimally invasive, and masterfully planned. It was decided that I would use the wand during masturbation sessions to get used to it. In the case of anal, practice does make perfect. It is such a foreign feeling that you almost automatically tense up, thus making it uncomfortable.

After about two weeks I felt comfortable to step it up.
This was it, the big moment. I was about to have a successful anal sex experience and was brimming with confidence.

Michael is obviously quite a bit bigger than the wand but with the patience to ease in and the forethought to focus on my clitoris at the same time with a vibrator, we were able to accomplish penetration.

Then he moved. Just pulled out the merest of milliliters to begin the actual thrusting and I lost it. I flew forward and up violently, spun around and said, "I can't do this!", and generally panicked. He was mid reassurances when I found out an interesting fact about anal. Once you're stretched out that far, there's no muscle control for awhile. I laughed at one of his lighthearted comments and that's when the air escaped. This was immediately preceded by me falling off the bed, I was so startled. He laughed, I laughed again, more air. By this point tears of hilarity are streaming down my cheeks, which are stained the red of embarrassment, and I'm begging him to stop making me laugh.

Luckily, like I said, I was with the man who it was impossible to have any reservations or insecurities with. He may have teased me, but it was about me being embarrassed rather than what had happened. It was due to his patience and ability to put me to ease that I was able to agree to keep up the experimenting with anal...

Stay tuned to see if I ever actually was able to complete anal sex from beginning to end, and also what happens when the tables are turned.
*names have been changed to protect the not quite innocent

ABC

Ample
Bosoms,
Creamy crevice.
Delightful
Exquisite
Fantasies.
Gripping
Hair, hard,
Intensely.
Joyful
Kisses.
Languishing,
Moaning,
Needing.
Orgasm
Please.
Quiet
Release,
Still
Teasing, taunting.
Unbearable
Vixen,
Wet Wanton woman.
Xanthippe-
Yield your yearnings, yelp, yell.
Zestful zeal.

Set Me Aflame

Winter is here, soft snowflakes fall like sugar and dust our shoulders, melt on hair. Returned from our cold journey into our house, we head straight for bed.

Warmth, that is all we seek. You strip naked first, and warm the cool bed for a moment before I brave the air touching my goose-bumped skin for the briefest of moments before sliding next to you. I rest my head on your shoulder, your arm going around me and pulling me in tight. The weight of the blankets, and your body heat, cocoon me in coziness and warmth.

Minutes pass, your fingers lovingly stroke my hair away from my face, and I become lulled into peace by the feel of those fingers and the steady rhythm of your heart beat. Calm, still moments pass before your hand slides to the base of my hairline and suddenly grips and pulls my hair.

 

With head tilted back, my eyes meet your demanding ones, and I feel a pull that has nothing to do with my hair. It is my own heart beat I hear now and the silent promise you are about to set me aflame.

Our Mother's Blow Job Story

We are clearly a family that doesn't shy away from the topic of sex. Our mother was always dressed nicely. The polish on her toes and nails always matched her lipstick as well. She was an incredibly proper, old-fashion mannered woman; that might be why the words were all the more shocking that came out of her mouth.

Let's set the scene of many times: our mother at the head of the dinner table. It was always set perfectly, with the china and silver. Friends would raise an eyebrow at such a former meal.

My mother would correct our grammar, ask politely about our friends, joke with a love interest of ours, and then transition into her blow job story.

She'd start: "well when I was in school, I was dating this guy for awhile, and I thought I was in love. I had heard people talking about this thing called a blow job and how the guys loved it. I wanted to give my boyfriend something special, so one night I undid his pants and I..." here she lowers her face, slowly shakes her head back and forth, and blows gently. A picture of an earnest young woman softly blowing along the shaft of an excited man's penis always comes to mind.

Laughter, and then she'd continue, "My boyfriend asked me, incredulous, 'What are you doing?'"

"And I broke out in tears. I so wanted to make him happy and do something special. It was all I could do to reply, "but...but...but I...I...was giving...you a b-b-blow job."

"He laughed and told me, 'you don't really blow'".

Whether or not our mother intended this to be a lesson, rather than for entertainment, I'm not sure. But I researched, and watched porn, about what a blow job was before ever attempting one. And why is fellatio called "blow job" when blowing isn't the main event?

The Sigh

As I lay in my bath the steam rises and clouds the mirror, a damp tendril of hair curves around my breast as it shimmers in the candle light.
A sigh escapes my lips in the form of your name.
I run my fingers lightly down, smoothing a stray strand of hair from my forehead, brushing a fingertip across a taunt nipple, trailing my hand in the water. The scent of flowers rises from the steamy heat but all I can smell is your body, all I can taste is your mouth.
All I want is your arms, and the heat that I feel to be created by the friction of our bodies as we find madness and sanity in each other. I'm waiting for you with an ache only you can fill and a desire that is unending.
I wait with a sigh escaping my lips in the form of your name.

Not so thankful Thanksgiving...

I am sexually demanding. I acknowledge that and will rarely make apologies for it. So when I demanded sex on a daily basis before agreeing to marriage, it was a clear expectation.

And then the military gets him more than I do....

I am patient, understanding, waiting; always waiting.

And then he actually had a whole four days off. I was wet just thinking about it. I told him all the things I wanted us to do. Expressed the desire to be mindless from so many orgasms. We had no kids for the holiday, I took out our ties and proudly kept them on our bed posts. This was not going to be our normal routine, obligatory sex. Oh, no sir.

And then reality set in, like his exhaustion from actually having time off. So when I demanded, and he agreed, the sex was good, I still wanted it. But I wanted a partner who wants me just as fiercely. This has been a battle in every relationship; it is clearly an internal conflict at this point in my life.

It's not about love. He loves me with an intensity that is unquestionable. It is a separate, and still important, ingredient in our relationship. I need to feel desired. Even after three times throughout the day, I want to be played with, touched, pulled towards, thrown on the bed and fucked senseless, even if we were just there minutes ago. We don't have many opportunities to be spontaneous, languorous.

It's not about adequacy. With the merest of touches, he pushes buttons and an orgasm gushes. But I wanted an urgency, a fervent lust, a physical worship, a need like breath. I didn't want the one-sided initiation every time. I wanted out of our routine....

Awaken

I awaken to strong hands stroking my body, expertly tracing the outlines of my shape. Warm gentle kisses on the back of my neck and gentle tugging on nipples send chills down my spine, where the feeling changes to heat and pools between my thighs. You slide in deep, rubbing the right places, slowly stroking in and back out again continually. My body arches, aching to increase the tempo, throbbing.  A dance to smoothly shift, now my heels can dig into your hips to pull you deeper, faster.  Not enough. I roll you over and take control, poised over you, easing myself down, tight, tensed, ready for release. Thrusting hips up into my tightened body, watching as the intensity of the full length of you penetrates my already tormented body, wrapping your fingers around my hips, fervently grasping and pulling closer, rubbing my clit against you as you glide as deep inside as possible, until my orgasm sends me swaying and satiated.

Started innocent

We talk at night, sleepy musings. We face each other often, and your breath will brush my face. I stare at your supple lips; the bottom one always begs to be sucked.

Mesmerizing, your lips. Dangerous. It is meant to be innocent, my leaning in to briefly touch lips to yours. The slightest touch pulls, shivers down, tightens lower.

Your lopsided, sexy smile, almost knowing the effect. My tongue touches that smile, your arms gather me, encircling closer. My own arms circle your neck, trying to close a space that no longer exists as my tongue plunges deeper.

You give as much as me, a parry of tongue, appreciative noises, seeking lips, breath. Thoughts no longer exist, just the warmth of our bodies, the ache of growing needs.

My hands are everywhere, trying to close every space, feel every muscle. My legs even wrap around you to bring you where I need you most.

With the fierce contact of our mouths, I echo what I want between my legs, where I'm instinctively pulling you.

It started out innocently enough.

Bad Thoughts

        Sometimes I sit at home. And just think. I think of things I shouldn’t. I think of you. Heat, sweat, moans, standing alone in a moment. Whispers flash through my head, bad they say, but oh so good. Sacrifice, maybe something I shouldn’t have done. Possibly fates damning force. Feel. Taste, touch, sight, overwhelming my body. Driving me crazy. Just the thought of the things I want to do to you. They make my mouth water as I see my lips, my tongue, and my hands all over your body. Flashing, coursing, burning through my head. Bad, so bad, but oh my…so good. I bite my lip. Stop, I try but to no avail. So wonderful, overpowering, consuming, fulfilling it would be. Each time you are near, my body begs for your touch. I behave in ways I shouldn’t. Erotic. Pulsating. Hot, wet, hard. Oh yeah, just once, one chance, one moment. A memory to savor on cold nights. I can already hear my screams for more playing in my head as if they have already happened. Waiting. Holding on for the moment. I think of you and my blood soars. I can feel your hard breathing next to my ear; I can hear your heart beating so fast. Your body…pressed so close to mine. Can’t get enough. Bad, so good, stop, oh well. I can’t help it, I won’t try, don’t want to. Make me feel the things I want. I can almost taste you in my mouth, smell you on my skin, and feel you on my body. Bad thoughts…oh they feel so good.