TO CLEAN, OR NOT TO CLEAN (The Booty-Hole)

This is not a post on the cleanliness of my ass; I shower 2-3 times a day, so my ass is very-very clean. This is a post about going through an extra step to make sure my ass is exponentially spotless for whatever activities may lay ahead.  

A few weeks ago, I had a dick appointment with one of my partners. I was looking forward to having my pussy eaten and fucked in all my holes. But, as luck would have it, I was worried about my approaching period. It was slated to come that week, and although I knew he was ok with fucking me during my period, I didn’t want certain activities to be off-limits. When he had to push it a week back, I thought to myself, great. My period would arrive in a day or two and be gone, or in the very least, extremely light, by the time we planned to meet up.   

A week passed, and no period came. I was hoping it would be a scenario where my period would disappear for a month (or two or three), as it had in the past. But the day I was finally going to get some long-awaited dick, I used the bathroom before getting into the shower, and BOOM! There was my period. I was immediately annoyed. I messaged him to let him know that I just started my period, and to confirm if he still wanted me to come over; he didn’t respond.   

The day after he and I first had sex, when he stuck his tongue and thumb in my ass, I went to the Pleasure Chest, in Manhattan, and purchased an anal douche the following day. Sure, my booty was clean, but I know I wasn’t sticking my finger all the way up to make sure the canal was clear. The last thing I wanted to see was poop on the condom, or him to see poop on his finger. So, despite the fact he called my booty ‘spotless,’ I didn’t want to take any chances. 

If you’ve never used an anal douche, trust me when I say, it’s a fucking process. It’s also easiest to do in the shower. You fill up the bottle with room temperature water, guide the nozzle up you booty-hole, then squeeze the water into your ass. You then get out of the tub, walk to the toilet, and push out the water. You do this a few more times until all the water comes out clear, confirming that your ass and the tunnel are thoroughly clean. It’s a hassle, it’s sometimes uncomfortable, and it’s not a process you do if you don’t plan on anal-play.  

So, there I was about to shower, and there he was, not answering his text message. I had just gotten off the phone with him, and I needed an answer. I didn’t want to do the process for no reason, but I didn’t want to shower, get out, then have to go back into the shower, after the fact. So, I did something I usually never do; I called him. (LOL) He answered and said to still come over. So, I showered, cleaned my ass, put in a Softdisc™ then had him call my Uber.   

When I got to his apartment, he gave me a glass of wine, he had a few beers; then things got started. We started kissing then I removed his pants to suck his dick. As things heated up, we took it all to the bedroom. He removed my clothes, and I continued sucking. He changed positions and laid me on my back and slipped a butt-plug into my ass. He licked at my neck, sucked my breast, kissed down my navel, then began to lick my clit. I rubbed his head as he found his rhythm. He swirled his tongue in delicate tornadoes around my clit and savored my juices that his tongue produced. He brought me to a screaming orgasm, and my thighs gripped his head in response. When he kissed me, I could taste my sweetness on his lips.   

He got a condom, spread my legs, and slowly entered me. He felt great, but when he pulled my legs apart and rammed into me, I began to lose my mind. He flipped me over and fucked me doggy-style. With my decorated ass in the air, he hammered into my pussy, and I cried out with every thrust. When he began to slow down, he started pulling out and reinserting the butt-plug; with each motion, the sensation increased. When he pulled it all the way out and placed it on the bed, I knew exactly what he was about to do. He licked and poked his tongue into my, now opened, booty-hole. As he grabbed the lube, I grabbed my Liberty Womanizer®.   

He slid his dick into my ass as the sensations from the womanizer teased my clit. Once my ass was ready, I gave him the green light to fuck my ass as hard as he wished. The combined sensation drove me up the walls as I screamed in pleasure. I told him how good his dick felt in my ass, and how I wanted him to fuck me harder, and after a while, he came. I still had the Womanizer on my clit, and I told him to stay in my ass because he felt so good. Then, with a few thrusts from him, I came hard.   

We passed out on the bed for about an hour. When we woke up, I cleaned up, got dressed, and he called my Uber back home. When I got home, I removed my disc in the shower and swapped it with my Diva Cup® and went about the rest of my day.   

Over the year, it has become a routine of mine that, when I know I’m going to have sex, I always go the extra mile to clean my ass. Although it can be an annoying hassle, I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I MAKE MY BAD DECISIONS SOBER

For as long as I can remember, I never loved the feeling of being drunk. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good margarita with my Mexican, or bottomless mimosas during brunch. But when it comes to getting drunk, it’s just not my thing; I prefer to get nice. Because I don’t get drunk, I can never use the excuse, ‘I was so drunk, I can’t remember’ line. This means I have the unfortunate responsibility of having to playback, in excruciating detail, all the events of a drunken night with friends, or a day of drinking that ended up in a fight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no goody-two-shoes. I’ve thrown up across tables, fell asleep in bathroom stalls, and in many clubs. But, like an elephant, I remember everything that happened leading up to the moment I fall asleep. I can recall the exact sip that put me over the edge. On a drunken birthday, I remember picking up dollars from the floor and handing them to the strippers on stage. I remember waiting on line to use the bathroom, then falling asleep on the toilet. I remember the bathroom attendant looking over the top of the stall to make sure I was alive. And I remember my friends escorting me back to my section and letting me go to sleep. I woke up when the ship docked.  

I used to envy those people that blacked out, for the sole reason of zero accountability. I always saw the ‘too drunk to remember line’ as a cop-out or an excuse to do fucked up shit and get away with it. –” I’m sorry I slept with you best friend; I was drunk.” — I wished that I could fuck up majorly and, like Jamie Foxx, blame it on the alcohol, but I couldn’t. For a while, I envied those people; Then, when I started attending sex parties, I learned to love my ability to remember.   

If you’ve never been to a sex-club or swinger party, they’re always BYOB. To my very first party, I brought a bottle of Bacardi Coconut Rum. I had the bar-lady mix it with pineapple juice, took a few sips, and then scoped out the room. The liquid massage the rum offered my body, was just the right amount of relaxation I wanted and needed. I engaged in some great conversations, ate some pussy, sucked some dick, was in a threesome, and rode a man’s face. And the only reason I remember every detail of that night was because I was sober.   

When I started attending LS (Lifestyle) parties regularly, less and less alcohol was needed. For starters, attending parties with a guaranteed partner removed a lot of pressure. And since I screened my partners before the party, I had an assortment of dicks ready to please me. Secondly, with the right amount of people, the party jumped off rather quickly, and with everyone having a good time, a drink to loosen up wasn’t necessary. That high school dance feeling of, waiting for other couples to dance, did not exist. I was extremely comfortable being one of the first couples to start things off. Lastly, I wanted to be in total control of whatever happened throughout the night. I need to know what titty I’m licking, dick I’m sucking, pussy I’m eating, and whose dick is fucking me. In a room full of bodies and chaos, I need to have control; and I couldn’t have that if I was too far gone. Would I recognize the person a few days later, while walking down the street? –Of course not! But, at that moment, I knew that every decision I made was mine, and that was all that mattered.   

In addition to wanting to have that control, I wanted to be able to remember how it all felt. I wanted to remember the kiss on my partner’s lips when he sees the outfit I changed into. I wanted to remember the feeling of my lingerie against my skin. I wanted to remember the feeling of eyes on me. I wanted to remember my partner kissing me, then laying me down on the mattress, and removing my panties to devour my pussy. I wanted to remember the weight of other bodies on the bed. I wanted to remember the feeling of tangled limbs and hands caressing my legs in the air. I wanted to remember the feeling of my toes and nipples being sucked and licked. I wanted to remember the feeling of a veiny dick in my mouth as my partner devoured my pussy into a screaming orgasm. I wanted to remember the moment he turned me over to fuck me. I wanted to remember the smell of the pussy I bend over to eat and the feeling of her breasts in my hands. I wanted to remember his hands around my throat, restricting my airway as he rammed my pussy and found his orgasm. And, in the end, I wanted to remember him pulling me back to kiss my lips once he reached his orgasm.  

I make all of my bad decisions sober because I want to be in control, and I want to be able to recall the memories of each encounter. I want to remember the feelings of inhibitions lost and lust that enveloped the room. I may forget the names and faces, but that intoxicating feeling will stay with me forever, all because I make my decision sober.   

(SEX)ERCISE

If you can’t find the joy in exercise, you’re doing it all wrong!

I don’t always love working out, but I love the way I look and the feelings I continue to encounter during my fitness journey. From my toes to the tip of my head; my entire body would be engaged during my workouts. Yet, once I really started paying attention to what was going on, instead of going through the motions… Whew! I began to understand why people liked fitness so much. Isolating certain muscle groups, controlling the breathing, and fighting to finish that one last rep gives me a high that should only happen, behind closed doors- sometimes. This may explain why I liked the sex party so much. 

Anybody that knows me, knows that I take a variety of workouts: hot yoga, barre, spin, HIIT, and ZUMBA just to name a few. When my nipples start to percolate during the warm up to the dramatic rise and fall of my breasts at the end of class because I’m exhausted; it’s a love-hate relationship that I don’t ever want to end. I love the way my skin starts to glisten as the sweat forms and the arousing, cooling feeling that mixes with the moisture when the air kicks in. With the subtle jump of my breasts during an overhead press to the clenching of my kegel muscles during a hover-plank; there is something about holding on just a few more seconds that dangerously feels like edging.  

I love hot yoga. I love the community, the energy in the room, the warmth, and the limited clothing. For starters, on top I only wear a bra and I never wear underwear when I work out; it’s always pussy to pants for me. I started going workout-commando when I got tired of always pulling them out of my crotch. You try pulling fabric you of your vagina in a down-dog-split and tell me how you feel. But, back to why I love yoga- I love the controlled movement to breath during the poses, the feeling of sweat rolling down my skin, and pushing the envelope on my strength, and flexibility. Hell no! My legs will not go behind my head during the throws of passion. But I can roll back into a decent plough position with ease. I just can’t stay there too long since my breasts cut off my oxygen, and that’s not how I want to go. 

Barre is another sexercise love of mine. If you’ve never taken a barre class, I would describe it as a hybrid of Pilates, yoga, and light weights in high reps. During the arms portion of class, is where I begin to regret my decision to sign up in the first place. Need I remind you it’s 60 minute class, and arms are within the first 20 minutes. I hate this part of the class because I always feel like I’m going to throw up my heart. But, right as the instructor is counting down, the muscle fatigue is at its peak, and my breathing becomes jagged; a tingle erupts in my chest. That wave of release after that last pulse sends a shiver down my spine. It is the same release I feel when my neck is released during orgasm. When we move to the glute portion, again I tell myself I’m never doing this, ever again. Remember the old-school Jane Fonda videos (you know the ones where the women squeezed and released their thighs)? Now, take that image and throw it the fuck out the window. Glute work in barre class does not look like that. No one is in bright colored spandex and smiling. It is utter torture: standing leg raises, circles, hydrants, side leg lifts, clam shells, and then rotations. And then you switch sides; because nobody wants a lopsided ass! By the first minute in, I’m punching my own ass to distribute the pain. You know the feeling, when you have a scab, but when you pressed down on it you got a mixture of pain and pleasure; that’s the feeling of glute work in a barre class. The only difference is, I paid for this torture.  

Less torturous, yet just as exhilarating, is spin (aka cycling). More specifically, indoor stadium style cycling; where the music is loud, and always Beyoncé, and the lighting makes you feel like you’re in a club. The instructor often starts with a round of tap backs. Tap backs are when you lift up from the seat of your bike and tap your juicy ass down to the beat. I often fantasize bringing my partner to class; and as they’re riding behind me, they’re staring at my ass as it bounces on and off of the seat. Between the tap backs, the jumps, the speed work, and weight portion; there are so many opportunities for sexcitement. Most of the time, I like to face the mirror and watch my cleavage bounce up and down. While, other times I like to have a side bike; that way I can watch the juicy-ness of my ass glide back and forward on the bike. This is what my fabulous instructor calls, twerking, just on a bike. When we pick up the resistance to get over the hill, I pull together all the lower muscles of my body to ride the dick (sorry!) I mean, I ride up the hill with all the leg strength I can muster. 

By the time the class is done, I am exhausted. I’m gasping for air, my entire body is covered in sweat, and my ass is sore from all the ass dropping. (Practice for later) 

However, my longest love is Zumba. My mom once dragged me to class with her and with much resistance I finally gave in- I’ve been hooked ever since. It’s more than just the sweat and the feeling of exhaustion, the music, and the community. It’s the feeling I get when I look at my body in the mirror, as I dance to the beat. I know every person thinks they look good when they dance; but we all know this is a lie. Some people have absolutely no rhythm; while I have an abundance. In Zumba, is where I make love to myself in the mirror; these breasts, waist, hips, thighs, booty; and don’t let her put a salsa song on, it’s workout wood in the making. 

Like I said in the first line: I don’t always love working out. But, as you can find something to enjoy about everything in life, I have found the motivation to keep going back and pushing my limits. So, when someone says “they don’t like working out” I can’t help but think they’re doing it all wrong..