I spent about 7 hours today working on making a ‘zine with a friend. Not a webzine, not even a real print magazine. No, an old-school, glue sticks and tiny scraps of paper ‘zine. It was frustrating and tactile and incredibly awesome. I’m pretty sure that making a ‘zine is the opposite of blogging. Computers were not involved in the layout at all.
The reason that I mention this is because despite the fact that I am writing about something so insanely physical, blogging is incredibly ephemeral. I wish the product were more tactile in the end. Assembling the ‘zine today, it was nice to caress each page as I completed my work, to marvel at how things were coming together. Aside from hugging my laptop (I’ve done it before!) I don’t know how to bring that materialism into blogging. Sometime I find myself writing my blog posts out by hand before typing them up, this isn’t my normal method of composition but it seems right for some reason.
I started a chronicle of my past and current phone sex partners yesterday. This morning I noticed that two other bloggers were writing about phone sex and saying very smart and sexy things. So, in honor of the theme I had to comment on them.
A Polite Boy writes about his youthful forays into phone sex party lines. I didn’t think that anyone could make the prospect of them sound sexy, but he takes the cake.
Somewhere inside that, I heard a buzzing, and her muffled voice say, â€œPlease tell me that again.â€
The next thing I knew, she was moaning into my ear and my wrist and stomach were coated with cum.
I bet you want to know what he said to her? Well it is fucking hot, I tell you. I’m thinking of trying to get him to say it to me. . .
The Virgin Slut also got me hot and bothered today with her post on a video made for her.
A sound escapes from his core, â€œAhh!â€ Later, his body will smother his words and allow him to just breathe. The force of the air he exhale slaps the microphone, hard. The speakers amplify and resonate his breath for me; the sounds strike in my cunt, hard. The air he blows out is hot, wet and hard, and it comes from a part of him that is also hot, wet and hard.
This one I can particularly relate to. There is a certain quality of sounds that resonates through one’s whole body. Anticipating the sounds that someone will make can be an incredibly suspenseful and sexy thing – it keeps you on the edge of fulfillment. I have found that hearing someone sharply inhale is like being teased, the exhale has to come eventually, it will be delicious, but when will it arrive? When it eventually hits, it arrives like a caress, or perhaps even something less tender.
He isn’t as kinky as M.
Or as sensual and articulate as D.
I don’t hate him, like I did J.
I don’t crave him, like I do with A.
He isn’t as in awe of me as E.
But the fact that B has made such an impression on me in a week that I compare him in my mind to every other man I have had phone sex with must mean something.
After the first time we spoke, I realized there was something different about what just happened. I also realize that “different” is a moot word because they have all been quite unique. But B weighs on my mind because he is the most recent. I find myself thinking about how he sounds at random moments in the day and becoming completely aroused.
I met B recently, he is an amateur photographer and takes lovely and sensitive nude self portraits. I see a lot of clinical looking cock shots on a day-to-day basis but his photos made me stop and hold my breath.
It is no secret that B has a beautiful body. Lithe but with strong-looking shoulders and legs. Tatoos that had clearly been carefully considered and placed. This man is an aesthete. I knew if I met him that I would feel completely inadequate – not beautiful enough at all.
But in our current dynamic, I make him dreadfully nervous. I can hear his arousal when we speak because his voice drops to a sheepish murmur. But something changes when he knows I am on the same page. He has a sincere longing in his voice that is truly sexy and he is one of the most vocal men I have ever spoken to. His moans and sighs are very clear, almost feminine. He whispers delicious words into my ears, sounding like he can barely pass them through his lips.
The best thing about B, though, is that he has made me contemplate those that came before. This is the first in a series.
Going Daily – text
Helpful Tips for National Porn Sunday – text
The jury is out on thongs – photo, text
We’re Pleased To Say… – photo, text
Music Press Shakedown – Rolling Stone is a poor magazine
Dancin’ With Myself – “Harriett” by Joe McPhee
Sexy Song of the Week – “Shave ‘Em Dry” by Lucille Bogan
Also, check out an exclusive extra edition of Dancin’ With Myself at .
Comments or questions? !
The LA Times reports that Doors drummer John Densmore is holding out on allowing the music of the band to be used in commercials. Apparently they have had multi-million dollar offers on the table from Apple and Cadillac and Densmore keeps serving up a veto. He says:
“People lost their virginity to this music, got high for the first time to this music,” Densmore said. “I’ve had people say kids died in Vietnam listening to this music, other people say they know someone who didn’t commit suicide because of this musicâ€¦. On stage, when we played these songs, they felt mysterious and magic. That’s not for rent.”
Okay, whatever, I stopped believing the authenticity schtick awhile ago. But, I have to admit that it is a nice sentiment. Who wants to hear the song they lost it to in a Cadillac commercial? (Although, I guess there are worst products you could have that mental association with.)
Personally, there wasn’t any music playing when I lost my virginity. That is probably a good thing, knowing me I would hate the band by now or have fetishized the song. One or the other. However, the first time I received head there was a Woody Allen film playing in the background. I had to stop the action after a minute to turn it off, I was afraid that my psyche would be permanently imprinted with neurosis. Turns out it was too late.
What was playing when you lost your virginity?
For the past several months, whenever I peruse the search terms that are refering people to this site, I notice several hits for “Randy Bookasta” (who was the editor of Ray Gun for awhile). Now, I recognize that this is directly in response to this post. I still think it is funny. Randy, are you Googling yourself? Or are there that many fans looking for him? If anyone reads this as a result of that search term, please let me know. I’m genuinely curious. I swear. Is Randy cute? What is he doing now? Has he seen my underwear?
I recently succumbed to my curiousity and purchased a few thongs. I’d never worn one before and didn’t think I wanted to. Then I saw some on sale and they were the type with the thick band of lace all around. I thought they were sort of pretty and the price was right for an experiment. I started out by trying them on. I don’t really care for how they look in front, I prefer a bit more coverage. However, I can’t complain about the effect they have on my rear. I was pretty pleased.
Now, plenty of lingerie might make my ass look good. However the true test is whether I can bear to wear it all day. I normally wear boycut briefs on a daily basis. A thong is the opposite of that. I’ve been wearing my trial thongs on occasion over the past week and am experiencing mixed results. Sometimes, I like the feel of them and the lack of panty lines. Other times I feel like I have a strip of fabric up my ass. I think this feeling originates from the fact that I do have a strip of fabric up my ass. There is a chance that I might get used to it or perhaps I purchased a flawed set of thongs.
Those of you that wear them regularly: Does it get easier? Am I missing something?
Oh, and in case you’re wondering about the picture. In honor of liberating my ass from the thong for today, I thought I would present you a picture of it with nothing on it at all.