HUZZAH

I HAD SEX.

IT WAS AWESOME.

I am a happy Lily. And a sore Lily (in a good way). And a Lily that has to get up for work in a few hours, so doesn't have time to freak out all over her blog about how awesome and wonderful and loving and wonderful it was, because she needs sleep.

That is all.

PS - For those wondering why this is such a big deal, this is the first time we've successfully had full-on PIV mutually enjoyable sex in a whole pile of months. So yeah, it's kind of a big deal. ;)

Moving Home after Graduation

In almost exactly 6 weeks, I will graduate. After 5 long years, my undergraduate schooling will be over (and then... helloooooo years upon years of medical training!) I'm looking forward to being able to get a bit of rest, and to breaking away from endless academic deadlines for a year.

What I'm not looking forward to is moving home. While I love my family, I'm not looking forward to losing the autonomy and privacy I've gotten used to here at school. The ability to close my door and disappear for a day or two to recharge, not interacting with anyone, is kind of nice. Having the privacy and autonomy to jerk off whenever I feel like it, to watch porn without fear, to have my boyfriend sleep over and to have sex, to play my music without worrying about disturbing my family, to eat my meals in peace without anyone judging my attempts to lose weight or to self-medicate with food, to set the thermostat to a temperature where I don't have blue fingers, all this means a lot to me. All the little things that I've come to take for granted about living alone. All of the things I won't even realize are important till they're gone.

There's also the whole thing my therapist said about how moving home right now would be one of the worst possible things I could do to my mind at the moment, but when has that ever stopped me?

Then there's the problem of all of my good friends being here around my school (or way, way, WAY out of state). I have no close friends at home. The only person from my hometown that I still talk to on a regular basis is my boyfriend. Huzzah for going in blind.

And damn, I'm going to miss the unlimited jack-off opportunities.

Assumptions and Shower Sex

My friend and fellow blogger Rockin' wrote a great post a while back about societal assumptions in sexual language. She does some really insightful deconstruction of some of the ways people talk about sex; you should take a look. It got me thinking about the way people think about certain, sometimes non-sexual activities.

Let's be honest here - how many people who have actually tried it think shower sex is a good idea? (I'm assuming that you are of average strength and flexibility, and don't own any of those "shower sex" handles and steps to make life easier) I've tried it at least a dozen times now, and it's difficult, it's often dangerous, and in most showers there isn't enough room to get in a pleasurable position anyway. When we take showers together now, we might cop a feel, or at most go down for a very quick bit of oral sex, but mostly we just... shower together. It's nice to have someone who can scrub your back for you, you know? And letting him shampoo my hair and massage my scalp is absolutely divine. I love to be able to reach over and get a naked hug while we're showering. Trying to kiss without drowning is silly and awesome.

But sex? We'll wait till we're out of the shower.

Sex, I Think

A few days ago, my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time in... let's just say that it's been far too long. It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It made us feel closer, and it smoothed the tensions, and it helped us forgive the small stuff.

And yet, while I unreservedly call it sex, there was no penis-in-vagina. There wasn't even any strapon-in-ass. Just two people, partially nekkid, making out and groping and sharing a vibrator and orgasming our fool heads off.

Most people would look at what we were doing and call it mutual masturbation. After all, there was no oral sex, no anal sex, no vaginal sex. Therefore, it couldn't have been sex, right? But it wasn't until today that I even questioned calling what we did sex. We went into it knowing that my vagina was not going to be open for business, but wanting to have the pleasure, the emotional connection, the intimacy of sex. We went in treating this as fucking, as making love, as everything we usually call sex. Even though his penis never gained entry to my poor, forgotten vagina, on some deeper level it FELT like sex.

I'm not sure if I can explain it any better than that. By most people's definition, what we had the other night wasn't sex. By this culture's standard definitions, it was mutual masturbation, it was grinding, it was frottage, it was heavy petting with weapons-grade vibrators. As far as we're concerned, it was sex.

This whole thing has forced me to really look at my definition of sex. I'm realizing that when I really dig, I don't have such a hard and fast answer to "what is sex, and what isn't?" Yes, it's fucking (with or without any emotional component). Yes, it's oral or anal or vaginal or any combination of genital-to-genital(s)/orifice(s). It's also the nebulus region of stuff like this, that doesn't have a cut-and-dry category. In this case, it's the emotions and intent that make it sex, not what was actually done.

(As I'm writing this, I'm struck by how truly absurd the modern concept of Virginity is. That, however, is a subject for another time.)

I am just so, so glad that we had sex again. I missed the closeness. I missed the intimacy. I missed being able to appreciate his body and mine. When we're not having sex, the diseased corners of my brain decide that if we're not having sex, I must not be attracted to him anymore, and that I'm not attractive. Great self-fulfilling prophecy right there. One of the many ways that an anxiety disorder can completely fuck up lives and relationships.

Besides, until this happened, we'd never realized how awesomely sexy it can be to share a super-powerful massager-style vibrator. Share as in making a boy glans-vibrator-girl glans sandwich. Actually, he'd never realized just why vibrators are so fucking awesome until he got off on just my Fairy wand against his glans.

He's insanely quiet during sex... I'd never HEARD most of the noises he made that night. With porn, I get off most on the sounds people make when they're having a damn good time. I can, and have, masturbated to just the moaning and panting and other lovely noises in good porn. For me, suddenly getting all of these noises out of the man I love was quite possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.

Even though this is an insanely stressful and busy time for me, I'm also in a wonderful place because of this. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but it made me happy. And right now, that means a lot.

I am an Outlier

I am an outlier.

I do not fit the all of the statistical norms for a 22-year-old white American middle class female.

I have had exactly one sexual partner, and exactly one romantic relationship.

Though a college student, I do not "party," nor do I enjoy being drunk.

I enjoy reading technical material.

I am differently-abled due to medical issues.

I'm a woman getting a college degree in a hard science.

I have a transgendered parent.

I am kinky, as far as the statistical average is concerned.

I am a sex toy reviewer. I receive more sex toys in a month than most women in my statistical set get in their whole lives.

I always orgasm when I have sex.

I have natural G-cup boobs on an otherwise slightly built body.

I am very smart, and dedicated to learning as much as I possibly can.

I enjoy classical music. And broccoli. And brussel sprouts.

I don't mind the feeling of sex with condoms, as long as said condom is not textured and is well lubricated.

I go to great lengths to avoid getting a tan, even though I love lying in the sun. (glory be to SPF 60!)

Someday, I will probably be the major breadwinner in my marriage.

I feel no desire to have children of my own. I do not find children or babies inherently cute. Actually, most babies are pretty strange looking, if you ask me.

Though a Christian, I do not follow traditional, accepted "Christian beliefs."

I am not a devoted member of any political party, and I rarely vote along party lines.

I have a blog; while standard in this community, in my "set" at large it is uncommon.

I am an outlier. This does not make me better or worse than any other person. It does not mean I am defective, or maladjusted, or broken. It does not make me a strange, inhuman creature. Being different makes me human. Being different makes me normal, because no one is statistically average in every aspect of their lives and selves. It takes many values to make an average, and an average is representative of the group, not the individual. We all contribute to the average in some way, and like the quantum states of electrons around a nucleus, no two of us contribute the same set of values.

I am different. I am an outlier. I am proud. I am myself, and that is all.

Medical Issues Interfere With Sex Life

Breaking News: Medical Issues Interfere With Sex Life

Yet again, a problem of medical origin is standing between me and sex. Between me and hot, crazy, wild, possibly kinky, definitely life- and love-affirming sex. For once, my joints are under control. For once, my back has decided to shut the hell up for a while. My birthcontrol isn't mucking with my hormones. My pain meds aren't fucking with my brain. I don't even have bronchitis, which is a shock in and of itself. So what on earth is standing between me and HAWT SECKS?

Strep throat.

Seriously.

Think about that for a moment.

Somehow, in August, I've managed to find the one lonely strain of Strep Throat that's still wandering around this neck of the woods, and catch it.

It doesn't even seem to be very contagious. I was making out with my boyfriend hours before I started showing symptoms, and he hasn't caught it. I shared a waterbottle with my sister and mom that day, and they didn't catch it. I hugged half a dozen people at rehearsal that day, AND NONE OF THEM CAUGHT IT. Seriously, what the heck? Did I conjure this thing out of some alternate dimension into my throat? Did I somehow pick up a non-contagious version of this bug? (Then how did I catch it? Random superpower?)

Oh, and it gave me an ear infection. Perfect conditions for sexin' it up, right?

So for the next few days, it will just be me, some erotica and porn, and a pile of sterilizable sex toys. Get your sexy steel self over here, Pure Wand...

Ramblings about Headspace

(Note - This post is a rather rambling, meandering babble about my headspaces and relationship and the inner workings of my head, written mostly to talk things out for myself. I make no guarantees as to the coherence or usefulness of anything you may read. I can't even guarantee it will be interesting.)

We like to dabble in our play. A little bit of this today, a little of that tomorrow, a dash of this in both... it keeps things interesting, and no two romps between the sheets are quite alike. That's the way we usually approach bondage and impact play. It's generally just another tool in the arsenal, another toy, another fun thing to do when the mood strikes us. We're both switches, so role is another thing that changes on a whim. He'll cuff me for sex one day, and sex will otherwise be business as usual... I just can't, you know, move much. A few days later, I'll give him a good paddling with his blowjob, but the cuffs will stay in their drawer. The same goes for any toy we love.

Stressed Sexy Time

My pre-sex habits endlessly frustrate my boyfriend. We jump into bed together, horny… and then don’t start foreplay. I want to cuddle for a while, which he’s ok with. But then I want to talk, and crack jokes, and be incredibly silly, and muse about deep topics. And cuddle some more. And be silly, and cuddle. And then finally jump him.

Of incredible trust: a strap-on story

Saturday night looked like it was going to be like any other Saturday night: good sex, cuddles, then watching a movie together before bed. I'd pretty much decided in my head that his agreement to use a strap-on together the previous weekend had just been the vodka talking. Every other time we'd talked about it, his response had been maybe someday, but not ready yet. He sometimes says he wants things he's not ready for when he's tipsy, so how was I to know this was any different?

First Times

Ah, first times. Rumor has it that it just might be the best sex of your life, that it is incredibly special, almost magical. Virgins whisper about it in awe, and build up monumental expectations about how wondrous it will be.

Unfortunately, the reality isn't usually such a perfect fairy tale.

Oh, the Woes of Being a Student

Being both a student and a nympho can be a lot of fun, but then finals roll around. For those who have never tried this juggling act, let me tell you something: it puts a SERIOUS crimp in sexy-time!

Musings

I have come to realize that America's general attitude towards all things sexual is rather like that of a 3rd grader:
"Eeeeeew!"
"Hahah, you said SEX"

Now what I want to know is, who the hell is raising this kid, and where did they go?!