Well, maybe yesterday’s post was a bit extreme, due to the response and wonderfully thoughtful emails I receipted. Thank you all.

Yes, I do admit I am having a bit of a rough bout, perhaps mild depression, existential crisis, the good old fashion blues, is the sun ever gonna shine again doldrums–but, in absolutely no way have misplaced my sex. I just seem to have a loss of energy to go out and get it.  Yeah, that sounds fucked.

Believe me when I say my pussy mojo is still intact.  In fact in the middle of the night last night I had one of those dreams, where  I was masturbating. Do you have those, dreams about fucking yourself? Well the dream felt so real, that I could almost feel myself about to come, I could no longer tell if it was a dream or reality. The line between sleep and awake became blurred and I began to slide my fingers into my wet slit, the flesh full of pumping blood, ready to burst forth from my cunt.  Asleep, I slid two finger into me, it was hard to get them in, because my arousal had made my pussy even tighter, full. Once my fingertips were in, I slowly worked inside, small pressure circles–while more furiously working my slick outer lips and clit. My room muggy from all our rain and and getting hotter because of my body being on fire.

That fire spread from my core, out of my pussy, radiating through my body and limbs, into my breath–now deep and heavy. I had to kick the covers off, I got so hot. I came strong and hard and creamy and then fell right back asleep with my finger still in my pussy.

Sex is not the problem, a good sex partner is the situation and my momentary lack of ability to find that is the problem. Of course–I have a phone sex partner, and online partners, the virtual lovers. But I need more. It is about the flesh, the here, the now. Blood flowing into me not through my land line or blue glowing screen. Blood pumping through a cock that wants to pump into me. I am thankful to those I play with virtually and have a few I consider true friends and lovers, and both in one, but I will never get to feel their cocks pump into me and that, therefore is not real, it’s virtual fiction, and yes–that does sort of make me sad or wax poetic. But that is what it is. What  I need is blood, hard, pumping, hot boiling fuck me blood.

Which, I will get again–as soon as I slide through this patch of troubled blues.

I am calling in sick today, I need a personal day. I must get prepared for my Chicago guy to come to town.  First, a kitty wax, Chicago likes a clean shaved pussy. Second back home for apartment cleaning and laundry (not so fun, but better than the library). Third hot yoga followed by a deep tissue massage from Cy the yoga hottie. Then I will actually make myself get out and have a drink with a man whose blood is pumping, whose cock has the potential to throb.

One woman’s sexual postmodern Rudyard Kipling ballad inspired tale of tail.

I used to be the kind of woman who had no boundaries; I was even in a support group of other women with no boundaries. I called us “Bitches without Boundaries.” I wanted to make us t-shirts. Surprisingly, my lack of boundaries never lead to crazy sexcapades, no feel-good make-me-soak anal fucking, no random sex partners, and no blow jobs in alleys. No–actually, it was more like picking and then sticking with, for all the wrong reasons, fucked up men and letting them fuck me in all the wrong ways, physically and mentally. All the while devouring copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in order to make being with all the wrong men all the more tolerable. I look back and think—damn I wasted good fuck years with assholes. But time never comes back. I did what I did and now–I do who I do.

Actually, it was when I finally acquired some boundaries that the fabulous sex began. It has been like boundaries with no boundaries.

After I finally left fucked-up man number two and recovered from this destructive form of self deprecation, which took about two years to do, I went on a dating binge/adventure. In one year I probably went on about 80 dates, around six a month. It was grueling and really not very satisfying. The awkwardness of meeting a new person, having to be charming during a whole date, when really all I wanted to do was suck cock, well it was bloody exhausting. I met a few people I am friends with, but no “luv connection.” I thought I wanted a boyfriend, but anyone who came close made me claustrophobic. So I switched gears and decided to become an astoundingly ethical slut.

I established some boundaries and guidelines but they are constantly under revision. I am a notorious rule-breaker. One reader commented that he was surprised I had so many rules. I began to think about this and wonder to myself– why do I have these rules in place? Is there a reason why I should not meet someone from the blog or have casual encounters from CL? Is there a solid rationale for not having a one-nighter with a fun cock in town on business? As long as I am safe sexually and physically–why shouldn’t I fuck who I want, how I want, even if it is in an alley?

If I want to be tied up or tied down (there is a difference), I should be able to do this.

If I want to be choked by your cock being forcefully fucked down my throat—why shouldn’t I be?

If I want you to cuff my wrists and collar my long neck with a short short leash that leads me directly to your meat—well, why shouldn’t you?

If I want you to turn my ass a bright red, delineated with a sharp outline of your hand print, well then, please…please, please, spank me.

If I want you to hold the back of my head, your hands tangled in a fist in my hair, while you pull your cock from my mouth as your cum lands and streaks across my face, shouldn’t I savor that too?

If I want to enjoy the pleasure of two men at one time or three? Is this wrong, or is

this so right?

If I want to taste that sweet slick juice that drips between your legs, as your thick soft female thighs caress the side of my face as I lap at your lips…well, then, why shouldn’t I?

If I want you to gently, but assuredly–slide your hard cock into my most sacred of spaces, well…please go slow, until I let you know all is well.

My boundaries are there, they are in place, and they are the sweetest boundaries I have ever experienced. So where does this put me? To the outside I may seem like a woman without boundaries, drifting from one cock to the next, with the occasional stop to pussyville, all led by my insatiable cunt of cunts, but I am a woman with boundaries, finally.

Now–the boundaries are in place, come and bind me.

Bound(aries) and Rules was posted on 5/2/09. I am re-posting this particular post because this week and the days and weeks to follow are sure to be full of new experiences and unlimited boundaries. I have crossed lines I had not thought I would and the experience reminded me of this piece about boundaries and my lack of them, or my liberal use of the term.

Have a sexy weekend all. Oh–and if any of you are wondering the Good Vibrations Film Fest last night was a big disappointment. The films were not hot, there was only one cum shot. It was a mix emotional and humorous takes on the theme of erotica. It sucked, and not in a good way. I finally got the chance to see the film our little crew made–it’s is way hotter than any of the films we saw last night.  Stay tuned–we plan on throwing our own screening party, with other GV rejects and hopefully some other film makers as well