FetLife Reminiscing – Cock Shot Photography Thoughts

I rarely ever get really involved in discussions on FetLife. Words have a bad habit of blowing up in your face there, so I tend to just observe from the sidelines regularly. Every once and awhile though, I just can’t help myself.

Like when the 50 Shades movie was coming out and all of FetLife was going literally psychotic. The constant influx of conflicting opinions can be incredibly overwhelming and amazingly entertaining, but eventually you get to the point where you’ve just had it. Everyone was writing posts like, “Why I’ve never read the books, and why I never will” or “To those coming to us from 50 Shades” or “I don’t care about the messages, it made me cum…” (note: none of these are real titles that I know, I just made them up, that’s why they suck – people on FetLife are way more clever!). And eventually I had just had enough.

I was compelled, forced by my brain actually, to write the quick piece:

I didn’t see 50 Shades… or read it…
Not for any reason. Not with any explanation. Not because of this and that.
Just because. And that’s okay.
That is all!”

It also happened about 7 months ago when FetLife was going through this huge thing about cock pictures. It started as a harmless rant, turned into a lot of negativity about dick pics, then it turned into humor and a small trickle of us spoke out against the hatred. But even those posts were masked in hatred of the cock shot.

I couldn’t stand it all, because I personally have no problem at all with the dick pic. I would even go so far as to say that I appreciate a good dick pick. And so, I had to add my two cents. I figured instead of keeping those pennies only on FetLife, I’d add them here too. You’ll have to be on FetLife to see the original post that I’m referencing throughout the post.

1. Cocks can be truly beautiful. Artistic even. So when you’re taking a picture, just like us girls, take the time to find the right angle and get the best light. See your cock as the sistine chapel and take pictures of it like you want them hung in museums!

2. Mix it up a little. You don’t need to take a shot of your cock from the same angle over and over again. I don’t just want to see it standing out from your body. And I don’t just want to see it hard. Let me see that strong vein running up your shaft, take a picture of that first drop of pre-cum. Take a shot from underneath and let me see the darker side of your manhood.

3. Sharesies. One of the commenters on the piece made a great point about not always captioning your photo with “Look at me as I stroke my huge hard cock” type deal. How bout tell us how you came to be in the masturbating way and what you thought about or watched while you masturbated. Share the experience through more than just a photo.

4. Experiment lots. We know that guys are notorious for experimenting with their penises. I mean, we hear about it all the time. But I have yet to see a picture of a guy truly experimenting with his cock. What does it look like if you do [insert something experimental here]? Show us something we haven’t already seen all the other penises do…

5. Look for inspiration. Check and see what other guys are posting for cock shots and see how yours compare. What are the commenters saying about other photos and what are they clearly stating that they love? There are some great cock shots out there, so find a few that you really love and aspire to reach that dream.

Just a couple of thoughts, in no particular order of importance. And be sure to follow the original posts’ advice, because that should just be obvious. Remember, you’re an artist, your cock is a canvas. Show us how beautiful it can truly be.

Now, go paint that chapel!

So now, it’s your turn. What advice would you give to those wanting to take the infamous cock shot and how would you make it better for all those involved?

The Perfunctory Blowjob

I always forget that my sexuality isn’t the everyday normal sexuality. I always forget that not every girl loves to give blowjobs and not every girl loves to swallow. I always forget that mine is a rare breed.

I’m not your average cock sucker, this is true. If we were into labeling around here (which we’re not), I would be considered a cock worshipper. And while I really totally and truly am, I hate calling myself that. I would like to think that it wouldn’t matter what genitalia it was in front of me, that I would worship it regardless. Because I believe so strongly that these phalluses and vulvas and all the goodness that spans the spectrums deserves to be worshipped.

I can’t speak for cunnilingus, because I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting down to that meal, and so I unfortunately can’t help but only qualify as a cock worshipper.

And I really am.

As a good cock worshipper would say, “J’adore le phallus” – and I really and truly do. I always have. From the first time my eyes ever laid on a cock, I have been utterly and hopelessly fascinated by and drawn to cock. And from the first time I ever tasted the sweet precum and the bitter orgasm, I have loved every single drop. The veins, the pulsing, the ridges, the smell, the taste, the feel – everything!

Oral sex is one of my most favorite things to do and I am always surprised at how absolutely aroused the act of giving head makes me. I willingly and passionately give blowjobs as often as I can because for me, it’s a chance to show off some of my serious skills – and I’d like to think I have a lot.

I’ve never given a blowjob that ended in anything less than, “That was the best I’ve ever had” and I’ve even gotten guys off who have claimed that they couldn’t cum from oral. I don’t just jump into sucking a guy off and just carry on my merry little way as if he’s detached from his organ.

No, I take my time.

I feel like I learn everything there is to know about a man during that sensual act of exploring his shaft with my tongue, lips, throat. I learn his insecurities and his ego, I learn his fears and his regrets, I learn his pleasure and his release. I learn about the deepest parts of him, the parts he wasn’t even aware of, as I caress and fondle him. It’s more intimate than sex in a lot of ways, because it’s the one rare time where I am in absolute control.

And, of course, I am always in control of everything, but it’s different in this situation. I can’t exactly describe how it’s different. It feels different and affects you differently. There are rare circumstances, in relationships such as mine, where the bread-winning male seems to be more vulnerable than the stay-at-home mom. But when his cock is between my lips, I feel like I own the world and he is small. And that is a control that is rarely felt.

I never suck a cock with the thought of his orgasm in my head. I never think, “I’m sucking this so that it will cum”, because I’m not. I’m not just performing some act to get him off. Because it doesn’t just do that. I mean, it does do that, but it doesn’t just do that. I think of it as his total and utter release, just as my orgasm (the good ones) do for me.

When all the pressures of society and family life, work and bills, all disappear. When the negative thoughts that bombard your brain about your failures, your mistakes or that one thing you forgot to do, melt away and become distant memories. When, for a single second in time, the only thing you are aware of is the pounding in your chest and drop of sweat dripping between your breasts.

It’s not about the orgasm. It’s about that release.

I want him to be able to feel that. To know that that is what the goal and mission is. Not for him to explode his spunk everywhere, but for him to release his problems onto me. Let me carry the world for a moment.

And obviously, this is all figurative. The load is really his spunk, and the release is ultimately his orgasm. But for me, it’s so much deeper, so much more than that. And so the perfunctory blowjob, now becomes an artful and sensual experience that connects us deeper and more intimately.

It’s rare to find a guy who can think of it that way. For most, it is the perfunctory blowjob. But that doesn’t take away from the intimacy I feel from it. It doesn’t take away from the way I feel about the whole thing. To me, it has always and will always be a more profound and deep way for me to know and understand a man.

And I’m sure I would say that, again, regardless of gender. But I can only speak from experience (oh, how I wish it wasn’t so…).

I always forget that that’s not the way it is for everyone…

This is my brain on graveyards…

On one hand, adjusting to graveyards has been exceptionally easy. It fits mine and The Boyfriend’s sleep schedule better, it works out for the way we typically manage to spend our days anyways, and on many levels it just seems to fit.

However, on the other hand, I’ve done a lot of staring. I’ve done a lot of mind-numbing type activities. I’ve done a lot of not thinking. And I’ve been avoiding doing anything that involves using my brain – unless you count shooting random people on GTA or making the same dish over and over in some random online game.

A huge portion of my days are spent sleeping. Then almost as soon as I wake up, it’s Netflix. I spend the rest of the night with Netflix on in the background and I’m playing games on my computer – namely Hotel Giant 2, The Sims 4 and Youda Sushi Chef 2. I hate that I’m doing it the entire time that I’m doing it, but I just don’t have the capacity to do anything else.

I figure this is just part of the adjustment to graveyards and that soon, The Boyfriend and I will figure out exactly how the new routine will work so that I can get back to all my stuff. Because I have been absolutely neglecting everything. It started with just computer-related stuff and I was still keeping up with stuff like Twitter and Facebook, which I check from my phone. But now, it’s nothing. I just don’t even consider it. And my brain just doesn’t go there.

It’s also been two weeks now since I last got laid, so that may be part of my lack of anything productive. I’ve always said that after three days, I tend to get really bitchy. I haven’t gotten bitchy yet and oddly enough, I haven’t even really been all that crazy for sex (which is just so unlike me…). Again, I’m blaming it on graveyards.

Yet another excuse (haha!), our crappy crappy Alberta weather. Have I ever told you how much I absolutely hate it?!?

We went through first winter and it was a relatively decent winter. Then, we went through second winter (which is a normal and usual occurrence), and it was a little rougher than first winter. Then, we were breaking into spring. Still cold but the snow was beginning to melt and all Albertans took their annual sigh of relief. Then, suddenly and without any warning, we were struck with third winter. We hate third winter more than any of the other winters, because it utterly robs you of any hope you had of visiting the beach that year!

So, just as we are all completely robbed of hope and utterly destroyed, suddenly and swiftly, we have a day that rivals the best summer days available in this dreary city. The ice cream truck made it’s first trip of the year down our street – though it was only recognized by one of our children, even though three of them were outside (oddity). Today, we awoke to gray skies and brisk wind bustling the leaves that have yet to turn green.

Crappy, crappy Alberta weather. It’s unpredictable, it’s unsatisfying, it’s unhealthy…

I keep telling everyone I want to move to Denmark. It’s one of the highest ranked countries for happiness, it sounds like a place that I would love, and I read the other day that the average highs are around seventeen degree celsius and lows are around one degree. And that they have lots of rain – and rain is my favorite weather! No one except for me is down to move to Denmark and so I dream…

Giving the Cold the Cold Shoulder

Have I ever told you how much I hate the cold?

I hate the cold more than just about anything else in the entire world. I hate living in stupid Alberta where more often than not, it’s cold. I hate how cold sticks to your bones and causes your entire body to tighten up. I hate how it’s not easy to just go for a walk or kick the kids outside, because everyone has to find a million things before they can even set foot out there. I hate how late I sleep because the thought of removing myself from beneath my warm blankets is just too much to bare. And I hate how I spend entire days just downright grumpy because my stupid fingers won’t work because of the stupid cold.

Okay, I’m breathing. It’s okay. I think I’m done. Phew!

You know what, no… I’m not done. One more thing! What I hate the absolute most, more than the actual cold itself, is the tease of warmth prior to being slammed back into a terrible cold. That is the absolute worst. You start feeling all good, you wear your hair up because your ears are no longer cold and you finally get to see what your winter jacket looks like without eight sweaters under it and your walk is no longer an icy mess and then wham! All hope is pulled right out from under you and Summer seems like it’s never going to happen, and even if it does, for how long?!?

There… Now I’m done.

What is with guys and anal sex?!?

I’ll never understand it. I know that it’s mostly because I don’t have a penis and can’t know the difference in sensations between anal and vaginal penetration. But I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

I could understand if I had a really hot ass, but I don’t. I’m not saying it’s not a hot ass, but I wouldn’t look at it and immediately think, “Oh, that’s fuckable!”. It’s the one area of my body that is just kinda super meh. Pre-fourth kid it was a really great ass, now it just desires to be.

But this doesn’t seem to matter and never has.

I have never ever been with a guy who isn’t utterly obsessed with the idea of anal. My first boyfriend, who was literally my first everything, was very interested in it. However, when we discovered that it hurt me, we both became more interested in anal penetration for him. My second boyfriend, and the father of my older three kids, could not get enough of the idea of it. We tried many, many times but I was always in the wrong headspace for it, so it always ended up hurting really bad. However, this didn’t stop him from trying at all.

Finally, The Boyfriend… He was the first one to have successful anal. Our first anal session still goes down to this day as one our most memorable sexperiences together. And since that first time, there has been about four more successful sessions. That being said, there’s been quite a few more failed attempts.

I had wanted to be an anal whore pretty badly as I emerged sexually. The very first porn I ever watched was titled something like “Anal Exploration” and I desperately wanted to do “that“. But anal is just one of those ones that I like thinking about more than I like doing. No matter how often I try, no matter what we do to change it, more often than not, I don’t enjoy anal sex.

I’ve always been the girl that wants to fulfill his every fantasy, so I pride myself on being incredibly open to sexplorations. I’m also the girl who receives a great deal of pleasure from my partner’s pleasure. I will do a lot of things that I don’t necessarily enjoy simply because he does. Anal sex is one of those things. For some reason, guys really seem to get off on anal sex. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, I don’t understand – I just know that they do.

I know that they do, because no matter how many times we’re all hot and heavy and he goes for anal and I turn him down and the hot and heavy cools off to a chilling degree, no matter how many times that scenario plays out, he still tries like he was never denied.

Honestly, I can’t say I hate the persistence. But seriously, what is with guys and anal sex?!?

#WhyWeNeedFeminism – Rants A-Brewing!

Remember when I was talking about that hashtag… Well, it’s rearing it’s ugly head in my life profoundly and I feel like I’m embarking on this very sudden abrupt journey.

When I first ran across the #WhyWeNeedFeminism hashtag, it was really difficult for me to debate anything with anyone about it, because I just didn’t feel very connected to it. For me, in my life, I’ve never really seen that we need feminism, because everything I needed as a woman was already fought for. Or at least it seemed that way because I was raised by a strong, independent, no-man-needing woman who raised us to believe that I was just as good as all the boys, even my brother. So, I couldn’t relate.

However, in the past few days and an instance a few months back, have completely changed my thinking. The instance a few months back didn’t really click it in for me, it was just kind of floating in my brain waiting for this exact moment to resurface.

Kaeidyn, my 9-year-old, is quite the little diva. She’s always been that way. And I hate to say it, but she is quite vain. She’s always asking for compliments, she’ll walk up to total strangers and say “Don’t I look cute in this outfit?”, and the clothes she wears… First, she has a lot of family members who don’t know how to say no to her. Hell, I’m not even that good at it. So she’s been able to figure out ways to get very short skirts and very short shorts.

This one day, she comes down from her room wearing the shortest skirt ever. Now another thing about Kaeidyn, is that she is incredibly gorgeous. And I’m not just saying this as her Mom. Somehow, she has got a really great body – legs that go on for miles, a butt that looks like it belongs to a much older girl and her skin carries an amazing tone to it that just makes her glow. She knows this entirely. So, she comes down in this short skirt and I immediately tell her she cannot wear it out of the house.

I’m a pretty nice Mom that way, much the same way my Mom was. If it’s too short to wear out of the house, I’m not saying you have to get rid of it, but you have to stay inside when you wear it.

Of course, as usual, we get into a huge arguement about why I’m so mean to her, blah blah blah. At some point, The Boyfriend joins in, as he usually does and he says to her, “You don’t want some boy to rape you because you wore that out”. Worst parenting moment ever on my part, because right in front of her, I was like, “Eh, eh, eh, eh. Now now! We don’t say things like that” and launch into a mini-lecture about victim blaming.

This was just the first hint.

Then, we go down to my Mom’s and that day, Kaeidyn got to walk with Kenzie to the store by herself for the first time. She was very excited and couldn’t wait to tell. As a 9 almost 10-year-old, and the fact that she’s been working hard to gain some trust so that she can go further away from the house, I decided in a rushed moment that it was okay by me. And she did great, they both did.

My Mom has a tendency to forget what it was like when we were kids and the stuff that we got away with when we did. I was in Grade 2 when I was walking to the store by myself and by the time I was Kaeidyn’s age, I would walk to go get her smokes from the local convenience store. She was quick to point out that I was always with my sister, who is 17 months older than me. Kaeidyn went with her brother, so in my books, a-okay!

Almost immediately, my Mom starts going off about how “she’s a girl” and that “it’s much more dangerous for girls” and that she hopes I’ll wait until Kaeidyn is in her teens before I start letting her go anywhere without her brothers… And then begins in on the rape that is just out there around every corner waiting for every single girl that’s ever going to walk out the front door!

Is anyone else feeling queasy yet, or is just me?…

I’m not saying that girls shouldn’t be, to some degree, concerned about getting raped and that it should kind of be a guiding voice in our heads. Don’t go walk through that forest in the middle of the night, don’t go out drinking without a buddy, don’t go jogging down your favorite trail on a Friday night when all the lamps just happen to blow out. You know, make some smart choices and such…

However, I do not want a single day of my daughter’s life to somehow be less-than because she was afraid of getting raped. I don’t want her to not be able to accomplish her dreams because there was an iota of a chance that she could get raped. I don’t want to spend my own life, as a girl, in fear of every man that walks by me, because he might rape me…

Rape, and the possibility of it happening in my life, should not change how I live my life. And it should not change the way I raise my daughter as opposed to my sons, it should not change the way we, as girls are treated. It should not change the lessons we are all taught about life. We raise little boys to be brave, because no one is going to rape them. We raise little girls to be weak, because everyone is going to rape them.

And I am here, as a concerned mother, to say I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!!

Then, the absolute kicker in the whole pants of the #WhyWeNeedFeminism debate. If you’ve read the entries from the last two days, you probably know exactly where I’m going.

For me to be considered sexually attractive by my partner of six years, I have to dress up as something that I am simply not, I have to “be more sexual” when I’m already more sexual than any other person I know who doesn’t only live on the internet, I have a huge laundry list of ways that I have to be, endlessly, to be sexually attractive. Then, that becomes repititous and whose fault is that? You guessed it, mine!

For him to be considered sexually attractive, he has to wear whatever the hell he found on the floor, shower once a week, shave once a month and never even have to worry about how he looks or acts or thinks…

He can walk around with his shirt off and no one says a thing. I can’t even breastfeed in public without dirty looks and people telling me I should go to the bathroom to do that. Do you eat where you shit?!? Then, why should my baby! He can walk through the mall with his hands down his pants, scratching his balls for the whole world to see, and I can’t even pick a wedgie.

Like seriously, what are we teaching our kids? What are we letting ourselves get away with? How blind can we be…?

Don’t even get me started on how I’m viewing things now that I’ve been slapped in the face in terms of society and it’s relation to my womanhood – because that’s a whole can of worms that I’m not even prepared to open. But in just my world, my little miniscule world of about 10 people, this is #WhyWeNeedFeminism and why we will always need it…