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Balls

May 31, 2005

Last week I made passing reference to my ‘newfound appreciation for balls’ – and so I have to elaborate. Until somewhat recently, I’ve never really paid that much attention to balls as erotic entities, but lately they’ve been consuming my thoughts on a pretty regular basis. I’m a lover of many different kinds of balls – low-hanging ones, firm bulgy ones, uneven ones. Balls – ever fascinating, often neglected.

Seth was the first lover I’ve had who was very vocal about his desires to have his round, firm balls licked, caressed and rubbed. Whenever we’d take a roll in the proverbial hay, he’d make sure to point out that he’d carefully shaved his balls, just for me. Always curious about pubic area grooming habits (I’m a researcher, dammit), I had to ask how exactly he performed this task, and his answer surprised me – bic razor. Of course my fascination with this enabled me to convince him to show me exactly how he shaved – I was curious to see how he could manage it without nicking that tender skin. And seriously, what’s hotter than a heavily tattooed man with lathered up balls and a razor? Though he offered up the razor for me to help him out a bit, I declined because I was having fun watching and I was afraid of the hazardous potential of sexual excitement plus sharp objects.

Dirck, on the other hand, was not such a fan of the ball play, but he has these great low hanging balls that would slap my clit in the most delightful way whenever he’d fuck me from behind. The combination of the sound and feel of the old ball-slapping made me really happy on both physical and metaphysical levels. The really fantastic thing about Dirck’s balls is the change they’d undergo as he came – they would kind of pucker and draw up closer to his body, and then after we were done they’d feel very full and round. This often prompted me to cup his balls in my hand and sigh, “Mmm… big, firm meaty balls,” which he found sort of creepy. But what can I say – sometimes I’m sort of creepy.

So what is the deal with me being totally transfixed with balls? I think it’s partly because I feel like I haven’t paid them enough attention – I’m all about cock and ass but often skip over the balls, partly because I’ve never really known what to do with them. As much variation as there is in what guys like done to their cocks, it seems that there is even more variation with balls, and the kinds of stimulation that might feel good are a little more mysterious. But this is what’s glorious about sexuality to me, the infinite possibilities of discovery, the changing obsessions that don’t make me fickle, but rather make me more interesting. I’m off to research ball massage techniques.

*I would like to point out that this title is an example of extreme self-restraint and resistance to the many obvious punny little jokes I could make about balls. Mmm… balls.

Posted by Dacia at 11:44 PM | Comments (17) | TrackBack

Ask me anything!

5.31.05
Ask me anything!

I’m interested in getting more audience participation going, and I know that not everyone is into the whole commenting or emailing thing, so I’m starting up a Friday tradition: I’ll answer almost (key word) any question that I think is interesting and believe that others will find interesting, so it could be an advice type question, or a personal question, or a request or… I dunno. Something.
So if you’ve got one, send it along. I’ll never post your name or email address, but may post your email or a shortened version of it.

Posted by Dacia at 12:36 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

A romantic evening at home with my ass

May 29, 2005

I love anal sex - both giving and receiving. Though I administer anal sex to others on a fairly regular basis, I very rarely receive it in a partnered encounter. For me, anal sex requires a lot of trust and its necessary for me to affirm that my partner retains a high level of nerdy interest in the subject (can we talk at length about desirable consistency of lube? is there an understanding of anal anatomy?). And the truth is that while I enjoy anal stimulation (and how!) I don’t often crave the old in-out that many people think of as the anal sex experience.

When I talk to people about anal sex, I’m quick to dispel the myth that all anal pleasure is like the stuff you see in the movies - big hard cock slamming quickly in and out of a woefully unlubed hole, where the ass is treated much the same as the pussy. As Tristan Taormino can tell you at length and in much more detail than I can here, you have to treat the ass real nice-like. The thing is, I’m not going to tell you all about how to make your or your partner’s ass happy, I’m going to tell you about an intimate evening with my ass.

Yesterday I spent the day wandering around Brooklyn, hitting a farmer’s market to stock up on fresh veggies and bread, took an inordinately long nap, ate dinner with my upstairs neighbors and watched The House of Flying Daggers (pretty colors! horses! fighting!) and then retired to my cozy bed.

Because it was about 2 in the morning and I was tired, I tried to go to sleep without masturbating. After about 10 minutes of tossing and turning, I started to laugh out loud at myself and the silly notion that I’d actually be able to sleep without having a few orgasms. So: lights on, some rummaging through the porn beside my teevee, some more rummaging through my sex toy box, some laying out of towels, and voila - time to rock.

After some warm up with my trusty Hitachi, I realized that my ass was just craving attention. I would estimate that I play with my ass about 70% of the time I masturbate - I’m big on penetration generally, so typically I can’t have my grand finale orgasm without something filling up my pussy, but often I also add a buttplug to the mix, which usually makes me come so hard that my vision goes a bit fuzzy (even with my glasses on - and yes I masturbate with my glasses on). Last night as I teased my clit I could feel my ass pratically begging for stimulation, so I left my pussy empty and went to town on my ass.

Usually I prefer length over girth in my ass (the opposite of what my pussy prefers), but last night I was in a mood to feel stretched open. I started with a small plug that has gradually larger balls on it. I concentrated on the stretch and contraction each time I moved to a bigger part of the toy and then kind of stayed with that for a while, adding a dildo to my cunt so I could really coax my g-spot into bliss, which in turn engorged my whole vulva in that delicious, throbbing way. After backing off a bit from a pulsing orgasm, my next step was the curved end of the Nexus Jr, which felt just amazing sliding in, and is curved just right that when turned towards my belly button indirectly stimulates my very demanding g-spot. The feeling of the nexus plus the dildo in my cunt just wasn’t quite enough - that’s when I realized that my ass wanted to feel stretched out. Out came the big guns - the severin (the one pictured is the small version, mines a medium, and by far the girthiest thing I’ve ever had in my ass). To manage the severin, I couldn’t do a double penetration, so I concentrated solely on my ass, easing the toy with big gobs of lube. A bunch of nice deep breaths later, I barely had to work at having the captain of awesome orgasms.

Posted by Dacia at 04:04 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Exude

May 27, 2005

I’ve been doing a lot of photo shoots lately. It’s mostly been fun, and though it’s an awful lot of hard work, I think I’m really starting to hone my craft as a model. I’ve been realizing that I very much view my body in a utilitarian sense: my body allows me to feel the delight that is orgasm, my body inspires people to give me money, my body is the container for everything that is me. On Wednesday during a photo shoot with a photographer I hadn’t worked with before, he encouraged me to express myself, to exude my sexuality through my skin, into my poses and my expressions, and it occurred to me that I don’t really do this and don’t entirely know how. This is partly due to the fact that I am lazy and often let my on-camera sex appeal rest on the laurels that are my tits and ass. But unfortunately for lazy me, tits and ass aren’t really sexuality. I should know that better than many people – sexuality is not directly connected to the body it is contained in, though the body is a means for expressing sexuality.

Despite the fact that I get naked so often and in front of various people, I live very much in my own head, so much so that I do think this new challenge of expressing my sexuality more outwardly is going to be quite the challenge. I’ve become very comfortable in my own skin, but perhaps comfort is not what I need, I need something by forces electric. Maybe I need to think a bit about what “comfort” is to me – comfort is not feeling put upon to perform myself, my flesh, even in situations where perhaps I should have an eye towards performance. As I think about it more, I realize that part of the issue is that I spend a lot of time naked in so-called sexual situations that I don’t personally find sexual. The exuding of sexuality is being done by other people – my clients, photographers, people who are looking at my pictures. I show the boobs, they do the imagining.

I feel like I need to explore the experience of being in my body and my body as a sexual instrument more aggressively on film and really in my life, instead of just defaulting into the comfort zone of “have boobs, will travel.” People will always project their imaginings onto my body, but I’ve slipped into a mode where I encourage that, while I really need to learn to express and embody my own sexual imaginings in my own body.

Posted by Dacia at 06:25 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Introducing

May 25, 2005

Last night I took the boy I’ve been seeing (I think he is pseudonym worthy now, we will call him Jeremy) to Jefferson’s biweekly sex party. I was a little nervous about it – the moment of introducing my date to the people I’ve been fucking for the last eight months was a little uncanny, but ended up flowing pretty naturally. Natural in the sense that things in my life are natural.

Overly cautious safeword wackadoo that I am, I’d gone over the whole sex party thing with Jeremy about a million times before we went: Are you sure you’re cool with this? Are there any restrictions you want to put on the evening? Etc etc until he probably wanted me to just shut up – but hey, you can never be too prepared for the sometimes unexpected dynamics of a sex party, especially when you are an avowed slut and your date is a sex party newcomer.

Jeremy is a bit of a closeted perv – well, not so much closeted as he just hasn’t had the place and people with which to explore his perviness with, which I suppose is the case for most people (and is what keeps me in business). It was his first sex party, and he was very eager to see how these things happen. It happened like always – people gathered in the living room, sipping drinks and catching up with each other, admiring each other’s tits, asses and socks. I took the sock prize of the evening, as I was wearing my patented socks of awesome – bright yellow chicken socks. They don’t just have chickens on them, they are chickens – there’s a beak and googly chicken eyes poking out of them. Although I was quickly separated from my hot pink skull and crossbones pirate underwear, I was determined to wear my chicken socks for the duration of the evening.

Though the night started off a little slow (many folks were late to arrive), after a while people started to migrate into one of the bedrooms. In a typical sex party night, I move back and forth between the bedroom with one large bed, chairs in the corners and porn on the TV and the bedroom with the scary taco futon and single bed. Last night I spent all of my sex time in the first bedroom. As people moved into the bedroom, Jeremy sweetly asked if I’d like to venture on back there, and in answer I took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom, where there was already a mass of bodies, tangled naked moaning flesh on the bed. I just tried to make a list of the names of the people who were in the room, but my brain only holds images of flesh straining against flesh and auditory memories of thunderous orgasms. I’m drawing a blank on names and faces, and remembering only the heat in the room. Jeremy and I kissed with a kind of soft hunger, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, buttons coming undone, clothes shed on the floor as I pulled him towards a corner chair, sat him down and took his cock in my mouth.

As I swirled my tongue around his cock head I looked up at him over the top of my glasses and met his eyes, looking at me with that expression that only a serious blowjob can produce. I really wanted to tell him that he needn’t keep his eyes on me, that I’d chosen the corner chair because it’s a great vantage point for watching the action on the bed – but I just couldn’t separate my mouth from his cock long enough to make the sentence happen. I felt his legs muscles tightening as he breathed, “That feels so nice.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was having the inner turmoil of don’t ever stop/please stop before I… I stopped and moved downwards, wrapping my tongue around his gorgeous balls (not now, but sometime soon I must tell you in detail of my newfound appreciation for balls). “It’s your turn” – he’d come up with a way to tell me to stop without really telling me to stop. I swapped places with him and settled in for the combined pleasures of having my pussy licked by a true appreciator of pussy licking while watching my friends cavorting on the bed. One quaking orgasm later and we were rolling a condom onto Jeremy’s cock. I pulled my knees in close, rested a chicken-shod foot on his shoulder, and felt his generous girth split the lips of my cunt apart as he slipped into me. This position, aided by the height of the chair, worked damn well for us, but after a while, we switched so that I was on top, straddling both man and chair. Sex party sex – the aerobic workout. I should make an exercise video.

A space freed up on the bed, so we claimed it. Flesh swirled around us, and I was biting a nipple and then sucking someone’s cock as Jeremy fucked me. I closed my eyes and felt hands running over my body, enjoyed the sounds of Theresa screaming her orgasm next to me and the bed shaking a thousand different ways. I opened my eyes to see hungry eyes, mouths, hands all around. Feeling and seeing, such lovely things really. The bed cleared a bit and I concentrated on Jeremy. I could feel him shaking a bit, and he stammered – “I really want to come, but I don’t want to because this feels so nice, and and…” I smiled up at him, “Come for me, I really want you to let go.” I will just say this – I love a man who comes emotively, with groans, taut muscles and good faces.

We did a bit of clean up and made our way out into the living room, where several naked people lounged about. At the beginning of the evening, people are generally careful to restrict nakedness and sex stuff to the bedrooms, but as the night goes on, there are naked bodies everywhere, including the balcony. Jeremy and I snuggled up on the couch, settling into a comfortable lull in the party. I’d tried to explain this bit to him before the party: it’s really not balls to the wall fucking for a bunch of hours (well, unless I’m feeling inspired), there is a sort of natural waning and waxing of activity.

And then it began again. “Hey, don’t let me hold you back,” Jeremy said as we watched Farahnaz and Theresa kiss langorously and Todd’s lips pay extra special attention to Mark’s cock. For the moment I was happy to watch the bodies entwine in this beautiful way – they were all enveloped in each other’s touch, but also aware of us as onlookers. Theresa and Farahnaz made their way to the back bedroom, while Todd and Mark stayed put. After a while Jeremy and I took a water break in the kitchen, joining several other naked-in-the kitchen types. When we returned to the living room Todd, Mark, Farahnaz and Theresa were all piled on the couch. I squeezed in on the end. Farahnaz made a joke about how she’d tried to get everyone into the bedroom but it had separated the group, so I suggested we try that again, on the count of three…

The six of us made our way into the bedroom, where Theresa and Todd claimed one of the corner chairs and Mark, Farahnaz, Jeremy and I flopped down on the bed. There was some entangling of flesh, some wondering “whose hand is that anyway?” (but not really caring about the answer, more of a logistical question than anything else), and then some fucking. As I made out with Mark, I watched Jeremy and Farahnaz out of the corner of my eye – Jeremy dove into the experience with vigor, and as I watched him roll on a condom and start to fuck Farahnaz, I knew that the evening was a success and gave myself the go ahead to fuck Mark. As Mark and I rolled around we collided with Farahnaz and Jeremy, not at all in a bad way. At some point there was swapping of partners and I ended up back with Jeremy, slowing bringing him to an orgasm with my hands. We all lay curled up for a moment, but then cleared the bed – post-coital cuddling at a sex party is not really the heighth of politeness, so we had to clear the way for what beds are intended for: piles of people fucking each other silly.

The hour was stretching past midnight, which is not usually a problem for me, but I had to get up early to get naked for a camera, so I wanted to get a bit of the beauty rest. I pulled my clothes on and then said goodbye to everyone – kissed Todd goodbye while Theresa devoured his cock, kissed Theresa goodbye on the cheek so as not to interrupt her. Kissed Mark goodbye as he lay on his back getting fucked by Jefferson, kissed Jefferson goodbye as he buried his cock in Mark’s ass.

“That would be a big ole welcome to my life,” I said as I kissed Jeremy by the elevator.

Posted by Dacia at 11:04 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

Freedom is slavery

May 24, 2005

I’ve been sitting here, trying to think of how I can describe my typical day, but I guess I have to describe a range of days within a week. This week, I’m spending two days working – and for a sex worker this means reading, napping, checking email, confirming and doing appointments and sitting around in my underwear. It looks like I’ll be doing two photo shoots this week, which means lugging a bag full of shoes, underwear and makeup around. I have some writing to catch up on (what else is new) and likely some things to do for $pread – but that about rounds out my work-related activities for the week.

It’s pretty fucking awesome.

But awesome in kind of a frightening way. I have a ludicrous amount of control over what my life looks like on a day-to-day basis. I say no to things I don’t feel like doing (well, except the stuff I really have to do, then I just stomp my feet). I sit around in my underwear and think about sex all day. It’s not a bad deal. But what now?

I have the life I want, but I’m not sure if I can maintain it forever (though I want to). Worse than that, I’m not very confident that I could assimilate myself back into the 9-5 pants-wearing world. Although I enjoy it greatly, I don’t want to have to get naked for money forever, and as a photographer pointed out to me recently, I’m not getting any younger. It’s all about choices – choosing to get naked is awesome and choosing not to get naked is just as awesome. I fear that I’m unable to choose to keep my clothes on, not because I don’t have the skills etc to hold down a pants-on job, but because since I’ve gotten this taste of freedom, there’s just no going back.

I’ve begun to worry that by setting myself free in so many ways, I’ve created a new cage for myself, one that looks like awesome but is tinged with hidden limits and shadowed over by the path more often tread. But as I think about it more, it seems that the best option is to push ahead into the unfamiliar and not so much hope for the best as try to make something different for myself. I know the risks, and they are high: failure, financial disaster, a life without health insurance, being locked into sex-related careers because of the stigmas I’ve woven into the fabric of my life, and the general societal nose-snubbing at what I do and who I am. That’s an ugly list of potential realities, but on the flipside there are plenty of wonderful things. And furthermore, I’m not sure I want the straight world career I once had, so I’m not sure what options I have other than big risk.

I’m inclined to believe in a Wynton Marsalis quote I have hanging above my desk “When you set out to make a dramatic statement - make it. Deal without fallout later.”

Posted by Dacia at 03:18 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Squirting reprise

May 19, 2005

With all the questions/comments/emails about my post on squirting, I decided that I just had to write a follow up post. Better to answer questions publicly, as I assume that other people are likely wondering the same things. First, of course I have to make the sex educator’s disclaimer – there is a huge variety in sexual response. What works for me might not work for another woman. What works for 600 women might not work for me. The beautiful and awesome thing about sexuality is that it’s about exploring – and your sexuality is something that you’ll always have with you, and if it changes drastically over time that’s part of the fun.

I’ll start with addressing a request to hear more about my experience of ejaculation. Like I said before, I first squirted when I was nineteen. I was on vacation with my family (incidentally I also lost my virginity on a family vacation), and I was masturbating furiously in the bathroom while the family was sleeping, and I just erupted. There was the build up, like in the build up to a clitoral orgasm, but the location of the tingle was different. I remember squatting in the shower, three fingers plunging in and out of myself, thumb firmly on my clit. When I squirted all over, I was startled. I smelled my hand, thinking it was piss, but it smelled like something I’d never smelled before – definitely not piss, but not pussy juice either. It was so strange, I just had to do it again.

This was at a time when I was just learning how to make myself come from clitoral stimulation and I had not yet started to build up my sex toy collection. I had been with my first serious partner, James, for a year and I was beginning to really open up sexually and become comfortable with my body. More than that, I was becoming comfortable with letting go. For me that was the most important part of learning to squirt. I was getting more comfortable with the mysteries of my body and becoming more able to let myself experience being in my body, and kind of follow its lead. When I came back from vacation, I had a new trick to show my boyfriend. He was immeasurably psyched about it.

For two or three years, I was a veritable fountain of come. I squirted constantly and with little or no provocation – g-spot stimulation, clitoral stimulation, coughing at my vulva all seemed to make me create huge puddles on the furniture. About two years ago, my body chemistry began to change. Maybe it was the breakup with James? Whatever it was, I stopped squirting as much. Since then, there have been partners, weeks, days, circumstances that have made me squirt like nobody’s business, but it isn’t a constant and I don’t have it under command like Jane does.

So, onto more technical questions…

That “uh-oh. I’m gonna piss” feeling – go with it. Follow the leader – your pleasure is the leader (and apparently I’m the biggest hippie EVER). However, if the sensation gets really uncomfortable, stop. I’ve had ejaculations milked out of me without an orgasm, and they really aren’t all that fun.

As far as the way things go – an ejaculation isn’t necessarily a projectile spurt, though it can be. Chances are, if you’ve got anything in the path of the vulva, like a hand or a cock or a toy, you might not see the fireworks. I’ve definitely had non-orgasm squirts where the only indication of squirting was that things just got a lot wetter, or there was a puddle afterwards, nothing explosive in the moment.

Another important bit of technical advice (coming from a girl very prone to urinary tract infections) is that you should empty your bladder after you’re done with a squirting session because you could get a UTI if you don’t. But you should already be in the habit of getting up to pee and wash up after sex anyway (right?) to keep your business happy.

Happy experimenting!

Posted by Dacia at 10:59 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

Wardrobe malfunction

May 18, 2005

Lately I’ve had cause for concern about my wardrobe. You see, I’ve been going out on these dates, and I’ve been wearing clothes on the dates (well – mostly). The concern is one that at first I thought was a typical girly concern: ack! I have nothing to wear. But as I leave the house more and more often with the intention of keeping clothes on for a while, I realize that this is a serious dilemma.

It seems that my wardrobe budget has recently been focused more on underwear, stockings and shoes than anything else. This means that I can look totally killer in states of undress, which is really how I spend most of my time. On the other hand, I own three pairs of pants, all of which live on my bedroom floor unless they are being worn. I’ve been procuring a personal style that is based on being naked or mostly naked, so it’s weird to wear clothes, though it does make me feel like I’m in stealth mode.

To illustrate my point, a picture of me naked with a chainsaw:

(Photo by Brian Rawson)

Seriously, what kind of outfit goes with a chainsaw? I don’t know either. Chainsaws are way better accessories than pants, in my opinion. This is why its hard to give myself a pep talk into being more meticulous about my outfits - I’d rather be naked with a chainsaw.

p.s. - I’m going to write another post about female ejaculation since there were so many questions generated by yesterday’s post. I’m also planning on posting more of the Jefferson-Dacia emails of years gone by, I just have to pick a few to post.

Posted by Dacia at 05:24 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

Squirt squirt

May 17, 2005

And for today, a little question and answer:

So you seem to be a rather knowledgeable one and I have been perplexed by one of life’s great mysteries lately: In female ejaculation videos how you can be certain that they’re not just pissing? I’ve seen a few where this thick, milky liquid oozes out so that appears to be the real deal, but others just show a stream of clear liquid that could very well be piss, and I wanna know how to spot the scams! Unless such a thing is just not easily accomplished while aroused (it’s damn near impossible to piss with a hard-on unless you bend way over forward and have patience), but with me not having female hydraulics and apparently never having met a girl who has harnessed this talent, I am at a loss for explanations. And I would be very appreciative if you had any insight into such matters, because Dear Abby probably would throw away my letter. Hell, Dan Savage might not even answer. Inquiring minds want to know.

Well, I have a bucketload of info to dish out on this subject, but before I do that a little bit of personal disclosure: I learned to squirt when I was nineteen. Okay, �learned� isn�t as apt as �wondered what the fuck just exploded and made a big splashy mess, decided whatever it was felt awesome and then did it a lot more.� In the six years since that first �what the fuck?� I�ve learned a lot about ejaculation between book-learning, self exploration and watching/making it happen on other girls.

There hasn�t been enough work done on this topic � in fact there is still a good amount of debate about whether female ejaculation is real at all (Betty Dodson being among the naysayers). A lot of the debate is about what exactly the fluid is and what it�s made out of. Those who don�t buy female ejaculation, usually dub the fluid pee � after all, it is coming out of the urethra (usually, we�ll get to that in a minute). If you�re watching porn and a lady is ejaculating � I can�t tell you for sure what she�s doing. Ejaculation occurs when the g-spot aka the urethral sponge is massaged or otherwise touched or rubbed. The growing market of squirting videos may include girls who are passing off pissing as ejaculating for profit � and honestly you might not be able to tell the difference. The highly aroused state that makes ejaculation happen usually makes peeing difficult (as it does in guys) though that�s by no means true across the board (especially if you�re a person for whom peeing is erotic), and porn performers aren�t necessarily super turned on. Female ejaculate is a clear and splashy liquid � like water or piss, so I don�t know if what you�re seeing in porn is ejaculation or pee; it very likely isn�t pee across the board.

As far as the �thick, milky liquid� goes � that�s a different kind of secretion. When a woman gets turned on, she manufactures her very own lube. More specifically, her Bartholin’s glands make lube. These are two glands located slightly below and to the left and right of the opening of the vagina. The secretion that the Bartholin�s glands produce is a lot slicker than female ejaculate, which is much more like water in texture (can a liquid have a texture? Uh, sure). Depending on where a woman is in her cycle, it may vary in color and consistency. It is possible that a woman could ejaculate from her Bartholin�s glands or at least make a visible mess of come with this fluid.

Posted by Dacia at 01:15 AM | Comments (16)

Sordid time travel

May 12, 2005

So over on Jefferson’s blog, he felt the need to write a post entitled “Program Notes,” which gives a bit of the who-what-where of our little corner of the blogosphere. Be sure to read through the comments - or don’t, because I’m going to fill you in. I’ve known Jane and Jefferson for going on four years now - and about two years ago, Jefferson and I started exchanging emails that essentially became the inspiration for these here blogs. E-pack rat that I am, I have an archive of these emails. There was one in particular that he got excited about, and became the reason that we started archiving the tales. I’ve reproduced this gem for your amusement below.

Oh, but first, some clarification on the timeline. This email was written while I was dating Dirck (had been seeing him 6 months) and Jake (started seeing him in July 2003). A few weeks later, Jake would have an awkward date with Jane, and then in December he started dating my roommate and he and I parted ways. Jake and Jefferson would also be introduced for the first time in December 2003 (though Jake didn’t remember that when he began attending Jefferson’s parties in fall 2004).

Anyway:

Sent: Thursday, September 11, 2003 5:35 PM
Subject: Re: distractions

I like how you’ve managed to use the phrase “jump the shark” in every email you’ve written since you decided that you needed to over-use that phrase. OK, so I’m sorry about being a flake and following the whims of my libido. Well, really, not that sorry. [nb: in a previous email exchange, I’d explained my absence from a gallery opening by saying “Who needs art when I can get cock?” Instead of meeting up with Jefferson at the opening, I’d been out fucking Dirck]

I’ll make up for it by telling you a little story, not about last night, but about the night before that. After the Gatewood talk at MoSex, I got dinner with Jane, her freshman roommate, my roommate and my #2 boy Jake. Afterwards, Jake said that it was a bit late to go back to Brooklyn with me, so would I like to accompany him to his midtown office. Of course I would.

So I signed in to the guest book, saying that I was there to do “server maintenance” and we made our way upstairs. He showed me around the fancy office and then we started making out on a big table in the meeting room, which is sort of in the middle of the more public part of the office. And off came our shirts, as well as my bra and glasses. He then grabbed me and carried me back to his office, where things got dirtier. And being the nasty flirt I am, I was teasing him a bit too much, which merited a very vigorous spanking - my ass still shows evidence of said spanking. Sometimes purple is a good color for me.

And so the spanking is happening, I’m naked and being rather vocal - and we hear a vacuum. Its the cleaning lady. Jake gets really nervous, tells me to be quiet and he rummages around in his bag and gets his gym shirt and goes out to collect our clothes, which the cleaning lady has very nicely folded. He comes back and says that we should be quiet and lie low for a while. But I won’t take no for an answer, so off come his pants and I sit him down in his chair and go to town on him. And every time he makes evven the slightest noise, I slap him across the face and tell him to be good.

Then I can’t stand it anymore, so I jump on top of him, and we go nuts in his chair, with lots of fun dirty talk - whispered, vacuum cleaner still in the background. For example, I say “I’m going to come so hard you’ll be smelling me for weeks and your chair is still going to be wet tomorrow” and then I deliver. The boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even with the slapping, so I pulled his tongue out of his mouth and held it for a while. When I got tired of that, I gagged him with my thong, which did the trick, though in the midst of this, he sunk his teeth into my hand, which is beginning to look nasty today.

So he throws me on the floor, uh, not so quietly, and I can tell he’s ready to come, so I tell him he isn’t allowed to come inside me, so he best pull out, take the condom off, come on my tits, and then lick up every drop. Which he does. Good boy. So we talk a while, he plays me a bunch of music, and then he demonstrates his skill at deep-throating a ten inch dildo, which is quite the impressive feat and gets me going all over again.

Round two, the cleaning lady is gone, we fuck in a doorway. He bends me over and fucks me hard, but I yell at him and tell him he isn’t plowing me hard enough, what the fuck is wrong with him, don’t I make him hot, and that ignites the fire. He turns me around, lifts me up and slams me against the wall, pinning me there - now its his turn to be the dom. He tells me what a filthy slut I am, how cocky I am to think I can push him around and make him lap up his own come, and how he isn’t going to let me come. And he keeps pushing me really close to orgasm and then backing off and laughing at me, until I’m begging for it. And then he lets me come and we scream and disentangle ourselves and realize the cleaning lady is still there, not vacuuming but cleaning the glass on the windows at the other end of the office.

Posted by Dacia at 03:46 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

new citykittie set

May 11, 2005

5.11.05
New set up at CityKittie
Well, kids, I’m not a pirate in this one, but I am a naked girl and that better be good enough! I’ve got a new set up at CityKittie.com, wherein I’m wearing a polka dot dress and I poke at my bits with a sparkly purple dildo. My boobs will totally beat you up!

Posted by Dacia at 08:11 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

What's true for me is true for everyone*

May 10, 2005

*This statement is false.

In this week’s Village Voice, there’s an article about a “John School” in Brooklyn. This program is an option that men who have been arrrested for soliciting prostitutes can choose as a kind of rehab workshop. (There was a similar, though less nuanced article in the NY Daily News a few weeks ago).

The program relies really heavily on scare tactics - they show the obligatory slides of herpes sores and very advanced syphillis (your nose can rot off!) and a former prostitute is quoted in the article as asking the attendees, “How many of you would take advantage of a physically retarded person, you know, like deformed? Well then, why would you take advantage of someone who is emotionally retarded? Because that’s what prostitutes are. We were victimized as children. We are empty shells.”

Ouch.

To be clear, this is a program designed for men who have been arrested for soliciting street workers. Historically, women who work on the street have been the most susceptible to violence and arrest (sometimes both at the same time! whee!) due to their high visibility. So, in some respects, it’s good that johns are being arrested instead of just shooed away while the women are arrested - but really the whole arrest thing doesn’t do anyone much good. And neither, in my opinion, do scare tactics designed to increase fear, hate and mistrust between providers and clients.

There are very troubling things that happen in the commercial sex business - trafficking and pimping get the most press, but there are also many shades of gray that contain stories about unhappy women doing jobs and sex acts that they’d prefer not to be doing.

But this whole “we” business of “we are empty shells” - now that’s just not right. After being cast as an “emotionally retarded” victim - how does one escape from that? I don’t even mean the work itself (though obviously the question of how to enable sex workers to get out of the profession if they want to it is obviously huge), but the language construct around it. How can sex workers even begin to be empowered when they are called “emotionally retarded” by other workers who are speaking for them?

Certainly, when discussing issues concerning people who are discriminated against, it’s often useful to use “we” - it makes a group that may not see itself as a group appear organized and unified. But this manner of “we” stamps out the multitude of voices, voices of those that may disagree with one another on political issues - and more importantly, voices of those who have different stories to tell.

Stories going every which way are not, however, the way to make a movement. So the tough question remains, how do you encourage many different people with different experiences to work together? Furthermore, how can spokespeople be encouraged to make room for other opinions and speak about difficult and often exploitative things in a way that can be empowering instead of demoralizing?

Posted by Dacia at 11:27 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Gossip

May 08, 2005

This weekend, I did something that I really enjoy - I got chatty and gossipy with a friend. Last night I met up with Nadia for some Italian food and pastries, and of course lots of sex talk. It’s no secret that I love talking about sex - but I feel like in some ways I’m becoming more private about my sex life.

It’s difficult to sustain a life of increasing outness and perversion while also keeping healthy, happy and true to myself. Recently, this has started to manifest in me being more reserved in the blogging of my sex life. I’m starting to renegotiate the boundaries around personal stuff - when I started this blog, it was a lot more anonymous than it is now. These days all my sexual partners read it, as well as a good number of my real life non-naked friends. Though I may be a little self-conscious of who my readers are, that’s not it entirely - I want to find a way to maintain the highest level of sleaze and awesomeness in my life without destroying everything. A tall order, indeed.

But of course that doesn’t stop me from dishing with my friends - Nadia this weekend, Belle last weekend. There’s something really awesome and satisfying about talking about sex with women I adore - especially when I also share sex partners with said women. I love the fact that we can all fuck the same people and its the subject of fun conversation, no cattiness whatsoever.

Nadia had made a post-dinner date with Todd, so I walked her most of the way to his apartment, and as I said good bye to her, I told her that she should give him a nice sloppy blow job for me. I have to use my friends as blowjob delivery people sometimes, because sharing is caring. I then went home to work on my final papers (give me cancer now god).

Posted by Dacia at 03:01 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Uncrossed legs

May 06, 2005

This week in one of the online alt modeling message boards that I read and participate in a bunch, there was a lot of hoopla over the content of sets on the site. It started when one of the long-time models of the site expressed her disgust at sets that moved beyond the cutesy pin up style of strip, pose and pout that is so common on alt porn sites and into the realm of simulated or real masturbation poses and the showing of the genitals. A firey discussion ensued on the boards, with some mud slinging between models and a whole lot of defensiveness.

The models who prefer to do sets where they don’t show pink were outraged that there were models on the site who do show pink (though the photographs in question were in no way full on porno style spread-lips stuff), and said that this was trashy and that the models who showed a bit more were devoid of morals. While I can definitely understand setting limits on what you yourself will do in a photo shoot – actually, I encourage limits, they are good things to have and to think about – the thoughts on the subject turned personal and defensive really quickly.

Why get defensive about what someone else chooses to do? On the surface, that seems pretty silly – but all things in the realm of sex and nakedness are on a slippery slope of permeable membranes. Many people who do sex work or nude modeling have it in their minds that “What I do is fine – but I would never do XYZ” and many of them judge people who chose the path of XYZ. It’s a tough thing, but there is definitely a weird hierarchy of acts. This is exacerbated by the fact that people outside of this world assume that it all runs together in some kind of mush, and that a woman who has no problem doing one thing will do anything, as long as the price is right. It’s easy to get defensive about your choices if you’re a nude model (no touching!) but someone assumes you’ll fuck them for money.

It saddens me that many people in the sex world cut each other down and declare that others are trashy and amoral. Actually, it took me a while to figure out how to word that sentence because I’m about 98% positive that the women making those accusations would not consider themselves sex workers at all. That’s a pretty interesting feature of alt modeling communities to me. So many of them are very focused on being a community, fostering discussion, meeting other members - which I think is fabulous, but seriously, there are girls and boys getting naked. Call it whatever you like, but the truth is that someone is jerking off to the people in your community. Some sites handle this gracefully, but others seem to stick to the “pin up art” story. Well, I jerk off to your art, whether you show the pink or not. Who’s trashy now?

Posted by Dacia at 02:51 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack

Backwards, but not wrong

I have a fair number of interpersonal skills along with a healthy dose of comfort in my own skin. This is perhaps best evidenced by the fact that I’m often naked with people very soon after I’ve met them (in both professional and personal contexts). It’s a good way to get to know people – well, in my book anyway. But my life is weird, so don’t take my word for it.

I have a dinner date this weekend. Like, one where I’ll be wearing pants (well, maybe a skirt). My best physical assets will be covered, while my brain will be on the loose. This thought makes pictures of Krang dance through my head, but I promise that my grey matter is hotter. And not evil. Usually.

Anyway, this date I’m going on, it’s sort of a first date – sort of. Except that upon meeting this particular gentleman a week ago, I got to see him in very little clothing on stage and he got to see me in very little clothing rolling around in fake blood. Then we made out backstage. Then I took him home and we made with the fucking.

This is probably one of those “don’t try this at home” things, but I’m kind of at a point where I’m feeling like, fuck it, I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to be a total dick about it, but most people’s dating rules just don’t apply to me. If I try to apply their rules to my life I look like a failure or a weirdo. I’d prefer not use someone else’s eyes to look at my life, I’d much rather stick with my own perspective, believe in my own relevance.

So, I’ll try out this recipe and see what: get naked first, ask questions later.

Posted by Dacia at 03:22 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

One girl latex army

May 04, 2005

I recently acquired a box of Black Dragon tattoo gloves in size small, perfect for intimate moments like fisting and manual ass-fucking. On the same day, I also acquired 1000 condoms, indiscreetly packaged in a large clear plastic bag.

What does buying latex barriers in such ambitious quantites say about me? The most obvious answer is “Dacia is a big slut.” While true in theory, this is not so true in practice, as lately I’ve been having partnered sex once or twice a month if I’m lucky. For me, buying condoms in bulk is a sage choice because I won’t get conservative in their use or distribution if I have so bloody many of them. I think everyone should have easy access to condoms all the time, which typically means that I stuff them in the pockets or secret hiding places of every jacket or bag I own and give them away whenever possible. It also means that I use condoms on my toys all the time, and within a fuck session I don’t hesistate to replace a condom any time it starts to look the worse for wear.

I have five years to use and give away these 1000 condoms, as they expire in 2010. Hopefully I’ll be slutting it up a good amount in that time, but I also hope to be sharing the wealth - not necessarily sharing my own orifices, but the latex goodness. I don’t know where I’ll be by 2010, but I know I’ll be condomed and gloved on my way there, and so will those who cross the path of this latex fairy.

Posted by Dacia at 09:39 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

A lil' more blood...

May 03, 2005

These are just too good to leave be… another batch of blood wrasslin pics, these by Ali of CityKittie.

Posted by Dacia at 04:05 PM | Comments (7)

Post-punk passions

May 01, 2005

Although I probably should have been writing my numerous papers that are due this week, last night I went out to see Q and Not U, my favorite band of recent years. Although I’ve gotten much grouchier about seeing live music – I hate standing up forever, being in a crowd, seeing crappy opening bands, all that stuff, I never pass up an opportunity to see Q and Not U when they come through town. I realized last night that its been almost five years since I first heard No Kill No Beep Beep while reading manuscripts for Akashic Books, the cd on endless repeat. That year I immersed myself in the idea of post-punk, a life after local all-ages shows in VFWs, punk rock ethics extended beyond spats about looking different and into the literary and activist realms.

As I told my friends when we tumbled out of Northsix, I’ve seen a lot of bands, been in a few, and felt strongly about music since I was 12, but no one can make me feel the way Q and Not U does. There aren’t a lot of bands that really grab me anymore, but shit, last night I remembered what its like to feel that swell of the music in my chest, as all thoughts other than “this is awesome” are banished from my brain.

It’s good to have passions. It’s good to lose myself and surrender to something so strong that it makes me knees weak and my mind go blank, letting the sound wash over me, and remember what its like to get really seriously pumped about something – a band, a poem, a protest. I’m excited about things that are happening in my life right now, but I’m not feeling ferocious about anything in particular. I’m building something, but I’m going through the motions, to the point where I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing.

My brain feels cluttered with bullshit, weighed down by a list of things to do, a weekly checklist that wanes and waxes but doesn’t push the envelope. I have one of those grand lists for the next few weeks, but then I really need to reassess what the fuck is going on and how I can make some serious awesomeness. I just want to get back that brain fever, that light in my eyes when I talk about my next big project, stop fucking around and wasting my days staring into space. Just. No big deal.

Its nights like last night that make all this come rushing back. Seeing this band that I’ve loved for years with friends who’ve known me far too long for me to remember life before them – it’s like a check in with myself, my ethics, my motivations. I’ve invented the life I want to live – but that’s no excuse for slacking off, because this is only a marker on the road, not a fucking destination. I haven’t invented the destination yet.

Posted by Dacia at 12:05 PM | Comments (19) | TrackBack