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Laci Green, sex posi blogger and amazing all round lady has been brutalised for saying a wrong term in a youtube film she made WHEN SHE 18. When it was brought to her attention she issued an apology and explained that she was young, immature and lame for using a derogatory term.

It is totally fucked and I sometimes wonder about humanity.  The internet can be an ugly place folks.

Jezebel have thankfully covered this and called it out for the utter *bullshit* it is.

The article with the ‘offending’ post and the psycho abuse and threats is here:

Laci Green has been totally fucked over by tumblr crazies

I love Laci Green, she openly and honestly demystifies and explains so much about sexuality, putting her face to her name and walking the fucking walk of sex positivity. That is mega ballsy and totally fucking awesome.

She deserves a medal, not to fear her personal safety!

/end rant

Oh joy, let’s add it to the fucking list.

your-vagina-isnt-just-too-big-too-floppy-and-too-hairy-its-also-too-brown

I. Just. Don’t. Even.

*hits eject from society button*

So, last week was a week of chronic anxiety and much xanax. Fucking joy.

What I thought was more goddamned sickness, nuvaring related bleh-ness and stressing about a dental appointment turned into hide-under-my-doona-for-12 hours-full-blown-panic-attacks. Then I didn’t leave my house for 3 days. Literally. Also looking back at the week before last, I was becoming more and more of a space cadet, my short term memory was shot and I was getting so confused over simple things. The Easter break was rad, but as each day passed I made more realisations about myself, my negative head space, the impossible expectations I set of myself, how much pressure I put myself under and just how self destructive I still am, even after working so hard not to be. I spoke to my man on the last day of the holiday about setting aside time really soon to have some big talks, because I had many things I needed to express and I realised I had been bottling everything I had been thinking/feeling/worrying about.

That is the one thing I can always rely on myself to do, internalise and destruct.

Although right now, sitting in front of my pc, in a successfully awesome Sunday achievement bliss, I feel really good. I have nipped this shit in the bud, well actually my partner deliberately worked from home to be there for me, was incredibly sweet and caring (and patient, so farking patient) and took me to my fantastic doctor and I was able to get help then and there, but I did do the rest of the stuff to get here. Like trying to stop being scared of EVERYTHING, all at once. Tonight I wrote my work higher ups and explained myself as plainly and honestly as I could about my experience of the last week. Tomorrow I will go to work and do my job and I will do it great, because I love it so much and care about making sexy-stuff that is important and actually represents people as they are, cos that is what sexiness is, reality.

Fear is such a mother fucker, it’s a bitch that has owned me far too much over the years and I’m done with it’s ugliness, the insecurities it causes and the ability it has to totally cripple me at times. I have been watching lots of films on youtube by Dodson and Ross and in one particular film, Betty Dodson said something that has resonated with me so strongly and has really helped me – ‘you have to make friends with fear, because it’s everywhere’.

I think it’s a more specific direction of my constant mantra at times like these: ‘Surrender’ – because fighting really just prolongs acceptance and you need to accept yourself and your experience in order to heal and grow and learn.

Yesterday and today there have been some epic convos, I am seriously a very, very lucky person to have a person that is so awesome. I can spew out the entire contents of my grey matter and together we talk and talk and talk and actually work out what the fuck is going on and what needs to happen to move forward. We’ve also agreed to a May, whole month, detox – together we are going to focus on making our diet and lifestyle what it needs to be – we also have an awesome friend we’re doing PT with, at our home, weekly now. I feel so grateful to have a relationship with a wonderful person, that I consider my equal, at the best of times, but at times where I am so frightened that I can’t get in the shower or call my work to tell them I can’t come in and he just does what needs to be done, quietly, calmly and with surety and never, ever judges me, it’s a reality check: I am blessed. So very and incredibly and totally blessed.

Without even needing to say a single word, he reminds me how our friendship, over the years has grown into something so beautiful it makes me ache. The love and mutual understanding we share *still* totally blows my mind. He reminds me of how we have our own little house that we have made into a wonderful home, our safe space, our haven away from the world. He reminds me of my darling niece, my family and what family really means to me, to us. He reminds me of all our totally amazeballs friends – so many friendships, spanning so many years, of people that are totally fucking incredible. He reminds me I have a job I love and enriches my life and my human experience and I also work with the ace-est people EVER.

He reminds me of how differently I am seen in his eyes, to how I hurt myself with my own twisted view. He also looks at me, with this look, that’s like I am so desired he may sort of burn up, or combust or something and it fucking rocks.

It’s time to stop be afraid and be awesome.

Over the past 6 or so months I have been experiencing significant lulls in my libido and occasional spikes back in the right direction…

Basically directly after I went off the pill in December I was rampantly horny for a few months, then my phsyical and mental health deteriorated and sex was the last thing on the cards…  I was just trying to keep it together so I wouldn’t have to be put on anti depressants.  I had managed to avoid them thus far in my life and wanted to try to keep it that way.  In the end I came to the decision if I kept feeling the way I was, I would need to, but all said and done, I made it through unmedicated.

Since going on the Nuvaring a few months ago I was hopeful my desire for sex would return.  I didn’t really talk to anyone about what was going on in any detail, I put it all down to hormones, mental state and the general physical discomfort I was experiencing.  I didn’t want to say what was happening to me out loud, because then it would be real.  As long as I kept it inside my head, it was just that, a thought inside my head – a concept rather than an actuality.

I consider myself a significantly sexual person, I have always thought about sex a lot, talked about everything to do with sex a lot, masturbated a lot and just generally felt aroused in my day to day life a lot.  There have been times where I have apparently emasculated my partners when my sex drive outstripped theirs.  These super-sexual tendencies are a big part of my identity and I’ve felt like an integral part of ‘me’ has been missing quite a bit over the last 6 months.

Seemingly this negative innertalk about libido and sex has begun to manifest a really ugly inner monologue.  I have an open dialogue with my partner and we have been discussing how, for various reasons, we didn’t seem to be having sex as often as we’d like and ‘lifestuff’ seemed to be taking too much of a priority.  Sex and intimacy is really important to us.  This conversation occured not so long ago and yet I wasn’t able to fully admit to the difficulties I have been experiencing with my lack of sexual response and arousal.

I am having trouble feeling aroused consistantly and also once aroused maintaining arousal.  In not saying anything, I am left with a nasty inner voice that kills the mood for me and I find myself repeating a mantra of ‘stay with him’ Human Traffic style.  Although I don’t have sexual issues about my mum being a prostitute, thank fuck.  So yeah, I’ve pretty much given myself a complex about feeling sexy and being able to stop my whirring brain when I’m actually there.

This all came out last night in bed, when I was frozen and in tears mid-foreplay because this horrible voice inside my head was saying all manner of fucked up things.  I cried a whole lot and told him about all the horribleness inside my head.  It was goddamn hard because I felt like I was hurting him, but once I had said everything inside my head, surprise surprise, I felt a fuck tonne better.  I articulated the way I felt about myself and my lack of libido, the way this nasty voice in my head worked and what was said and my fears that I was indeed, properly broken.  I was also able to tell him about some small, but ongoing issues I have with how our sexy-times go and ask for some extra help and attention because I’m struggling.

It was possibly one of the most difficult conversations I’d had, ever.  I have never been so vulnerable to another human being in all of my life.  He was amazing.  He was obviously finding the whole conversation difficult, but handled it with nothing but love and tenderness.  I cried and cried and cried and just clung to him for dear life and he held me and told me it was okay and we would work it out.  I can’t remember a time I was ever so useless…

I could just see that I had knocked him for six and even still, he had the prescence of mind to ask some questions so he could try to help me.

For a while after we lay together with full body contact.  It was late, we were tired and had work the next day.  I’d cried myself out and there was only one lamp on beside the bed.  Sleepiness was overcoming us and a genuine feeling of arousal was welling inside me.  I felt loved and desired and like nothing would ever be too difficult to talk to him about and I just wanted to be with him.  We had slow, tender sleepy sex and it was lovely.

I’m definitely more optimistic that I can fix myself and feel better.  I also know my partner will be there for me 100% of the way.

I was reading something online (I’ve stupidly forgotten where, what a genius!) and a somewhat off the cuff comment was made that you can’t be a beautiful, feminine Goddess and a filthy, submissive whore. One negates the other.

My immediate reaction was, why not?

I consider myself both and a hell of a lot of other things as well as those. Why does enjoyment of submissive sex exempt you from being able to feel like/be a Goddess? When I think of the characteristics I consider Goddess-like, the ability to trust and to be vulnerable are high on the list. I associate feeling like a Goddess with powerful, feminine energy. Does that mean when I want to be spanked and held down that I instantly become powerless or unfeminine? I find it’s quite the opposite really…

My underlying issue with the entire concept is that it pidgeon holes women based solely on a sex-act. Aside from anything else I significantly doubt anyone has the same kind of sex consistantly and why are we defining anyone by the way they like to fuck?

Why does female sexuality have to be broken down into an easily swallowed, 2 dimensional box? Not to mention once you’re in a certain ‘box’ you had damn well better stay put. There will be NO multifaceted or evolving sexual growth here, make your choices and make them well.

Do these notions exist because it’s easier to understand? Or is it because people are really that ignorant?

I honestly do not know, but it really, really bothers me.

I’ve come to realise that I’ve somehow ‘lost’ my awesome sluttiness. I tend to overthink and psych myself out completely these days.

It sucks.

On one hand the way I used to fuck without a second thought was not helpful nor wise and it often wasn’t very fun either. But I have definitely gone too far in the other direction. I’m too tied up in my inner monologue and there is an all pervasive doubt that whilst I’m fun to come onto, no one actually really wants to get it on with me, or it’ll ruin the friendship or I’ll somehow damage my relationship with my spunky man.

Even though, it is completely kosher for me to fuck ladies still, I worry all the same. It’s really stupid.

I am resolved to stop being so goddamn chickenshit. I’m totally buying into my own insecurities and fears, so much of which is tied up in my body issues. I hate admitting it, but those same old fat/ugly/unattractive goblins still sit on my back and whisper in my ears… More so of late, than usual and it’s obviously affecting me in more ways than I was aware.

There is a lovely, beautiful, sexy lady in my life and I let it known I dug her. She reciperacated and I still haven’t done ANYTHING about it, aside from a couple of neck nuzzles and a lingering kiss or two. She is a close girlfriend and I have the paranoia something fierce that I will break the awesomeness we share. I also feel frightened I wouldn’t be able to get her off… She has her own orgasmic issues and uses a very specific and powerful tool.

Wow. In rereading the above I think I’m sexually intimidated. Well this is a first… huh…

Although, we are going vibe shopping together very soon to try to find something else for her to use. Maybe when we return home, we shall consume wine and give the new toy/s a test run, so to speak. The idea of this scenerio is premium wank fodder, like seriously, I’m at my desk terrifically aware of a spreading hot, wet patch in my knickers.

Will I actually fucking follow through though? Can I relearn how to feel my way, rather than kill my passion with too much thinking…?

I certainly hope so. I am genuinely attracted to this woman. I love her as a friend and if we do connect sexually then we really could have a super-sweet time together. I know this. I want it.

*sends sms to make sex-shop date*

The way we all freak out so fucking hard about the most normal, banal and goddamn necessary bodily functions.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

Everyone sits on the toilet to pee and poo.  Like everyone, even the queen has to sit on the throne and crap you know!  Every woman has a menstrual cycle and bleeds (shock horror!).  If you’re not a woman personally, then your mum, sister, girlfriend and female friends bleed monthly.  Yes!  It’s true!

Why are we all so frightened and disgusted by the machinations of our earthly vehicles?  Especially with period stuff!?!

Seriously, that icky, inconvenient and ‘gross’ thing happens every month is the reason you’re physically here to even feel repulsed in the first place.  We’re so busy cramming poisoneous wads of cotton up our snatches to make our uterous shedding it’s lining as inconspicuous as possible that we don’t even stop to think what that blood means anymore.

This is going to make me sound like an epic crystal licking hippy, but that blood is life.

Life, in a literal menstrual stemcells will help scientists grow your legs back kind of way AND also, you know, engender you growing another human being inside you if that’s what you choose.

Or the fact that women contain the means to continue the growth of the human race and some may say menstrual blood is symbolic of life itself.

I guess why I get so jacked off though, is because of my own personal experiences.

I have no issues continuing my conversation with you from the toilet, pissing with the door open so we can still chat.  Or talking on the phone, you may hear the loo flush partway through…  I am hornier than thou when I’m just about to and whilst menstruating, I’m not shy to say so and persue gratification.  I’m also really interested in menstrual art, ritual and more recently becoming aware of the outrage so many direct towards period porn.

The reactions that I have garnered from many in regards to holding such views and practises have ranged from shock to down and out utter revulsion.

I think that’s really fucked up.  It also really makes my blood boil that so many feel absolutely justified to tell me precisely how ashamed I should be of my body and the wonderful things it does and in turn clearly illustrate this attitude is the societal norm.

Balls to that.  I do my best to feel nothing but love for all the sticky, squishy, fragrant, miraculous and bloody incredible things my body does.

You should give it a shot too.


Recently I had a girlfriend telling me she knew someone I had worked with in the past.  She was describing me to them as “busty, beautiful, brunette and just ooooooozes sex”…  This description was supposed to identify me to this person she knew.

I blushed.  Hard.  Bright, bright red.  Then giggled self consciously.

See.  In my head I am this ridiculous girl that is mega-silly and a little overweight… Mostly awkward, dorky and lovable in an uber dag kinda way.  My hair tends to fly off in a million different directions, my boobs are absurdly large and I just don’t see myself as this attractive, overtly sexual woman that she was describing.

But upon talking to my partner about my embarrassment at this description, he felt it was actually pretty bang on.

This is when I realise despite how incredibly far I have come, how much I have grown and changed as a person and a woman, I still have some pretty prevalent self image issues.  There are times I feel sexy as hell, I feel damn good and radiate that out into the world…  But it’s a been a long road to get to a place where that’s how I feel, even then it’s really not an always thing by any stretch.

For the most part and on an everyday basis I do feel good about myself.  I’m confident in myself and my abilities, yet in this particular instance I just couldn’t believe it was actually me my gf was describing…

And I want to think that’s me, I genuinely do and need to start doing things that help me believe it.  I think I’ve been so caught up in work, life, my partner, friends, catching up with family and being busy etc etc that some important self-love, reflection and emotional investment in myself hasn’t been occurring.

So, on my agenda for the coming colder weeks and months is more time to myself to do the things that make me feel good.  A lot of my weekday socialising was already getting a little much.  Between my pole course, getting a skating session in, seeing my partner and the upkeep of my home doing social activities is eating into time I should be investing in myself.  I spend all my weekends doing things and seeing people, so I don’t think it’s unreasonable to hold off on the midweek stuff at least for a little while.

Until myself and my partner head to the Blue Mountains in late August, midweek social activities are going to be kept to a minimum.

I will allow myself the time and space to skate and dance weekly, see my man, do my washing and grocery shopping, write and share within this space and a few other corners of the internet, masturbate languidly… sometimes all evening and at other times just do nothing at all.

Sounds pretty brilliant really.

For me, writing this blog is, at times, like treading a fine line.

I feel like I can’t post too frequently (or mostly) sexy pictures and hot fucking stories or my blog will arrive at a place where I will be subjugated or not ‘taken seriously’…  Sometimes I think this stuff is all in my head, but to be honest, on the whole I think that the aforementioned perception of me would be accurate if I didn’t have anything else to talk about here but sex and posting rude photos.

This kinda pisses me off.  It mostly pisses me off that I even consider this stuff full stop and that if I critically appraise myself then I very probably actually buy into this notion.  ‘If all I submit to a space is content that titilates I will not be respected or considered intelligent, I may be considered without personal morals or self respect… especially by other women’

Is this sort of perception genuinely real, or am I just supremely twitchy/paranoid about being judged negatively?  Well… if quite a number of people I know, good people, every day people, friends, aquaintances, family, folk from all over the world that I’ve talked to about this, those that I eavesdrop on, men and women of all cultural backgrounds, ethnicities and sexual orientations that I talk to and work with in my job are anything to judge by, then, yes, it is most certainly a common perception.

Putting shots of my pussy here, pimping adult sites I’m on and being proud and happy of the porn I’ve made, graphic descriptions of sex and my masturbation sessions…  admitting to aspirations of being fucked in the ass by a big hard cock, according to one rather righteous female, asserting the ‘feminist prerogative’ (cos there’s only one you know!) to me, “disempowers and subjugates women everywhere”.

You know what I say?  Fuck. That. Shit.

Anyone that tries to dictate to me, or to anyone else (let alone an entire gender, religion, class, sexual orientation etc etc) what you can and cannot derive pleasure, happiness or fulfilment from disempowers and subjugates the human race as a fucking whole.  By attempting to impose your personal sense of right and wrong as an absolute to me, you’ve just demonstrated your narrow mindedness and hyprocrisy to me so much so that I can gaurantee your sermon will most certainly fail to shame me, let alone actually change me.

So pull your head in, or better still, push it outside the square enough to acknowledge everyone needs to live their own truth and just because yours is right for you or the group you identify with, it’s not what *every* female, male, gay, straight, young, old, christian, catholic, jew, australian, american or WHATEVER needs, wants or will choose.

Now.  I am going to do my damndest to stop my perpetuation of the notion that my porn, fucks, body and desires need to be matched with non-sexual, serious, wordy and ‘intelligent’ musings in order for me to be considered a smart, well rounded, happy, proud, self respecting, feminist, empowered and worthwile woman.

/end rant.

Soooooo, heading to my guys place last night I decided to pop in some ‘surprises’ for him.  Firstly I do not recommend trying to insert Ben Wah balls whilst you’re stopped at the traffic lights (in a car of course).  The ones I have are pink unattached balls and I have only used them once before.

His place is approx 25 minutes drive, so once I push them inside me I kinda forget about them, but every now and then I become acutely aware of their presence.  It’s extremely nice and it’s also something quite naughty inside my head, at times whilst I’m eating dinner and packing dishes away I can’t help but emit some noise due to the little shocks of pleasure I get now and then.

We retire to bed, get naked and start feeling each other up with the intention of fucking.  I kneel up on the bed and say in my sexiest voice “I have a surprise for you” with my sexiest look  I attempt to produce one of the balls.

This is the point where it all goes horribly horribly wrong.  The first ball which I can easily reach just keeps slipping out of my fingers.  I lay down to try to get a better grip… no joy.  A feeling of creeping horror is overcoming me and by this point my man has realised something is just not right.

I divulge the fact there are pink spherical obstructions inside my vagina and try to calm down.  He offers help, I accept and after much rather uncomfortable digging around in my vagina he fails to produce a ball.  Fighting a tide of now swiftly rising terror, I get off the bed and heavily jump up and down on the spot trying to move the ball down closer to the entrance of my vagina.

I reach down and wrangle out one of the balls.  I am only halfway to relief though.  There is still one ball inside me.  I try to remove it, same deal it just slides out of my fingers.  I begin to see just how ridiculous and hilarious this situation is.  There is laughter.

I eventually just go to the bathroom and pee.  Sitting over the toilet afterwards is how I get the second ball out…  I think I just needed to relax.

Back in the bedroom we have a giggle, I thrown the balls in the bin and we crawl into bed to still have sex, although it’s a surprise either of us felt like it after that little escapade.

I can’t help but laugh at my epic sexy fail.  It’s just too funny not to.

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