As a single lady who has lived in a big city for years, and now moved to a new one, I’ve had my fare share of one-night stands. I’d never call myself someone who makes a romantic life out of having a lot of random sex. In fact, my heart stands more on the traditional side where I look for sex after the relationship connection, knowing I usually wind up hurt in casual flings and that I actually disdain the thought of adding another one-nighter to my “list.” Keep reading »
When I first set out to write about swinging for an article about the lifestyle, the last thing I expected was to find myself nodding when a slim, curly-haired brunette asks if she may take off my panties. It’s a windy Friday night and I’m in a cozy, apartment-style swing club in Midtown Manhattan, my short, cherry-red dress folded down to my waist — all in the name of research, of course. The bartender, a curvy blonde, leans over to kiss me. Keep reading »
I thought I’d had “rough sex” before; I’d been spanked on my butt plenty of times, had my hair pulled, even been caned once while strung up with my hands over my head. That hurt, and I cried, and I liked it, because I’m submissive like that, but it was just a one-time thing. I’d had plenty of encounters with talking dirty, spinning all sorts of nasty fantasies, where, most of the time, I was on the receiving end of some very hot epithets. But I’d never wanted to be choked until I got together with the guy I’m dating now. Keep reading »
My first spanking was at my 16th birthday party. My guy friends tackled me on the kitchen floor and took turns giving me 16 spanks. And maybe one for good luck. I don’t remember. Once freed, I was livid. I was mortified.
And I was totally turned on. Keep reading »
It began with my high school English teacher. I was 15 and shy; he was 30 and moonlighted as a poet. He also cursed in class, horsed around with his students, and (despite his age) still had jet black hair. I got nervous and sweaty whenever we interacted, and my childish crush raged until high school ended. I visited him while I was home for winter break, but when he mispronounced my name and forgot which university I attended, my puppy love subsided. Keep reading »
“So when can we meet him?”
This is a question that most women long to hear from their friends after dating a great guy for a couple of weeks. It is the last thing you want to hear, however, when your current beau is unattractive. Alright, I am sugarcoating it — this guy was ugly. Now, please hold your judgment; I have always prided myself on being able to look past a pretty face and see a man’s inner hotness. Keep reading »