Sexuality Happens

I am a feminist. And I shave my vulva.

First of all, let me clarify something. No, I do not shave my vagina. I do not know anyone that does. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever, in fact, shaved their vagina. Because vaginas don’t have hair. It’s that simple.

I shave my mons, and my labia majora, and if I’m feeling particularly ambitious (and I rarely am), I shave my perineum.

I do not do it for any man. Strike that, I do not do it for anyone other than myself.

You CAN be a feminist, and shave. Simple; if you want to do it, and are doing it for yourself, and not because someone told you to, asked you to, told you it’s what you’re supposed to do, then poof — you too can be a feminist who shaves below the belly button, and above the knee caps.

I love the way it feels; both the actually shaving, and for the next two-three days. I like to rub my finger tips over it gently, run my palm over it more roughly. It feels amazing on my vulva, and also on my hand.

After a few days, it starts growing out again significantly, but until then, I touch myself all the damn time. It gets awkward.

I like the way it feels when I use my vibrator on myself, the way it slides over me so easily. I like the way my partners’ fingers lightly touching it make me buck up into them. I like the feeling of their tongues on my outer lips and mons before they slip inside to find my clit.

I like the way it looks. I don’t think it makes me look like a little girl; it would take a LOT to make me look like a little girl. A lack of hair isn’t gonna make that happen. I like the way it looks when I wear see through underwear…or no underwear at all.

Key word here: I/ I like, I love, I shave. I don’t do it for society, for anyone who will or will not be seeing it. I do it for me. Sometimes, I shave everytime I shower, and sometimes, I do it a few times a month…depends on what I want.

Please note: I am not against hair, on myself, or anyone else. In fact, I’ve definitely enjoyed running my fingers through pubic hair, gently, or sometimes pulling it a little. I like running the pads of my fingertips over its coarseness. I like having it tickle my nose as I go down on my partners. I do like hair. I also have liked my partners that shaved. I liked their scent being right there, the smoothness against my cheeks and tongue, the visual.

I am not for or against shaving for anyone. I think that a (note: I said “a,” not “the.” This is because there are MANY ways to be a feminist!) feminist way to approach shaving is to let people do what they’d like to do. Keep it all, shave it all, dye it, decorate it, create stripes. Telling people not to shave because that is a way that men control women…is therefore in essence controlling women.

I’ve had a lot of partners tell me I’m the first person that they’ve been with who shaved. I always get nervous when they say this…will this be the beginning of a lecture of “you’re clearly not a feminist because you shave” spiel? Or, are they going to start talking about shaving as a fetish, and ask to shave me (there are VERY few people who I’d let near my vulva with a razor)? Does it both them? Interest them?

Usually, it’s just an off hand remark…like me saying “oh, you’re the first person I’ve been with who has ____ pierced/breasts bigger than me/gotten me off without their mouth or a vibe.” It’s just something to say. But I’ve been so trained, by other “feminists,” to be nervous about that opening line that I hold my breath, just waiting to see what is going to come next….

And before you ask; no, I don’t get razor burn, or rashes, or anything itchy or painful, or I wouldn’t do it. I don’t do things that don’t feel good (unless they’re supposed to not feel good, and then kind of do…but that’s a whole different genre).

Cutting it close,

-Essin’ Em

I love hot tubs. I do. It may even be a fetish of sorts. I’ve never met a hot tub I didn’t go into. This is not to say I’ve liked being in all of them, but I’ve at least given them a try. In fitness clubs, at people’s houses, at hotels (even if it’s 100 degrees outside). I love them.

When I was 14 or 15, I discovered, while on a family trip to New Mexico, and enjoying the hotel hot tub, that those snazzy little jets that feel so good on your back? Yeah, they feel even better on your clit. I was hooked. Hot tub orgasms feel incredible. And also indulge my love for a little exhibitionism here and there, so it’s two for the price of one!

Not every hot tub presents this opportunity. The one in the women’s locker room at my gym in Southampton? Yeah. Not so much. I don’t think all of the naked Russian ladies running around would have appreciated my use of their hot tub…although they did mostly frequent the sauna and steam room. The hot tub at Dinah Shore, with all the couples making out and groping in it? Not so much…it would have been too creepy, the only solo one there. Actually, there is one hot tub I opted not to go into; it was at the local swinger’s sex club, and I wasn’t sure how much semen was in it, so I decided not to give it a go. Too bad; I feel like an orgasm in it would have been quite accepted.

Over my road trip from PA to CO, I got to check out three different hot tubs in different cities. I felt like Goldilocks.

In city number 1, the hot tub was HUGE, and incredibly deep. Even when I sat in it, the water went above my chin. The first problem? It was only luke warm. A luke warm tub, is not, as it should be clear, a hot tub. Second problem? The pool next to it, and eventually the tub itself, were occupied by a traveling family…with 4 kids. And biggest issue with this hot tube? It kinda sorta had bubbles, but they weren’t the jets that came out from behind your back, so while I could feel them tickling my body, and getting me nice and turned on, I prowled the entired tub trying to find their source, and came up empty handed. Hot tub in city 1 was a bust.

The hot tub in city 2 looked more promising. Before I even put on my suit, I felt the water. HOT. Perfect. I like to be almost scalded while soaking. I ran upstairs, slipped into my suit (which displayed my bruises quite center stage), and ran back down. I turned the bubble knob…and alas…no bubbles. It was perfectly hot, heating my body through and through, making me hotter and hornier, but I had nothing to get me off. I texted my friends complaining about being bored and alone in a hot tub, but no one offered any solutions. Le sigh.

My last night, I wasn’t expecting much. I went down and felt the tub. Hot. A flicker of hope lit inside me. I turned the bubble knob. They began working full strength. Fabulous! Better yet, I was the only one there. I had found the hot tub that was juuuuust right!

I jetted to my room, and suited up. I had 20 minutes before they closed the pool area — I would be cutting it close. Turing the knob to the full time, I slid into the tub, reveling in the warmth, and letting the jets caress my body.

After a few minutes of soaking and relaxing, I went straight to the jets. Now, I have bad knees. I can’t really kneel. However, this was worth it, plus the water made my body lighter. Kneeling on the bench in the tub, I spread my legs, and lowered my clit in front of the jet.

Perfect; this was the right velocity, and size, and I could actually reach it while in a semi-normal position. I looked around…I didn’t see any video cameras, but nowdays, that doesn’t mean anything (plus, I wasn’t wearing my glasses). I faced myself towards the door, so I’d have fair warning, and folded my arms on top of the cement edge, pushing my breasts and straining nipples into the cold, rough concrete.

A few minutes of this, and I was getting close. I needed direct stimulation. Reaching down, I pulled the underwater part of my swimsuit aside, and slid back in front of the jet.

Holy. Mother. Of. Wow. I need my own hot tub. The jets felt like a souped up Hitachi (if you can imagine that). God. It was all I could do to keep a straight face as I looked at the door, willing the hotel staff to wait until after I’d come to make an appearance.

I got closer and closer to the edge, as I slid my legs futher and further apart, until it was directly on me. I imagined someone coming up behind me, reaching around to grab my breasts, pushing me closer to the wall, and further down onto the jet, not letting me move, forcing me to come and come again.

And then I came. I was quiet, as I can be, but I’m sure I made a face or two. And with my legs spread so far apart, I couldn’t close them, and I came again. And then again. I was debating another when the glass door across from me opened. It was the front desk lady, here to lock up.

Quickly, I slid off the bench, making it look like I was already in the process of getting up. Great timing; if it had been a minute earlier, I would have been annoyed and frustrated. As I walked out of the hot tub, I looked behind me. Fuck. I hadn’t realized about the giant window that looked into the parking lot shared by the 24-hour laundomat, and Burger King. Oh well, I hope at least someone enjoyed the show.

As I lay in bed an hour or so later, my quads hurt from being stretched like that, and my cunt was still throbbing. Totally worth it, although I’m very glad I wasn’t kicked out of the hotel (poor kitties). I need to find someone with a hot tub, and stat.

-Essin’ Em

Note: I am aware that you shouldn’t get air forced up into the vagina. Hence, using the jets on my clit :)

Funny story. I hooked up with this bio guy back in the day, and I then found out that we was a friend of my middle school friend (well, of her boyfriend). And now middle school friend and I are chatting more, and hope to hang out lots in Denver (and she writes a sex blog;(un)scripted sexuality). And she’s dating/fucking/seeing him now. She asked if I’d ever written about him on here.

And I realized I hadn’t. For a plethora of reasons, but mainly because it wasn’t ever a bad experience. He didn’t stalk me, he didn’t cut me out of his life, he didn’t start saying horribly chauvinistic things and tell me he didn’t believe that sexual assault exists, he didn’t tell people that I tried to seduce him into having PIV intercourse, none of the above. He didn’t assault me.

In fact, he was the first person to make me feel attractive, to actually feel like someone thought I was pretty/sexy/etc, instead of just interesting, eclectic, etc.

People don’t usually tell me I’m pretty. They say stuff like “wow, you have beautiful skin,” “your eyes are very intriguing,” “your hair color compliments your personality.” Even people I am naked in front of, and/or fuck; “Your eyes really make these photos pop,” “god, I love the things your fingers do inside me,” “I think your tattoos are perfectly matched to you,” and “I like your hair long; I can grab it better.” That’s if they say anything about my looks.

Now, I know looks aren’t everything. Clearly. If someone only complimented me on my looks, and wasn’t able to hold an intelligent/interesting conversation, I’d be out of there before you can say “so like, you’re totally hot.” Conversely, it’s nice to hear, at least occasionally, that someone finds you attractive/pretty/beautiful/sexy.

The other day, a roller girl from a different league and I struck up a conversation at an after party. We’d chatted before after May’s bout, and I’d heard a rumor that she was queer…plus, I’d given her a lap dance at the last party, so the very least I could do was have a decent conversation with her.

We talked for a little bit, mostly about she’d been really drunk last time, and might have said some things that were awkward. Then she said “you know, I saw you earlier today, and thought “wow, you’re really pretty. I mean, I don’t think you were ugly before, but I guess I didn’t realize that you’re actually very pretty. Striking, actually.”

Well, I guess it’s always better to be found prettier by someone when they’re sober, than prettier when they’re drunk. And it was a nice compliment. Someone found me pretty, yay. I just didn’t know how to take it.

Back to said boy. I was reading over Sasha’s post about how he makes her feel good, and it struck a note with me, so I decided to read over my old and angsty personal blog posts that involved him. It was complicated, everything about liking him. Firstly, he had been dating someone I knew…and he wasn’t really my type. But regardless, I liked him, a lot. And tried to convince myself that I didn’t:

And I said into the silence “ENOUGH.” And I didn’t cry. And I wasn’t angry. I just gave up. And I will always find him attractive. And I hope we will continue our friendship and good conversations. But there’s nothing else I can do.

But then, I wound up giving him a ride someone’s house one night, with flakes of snow falling.

We get to the house. He gets out, says I don’t need to wait for him, and shuts the door. Then he opens the door. Does the *hi, I’m opening my mouth like I’m going to say something but nothing comes out* move, and shuts the door. Then he opens the door again, and says “never mind”, to which I say “just bloody say it already”. He goes on a monologue about lines, and drawing lines, and friendship, etc, and then says “tell me if this is crossing the line, but do you find me attractive.” to which I say yes. He says “what?” and I say “yes.”

NO ONE calls me sexy. Cute, cuddly, adorable, motherly, caring, etc, YES. Sexy, NO.

I still remember the moment. I remember the shirt I was wearing (low cut…of course). I was wearing jeans. I remember what the street looked like; I could probably drive you there tomorrow if I had to. I don’t remember lots of things about people I’ve hooked up with…I don’t remember what the prospie was wearing, I don’t remember the asshole’s sheets, I don’t remember if the derby girl ever put her fingers inside me. Hell, I don’t even remember that much in great detail about our hook up (although I remember more, now that I’ve read back through my private posts from that time). However, I remember that moment as if it was a photograph, simply because it had never happened before. I didn’t think anything would come of it, I didn’t have any underlying motives or plans to seduce him, I was just so stunned at being told I was sexy, and that moment imprinted itself on my brain.

We did hook up. It involved coffee and a sex store, and a walk through downtown after midnight enjoying the lights leftover from the holidays. It involved me repeatedly asking if he was ok with it, making sure he was sure, and convincing him that yes, I really did want to suck his cock, yes, even if he’d already jacked off twice that day and might not come, and yes, even if he hadn’t shaved. It involved me shivering, and him covering me, and him going back and forth between “this was a one time deal because ____” and “next time we do this, _____.” I wound up tired and emotional…

It takes a little time, but he comes. And he even kisses me afterwards. And we get water, and come back and lie in bed. And he starts talking. Which is a bad plan. Because I kind of end up in tears, not on purpose…and I stop. But it’s a combo of both “this is a one night thing” and him repeatedly saying “next time”. And I just can’t handle this. And he’s so nice. Covering me up, getting water, telling me not to leave yet. And he touched my face, and my hair. And it was so nice.

Ok. Now, years later, I realize that putting the covers over me, kissing me after oral sex, being nice enough to get me water, touching my face and stroking my hair…these are all things that *should* happen in healthy sexual interactions (if you want them, of course). However, up until this point in my life (and after it as well, come to think of it), I’d never been told I was pretty/sexy/beautiful by anyone I was sexually active with, I’d never had anyone stroke my hair, or lightly touch my face, or offer me water. Now that I write these things, I realize that (as of late), both C and K did these kind of things, and maybe that’s one more reason I enjoyed them so much, because I knew that they held me in some regard, cared enough to touch me, hold me, take care of me to some extent.

But that had never happened before, and here was this guy, not only telling me I was sexy, but being a good person. I felt like a princess. In hindsight, I wonder if I would have felt the same way had I been in similarly healthy situations before this situation. I might never know.

So I totally understand what Sasha means about being made to feel special, and then realizing that maybe she should have gotten to feel this in other relationships (but didn’t get to). I understand that allure he has. I remember how it felt to be told I was sexy for the first time.

I wish people would tell me it more often (no, this is not a fish for compliments. there is not need to fill up the comment section with “but you ARE sexy!” posts). I like being appreciated for my brains, for my skin, for my breasts, for my eyes, for my sense of humor…but isn’t all of these things together that make a person sexy, pretty, attractive? I wish people wouldn’t always dissect me, turn me into parts. I wish I could just be fucking sexy sometimes, or beautiful, or pretty, or gorgeous, or pick your word, and it just be that. And with him, it was. And it was good.

The end.

-Essin’ Em

I’ve made it to Colorado alive! So have my kitties! And I didn’t even maim my sister! Hurray!

And now, sleep.

And then finding a job, an apartment, and someone to fuck. It doesn’t have to be in that order.

-Essin’ Em

I’ve made it to Colorado alive! So have my kitties! And I didn’t even maim my sister! Hurray!

And now, sleep.

And then finding a job, an apartment, and someone to fuck. It doesn’t have to be in that order.

-Essin’ Em

I was at a party the other night, and as it got into full swing, we wound up playing “King’s Cup,” which is a drinking game (nevermind that I was drinking cranberry juices)

One of the cards meant that you had to say an “I never” and then anyone that had done it had to drink. This fell on my not once, not twice, but three times. Now, I’m sure I could have said something like “I’ve never owned a dog,” but the point of the game is to deal in naughtiness and doing things that are unconventional, so “I nevers” are usually about sex, drugs, drinking, etc. Someone had already done the “I’ve never done any hard drugs,” which is my fall to, and so I had to think.

I’ve done a lot of things sexually (although I didn’t realize until later in hind site that I was sitting in a room with lots of lesbians, and I was too tired to use “I’ve never been on either end of strap-on sex.” Good job me.), and while I could have said something like “I’ve never been hung in full suspension,” the likelihood of anyone else there having done that was beyond slim to none. So I sat, and thought, and gave up, and said “I’ve never performed a rusty trombone.”

Not only had no one there done it, but they didn’t even know what it was (for your readers who don’t; performing analingus and reaching around and giving them a hand job at the same time, like playing a trombone…). Fine. Oh well.

Then it came to me again. This time, I’d been thinking about it. Ok, group full of women (two men), fisting was a likelihood, right? “I’ve never been fisted.” Dead silence. Thank god one woman said “I’m more into putting my hand into people,” so I didn’t feel like a complete and utter pervert (as compared to your average, run of the mill pervert, which I am). More silence, and then the game moved on.

The third time I got that card, I was at a loss. I asked for help; “what haven’t I don’t that at least some of you have?”

One woman, someone who has a Master’s from my program, and is working on her doctorate said “say something about fellatio.”

I looked at her blankly. “What?”

She was drunk. Yes. But I don’t believe in intoxication as an excuse. “Say something I never about fellatio.”

I was floored.

Firstly, she knew I’d been with bio cocks before, and that I had given blow jobs; we’d talked about it. In fact, I believe I mentioned at some point that I was surprised to have been told (multiple times) that it was the best blow job they’d ever gotten. So I wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to say about “fellatio.” I’d done it on bio and on silicone cocks, I didn’t regret it on bio or silicone cocks, and I enjoyed doing it, I’d swallowed, I’d used a condom, I’d been forced, I’d done them by choice. What was I supposed to say?

Secondly, even if I had always (as long as I knew her) identified as a hardcore dyke (gold star lesbian even), why would anyone, particularly someone in a Human Sexuality Education program make assumptions about someone’s behaviors. We talk ALL THE TIME about OBI; orientation, behavior and identity. That your orientation might be attraction towards men, your behavior might be equal male and female partners, and your identity might be a staunch lesbian. That’s why you always ask. never assume. And here she was, assuming that I had an “I never” about fellatio.

I made up another, and we kept going around. I didn’t feel like starting a scene; I was leaving in 10 days.

Then it got worse. The guy next to me (who was in a relationship with another woman at the party) got the “I never” card. He stopped to think for a second, and couldn’t come up with anything. From the same woman, I heard “Say ‘I’ve never sucked cock.’”

Oh god. Was I going to have to pull her aside and give her a conversation about assumptions and cultural competency? What if this guy had sucked cock? Or another guy at the party had, and now felt judged, because he happened to be there with a female? All these thoughts were tearing through my head, and then without missing a beat, he said “Oh, but I have.” I could have kissed him.

Now, I don’t know if he actually had, or if he was just saying it to point out the incredible stupidity of that statement. It doesn’t matter. He said it. And I love him for it.

So let this be a lesson, to all of us, that we should not make assumptions about people’s orientations, behaviors, identities, etc. If someone tells you “I have never sucked cock,” fine, you can then make the assumption that they haven’t (it’s still an assumption, because you never know if they actually have). If someone tells you “I am a lesbian,” then yes, they are a lesbian, but you don’t know what their behavior is or has been. Stop making assumptions and start making conversation; you’ll get a lot more out of it!

Wendy Blackheart is having a blogiversary contest, and I entered a super short story involving spanking and teh hot gay buttsechs. You should vote for my story, because while the other entry is also sexy, I WROTE GAY EROTICA. Which for me, is ridiculous. I even had semen. Squirting and dripping down the wood of the table. So ergo, I deserve to win :)

Vote for me!

-Essin’ Em

Thanks to everyone for voting me into the top 3 again!
-Essin’ Em

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #138? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

I can only be what I am.

“It’s strangely refreshing, to really submit and give up that control, and not have to make decisions.”

Over the Edge

“He tells me to hold still, in that soft, controlling voice of his.”

A Story Told Out of Order and Out of Character – Part 4

“You thought you could just come to my room and tease me?”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice

A former slut examined

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

2 Naked filthy bitches spanked, caned and fucked!

Beautiful Smile

Bedroom Radio #17: Pure Pleasure and i-Lube plus Listener Feedback

Free Euro Blonde Adult Chat Video

Gotta turn the naughty on -HNT

Half-Nekkid Fun With Mirrors

Happy HNT!

Mz. Berlin Has Never Looked Hotter Than She Does In This Collar

Mz Berlin, Satine Phoenix, and Hot Wax

Natasha – I want your sex

The Outfit Kris Picked

(Pic) fun at glory hole

Ron Jeremy sticks dirty fingers in her pussy

Sex Advice

Fundamentals of Edging for Newly Chronic Masturbators

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews

My favorite shower: A Review

Pirate porn review

Puffy Leather Hood

Review: Cascade Wand

TES Fest 2008 – Celebrating the Red, White (Black) & Blue in Style!

Sex Work

Captain’s Log: Moondancing With Adam Duritz And The Dirtiest Girl In Porn (Yikes!)

Funny email

Happiness Through Porn

Princess Pussy Whipped!!

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Are You a Pickup Artist?

The cable guy, the guest and Me

Doing it DOGGY STYLLEEE……arf arf

From Tomboys To Fab Femme Girls-Talkes From Toronto, Part 1

How to Enjoy the Single (And Non-Dating) Life

I Think I Have A Crush on Lochai

The Other Woman’s Other Men

To be a woman

Sex Humor

It DOES all sound the same!

“My first time” in a men’s world

Erotic Writing and Experiences

The ___ ___ war

Anal Sex from a Female Perspective

Content

Let’s talk semantics

More Mayo!

Once Upon a Time. Confession #70

Professor of Sexual Education

Public sex

Sex, The Heart, and, The Body, Electric

Totally Tuesday

Sex & Politics

Are dominants really just chauvinistic, anti-feminists?

Believing the Victim

A Straight Woman Is Just a Sober Bisexual

BDSM & Fetish

Bath time spanking

Captive in the jungle

Catalina Loves Topping A Couple With Her Master

The Evolution of My Slut – An Update And A Chat With r

Fetish Friday – Watersports

i am my Master’s slut

Jude

The Lilith Obsession, Part the Second

A minor adjustment and an end to the torment (for now)

The Perfect Cure for Grumpyness

A sexual dream

Sgt. Major makes Claire Adams Submit and Cum on Backdoor Bondage

Twenty Questions #6: Dominate or Be Dominated?

Wild Weekend: Day 3

One friend of mine has a fantasy (nay, a goal), of finding someone who will let him break a finger (of theirs) in a negotiated scene. This kind of creeps me out, and I feel this tightening of my stomach, almost nauseous.

Another friend of mine has a fantasy (nay, a goal) of giving someone a blow job with fish eggs (like salmon roe) in her mouth. I feel the same creepiness, and the same nauseated feeling.

Friend one agrees with me, and thinks the fish egg thing is creepy and gross. However, of course he isn’t a little put off by the consensual finger breaking, because hell, it’s what HE wants to do.

Friend two agrees with me, and thinks that finger breaking might be taking it a little too far, even though she’s all about kink. However, she’s told me that my reaction to the fish eggs is just because I’m a vegetarian, and nothing else.

In the mean time, I hear “fish eggs/roe,” and visualize a bone snapping, or hear “fingerbreaking,” and have a picture of the little orange salmon eggs running before my eyes.

So, a quick and dirty poll:

A – Wanting to CONSENSUALLY break someone’s finger is creepy; fish egg blow job isn’t.

B – Eww, fish egg blow job is just gross, but nothing is weird about wanting to break someone’s finger!

C – They are both creepy, each in their own little way.

D – Neither is creepy, you radical Freudian you. Accept what they like, and leave it at that.

E – I have another answer, and will explain it.

Feel free to elaborate on any of your answers!

In side news, I’m on day 3 of a 4.5 day road trip with two cats and my sister to Colorado.

Best convo from Thursday:

Sister: What did you mean by vanilla, chocolate, or caramel?
Me: Packers.
Sister: huh?
Me: Packing dildos.
*pause*
Sister: Like packing peanuts???

There was also the most intense and amazing thunderstorm I’d ever seen. Ever. In Columbus on Wednesday night. Pouring rain (monsoon style), never a second without thunder or lightening, flashes lighting up the entire sky, the crashes of thunder sounding like bombs going off. There were even tornado warning sirens blaring for an hour or so, but could barely be heard over the heavy rain and thunder. Sigh. I love thunderstorms. Chalk that up to my “Sex I Want to Have” list (that’s sex DURING a thunderstorm, NOT *in* a thunderstorm).

And so we keep on keeping on. 2 more days. Kitties are doing well. Life isn’t to horrible….yet.

-Essin’ Em

Because I’ll always be a derby girl at heart (even though I’m only reffing now, and don’t know what I’ll wind up doing in CO), I wear cute underwear under my skirt when I go rollerskating. K.W. was kind enough to take this picture after I took her for a spin around my local rink, even though the poor thing got a swollen thumb, a bruised knee and a torn up elbow. She is hard core.

I think I may have a bit of a lingerie obsession. In my life, no one really sees it. I live alone, I don’t have a partner of any sorts (just hook ups and one nighters), so it’s just me and the kitties. However, in addition to smiley face underwear, I have a variety of negligees (cotton, lace, satin, leopard print, black, red, polka dot, etc), bustiers (one is actually from my mother, and one is the one in my pin up pics, from Jerry!), stockings (not so many of those, actually), cute bras (damn it, big girls with big boobs like cute bras too!), and tons and tons of cute underwear. I have some of almost all material, and some cute ones, practical ones, sexy ones, and amusing ones (one with a zipper with a bell on it, one with a whistle, etc). I really freaking love underwear and all the accessories that go with it. I wish I could show it off to people more often, because it’s so cute..it’s kind of sad that the only ones who get to see it are me, Kinsey and Athena.

At least this blog gives me a place to show off a little more of it than without it. So enjoy the smiley face. Today, I should be driving through Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. Oh boy!

Much love from the road,

-Essin’ Em