Sexuality Happens

Archive for April, 2009

Different HNT

April 30th, 2009 | Category: HNT, linkage, pictures

Credit: Half Moon Photography

This is from a shoot I had in February, that I just got the pictures back from. I’m not sure if I really like this picture, but I look very different in it than I do in the majority of my shoots (and even in the rest of this shoot), so I thought I’d share.

I don’t have too much to share on this one. No deep thoughts or anything like that.  Just a different kind o’ picture.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday to one and all!

-Essin’ Em

12 comments

Pleasurists #26

April 29th, 2009 | Category: linkage, review, toys

 

unknownaop

From art-or-pornvia img-2006-10.photosight.ru

 

Pleasurists #26 marks six months of Pleasurists weekly round-ups!

Pleasurists is your round-up of the adult product reviews that came out in the last seven days from bloggers all around the sex blogosphere. Did you miss Pleasurists #25? Read it all here. Do you have a review for Pleasurists #27? Submit it here before Sunday April 26th at 11:59pm PST. Please re-post this list on your own blog if listed.

Want to win some free swag? All you’ve got to do is enter.

Madame Editrix

Scarlet Lotus St.Syr

On to the reviews…

Editor’s Pick

  • An Open Letter to my Fleshlight: Ice Butt Fleshlight by Jake Holden

    • Since I’ve got to know you so deeply I’ve come (literally) to see past (literally) your slightly gimmicky clear case, and I’ve seen the real you; the so open, so accepting, and so soft moulded gel insert whose embrace I could never grow tired of – especially when it’s been submerged in hot tap water and coated with my favourite lube.

    Editor’s Note: Though technically this review went up quite some time ago, but it was submitted with a note recognizing that and asking for it to be included anyway. I’m not super strict on the posting rules as long as people aren’t giving me twenty reviews from the last few months to put in the issue, but I digress. I thought The review was so well done and quite unique so I not only had to include it but I had to highlight it for you all to read as well!

Vibrators

Dildos

Toys for Cocks

Lube & etc.

BDSM/Fetish

Adult Books

Adult Movies/Porn

Miscellaneous

No comments

Soul Sucking

April 28th, 2009 | Category: News in my life, Rant, Real life stories, Thoughts, sick, trust

This job is sucking my soul away.

I find myself being highly emotional, tearing up all the time. My sex drive has greatly diminished. I walked into my favorite cupcake shop the other day, stood in line for 5 or 6 minutes, and then decided I didn’t want a cupcake. I’m rarely using my hot tub, something I used to love. I didn’t go to the after party for my last roller derby bout, and have considered taking a break from the league, even though I’ve been involved in derby for almost three years. I’m actually sleeping…as in if I don’t make plans to actually do things with people, I spend my time in bed, trying to sleep in between working.

I apologize if my posts haven’t been as exciting and fun and all of that lately, but as many (now a total of 7) of my friends have pointed out to be that I am depressed, or that my mental health isn’t up to snuff.

As much as I hate to admit it, to myself and to them, they’re right. I haven’t felt this all over icky since I went through an intense bout of depression in college.  I don’t know the solution; I KNOW it’s caused by my job situation, my money situation, and my mother.  My job is literally my own personal hell.  The only thing that I can think of that would make it worse would be the same job out in the sun where I got burned. I’m working for minimum wage in a corporate, ageist, sexist, able-ist environment doing everything that hurts my knees and that I hate, and having to fight to even get more than 20 hours per week, which still won’t pay my rent.  I’m in debt.  Thousands of dollars of credit card debt, having never once carried a balance on ANY of my cards until last October…

So while I can’t pay for therapy, I don’t think it would even help that much. I KNOW I feel like a failure, I KNOW I have trouble talking to people about my issues, I KNOW it’s my current life situation. Other than continuing to try and apply for jobs, and hyper-schedule myself so I don’t let myself wallow in depression, I’m not sure what to do.  But I apologize in advance for my lack of exciting posts.  I still have a couple of great ones to write about Q (she let me cut her clothes off the other day! And she topped me…well!), and will get those up.  But otherwise, I can’t promise anything spicy.

As a side note, Q has been an amazing friend through this.  Often times, people I’m having sex with and not dating don’t understand the whole friendship thing…and she does.  Which I really appreciate – she’s been a great support to lean on. I even kind of sort of almost cried in front of her…a few times, which for me is a big sign of trust.

So I made it through the week of the anniversary of Columbine and my father’s death…now, just to get a job that doesn’t make me feel like I’m getting a Dementor’s Kiss.

-Essin’ Em

5 comments

My eccentricities

April 27th, 2009 | Category: News in my life, Real life stories, Thoughts, amusing, dating, non-monogamy, relationships

I am special.  I don’t mean that in the way people usually mean, the newer, more trendy way of making fun of those with cognitive disabilities (instead of saying the outwardly offensive “retarded”). No, I’m an acquired taste. Like licorice, people either really like me, or they really don’t.

My friends, my lovers, my partners, they slowly (or quickly) begin to learn about some of my…more quirky eccentricities.

I thought I’d share some of the ones I’ve thought of with you:

*When I am hitting/being hit (also spanked, etc), it has to be 100% even. I mean, if you hit my left side 10 times, you have to hit my right.  Same goes for more loving things. If I nibble one ear, I then have to nibble both. It HAS to be even. Like I will call red at a certain point if someone teases me by being completely uneven.

*Within 20 minutes after coming, everything I say gets a “get out of jail free pass.” Everything.

*In my house, I sleep on the right side of the bed. Always.

*When I go to the gym or anywhere with lockers, I have to get a locker with a magic number like 66, 99, 101, etc.  Even if it’s farther away or on the bottom.

*Right after I come, I need touch, and lots of it. If I’m on my back being fucked, I tend to grab onto my partner like a koala bear. I need lots of touch, and stat.

*I drink tea, not coffee. Ever. Although I do have a coffee pot for friends and partners who want to drink it.

*If I have to take the stairs, either up to down, I do it one leg at a time due to my knees.

*Post sex, Kinsey comes to spoon with us. Non-negotiable. 

*There are NO socks allowed in my bed. Ever. I’m anti-naked people with socks on, so I’ve had to make a rule.  Only exception (that I’ve never had to use) is cute knee socks.

*I kiss my hand and touch the ceiling when I go through a red light, regardless of who is driving.

*I CANNOT stand texting/typing the letter “u” instead of “you,” “r” instead of “are,” “2″ instead of “to” or “too” (it’s ok for “two”), etc.

*I am a scheduler/planner.  This was a HUGE issue with F, and it’s sometimes a slight frustration with Q.  I like to plan things in advance.  For example, I already have tickets to something August 22nd.  Ergo, I want to plan to get together with people a few days in advance. Most people in my age range are very fly by the seat of their pants. This drives me crazy, but I’m trying to learn how to deal with it.

I’m sure there are more, I just can’t think of them right now. If you know me in the real world, feel free to share.

-Essin’ Em

4 comments

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month

April 26th, 2009 | Category: News, Real life stories, Thoughts, linkage, relationships, sexual assault

I was just realizing that there hasn’t been nearly as much posting this year about April being Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  So I thought I’d just mention something before my least favorite month of the year draws to a close.

Some one you know is a survivor. Likely, many people.  You might not know that they are, but statistically, it’s pretty impossible to not know even one.  Depending on the study you read, 1 in 4 college women are survivors, and 1 in 17 men.

Here is one of the largest and best resources for survivors:

Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network.

There are tons and tons of local places; hot lines, shelters, organizations, hospitals, etc. Ask around, google, call RAINN, write me and I’ll figure one for you. You are NOT alone. Your friends, family, and loved ones are NOT alone. There is support there, regardless of your age, sex, gender, orientation, who assaulted you, when and where the assault occurred, etc.  You are never alone.

Here are my posts in the sexual assault category, and here is the story of my sexual assault.  Don’t feel the need to read any of them, but sometimes reading about others stories, and support, it will inspire you in a variety of ways.

Also…

Alix Olson is one of my favorite poets/spoken-word performers, and I was lucky enough to hear her perform at Take Back the Night at Colorado College in 2006. All of her words and lyrics are incredibly inspiring for a variety of reasons. I’d like to share some with you.

Warriors

The paper called me a warrior.
a bad girl. a bad example.
The paper said I smile big,
but I curse too much.
and it’s true. I do
Feel like a warrior just for making it through the day, sometimes
I feel like a fighter. Cause I fight
to keep the fighting away and, sometimes,
Walking down the street is a scientific experiment.
your body laid out, splayed out, just for them
to tamper with it.
But you know, I think it’s those with the scalpels
who are really the rats
They want to dissect your ass cause your brain won’t hold still for them
Under that slide marked:
’split and fill with bullshit’.
Y’know, my ass don’t fit under that glass
And my brain moves way too fast for that.
Cause if this is a movement we’re making,
we have got to get moving
In this crazy maze we’ve been handed, we’ve got to quit losing ourselves.
We gotta use our big fat mouths to talk,
We gotta use our big thick thighs to walk.
We got to follow those who choose
a different way to knock,
Those who banged with persistence
like the Audre Lordes, the Barbara Lees,
the Leslie Feinbergs, the June Jordans of my existence,
Who chose a different way to walk,
took a chance, didn’t prance, tiptoe,
twirl though this world.
You see, I refuse to slide past
Even if it means coming in last.
I’m gonna stomp and rage and kick,

talk hard, think thick,
Y’know, it don’t take a dick to have balls,
it don’t take balls to knock down the walls
Of this cheap joint.
You know, the point’s hard to find with all these
ground down passions.
But we’ve got a chance if we sharpen our visions
with our voices.
It’s a choice to make noise, it’s hard to be heard
They’ll toss you a muzzle wherever you go.
But baby, it’s the waves that let you know
the ocean’s alive.
So, we’ve gotta go deep.
Down past where your daddy found your key,
unlocked your knees
And took control
Past where your brother cruised your borders
like some kind of nightguard patrol,
Past where the babysitter stuck a pencil up inside you.
So many ways they get you to hide you
From the world, girl,
We gotta go deep
We gotta use our black and blues like a second skin,
Let our bruises thicken,
Then begin again.
We gotta get up when we’re pushed to the ground,
They aint gonna hear us if we’re screaming face down.
We gotta rise to double the size of our sound.
You know warriors are better
the second time around.

1 comment

Sex Toy Review: The Share

April 25th, 2009 | Category: amusing, linkage, queer, review, toys

Behold my child. Before thee, thou shalt see the Share by Fun Factory. Tis a double ended dildo, but nay, tis it not one made of phthalates, nor one that is shaped as though tis a straight javelin nor as thought twas a sword. Nay my child, this Share before you is actually designed with the body of human in mind, to go inside, and to go forth and fornicate (though without the intent of procreating).

I giveth forth my thanks to Babeland, for sending me such an implement to test and to review…in the biblical sense.

I’m sorry.  I started writing this during Passover, and it just stuck.

The Share is made by Fun Factory, and is made of 100% silicone (so no silicone lube, but it IS sterilizable/SHARE-able if you boil it, dishwash it on the top shelf with no soap, or wipe it down with a bleach solution). It comes in pink (ewwww), black (wish I’d been sent this one), or purple, which is the one I have.  It is the exactly same color purple as the Curve, if that helps anyone trying to match up their collections.

It’s actually a bit more solid than it looks, albeit it INCREDIBLY floppy compared to the Feeldoe or Nexus dildos. Like WOAH FUCK floppy. I was actually shocked the first time I saw one of these at the incredible floppiness. Now, some people like this better, as you can manipulate it in more positions than the other two…I decided to test it out.

Thought number one: Don’t lubricate it up if you can help it.  I lube it up before I put the bulbous, “fucker” end inside me. Now, I’ve been told that my vagina can crush walnuts (strong PS muscles), but this little bugger kept slipping out, even before I started to fuck Q with it. Add to that her relatively tight cunt, and I had so much trouble with the fuckage.  I mean, her end (the longer, “fuckee” end) would stay in her, and I’d pop off mine because it slid right out of me, or it would slide out of both of us. Oy.

I’ve been practicing with it on my own. Less lube = much more luck.  Also, maybe switching around and having her being the fucker, and me the fuckee might help.  It’s just as easy/smooth as it seems like it should be (but I had the same problem with the Nexus, so I might just have double ended dildo epic fail). I’d try it in a harness, but the Syd has two different holes in odd places so it doesn’t work, and the SpareParts Joque harness doesn’t have a through and through hole (even though it’s like the most comfortable harness EVERY!).  Ergo, the answer is I need to get Q a hot harness that works with the Share.

I will say that WHEN it worked, it was fun, it felt good (I really like the matte silicone more), and was a good toy. It’s just trying to have longer, more intense sex sessions with slidy-outy dildos didn’t work so well for us.

To get your own Share and Share the love, head on over to Babeland.

-Essin’ Em

2 comments

Light Me Up Right

April 24th, 2009 | Category: News in my life, Real life stories, Thoughts, submission, trust

I love fire play.

If I had to choose, I’d say my favorite sexual things are fire play, electricity play, knives/vampire gloves/wartenburg wheels, and orgasm control/forced orgasm. But fire? mmmm.

There is just something about having fire run all over you, or having designs created, and then lit on fire. It’s interesting, because so many people consider it “edge play” or “hardcore,” when I think that it is far less intense than a full caning scene. To me, fire is warm, and caring, and calming.

The other night at a play party, Ms. S introduced me to a guy who is mentoring under her in fire play.  I was kind of hesitant; I don’t play with many cisgender men in the scene (a few, but not many), and the ones I’ve played with are ones I’ve known for a while, etc. I was planning on just saying hi, and then scampering off.  But then he asked to light me on fire, and I mean, who am I to say no to that?  Especially because I’d been having such a god awful day, and fire always puts me in a better mood.

I took off everything but my underwear, and started out on my stomach (with a damp cloth over my hair, and a spotter with another damp cloth).  I was lit up, first with just wands o’ fire run over my body, then with designs made in rubbing alcohol that were lit ablaze, and then with hand sanitizer, and with spritzes of rubbing alcohol.  As he lit up my sides, it tickled a lot, and I laughed.  People were quite amused to see someone on fire laughing, but it really did tickle, and besides, we know how much I like laughing.

There were some good quotes from the fire session like “you do realize your nipples are on fire, right? Because if so, why the hell are you laughing?” and me saying “I’m a pop tart.” Everyone looked at me oddly. “Cause I like to be toasted!”

But after the tickling, and the laughing, and having my scene interrupted once (grrrr!), and having a very cute kitty/little girl stroking my arm, I started to slide into my space. It wasn’t really sub space, as I wasn’t really submitting to the guy who was lighting me up. I was just flying high.  

Fire relaxes me. It comforts me. And as I continued to be lit up (the scene lasted almost an hour – apparently, my skin can handle a lot of heat of the non-sun variety before it burns), I felt myself relaxing into it, like a massage almost. I felt some of my stress melt away. I became a puddle there on the table, a limp noodle as I lay back on my stomach and felt the fire on my shoulders, my back, my legs, even my feet. I was just mushy, lying there, breathing in deeply and calmly.

I like fire. Apparently, this makes sense since I’m a fire sign (however, I also really love water, so I don’t know what that has to do with it). It’s pretty, it makes me really horny, I like the smell of fire and matches and all of that. But what I like most about it is the effect is has on me.  I don’t go into these kind of tracey/mushy/gooey/limp noodle spaces for very many things…but light me up for a while, and it’s like I’m high on something. Being lit on fire in my version of being held and loved and cuddled and all that, rolled into one hot little scene.

Mmm. Fire.

Most excitingly, last week, I went to a fire play class, so that now I have the basics in order to light OTHER people on fire. I mean, nothing beats the feeling of being lit up, but I love fire, and am having fun learning to share it with others…I even have my own fire wands now.  Hopefully, Q will let me practice on her :)  Muahahah!

-Essin’ Em

1 comment

Superman: My Father

April 23rd, 2009 | Category: Family, News in my life, Real life stories, Thoughts, pictures, trust

I published this last year, and having tweaked it slightly, I’m publishing it again.  All of the feelings and sentiment remain the same.

 


I’m on the right :)

Today, April 23, 2009, is the 10th anniversary of the death of my father. He was one of the most amusing, inspiring, intelligent, wonderful people to ever grace the face of this earth, and that’s not just my biased view. You didn’t see the number of people at his funeral, the number of people who came out of the wood work to tell him goodbye and to tell us how much he had meant to them, the kind words written about him online by people all over the world, and so on. He was a great man.

When I was younger, I remember visiting him in the hospital in my Care Bear outfit (yes, I’ve been a nerd since a very young age). He had cancer (non-hodgkin’s lymphoma) and was occasionally hospitalized for pneumonia, or other infections. He went into remission in the early 90’s. Then, summer 1998, when we were in Europe, he started feeling off again. He was re-diagnosed at the end of the summer. My family didn’t tell me until Feb 1999, because they didn’t want to throw off my skating competition (WHAT THE FUCK) or worry my sister and I. But now I know why he cried at that competition when I put my first place medals around his neck and told him it was all his fault that I’d won. It’s a good thing they told us when they did – my dad ended up in the hospital the next week. It was a hard time – by dad was constantly in chemo, and was in and out of the hospital. I stopped doing my math homework; who carea about algebra when your father was sick? I spent every night after school either at rehearsal for my play, or with my dad at St. Joe’s, getting him ice chips, and joking around about the disgusting food.

At the end of March was my last show at Logan (my middle school). I had a starring role in “The Madwoman of Chillot,” but didn’t think my father in his weak state could go – 3 flights of stairs, and sitting in a folding chair for 3 hours just wasn’t going to happen. My school loved my dad though, and banded together. They were able to help him up the stairs, and put him in the tech directors special high backed rolling arm chair so that he could keep his neck upright (carried up those 3 flights). At the end of the show, they unrolled a banner signed by every single member of the cast and crew that said “We love you Sol!” and dedicated the show to him. By this point, he was bald (I called him Daddy Warbucks), and had lost more than 50 pounds. He was sunken in his chair, but had tears streaming down his face at this show of love. It was an amazing night, and the best performance of my life.

He started getting better, and was put on a list for a stem cell transplant. Every night before he went to bed, I told him how much I loved him…that’s just how we were. Until the morning of Friday, April 23, 1999, when I was woken up by my mother at 10am, which was odd, since it was a school day. She took me into my sister’s room, and told us that he had died in the night. She had woken up when he made a noise, and called 911, and tried to give him CPR, but it hadn’t worked. She was terrified that we would wake up with the ambulance’s sirens, and paramedics running through the house. We didn’t.

That day, I missed school, but they held an all school assembly in memory of my dad. I stayed home, cleaning up the house for the after funeral party. It snowed that day, a lot, given that it was April. I answered the door for the people coming by, took the flowers and arranged them. That night, I went to rehearsal for the ice show, because that’s what my father would have wanted, and I didn’t see any reason to not go.

Saturday, I went to the funeral home with my mother (Jews don’t believe in embalming, so funerals happen fast), and she was a wreck. I helped to plan my father’s funeral, to pick out his casket, to figure out how many police on motorcycles we needed.

We asked for the small, 75 person chapel at my temple. When we arrived on Sunday morning, they had already had to move it, because too many people had already shown up (which was unexpected – we didn’t even publish an obituary with a funeral time). By the time the service started, it was standing room only. I wore a black dress with one of my father’s Hawaii shirts over it. He wore a Hawaiian shirt every day – to work, to skating, to school, etc. So I wore one. I read a poem, and after the service, my mother, sister and I opened the casket, alone. He was wrapped in a traditional Jewish Shroud, but underneath, he was in his $6 goodwill tuxedo he had bought for the father daughter skate, a Hawaiian shirt, and his rainbow suspenders. I left a pig in there with him.

We underestimated how many cops we would need to get to the cemetery. It was ridiculous – we figured just a few friends would come along. Everyone did. It snowed a little as he was buried.

A few weeks later, his doctor called, and told us that his last tests had shown the cancer had spread all over his body – nothing could have stopped it, and nothing could have prevented him dying. Funny you know, because non-hodgkin’s lymphoma is considered a generally non-fatal type of cancer. A week or two after that, we got a message from the hospital – my dad was now at the top of the list for a stem cell transplant, and could he come in the following day? That was hard. As were all the calls from solicitors…especially the one when I said “No, I’m sorry, he’s deceased” and he said “when would be a good time to call back?” I asked him if he believed in reincarnation. What can you do.

My dad was a wonderful man. He was born in Sweden, moved to the US at age 1, and learned to speak Yiddish. English was his second language. He was kicked out of several schools for making mischief after he finished his school work before everyone else. He was in the air force for 3 years, stationed in Germany. He came back and got his bachelor’s in 2.5 years by working the hell out of the system. Then he got a Master’s in geology. After years with the government (BLM) as a geologist, he went back and got another degree as a computer scientist and stayed with the BLM. And did a lot of fancy computer programming stuff that I really don’t get, but he’s been called a pioneer in the field of meta-data analysis, and there is an award out there in his name.

He was a field trip parent for my classes – he had a giant suburban with a CB radio, and would show up for almost every trip. He came in to read stories to my class. Every year, we made latkes for everyone. At our roller skating parties, he’d be out there teaching every kid how to skate. Around Channukah, he’d dress up completely like an Eastern European Jew, and re-enact (with my help of course) “Herschel and the Channukah Goblins.” Everyone knew and loved my dad.

When I took up figure skating, he did too, so that he could stay a little ahead of me, and help me learn things. After a while, I by-passed him in skills, but he kept skating. He even got a few jumps (he took this up at 44 or 45!), and quite a few bruises to prove it (never skate with a pocket knife in your pocket). One year, my sister and I skated to “the Sorcerer’s Apprentice” in an ice show – she was Mickey, and I was the Sorceress. Well, my dad put all on brown, tied some grass skirts around his knees, grabbed some buckets, and he became the brooms. I’m so not kidding. It was hilarious. In the father daughter skates in the ice shows, he had found a $6 tuxedo at goodwill, and wore it with a giant sequin bow tied and matching cummerbund, every year. And every year he’d try to throw some of his cool moves in (a little bunny hop here, some backwards skating there), and every year he’d get yelled at by the ice show director.

We used to see the circus every year, and one time, it was like our personal family at the circus day. My sister and I got picked from the audience to fly in a toy plane from the top of the coliseum, and then my father was picked for a clown skit. It involved “lay-people” tossing plates at each other, that broke when caught, and the audience people were supposed to just look confused and upset. Well, my dad started juggling them, throwing them under his leg, clapping them together, etc. He even followed the main clown around, mocking him (to the amusement of the crowd)…he told us later the clown told him in a heavy Russian accent to “cut it out! This is my show!” Later on, everyone was asking him if he was a plant, because he was that funny.

In 4th grade, I was farther ahead than everyone in my Hebrew class except for one girl. He volunteered to teach, and came in every weekend to teach special lessons to the two of us. Didn’t get paid, and got a lot of crap from me, but he did it, Sunday after Sunday.

When my girl scout troop was without a leader, he stepped up, becoming the only male leader in the Denver area. We learned knot tying, macramé, fire starting, archery, etc. I used to go to the “parent-daughter” girl scout camp weekends, and he’d go with me – usually one of only 4 or 5 dads (so we’d get the nice cabins with plumbing!).

On our own, he taught me to use a bow and arrow, how to play catch, how to carve words into sticks and trees. He made his own fireworks with steel wool. He took me with him to work all the time, not just on the official day. We had matching beanie propeller hats, except his had a little pig, and mine had a frog. He drove me religiously to dance and horseback riding lessons, and we’d listen to NPR on the way. We used to go thrift store and garage sale-ing every weekend spring-fall, and in the winter, we’d go to the lumber store sometimes. He built a two story play house for my sister and I in our back yard…that never got finished because of his death. It’s still there.

When I wanted my hair French braided, he went to a hair styling for kids class with me at Kazoo and Co. He was the only male there, but volunteered to practice for the demos, etc. We used to build hyped up remote control cars together for the critter crunch – trying to demolish our opponent’s cars. When I ever wanted a “new” computer, we’d build it together from spare parts, just the way I wanted it, even if that meant 3 floppy drives (totally pointless by the way). He got me games for DOS from all over the world. In NM, he used to take me shooting with my uncle, and was so proud of me when I turned out to be good at it. Once, we made our own wine…from a jury-rigged distillery we made in our kitchen. He taught me how car engines run, how to use a power drill, and how to waltz and summersault. Even our cats liked him best – always following him around, sleeping with him in his arm chair, leaving mice under his chair.

My father was my everything. He taught me so much, even when I didn’t want to learn (like the one summer he made me fill in a blank multiplication table every day, or the next, when I had a daily long division problem). His crazy shirts, bolo ties, and tucan hats (as well as the rest of his antics) made me realize how important it is to live life to the fullest every day, because you never know what might happen. I even wrote my college essay on him.

He never got to see me do my bat mitzvah, even though I wore his toucan hat during it (which miraculously survived the house fire we had a month after his death). He didn’t get to see me go to high school, to see me win any awards, to see me graduate high school, college or grad school. He never got to see me direct my first play, or sing in a musical. He would have been astonished that I was the President of the Jewish group at CC. He never got to threaten my partners with his .22 like he always promised. He would have LOVED Kinsey and Athena and Kali, and would have played with them more than I do.

That day, not only did I lose a wonderful father, a great friend, a teacher, but the world lost a great man. It’s only now that I realize not only how much he influenced me, and how much he brightened my life, but that he did the same for hundreds of other people. It’s hard now – none of my current close friends ever met my dad, so they don’t know what exactly I’m missing, what piece of me is gone…I reacted differently to his death than most people react when they lose a loved one. We had never left anything unsaid, and I had nothing to feel guilty about. But the farther away I get from him, the more sad I am. I don’t remember anymore exactly what his voice sounds like. I don’t always remember his wry smile. I don’t believe in heaven or hell – I believe that when you die, your body is done, and your spirit goes into those whom you loved. I feel that as life trucks on and on, there is less and less of him in me, and that’s so hard.

Here we are making potato latkes in my middle school

If you feel so inclined, wear a Hawaiian or brightly colored shirt today, in honor of him and his vibrant life. Or please donate to the American Cancer Society.

Thanks…

Essin’ Em

7 comments

Sugasm #163

April 22nd, 2009 | Category: linkage, sugasm

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 #164? 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

Another Night With My Beer Buddy

“She nodded, her eyes closing with pleasure, his arm working.”

Blowjob in Red

“My voice descended into lust.”

Her dirty talk got me off. twice.

“Why does that turn me on so goddamn much?”

Sugasm Editor

Sex Work And Honesty: The Correct Answer

Editor’s Choice

Stockinged Feet

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

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

No comments

Pleasurists $25

April 21st, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized

 

shibari

From www.lapetiteclaudine.com via art-or-porn

 

Pleasurists is your round-up of the adult product reviews that came out in the last seven days from bloggers all around the sex blogosphere. Did you miss Pleasurists #24? Read it all here. Do you have a review for Pleasurists #26? Submit it here before Sunday April 26th at 11:59pm PST. Please re-post this list on your own blog if listed.

Want to win some free swag? All you’ve got to do is enter.

Madame Editrix

Scarlet Lotus St.Syr

On to the reviews…

Editor’s Pick

  • Rainbow Bright Glass dildo by Thursday’s Child

    When I first pulled the Rainbow Bright glass dildo out its protective bubble wrap, I literally gasped because it was sooo pretty. The picture really doesn’t do it justice – the colors are much more vibrant, much more intense. The contrast between the smooth glass and the raised texture of the hearts was subtle, but pleasing – I could just imagine how it would feel inside of me.

    Editor’s note: Each week I try to pick posts which are not only well-written but also which are somehow unique or unusual and make me desire to own the toy being reviewed. I loved the callback to Rainbow Bright the cartoon character and with talking about a childhood memory in contrast with the gorgeous and very adult glass dildo. Not to mention I’m a sucker for hearts. Loved it!

Vibrators

Dildos

Anal Toys

Toys for Cocks

Sex Kits

Lube & etc.

BDSM/Fetish

Adult Books

Adult Movies/Porn

Storage

Miscellaneous

 


No comments

Next Page »