Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #32 ? Start with the rules, come back in January to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

A Feminist Defense of Consensual Nonconsent – How does a woman who identifies as a feminist reconcile her desire to submit to her partner during sex? Being somewhat new to kink, I had some trepidations about how submission seemingly went against my ethics.

Intimates – As the evening drew on, I felt like the sexiest woman alive. It’s strange to describe it this way, but I actually felt brimming with a sort of sexual energy. A lustiness, a sexiness, an allure and a desire all at once.

Tightest Space – I’m paying close attention to your moans, and I stop whenever it feels like it might be too much. But the incredibly tight feeling of your ass gripping my cock is so delicious that I need to get all the way in.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

An Open Letter to the Sex Toy Industry – I write this post not to just let off some steam but with the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe…….just maybe….some of these words will land on the right computer screen and be taken to heart. Maybe one change will happen.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

International #Fisting Day!! – Beyond awareness and calling for action, I think International Fisting Day is a great day to celebrate fisting; an intimate, hugely erotic and often orgasmic act that doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Bit about Crushes
Are You on the Pill?
How to Approach Your Partner with a Fantasy
Meeting New People
Sex And Disability: What Does the Literature Say?
Settling – Striving For Connections in Non-Monogamy
Sex and Heart Attacks
Training my rear end

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Getting Past The Word ‘Slut’
Private Pictures
The Fetish Fashion of l’Enfant Terrible

Kink & Fetish

Enough is Enough
Hands
In his hands the vibe was intensity personified
Live Well
Public Exposure: The Third Birthday Fantasy
Rope
Scammers come in different flavours
When Submission is a Dry Biscuit

Erotic Writing

A contrast in swinging
A Frightened Heart
6-Some Fun
Bent
Come Again
Emily
Her First Time
In the Bathroom
Move
treat

See Also...

• No Related Post

“Lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes.” -Marquis De Sade

It’s my absolute favorite of the deadly sins.

Or as Rachel puts it in her intro to her new anthology Women In Lust,

It’s one of those four-letter words that trips off the tongue. When I say it out loud, it makes my lips want to curve into a smile. Lust is more than simple arousal; it is the force that makes us not just turned on, but craving a certain person (or people).

I could not agree more.

The common thread in all of the steamy stories in this book is a woman who completely consumed with desire and not letting her mind or body rest until she’s utterly spent from exploring that desire with the object of her lust (even if it’s only in a fantasy).

This book is for any who’ve fantasized, craved, lusted..

Pick up your copy here.

See Also...

• Pretty Please With a Cherry On Top
• Dirty Girls Need Love Too
• With A Firm Hand
• Erotic Shorts – Strapping On

Off Our Chests – A Unified Theory of Orgasm

I don’t know why. I tried therapy too, but my smart, understanding, sex-positive, open-hearted doctor couldn’t help. drugs while fucking? check. I date attentive men who only want to make me happy, but no matter how fantastic they make me feel, I can’t get off. and believe me, I like sex. I love sex! how can it feel so good and not end in an orgasm? I tried experimenting, and I sure do love the kink. it feels great. but doesn’t get me off. I’ve tried everything. everything.

This is a wonderful, complicated read. A wonderful discussion around the myriad of complex issues that surround female orgasm.

The Frisky – 9 Proud Sluts In History

This list of sluts would be an absolute abomination if it did not begin with Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of not only love and beauty but also pleasure and procreation. In other words, this Olympian was the first recorded slut.

LOVE this list!

Jezebel – Sex On The First Date Is A Fictional Fuck

I’m not a prude when it comes to sex. I love sex, and I love men. However, I — like many women I know — harbor a quiet but persistent internal voice that cries, “If you like him, don’t go!” The voice that says men don’t respect women who sleep with them too quickly. The voice that says despite the fact that you’re turned on, you’re a grown-ass adult and goddamn it you want to, as the female you should be the one to decline, to demur, to hold off for another night.

I’ve struggled with this one too and I found myself yelling “Amen” at several points while reading this.

Alas, a Blog – No, You Aren’t Amber Cole’s Father

If you were really Amber’s father, the first thing you’d have written would be names — three names, to be specific. Yes, they’re minors, but so’s your daughter, and the whole world knows her name now. I’d be screaming the names of the boys who violated her. Telling them to anyone who would listen. I’d tell people this should be the called Adam, Billy and Chuck video. Wasn’t Adam a partner in the sex act? Wasn’t Billy watching? Didn’t Chuck hold the camera? Why aren’t they getting attacked? And by the way, given that there were three boys there, and one girl, and the boys were friends — how willingly did Amber consent? You never even to ask the fucking question. That would be my first question, and the first question of any decent father.

Homeboy broke. it. down. in this article. ‘Nuff said.

See Also...

• The Elusive Vaginal Orgasm

Photo courtesy of Emmy @ Right Turn Without Signaling

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #31? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Crotch Topiary & Other Delights – I admit I started simple, I realised my teenage dream of having a Winona-inspired heart emblazoned on my mound. It was perfect. I used Contact paper to design my heart and just went to town pulling out every hair that was not covered.

In Defense of Exclusion – Sometimes it’s nice to be with people who are like you. It’s nice to be around people who get your kink, your fetish – to be somewhere that you don’t have to explain it to.

The Boy At Summer Camp – It started with an email with the subject line “butch at your service,” and an offer for a blow job. And I thought, hm. Well, you know, I do like those. But I’m not usually attracted to boys.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Ask Lilly: “My sex toy stinks – what should I do?” – Would you put it in your mouth with that smell? Would you gag from the smell and taste? If yes, then why the hell put it in your vagina or ass??

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

A Day At The Circus

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the read more tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

A Long Hot Weekend
A night time walk
A Summer Honeymoon
Blithely Sauntering
Cleaning Up
Cigar
Dreamweaver
Ep 2: One Last Time
Full Frontal Nerdity
Get ready for take off…
Hear this
Let’s Play a Game
Le Glamour, the best swing club experience ever
Perspective
Patience for What She Wants
The Cane
The Car Wash
what makes you happy?

Kink & Fetish

A First Ever Punishment
crunk
Having Respect for Dominants
One Year. Today
Spider silk
Those inside-out, head-exploding orgasms
To Munch Or Not To Munch?

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

assplay and me…
Comparisons
Here Comes The Bride
Lover as Chameleon  Flexible Sexual Kinkery
Must we all get along?
Not all conclusions are easy to come by
Non-Monogamy and Starbucks
The (Female) Phenomenon of Emotional Masochism
Why I Love Sex (In That 70′s Show)

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Internet Drag
Selling Used Socks on eBay for Extra Money
Sex in Sin City (Yes I had me some…)
The Curses of the Scarlet Woman
Things I Looove Thursday

See Also...

• No Related Post

I am a black woman and I support Slut Walk.

I feel the need to say this because, as has happened many times before, the voices of a few from the “community” so easily get taken for the voices of all. For all the time black people spend trying to convince everyone else that we are not a monolith, we need to remind ourselves of that as well.

I get why some black women have spoken out and voiced their concerns about Slut Walk. Their critiques have echoed the many previous issues that black women, and women of color in general, have had with the feminist movement at large since its inception. The concerns raised around privilege, narrowness of vision and exclusion are more than valid.

I don’t think that’s what we have here, however.

This is not about black women but about women in general. And speaking only for myself, my blackness has never trumped my woman-ness. I am a woman first. Black second. And as such I can only feel pride when women of all colors and backgrounds come together and take a stand against violence. Because sexual violence is one issue that affects us all. It strikes freely and willingly. It cuts across every boundary you can imagine. It pays no mind whatsoever to race, age, or class.

Get past the word ‘slut’.

This is not, nor has it ever been, about a proposed reappropriation of the word ‘slut’. It’s about putting the spotlight on a culture that makes acts of sexual violence against women not only commonplace but actually accepted.

Yes, ‘slut’ is an emotionally charged word.

No, it’s not a word I particularly like or would elect to be called either.

But this is the precise reason Slut Walk has been so effective. The word makes you pay attention. The word makes you get angry. The word gets you to actually do something.

I’m not saying that this is a perfect movement. I’m not saying there aren’t some inherent problems or faulty logic within it. But I don’t think that’s a reason to sit this one out.

Flawed as these women, and indeed any human being, may be, at least they’re doing something.

See Also...

• No Related Post

I was beginning the hate the sound of that ding.

“Sanguine” it’s called on my phone. No doubt it goes by a different name on someone else’s.

I was on the D train, going over the bridge, when I heard it. I knew that the ding was not coming from my phone. There was a pointed lack of the telltale vibrating that accompanies the ding. But I grabbed frantically at my back pocket anyway, clutching my phone and checking to see if I had a message from him. My shoulders actually slumped when I saw that there were no new messages, and no doubt I was pouting or making some other expression of childish disappointment. Which is ridiculous because as I said, I knew the sound hadn’t come from my phone.

But I was conditioned.

Just like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

And what’s worse, I’d done it to myself.

I’d missed the message. I only missed it by ten minutes but it was ten minutes that would cost me dearly. To this day I wonder what would have happened if I’d gotten back to him in time, how things might be different.

We’d said our goodbyes (well they were more like see-you-arounds but they felt curiously like goodbyes) earlier that day. We had something of a falling out a few days earlier and I was fully expecting to not hear from or see him in a good while. I was bracing myself for it. Fate (or maybe just coincidence) intervened however and threw us together in the same place at the same time where we wouldn’t normally have come into contact with one another.

I hid, but he found me (of course I hoped that he would). He smiled widely when he saw me and I immediately felt better. There was real affection in the smile, if maybe not love. He came up to me and we talked for a bit and at first it seemed all would be well. As the day wore on however, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something fundamentally different about our interaction.

At the end of the day when he was about to leave he came to say bye to me. There was something so final about the way he said it. I watched him walk away and began to choke up almost immediately. I fought to keep it together for the time being, but by the time I was securely behind my locked apartment door, I was in full meltdown mode.

I was perfectly content to sit at home, whiskey at my left side and box of tissues at my right, and wallow in my sorrow. I imagined a long night of sobbing, pausing every now and then to dramatically yell “why” at my ceiling.
Again, fate (coincidence?) intervened and I ended up at a party instead.

My friend had called, excited about some penthouse rooftop gathering and said that I simply must come out. Going out was the last thing in the world I felt like doing but I knew that meant it was probably the best thing for me to do.

I forced myself out of the bed, got dressed and went out to meet my friends. Even after arriving I wasn’t exactly in a party mood. I kept seeing him everywhere and my mind would wander and fantasize until the apartment I was in was ours, including the dogs, and we were throwing this party together for all of our friends.

I snapped out of it and decided a beer and cigarette were in order. After a beer or two, a stogie or two, a burger or two, I felt marginally better. I talked about the issue a little bit with my guy friend. He listened graciously and when I said “I think it’s really over now”, he replied “But isn’t that a good thing?.” I shrugged knowing intellectually that it was but feeling the exact opposite. I mumbled an excuse and headed for the bathroom.

I sat on the toilet to pee and instinctively grabbed for my phone. Right at the top of the screen was a message from him. Before I even opened it my heart soared. Here I was thinking I’d never hear from him again and he’d sent me a message. Maybe this separation was making him as miserable as it was making me. Maybe he missed me as much as I was missing him.

I opened the message. It said, “Hey Miss Moodie. You up?”

I immediately replied “Yes” and clicked send.

In the middle of sending, the fucking. phone. dies.

I tore my way through the party like a Category 5 hurricane trying to locate a BlackBerry  charger.

Everyone at this party had a BlackBerry.

No one at this party had the damned charger.

I tried not to think about it and enjoy the rest of the night. My spirits, though had been significantly lifted and I silently cursed him for having that effect on me.

I got home at around 2:30 in the morning. The first thing I did, before I even took my shoes off or acknowledged my cat (who was impatiently trying to get my attention), was plug in my phone. I undressed, petted the cat for a little, then I picked up the phone, sufficiently juiced, to respond to his message. I explained that I was out and that my phone had died and asked him what he wanted to talk about.

But I knew it was already too late. I knew deep down that whatever he was going to say in that moment, he’d already long talked himself out of saying.

I got no response, not even in the following days.

I resolved never to miss a message from him again. I searched through all the ring tones on my phone and decided on ‘Sanguine’. It seemed fitting. Our situation was utterly hopeless but I still managed to have a foolish hope that things would work out. I made ‘sanguine’ his special ring tone and added the vibration for extra insurance and then I felt rather calm knowing that I was prepared.

It would take over a month before I actually heard that ding.

We were talking again. I couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t stay away. And so we were talking again, but mainly through professional channels.

Eventually, I sent him a personal message from my phone. I was really going through some shit and he was the only person I could think to talk to about it with. I sent the longish message and then settled in for a nap. I woke with a start when I heard the ding and the loud vibrations of my cell. That’s him I said to myself, recognizing the tone I’d set for him. I snatched the phone up and opened the message. It said “If you need my help with anything just let me know…ANYTHING!!!”

I smiled and my heart warmed and I went back to sleep.

I heard that ding many times over the next couple of months. Each time my reaction would be the same; a steep belly flip flop accompanied by a second of lightheaded euphoria during which, at times, I’d actually salivate while I frantically grabbed for my phone to see what my would-be lover had said to me this time. We went back and forth feverishly after our month long estrangement. I was sure things would be different this time. He was serious. He was going to get out of his “situation” and we were going to be together. Any day now.

Yeah right.

We fell out again, and he pulled another one of his disappearing acts. I realized, painfully, that it was always going to be this way with him. That my “man” was really all talk and that he kept doing things like this to me because I kept letting him.

I vowed to stay away for good this time, even though it hurt, and still hurts, like all hell.

I still hear that ding though, and pretty often at that. But instead of my instant, elated reaction, I now react with sadness and disappointment. Before it was a sound that represented a small triumph; the object of my affection was reaching out and touching me. But since then the ding has been symbolic of loss and defeat.

Because the sound isn’t coming from my phone.

See Also...

• No Related Post

Sunday was my “wedding” day.

To be perfectly honest, up until the very last minute I was thinking about calling the whole thing off. But when the alarm went off, or rather when my cat insisted that I feed him, I got up and decided to just do it.

I hadn’t yet written my vows, I was putting it off until the last minute an this was surely the last minute. I sat at my dining room table with a small bowl of cereal, a pen and some paper and began to write my vows. The words came easier than I thought they would (but that could just be a result of me waiting for the last minute because that’s how it always seems to go in that case).

Satisfied with the vows I had written, I put on my “wedding sweater” (I’d decided against a dress but I did find this gorgeous, off-white, turtleneck sweater at Forever 21. It came with a woven belt and had these really puffy, dramatic sleeves that had pearl buttons sewn into them. I picked it up immediately and bought it.) some skinny jeans and brown leather flats. I arranged my orchids into a bouquet. I packed up my cupcakes, put my hair up, put on my earrings and some lipstick and hit the road.

I met my cousin at the 72nd street train station and we walked into Central Park together. Most of the attendees were already on Bow Bridge waiting for me. When the last guest trickled in, we started the ceremony.

My cousin was the officiant for the wedding and she gathered everyone in a hand holding circle around us. She read out loud, piece by piece, the vows I’d written and I repeated them back to her. With every sentence, I felt another piece of the blackness that had been weighing on my spirit for so long lift, and my smile grew wider and wider.

It was seriously the most life-affirming thing I’ve ever done and I’m so glad I decided to go through with it.

Afterward, I hugged my cousin and then hugged each woman in the circle and gave her a flower from my bouquet. Then we had cake and went to brunch.

It’s hard to describe how I feel now. The muck is definitely still there, palpable at times.
But at least now I know that the muck won’t break me. It’s there, I acknowledge its presence and that it sucks and then I get on with the business of living.

These are my vows:

I, Desiree Jenae Moodie, do solemnly promise to do whatever it takes to know who I really am, and live as that person, totally awake and aware and whole within myself. I commit to unwavering, uncompromising honesty with myself no matter what. I promise to listen to my intuition, to believe that it’s real, and to learn to trust its guidance more and more everyday. I promise to freely and fully express myself and to not apologize for who I am or who I am not. I promise to respect myself and be kind to myself. I will make my happiness a priority and forgive myself when I’m not perfect. I will trust myself and stand within the power of my own strength. I will love myself forever more, through good and bad, thick and thin, and for exactly who I am today. I promise I will never, ever, ever, settle for less than what my heart and soul desire.

To all the wonderful ladies that were in attendance, thank you for sharing this day with me.

See Also...

• No Related Post

It’s been about a year since I’ve written here.

And boy what a difference a year can make.

Or a month even.

Around this time back then, I was just getting engaged.

Now, well…

A week from today was supposed to be my wedding day.

And it still will be. In a sense.

So very much has happened within the last three hundred sixty five days that I sometimes struggle to recall all of it. All I know is that it seemed one day we were two people, in love, planning a life together, and the next day we were both in a world of hurt.

I will not recount the details here. They will, for the most part, stay between me and him.

But I am still trying to make sense of it all, if for no other reason than to make damn well sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s so weird to experience for myself just how quickly one can go from “I’m going to marry him” to “I can’t believe I was going to MARRY him”. I can’t really describe it except to say that it feels funny, especially with the date we chose looming.

What I do know is this:

1. I DON’T miss him
2. I’m NOT upset that we broke up (as in the why…the how, well that’s another story)
3. I KNOW I made a sound choice in deciding to break things off.

But still…

It makes you think.

We were going to get married.

And now we’re not.

We’ll, he’s not.

I’m still getting married. There just won’t be a groom. Because really, who needs a groom? Fuck the groom, I say.

A week ago, I woke up and decided that I wasn’t going to sit at home on September 18th and eat a pint of ice cream and listen to sappy love songs while tearing through a box of tissues.

Instead I was going to get dressed up like I’d planned. Get some flowers like I’d planned. Get some cupcakes and some champagne like I’d planned. Even go to the designated place on the designated day as planned…

…and marry myself.

Now, please don’t get this twisted. This is not about some man-hating agenda. This is not about touting the virtues of the “independent woman” and pretending that I don’t need anyone. This is not about me swearing off men and relationships.

Quite the contrary.

Not loving is not the answer. Not trusting is not the answer. Not trying is not the answer.

I know this.

But before I can get there, I need to square some things within myself.

And that’s what this is about.

It’s about me taking vows to love myself as solemnly as I’d planned to take vows to love another.

Forever.

Through good and bad, thick and thin.

It’s about me treating myself the way I want and expect a partner to treat me. It’s about surrounding myself with those who genuinely love and care about me and have my best interest at heart. It’s about me celebrating the fact that I’m still here, still alive, looking toward the future, yes, but also fully realizing that life is still happening in the here and now.

And right now, what I have is me.

And honestly, that is good enough.

See Also...

• No Related Post

“I don’t know why I like this, but I do” .

This is what the narrator of “The Sub Fairy” by Mercy Loomis ponders after discovering that she likes her husband to give her permission to have an orgasm.

And this is just one example of many scorching hot stories in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s  new anthology Please, Sir.

Who can really explain why they like to be ordered around, or why they like a firm hand? Or paddle? Or belt?

Rachel touches on possible reasons in the introduction to the book.

The lesson there, and in all of these stories, is that there is risk involved in submission. I don’t mean the physical risks, but the emotional ones, the ones that require a leap of faith, a knowledge that what you are doing may unnerve you, confuse you and scare you, even while it makes you wet and eager and ready for more. As we see in Shanna Germain’s opening story, “Anticipation,” merely thinking about what he might do next, playing with power in one’s own mind, can yield profound results.

Indeed surrender can be a very sexy thing.

Look out for my full review of Please, Sir coming soon. For now, enjoy the book trailer. You can purchase

See Also...

• Lust…
• e[lust] #8
• Sex in Movies – Secretary
• Dirty Girls Need Love Too

HNT Courtesy of

Welcome to - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #9? Start with the , check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

– The very basic principle that we hold so dear in BDSM play, “Nothing without consent” seems to stand in stark contrast to a very common form of play, “Rape Play”.

– When I get my ass beaten, is it as much for the sensation as it is for the “Good girl…I knew you could take that for me.” that I want so badly at the close of the scene?

-His wife walked by at one point and he cryptically asked her to “do what she did to so-and-so earlier”. His wife disappeared behind me, but I felt her hands touching me and his cock as it entered me.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

- We kissed lightly and without focus, both a sensual act and maddening at the same time. More, I needed more. In a blur I was on my knees on the seat, straddling his leg, his mouth latched onto one nipple and his fingers hunting for the key to undoing my dress pants.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

– A plan of devious proportions begins to form. Before this is over with, I will have forced you into a corner…forced you to act…forced you to give ME what I want.

See also : Pleasurists #and for all your sex toy review needs.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Writing

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Kink & Fetish

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

See Also...

• Pretty Please With a Cherry On Top
• Sex in Movies – Secretary
• How The Venus Flytrap Really Got Its Name