Madeline in the Mirror

Today. While Jerking Off.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 02:21:00 +0000

It's one of the most common questions asked of me: What do you think of when you're masturbating?

Generally, the answer is "Nothing."

I don't fantasize about a particular person or persons, boyfriend or celebrity. Mostly I focus on myself. It may seem narcissistic, but I prefer to think of it as practical: The more I can relax and hone in on my orgasm, the better/stronger/more raucous it will be. That's why today's wank session was so unusual.

For some reason, which may never become clear to me, in the middle of my bed, silver bullet on my clit and Orchid G on my G-spot, this thought became lodged in my brain:

I wonder if Ma and Pa Ingalls ever decided to slick things up a bit and bring the crock of lard into the bedroom.

I am not proud of this revelation, but at least now you're thinking about Charles pumping his rod into Caroline's ass under that huge nightgown, too.

I love you!

*ducks*

Fist Me Baby, One More Time.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 21:18:00 +0000

That's me the other night while Jeff was fisting me. I mean, okay, that's not really me; I'm a white girl and I have bigger tits, but that's exactly the way I react when four, then five fingers and then a fist are inserted into my girlhole: Back arched, hips pushed up, knees spread to take as much as I can.

First time. For him, not me.

He seemed a little shocked that his entire hand was inside me and then I rubbed my clit and came and it was crazygood, and when it got too much I whispered, "Baby, have you ever taken your fist out of a girl?"

He shook his head.

"Do it really, really slowly."

Roundups & Reflections

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 21:44:00 +0000

This week's Friday Sex Blog Roundup features some hot bloggers reminiscing about the past. Which got me thinking about The Year of yOur Lord, 2008.

I'm not normally a Best Of... kind of girl, but occasionally, especially since I'm so self-actualized (Thanks, therapy!), I wax nostalgic. Things you can learn from your past, and all that.

So.

You know the feeling you get when you can't remember when you spoke with someone last, and you're kind of okay with it? And you realize that, well, maybe you don't miss them quite as much as you always thought you might?

I've had a few of those this year.

It's sort of like the relationship that ended even though--or maybe because--you needed the other person like oxygen--like air. The aching and longing, the torturous suffering and heart-rending seems to last forever until you realize, one day, that you haven't thought about him at all. And you feel a little stronger for it.

The latter is pretty self-affirming. It's a Gloria Gaynor kind of feeling. A dance-around-the-house-pumping-fists kind of feeling. An I don't need you, check my shit out, I Am Sasha Fierce, Bitch kind of feeling. The former just leaves you hollow and sad, wishing you cared more than you do, and sort of ambivalent about picking up the phone because, hey, you've made it this many days/weeks/months without involving yourselves in each others lives, and things are mostly fine.

And dealing just takes so much effort.

You live your life, because that's what people do. And eventually, when a boy holds back telling you that he loves you--and you actually want him to say it, and would probably return the sentiment even though it freaks your shit out--you understand that the person you thought you needed like air would have likely suffocated you in the end.

I wish you all a Happy New Year. May all your wishes become horses. Do the work if you wanna ride.

Speaking of Pussy...

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 17:05:00 +0000

Last night I went to an office holiday party with a friend. It's a small office, a personal training facility, actually, and the party was at this bar I'd never been to.

Cool. So I take off my coat, get introduced to the "big boss" (who's like, 23 years old), shake his hand and compliment him on his choice of venue.

"I've actually never been here before, so this is great," I said, in a friendly, outgoing way.

His response: "Yeah, it's usually a much younger crowd in here, so that's not surprising."

Um.

What?

The dude totally insulted me and the best bit was, he didn't even know it.

He was nicer to me later, when I was talking to his septuagenarian employee, Dick. Dick, who stood well over six feet. Dick, with his boiled wool striped Santa Fe vest. Dick, whose lank body leaned in toward mine while we talked, his kind eyes shining like a boy's. Dick, who was pretty taken with me, and with whom, truth be told, I was pretty taken.

It's nice being appreciated for your wits and your tits.

Boss Boy came up to Dick and me and tried to get in on our conversation, but his remarks were flat. Dumb. Inexperienced. Green, and not in the Ed Begley, Jr. way.

When I encounter boys like Boss Boy, I'm always relieved that I don't have to teach them about how to treat a girl. His stupid remark might have taken me by surprise, but it offered me an insight into his insensitivity and self-centeredness: He probably has no idea where to find a G-spot, and he probably has never made his girlfriend come by licking her pussy.

Speaking of pussy, here's my latest Sex Blog Roundup, courtesy of Fleshbot.

If.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 21:14:00 +0000

A couple weeks ago I had a phone conversation with Aaron, my Californian Friend-in-Fornication (That's so much nicer than Fuckbuddy, don't you think?). He'd told me about a girl he was seeing, and I asked about their date the night before. He told me all about her: she's smart, funny, enthusiastic with the blowjobs and a tad clingy. I understood immediately. I know that type.

I also know this: I can't tell Aaron about anyone I'm seeing, or he'll get jealous. We both know this, and I've gotten accustomed to not bringing up sex I've had with other people. It's not like I see him more than a couple times a year anyway, so why bother with/worry about all that? We've known each other forever. I've had sex with him now for more years than I was married, but I can count the number of movies we've seen together on two fingers. Our relationship pretty much defines the "It's Complicated" status on Facebook.

But I started to wonder, what would happen to that relationship if he got serious and exclusive with someone? What would happen if I did? It seems wrong that we would just not ever see each other again.

So I, in a premenstrual funk and against my better judgment, started that conversation.

In the midst of my mediating arguments between kids, taking special requests for dinner, and removing a splinter from the foot of an eight-year-old, I asked what might happen if we found ourselves in that solution.

And somewhat to my surprise, he came up with a great solution: If either of us decides to be monogamous, we'll have a last fling in Vegas.

Nice, right?

He said this: He doesn't see himself becoming exclusive with anyone, any time soon (me, neither, except I find myself thinking about that more and more); he thinks I'm hilarious and fucking smart and we have incredible sexual chemistry.

I don't see a future with him, seriously, but I'm not comfortable with the idea of just tossing him aside like yesterday's crossword.

I am not comfortable tossing people aside.

Which is why, last week, I got a little freaked out when my friend (with whom I have not had sex) Luke put his arms around me and said, "I like you a lot."

And I like him. But I don't think I like him "a lot." So now what?

There are people I like a lot, but here I go, getting emotional and forgetting to live in the moment. Thinking about what ifs.

I like my life just fine, at present, but I think I could enjoy it a whole lot more.

And, you know, I've never been to Vegas.

Best. Trailers. Ever.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 03:32:00 +0000

Got a case of the Mondays? Bet I can turn that frown upside down!

Seriously. I think I've been clear on my stance that certain porn has the power to cheer even the dreariest of days (and it certainly is dreary out there today; hey, Hurricane Ike, what's up?)

I've seen a lot of Internet porn--low to highbrow--and I have to say that the trailers on FuckingMachines.com are probably my favorite appetite-whetting (I said whetting) tidbits ever.

In fact, I own several video shoots that I keep on my external hard drive for, you know, days like this.

Nothing says Happy Monday like white cotton and a Sybian. Enjoy!

Wednesday Wank: The Flex A Pleasure

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 00:35:00 +0000

My, oh, my.

When I saw the Flex A Pleasure, I thought, "Well, this should be interesting."

I was right.

Given my love for bullet vibes and simultaneous G-Spot + clit stimulation, it seemed a perfect match. The Flex A Pleasure, made by that renowned institution of sex toy manufacturers, Doc Johnson, is basically two bullet vibes connected by a small, flexible piece of plastic tubing. Each bullet obviously has its own motor, but the pair are controlled by a single dial.

See? Simple.

Did I mention it's waterproof? Um, it's waterproof.

Now, I don't really NEED another bullet vibrator, but I'd like to find ONE that actually fits my particular shape. I've yet to find a rabbit (or beaver or dolphin) vibe that lines up with my parts, and that's what impressed me about the Flex A Pleasure: The customization factor.

I whipped out the Flex A when Kelly and I met for an afternoon rendezvous last week. He looked suitably impressed and not at all threatened, as sometimes happens with those huge vibrators that tend to make men feel smallish. Nope, he whistled, flashed me a grin and took hold of the connecting tube.

I'm more of a sensation gal than a size queen, so the fact that there was no discernible shaft wasn't an issue; if you like to be filled and stretched by your vibes, this is probably not for you. But here's what got me: Kelly was holding it inside me, pushed up against my g-spot, and I took the other end and bent it up to my clit.

Yeah, it was like Tag-Team Coming.

THEN, we discovered the most impressive (in my opinion, natch) use of the Flex A Pleasure: Kelly pulled it out of me and fucked me while I held the other end on my clit...from seven inches away. Think about it: when you're banging and you need a little extra bump, you reach for your little bullet vibe, right? Except that you've got to hold your hand and wrist there--in the space where your sweetie is slamming into you--or else you don't get off. That can get a little tricky, especially when you try to reposition your legs.

So, by holding the Flex A Pleasure by one bullet and straightening the connector, you can stimulate your clit with the other and not have any impediments to good old-fashioned banging.

Overall, I give the Flex A Pleasure three out of five stars, purely for personal, subjective reasons: 1. It uses a size N battery. Who has those on hand when stuff runs down? 2. It's made of plastic and jelly. It's a very thin coating of jelly, which makes me wonder why it's there in the first place, and my uber-sensitive nose could smell it. Unforch.

I love that it's waterproof, though, and the control knob is studded with little rubber grips so you don't lose control completely mid-wank. That's a nice touch. Also, it's pretty powerful, and comes in pretty colors, too. Naturally, mine is pink.

Maybe better suited to me would be the Slimline G Twin; it's made of hard plastic, with no smelly jelly.

I think I will still use the Flex A Pleasure, though, because I totally want to use it as a butt toy, and tossing a condom on the plastic bullet and warming up pre-buttseks sounds like a hole lotta fun.

Order at VibeReview through November 4 and save 10% with this coupon!

Wednesday Wank: The Screaming Octopus

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 02:29:00 +0000

You know, I'm not much for the whole tentacle sex thing.

I mean, I dig that there are folks who get off on having their orifices penetrated by real or simulated cephalopods, I'm just not one of them.

The Screaming Octopus from VibeReview might have changed my mind about the use of invertebrates as pervertables. I mean, look at it! It's so cute! And who can resist a toy with that name? Not me, and that's why I tried it out last week with Kelly.

The idea is simple enough: a smallish bullet that runs on two watch batteries and is covered in a soft rubber octopus body, complete with eight splaying arms. Press the button on top et voila--a superfast buzz that sounds a bit like a mosquito. The shape of the octopus is perfect for surrounding a nipple, which is what I ended up doing a lot with Kelly while he was jerking off for me.

Another "I'm so glad someone thought of this" feature is the handy strap up top (Not pictured, but it's there), which allows the user to control where the vibe goes, without touching the motor with his or her fingers, thus keeping the vibrations strong and right where they should be. I dragged that thing across Kelly's nipples, balls and perineum, and he called it "nice." This is high praise, since when he totally wants to jump my bones he says he "wouldn't mind" fucking.

The Screaming Octopus is, as you might expect, waterproof. (Thank goodness, or its little arms would get all shriveled having to stay dry all the time!) Naturally, I took it for a leisurely swim dans le bain later that night.

Me likey.

The Screaming Octopus has, I think, found a home in my shower; to be produced at regular intervals when making out or making looove. The soft rubber is easy to clean, and the hummingbird-fast vibrations are a nice change from deeper, more intense frequencies you'll find in larger products. This is not an "if you must buy only one vibrator, buy this one" toy; the vibrations are, in my opinion, less than ideal for pure wankage, you can't put it inside your body, and it's only got one speed.

But as an accessory? As a nipple/clit/bum stimulator? It's sweet and lovely and I totally want to give one to all my girlfriends.

Order at VibeReview through November 4 and save 10% with this coupon!

What Men Do

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 12:37:00 +0000

Some men break your heart without even knowing it.

This week's Sex Blog Roundup over at Fleshbot is dedicated to boy bloggers. These gents have the whole "get her wet with words" thing down pat, and I, for one, am saddened that one of my favorite male bloggers is bidding us "Adieu." Easily Aroused, I'mma miss you, baby.

Speaking of babies, I was babbling like one the other day, during a marathon lunchtime fuck. Not talking, really, but the occasional AhGodddddd did pour forth from my throat, possibly reaching the ears of my neighbor who likes to sit on his porch not far from my bedroom and smoke cigarettes.

Tell you what, I felt like joining him after Kelly left, but I had things to do.

Seems unfair that work should follow two hours of naked abandon, but I managed to breeze through the rest of the day. And everywhere I went that afternoon seemed clear and bright through my freshly fucked eyes.
----------------
Now playing: Cat Stevens - The First Cut Is The Deepest
via FoxyTunes
(If it's got a tambourine and is melancholic I will love it. Thanks a whole fucking lot, Yusuf.)

Wednesday Wank: The VibeReview Silver Bullet

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 16:33:00 +0000

When I’m stressed out, when I don’t want to work too hard, or when straight-up banging with a partner just isn’t quite getting me there, there’s one toy I’ve been reaching for consistently for years: The Silver Bullet.

I’ve gone through several incarnations, from double bullets to cyberskin-coated flicky bullets, to bullets whose controllers glowed in the dark, but one fact has remained: The bullet is one of the least expensive, most sure-fire masturbatory aids I’ve ever had the pleasure of convulsing around.

The design is simple; straightforward. There are no variable pulsation patterns or glowy switches, just a simple bullet connected to a slim plastic controller with an easy-to-work-even-if-you’re-having-issues-focusing heart-shaped slider. The best feature of the Silver Bullet, in my opinion, is the fully adjustable speed. I like not being stuck with one or the other, and the easy, one-handed operation means no fuss when I need a little less buzz.

Use it on its own for a leisurely, cliterrific roll in bed, or pair it with an insertable dong or vibe for fully adjustable, mind-blowing stimulation likely to result in a well-deserved nap.

In my other role as a sex advisor for all my friends and countless others on the innerwebs, I recommend this toy over and again. There are no worries about parts lining up, as some of us have experienced with rabbit-type vibes, and you can use it on girls and boys alike. Technically, you’re not supposed to put it up your butt, but I’ve been known to throw a condom on one and stick it into a boy while I’m blowing him. Two tips: Keep a hold on the condom, and never pull it out by the cord. You don’t want to expose the copper wire that runs into the motor end of the bullet.

At least, um, that’s what I’ve heard. Zing!

Also, since it is so reliable and simple and easy to keep inside a pillowcase, I tend to use this toy for long periods of wanking and I’ve found that I need to switch the bullet from left to right and back to avoid the dreaded Clawhand. You know what I’m talking about.

The Silver Bullet is a pretty universal accoutrement, and as such will get you virtually NO stares (let alone bag searches) at airport security. Just remember to turn the batteries around, or your carry-on might give the dude sitting in front of you the Best. Plane. Ride. Ever.

Say Nice Things About Me When I'm Gone

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 03:47:00 +0000

If you don't believe in karma--if the notion that you'll get what you need if you're open to receiving it makes you roll your eyes--don't read this.

I have had a startlingly unpleasant week, and without going into details (sorry, internets), suffice it to say that the world wasn't looking so rosy to my pale blue eyes.

Then, today I found two (TWO!) really nice things written about me on Amazon, of all places. The first is by Maui Dude, who reviewed Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica and writes:

My favorite lead paragraph was provided by Madeline Glass in "Laser Tag":

"The first time he spanked me, I thought he was a pervert. The second time he did it, I wondered if I was. By the third time, I was certain that we both were."

Readers of this book might undergo a similar progression:

"After the first story, I thought Rachel was a pervert. Reading the second story, I wondered if I was. By the third story, I was certain that we both were."

Aw, thanks, Maui Dude!

This next one was just a totally random Googling of my name, which I don't do that often and, truth be told, but this time I was pleasantly surprised with, not idle gossip, but with praise for a grammar-Nazi post I wrote last year. HankMoody waxes about the use of superfluous and mutilated language:

While we're at it, I'm thinking we can also dispense with "anyway" and my particular pet peeve, the perverse "anyways."

My favorite blogger Madeline Glass had a great entry about this called "Heads Up, Folks: Politika Grammatika" and you can read about it here.

I love Madeline Glass!
Sources: Madeline Glass and my brain

Now, see? That was so nice! Random? Maybe. Effective? Very.

No more feeling blue for me. Two people who don't know me are (Gasp! Shock!) not concerned with my private life. I think they kind of maybe think I'm smart. And they favorited me. That's really nice.

So, thanks, gents. Even though one of you wrote what you did six months ago, I just found it, and it made me smile.

Beautiful. Agony.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 16:37:00 +0000

play windows media

play quicktime

beautifulagony.com

Words

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 01:50:00 +0000

This week at Fleshbot looks at the words we use when we’re naked. Raw, amorous and filthy language somehow becomes more meaningful when we’re naked and getting dirty. I don’t mean to say that I’m such a nasty talking girl, because I’m not. Frankly, I feel a little silly when someone wants me to talk dirty and say things like, “yeah, baby, fuck me with your big thick rod.”

I mean, I just can’t. As much as I talk in regular life--and it’s a lot--during sex I’m not a big conversationalist.

But what I do say—what I am during sex—is honest.

Whether it’s telling someone how I really feel about them, or hissing, “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” or saying everything with only the expression on my face, communication just seems deeper and more significant when there’s fucking attached.

The other day, Kelly was lying on his stomach across my bed. I was kneeling next to him and massaging his lower back and then, because they were there, his asscheeks. Kelly’s ass is smooth and firm (Thanks, swimming!) and as I was kneading his glutes my fingers accidentally slipped down toward his balls and stroked the soft, downy blond hair there.

I couldn’t help it. I said it. “Baby, I love the hair on your butt.”

“Aw, stop making fun...”

“No, I mean, technically it’s the hair at the top of your inner thighs; is that better?” I raked my fingers lightly across it, right where his balls hang.

Then, to prove I was serious, I kissed it. Then I licked it. Then he flipped me onto my back and pinned me down and I don’t think he cared about semantics anymore.

But I do. I love that boy's downysoft butt hair.

Wednesday Wank: The Iris Pleasure Object by Lelo

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 21:09:00 +0000

Let me start by saying that I’m a pretty no-nonsense girl when it comes to jacking off: Fancy features like Internet connectivity on sex toys basically serve to annoy and frustrate me. I want to know that the object I choose is going to be simple enough to use, yet stand up to a) rigorous use and b) my elitist snobbery regarding things I put into my vagina.

For years my favorite G-Spot vibe was my trusty Celebrity/Slimline/Orchid G. It’s a ball on a stick, folks, nothing fancy, and yet very consistent in producing some very intense orgasms. So imagine my chagrin when, not only would I burn through vibrator motors every two months or so, batteries were constantly being changed and I started to think of ways to be able to afford my wanking habit. Should I brown bag it? Keep the thermostat at 78 degrees in the summer?

Well, I already do those things, so a rechargeable G-Spot vibe seemed the next most economical solution. So I went to Vibreview.com and ordered the Iris vibe by Lelo.

The Iris is, firstly, an attractive vibrator. It looks like a flower coming into bud, and has a lovely curved body, which puts the business tip of the shaft right in contact with my G-Spot tissue. I liked that I didn’t have to fiddle with the placement much: The Iris just slides into my body and stays right where I need it. My version is pale blue and white, and when I charged it for the first time, I left it out on my dresser because it looked so pretty.

It wins points on the snobbery side as well. Iris is non-porous hard plastic, and its insertable shaft is covered by silicone material. No smelly jelly or sticky cyberskin. Smooth, substantial and ergonomic, this is a beautiful piece of machinery. Art meets engineering. Porn meets innovation. Madeline meets Iris. How do you do?

Iris has variable speeds, which I like, since often I like to slow down when I’m about to come, and sometimes the jump from HIGH to LOW leaves me frustrated and confused. There’s an intuitive toggle button in the plastic handle portion of the vibe that adjusts the speed and controls the vibration patterns. It took a little getting used to, but a few minutes into my wank I had it down pat. My favorite pattern for clitoral stimulation is the constant buzz, at varying speeds. Once I inserted it, though, I definitely liked the short bursts vibration pattern, which my sexy assistant Kelly dubbed “Spin Cycle.”

Another feature I love is the dual motors on the Iris. One is up at the tip (makes sense), and the second is right at labia level when the toy is inserted. Finally, I can have labial stimulation without having to use a second or third toy because, frankly, I was running out of hands.

The only issue I had—and it’s a very small issue—is that the little silicone tab on the handle that covers the charging port kept popping up while I was wanking. I’m sure the chance of juices or lube running into the port and frying the inner works is slim; still, I’d prefer if the tab were more secure.

Iris is considered a “high end” toy, being a little on the spendy side. But look: I’ve spent $90.00 on six G-spotters in the past year, none of which lasted longer than two months and all of which required massive quantities of alkaline batteries, putting my annual investment in my G-Spot over $120.00. Put in those terms, if you're wanting reliable orgasms, this vibrator just makes good financial sense.

The Iris made me come, and it did it well. Not too quickly (it could; I’m just not into that), easily and with enough variability that I think I’ll have a lot of fun cracking new combinations with it.

And I’ll never resort to stealing batteries from my kids’ walkie-talkies again.

Power Couple (Sex and Submission)

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 13:15:00 +0000

For when you're feeling blah and you need a little cheering up, I present to you: Sex and Submission.

I love how she's the one collared and tied up, and he can't help being sorta mesmerized by her. And yeah, he's going to flog her, or maybe he just did, but clearly she's wielding her own power and, um, influence.

Also, I sort of have a thing for bald guys. Bald guys who could pick me up with one arm and toss me around if they wanted.

Mark Davis and Annette Schwarz

Her ponytail and high collar remind me of that video for the Tubes' She's a Beauty. Ahem.

But let's say you like the rougher stuff. Get Kink on Demand and download footage from actual Sex and Submission shoots, ball gags, butt hooks, spreader bars and all.

I'm feeling better already.

Want.

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 11:52:00 +0000

Oh, if I had these, I would be such a happy girl.

I was never one to splurge on lingerie. I needed to wrangle the girls and guard against inadvertent exposure of my business should a brisk wind pick up my skirt, but in my twenties, those were the extent of my thoughts on intimates. Bras and panties were necessary evils which were just going to be tossed off in seconds by my boyfriends, I reasoned. I bought nylon stockings and stocked up on satin and lycra and polyester blend bras and panties from department stores or the Victoria's Secret Summer Sale.

But this was the late 80's and I was turned off by silk, big time. Silk blouses with big bows at the neck and puffy sleeves and tightly buttoned wristbands. Worn under jackets as part of a corporate Cagney & Lacey-cum-LA Law ensemble. Worn by my grandmother at Junior League functions. Silk blouses gave me nightmares.

Then, about five years ago, I kind of fell in love with my body again: My tits are still a boingy 34D (Shocking, considering they've fed two babies), and the rest of me is generally a pleasing sight. I was gifted with my first pair of silk stockings. And I loved them.

I started appreciating silk for its understated allure, its rich--not garish--luster, its, well, silkiness. So, I reasoned to myself, If I'm going to be something other than naked, I would prefer to wear something a) pretty and b) soft and which makes me feel c) beautiful.

Something like this:

Ç'est si sexy, non?

I'm not sure how it'll happen, but I am surrendering this post to the universe, in the hopes that this ensemble becomes my own. I get all flustered just looking at it.

I can't think of many things hotter than sliding around atop a naked Kelly wearing this set, and then using the bra ties for, um, other things. Now that would be a good story.

Skin

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 20:00:00 +0000

Sometimes when I'm bored or grumpy (usually both), I like to turn the teevee on and laugh at porn titles. This is well-documented in my Twitter feed. Recent favorites include "Filthy Hitchhikin' Sluts," "Who's That Slut? (5)" and "I'm a Cheerleader, So Bang Me!"

You should try it; it really works to lift the blues away!

Something else you should try is searching for videos on SkinVideo.com. This morning I was feeling very warm and gooey and making out sounded like a lot of fun. So I went to the website, which I really like, because it's so organized and typed "kiss" in the search box.

Whoa.

Aside from the titles of the clips, which are great, SkinVideo's content is (awesomely) downloadable to your computer, iPod or PSP. It's Porno to Go!

Give it a shot: Their prices are damn low, there's tons of content in lots of categories--from Homemade to Unusual Insertions--and best of all, no flashy pop-ups.

Search 2,000,000+ Videos!

Little Miss Creamypants Wears Cotton for Jesus

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 00:43:00 +0000

You know those t-shirts that are so thin you can see through them?

I have one that’s heather grey. It’s been washed so many times that my freckles show through its fabric. It’s also super-stretchy and it makes my boobs look particularly bouncy when I wear it braless.

Which is how I was on Monday afternoon when Kelly was above me on the bed, rubbing his cock against my white cotton panties and kissing my mouth and neck.

There’s this desperateness when Kelly and I fuck, like we’ve been apart for months and we don’t know when we’ll see each other again. Every time. He is instantly hard, I want to suck his dick for hours and we consistently manage to go from blowjob to sex to other activities involving toys or my ass or c) all of the above—while his cock remains erect. For at least two orgasms. His, not mine. I get more, because I’m drawn that way. He grabs my ass, I grab the back of his neck and it’s always impressive, usually resulting in us congratulating ourselves on an amazing fuck.

I adore fucking Kelly.

And when he was rubbing my clit through my panties with his cock, he looked down at me and pinched a nipple through my t-shirt. Then he licked it and sucked it and bit it and I yelped. He said, “Is this okay?” in this fakey, worried sort of tone that he uses when we’re doing it. So I play along.

“It feels so good…but I’ve never done this before…but we should stop…I made a Purity Pledge,” I barely say, before cracking up and tugging on his balls.

“As long as your panties stay on, baby, you won’t break your pledge,” he said, hips pushing his cock directly over my clit. I swear, it was the hottest thing ever. As soon as he said it, I could smell my scent between us, the tangycreamysaltiness of it and the cotton went wet and immediately cold in the air conditioning.

So of course, I came in my panties. Creamed myself. Soaked to his boner.

Kelly reached down and pulled the elastic aside and slid his dick partway into me.

“It’s okay, your panties are still on,”

“Shut the fuck up,” I said, and grabbed his ass and pulled him completely inside.

After we'd showered and I was getting dressed, I picked up the panties that had been flung at some point across the room, dashing any remaining shreds of virginal purity I might have had. They were still damp. And cold. I held them to my face and inhaled.

I think I never want to wash them.

Bisou (I Shot Myself)

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 13:19:00 +0000

First, let me say that the line between "porn" and "art" for me is pretty fuzzy. I mean, if "porn" is designed to titillate, and "art" to inspire, what is a girl supposed to do when Guernica makes her all warm and tingly--I mean, inspired and titillated down there? Can't it be both? For that matter, why does it have to "be" anything?

Frankly, I make few distinctions in the realm of the visual when it comes to images like this:

Aw, look at that. The contrast between light and shadow. The fine detail of wispy tummy hairs. That's some sweet brush work, Bisou.

My Ass

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 11:50:00 +0000

. . . is over at Rachel Kramer Bussel's Spanked site, which is a lovely little place where she's promoting her new anthology Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica, out this summer from Cleis Press. She's also got spanking links and information for aficionados and newbies alike.

Why is my ass there?

Because I wrote a story for the anthology, duh!

Also because Lolita Wolf does such a good job of spanking (and tying), and I really felt this photo should be circulated again:

Unfortunately, the Spanked site is syndicated on Amazon, and this photo's a little much over there.

But over here, I think it's juuust right.

Add Spanked to your feeds; there'll be more photos, excerpts and interviews with contributors to the antho.

Thanks, bye!

Hah!

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 11:47:00 +0000

Product Review: Babeland Massage Candle

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 21:25:00 +0000

I lit the candle as a joke, actually.

If you know me, you know how much I like the hot wax play (none as much as the extreme and awesome time I had with Lolita on my birthday back in February). I like the feeling of being captive by my wax wielder, prevented from escaping the drips and splats and raining ooze of melted wax. How it runs down my sides, into the hollow of my throat, and liquidly pours itself into the folds of my labia. The way it feels when layer upon layer of wax piles up, holding my body's heat, keeping me still. I like the feeling of peeling the hardened wax from my body once it's over; the way the cool air feels light and feathery on my skin, which feels like it's just been born.

The thing about soy wax is that it melts at a lower temperature than paraffin, making the ladles of wax from Lolita's fondue pot and paraffin candles much hotter and more likely to burn if she hadn't known what she was doing. Soy wax can be poured/dripped/drizzled with much less concern (making the wax play, in my mind, far less fun and interesting), and can be massaged into the skin, making it nice for sensual massages, if you're into that sort of thing.

So, when a recent package from Babeland was revealed to contain a small square box holding a Mojito Peppermint soy wax candle and a tiny box of +/- matches, the most I could muster was, "Aw, that's so cute." I knew immediately that this was the perfect gift for Kelly, who'd seen photos of my birthday waxing, and while intrigued by the whole thing, he was not quite ready to break out the pots and ladles.

I lit the candle while waiting for him to come over. It had a nice, fresh, pepperminty smell. It smelled like Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Castile Soap, I thought, and so I liked it. I use that soap for everything, including showers in the summertime. It is interesting to me now, how I failed to consider that the tingly nature of that peppermint soap might also translate to this innocuous looking candle. I suppose I assumed that the fragrance was just fragrance, not essential oil of peppermint. Ahem, but I get ahead of myself.

When Kelly got here I sort of jumped him immediately, leaving the candle to burn for about 40 minutes while we fucked. When he asked if I'd like him to massage my back I practically fell off the bed to get to the candle. I blew out the flame, showed him how high up to hold the cup, and turned onto my belly so he could straddle my legs and drizzle the soy wax along the length of my spine.

It did feel great–the oil already warm and his hands gliding up my back–but when Kelly massages my back things turn pretty fucky pretty quickly. He moved up and rubbed the length of his hardened cock from the top of my asscrack to the small of my back and down again.

I sighed–not only was it physically awesome, but the whole room smelled really good.

I think we felt it at the same time, because we both said, "Uh..." then "Whuh?" then "Ahjeez!" He jumped off me and hopped from leg to leg next to the bed. My entire back and his cock and balls were lit UP with minty flaming action so intense I grabbed a bottle of lotion to spread over the areas, thinking in terms of a salsa analogy: water intensifies the burn, and I didn't have any bread.

Once things had calmed down and we were showered and dressing, Kelly began to laugh at the lingering tingle in his shorts.

"I'm sorry!" I said, "I never used this before!"

"I just think it's great that usually, I'm the inexperienced one and here you are, all skilled in wax and this is what happens."

I am glad to be the butt of jokes about this for a very long time, if he'll be as open to new things as ever.

On the whole, I like the massage candle's design: the glass votive holder has a flared lip so wax pours easily, it's not too large for a smaller hand to manage, and if the Mojito Peppermint is any indication, the fragrances are going to blow you away: in addition to the one I tried, there are Chocolate Hazelnut, Mango Vanilla, Rice Flower and Jasmine Ginger. I'm thinking that chocolate may be the way to go next time. My (used once) candle is now sitting under the seat in my car and goodness, it smells nice in there.

My Naked Bits

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 04:15:00 +0000

...are on NakedCity.com.

It's a daily post, like a Twitter feed of sorts, but a collected digest, and it's all sex-related things I'm not posting on my actual Twitter. This is good news for my real-life friends who probably don't appreciate my naked-life friends being thrust into their faces and onto their handhelds all the time.

Short little bursts of naughty themed goodness every day, that's what I'm talking about.

You can still follow me on Twitter here, but for a look at what goes through my head (and into my orifices) on any given day, check out Naked Bits on the Village Voice's Naked City blog, edited by Audacia Ray. It's smart, it's social and it's delicious.

Honeysuckle (I Shot Myself)

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 13:25:00 +0000

Yesterday it was really nice here. I was at my friend's for coffee and we started talking about gardens, namely mine, which is a blank slate at the moment. Oh, and my friend is a Master Gardener. Like, no bullshit. So, she'll come over and help me lay out a plan for my flowers and plants and she'll even give me some of hers.

When she took me to her basement to show me all the plants she had wintered over, a wide, shallow pot of succulents caught my eye. They were so lush and beautiful and I kind of wanted to squeeze into one until its juice started dripping out.

How many things in this photo make you want to do that?

More Pretty Things (Device Bondage)

noreply@blogger.com (Madeline Glass) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 13:34:00 +0000

There are so many things that I like about the hi-resolution photos and mpegs at DeviceBondage.com. For one, I like the before and after photos of each model. I like the classy fetish wear (see toe boots below) that some of the girls wear, and I especially like that I never know whether a shoot is going to have me wincing and making my pukey face (hello, nostril hooks), or dreamily staring at the screen going, "My goodness, that looks pretty."

This is Ariel X. Say hi to Ariel.