Tag Archives: Simone Leigh

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Sex, lies and deluxe dildos: If I dare to, will you too?

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I’ve been doing a reality check and I’ve come up with SO MANY things I just NEED to share with you, cos I bet I’m not alone regarding some of the things I’m discovering.

Like what?

Who’s into donkey dicks, say ‘Aye!’

Am I a freak? I don’t think I’m a freak…

Reality check: I’m definitely NOT into big dicks.

In erotic stories, he’s always XXXL and she’s always got a teeny-weeny tight little mouse hole, so he ends up stretching her to the max. Which she loves.

Erm, no thanks. Any time I’ve ever had a man let out his donkey dick, I gulp out of sheer fright and would rather run 100 miles in the opposite direction. I have be known to send guys home without ‘getting it’, cos I’m definitely not into that. Have him stretch me so far I’ll either need stitching or be fanny farting for hours to come? Erm, no thanks.

Just because it’s huge, doesn’t mean it’s good. Now this is where I need you to dare to tell me the truth:

If you have a partner with such a whopper, is it really good sex or is it just painful sex? Painful not in a sexy way, but just plain uncomfortable?

And for my gentlemen readers:

Has a woman ever said: ‘no thank you, hun, pack it back and take it home’?

I guess it also depends on how skilled your partner is, whatever the size. As my grandmother once told me as we stood by the kitchen window, thinking up stories about passers by:

some a them got them Rolls Royce and don’ even know how to park it. And some a them got them mini and can park it everywhere perfectly well, thank you.

Me? I like mini that can ease itself into the tightest of slots…

I need a new toy. Any advice?

My birthday’s coming up soon. It’s time I increase my repertoire of sex aids. For the moment, all I have  –  in addition to my bedroom shoes and a crotch-less body stocking (which I DO look good in!)  –   is a variety of (fresh!) fruit and veg. Oh, and my corduroy chair. If you don’t know the story about my corduroy chair and the role it plays, along with another woman, in my best orgasm ever, read about it here. For those who already know the story but would like to read it again (and hear an orgasm that would make Meg Ryan crawl back to her trailer park), go ahead, treat yourself, I don’t mind.

A good friend of mine has given me a tip: the eroscillator. Do you know this one? OMG!!! I’ve got the top deluxe version on my wish list now. It’s not cheap ($240), but my birthday’s coming up (so is Christmas). Here’s what some of the users are saying:

YES.YES.YES:

I was hesitant to spend the money on this even after I read the reviews. I haven’t left the first setting yet and wow is all can say. I may not ever leave my house again.
LONG LASTING PLEASURE:
Wife loves this one. Has plenty of power and never quits. Had to order 2 in case the first one broke.

THE DEVICE SOMETIMES DOESN’T TURN OFF, WHICH IS INTERESTING…
Works well but we don’t think it’s worth the money.

Well now, doesn’t THAT sound tempting? One woman claims to be using her eroscillator  for fourteen years now. Can’t make up my mind whether that’s good or sad. The equipment itself looks more like the donkey variety than the mini variety, but maybe I should give it a try. Over to you:

  • What’s your view/experience regarding (overly) well-endowed men?
  • What’s your tip for my next sexy prezzie?
  • Are there any toys out there that you consider a complete waste of time?

Hear from you soon, and remember:

Stay strong, stay beautiful, stay just the way you are.

Words Worth

why you should never fake an orgasm (and why I did)

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If you fake it, then because you think you owe your partner this trophy as a reflection of their expertise?

Why? Why not: no work, no pay?

Who owns your orgasm? One of my favourite lines in Verses Nature is when Carmina, after a disagreement with her lover, Tatar, writes in her diary: I refused to let him make me come. Think about that for a while: I refused to let him make me come.

Carmina owns her body, its pleasure, no matter if Tatar is convinced otherwize. Her orgasm: a gift she may choose not to give?

So, when and why did I fake it? Not for them. I did it for us. I did it for Simone. Simone Leigh and I met each other online. She writes coffee break erotica for women. We’re kind of in the same line of business. I write ‘high-brow rumpy dumpy’. Officially, I call it erotic literary fiction. Men are welcome. At some point I mentioned to Simone that I am a performance artist. At a later point I had a copy of her The Virgin’s Christmas in my hands. Two plus two makes…

Sure. Why not?

One of the problems I have with most of what goes by the name of romance is the role women play. When I think that most porn is made my men for men and most romance is written for women by women, then why do romance authors perpetuate the happy end myth of woman becomes wife? Is that all there is to it? To us? Find a man then settle down? I thought Austen was dead (in that respect).

Leigh’s The Virgin’s Christmas, upon first reading, appears to fall into the category of romance (and erotica), where the female is but a life-size toy men may operate, battery-free.

Take a second look. I did. As I rehearsed this piece, it became clear to me that the protagonist, Charlotte, is everything but a mere pawn. When the Christmas gift of a threesome with her ‘Master’ and Michael is jeopardized by a snowstorm, it is Charlotte who takes the initiative. Okay, they are stranded in the middle of nowhere, far from their desired destination, but must that mean all is lost? They have food, they have blankets. They have everything they need. And Charlotte can think of a good way to stay warm and kill time…

With two men serving her from both sides, Charlotte gets the pleasure she had set out for. Her orgasm is but a couple of words in the text, words which could (easily?) be lost in the overall narrative. Charlotte is, after all, outnumbered.

This is where I step in. I transform Charlotte’s climax into the climax of the story, thereby relegating the men’s orgasms to mere narrative side effects. I read the word Master, seeing in my mind ‘Master’, the citation marks meaning ‘so-called’ and thus dethroning him who, throughout the story, remains nameless (thus exchangeable?). The thrust behind the M as I pronounce it – Master… Michael… – could easily override the softer pronunciation of Ch in Charlotte – Ch/sh, like: be quiet… shut up… it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone… (???)

My Charlotte stays in control. Her climax, not theirs, steals the show, as ‘Master’ becomes servant, one with no other option than to accept Charlotte’s decision regarding when they will meet again.

The Virgin’s Christmas is part of a series and in this particular episode (episode 7), there are no wedding bells, near or far. Maybe the three will meet again in the New Year? Charlotte will decide. In the meantime, she gets on with her life. With her studies. She’s a bright one, Charlotte. Neither her ‘Master’ nor the love-stricken Michael are calling the shots. I loved being her. Even though Simone Leigh doesn’t accord Charlotte’s orgasm the same weight that I, as a performer, may, it’s there in the text. I didn’t write it. It’s there, waiting for me. Is my more feminist-oriented reading of The Virgin’s Christmas to be reduced to simply faking it?

Make your own mind up.