Note from Dee:
I have always been open about my love of erotica. It makes the blood pump and pound in places that throb with desire before being touched…and then creeps back into your mind…later, in an inopportune moment…to steal your mind away again. Literotica and erotica are in every way connected to our sexuality. So, when offered the chance to participate in an erotic tag series (each of the participants puts a part of the piece on their blog), I jumped at it! This is the second in a four part series by Susan Crain Bakos (yes…it is her amazing book The Sex Bible for Women that I am giving away this month!).
So….go and read part one on glamwire: http://www.glamwire.com/articles/2008/12/06/sexuality-in-the-city.
Then come back here to read part two…I will be waiting for you…
Orgasmic Christmas: Have you signed up for my super sexy Orgasmic Christmas? If not…what vibrating pleasures you are missing!!! With sexy stuff from OhMiBod, Babeland, Susan Crain Bakos, XToyStore, and JustInCase….winning one of the 11 prizes in the Orgasmic Christmas contest can change the answer to whether you have been “naughty or nice” this year!__________________________________________________________________________
An Erotic Mini-Series Featuring Death And Orgasms
(Incorporating Real Characters And Real Events Into Fiction That Includes Fake Orgasms, Forays Into Vibe Addiction And Larger Than Life Throbbing Dicks….Just Like Porn)
By Susan Crain Bakos
Check in Friday December 19 on Club Double for part three—and for the conclusion on Friday December 26 on SexyPrime.
Part One ended with the little person’s murder.
Between that and the beginning of Part Two: Palagia cancelled her forthcoming Eat-In and the following Take Out and went off to the isle of Crete to wait out the media storm. The murder weapon, a large, bloody and cracked black dildo, was found neatly wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon in a trash can on Rivington Street, down the block from the Lower East Side Babeland store. Police questioned Chloe, a petite fashion stylist who had worked with the little person, but didn’t arrest her. A lawyer who shot and killed his dom’s abusive lover was grabbing the tabloid headlines. Susan (the character loosely based on me) met a Senegalese lawyer at a bar and went home with him. His incredibly large and slightly curved penis is posing a challenge to the supremacy of the Hitachi Magic Wand in her life. And more!….you’ll have to wait for the book.
And so Part Two opens at an Orgasm Providing workshop at Sexy Spirits, the not-for-profit sex education center run by Anton…..
I watched Anton use his magic touch on the lovely naked model gracing his massage table–while I simultaneously scanned the room out of the corners of my eyes. Men watched in rapt and–from what I could see–respectful silence as Anton massaged her body from head to toe before moving, at last, to her vulva. Next to me sat Nick, a producer with Showtime who considered himself something of an expert on the New York City sexual events scene–even though he’d only discovered it a year ago when he moved here from London where he worked for the BBC as a resident alien from Nebraska. (He’s still a resident alien as far as I‘m concerned.)
“Some of these men are all but drooling,” he whispered in my ear. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, snub-nosed and forty-something, Nick is annoying, but not only because he continually passes judgments. He will flip his judgment and back the opposite position with equal vigor.
He was all but drooling over Jasmine, the model pulsating beneath Anton’s fingers. A little hair decorated her mons, which was a sweet change from the waxed pussies exposed in public these days. She writhed and throbbed, wailed and moaned as she came–and even talked to the audience at times. Her prominent proud clitoris and her full juicy lips, purple in their passion, claimed pleasure. She made frequent eye contact with Anton in a power gaze of charged energies exchanged.
And she ejaculated. Copiously. Towels were placed around to catch the overflow. Her pussy was positioned away from the audience, but a camera focused exactly on her so that we could see (almost as if they were 6 inches away) every detail of her, as well as how Anton stroked her, on the screen above them.
“The camera gives the model more privacy because her pussy is not fully exposed,“ he explained to me before the first Orgasmic Providing session I witnessed. “The audience is not focusing on her but on the image on the screen. They can see the orgasmic pulsing. And I want their attention on the strokes as that is happening.”
I love Anton, the only man who could possibly do what he does in a dignified way yet not put me to sleep by babbling about spiritual sexuality. He is the new wave of adult sex education, blending Eastern teachings with Western pragmatism, delivering his messages in a sophisticated New York style. Yes, he was right: our attention was on the strokes–and, in this case, the generous squirts of fluid shooting out of Jasmine‘s pussy.
“Do you squirt?” Nick whispered.
Some women are squirters, at least occasionally, most likely with G spot stimulation–which Jasmine was not getting. (Though Anton’s Orgasmic Providing strokes include internal ones, his fingers did not leave her clit and labia.) Many Western sex experts dismiss the “ejaculate” as merely a gush of fluid composed of urine and copious vaginal secretions. Others believe it is fluid from the Skene‘s glands, a string of several masses of tissue, embedded in the urethra, which when stimulated sexually in some women, releases the fluids into the urethral canal. Devotees of Amrita, the “nectar of the goddess”, base their cult on ancient Tantric writings. Men ejaculate sperm from the testicles via tubes that go through the prostate gland where the sperm mixes with seminal fluid–a very clear process that everyone understands.. There is no question that whatever this fluid that some women “ejaculate” or squirt, upon orgasm is–it is not the female equivalent of seminal fluid.
“Well, do you?“ he asked; and I continued to ignore him.
Strictly speaking, there is no female ejaculate or ejaculation.
If not ejaculate, what? Something does happen for many women though no one [Sorry, Amritas.] has answered definitively the question: Pee or Amrita? I lean toward the Skeen’s glands theory because it makes the most sense to me.
I have squirted on rare occasion, always involving a lot of oral and manual play, a large dick and too much wine. One time was particularly memorable–a hottest ever sex adventure, a few years back in Soho. Ah, some day I will tell you about that…
“Look at her,” Nick said, a note of contempt in his voice, as we watched the fountain‘s final gusher that night. “Jesus.”
What was he doing there anyway? I applauded Jasmine along with everyone else, quickly got up, and walked across the room to strike up a conversation with George, a newly divorced man approaching sixty who, like some other men in that age group, made the rounds of the city’s sex events (or the ones friendly to folks over 40) in search of whatever he’d missed in his marriage, in his case, good sex. In fact, if you attend public sex events, you will run into many of the same people, in spite of the fact that each venue has its own personality, age range and hip-ness factor.
“I’m putting these techniques to work with my new girlfriends,” George told me enthusiastically.
The smarmy Indian lawyer appeared at my side and stroked my jacket sleeve rather like an unappealing cat begging for attention. Approaching fifty, also divorced, he too was in frequent attendance at workshops, lectures and wine and cheese receptions. So aggressively in search of pussy, he has to be gay. (Right?) Few men can sit through Sherrie Winston’s presentation of The Maps of the Clitoris without nodding off occasionally, but he can.
“Good for you,” I replied enthusiastically to George while gently shrugging off the lawyer’s hand.
Ty, a gorgeous thirty-something African American man married to Meg, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed California girl, stepped between me and Smarmy Lawyer and kissed my cheek.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You were at Palagia’s party that night, weren’t you?” he asked.
Meg and two of her hot young gal pals joined us; and we discussed our theories about the demise of the little person who had been on the fringes of the sex scene for nearly a decade.
“He had a big dick,” one of the girls said. She put her hands eight or nine inches apart. “Really.”
Now there was information The New York Post had not delivered.
“But I hear he was bi,” the other girl said. “He hung out with Brett, didn’t he?”
A baby-faced Tom Cruise look-alike, Brett confessed at a Sexy Spirits wine and cheese evening to an adventure in gay sexuality that seemed to upset him. The following night–or so Nick reported–he made out with two gay boys at a Pleasure Salon “networking evening.” The Pleasure Salon attracts a mixed group, everyone from BDSM to poly and all points between. But the two creepiest women in the sex scene also hang out there: Ravishing Rose, the hands down ugliest and horniest woman I’ve ever met and Goddess Tiffany, a fairly well preserved 75 year old–an argument for eliminating alimony after forty years– who carries around her nude photos taken when she was 50 and hangs out with 25 year old boys who have grandmother complexes.
“Yes,” someone said. “He was friendly with Brett.”
The speaker was that damned smarmy lawyer. We ignored him. Fifteen minutes later Anton led a group of us to the Thai restaurant on 55th and Eighth Avenue (where he, as always, would pick up the check). I left early because I had an appointment with an artist in BedStye. I was newly dick-matized by his amazing appendage, very large with a little curve. Imagine your favorite G spot vibe come to life in beautiful ebony flesh.
B, my artist obsession, was not a particularly great lover. Or rather, the two of us together were not that great. I didn’t like the way he kissed or stroked me. He seemed unmoved by my foreplay too.
I let him fuck me the first time because I’d let him take me home from a jazz bar and insisted he wear a condom to which he reluctantly consented. A pity fuck. But then he entered me; and then he shoved that beautiful dick inside me and I was home, if home is erotic heaven. I began to come; and I came and came and came. The next morning, I worshipped that dick on my knees.
We learned something from that first experience. Screw the foreplay. I fantasized his dick in the cab ride to Brooklyn and I was ready when I got there. He was waiting outside, at the top of the steps. Sweat beaded his forehead. I pressed my thumb against one bead of trickling sweat and looked into his eyes. It was the most intimate moment I’d shared with him that did not involve his dick……
MORE SEX in part three…..where my pal Steve Otero (Anton’s right hand man) and I also attend Rachel Kramer Bussel’s In The Flesh Erotic Reading series–and he shares some shocking information that he has discovered.
Also, if you are curious: You too can squirt:
Female ejaculation isn’t exactly a technique. If you want to try to make it happen, use G spot stimulation and don’t hold back when you feel the urge to urinate. Bear down. Anton’s goddess of the Amrita drinks water before the demonstration. Some women empty their bladders before trying to squirt because they want to be absolutely sure they aren’t peeing. Whatever soaks your towels!
Always wanted to try your hand at writing erotica? Give it a shot! I am always happy to accept submissions for consideration. One of my sexy ladies (HINT: My Favorite Pink Pussy!) has already written the Sexy “Twas’ the Night Before Christmas in the *Cathouse*! Look for that on Christmas Eve night with an announcement of the Orgasnic Christmas winners!