I get submissions sometimes from fans of the site (or of me). Here’s an interesting one by FSK Fan Ryan. He wrote this missive to me late at night, along with a couple of other stories. I think his work is promising and hot. What do you think? xx fsk

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He had been looking forward to this evening for months. The chairman of his company had invited him and his girlfriend to dinner with the other members of the board of directors, something reserved for a very few executives in the company. He smiled as he escorted his woman to the car as they headed to the restaurant. She looked amazing in a black cocktail dress clinging to her in just the right way, black stockings with a sophisticated yet sexy black hem running up the back, one strand of pearls he had given to her for her birthday, and her hair done perfectly highlighting her beautiful face and eyes.

He knew this was going to be a special evening and Deb could feel the excitement emanating from him as well and this made her quiver inside because she knew that when he was excited and pleased that he would manifest this by ravishing her and driving her wild. Just the thought of some of the things he had done to her in the past made her tingle inside and she felt herself beginning to get wet as her labia pressed against the front panel of her thong. (more…)

As I perch on a stool, you whisper in my ear “The pier”.

I laugh, long and loud, at your imaginative choice.

“We are 30 blocks away”  I snicker, looking at the clock over the bar.

“C’mon”  You grab my hand, my coat, my bag, and push your way through the crowd.  Outside, you pause, holding out my coat for me, then pressing me against the wall, your arms block any escape.  Your smile is all heat and hunger, wicked and confident.

“When we get there, you’ll do as I say, baby, and you’ll love it” Your English accent warm and clipped, more suggestive than menacing.  I stick out my tongue, and you lick it with the tip of yours.  I moan a little, you growl, and we kiss hard.  Your arms wrap around me and I melt into your mouth with warm, wet, open kisses.

You pull my away from the building to the street and flag down a cab.  Its late, almost 2 am, but you’re determined.  And horny.  I’ve teased you all night, starting with a phone call earlier in the day, where I told you I would do whatever you wanted in the location of your choice as long as you did it after 1 am and by 3 am.  I promised you in this warm winter break no location was out of bounds, unless it was unsafe, too public and too bright.  We pondered bridges and tunnels, subway cars and building rooftops.  Parks and taxi cabs already had seen our eagerness to get at each other physically.  We so enjoyed making out, touching, fucking, teasing each other, and the locations just made the jolt a little more intense, a private adventure you and I share.

A cab slows down.  You open the door.  “Pier 92″ (more…)

sugar daddy for lunch

Your intrepid Kitten has been doing research on online dating for writing and a possible documentary, and came across a unique phenomenon called “Sugar Daddy Dating”. Back in offline days, I wondered how ladies and lads of leisure would find their sugar pops. These days, there are many sites proferring poontang worthy girls and boys.

The funny thing in all of this is the kitten doesn’t find money or its trappings impressive.  Rather, it tends to allow more douche baggery as the tax bracket goes up.  So messing with these men is 30% of this process, while research being the other 70%.

From SeekingArrangement.com to SugarDaddyforMe.com, FSK has put up profiles, to see what kind of man, wealthy or not, would respond. Oh, does the Kitten have tales to tell…

At the same time, FSK put profiles up on Lavalife.com, Nerve.com, Cupid.com….etc… So much to tell, from such slim pickings. But comparision “shopping” has yielded the following finds:

Most men online are truly poor communicators. Online dating used to be for the geeky and dorky, but now the creepy, jocky, wall streety, artsy and fartsy all apply to score some online booty. And the really articulate - the writers, sociopaths, etc - are usually too charming/cheesey and leave the reader of their missives either sugar shocked or needing a shower. (more…)

I’m pure as the driven snow…well, actually, I’m 28% pure and 72% naughty, according to a test a friend sent me. The regular stats list that women are 51.2% pure on average, men are 52.2% pure on average. And couples are lower - 41.2%.

Is this good or bad - labels and tests to “rate” yourself sexually. Calling it a purity test. I’m not surprised at the result (it makes me laugh, actually). But I’m a little worried about yet another layer of sexual labeling and sorting. Categories and tags. Am I metadata now? A key word searchable type?

(more…)

Lately, I feel like a character in a Gibson novel - living outside the mainstream, doing much with technology, and dating online again.

I spend so much time on my computers - at work, performing, at home - I wonder if part of me is slowly becoming code. My websites are massive, intricate labyrinths full of the same kind of crevices and crannies one might find in the tangental nature of the human brain. I wonder if I can disconnect - if its possible. Am I so emmeshed in my computer activity, that disconnection would be a health risk? A career risk? A social risk?

(more…)

Sex is a driven need. Who has the wheel?

As the girlfriend a few low sex drive guys, I can tell you its definitely not always the woman who has the headache.

What happens when one of you accelerates while other pumps the brake?

Maybe its a generational thing, my female friends and I, who have high sex drives, than previous generations of women who had more low sex drive gals in their roster. Perhaps this urban myth needs to die off.

(more…)

When I first start dating someone, I send them to my blog. I assume after reading about my adventures in dating, they will understand I’m very sexual and open, yet discriminating. I hope the silly question of “The Roster” never comes up. But of course it always does.

“Who have you slept with/had sex with/been intimate with/fucked?”

That question always makes me pause, being termed as euphemistically as their comfort level will allow.

(more…)

I am kinky lovely. I am not kinky nasty, kinky bitchy, kinky castrating, kinky martyr, kinky victim, kinky athlete or kinky desperate.

Kinky lovely - its gotta feel good, smell good, taste good, sound good, be real, real good, a deep kind of seeking, settling and exploring of the lovely.

(more…)

I eschewed online dating for the “real” world of people i meet throughout the art, nightlife and professional worlds i mix in.

One guy i found cute and interesting, a fellow artist, seemed to have so much potential. And then he blew it. The night started off okay - gallery hopping from opening to opening, a group of us, sipping wine, looking at art, hanging out. He and i split off later in the evening. We hung out and ended up in a passionate embrace.

(more…)

Yes, I admit, I have a favorite fantasy - I am a very willful, naughty girl who needs to be dominated, more so intellectually than physically, but there’s that too. Wrestling, with me inevitably losing, but still wanting that delicious push pull. Being pinned, unable to move, being teased, bitten (lightly, no blood drawing here), hair pulled, spanked, tossed around, really moved and controlled physically. Being tickled, chased, told not to move no matter what (but don’t tie me up - not into physical restraints). The spanking is done for my own good, and its not about anger but caring and control. Of course, I will never completely be compliant, because the thrill of disobeying, playfully, and knowing I will be pursued and punished is the sweet sting I long for. And there are times I get rewarded for being a good girl.

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“While the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats.”
- Mark Twain

I remember being a little girl with flaming red hair (gold and red and bronze), and women coming up to my mother, cooing over the color. Other children, however, hated my hair. Carrot top, woody woodpecker, head wound, Opie, Medusa, Pippi, Howdy Doody, Ang Mo (chinese for red devil), Rusty, Coppertop, etc. Really cruel stuff, all over a hair color. Got it from my siblings as well, being the only redhead in my immediate family. An uncle and my grandmother were also redheads, living no where near us. The only other redhead in grade school was Alex, a quiet boy with a wry wit, who kept close quarters with his friend Dennis. Alex came from a family of redheads.

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It’s the most wonderful time of the year…there’s parties for drinking, lovers for loving, lips full of good cheer…it’s the most wonderful, it’s the most desperate, it’s the most depressing time of the year…

The holidays are here again and for some single folk, they bode a low point in their self-esteem. Nothing can be more depressing than a houseful of relatives asking the predictable questions around dating, marriage and children. Of course, the same relatives would be aghast at the idea of you asking them how their sex lives were faring in their golden years. Or if their marriage would survive another holiday debacle like Uncle Morty passing out face down in the punch bowl. Imagine if you were as direct and rude - what kind of evil fun you could have by asking the uncles and aunts, the cousins and old weird family friends if they have resorted to Viagra yet, or if the wife is so dried up they buy KY in bulk.

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So I am sitting here in my miss-buttoned strawberry print pajamas, the heat beginning to dissipate from the city and my bed, feeling a bit out of sorts.

Perhaps it’s the Lavalife/Nerve/Gay.com date-a-thon that I have been on since my mid-May breakup. The amount of dirty old men on these sites is amazing and depressing, especially when their pics show a tiny slice of the wife on one side and a wee bit of one of the kids on the other. They are all looking for “discreet” encounters. How fucking horrible! The internet becomes a place where these soulless desperate dudes troll for anyone as desperate looking for the hookup. I mean, they made a choice and instead staying true and honest, they slink around, looking for the sad and lonely of the herd to pounce on, like hyenas and jackals.

(more…)

Dispatch #6
Escort Me To The Egress…
aka THE BIG SECRET

Julia Roberts and all the hookers with a heart of gold be damned. I am going to tell a very UN-fairytale-like story of being an escort, as a college student, and how the truth is so much worse than fiction.

Most girls of the 70’s grew up with some kind of fucked up abuse and bizarre home life. In the confusion of this, the sexual revolution was waning and the ME generation (aka our parents) were finishing up their swinging parties and cocktails, espousing strange idioms from est, primal scream and other modes of “therapy”. The dirty little secret was that the daughters of this era were getting mixed messages, often blending in with sexual abuse of some sort. Yeah, man, we were primed for sex - we wanted to fuck no matter what; it was our god given right. We were well groomed, the lot of us, for sex in the 80’s and 90’s that was sometimes destructive, and in that destruction was a strange sense of power.

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When I reveal my sexuality to people, whether its called ambisexuality, omnisexuality or bisexuality, sometimes they get a little tense. Women especially. Am I scoping them out for a possible sexual encounter? When they ask me if they look fat, should they be reacting to me as a sexual being or another woman talking to a friend?

Men immediately bite their tongues and I KNOW what they are thinking – can you and one of your girlfriends come over for a ménage a trios? Most men have the tact not to say it, but the question is literally being written in their eyes like a Times Square digital ticker – will…you…bring…over…a…hot…chick…and…let…me…watch? Sometimes I laugh; sometimes I really want to slug them. Hard.

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I suppose it started with the Fisher Price Family Castle - 1974-ish, plastic, with the moat, the secret passage and the dungeon. There was a carriage, a queen, a king, a princess and a prince. It had four turrets, a plastic pennant and smelled so artificial. I remember playing with the Queen and she always had to have a Prince and a Princess next to here - but they weren’t her children, according to my stories. No, the Queen kissed them both, and the King sat ignored in the carriage, or rolled under the couch. The Queen had to have a boyfriend AND a girlfriend. She got to “play” with the both. “Playing” consisted of the Queen and one of her friends making smooching sounds (supplied by yours truly), while horizontally rubbing up against each other. And it was so much fun…

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The idea of anal sex begins with an instinctive “eeewww gross” - the natural reaction to potty training that taught me poop is dirty and I had to labor to clean the place from where it exited my body. The next entrée into anal sex is usually “accidental” - an over-eager teenage boyfriend dives into the wrong opening and there is tearing and pain and spot of red on the bed. Of course, the incident is never repeated and makes my butt a no-fly zone.

And then I read Tristan Taormino’s musings on the joys of anal sex - the idea that nature made elimination enjoyable for humans by putting a large gathering of nerve endings around the anus. It got me thinking - nerve endings - the sense of satisfaction after a good dump - hmmm….

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