Feel the Love - Personal Stories

why I smoke pot

nospam@example.com () — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 13:32:54 -0600

I never was a social smoker - I was only ever interested in marijuana medicinally, like so:

List of conditions for which I find cannabis helpful:

PAIN

Chronic pain and stiffness in back and neck, especially in the morning. Can't elongate spine.
General stiffness in muscles and joints. Pain in knees and ankles from excess weight and injuries. Relaxes tissue enough to stretch and strengthen.
Posture correction - enables me to stand straight for short periods of time without pain and retrain the weak muscles causing the pain.
PMS cramps (severe)

MOOD

Lifetime history (since puberty) of severe depression, periodically suicidal.
Lifetime history of anxiety, social anxiety, autistic over-stimulation/melt-downs, hyper alertness, irritability, panic attacks, phobias, nervousness, and obsessiveness. Improves concentration and focus in some areas. Major improvements in functionality, motivation, and productivity.
PMS - intense manic mood swings, hyper alertness, aggressiveness, and poor impulse control.
Possible PTSD from childhood physical abuse, bullying, rape, and other interpersonal trauma.
History of violence, rage, abuse, and assault.
Cigarette cravings (smoked 17 years 1989-2006)

ENERGY

Blood sugar (?) symptom suppression (weakness, exhaustion, dizziness, nausea)
Obesity/weight control - helps with appetite suppression when I don't need to eat
Chronic fatigue
Lifetime chronic insomnia (trouble getting to sleep, not staying asleep)
Decreased coordination/clumsiness/accidents/personal injury

falling up/down stairs
falling off bicycle, bus, curb, level ground
walking into walls/posts/trees/corners/counters/furniture/pretty much anything
increased burns and cuts in the kitchen
"mystery bruises"

I used to keep a teensy tiny bit around in case of emergency. Thing is, I've since found that it works better (for me, anyway) as a steady supplement than as an on-the-spot medication. Some uses are immediate, yes - but others seem to have more of a cumulative, long term effect. Rather like any other "normal" medication or supplement, it works better if I have a steady trickle in my system at all times.

Pot - it does my body good.

a tale of 4 dresses

nospam@example.com () — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 01:54:17 -0500

So yeah, I have got to be like the luckiest girl ever. I'm sitting here looking like the gorgeous earth mama hippie sex kitten that I am in one of the sexy new dresses my guy got me. Of course, he didn't know he was getting it for me. Rather, he thought he was getting me one dress (for my niece's wedding), whereas in reality I took the money and bought four (only one of which was really appropriate for a wedding - the others just look hot).

Really hot. Floor length flowered mauve skirt topped off by cleavage galore. Cleavage. Lots of cleavage. So much cleavage that it's actually distracting me.

I wore the same dress to the Tryst "singles" party at SF Citadel last Friday night. That party was rockin'. With a line out the door at 8:00, it took us 20 minutes just to get inside. When we did, it was predictably packed with folks of all ages, presumably eligible for romance, play, or whatever. Lots of guys. Some more interesting than others.

The crowd and noise were a bit overwhelming for the first half of the evening. I got pulled away to do some rope while they started playing personality bingo but my sideways suspension was cut short because I didn't like the way the ropes were digging into my soft bits and he didn't want to leave any rope marks on me before the wedding.

Any obvious ones, anyway. I've got a doozy on my back, which I thought I could cover up at the pool party reception the next day, but fell somewhat short of doing so since apparently thin white shirts don't do a very good concealing job after they've been in the pool. At least nobody seemed to notice that the 60's white print dress I wore to the wedding was too tight or that you could see my nipples if you looked just right. Phew. I didn't realize how sheer it was until I'd already gotten it home and then I just figured I'd hope for the best.

Once untied, I considered joining the bingo game, but someone had already won it and my feet were killing me, so I did what I usually do and went to find snackies. I know it's not the most social thing in the world, but food is always a safe bet once the ropes are off. Only problem is that other people can find the food, too. Worse, some of them want to talk.

Ran afoul of one fellow who took my "bossy bottom" sticker as an opportunity to tell me what he liked to do with bossy bottoms, which was basically play nice the first time and then ignore them ever after. Thanks, dude. I needed that warning to never play with you. Appreciate it. Do whatever you want to do to someone else. Homey don't play that game.

I bottom because I like sensation. Certain sensations, and certain sensations only. I don't bottom because I like to "submit" to random jackasses with ego complexes and something to prove. Ignore that and you'll be finding yourself with some all new sensations and stories yourself.

Anyone who thinks they can do whatever the fuck they want to me against my expressed wishes is going to see the psycho side of Sunshine fast - and don't think it doesn't exist! It's got years of development over the sweet side, let me tell you. And BDSM play brings it out like nothing else. It wouldn't be the first time that I've experienced accidental age regression in a scene. Not only do I have "abused child" practically bleeding out of my pores, but I've also got "angry street kid" built into my reflexes. I can kick ass. I mostly choose not to. Don't be the idiot who changes my mind.

One more time for those slow of hearing - I don't submit. Period. If you're beating my back, it's because I want you to beat my back. If you're beating my ass, I'm likely just tolerating it until you can hit my back some more. If you make me tolerate too much, I'll totally lose interest and/or get angry and never talk to you again. FYI.

On the other hand, I did meet a delightful new friend who is weird and whacky and all the things that sort of scream out kindred spirit to me. We talked for hours, safely ensconced on a couch in the now slightly quieter seating area. Don't remember much about what we talked about, other than that he lives two blocks away from the club and has a large bag of surprisingly good chocolate waiting there. Way to pique a girl's interest, I gotta say. I'm sure I'll be investigating that at a later date.

I really like the Tryst parties. I'm not very good at socializing, but I like the idea of a party where the idea is to get to know people. Maybe not well enough to play with them at first, but enough to recognize and say "hi" to them the next time. I'm kind of a slow burn when it comes to meeting people. First I like to see them around a bit from afar, then some minor pleasantries, then some more seeing from afar, perhaps a little bit more conversation, and so on. It's progressive.

Take the other major interaction I had that night, for example. A friend of a friend, I first ran into him on tribe.net and then months later he introduced himself to me at a Citadel party. Then a coworker of mine joined his leather family and spoke well of him. Then we became friends on FetLife, where he always says nice supportive stuff about my pictures and posts. I'm like a cat that way - you gots to get me used to you slowly, and with no sudden movements.

And then you just gotta ask, which he did. It was late, and I'd finally separated from my couch conversation. My favorite boy was getting crucified by my main man up above, and just past them was the girl I'd made tentative play plans with swapping smacks with another dungeon friend. Ultimately it ended up being three separate scenes, but all very close together. Lemme tell you, there is nothing quite like being naked up against a cross and then looking around all happy and spacey eyed to see all your favorite people naked and playing nearby. Good times.

Stayed until the party closed down at 1:00 and they kicked everyone out. Went home dreading the long drive up to Chico in the morning. Gave myself five hours to make what Google said should only be three and a half. We barely beat the bride through the door at the church. But we made it. Just in the nick of time to see my precious little niece, who I've known since she was a bump in her mama's belly, walk down the aisle and commit her troth to what seemed to be a very nice young man.

The service was mercifully short, and included a lot of extra religious stuff that I know my niece cares about probably as little as I do but undoubtedly made her mother, grandmother, and great grandmother very happy.

Speaking of, there's about to be five generations living in my family again. A couple years ago my great grandma finally died, at the ripe old age of 95, I think. But apparently the bride is expecting, which makes my sister a grandma and me a great aunt. Christ, I feel old. The whole family is cracking jokes about how she beat me to it. I'm not sure whether they mean the wedding or the babies. Hopefully the babies. I've already been married once.

Oh well, with any luck I'll still manage to beat her through school. Kids should slow her down. Bwah ha ha ha...

Although I did end up "catching" the bridal bouquet by default; since I was the last female left of eligible age by the time she went to throw it, she just walked up and handed it to me instead. Smiling. Big. Yeah, thanks. They all kept saying how I was "next". Again, not sure if they're talking about marriage or babies, but there does seem to be a bit of a universal desire (conspiracy?) pushing in one direction or the other, gauging by the rumors and comments I've been hearing lately. Whatever.

This wasn't helped by the fact that I brought my guy to meet the family for the first time. He also seemed surprised by how many generations we've got going. All in all, it's a small family, but I guess we do spread out a bit in age. They all loved him, of course. I think many of them were relieved to see he really existed. I suppose after two years (exactly tomorrow!), he was starting to seem imaginary. But six foot four is surprisingly tangible, as my four foot grandma found out with a mild bit of surprise. I think she came up to his waist.

Also fun was introducing him to my friends' six year old. She looked up, and up, and up, and up...; she finally got all the way up to the top then ran around the couch to come hide behind and hug me. It's a shame we didn't get to spend more time while she was there and awake, but we only had the weekend and so many people to do and things to see.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="216" caption="Our Hands"][/caption]

Speaking of, after having hot MFM three way sex with my friend's husband that night and the next day, I took my fellow around town to show him some of the less erotic local sights:

Lower Bidwell Park, where I went creek dipping at every opportunity in another one of my new dresses, this one green and black with a v-neckline and soft swept hem to my ankles. It was that stretchy almost bathing suit material anyway, which was perfect for the 100 degree weather we were having. I'd get it soaking wet from neck to toe and within half an hour it would be dry again. Felt like heaven while it was wet clinging to my legs.

Downtown Plaza. The Hands statue behind the city building where my dad used to work. (At one point, while they were building it, they had erected only the palm and one middle finger. I wish I could find that picture!)

Sycamore Pool at One Mile Recreation Area. He loved the water. I sat on the shore to watch our stuff while he explored it from one end to the other, looking like nothing more than an overgrown kid with his poofy hair and shy smile of discovery.

HoneyRun Covered Bridge. After we'd seen all the sights I could cram into one hot Sunday afternoon, we then went to dinner at what has consistently been rated the best restaurant in Chico, the 5th Street Steakhouse. We had the most amazing crab cheese wontons ala the special of the day, then split a 14 ounce rib-eye steak. Yummy. Dessert was compliments of my buddy John, who sent out something called a "blondie brownie", which was a white chocolate brownie with chocolate chips served melty warm with ice cream on top. Okay, that was to die for. Oh yeah...

And then I drove home, which took much less time than driving up had taken. Driving at night helps. A lot. Missed at least an hour of stop & go in the Bay Area that way. And I've been at home looking sexy ever since. I love these dresses. Served him chocolate birthday cake last night in another cleavage special. I kept catching him looking down at it as if I hadn't put it there just for him. Chocolate is good. So is cleavage. One of these days I'll have to combine the two for a really memorable occasion. Tonight it's dinner and bondage with another side of boobage. Lucky guy. Guess that makes two of us.

the bullshooters story

nospam@example.com () — Thu, 28 May 2009 02:01:13 -0500

As mentioned in my last post, we share the event hotel with a dart throwing convention. This is one man's inspirational first hand account of what I assume was a late night interaction with some very interesting characters.

Them Bullshooters Got My Back, Yo

I went out for a cigarette, and one of the more inebriated Bullshooters jumped in front of me and screamed out, "I WANNA BUY SOME NIPPLE CLAMPS!"

Before I could even form a witty reply, five or six other Bullshooters....well, turned on him.

Defender 1: "Hey, don't make fun, dude! They're really cool people."

Defender 2: "Yeah, man! They're really dedicated to something they love, man. Back the fuck off!"

Drunk Girl: "I....I should be down there instead of up here."

Drunk Asshole: "Fuck that, man. They're doing some kind of sick kinky sex shit down there."

An Entirely Different Person: "No, they're not. They're studying a Three Hundred Year Old Asian Erotic Art."

Drunk Girl: "I'm only here with my boyfriend. I had to take out all my piercings because of the airport. But I'm one of you guys."

Yet Another Entirely Different Person: "Yeah, man. They've converted a martial art form into an expression of sacred sexuality, dude. Don't you get it? They've turned WAR INTO LOVE, man! That's fucking cool."

Master So'N'So, no longer speechless (almost): "Uh....that's actually true, I guess."

Defender 1: "They like, unearthed all this lost lore by studying Feudal Era woodblock prints."

Master So'N'So: "Well, I wouldn't...."

Drunk Girl (interrupting): "I like to be caned. Do you like to cane people?"

Defender 2: "They're not even drinking down there. They give up an entire weekend to study, man. They're really dedicated."

Drunk Girl: "I'M A MASOCHIST!" (whispers) "That is the right term, yeah?"

Master So'N'So: "It's not like ALL we do is study...."

Drunk Asshole stumbles off, confused.

Defender 1, to me: "Hey, sorry about that, uh...Master....Sir? Some of these guys just, you know, don't keep an open mind. Hey, can I ask you a question?"

Defender 2, to me: "Uh, yeah....I have one, too. If you don't mind, uh....Sir."

Drunk Girl, trying to grope me: "I saw you out here last night..."

Master So'N'So, disengaging from Drunk Girl: "Call me Amul. Okay, sure. What do you want to know?"

Defender 1, very seriously: "Why do you guys wear kimonos? I mean, like, why the Asian stuff? Why not western bondage?"

Master So'N'So: "Uh....do you want the short answer or the long one?"

Defender 1 & 2 (in unison) "The long one!"

Master So'N'So explains about Damsel in Distress, Shibari, Fusion Bondage, etc, while warding off the affections of the Drunk Girl. "And you had another question?"

Drunk Girl, mostly to herself: "I miss my nose ring."

Defender 2, working up the courage to ask: "Uh, yeah.....What are the crotchet hooks for?"

--------Master So'N'So (aka Amul)

Story reposted with permission courtesy of Amul Kumar http://www.amul.biz

back from Shibaricon

nospam@example.com () — Thu, 28 May 2009 00:41:23 -0500

I don't even know where to start, so I'll start with the suspensions. Friday night I wore the kimono he bought me in Hawaii that I had sold to him specifically with batting big blue eyes and the pitch of "Tie me up in a kimono at Shibaricon?!", which he then so masterfully did. Beautiful spiderweb suspension on the claw frame; it left me dangling like a limp and lovely Japanese princess. I felt dainty and delicate and thoroughly ensnared.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="98" caption="new favorite toy"][/caption]

Upon the recommendation of a friend, I picked up a new toy - a Torvea glass dildo that looks an awful lot like this one but for a fraction of the price. Then I got to have it used on me. Extensively. Oh my god, does it so do the trick! Yowsa. I am one happy, happy girl.

The one I have is blue and just slightly more curved, I think, which makes it hella easy to manipulate myself. Found out that it's a bit difficult to keep it in once things start getting wet and slippery down below, though. Of course, that was half the fun, trying to keep it in on the walk to the washroom after he untied my ass. It's also good for stealth masturbation in bed, as it's much quieter than my Hitachi Magic Wand.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="284" caption="old favorite toy"][/caption]

The other nice thing about the glass dong versus the wand is that it doesn't require plugging in, which is strictly not allowed in the event space due to some sort of union rules. Welcome to Chicago.

One enterprising fellow got around the rule by lugging in a car battery to attach his violet wand and other electrical toys to. I just about shit when I saw that but then I got distracted by the giant metal bondage wheel that seemed to have sprung directly from my high school sadistic fantasies, complete with screaming jiggling girlie girls and all.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="117" caption="for serious electrical play afficionados"][/caption]

I got to give it a whirl myself, both with my partner on it and then him spinning me. Holy shit. That was fun, and resulted in a good chunk of the dungeon getting to hear me deliriously sing "You spin me right round baby, right round; Like a record baby, right round, round round...", all the while giggling like a maniac. I was smart enough to get off before the dizziness turned into nauseousness and it was all good. Way fun.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="90" caption="rope dildo from kinkyropes.com"][/caption]

I so wish we could have gotten pictures, and of so many things. Neither one of us brought a camera since pictures also weren't allowed in the event space, for somewhat obvious reasons. However, next time I'm bringing mine anyway so that we can at least take pictures in our room of all the groovy portable shots; like the million precisely even marks on my back and butt after chilling out repeatedly on Jack Elfrink's bed of nails. That was unbelievably cool.

One of these days I'm gonna getÂ brave and check out his rope dildo up close and personal. Maybe if I ask him nicely, I can get a personal demonstration. I like Jack. He's a bit odd and somewhat opinionated, which makes him my kind of people. Ridiculously smart, too. Double bonus.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="214" caption="Jack's giant balls (of rope)"][/caption]

When he wasn't guarding his bed of nails (which the DM's sensibly refused to have anything do do with), I found him wielding a laser pointer in PyschoKitty's Kitty Kat playroom and watching all the people sized purring pets pouncing and playing in big piles of rope. He also brought his gigantic balls for us to play with.

Speaking of kitties, I got my own pair of kitty ears custom made to go with my favorite wild outfit (below) from Wolf Princess Designs. Her website doesn't have all the pictures up, but suffice to say, she can make clip-on accessories for any animal you might wish to be. Next year I'm getting a tail.

Speaking of getting tail, I met the cutest boy at the conference. I'd already added him as a friend on FetLife and Twitter so I immediately recognized his name tag when we arrived late at the meet and greet on Thursday night. I love Burner boys in kilts. I think it's my new fetish. Flirted like crazy all weekend but never closed the deal, which is pretty fucking typical for me at this point, it seems. Oh well, there's always the playa. I'm starting to think I look forward to Burning Man simply because of all the sweet boymeat swinging free in sarongs and kilts and thongs, oh my!

Speaking of FetLife, I finally got to meet John Baku, the founder. I say "finally" as if I'd been planning it or wanting it, which isn't exactly the case. Rather it was a nice surprise over lunch. A totally unassuming guy, he created the site for all us kinky folk; including the ones who organize and the ones who don't . Doesn't matter if you're active in the scene or just in your bedroom or in your head, there's a place and a worldwide community for you now. Hearing him talk made my idealist dreamer very happy. Good job, John - and thanks!

The classes were incredible. They were all great, but most especially I loved Sir C's Hojojutsu & Jujutsu for BDSM Practitioners takedown class. My guy towers over me by about a foot and fifty pounds. Learning how to take his butt down to the ground against his will was fucking priceless, as was the look on his face when Sir C personally demonstrated the technique on his belligerent ass for me.

Also personally beneficial were two stretching classes: Advanced Stretching for Bondage with Claire Adams and Strength & Stretching for Successful Rope Scenes with Greg & Jen. Both classes were kick ass and added greatly to my current bodywork routine. I particularly liked the emphasis on core strength in Greg & Jen's class. I can't wait to get the original handout with clearer pictures.

I also enjoyed taking Jay Wiseman's Anatomy & Physiology for Rope Bondage Enthusiasts class, where I had the privilege of being drawn upon by the man himself with a big black sharpie to demonstrate exactly where the radial nerve wraps around the lower portion of the upper arm. That's one way to remember it, and I'll never forget it now since that darn mark stayed for pretty much the whole weekend. But hey, the guy who literally wrote the book on BDSM wrote on me!Â That gives me big geeky giggles.

I'm still waiting for permission to repost the Bullshooters story but let's just say that every year we share the host hotel with a bunch of drunken dart shooters. Apparently they're getting used to us.

My fella tied me into two more suspensions over the weekend. On Saturday night I wore my blue and white "Dorothy" costume and he tied me to a dangling bed frame face up. Then he flipped the entire rig over so I was staring at the carpet. Even though I'd seen him testing the frame in just that way, it never even occurred to me that he might do that while I was in it. Wild. Apparently the DM's didn't appreciate it so much and made a point of coming over and telling us that the frame was most definitely not designed with that technique in mind and could we please put it back the right way, which we did. Got the worst rope pinch of my life in that suspension but it was worth it for the surprise.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="248" caption="here kitty, kitty..."][/caption]

Sunday night was kitty night. I was going to wear the exact outfit pictured here, but after the lovely owner of Passional Boutique spent the better part of an hour fitting progressively smaller silk corsets onto me, I was gifted with my first real corset ever by the man I love; so of course I absolutely had to wear it right away. Total hotness. Then he tied me up in it and used my happy little glass toy on me again. More spiderwebs. More orgasms. More happy kitty girl. Mreow!

Missed all the classes on Monday and the closing ceremony because we had to take an early flight back. Luckily the trip seemed relatively short, likely because of the major sleep deprivation I'd accrued at that point. Once home, we spent most of the day in bed and I finally got to turn the tables on him and lock his ass down for once.

Oh wait, that's not entirely true. I did get to tie him up on Sunday night after he let me out of the spiderweb. Nothing fancy like he did on me, but I was going for effective and escape proof, which I did. Let him sit for an hour or two until he admitted he was stuck and wanted out. Fun stuff.

And then I molested the hell out of him. Spread eagled with medical restraints to the bed, I made him come once and then promptly passed out on him until he wiggled enough to wake me up, only to repeat the process. Happy sweet exhaustion and multiple orgasms. Hella good weekend, I must say.

Home at last, I picked up my vehicle from work and had my first smoke in several days. Fucking perfect. Bumming tokes off the boy's smokes was fun and all, but tobacco is a way inferior substitute for cannabis. Ain't nothin' like the real thing, baby; ain't nothin' like the real thing...

practicing poly poorly

nospam@example.com () — Fri, 15 May 2009 22:52:55 -0500

Today's note from the Universe:

Subject: TUT... A Note from the Universe (get your own notes here)

Sometimes, the only thing you know for certain is what you don't want. Yet often, Sunshine, that's enough to go on.

So true. And sometimes that's all I can see, even if I think I'm seeing more. Other times I get so stuck on what I want that I can't see all the other things I also need.

Take sex, for example. I tend towards serial monogamy. You know - that's where you get into a long term committed relationship with a person for several months or years where you're all faithful and shit and then when it's all over, you do it again with the next lucky bloke. Maybe you get a little crazy and loose between times. I usually did.

Then "poly" entered my consciousness. Finally - the solution! No longer do I have to try and pin all my hopes and dreams and sexual fantasies upon one lone human being. Instead, I can spread them out amongst many. That's the theory, anyway.

Problem is, there's this concept called "NRE", which stands for New Relationship Energy, ie: infatuation. I suffer from this big time. And I still find myself trying to stuff everyone I meet into the need I most want to have fulfilled at the time, instead of appreciating them for the unique value they bring to my life.

First, I was dating a vanilla guy who thought I was weird for wanting to be tied up and spanked. A dry drunk with just under two years sobriety under his belt, he also had a grudge against my pot smoking and straight "A" average. He was a great kisser but the sex was pretty so-so and his attitude sucked.

We broke up over the pot and I started looking for a kinky, fun partner for some great, hot sex. Found one on alt.com. He liked my direct, horny approach and we spent several months fucking, smoking, and soaking in his hot tub. Okay, well he did most of the fucking and I did most of the soaking. Smoking together was wonderful. I miss that.

Then I met the guy I fell in love with and pretty much dropped my fun fuckable lover like a hot potato.Â Because, see, what I really wanted was a boyfriend. Mr. Pot Smoking Big Dick wasn't really boyfriend material. He was way too old, for starters. Plus he was cheap. Sugar daddies don't point you to the value meal at dinner. Nuff said.

So I threw away the easy lay for the impossible crush. Mr. Wonderful doesn't have quite the sex drive I have, to put it mildly. But he doesn't mind that I indulge mine, either.

Once again I boldly went forth seeking hot kink and safe sex. But I got them mixed up again. Or I tried to keep them apart. Or I wanted the wrong thing from the wrong person.

I suppose that's what I'm most guilty of. I have multiple, varying needs, but if there is an imbalance in one area, I just can't see straight past it to see all the other things being offered.

For example, I had another partner who was everything I wanted in a companion and mentor, but I was so pent up looking for a replacement stud that I just couldn't focus on what actually worked for us. Even though the sex was good, it wasn't what I was looking for. And I couldn't focus on anything else.

Found another boy who was wonderful, simply wonderful. A sweet snuggle slut, he had a magic touch and wonderfully strong hands that he was never shy about using on my always tense flesh. Suppose my other biggest craving is massage. Dunno why I always overlook that. Mr. Pot Smoking Big Dick also used to massage me regularly. In the hot tub, no less. Wow, I really miss that.

But I think my sweet boy needs to be pursued, taught, and appreciated in ways that I just don't have the time or attention for right now. I'm not at the place in my personal growth where I really feel comfortable giving something I haven't gotten enough of yet myself. Call me selfish; I'll be the first to admit it, but my needs come first. Otherwise I run the real risk of becoming a raving lunatic bitch.

What are my needs? I dunno. It seems simple enough, really; cock. Lots of cock. Big cock. Medium sized cock. Cock for hours. Or maybe even just significant portions of hours. I'm good at 45 minutes, really. But I want cock that just comes to me, on me, and at me. I don't want to have to "take" the freaking thing, or "rape" the unwilling, or be even just be on top, well, like pretty much ever again. I want to bottom already. Hard. Fuck ME, damn it. I don't want to fuck anyone else. I want to GET fucked. Does anybody understand the distinction here?

Suppose that's the hardest bit - is finding someone who can and will fuck me the way I want to be fucked. And I'm way too picky. If only I could let go of some of this criteria that keeps me from throwing away perfectly good partners because they aren't EXACTLY what I'm looking for at the time.

Tonight is Tryst, which looks to be an excellent place to start. I'm so excited.

-------------------------------------Talk to me today------------------------------------

Relationship talk on Ingenio: http://tsunshinelove.com/advice/rel

Friendly talk on Keen: http://tsunshinelove.com/social/pal

Adult talk on NiteFlirt: http://sunshinegypsy.com/phonesex/now

--------------------------3 minutes free for first time callers---------------------

protect the children

nospam@example.com () — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 10:15:30 -0500

I will not protect the fucking children. Fuck the fucking children. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Actually fucking them would be wrong. Not that fucking is wrong, or that children fucking is wrong, but adults fucking children is probably most certainly wrong. Adults shouldn't fuck children. But if children want to fuck other children, I say let them have at it.

This is one of those things that doesn't sit comfortably with me. I was never what could be called a sexually aware child, but I've known many who were. Not abused - sexually aware. If not aware of adult sexuality per se, at least aware of their own physicality.

Personally, I never looked at myself naked in the mirror or touched myself until I was a teenager (but still legally considered a child), and that already long after I was already having sex (with older men). However, I've since had enough conversations with both men and women to know that I'm probably somewhat abnormal in that regard.

I used to think my girlfriends were lying to me when they talked about masturbating at five years old. Or losing their virginity at ten. Or boys having sex at eight with the babysitter. All stories, I thought. But, ya know, after all these years, I'm starting to think the stories were true. There's just too many of them to be made up, especially when there is no incentive to lie. In fact, the reverse is much more likely to be true, and childhood sexual exploration is likely way underreported since children are encouraged to be pure at all costs, even if only in reputation versus deed. Especially girls.

Kids do have sex. With themselves. With each other. With adults. Pretending it doesn't happen does them a disservice. Pretending that sex doesn't exist and will never happen to them is downright criminal. Protecting them from the very idea of physical intimacy is pure vain folly.

Well informed kids make better choices. Poorly informed kids don't even know they have choices to make. Life just sort of inflicts itself upon them because they don't know any better.

Let's talk uninformed sex for a minute. It's personal story time, folks.

When I was twelve years old, I thought I lost my virginity because a boy stuck his hand down the front of my shirt and felt my brand new boobies. I knew this was a "bad" area and since he was touching me, it (my life, reputation, innocence, virginity, purity, etc.) was all over because of that Madonna song, you know - "touched for the very first time".

I was pretending to be drunk and asleep in his garage because me and my girlfriend had snuck out and had apparently committed ourselves to staying gone until morning for some reason. He gave us wine and I kept quiet because I wanted to see what would happen. First, I wanted to see what he would do. Second, I wanted to see if my "friend" would stop him. He stopped, she didn't. Some friend.

I didn't lose my actual virginity until a year or so later, and even then I wasn't sure it had happened. He was nineteen. I was thirteen. He made me be on top. It didn't really work. It lasted like two seconds and hurt like crazy. I was on my period and way too shy to say anything about anything. Especially not to him. He was my 8th grade crush. Tall, dark, and handsome - he rode a skateboard and had a mustache. He left immediately after and I never saw him again.

Later I asked my ten year old neighbor from across the street if she could tell me what happened when you lose your virginity. She said there was usually blood. Well, that didn't help much. I was already bleeding. Not until the next guy (a twenty three year old tattooed mexican american skinhead neonazi with a mohawk and prison record) did I finally learn what sex was, and what went where, for sure.

Did I mention the tampon up my ass when I was eleven story? I didn't know I had two holes down there so when I was stuck at summer camp without pads and had to borrow tampons, I used the only hole I'd ever felt. Or how about asking my mother what a "kent" was because some girl had called me a cunt at school and, after much prying, my mother finally told me it was "a part of the female anatomy". Yeah, that was helpful. Not. Or that a prostitute was a woman who had babies for men because their wives couldn't.

Didn't discover my clit until I was fifteen years old coming back from an Aerosmith concert. My twenty two year old boyfriend found it on accident diddling me while he was driving down the road. Took me two more years to realize I could use that spot to masturbate. Haven't looked back since.

Does anybody want to hazard a guess as to whether I EVER used safer sex methods in those years? It's a miracle I'm not some diseased drugged out crack whore with fifteen kids. It really, really is. I'm STILL not really sure if I got pregnant and miscarried at fourteen years old or if I merely had amenorrhea from living on the streets and not eating.

Because all I knew was that nice girls didn't do these sorts of things and that I was going to burn in hell for doing them. What's a little STD in comparison to hell? Surely if I deserved one, I deserved the other.

Children are protected by TEACHING them and giving them the tools they need to navigate life on their own, not by shutting them away from the world and hoping for the best. Because the world doesn't always come after you with its best. Sometimes it comes at you with its worst, and you have to be ready. You have to be prepared. Or you could just lie there and take it like a good girl or boy, just like mommy taught.

Oh, and parents? Just remember - if you don't teach your kids about sex, who will? In my case, there was no shortage of adult males lined up to do just that. Pity I couldn't see them coming.

--For more real life coming of age sex stories, check out this blog: Beyond the Birds and the Bees

and that's what you get for trying to talk to me...

nospam@example.com () — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 07:49:05 -0600

Yeah, take that, Mom! Yikes. She just IM'ed me all conversational like wanting to know when would be a good time to talk during the day. I threw caution to the wind and told her about my day job. And told her. And told her. She kept starting to type and stopping. And then she signed out. Hm. Oh well. Chew on that for a bit, mumsie dear.

Mom: Hola! Cuando vas a ir a Hawaii?
Sunshine Love: la semana antes de thanksgiving
Mom: what's going on? do you still have your phone? what day are you getting back?
Sunshine Love: uh, like sunday night or something
Sunshine Love: yeah, I've got my phone still
Mom: do you have any free minutes? I could call you during the day when He's at work.
Sunshine Love: nah, my minutes suck. but I do have the free internet stuff
Sunshine Love: besides, I've got a job during the day now.
Sunshine Love: nothing too respectable, of course. I'm beating the hell out of guys and getting paid for it. It's actually a great deal of fun sometimes.
Sunshine Love: all part of my grand plan to have something interesting to write about once I start spitting out babies and all....
Mom: and He's ok with this? Are you still going back to school ?
Sunshine Love: I ultimately intend to merge the self help and adult sexuality stuff into a mega exercise boot camp workout program. BDSM boot camp or something like that.
Sunshine Love: Yeah, he's okay with it. I don't think I'm going back this semester, maybe in the fall. I took a year off.
Sunshine Love: I'm actually doing a lot of informal life coaching type stuff and now I'm gonna start teaching some of the other stuff around the community.
Sunshine Love: I intend to be a sex educator, ultimately.
Sunshine Love: gonna special major in sexual communications when I do go back to school
Sunshine Love: it's mostly a sideline to all my health and happiness stuff, but it pays much better and has a much bigger "wow" factor. eventually I hope to make them inseparable.

Mom has signed out. (11/2/2008 7:16 PM)

Should I feel bad?

my bad

nospam@example.com () — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 09:59:05 -0500

I received this unverified list of Amazing Sex Facts yesterday, just in time to prove one of them oh so right in a truly embarrassing and apropos manner...

This one in particular is cracking me up this morning, and for good cause:

"In a recent interview with 10 prominent sex therapists, the question was posed, 'What is the most important aspect in love making?' One said 'relaxation', Three said 'honesty', and a whopping Six out of Ten said 'staying awake'. "

So last night, after I got him tied up all nice and snug, rumor has it that I fell asleep. Multiple times. With snoring. He finally untied himself and went downstairs to watch TV.

cock massage

nospam@example.com () — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 01:13:12 -0500

No, I didn't massage any cocks. Instead, I got massaged by one. And not on the inside, but the outside. Y'all know I'm a total massage slut, and I just love thuddy sensations on my back. Well, my beloved borrowed boy just stumbled upon the combination of the century - thuddy cock massage! Granted, he's swinging something like a two pounder or something ridiculous in the first place. He's also one of those ones that likes it a little rough and can just beat that thing around for an eternity. So he did. On me. Best. Massage. Ever. It felt especially good on the backs of my calves. You just have no idea.

He beat me with his meat. And I liked it.

The best part of all was calling my actual boyfriend's voicemail during my "massage" so he could hear the thudding of my lover's cock for himself. Cuz I'm like a big ole cock tease that way. I'm sure he loved coming in to that first thing at work this morning. La la la....


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outstanding timing

nospam@example.com () — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 05:29:47 -0500

The universe obviously loves me. I mean, what better timing could there possibly have been for my first pro-domme session than at the absolute peak of my PMS - the very day before my period started! Seriously, that couldn't have worked out better if I had planned it. I always get a little toppy at that time of the month anyway. Talk about a confidence booster! I am woman. Hear me cramp. Be deathly, deathly afraid. And bring me chocolate.

got boy?

nospam@example.com () — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 08:18:21 -0500

I have been stifling the urge to blog and brag as long as I could but I just can't hold it in any longer.

I got boy!

Boy! Boy! Boy!

I got boy.

Because I simply didn't have enough partners already, I finally managed to drag me home another geeky burner boy off the playa.

New toy - oh boy!

Of course, he's not really a boy, only a couple years younger than me, in fact. But he didn't seem to mind being my play toy for the evening. And his personality just screams "pet". Or "pet me", which I did. Extensively.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy...

Why is it so hard to write about the things that really matter to me? I mean, I can write an existential ode to taking a shit but I can't seem to make interesting words come out to tell the stories that really set me on fire. I mean, I don't even think the pictures will be able to express just how fucking hot it was watching my SO tie up my SNO and then mash me between them for some crazy sweaty ropey sexy sensual tongue and inadvertent breath play. Fuck me running, was that hotttt!!!! sighs dreamily

I wondered for a long time what it would look like if I actually managed to snare a boy and drag him back to the web. Now I know - it was freaking wonderful! I could really grow to like this MFM thing. A lot.

On a side note, I am never ever going to disparage submissive men again. Between my borrowed boy at home and my new burner boy in the bay, I just wuv my new subbie wubbie boy toys. I might even go so far as to say I need them - what a wonderful energy I've been missing from my life!

Hey, god - are you listening? Thanks. So happy. So content. Good job. Good god.

I got boy. Got boy?

"if it makes you feel better"

nospam@example.com () — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 10:40:40 -0500

Okay, that's a new one. Not in my life, not in my relationships, and, okay, to be strictly fair I suppose it isn't entirely a new one even in my new career as a budding phonesexwoman. But really, to like totally stumble and be like Way Too Forward, and like what would be Totally Out Of Line (oo - IÂ like the way that comes out in acronym-TOOL!) if the conversation wasn't taking place on an adult chat line.

But really, it is still somewhat (okay, super duper incredibly) embarrassing to stick a vibrator in one's pussy to try to hurry the caller along to a happy ending so he can get to bed only to have him very amusedly tell me that he's totally not in the mood but that he hopes it's doing something for me.

Which, granted, it was. I'd just been sitting there thinking about doing myself anyway when the phone rang, and he DID make me take off my clothes. So I'm laying there naked in the dark with this hard corded object poking the back of my head through my pillow. What else is a girl supposed to do? Oh well.

I had an outstanding buzz session afterwards regardless. I needed that. IÂ think I get cranky (or loopy) when I forget my daily orgasm(s). And now I feel all fuzzy and happy. Orgasms are good. I like orgasms.

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Noooooooooooo!!!!!

nospam@example.com () — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 04:21:30 -0500

Crap. Crap. Crap. Fucking crap. Shit fuck. Crap. Goddammit. Fuck. Motherfucker. Fuck.

I lost his phone number. Well, okay, it was actually his email address on a card. Wait... Wait... Wait... Maybe I remember it. Um... It was something like shiny geek boy at something dot com. Fuck. Damn it. He was cute, too. And smart. And funny. And he had a really big cock that I never got to use because we were too incompetent between the two of us to find somewhere to fuck, at Burning Man, of all places!

Although the whole experience did give me the opportunity to hone up my humiliation skills. I berated him for hours while I introduced him to the joys of cock bondage in the cold desert air. It turns out that I have a fetish for humiliating really smart men. Who knew?

"What was it you said you did for a living again? Aerospace engineer, right?"
"Yeah."
"And you only brought two thin blankets?"
"Hey - I was sleeping in the RV!"
"Yeah, but what were you gonna do if you met a girl, huh, smartie pants?"
"I was gonna follow her back to her camp."
"Well, then why are we here?'
"Uh..."
"This isn't rocket science, you know. It's only getting laid."
"Yeah, that's the problem."

Granted, we did originally go back to his camp for something specific but then we consumed that something and then became too lazy to walk anywhere. So instead we hung out and broke the hammock at his camp (which he later fixed with the same parachute cord I'd been tying him with - double points!), which was in the best location ever - 4:20 and Hummer!

And I am clearly not remembering his email address right because everything I try keeps bouncing back. Crap. Oh well. Hopefully he won't have lost mine and I'll get to drag him to a dungeon yet. I'll keep my fingers crossed for luck. Or my legs. Those will be much more fun to uncross later.

figging & sounds?

nospam@example.com () — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 02:20:59 -0500

Hey, I'm back from Burning Man with a burning question: I heard that you can use peeled ginger root on the clitoris, vagina and anus, but is there any reason not to slip a sliver down a man's urethra? It came up on a call and I don't want to steer him wrong (or, god forbid, have my own experiments go awry!)

Speaking of slipping things on or into a man's cock, I also learned this week that just about any man will let you tie up his cock with just about anything if you ask him nicely enough. Or if you just sort of tell him. Either way. The first random big dicked boy I met on the playa got an unasked for cock ring demonstration with a glowstick bracelet because he was doing it all wrong with the half dozen he had dangling out of his chaps already. The next two generously endowed fellas discovered the joys of military surplus cored parachute cord cock bondage because, well, because they were doing it all right. Massage will get you everywhere, my darlings...

Damn, I guess I was touching a lot of privates this burn, come to think of it! Girly bits, too. Hot lesbian cage action in clubs and on roving art cars. Hickeys? Naked puppy piles. Hammocks and stars. Multiple sunrises. Good burn. Good times. Good to be back. They had to kick me out. It was great. Rangers drove by this morning and yelled at me to "put your clothes on and go home!", so I did. And I'm totally dehydrated. And horny. And sunburned - in some rather weird places, not to mention all the incredible bruises. And it was worth every last aching spot and missing brain cell, goddammit.

The Man is burned. Long live the Man. Long live the American Dream, regardless of whether America has forgotten it or not. Long live freedom. Let naked people sing.

it ain't the drugs; it's the diet, stupid...

nospam@example.com () — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 02:18:55 -0500

When I was a child, I had a damn near photographic memory. Except for the photographic part, that is. I've never been very good at holding visual imagery in my head. Words, on the other hand, well that's a whole nuther story.

When I was a child, I used to be able to remember whole pages of books - at least I think that's what I remember. What I really remember was knowing exactly which page to open to find exact phrases and conversations I was quoting from said books. Perhaps all those years watching my Dad argue with the traveling missionaries on our front doorstep provided the example. They would try and tell him about Jesus and then he would correct them and really tell them about Jesus - complete with quoted passages from the Bible, which he could then substantiate with the book itself.

When I was a child, I could remember every story I'd ever read. Or at least I think so. I don't remember any of them now. I can't remember anything about stories I've read or movies I've watched.

When I was a teenager, I noticed things slipping. No, not slipping. Right at adolescence they just fucking slid. Gone. Away. For good. No more perfect recall. No more instant learning through sight or hearing. Come to think of it, I think I used to be able to repeat conversations, too. Not anymore.

At the tender age of fifteen, I learned how to play Spades. My boyfriend and I were a lethal combination. After awhile we became unbeatable, not only because we could read each other, but because I was able to count cards. I knew every card that had been played and where the rest of them were likely to be and how they would come out. I can't do that now, either. That was probably the last hurrah for my memory.

I blamed it on the drugs. At just under fourteen I had started taking methamphetamines. At fifteen I had moved on to LSD. I figured I had toasted my brain.

So then I'm lying here trying to sleep at 2:00 in the morning and it hit me - it wasn't the drugs at all! In yet another lovely Tourette's moment I exclaimed out of nowhere "bad diet!" there in the dark, causing both of us to roll over and snuggle deeper down into the blankets. Yet once having had the thought I couldn't release it. Wide awake and energized, the implications came roaring in and I had to give up on sleep and get up to follow the thought through.

One of the best and most profoundly inspiring news stories I've ever read was about this school back in the Midwest or something; I think it was in one of those "M" or "W" states.Â They had horrible behavior problems so they tried an extremely radical approach - they put the students on a diet. Not like a weight loss diet, but a healthy one. They took out all the junk and starting putting real honest to god natural food into the students.

Behavior problems vanished overnight and academic achievement went through the roof.

It's not the fact that I started experimenting with drugs during puberty that fucked up my memory - it's that I finally got away from my mother's influence and started eating all the unhealthy crap I'd been denied my entire life. Twinkies. Doritos. Dr. Pepper. Oreos. Burgers. Fries. Pizza. Every candy bar known to man. I found America in my mouth and I fell in love. And I've been befuddled ever since.

What the fuck are they putting in this stuff, anyway?

Hey - I found the story:

Healthy Diet Deemed Responsible for High School Students' Good Behavior
Stratiawire October 14, 2002

Imagine a high school where students actually behave -- no discipline problems, no acting out, no violence to speak of. Now imagine a high school where students actually concentrate on their schoolwork. Though it seems impossible, such is the case at one Wisconsin high school, and there is only one factor separating them from other high schools in the country -- diet.

In 1997 the school instituted a healthy lunch program. No longer were the cafeterias filled with fast-food nachos and French fries; instead they were filled with fresh salads, meats, whole grain bread and fruit. At the same time, vending machines were removed and good drinking water added.

The program is based on work done some 30 years ago by Dr. Feingold. He recommended that eliminating synthetic colors, synthetic flavors, and the preservatives BHA, BHT, and TBHQ, would be beneficial to health, learning and behavior problems in children. However, his findings were not accepted by most medical professionals at that time.

Now that the healthier diet has been in effect for close to five years, the school shows amazing results. In annual state reports, the school's incidence of dropouts, expulsion, drug use, weapons and suicide is zero. On top of this, reports say that grades have improved. This from a school that previously reported having discipline problems and students carrying weapons.

Critics have argued that healthy meal programs are too expensive for most high schools. However, costs for vandalism, litter, and high security have gone down at the Wisconsin high school, which offsets costs of the nutritional meals.

The healthy lunch program is catching on, and a Wisconsin middle school has already reported favorable results. This scenario represents a real solution, one that could potentially wipe out, or at least decrease, many of the behavior, violence, and learning problems associated with the common high school.