Mar 082010

Off I went last week to my local Lane Bryant Outlet store to replace one of the newer “really uplifting” bras I purchased last summer. After being pretty sure that the bra I picked up was the same one that died recently, I grabbed one and threw it on my pile.

By the time I got around to trying it on, I’m standing there in just panties, trying to get this damn thing hooked – the security tag was making it difficult. It wasn’t until it was hooked that I found out exactly why. And holy hell did it HURT!

See that white cone-shaped thing there? That dug into my back. The flat side is what is supposed to be against your skin. But come on now, LB….isn’t there a less obtrusive place to put these damn things?!?

Feb 172010

(This post first appeared over at

First let me explain my take on the “typical” brain of feminine vs masculine. I do realize that just by saying that I’ve already ruffled some feathers. The saying “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” DOE S have its valid points.

I’m equally a logical and emotional person. It’s hell, lemme tell ya. I need to totally *understand* something, I need to know why. Why, why, why. I’m like a 2 year old. I cannot just do something “because”. If I at least know why I’m doing it and what comes next then I’m much better able to do my part. But I also act and react very emotionally, I’m very much an empath. Anyways, back to the logic. I have fibromyalgia which is a very misunderstood disease (but they do know that brain chemicals are either affected or a partial cause and I believe that the main chemicals affected are serotonin and dopamine) and I have a dopamine deficiency. ADD, ADHD, whatever label you want to put on it. When you run down the symptoms, I’m a textbook case. But I have other oddities that make me hard to diagnose. So in the course of trying to figure out what is wrong with me, I’ve done a lot of research. Learning what others like me are like. Forming my own theories that may or may not be a grand revelation to the science community at large.

Even if you don’t have a “mental disorder”, I believe that everyone’s brain hormones/chemicals are not all at perfectly balanced middle-of-the-road levels. Everyone has a skew, and that forms your personality. It’s when the skew is too severe that one is then diagnosed with depression, anxiety, bi-polar, ADD, etc. So my outlook is kinda like…..a horoscope. I am most compatible with other people that have a similar chemical skew/imbalance. If their dopamine is lower, I’ll get along with them. ( I hope this explanation makes sense to you all, lol).

They already know that biological men and women use their brains differently. But that’s what they can see and measure. What they haven’t been able to measure yet are the levels of the brain hormones. So I’m not saying here that my thoughts on the chemical differences pertain to *biological* male/female roles, obviously, but the self-identifying masculine/feminine roles. The typical feminine brain skews a little lower on serotonin. The typical masculine brain skews a little lower on dopamine. Disclaimer: I’m not saying that this is fact, I am saying that in all my logical thoughts, this has to be true. One big reasoning is that many of my little ADD-quirks/issues/problems….to some degree are all complaints that wives generally have about their husbands. Like I’m more likely to forget birthdays and anniversaries. I lose track of time. That whole domestic drive to  clean the house and run errands when you’d really rather sit on yer butt? Yeah I don’t have that and you’ll find me sitting on my ass till there’s no clean undies and we’re outta milk. When a female asks me if I notice anything different, I’m going to be staring blankly at her just like most men would.

I hope I didn’t lose you – this topic of brain chemistry and why I, without fail, get along the best with people with similar chemistry levels as my own is all seriously fascinating to me. Even if the knowledge doesn’t do me any good with treatment I still like understanding it all as best as possible.

Anyways. Contradictions, contrasts, puzzle pieces.

I’m the girl in full makeup who’s fixing your computer and babbling in geek-speak.

I’m the girl wearing perfume who’s hanging with the guys, playing MMORPG games and being just as competitive as them.

I’m the girl in the group of people who will admonish the man with a “Don’t be such a pig!” to his pervy comment all the while silently agreeing and staring at that chicks ass right along with him.

I’m the girl in sexy clothes and kitten heels who would be happily tagging along to a car show, admiring the details and work on big, loud muscle car or a sleek, expensive sports car.

In my mind I objectify women as I ogle them but I don’t let on outloud, for that’s not proper. I know it’s not right but it happens anyway. I’m terrible at being domestic even when it has to be done. I didn’t inherit the gene that makes my mind think “We’re having company! I better dust!” like my mother and her mother before her. I drive too fast, I swear too much and I don’t remember your birth date. I could spend just as much money at Sephora as I could at I am competitive beyond compare and fuck you if you beat me.

And when I read about other bisexual or bi-curious women talking about how softly they would kiss a woman, how the sex would be sensual and spiritual and *cue sound of abrupt record-scratching to signify a halt* – I think “why??” I want to kiss and be kissed like I would kiss a man. Kissing men, kissing women, it’s not a different activity for me it’s kissing a person and I like it passionate. Not feathery kitten kisses. I want to have hot, sweaty, kinda-rough passionate sex with a woman just as I would with a man.

But yet I want to be swept off of my feet in romance. I want the grand gestures. I want the Dom type of guy sometimes, to a degree. I have my days of wanting to be pampered and beautiful and wanted and loved. You don’t have to hold the door for me unless my hands are full, but I’d appreciate it if you compliment how I look, even though I may blush and dip my head.

I am a contradiction in flesh and blood and sometimes I just don’t know which way to go.

Feb 092010

(This post originally appeared over at Edencafe. It appears here now in hopes it will bring more discussion.)

There are two sides to me. The Lilly you see online and the L that most others see in reality (and how I feel in reality). Sometimes there is a bleeding of the edges betwixt the two worlds and I am gaining comfort in that happening more. This isn’t to say that Lilly is a contrived persona. In fact, not at all. Lilly is what L truly is under the surface. Lilly is the no-holds-barred version of L. There are most definitely pixels shared between the two. A Venn diagram, if you will. The better I know someone and the more comfortable I am with them, the more Lilly and L meld together as almost one.

I don’t mind people staring at Lilly because it’s all virtual and I can control it. But in the stark lights of reality, L feels scrutinized. L says “Don’t look at me”. Lilly says “Oh hey, its naked time? Wait for me!”.

I think that the Lilly you see on Twitter is really more of a meld than most other places. Granted, a lot of L isn’t shared there but it’s much more of an equality of the two. Would L have the cohones to say to a just-introduced guy “Well HELL-o cute boy!!”? Nope. And will Lilly let her Eeyore side out online? As little as fucking possible, thank you. I think the matter at hand is this: how much more Lilly does L need to absorb into her public persona? For I know damn well she could stand more than she’s got.

Ya know why?

Because L needs a goddamn date, that’s why. L needs to move onwards and upwards and find a guy or girl who’s somewhere in between side dish and main course.

And Lilly is way more date-able. No, not because she’s got a bit of teh slut, but because she’s confident and happy-but-snarky (usually, unless she’s pissed off because SOME men think her every sentence must be met with “witty” innuendo-laden replies). But I have news for ya boys: L/Lilly doesn’t fuck on the first date anymore. Sorry, day late and fifty dollars short.

When I posted on my blog a few months ago about my flaws, it was the first time that readers really saw more of L. And I was scared to put that out there! Sometimes I feel like this anonymous blogging / dual-personality shit is fraudulent. I mean, it’s not –  not one bit of Lilly the personality/person is a lie. But I know that L isn’t very shiny and sparkly a lot of the time anymore and that can be a bit of a bummer. I’ve met a few people offline that knew me as Lilly for awhile and I do believe they ended up disappointed with L. I can’t say as I blame them either. Lilly is who I would be all the time if I were surrounded by friends/family/co-workers just like those of you that I know online; Lilly is who I would be without my neurosis.

So what is this? A crisis of identity? Multiple personalities disorder? Split brain? Split pea soup? One thing I do know is that I’m learning about myself in ways that I didn’t expect when I started the blog. I am more self-aware than ever before. Some days it’s a painful awareness but most days it’s a good thing. I can’t tell you the number of times I want to open my mouth and say “Holy shit! I just did XYZ!!!” and it of course related to this blog or e[lust] – and I have to clam up. For the first time I have money now to do a few things, because of my sites. Can I tell anybody? Nope. Can I tell anybody how rockin’ my site design was? Nope. None of my family even knows that I have gone to NYC *at all*, and I’ve gone 3 times since starting this blog. It was very hard for me in the weeks leading up to my November NYC trip to spend time with bloggy friends and attend the NYC Sex Bloggers Calendar Party to have to constantly lie about exactly why I was going to NYC (to the few people I told). I tested the waters once, and when someone asked me what all I was going to do there I listed off a few things and one of them was “see a Burlesque show”.



“……what’s ‘burlesque’???”

I tried a few vanilla, simple explanations and when the look of confusion just expounded with each word out of my mouth I finally gave up.

“Nevermind. I’m going to see a show and it’s nowhere near Broadway.”

And that, my friends, was the last time Lilly opened her mouth in L’s world.

Jan 312010

Webcams are such a glorious invention. Better still is finding a free members-only chatroom that is webcam-capable and located on a NSFW forum. Nakedness is encouraged, orgasms are even better when shared, and it all is an exhibitionist/voyeur’s dream. Sometimes I watch, sometimes I show off. Sometimes I show off while watching someone else show off. It’s safe but its naughty. It’s thrilling yet it’s controlled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her webcam is on but she’s still clothed. She’s a regular and everybody knows Hope is going to show off something at some point, so they are watching her feed. Since she’s one of two females in the room that night and I find her hot, I keep my eye on her while I browse the couple other cams that are up. Most are watching, tonight, like me. After some chatting and without warning, she shoves down the straps of her tank top and reveals perfectly tanned (but fake) tits that I can’t stop staring at. I’m sure the others in the room have the same problem. Compliments for her fly by on my screen. It’s mostly men in there; the women are outnumbered. From what I can tell most of the women there are not bi so I’m the only female voicing appreciation and this is noticed by the watchers and by Hope.

My tongue ached to be teasing female flesh right then, it was downright absurd.

I tell her this and she responds by moving the cam down to reveal her bare cunt. My aching need multiplied a thousand-fold right then as I watched a small, slightly-choppy webcam showing Hope proceed to masturbate for the room. I couldn’t hear her because she didn’t have her microphone on that time, but watching was a turn-on enough. I came while watching her second round.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Danielle was another regular who was frequently around at the same time as Hope. She bared her breasts a lot and would do so anytime I coyly asked in chat. One evening when both Danielle and Hope were around, my arousal was kicked into overdrive as both of them began showing off. Luckily I could see both at the same time because it would have been torture to know I was missing out on one. I kept my bullet vibe on low to draw it out as long as possible for me as I stared, mouth open, at the two cute girls who loved to show off.

I let the room in general, and the girls too, know that I was watching and appreciating and jerking off with them. I was encouraged by the greedy, horny men in the room to join them on camera. It was dark, my webcam sucked and I just wasn’t up for being on camera but I figured I could at least turn on my microphone. I watched the little icons light up next to name after name to signify that they were listening to me breathing, sighing, whimpering and moaning quietly. Hope finished first and then the icon next to her name lit up so I knew that she was listening to me. She stared at her laptop with a finger in her mouth, listening to me jerk off as I watched her friend Danielle. That thought alone made it impossible to hold back much more so I ended up coming while about 14 people listened. It wasn’t that I was being spied on that fed me though, it was watching a big dildo hammer away at Danielle’s cunt. Watching her ass clench in what surely was a powerful orgasm.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Women who like to watch guys jerk off can always find one in the room with his webcam on. One afternoon I wandered in to find two people who only had eyes for each other. They both had their microphones on, so I could hear the lusty and flirty exchanges as she stripped slowly for him; him and his hard cock that he was slowly stroking. I heard his groans of appreciation when she was finally topless and playing with her tits. I heard her giggle at that.

They were only paying attention to each other; they ignored the chat and paid no mind that others were watching. They interacted only with each other. I silently begged her to strip the whole way, right along with his begging, and she quickly acquiesced. This was a true voyeur moment for me. This was as close to spying without being known as I could get.

Soon enough we were down to little else than moaning and groaning and sex sounds as they jerked off for each other. She was deliciously loud; loud enough that I had to turn off the audio feed from her and could hear her coming through his speakers. I, of course, had my bullet vibe nestled against my clit but I wasn’t even helping it along. I just sat here almost still. I always have to help the vibe along by pressing it against my clit but I think the combination of seeing and hearing and spying was sensory overload. She was straddling a dildo that was sitting on her chair, rubbing her clit furiously and making an awful racket while working towards her orgasm. He was laying in bed watching her and all I could see was a blur of his hand stroking his cock quickly; he was moaning and talking dirty to her. Via his audio feed and through his speakers I could clearly hear her say “oh god I’m coming”, followed by a loud confirmation. Seconds later he followed suit and their moans mingled, and without warning….I was coming too. With no outside help, no special contortions to press the bullet harder to my clit, no nipple pinching…..I came in my chair, still watching. Then I logged off once I recovered.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My time spent at this forum/chatroom was months ago, but still have other things to write about. Because yes, I did turn on my camera a time or two, so you’ll get to hear about that side of it too.

Edit: Sorry but no, I’m not giving out the site name…..

Jan 112010

It seems as though most of my readers respond better to a tiny, provocative 3-line post with a half-nekkid photo, than my rambling words lately. It seems like I can’t make a move to speaking my mind more because of the comment count I get on those posts vs the comment count on the erotica and photo posts. Perhaps I’ll just post little else than brainless smut and sexy photos here and post the intelligent discourse posts on other blogs. Maybe. But sometimes, like today, you’re just gonna have to deal with it because this is something I feel strongly about. If you don’t like this kind of stuff from me, then you can safely stop reading now.

Britni posted a few weeks ago about V Magazine’s “size” issue which she posted a whole bunch of preview photos from. Plus size models that look amazing…..

…..Amazingly perfect. And while they are a step in a right direction, moving away from all models being a size 0, they still don’t do much for “fat acceptance”. I look at these models and try to remember that they’re models and so they have to be proportioned “just so” but they are not realistic representations. They are the Perfect Fat, the most Acceptable Fat that the general public can handle. The rolls are at a minimum, their tummies are relatively flat, their butts are still that idyllic heart shape, etc. When I look at the advertisements and posters for Lane Bryant, I don’t feel like my size is acceptable because these models, to me, are barely plus-sized. I wrote about how tough it is to shop for plus-size clothes over at EdenCafe but I want to include that post here and expound on it a little.

I wear a size 20. Depending on the brand and the style of the article of clothing, I might even wear a 22. What’s funny is that I wear a larger numerical size than I did a few years ago, but I am not actually any bigger. I have a few sweaters that are Lane Bryant from only 4 years ago, and they are a size 14/16. They fit me the same as current size 20 or 22. And no, they’re not stretched out. Way to make me feel like shit, designers. At the age of 32 (and I’m usually told I don’t look a day over 25) I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.

But the brick-and-mortar stores at my disposal think otherwise. Why? Why do clothes designers assume that if you’re plus-sized you’re 1. over 5′9″ and 2. over the age of 45 or “matronly and modest”. Some department store plus-size sections will carry the occasional fashion-forward pieces that are age-appropriate for me, but it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Combine that with them also offering styles that most plus-size women should not wear and an abundance of matronly/modest articles, and it’s no wonder I hate shopping.

I have read various uncredited sources that claim as much as 50% of the American female adult population wears a size above 14 (16 and up is considered “plus”). If it’s even just 40% then pray tell WHY are the plus-sized sections so damn small?? Old Navy won’t even carry those sizes in the store. Macy’s, Sears, Bon-Ton, JC Penneys, Target, Wal-mart, Kohl’s etc have a plus size section that equals only 10% of the “regular” sized women’s clothing. Plus sized clothing gets maybe 20 brands on average, while the other section has a hundred or more. They will convert only a tiny percentage of the regular sized clothes into plus-size. I can’t tell you how many times I walk by a cute/sexy top at Kohl’s with a wistful sigh, wishing it came in my size.

So we’re relegated to shopping online. Women on average have a much harder time with clothes fitting than men, jut because we’re all shaped differently even at the same dress size. But plus-size women have even more issues with clothes fitting at our size and being flattering. If the item is shown on a model, usually that model is barely a size 14 and has toned upper arms and a mostly flat belly with an otherwise “proportionate” body. Um, hello, I don’t look like that! How the hell am I supposed to know what it *might* look like on me? So now we’re forced to shop online where we can’t try on things first, we have to guess. We have to subject ourselves to the measuring tape if we want a better shot at the clothes fitting, but that’s not even a gaurantee.

I recently found this outfit at Hips and Curves, a lingerie site for big girls – and of course, their models are the Perfect Fat and so even though its a site for “my size” I still look at this outfit and feel like I need to slim down a few sizes to have a chance at looking as good as the model does in it. I would love to be able to wear this for the next NYC Sex Blogger Calendar Party. The Parisian skirt and the corset, with maybe a their wide-neckline sheer body suit under the corset for some arm coverage given that the party IS in November. But seriously, I feel too round and chunky for their clothes, even though I am their target shopper.

In a time when brick-and-mortar stores are pulling out all the stops to bring in and keep customers, you would think they would try to appease a larger cross-section of their customers. My local Target leaves only a paltry (and shameful) -6- racks for the plus-size section. Maternity gets more racks!! I can assure you there’s less business from Maternity women than plus-size. I’m not asking for equal shares, I know better. But if all these department stores committed to doubling (or tripling in the case of stores like Target) the plus-size section I can gaurantee you they would see a huge return on that.

I’ve run into very few online stores that show their clothes on a model that might look more like me – and these are places that have a little less polish, a little less high glamour professionalism to  them. The more mainstream the store is, the more of a Perfect Fat there is.

Britni directed me to a site I’d not heard of before, called Fatshionista. It’s a blog, it’s an information source, an inspiration source and a guidance in navigating the online shopping world. They offer a section where members can review the online stores. On the LiveJournal community pages there is a huge list of any online store that carries some plus-size clothing or is completely dedicated to plus-size. Many of the more popular ones I’ve already been to but there were many I didn’t know about. While this won’t make future shopping *easier* it will at least give us more options.

EDIT: The lovely Britni passed on some more links so I’m highlighting all those and all the other links in this post:

  • If you need inspiration on outfits, check out the Fatshionista Flickr Pool
  • A great “fat positive”  blog, The F Word
  • Fat Fu blog where you can subscribe to the Notes from the Fat’o’sphere section, a list of a whole bunch of fat acceptance/fat positive blogs.
  • Fatshionista is the main site, the Review section offers up reader-reviews on all the online stores that sell plus size clothing, and the LiveJournal community page also has a big list of places to shop as well as other sites to read for inspiration and education.

Jan 082010

So with my new, bionic arm I apparently took my pain-free status for granted, and over-used it. “Hey! I can pick up 2 containers of milk with one hand!” sort of over-use. Starting yesterday my whole arm started bothering me. Ache and pain and nerve pain and muscle fatigue…by the time I got home from work I was miserable. So instead of hockey, he laid with me in bed. Massaging my arm and gladly offering up something for me to squeeze – I don’t know what it is about this sort of pain/irritation/tension but when I stretch the muscle it’s like scratching an itch. So stretching, pulling, and gripping a squeezie ball are all lovely things. Instead of a squeezie ball though…..I used his cock (don’t worry, due to the on-going elbow problems my grip with that hand is pretty weak). Poor guy, he got so teased ;)

When he has muscle soreness and bad pain, sometimes we end up focusing “treatment” on his cock. An extended foreplay session does many things for him – redirects blood flow from the irritated muscles; overwhelms his brain with pleasure signals; increases his dopamine**. Even though I wasn’t really aroused, I agreed to let him try that trick on me. He brought out the Hitachi and after we determined that I hated the way it felt on my arm, it traveled south for his original idea.

Soon though it became clear to me that the Hitachi wasn’t going to get me off.

I know.


Not even with the added stimulation of a cock against my g-spot.

So I had him use one of my newest toys, the Eroscillator. It took some direction to adjust his style – unlike the Hitachi, the Eroscillator can’t be used to apply pressure. The more pressure, the less it oscillates. And while I was indeed enjoying the sensation, and feeling close at some points, it wasn’t working out. He, however, was enjoying my eye-rolling bed-writhing desperation.

He had me on my back and him in the somewhat-sitting up position, leaned back so that I could get the vibrator to my clit. At first I thought he didn’t understand what I meant, because he wasn’t sitting up straight enough to give me enough room to manipulate and position the Eroscillator. We couldn’t achieve that perfect angle of penetration in which he hits my g-spot so wonderfully but where I can also have a vibe on my clit…so, we gave up yet again. He was so stimulated that he couldn’t stand much more and so the Eroscillator was tossed aside as he pounded my cunt, working for his orgasm.

My turn again! Attempt 3 had me reaching for my Climax Twist vibrator, and I instructed him to grab another one of my new toys, the Nobessence Seduction dildo. The Climax provided that gorgeous, low rumbly vibrations and wasn’t overkill. The Seduction massaged my g-spot so perfectly. As I begged “faster” “harder” “more!” I felt my orgasm come on, a mere minute or two after we began with this combination. A thunderous orgasm overtook me as he kept up with the dildo and I with the Climax for the first big wave.

Oh sweet jesus that was good. If I hear one more “scientific study” saying the g-spot doesn’t exist, I’ll do very bad things. I know damn well I have a g-spot and I know how to use it. That combination of stimulation – that blended orgasm – it’s something so intense that my recovery reaction is a bit……


I laugh.

Not just a giggle for half a minute….

Picture a combination of the scene in Willy Wonky and the Chocolate Factory (the old one) when Grandpa and Charlie are floating and laughing, and the scene in Mary Poppins when they’re all floating and laughing (“I Love to Laugh!). That was me. Tears running down my face, laughing like I couldn’t stop…big and loud and infectious. For like… 10 minutes. I don’t understand it; it’s not a common reaction. Except I wasn’t physically floating. Woulda been cool though!

In between my laughing fits he asked me how my arm felt. My response was a dopey “What arm? I have an arm?” In the end though something in the whole of the evening helped because I no longer felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin from the anxiety of the muscle tension and pain, and it did indeed hurt a little less. Hey! I found a new physical therapy routine!

Oh, the cruel evil twist?

As he was in that sitting-up position and I’m thinking to myself “why isn’t this working like it does in porn??” he was also thinking the same thing. He couldn’t “sit up” and get far enough back for the necessary space while also allowing for vigorous fucking. And that day we realized….that is “porn sex” and not to be attempted by 30-something amateurs. Poor thing is limping around today with a groin pull/ache that hurts somethin awful. At first he was embarrassed to admit that, until I reminded him that it’s something to be proud of.

But I don’t think we’ll be using medicinal sex for it!! Poor guy needs to rest up.

*Definition of Panacea

**Besides the sheer pleasure you get from having an orgasm, the body takes it a step further by enhancing the endorphins and other hormones that elevate the mood. The chemical Oxytocin is a natural opiate that is released during sex and becomes quite copious during an orgasm. It is a powerful pain reliever and is compared to morphine. It breaks down like this: more sex – less pain.Woohoo!