In light of my previous post (also posted this evening, read it first!), I have thought further searching for solutions. While the success of an orgasm relies mostly on chilling the fuck out, it is a scientific fact that it is naturally easier for a woman to reach orgasm through exterior stimulation rather than interior.
My nipple piercings are my prized possessions. They make me feel beautiful, like a goddess. They are a vehicle for pleasure and admiration, and that little bit of naughtiness when the jewelry pokes through my shirt. Ninja tweaks and nibbles to his and my delight, and getting them done was the best thing I've ever done for myself. 20th birthday present, the best!
6 months after my nipples got bejeweled, I got my nostril pierced. 6 months after that, the cravings came back. But I have resisted. What could I get? No facial piercings, no lobe piercings, microdermals aren't smart for boxing or dangerous physical activities. So I stopped there.
But then, this morning, I got a spark in my mind. Genital piercings. I've had them faintly pass through my mind before, but I pushed them aside. Not as nonsense, or something too extreme, but something I didn't forsee myself having. I asked Ninja, and he said he didn't mind them.
So off to BMEzine I went researching, and I clued him in on the two I'd settled on: vertical clit hood, and a triangle. Without the professional opinion of a piercer I can't say for sure, but I'm quite positive I have enough flesh to accomodate either (I did pass the q-tip test). I scrutinized and discussed it with him, and I may very well go with it. The trouble is finding a qualified piercer, and parting with the money. I'm not all too familiar with piercers in this area, not being from around here, and I am a poor college student.
Hopefully you know this by now, but actual clit piercings are super rare. Piercing the organ itself sounds like death to me, but you also must have a clitoris thick enough to accomodate the jewelry. The most common female genital piercing is the vertical clit hood, which consists of a barbell or a circular ring being pierced through the flap of skin the clitoris sits beneath (aka "hood"). It must be close enough to the meeting of the hood and the clit itself for maximum pleasure. The presence of the jewelry predictably enhances contact during intercourse or fun-time. It's a quick healer at just a few weeks, and getting in the way would be at a minimum due to the vertical position. It's common, cute, and sounds good to me.
A little more enticing, however, is the triangle. It is, according to my sources, the second most "extreme" female genital piercing, next to the actual clitoral piercing of course. It's not enticing to me because of the extreme-ness of it (in fact that causes me to have reserves) but the possibility of unearthly pleasure. You see, with the triangle, the jewelry is placed beneath the clitoris. That is a lot of flesh, much more than with the vertical clit hood. But the unique placement lends itself to some awesome feelings I am sure, allowing for stimulation from behind (the jewelry) and in front (fingers, tongue, etc.). My method for masturbating involves pressing my clit against my pubic bone, so I can only imagine what a metal bar could add. It is, though, less aesthetically appealing to me. And the possibility of the piercer hitting my clit instead freaks me out.
So here I am considering a genital piercing, both for easthetic and pleasure purposes. And also just for the fun of it.
We'll see, we'll see.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Downfall
I am, and have always been, an insecure person. Unsure of myself, more willing to hold back than give out, quick to assume the worst and disbelieving of the best. I can't say it has stemmed from some personal incident, or my upbringing. I wasn't picked on as a child, my parents always told me to do my best and that was all they wanted. Nothing sticks out to me that could have pushed me to become this way.
But I live my life afraid of embarrassment, shame, and vulnerability. I'm not sure now Ninja did it, but he has worked to get me out of my shell. Regardless, the level to which I inhibit myself, well, it is my downfall. In the two and a half years we have been together, I have but a handful of times peed with him around - on the other hand, I have held his penis in my very hands while he did his business. He'll belt out all the songs he knows in his cute, breaking untrained voice, while through all my years of choral singing, I'm still reluctant to sing on my own, despite his persistent begging.
For the most part, Ninja is all-accommodating to me and my wishes. My problem is, I bet you can guess, that I don't voice them. I leave little twisted signals and wish that he could hear my thoughts. The trippy thing is that sometimes I swear he can, and up 'til now, he's put up with my silliness and continues to gently coax me into communicating. I think that part of what had me fall in love with him was his confidence and calm curiosity. Time and time again, from the very beginning, if something was exploding in my thoughts, and he would ask me what was wrong, I would say "Nothing." But he knew better, and still does, and though we play that game far less often than we used to, he still has to take my head into his hands and have me look at him and not lie when something is on my mind.
This, of course, floods into our sex life. Why can't I orgasm? I'm not clear on all the answers, but I know deep down that it is because I am embarassed. My face looks weird, my body looks weird, it would take too long. I have masturbated to orgasm twice in his presence, and the last time was over a year ago, and I was such a bundle of nerves that it took ages and I've not done it since, having shamed myself. I've masturbated on video for him a handful of times, while we were long-distance, and however permanent it is, I got a small amount of relief in the fact that I could preview it and make sure I didn't look like an alien.
I know it bothers Ninja. It bothers me too. And that just makes it worse. I can't ask him to go down on me, I can't ask him to finger me, I can't ask because I have collected in my memory clips of instances when he's laughed at me harmlessly, or made an innocent comment, and in twisting them to negativity it trumps the good and pleasure and will he has shown to make me happy.
I just can't let go and relax, give myself fully into him. I'm worried about my breath, my body, my expressions, the time. I cherish making love so much, and I think endlessly of sex with him. But despite all that, I'm still too fucking embarrassed to give both of us the satisfaction of my orgasm.
I know these things, and I analyse them often. But as for really getting over it, I'm still not in the right direction. But he is all the more my soulmate for putting up with it.
But I live my life afraid of embarrassment, shame, and vulnerability. I'm not sure now Ninja did it, but he has worked to get me out of my shell. Regardless, the level to which I inhibit myself, well, it is my downfall. In the two and a half years we have been together, I have but a handful of times peed with him around - on the other hand, I have held his penis in my very hands while he did his business. He'll belt out all the songs he knows in his cute, breaking untrained voice, while through all my years of choral singing, I'm still reluctant to sing on my own, despite his persistent begging.
For the most part, Ninja is all-accommodating to me and my wishes. My problem is, I bet you can guess, that I don't voice them. I leave little twisted signals and wish that he could hear my thoughts. The trippy thing is that sometimes I swear he can, and up 'til now, he's put up with my silliness and continues to gently coax me into communicating. I think that part of what had me fall in love with him was his confidence and calm curiosity. Time and time again, from the very beginning, if something was exploding in my thoughts, and he would ask me what was wrong, I would say "Nothing." But he knew better, and still does, and though we play that game far less often than we used to, he still has to take my head into his hands and have me look at him and not lie when something is on my mind.
This, of course, floods into our sex life. Why can't I orgasm? I'm not clear on all the answers, but I know deep down that it is because I am embarassed. My face looks weird, my body looks weird, it would take too long. I have masturbated to orgasm twice in his presence, and the last time was over a year ago, and I was such a bundle of nerves that it took ages and I've not done it since, having shamed myself. I've masturbated on video for him a handful of times, while we were long-distance, and however permanent it is, I got a small amount of relief in the fact that I could preview it and make sure I didn't look like an alien.
I know it bothers Ninja. It bothers me too. And that just makes it worse. I can't ask him to go down on me, I can't ask him to finger me, I can't ask because I have collected in my memory clips of instances when he's laughed at me harmlessly, or made an innocent comment, and in twisting them to negativity it trumps the good and pleasure and will he has shown to make me happy.
I just can't let go and relax, give myself fully into him. I'm worried about my breath, my body, my expressions, the time. I cherish making love so much, and I think endlessly of sex with him. But despite all that, I'm still too fucking embarrassed to give both of us the satisfaction of my orgasm.
I know these things, and I analyse them often. But as for really getting over it, I'm still not in the right direction. But he is all the more my soulmate for putting up with it.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Unfavorable Contact
Some weeks ago, Ninja closed his door on his visiting friend and turned back to me. We progressed to the bed, and I was thrilled by the need to be quiet, lest it be blatantly obvious what we were doing behind the closed door.
My legs were on his shoulders and his thrusting was divine. I rested my hand on his cheek, feeling his hair and his ears and his cheekbones and jawline, and watching his eyes close ever so slightly with the motions. I looked down at his hips, and that sexy triangle between his hip bones. The light from the window to the right of us blinks in and out as he moves himself against me. The jolt that shoots through me with each SMACK. Pure hotness. His hands ran down my body, behind me, and between my legs, between my ass cheeks. I was gone and relaxed enough that he rubbed me, stimulating me, and pushed one of his fingers inside my ass. I felt a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, but it mixed in with the feeling of his cock inside me and I was A-OK. I was learning to like it. I want to, I want more. He quivered, he came and rested on top of me.
Fast forward to yesterday morning, when we are showering together in the tiny stand-up stall. Or rather, the moment where my legs are spread, one on the floor and one on the wall opposite me at my head's height. His knees are bent and he is coming up at me with such force that I feel his balls slap my inner thigh and buttocks - I can barely stand, that sensation drives me crazy. He tires and turns me around, slipping inside me again while I'm on my tippy toes to make things easier for him. Or try to, anyway. He's like a foot taller than me. Irrelevant that is, however, while he goes again between my legs, pressing against my anus with his finger. Calm, calm, calm down... he continues, slipping inside again with one of his fingers. A few moments and he withdraws, but I think nothing of it while we make love in the water. He tires and neither of us reach orgasm, it being the second time that morning we'd done so.
Later on, he makes a song about playing with my butt while he primps himself in the bathroom. I roll my eyes; he's a very musical fellow and makes songs about many things.
Until... he sings about touching my poop. I dropped my head and could have died in shame, but instead I flopped myself down on his bed. He called me back, I groaned. So embarassed. Expected, probable even, but damn it. Embarassing. He calls me still, telling me sternly to come back. I abide, and he picks my head up and makes me look at him, telling me not to be embarassed.
I'm glad his reaction was understanding and favorable... it would be pretty lame to be anything otherwise... but still. Unfavorable contact is the source of my reserve, and I haven't even experienced his cock before it rears its ugly, poopy head.
My legs were on his shoulders and his thrusting was divine. I rested my hand on his cheek, feeling his hair and his ears and his cheekbones and jawline, and watching his eyes close ever so slightly with the motions. I looked down at his hips, and that sexy triangle between his hip bones. The light from the window to the right of us blinks in and out as he moves himself against me. The jolt that shoots through me with each SMACK. Pure hotness. His hands ran down my body, behind me, and between my legs, between my ass cheeks. I was gone and relaxed enough that he rubbed me, stimulating me, and pushed one of his fingers inside my ass. I felt a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, but it mixed in with the feeling of his cock inside me and I was A-OK. I was learning to like it. I want to, I want more. He quivered, he came and rested on top of me.
Fast forward to yesterday morning, when we are showering together in the tiny stand-up stall. Or rather, the moment where my legs are spread, one on the floor and one on the wall opposite me at my head's height. His knees are bent and he is coming up at me with such force that I feel his balls slap my inner thigh and buttocks - I can barely stand, that sensation drives me crazy. He tires and turns me around, slipping inside me again while I'm on my tippy toes to make things easier for him. Or try to, anyway. He's like a foot taller than me. Irrelevant that is, however, while he goes again between my legs, pressing against my anus with his finger. Calm, calm, calm down... he continues, slipping inside again with one of his fingers. A few moments and he withdraws, but I think nothing of it while we make love in the water. He tires and neither of us reach orgasm, it being the second time that morning we'd done so.
Later on, he makes a song about playing with my butt while he primps himself in the bathroom. I roll my eyes; he's a very musical fellow and makes songs about many things.
Until... he sings about touching my poop. I dropped my head and could have died in shame, but instead I flopped myself down on his bed. He called me back, I groaned. So embarassed. Expected, probable even, but damn it. Embarassing. He calls me still, telling me sternly to come back. I abide, and he picks my head up and makes me look at him, telling me not to be embarassed.
I'm glad his reaction was understanding and favorable... it would be pretty lame to be anything otherwise... but still. Unfavorable contact is the source of my reserve, and I haven't even experienced his cock before it rears its ugly, poopy head.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Boxing to Parkour
I feel ready to take on the WORLD today.
I don't know why, particularly. But in lieu of being unable to box (after Ninja's and my subscriptions run out) I have decided to move on to parkour or freerunning or whatever subbranch I can absorb. Ninja has just a natural talent for bouncing around like a monkey, whereas I do not. He's wanted to get into it for ages, but there aren't any groups nearby. But like I said, that natural talent takes him far enough. I am a foot shorter than him, weaker, scared-ier, and less experienced. But I want to try it, see what I'm capable of. The psychological part of it is all about overcoming whatever obstacles - so let's go!
I'm very happy to have begun working out and appreciating my body and its powers. A year of boxing has brought me SO MUCH joy. I don't want to give it up, and if I/we have the opportunity, I'd love to invest in a bag or two to keep up with my progress. It makes me feel sexy, it makes me feel capable, it makes me feel so good. While my roommates are sitting on the couch getting drunk or high in front of the TV, I walk in drenched in sweat and feeling like I'm on clouds. Not to mention, Ninja doesn't look too bad with his shirt stuck to him and his hair all a mess, lean muscles shining in all their glory...
Ninja and I haven't gone boxing in quite a long time, to be sadly honest. Nearly a month. Myself, I'm discouraged by that particular gym's practice and the inevitability of my contract's end. And also the fact that the cool people I worked out with have stopped going, and the trainers all have sticks up their asses.
Anyway, things have been different. Going and working out together, doing something in terms of an extra-curricular committment, is really good for us. Good for anyone, I'm sure. It shakes things up, presents obstacles and routes for achievement and lets us support each other. Lately we've been stuck inside, less than able to go out because of a lack of funding. We do have much to enjoy of each other regardless, but I really miss going out and sharing this different sort of passion.
So yesterday I decided I'd like to try it. I need to start running, and weight train. I've been previously afraid of jumping up on little islands on the streets when Ninja has coaxed me. But I was able to, every time. It filled me with a rush and surprise. I wouldn't mind feeling that a bit more often.
Last night I was on the back porch, watching the sun go down. I turned around and saw my silhouette, and damn I look good. My hair looks great, tossed in the wind. My arms have shape. My ass is, well, a prominent but proud feature, well-balanced by my tits of equal proportion.
I woke up this morning and took a long shower, cleaning every inch of me. I shaved my legs and even my ass-crack, trimmed up the bush. Ninja cancelled plans with some other people to come run around with me instead, before I go off to my home town to visit my family for a week.
Life is good.
I don't know why, particularly. But in lieu of being unable to box (after Ninja's and my subscriptions run out) I have decided to move on to parkour or freerunning or whatever subbranch I can absorb. Ninja has just a natural talent for bouncing around like a monkey, whereas I do not. He's wanted to get into it for ages, but there aren't any groups nearby. But like I said, that natural talent takes him far enough. I am a foot shorter than him, weaker, scared-ier, and less experienced. But I want to try it, see what I'm capable of. The psychological part of it is all about overcoming whatever obstacles - so let's go!
I'm very happy to have begun working out and appreciating my body and its powers. A year of boxing has brought me SO MUCH joy. I don't want to give it up, and if I/we have the opportunity, I'd love to invest in a bag or two to keep up with my progress. It makes me feel sexy, it makes me feel capable, it makes me feel so good. While my roommates are sitting on the couch getting drunk or high in front of the TV, I walk in drenched in sweat and feeling like I'm on clouds. Not to mention, Ninja doesn't look too bad with his shirt stuck to him and his hair all a mess, lean muscles shining in all their glory...
Ninja and I haven't gone boxing in quite a long time, to be sadly honest. Nearly a month. Myself, I'm discouraged by that particular gym's practice and the inevitability of my contract's end. And also the fact that the cool people I worked out with have stopped going, and the trainers all have sticks up their asses.
Anyway, things have been different. Going and working out together, doing something in terms of an extra-curricular committment, is really good for us. Good for anyone, I'm sure. It shakes things up, presents obstacles and routes for achievement and lets us support each other. Lately we've been stuck inside, less than able to go out because of a lack of funding. We do have much to enjoy of each other regardless, but I really miss going out and sharing this different sort of passion.
So yesterday I decided I'd like to try it. I need to start running, and weight train. I've been previously afraid of jumping up on little islands on the streets when Ninja has coaxed me. But I was able to, every time. It filled me with a rush and surprise. I wouldn't mind feeling that a bit more often.
Last night I was on the back porch, watching the sun go down. I turned around and saw my silhouette, and damn I look good. My hair looks great, tossed in the wind. My arms have shape. My ass is, well, a prominent but proud feature, well-balanced by my tits of equal proportion.
I woke up this morning and took a long shower, cleaning every inch of me. I shaved my legs and even my ass-crack, trimmed up the bush. Ninja cancelled plans with some other people to come run around with me instead, before I go off to my home town to visit my family for a week.
Life is good.
Friday, July 3, 2009
What a Mess, Love
Hey! Oh man. Life has been crazy. Ninja's friend came and went, a trip to Texas to visit/meet Ninja's family came and went, basically June came and went.
I will recount past events in due time when I get the urge to. I've been spending a lot of time with Ninja, enjoying life. Thinking about the future. It's frightening to me, but thrilling at the same time. After all, it's what I want, huh? In a few short weeks we will be moved in together (in my room at my current apartment with my crappy roommates, then in Sept to a spacious apartment almost to ourselves) and the next big chapter of my, our lives, shall unfold.
There's just one thing. Every. Single. Time. I try to initiate some BJ or hanky-panky... Ninja gives me a dumb look and asks me, "What are you doing?" It's getting to be quite defeating. I'm only taking your clothes off, no real reason at all.
Y'all know the site FMyLife? I have a few tidbits I'm sure I could submit. Most recently along the lines of feeling bloated with joy and love, going in to kiss tenderly, and being told to put on deodorant.
I apologize for being so scatter-y, I'm all sorts of crazy in love with this man. And even when he makes me feel dumb he does it in a way that assures me he loves me just as much. Whew! What a feat.
I will recount past events in due time when I get the urge to. I've been spending a lot of time with Ninja, enjoying life. Thinking about the future. It's frightening to me, but thrilling at the same time. After all, it's what I want, huh? In a few short weeks we will be moved in together (in my room at my current apartment with my crappy roommates, then in Sept to a spacious apartment almost to ourselves) and the next big chapter of my, our lives, shall unfold.
There's just one thing. Every. Single. Time. I try to initiate some BJ or hanky-panky... Ninja gives me a dumb look and asks me, "What are you doing?" It's getting to be quite defeating. I'm only taking your clothes off, no real reason at all.
Y'all know the site FMyLife? I have a few tidbits I'm sure I could submit. Most recently along the lines of feeling bloated with joy and love, going in to kiss tenderly, and being told to put on deodorant.
I apologize for being so scatter-y, I'm all sorts of crazy in love with this man. And even when he makes me feel dumb he does it in a way that assures me he loves me just as much. Whew! What a feat.
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