Kizz & Tell is a combination of item #17 on my Life List (Develop an erotic fiction web site) and a continuation of the G-spot column I used to write at The Women's Colony. From fantasies to frank discussion I'm just trying to re-create a really great conversation with your friends. I hope you'll join in!

Friday, December 31, 2010

Half Finished Sentence

Half Finished Sentence




Even late in the evening on December 31st 2010 was an unfinished sentence of a year. I’d had fun with friends and family but not gone much of anywhere. My annual performance review at work had gone swimmingly, they loved me. I still only liked them as friends. I’d broken up with the friend who was a boy if you could call a conversation like this breaking up:

“So, I’ve been thinking...”


“So I guess we should probably...”

“You’re right, I guess we’ll just...”



I took a cab home and treated myself to a new dildo. The NJoy 11, actually. Totally worth it. If I’d known I would have bought it sooner. Probably broken it off with the guy sooner, too.

New Year’s Eve found me in a local average pub with some of the average locals listening to music I couldn’t identify and watching that slightly effeminate emcee who replaced Dick Clark. I missed Dick Clark.

I had been hanging out with a group of friends and neighbors but, citing babysitters, sinus infections and, I swear to God, general malaise, they’d trickled home. All of them except Danny. Now I call Danny a friend but he’s a neighbory friend. We’ve known each other for nearly a decade, as long as I’ve lived here, we’ve talked at this bar, in community board meetings, at a friend’s party and once during a volunteer event at the park. We’d notice if the other one disappeared but we wouldn’t know who to ask about it.

I suppose I could have just left, too. I could have gone home and kissed the cat at midnight and been in bed by 12:05 having disturbing dreams about Dick Clark’s ball. I didn’t have it in me, though, which was as much indicative of 2010 as anything else. So I talked to Danny and it was fine. Fine like George Carlin talked about fine. Which was all it needed to be except that by 11:30 I started to get pretty restless. Very restless. When I knew it was all too obvious that my eyes were flicking all over the joint and I was only half listening I excused myself to the ladies room.

After a little wait in line I got in there, peed, washed my hands then sat right back down on the toilet lid. It doesn’t happen to me often but every once in a while I get so wound up that I have to do something. It doesn’t even matter what but it has to be something. Options in the bathroom were pretty limited.

Have you ever just put your body, or maybe it’s your soul, on autopilot? It’s fun but disorienting and probably pretty dangerous. Out at the bar I let my soul take over.

“Hey Dan...”

“Yeah?” he was so solicitous, such a nice guy, always willing to be part of the solution.

“Can you..” I sounded almost embarrassed, “come help me with something, please?”

“Sure.” Totally affable. Surely that would get old quick. But not before 2011. He signalled to the bartender to hold our spots and followed me back to the rest room.

Purposely vague I tossed words over my shoulder, “I just can’t quite...thanks so much...shouldn’t take a minute.” Since it was about 10 minutes to midnight the line to the bathroom had disappeared. I slipped right in, flattened myself against the wall so Danny could squeeze in then closed the door behind me.

It wasn’t the smoothest introduction to a kiss I’ve ever performed. While sweet he’s not stupid so he had to have at least a hint that something of the kind might happen but it was still pretty abrupt. He was a good kisser and he did have the grace to kiss me back which was nice of him. Not too much spit or tongue, nice relaxed feel to it.

I was an autopilot, though, and had a mission and just less than 10 minutes to accomplish it. I slid my hands down and began to figure out the details of his belt buckle. Dan kept kissing me and let me work it out, and work him slowly but surely out of a slightly twisted pair of boxer briefs. After a few long pumps in my hand I began to kneel and that’s when he stopped me.

With one hand he encouraged me to keep pumping. With the other he did his own figuring. My skirt wasn’t terribly long but the getting up and over the tights was a tiny challenge for him. Fortunately I wasn’t wearing panties. I didn’t have any clean ones.

I worried my thumb over the head of his cock and he did the same for my clit. I jumped a little and laughed. He chuckled back. He worked his other fingers over my labia and down between them getting slick and slippery. I spread my legs a little, hoping he’d take the hint and he did. He put just one finger inside and immediately I had to insist it wasn’t enough. I snaked my own hand under all those clothes and manipulated his hand until there were three of them in there to the hilt. I ground my clit against that fleshy pad of his palm and found I was rhythmically squeezing his dick. He used his free hand around me to get me back to an up and down motion, he didn’t stop the slight twisting motion I had going.

At that point, frankly, I quit paying attention to him. I knew, if I could just position his hand correctly I could get where I was going. I grabbed him by the wrist and wasn’t gentle. Even had to stand up on my tiptoes a little. His fingers couldn’t move much inside me  but a little was enough. I loved the short strokes. I ground down with my pubic bone against his palm and just concentrated on coming. He moaned a little and I thought I was being derailed but with a slight turn of my hips and more pressure I was at that edge you can’t help but fall off of. One more second, I held my breath and came hard enough that my thighs quaked. A couple of seconds later my hand, covered by Danny’s and wrapped around his cock felt warm and squishy with his come.

Upstairs a cheer arose, “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year,” Danny smiled.

“Happy New Year,” I replied a little wryly.

We shared an awkward peck on the lips and turned the water in the sink on just before another holiday patron started banging on the door.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Snow Day

Snow Day


We had a tradition in college, in law school, during that shaky first job. On the first day with snow, real snow, snow that stuck, we ditched. Getting up to call in was required. Then going back to bed could seem more decadent. At some point we’d go out, walk somewhere, make a snow angel, he’d for sure pelt me with a couple of snow balls and we’d come back home. Mostly, though, we stayed in bed. Naked.

Then I landed that second job. It dangled the big, fat, sweet, juicy carrot of partnership in front of me. I got serious. I mean, I made it through law school so it’s not like I’m Bozo the Clown or anything but this promise of reward, this treadmill, it upped my serious to threat level FIRE ENGINE RED. So in the first winter of the second job when it started to snow I got up. I didn’t call in sick and go back to bed. I showered, put on pantyhose and went to work. And I felt terrible about it.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I came out of the shower.

“Going to work.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Weather man was wrong?” he was bewildered in that sleepy way.

“No.” I tried to sound rational and firm but not mean. I probably didn’t succeed.

“Oh.” Two letters filled with a whole alphabet of accusation but I was paying the rent, not to mention his tuition, so what could he really say?

Half the office was out that day. They lived in New Jersey or had kids who were out of school or had stayed home naked in bed. I hated them.

By lunch time, given the reduced numbers in the office, I’d done all the work I could do and a good portion of the work some of the absentees should have been doing. I was itchy in my hose and resentful and, most of all, guilty. I was a grown up now, in theory I could do whatever I wanted. So I tested that theory. I sent a few more emails, made a phone call or two, gathered up my things and told the office manager I was headed home for the day. In the elevator I tried to keep a cool, Mad Men-inspired exterior but I was waiting for someone to step on at a lower floor and haul me back to my desk like a truant.

I got home about two. Music was blaring through the apartment. Prince, something vintage, very sexy. For a heartstopping moment I considered leaving again. I was, inexplicably, terrified of what I was going to find even though he’d never given me reason to doubt him. I didn’t even set my bag down while I wandered down the hall and into the living room. He was pacing the carpet with a book in his hand head bobbing to the music and his mouth moving silently. I knew him well enough to know he was switching between singing along and talking out his critique of the book. It was a good bet that book was Plato.

On his next turn he saw me and startled. He smiled but it was cautious and he opened the cabinet to turn the music down. Tears welled up behind my eyes and my arms felt heavy from carrying the guilt of making the boring, grown up choice. I dropped my bag and coat and went straight to him, trying to get there before the tears fell. I clung to his back like a limpet and he had the grace to reach back and cradle my head with a hand.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered in his ear.

“You came home early.” It was statement of fact, not of gratitude.

“I missed snow day.” I sniffed, trying to be discreet.

He nodded but didn’t reply for a moment. His head turned slightly toward me when he asked, “Feel bad about that?”

“Yes.” I replied, very quietly. Then I slid around in front of him and kissed him. I gave it everything, too. I went in slow. I kept my mouth closed for a while, waiting to be sure he was kissing back, before I even grazed his lips with my tongue. Once I got a little of that back I pressed my whole body against him and really jammed my tongue in his mouth. I kept at him, rubbing my nipples against his chest and clutching his ass with my hands until I was honestly breathless and had to stop. I slid back down from my tiptoes and leaned my head against his chest, breathing heavily. He held me and rubbed my back.

“You will, however, need to do penance.”

Thinking I understood I smiled and began to sink to my knees.

“Oh no no no no no.” he lifted me back up and set me apart from him. “Take all that off.” he gestured disdainfully at everything I wore and why I wore it.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about taking off work clothes. You can cite Kim Basinger in 9 ½ Weeks or Demi Moore in that sexual harassment movie or anyone in Ally MacBeal but the truth of it is that your feet swell in heels and pantyhose make you look like sausage and trying to untuck a sheath from a business skirt is a symphony of tugging and wrinkles that’s hardly alluring.

Once, very early in our relationship, I’d made a big deal out of stripping for him. I’d worn a special outfit with lacy lingerie beneath and put on music and lowered the lights and even watched Showgirls to prepare. I thought it had worked exactly right. He was all over me when I finished and we went three rounds before we collapsed on the bed. After a brief rest, heartbeats still a little irregular, he asked, “Why did you do all that?”

“Which part?” I joked.

“The big show.”

“I thought you’d like it.” I was hurt and in no position to hide it.

“I did. Seeing you get naked is sexy, it’s always sexy. The other stuff, though?”


“No offense, truly, but it was a little distracting.”


“Any time you’re getting naked that’s all I want to see. I don’t care how it happens, just seeing you is hot.”

It was a sweet thing to say in an artless sort of way. He stuck by it for years, even when he was berating me for not making enough of an effort to treat him specially. His well-intentioned hypocrisy was nice, I guess.

So I just hopped and tugged and pulled my middling expensive suit and all its accents off. Even my threadbare cotton underwear. Facing him wasn’t exactly a challenge but I was implying that he had the reins.

I thought he’d tell me to do something. He liked to tell me what to do. Instead he came right up in front of me and reached between my legs. Delicately he stroked and separated and kneaded just a little. I swallowed hard to keep from crying out. I could have made as much noise as I liked but something made me want to preserve the silence. After a moment he nodded a little as if he was satisfied with his findings. I should hope so I was wet and quivering by that point.

He licked his fingers off before he took me by the elbow. He steered me toward the couch. Again I assumed I knew where he was going with it. I started to sit and he tightened his grip. He took me around the side of the sofa and bent me at the waist. He made sure I kept my head low and my ass high. He even used his feet to gently tap my legs apart a little more.

I thought for sure he’d use his fingers first. He just stood behind me, opened me with one hand, placed his cock with the other and pressed firmly, but not unkindly, all the way in. My moan turned into a kind of a laugh. I was used to more lead up, I wouldn’t have expected this to be so satisfying. I let my head hang down, steadied myself against the cushions and closed my eyes.

He went slowly with long strokes for a little while. I felt lulled. It was like having someone rub circles on your back but so much better. Just as I was drifting away he sped up, added a little circling motion. Every so often he’d bang straight and hard into me, slapping his balls against my ass for a few strokes then go back to the circling. It was exciting and it was a great way to build up but it was maddening, a start and stop and change of ploy I couldn’t control. I rolled my forehead back and forth against the seat of the couch trying to center myself.

His strokes changed again, got a little more careful and short when he leaned over me. I felt his chest hair scratching and tickling my back. It didn’t last long, though, because he was just reaching for my hand. Keeping hold of it he stood again, gave a few more of those hard strokes, then lifted my hips just a little, I had to roll up on my toes for a second. He slid my hand underneath me and set my fingertips generally near my clit.

“Go on.” he told me.

“It’s hard...with you moving...”

“You can do it.”

So I rubbed. I reached around his cock, tried to pick up some of the juices that were seeping down. I bent my knees reflexively and he had to grab both hips to keep from slipping out. I widened my stance, which made him groan a little. Then, comfortable, I rubbed in earnest. I tried to find the rhythm that went with the sensation of him inside me. It was always hard for me to concentrate on both the inside and the outside at once.

“Go on.” he repeated.

I held my breath for a minute, screwed my eyes shut and felt myself getting closer. My hand flew across my clit and my mouth opened, I couldn’t close it. Finally it was just words, “Mo....mmm, more, more, little..ahh....more....” and I came with a strangled version of a scream.

He was still stroking steadily into me and it was nearly smashing my hand so I slid it out from under me.He started to speed up. He grabbed my hand and threaded our fingers together. He was pounding away and, for the first time in a long while, he shouted as he came and fell on top of me, barely catching himself with his hands before I got crushed.

Minutes later when we finally had the muscle control to swing around and spoon on the couch I grinned and asked, “So...snowball fight?”

“Mmmm, in a minute.” he murmured and closed his eyes.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's....Well...

I am completely off my schedule here. I know it, I acknowledge it and I'm looking at it. Right now I'm taking it as a good thing and trying to write here when I'm inspired. I've been reading things I want to write about and stopping myself because "it's not the day for that." Well screw that!

AAG has a Blogger Anonymity Project. If anyone wants to write about something but needs a safely anonymous place to do so you can email your post to her and she'll share it in her space with none of your personal details. Today she's shared post #5 in the project and I really want you all to go read it.

The upshot is that a woman who identifies herself as polyamorous is married to a man who has mostly identified himself as monogamous. He's entering into his first relationship outside their marriage and she's working through what that means to her personally and for their marriage.

Please don't assume you know how this letter is going to play out. If you have the courage to read to the very end of the piece you'll have so much more to digest about what keeps people together and about the choices we make about love. This is a topic I roll around in my head all the time. ALL the time. It may have something Freudian to do with being an only child and always having been a partial participant in someone else's marriage or it may just be that I write a lot so I am nosy about how things work. Either way my feelings about non-monogamy aren't in the least clear cut and this woman's insight and bravery brought my understanding to a whole new level.

I would love to have all of you read this anonymous piece and to hear what you think about it. I'll be devouring the comments over there so I'll keep my eye out for you.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Not That First Time

I'm trying these days to be more interactive with my internet. I've been urging myself to volunteer for things, to make more comments, to speak up even when I don't think what I have to say is especially exciting. That's why I spoke up when AAG asked if anyone would like to review a web site for one of her clients. Perfect way to make a one on one connection and learn about a new site and get myself out of my shell.

Now to explain why I'm writing this review of four days late.

I knew nothing about the site I'd be reviewing when I agreed. That's not a bad thing, I think it's kind of good for the way I'm wired. If I don't know what it is I can't come up with all the reasons I'm not right for the job. 

The first thing I needed to do was register as a member of the site (super easy, you can get away with basically entering a username and password but you can also elaborate on who you are and what you're looking for to focus the kind of suggestions the site will offer you) and forward that info back to AAG so I could be upgraded to a VIP for the duration of the review process (regularly starting at $8.33/month). I got a quick look around the site and was, predictably, overwhelmed.

Here we go back to my history. I'm unpracticed with forums. The most time I've ever spent on them has been in a fanfiction context and there I mostly skimmed the conversation and just read the stories. When I search for erotic writing or imagery online I generally fall into a rabbit hole jumping from site to site when a story, picture or blog entry strikes my fancy. I've never tried to have conversations or form connections in this way before. I've tried two internet dating sites. On one I didn't even get through the extensive registration process and the other one I got through that part and read a couple of profiles of my matches and have now lost my log in information and not signed in again. All of which makes me the best person to review SexForums, because I am about the freshest pair of eyes you can get, and the worst, because I don't even know what I'm looking for. I'm choosing to go with my strengths, though, and just tell you what I see.

I was intimidated by the site because it's new to me so I found a ton of excuses to put off my exploration and then it was Thanksgiving and then I got sick and then I was a coward and finally today after a heroic effort of memory to recall my password (Beware if you're a hotmail user, for some reason SexForums and hotmail had trouble communicating. They have my email address entered properly but it takes a long while for me to get communications and their system registers an error when it tries to send to me.) I spent a few hours poking around the site, if you'll pardon the expression, and I had a lot of fun.

The novelty factor is, for sure, in play to some extent. The way I'm wired might mean I wouldn't come back regularly but I sure would have a good time while I was there. (Note to self: write down your damn login info.) Now, I don't know how many of the readers here have ever played on a sexual social networking site before so forgive me if I'm covering familiar ground but let me give you an overview.

You create a profile and you can tell people what you're like personally, professionally and sexually (sort of like you'd do on any special interest social networking site like GoodReads or Blogher or Ning). You can then explore the forum conversations, share photographs, live chat with other users, be matched with others with like interests, start a blog or just browse other people doing all these things. It's a lot of information. I went to photos first because I happened to get an alert about the recommended photos of the day. I toured four or five pages of photos and found a little bit of everything, from explicit sexual contact to close ups of genitals to titillating but hardly X-rated boudoir shots. Something for everyone, probably, but the recommended shots were heavily weighted toward women's bodies and faces. I don't think I saw one male face and not much more than penises and balls. My settings are leaning toward straight and bi-curious settings, though, so I think if things were a little different I might have come across more man on man action and more full body shots of men.

From there I checked out a couple of people's profiles and blogs and I started to get the feeling I was too old to be playing in this pond. In my random searching most members were barely into their 20s aside from one gentleman in his 50s whose profile picture is of a tortoise. I did not know how to take that last bit at all. There was a lot of text-speak and bad grammar and poorly written come on lines that were a turn off for me. Which is not even to speak of the animated gifs and fancy emoticons.

I understood I was casting the net wide so I headed off to my profile and searched for people in my age group. First I tried men from 34 to 52 (don't know why, that was my random approximation of appropriate ages for me) living in the US and turned up three gentlemen. One of them was a guy down South who featured himself being given a blowjob in nearly every photograph. His forum posts and personal description pegged him as someone I'd walk away from in a bar even before he made his obligatory "joke" about women being barefoot, pregnant and ideally toothless. I was not encouraged. I widened my search range to ten years on either side of my own age, so 32 - 52, and scored one more guy. From his photos he's built like the governor of CA in his heyday, he's also articulate, and filled in some blanks about his career and personal feelings as well as his sexual ones. He put the hope right back in me, though I was sad that there was only one of him in my self-imposed age range. I'm realizing as I write this that I limited myself in another way that I can go back and check on. SexForums seems to have a relatively deep international base as well. If I release my geographic restrictions I might find a lot more fish in this particular sea.

What reminds me of this is another forum thread I found. I can't even begin to explain to you how I found it, I was reading recommended threads and jumping from profile to profile of people who struck my fancy so it was a rabbit hole situation again. Anyway, the thread was titled, "Numbers," and it started with a longish explanation of positional numbering and the way we visualize and articulate numbers. The conversation that follows rolls back and forth between discussions of language, math, self-esteem and sexual terms in a variety of languages. It was a fun party conversation, something I could see myself actually participating in. It felt like a good way to get to know people on a couple of levels before sharing photos of our pink parts and discussing the ways we liked to rub them.  These are all discussions I love to have but I need a little lead up I guess. Later on I found a thread about anal fisting that was fascinating to me in light of my previous post on the vaginal version.

That thread lead me to the profile of a woman who I'd like to be my SexForums fairy godsister. She's young enough to be my daughter but let's go with sister for this situation. She's a young, bisexual woman who seems to have some experience as a dominatrix. She writes well and seems knowledgeable about all things sex and social media. You know how new waiters trail an experienced one before going solo, I feel like I should stalk her a bit but not in a creepy way, more in a trailing wait staff kind of way until I see where the people I click with hang out on this site and how I can best get to know them.

Now, there are some weirdnesses. For instance while I was writing this I went over to SexForums to check on a reference and found I had a message waiting. It was from a 35-year-old, US-based, straight guy and he wanted to know if my name was a combination of Kiss and Jizz. That's not the weird part. The weird bit is that he didn't show up in my previous search. Perhaps he has certain privacy shields in place that prevented it but if not then I can't really recommend the search function on the site.

All that being said I think this is an aspect of sexuality online that I'd like to explore in some more depth and this seems like a good place to do so. In a relatively short time I was able to find an area of the community where I felt comfortable and was easily able to overcome my shyness and respond to my questioner. I don't know how quick I'll be to post revealing photos of myself but I'm grateful that others don't share my reticence because I sure did like looking at them. Sometimes you run into sites with photos and videos of people who don't seem as though they're having much fun. Since all the sharing here is by members and therefore presumably consensual there's a much lighter vibe about it.

The question of pricing can't be overlooked. I was allowed a free peek into a higher level of service. If you've read here for any length of time you know that I'm notoriously worried about money and reluctant to spend on myself. If I was freer in this respect I'd own everything NJoy makes. Due to that I suspect I wouldn't have tried this without the reviewing option and I can't speak to how this pricing compares to other sites (if anyone else can speak to that please do in the comments!).

I look forward to spending more time on the site. Please let me know if you try it out, I'd be interested to hear about other experiences.

Dang, I got so wrapped up in my own thing I nearly forgot the conversation starters. Have you ever explored a site like this? If so do you have any suggestions for me? If you haven't, do you think you would? How much do you think you'd be willing to share?

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Bohemian Rhapsody

Here we are at December 1. It's the first night of Chanukah. It's the first day of Advent. It's the day after NaBloPoMo. It's World AIDS Day.

I grew up in a smallish New England town. It wasn't that I didn't know that AIDS existed, it's that it happened to other people. We were both informed and isolationist, a charming combination. Then in 1987 I came to New York City to go to college majoring in Theatre. You can't isolate yourself from AIDS in that career track, especially not in the late 80s. Fully half of my class welcome lectures involved discussion of the epidemic, safer sex practices and the fact that being young or straight or female didn't exempt you from being dead. I don't know what the statistic is now but when I moved to New York the fastest growing demographic of HIV+ people were women ages 18-24. I was 18.

In the non-linear way of memory I think of Freddie Mercury as being the first person I knew, even from afar, who had AIDS and who died from complications thereof. I just looked up the timeline, he died in 1991, so I'm sure that's not true now but he holds that sad, strange place in my heart. I'm not very current with music ever. I tend to get sidetracked into show tunes and folk and whatever I just heard on a TV show but I loved Freddie Mercury. I loved what he sounded like and how he looked and where his music went. It was just dramatic enough for an anxiety-prone, intelligent teenager with a love of the stage. I loved him no more, though, than all the people who have come into my life after he did and struggled with this disease and, ultimately, left to go join Freddie at whatever Live Aid concert is happening in the great beyond.

Whether you personally know someone who has come face to face with HIV and AIDS or not I'm willing to bet you have a Freddie Mercury. Your Freddie may be straight or Hispanic or transgendered or anything that Queen's Freddie was or wasn't but they mean something dear to you. While it's important for us to honor them in our actions all year round today, World AIDS Day, is a fine chance to step up our game. I thought of a couple of things we could do.

Have you been tested lately? The National HIV and STD testing resource gives some guidance for that emotional step. I've been tested a couple of times and, it turns out, that whether you do it in person or by mail it's never less nervewracking but it's good to know. Knowledge, as they say, is power.

I don't know enough about AIDS related charities to recommend just one to you. I like Charity Navigator, though, for when I'm choosing a resource to support. Here is a link to a search on their site of "AIDS" sorted by rating from highest to lowest. I know we're in a tough economy and hurtling into a season of sometimes irrational spending but, as they told me when I started at NYU, being [fill in any descriptor] doesn't exempt you from being dead.

It's more than a bicycle race. We are the champions who will play the game against this killer queen. Let's take this opportunity to find somebody to love before another one bites the dust. Together, I promise, we will rock you.