Thursday, November 29, 2007

Ego Games & the Affect on Sex

“if we were our bodies
if we were our futures
if we were our defenses
if we were our culture
if we were our leaders
if we were our denials
I’d be joining you”

-Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, Alanis Morissette

The other day, as my lover pounded my ass, he informed me that I, Sally Sunshine, have fallen victim to one of the Seven Deadly’s. Excessive Pride. In his opinion, my sinful narcissism was interfering with my listening skills and respect for him as an individual. Flabbergasted, I pulled back and demanded an explanation. He gently removed himself from my hind quarters, and attempted to shave off some of my inflated ego.

According to him, I have an unfortunate habit proclaiming my slut status loudly in mixed company. The guy, predictably, corrects me in public and frowns disapprovingly every time I utter a profane word. Evidently, Sally’s “I’ll do what I want, when I want” attitude has offended him in epic portions. When confronted about my total lack of disregard for social convention, I dismissed it and continued on with my behavior. He used this example to demonstrate how my “excessive pride” was hindering our interactions and any hope for future liaisons.

Now, even if my new lover’s head is inserted in his ass, being prone to belly button examination, I decided to investigate my relationship to ego and pride. Is my ego over compensating for another inadequacy? Am I using my proud stance on sluttiness as purely an ego tool or am I a honest to God slut?

My eagerness to question myself was compounded after a strange experience with a different lover early last week. I found this other lover at the local tavern during Thanksgiving break. A spirited-ballsy Leo, this dude began his formal “how do you do” by throwing a belt around my neck, tightening it up, and pulling me close for a big sloppy kiss. Now, Sally isn’t often overtaken with such brazen force, so, understandably, I was surprised. And sold. I departed with him to an undisclosed location about twenty minutes later.

Upon arrival, I discovered my feelings for my spirited Leo had shifted. He immediately started bragging about how much money his family had, and then, his own materialistic success coupled with his aptitude for nailing bitches. I stifled a yawn, hoping he would at least shut up so I could enjoy the belt without any distractions.

He had stated his intentions to dominate earlier, but I knew I wouldn’t hand over control that easily. When we finally made it to the bedroom, the psychological dynamic was competitive and ego-ridden. Both of us were trying to “one up” the other, in order to be recognized as the most fancy free freak of the pair. Like two lions perched on our thrones, neither one of us were budging to crawl down. Oddly enough, in reality, neither one of us were dominating, our egos, or false selves were instead.

Frustrated, I marched my half-naked ass out of the bedroom to collect my things. Here was my chance to have the sex I really wanted with a perfect stranger and I was throwing it away because of an abundance of ego energy. My spirited Leo, a bit deflated, pleaded with me not to go. Then, he asked an outrageous question. Was my sluttiness just an act, or was I the real deal?

Readers, imagine my disgust. I was offended. Me, not slutty? Sir, I beg your pardon! I quickly responded with my favorite whore-riffic fantasy and relayed all the gory details. Suddenly, my Leo was “filled with the spirit”, and was ready for action. He kindly responded with a sexy secret of his own, and finally, my pussy was wet too. After we discarded any fake pretenses, we ravished each other like lions, barely aware of the throne we jumped down from, but nonetheless, thankful for the renewed burst of psychic energy.

I left my exhausted Leo at 5:30 am, sleeping soundly in his jungle-themed bedroom, to lick his wounds. I also had wounds of my own to consider. Undeniably, I am a first rate slut, but I’ve used my promiscuity as a shield. This shield has been hoisted up against my heart for a long time and it’s served its purpose. However, as I begin to unravel the many layers of my “false self”, I’ve realized ego and pride have no place in the bedroom. And, since what happens in the bedroom is a metaphor for life, ego and pride, when taken to the extreme, will destroy any shot at happiness in life.

False pride, along with fake interactions, and bullshit posturing belongs in the trash can with all the other garbage. I know it’s easier said than done, but, I’m hauling my over-flowing trash bag to the dumpster tonight.

Will you?

Sally Sunshine

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Mergers & Acquisitions: The High Price

As I’m pounding out miles on the treadmill at 5:45 am, I often reminisce about how delicious sex is when it’s the kind I want. Yet, when I compare the scrumptious fucks to the many worthless fucks I’ve had, my strides get longer, harder, and meaner. As I clench my teeth, visions of wet bodies snapping on and off of each other carry my legs through the air. And, I ask myslef, is the sex I actually want to have an unattainable dream, or is it just different than before?

Years ago, Mr. Meathead and I would spend hours fucking in dirty post-gym clothes. We’d work ourselves into a frenzy, grab at each other with malice, and anger fuck into complete oblivion. Typical and acceptable expressions of affection between us included throwing each other into walls and slamming an open throat down on a perched cock or protruding pussy. Delicate, we most certainly were not, and, at the time, our stamina-filled sessions were satisfying.

Sex, like working out or playing sports, can be experienced as a strictly physical act. But, a simple physical act isn’t always good enough. Now, I cherish a good old fashion anger fuck as much as the next girl. But, let’s not neglect the fact, sometimes we need the stable presence of a kindred spirit- toes touching, naked bodies trembling next to each other, hearts pounding out of our chest- to create some orgasmic surrender with. Most people, unfortunately, only associate soul merging sex with a monogamous relationship. After years of cultivating a loving supportive partnership, one is finally ready for true intimacy. Or, in the absence of a secure foundation, strings are attached. When and if the soul merging occurs, the thought of losing the other after it is too overwhelming, so people get clingy. At this point, most of us, in some shape or form, “Get Owned.”

Ownership, then, is the struggle to possess the “other” when our pussy is not stuffed with their cock, or their cock is not nestled in our pussy. (Lesbian & Gay folk- stick with me.) For the ladies, after your guy cums, his cock still inside of you, have you ever wished it could stay forever? Same goes for the guys, have you ever wanted to find a long-term parking spot between her legs and rest? I’ve had the urge. In fact, I’ve told ex-lovers, “Don’t move, I want you to stay here forever”, while I basked in the glow of the merge.

Ownership, unfortunately, exacts a high price on soul expanding orgasmic fun, which is what stops a lot of us from pulling out the little black book on those lonely nights. (Hello Sleepless in Seattle!) Plus, to complicate matters further, soul mergers don’t happen on a superficial level.

I can call Bob over to stick it in, which, in the business world, is tantamount to an acquisition. He acquires my pussy, but afterwards my pussy, as a separate entity, is discarded and forgotten. A merger, in contrast, has a completely different energy attached to it. In the event of a merger, two separate entities join forces to experience each other deeply and form a more versatile stronger entity.

Personally, I find myself teetering back and forth between acquiring and merging. Simple ho-hum fucks are lovely when we’re not in the mood to think or feel- when we're in a “doing” mode. Mergers, on the other hand, introduce the world of art, creativity, and psychic connections into our sexual landscape. And, even though it pains me to admit it, there are times when I crave a soul connection. Today I can say (although tomorrow it could change!) with sincerity, I would welcome it.

I feel uneasy admitting it- like I am implying I desire a relationship. This, however, is not the case, at least not in a traditional sense. I want a soul-on-soul sex merger without any claims of ownership or control. I want the same person who fucks me lovingly to also watch strangers fuck me brutally. And, I want to move beyond the trite definitions of love we’ve all been forced to swallow into a more satisfying experience for all.

Let’s work on manifesting the dream this week. The sex we really want is just around the corner.

Yours truly, Sally.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Whore Manifesto

We wish you a whorey Christmas ..
…..and a fuck-filled New Year!

Read the story below found on yesterday as one of their "featured" articles:

SYDNEY (AFP) - "Santas in Australia's largest city have been told not to use Father Christmas's traditional "ho ho ho" greeting because it may be offensive to women, it was reported Thursday.
Sydney's Santa Clauses have instead been instructed to say "ha ha ha" instead, the Daily Telegraph reported.
One disgruntled Santa told the newspaper a recruitment firm warned him not to use "ho ho ho" because it could frighten children and was too close to "ho", a US slang term for prostitute.
"Gimme a break," said Julie Gale, who runs the campaign against sexualising children called Kids Free 2B Kids.
"We are talking about little kids who do not understand that "ho, ho, ho" has any other connotation and nor should they," she told the Telegraph.
"Leave Santa alone."
A local spokesman for the US-based Westaff recruitment firm said it was "misleading" to say the company had banned Santa's traditional greeting and it was being left up to the discretion of the individual Santa himself."

This article reeks of sanctimonious shit.

Can you smell it?

Poor women, we wouldn't want to subject your delicate ears to such a distasteful word. Oh, the horror! Whores everywhere! What will we do? And how will we protect the defenseless little children from this assault of slutty nouns?

Forget about the kids for a minute, and let's just consider that this article was written for adults by an adult. And, the actual reason for stopping these naughty Santa's from saying "ho" was done in the spirit of "not offending" us sensitive women folk.

First of all, ladies and gents, since I have no experience in the paid sex-work category, I am speaking from a strictly free pussy stance. I'm not, however, discounting the work paid sex-workers do. They certainly have filled a necessary niche in the market place. Someone pays, they fuck, they suck...whatever. I'm the last one to judge. Get your dollar dollar bills, girls. Again, to clarify, I am not speaking to those who are trafficked/sold into prostitution either , or those who want to leave the sex industry- this a different topic altogether.)

Now that we've cleared that up, this Free Whore has two words for all the whore-haters.

Slut Pride.

When Margret Cho first coined the term during her stand up act, I was floored. She said, "At first I wondered.. am I gay, am I straight? And, then I realized, no, I'm just slutty. Where's my parade?"

I laughed so hard I cried when I heard it. Indeed, Margret, slut pride.

Even so, upon slut admission, many na├»ve women and "concerned" men will pull the “don't you have any self-respect--- don't you love yourself?" card. What the naysayer's don't realize is I do love myself. In fact, I love myself too much to fall for the lie.

The Big Lie.

The Big Lie forces women to pick a side. Virgins versus Whores. Good girls versus Bad Girls. I believe Tori Amos also used the term "the split of the two Mary's" (i.e. Mary Magdalene versus Mother Mary). The nature of the split is ancient and deep.

The split exists in society and within each individual woman’s psyche. This system was designed to reduce women’s power as a whole by dividing us into separate camps. Women, in essence, must heal this polarization and rescue and recover both images of the mother and the whore from the collective. I have been working diligently at this during my adult life. Part of my teenage years were spent as a secondary mother to my little sisters, and the other part as a carefree slut. Can anyone imagine Sally in a maternal role? It’s difficult, I know, but that hypocritical Moon in Cancer at the top of my chart says otherwise. I’m capable of embodying both roles simultaneously, and I am very blessed in that regard. Are you?

If you aren’t, it could be because you’ve given too much attention to one side of the spectrum. Now, I admit, I’m a little heavy on the whore side. I love whores. A whore won’t judge you and she’d give you the shirt off of her back (both literally and metaphorically). Courtney Love, a whore, mother, and Sun in Cancer, is a perfect example. I’d be honored to hang with Courtney, minus the heroin, of course.

So, what does society gain from the spilt?

Women are supposed to put another's satisfaction and comfort above their own. Women are also trained to be the primary care givers, the nurturing presence. This was no accident, my friends. The system placed women in a position of servitude with little reward and told us we should be thankful for it. And, they sold us Cinderella stories in a neat forever-after package to seal the deal. Those who will not conform to the "Mother Mary" role risk being labeled a big Mary Magdalene Whore. Then, violators are punished accordingly. Since whores always "deserve it" and get almost no protection or acceptance from society or the legal system, they are forced to go it alone.

It is in this space, in holding the very unpopular position as an underdog with women and men alike, whores must gain self-love, acceptance, and strength, in spite of the cruel judgments of others. Whores (paid or unpaid) are human beings. We love, we cry, we carry on like the rest of you, but we are able to be sluts and embrace it because we love ourselves enough. We intuitively understand other women need our love and acceptance too, and, it is through our example that others are able to get free.

And, that, my dears, is one of the most important lesson's in will set you free.

Sprinkling love everywhere,

Ho, Ho, Ho


Thursday, November 15, 2007

Equality & Male Desire

Pigs and Science
by Mike Dubisch

Some men stand at the edge, look out over the horizon,
silently wish for more, but never go for it. By the
time they get to be adults the spirit of adventure and
curiosity from their youth has been eroded. These men
have repressed and trapped themselves in a life that’s
void of desire- a hole which could possibly take at
least two more lifetimes to work their way out of.

As a woman who’s stood at the end of the edge and
jumped, I find myself in the role of an initiator.
Men come to me because they need the animal within
them released. And, they need to replace shame and
guilt with a new model of acceptance.

In my richest fantasy, my lover and I would be like
sculptors, carving each other out of the stone,
working tirelessly and losing ourselves in the detail.
Standing naked together in the light, we’d examine our
bodies and take pleasure in each and every curve.

My Scorpio, however, got very uncomfortable when I
caressed his body the other night in this manner. When
my mouth lingered at his hips and I cupped his ass in
my hands, he sensed he was being seduced by his equal.
He knows it, and I know it. I touched him, not with
anger in hyper masculine form or in the softness of
the eternal feminine, but with the delicacy of an
equal, one human to another, appreciating and honoring
his body.

Although most would be hard pressed to admit it, men
need this healing touch, badly. To date, many men
have fallen down in front of the Temple of Sally to
touch my body like I was a Goddess- and it feels
fucking amazing. Why wouldn’t men need this too?

Men fear surrendering their masculinity. And, in
truth, I probably haven’t been completely honest about
my intentions either. I told bashful Leo my favorite
sound was his knees hitting the ground. Statements
like these make Sally sound like a real ball crusher
instead of a ball sucker. There is also an element of
trust involved, which, I assume will be a difficult
bridge for my Scorpio and I to cross. His jealously
is activated each time I even mention another man or
woman, so, emptying out the contents of his psyche in
front me really isn’t an option...yet.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have what it takes
to nurture the type of relationship his surrender
would demand. Scorpio boy and I, if given
enough time, trust, and confidence in one another
could definitely move mountains with our lust, but as
it stands now, there is no foundation. The only
comfortable energy between us is quick, hard, and
completely physical. No talking, no touching, only
fucking. Tell me, when will there be drinking?

~Sally S.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Rectal Ruminations

Today, someone alerted me that the tail light on my car is out. So, in this strange and often synchronous universe, I’ve also begun to suspect something is wrong with my ass. It’s been a little itchy and well, to put it plainly, bloody. That’s right, folks, Sally’s got a bad case of rectal bleeding. Now, I should make it clear, it’s not a lot of blood, but it’s enough to cause a re-evaluation of the joys of anal sex.

Sally has been a supporter and willing participant of ass play since day one. However, over the years, I have determined there are simply some men who should not fuck anyone in the ass, ever. Men who aren’t trained in Assology 101 should not run around sticking it where the sun don’t shine. Butt *ahem* But, the problem is, I run into ass novices with starling frequency. And unfortunately, with ass play, it’s often a “learn as you go” experience. Parents don’t sit down with their curious teenagers to discuss ass. It just doesn’t happen. In fact, I don’t remember talking about the “how to” aspect of anal sex once with friends either, which is odd because we talked about everything else.

Thus, when I started experimenting with anal sex with my boyfriend when I was twenty, I was still pretty ignorant. We both wanted to go that route, but were unsure of how to proceed with it. We never used lube, sex toys, and god forbid the day we’d be forced to say the word “anal” to each other. Yet, there were days when his hard cock pushed up against my ass for hours teasing it slightly and grazing it ever so lightly. My boyfriend, a naughty Libra/Scorpio cusp-er, was too nice to admit it, but I knew he wanted to fuck me there. Hell, even I had grown tired of the grazing game. I knew it was time. But sadly, we parted ways without fully experiencing the intensity of our longing.

My most memorable experience with anal sex happened only a few years ago. Ron* was a sexy farmer with a body from hell and the face of a god. Still, to this day, when I see him my pussy buzzes with yummy. Farmer Ron also had a healthy scattering of planets in the 8th house and a lovely uncircumcised penis. I was sold. Anal sex it was. So, one fateful evening after a long night of drinking and debauchery, he grabbed my ass and told me to spread ‘em. Having been educated on the virtues of lube during my lesbian days, I reached for the KY and my favorite vibrator immediately.

Fuck me, Farmer boy, please fuck me.

Because of the massive quantity of lube I applied, he slid in effortlessly. Also, the steady vibration on my clit had increased my pleasure tenfold to the point where I had to stop. I didn’t want to cum that soon. After about ten minutes of ass heaven, he switched holes- without so much as a warning. Readers, I was livid. Farmer Ron had just violated the first rule of Ass Fucking Courtesy. Do not, under any circumstance, switch holes without washing the cock in question or applying a new condom. Two days later, I had the worst yeast infection ever and was formulating a plan to terminate his life. Ladies, mark my words, men who do not honor or understand this simple Hole Rule should be avoided at all costs. Farmer Ron lost all future rights to my ass after that night.

My anal experiences after Farmer Ron were, thankfully, quite pleasing until recently. Last week, another naughty Scorpio fucked my ass with no lube. Now, keep in mind, I could’ve stopped him and asked for the lube, so it’s partly my fault. But, I was horny and wanted to feel some pain. I told him to pull back on my hair, wrap it around his fist, and slam my head into the headboard. Scorpio boy eagerly pulled my hair at the root and slammed his cock into me. I was, in that moment, enjoying the inherent forbidden quality of ass fucking while gobbling up the pain in large doses. My pleasure receptors were flashing off the map. Eventually, and much too quickly, in my opinion, he came. His warm liquid stained my back and sheets beneath us as we both moaned in release.

Scorpio boy gave me a good run for my money in the pleasure department, but I was unprepared for the consequences that followed. My ass ached for days afterward, plus, the bleeding. But, it’s a little late to cry over spilled milk (torn assholes), so I will accept my ass bleeding fate like a champ. I did, after all, have anal sex with no lube and even asked him to “fuck my ass harder”, which, in retrospect, was probably not the wisest request.

The reality is, when anal sex is performed correctly, it should not be intensely painful and your ass should not bleed. Anal sex can be very enjoyable, if these basic rules are followed:

Rule 1: No ass fucking without lubrication. Please apply generously.

Rule 2: Toys aren’t required for the job, but extra pleasure is double the fun.

Rule 3: Hole Switching is not permitted unless all hygiene interests are protected.

Evidently, Sally Sunshine failed Assology 101 and could probably use a refresher course, along with a new tail light.

Yours in unified pursuit of healthy ass, Sally S.

**artist: Thinking Nude, State I: by Roy Lichtenstein

Speaking of artists: The lovely talented Eric Francis of Planet Waves had this to say about the recent strike of the Writers Guild of America.

"A note of solidarity: As a member of two writers' unions (the National Union of Journalists of the UK and the National Writers Union of the United States) I would like to express my solidarity with the Writers Guild of America, whose members are on strike. Writers work hard, and most of us have to work longer than it takes to go to medical school followed by law school before we earn a living wage. In particular, the writers want a bigger piece of new media: iPods, the Internet, and whatever is to come. I am all for that. Writers are the people who make you laugh, the people who make you think, and the ones who show you the world beyond your mother's garden."

Eric is a 100% correct. Writers work incredibly hard to produce meaningful inspiring content for their readers with, in most cases, very little appreciation, monetarily or otherwise. Eric is a writer and astrologer who has tirelessly shared his gift with the world over and over again. If you have not subscribed to Planet Waves yet, you are missing out. Do so today.

Love you all, Sally S.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Mistress Power

Mistress Maybe: Clive James

“Is that your wife
your girlfriend
or just your main bitch?”*

Imagine a bunch of frat boys standing around high-fiving each other while they stroke egos. Visualize them recounting one of their random exploits. Then, witness as a witty member of their whore-hating posse declares with a clever smile, “Guys, you can’t turn a ho into a housewife" and the maniacal laughter that follows.

Their intelligent phraseology is meant to insult women of a morally bereft disposition while they wipe their ass clean of any responsibility for the encounter. But what these poor misguided frat boys don’t realize is most whores would rather choke on a fully erect cock than be their one and only, or hell, even just their “main bitch.” Erroneously, they assume every woman wishes to inhabit girlfriend/wife territory.

Well, gee girls, aren’t I a lucky duck? He picked me!

Unfortunately, now I’ve got another job (i.e. the care and feeding of a bottomless pit). Men have been programmed to expect the servant feminine because their mothers either engrained an attitude of entitlement in their psyches, or because of a lack of nourishment in their primary bond. Emotional vampirism runs at full throttle for those men who assign all of their emotional development to their partner. They want to be fed, nurtured, comforted, and consoled- constantly.

It’s not a surprise, then, why one would gladly pawn off this responsibility on another woman. Who wants to (metaphorically) wash socks all day? As appealing as it sounds, some women instinctively understand this is not a position of power. Not only does one lose value sexually, the interest factor is reduced considerably. Nobody wants to bang the maid, although, modern day Cinderella stories would like to convince us (women) otherwise. Realistic sluts, on the other hand, understand the maid/servant is the most unnoticed, under-appreciated, powerless woman in the tribe. So, she would rather slip into the less demanding of the two roles- the mistress.

There are people in the world, like mistresses, who defy tradition. They challenge society’s notions about love, sex, and relating. Mistresses embrace another brand of “being”. However, it wasn’t always so. Mistresses of the past were used as concubines, still dependent on the support of their lover. The unspoken agreement was, “I’ve got my normal life/wife, but she bores me and I’d like to fuck you.” The mistress accepted the offer under the conditions that financial support would be provided, but no emotional support. Unfortunately, the mistress’s survival was still hinged upon the male dollar (power).

Fast forward a few hundred years, and now, women are beginning to recognize the Cinderella story is a big fucking lie. Additionally, there is no need to barter our security for sex anymore, if you’ve got a little ambition and aren’t afraid of some hard work. However, there is a particular Brand of Pathetic out there who falls into the mistress role expecting her fellow will eventually ditch the old model and upgrade. But this, my friends, is a gross misuse of mistress power.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.”

Mistresses who embrace power know they have it when the illusion is sparkly. When the glitter fades they are nothing more than a girlfriend in waiting. And, since “girlfriend in waiting” is almost as desperate as a “bride in waiting”, one needs to guard against the onset of reality.

Mistresses are able to maintain their air of mystery and intrigue precisely because they have no desire for love in the mundane. They allow their lover to escape from the heaviness of their primary bond to a “wonderful land of make believe.” The mistress guides her lover into a new state of fluidity. Lovers lose themselves in a sea of passion and release, while idealistic fantasies about fusion and unconditional love are exchanged without expectations.

Any savvy mistress knows, internally, she has the upper hand. He will return to his regular life craving her body, her scent, and her lips. He will dream of her, unable to capture the beauty of the bond during normal waking hours. But, who will wash the floors? Who will scrub the dishes clean? Who will care for the children? And, most importantly, who will deal with his moods, temper, smelly feet, and long-winded repetitive speeches about nothing? She will!

The mistress is not expected to assist with maintaining a functional reality, and really, why would she want to? Reality is a cruel taskmaster and isn’t compatible with beautiful visions of adoration. As long as the mistress harbors no illusions about the bond, she is able to freely fuck as she chooses.

Fuck me, put your pants back on and kindly leave, sir.

As most of you are aware, Sally is one bitch who enjoys a good power play. Thus, the mistress role fits like glove. Even if the dude has no other woman he’s fucking, living with, or married to, one can still create the dynamics of a naughty mistress-like tryst. It’s not terribly hard to do. Men have Prince Charming fantasies of their own and will eagerly fall off the edge of the Earth with you for a few hours. It’s very important, however, to quickly pull back afterwards. A smart mistress understands human reflexology and uses it to her advantage. Leave him with a wistful feeling, like he almost had it, but it slipped right from his fingers.


It is the pattern we adhere to.

And so it goes.....SS

*Lyrics: Rollout: Ludacris