Archive for October, 2010

31st October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

From the moment we met, there was a strong spark of mischievousness and strong attraction. We fed off of each other’s bold energy and silliness, passion for life, innate intellect, and appreciation of the human form. We sang out loudly in the karaoke bar, dragging one of his more timid friends to join us, and after our set he threw me over his shoulder as I struggled to keep my dress over my bare ass.

The first night, Alex waited for me to make the first move. Before I left his car, my lips reached for his and we started making out. Our full lips meshed and played and the kissing left me breathless and him unable to let me go. But I told him he would have to wait until the next night, Halloween.

But the next night he awkwardly introduced me to his girlfriend, who immediately corrected him, “his fiancée.” I almost laughed out loud because I’d had no idea he was taken, except that I also felt a pang of longing. Had I only stayed with him the night before…

She was dressed as a sexy librarian – no curves but cute. I was dressed like sex on a stick, curves everywhere from my thin ankles and waist to muscular calves, wide hips, and full breasts. I noticed she had very thin lips. I have always wondered what men with full lips could do with those things.

Alex was dressed like a Chicago mafia hit man, in a black pin-striped suit and shiny vest. He nervously played with a cigar. He looked unbelievably hot, the back of the suit jacket popping out over his round behind.

Another pang, and I excused myself to get a stiff drink. The fact is that ever since I’d left him the night before, I’d pictured him inside me, being rough and gentle in his macho but suave way. So this new knowledge was a definite let-down. “That’s okay,” I told myself. “There are plenty of other guys here who aren’t getting married.”

And I found myself one. He wasn’t too bright, but he was a good dancer and had pretty hands with long slender fingers. I could think of what he could do with those. And at that thought, one of his fingers slid into me. I didn’t mind. I didn’t care if people could guess what was going on, what with his big body bent over me and his hand under my skirt.

And when I opened my eyes to take a breath, I saw Alex staring at me, his fiancée obliviously talking with several of her girlfriends, probably bridesmaids. And I closed my eyes again and his image appeared, and so I imagined it was his fingers in me.

And when I stepped into a taxi with the big guy, I saw Alex again, this time alone. And he blew me a kiss, and I felt a pang again but the big guy took my mind off it.

It would be two years before I saw Alex again. Two years, no problem. Just a friendly drink. He had been married for over a year – he’d even invited me to the wedding, and though I’d imagined showing up in a short red dress, I was not that rude a bitch.

Long story short, it was he and I alone, in a city in which neither of us lived, brought together by unrelated business in Paris. The spark had apparently become a big throbbing beast, because after a mere hour of joking, cautious flirting, and one drink too many, we were passionately kissing in my hotel room, clothes were being pulled off as quickly as possible, and he was thrusting his beautiful cock in me.

He was a good friend. A good friend who four hours later scrambled for his clothes and returned to his wife, who had unbeknownst to me, come along on this trip.

This time, I did laugh aloud. And I would do the same when we saw each other again in Frankfurt, and Madrid, and New York in the years to come. After spending a few glorious hours with my special friend.

30th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

No, it wasn’t with would-be Parisian-Algerian gang rapists. And the best time I’d had was when I got into a car with a bunch of Catalans. So what was the worst ride?

New York, last weekend, with Canadian investment bankers.

It started out well. After watching The Social Network in IMAX, I was dropped off in the Meat Packing District, which the cab driver told me had been transformed in the last five or seven years into a nightlife mecca.

I had a lovely mojito at some bar and started talking to a cute boy with dark hair. I was introduced to several of his colleagues, including a hot guy and a super-tiny Asian girl, who ended up having a higher rank than many dudes much taller than she was. They all worked for an Australian investment bank and most were Canadian. That wasn’t in and of itself a problem, and certainly the cute guy and hot one were much more intriguing to me than the fish out of water guy in a bad suit and butt-ugly tie, who otherwise was very good-looking. Why oh why do good-looking guys cock-block themselves by acting dumb or wearing ugly clothes?

Anyway, I flirted a lot with the cute one, and I was wearing a dress that probably no one else in the city was wearing that night. Straps and criss-cross ties, tiny studs in a tattoo pattern down the sleeves, short but in good taste, showing off just an inch or two of healthy décolletage.

Then the twenty of them decided to go to another place and jumped into five taxis. I stupidly chose one without the cute or hot guys, thinking shortly we’d all be together, and anyway, who wants to look too interested in someone? That’s not cool.

Then began a journey to nowhere, a twenty-minute ride to a place that wasn’t open, then another twenty minutes back to the place from where we had started except that the cab driver had made a mistake because my companions didn’t know where they were going, then my bladder simply being unable to handle yet another twenty minutes so I exited at some random bar where I talked with random uninteresting guys. And at three o’clock, a sigh and a taxi back to bed.

The anti-climax is the worst end to an evening. Pfffftt, like a deflating balloon or a warm piña colada.

29th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

…according to this Turkish study of 100 premature ejaculators and 100 longer-lasters. Their belly fat produces more female hormone which inhibits the overactive male hormone.

Their penises take longer to ejaculate, sure. If they’re sitting and using some apparatus used in the study. In the real world? Lasting? On top? Making the effort? Let’s think again.

I’ve been with a lot of men, all slender or muscular except one. The only guy I’ve ever been with who lasted fewer than two minutes was on ecstasy. It was pretty tragic, which is one of the reasons I stay away from the stuff. And in my experience, the very muscular ones give me much more pleasure over a longer period of time, bring me to climax more often, and are ready to go again and again throughout a night. I did once have an asthmatic lover, so I’d avoid that again, because though the sex was great, it wasn’t as much as I needed most of the time.

I’ll stick with my fit and healthy men, thank you very much.

28th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

A study cited in Science Daily believes that knowing what areas of the brain are affected when people are dumped can lead to better treatments to the depression that results. Who wouldn’t take a feel-better drug instead of getting wasted and then drunk-texting your ex right after getting a lap dance and bursting into tears?

The same study claims that it takes one-fifth of a second to fall in love, a statement that surely gets attention, but can’t be tested, because one is usually not hooked up to a myriad of machines when one falls in love. The scientists are merely saying that this is the length of time it takes for the brain to react to all of the chemicals involved in producing this supposed cocaine-like feeling.

Then, is cocaine actually a fall-in-love drug? If so, it acts like when a relationship drags on and one needs to make more effort to keep that feeling alive. At some point, that feeling can’t be produced anymore, and the victim is ugly, gaunt, and then who does he turn to? Hurry, scientists, your proposed feel-better anti-post-break-up drug could be used in cocaine addiction treatment, saving lots and lots of nasal cartilage, teeth, and lives.

26th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

I pride myself in wanting to build on sexual relationships, the ideal being a one-night stand becoming a passionate affair or a lasting friendship. But this time I wouldn’t want it.

It began wonderfully. I was spending a weekend with an old friend, and a mere two hours before I was to leave the city, I noticed a classic bad boy. He was diligent in his sandwich-making duties and his head was shaved. His jaw was square and broad, his lower lip juicy. Short, dark swaths of stubble outlined his face, as did a soul patch and bit of mustache. His lower arms as he sped through his work were lined with defined bulging veins, and his loose pants betrayed his individual round butt cheeks to my eyes’ delight.

He didn’t look at me, which afforded me the opportunity of looking at him and sent urges for sex that had already been high for days into overdrive. I wanted him naked. I wanted to take him into an alley somewhere, I wanted him to fuck me.

Because I felt I couldn’t leave without saying anything, I told his colleague to tell him that he was “ridiculously hot” and left before I could see a reaction. But a few moments later, while I was leaving, he appeared by my side and asked me for my number.

The next hour was spent sending texts back and forth and I finally decided to stay an extra day, at least through the evening. He arrived on bike, and was about to leave because he saw me enjoying the company of a huge Italian guy who was trying to get me to blow off the other guy, but I wouldn’t. I had to see him naked of course.

Well, unfortunately, the poor guy spent way too much time telling his dull and low-class story, and revealed that he wasn’t even 10% bad boy. He just looked like one. But I held out, thoughts of nudity propelling me forward, and I endured a painful, too-long walk in platform stilettos and more random talk. I pretended to be interested in his urban drawings, but his talk, lack of education, and his artistic hobby brought back a flood of memories of an ex-boyfriend who was also low-class and always talking about what he could be in the future. It was a turn-off.

Finally we kissed. And his kisses were great. And his body was killer! Even better than I’d imagined. His skin was soft but everything about him was hard as rock. Fantastic ass, muscular back, pecks, calves, arms, lats, ahhhh. Not bad for a sandwich guy. The sex was awkward and forced, and for some unknown reason, I wasn’t wet but he didn’t pause to rewet me. And he didn’t even know olive oil destroys condoms. Annoying. And even though I was coming (thank God), he couldn’t himself and blamed the condom. So sex ended with a fizzle and my bringing him off with my hands and getting shot in the nose and eye with a surprisingly powerful jet of gizz.

He was a sweet guy, but so very, very uncultured. He continued to text me, but two days later, I am over it. I had to see him naked, I did, and that’s the end. I feel like such a guy. And I don’t feel guilty about it. Which makes me even more a man.

24th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

I recently had the pleasure of enjoying one of Philadelphia’s finest restaurants, Le Bec-Fin, for the second time. With French flair, it abandons classic French flavors (butter and salt) in favor of a rich fusion experience, at times delicate, at times decadent, but always creative and complementary to the current season. The night before my reservation is when I heard of its probable closure in May, forty years after its opening, almost thirty years at its current lavish location with 14-foot ceilings and numerous chandeliers.

It was four hours of delight and six (really more) courses, where I got the opportunity as I had done years before, to make the waitstaff – which is plentiful – laugh, pointing out for instance that the sauce poured on my Wagyu beef plate formed the shape of boobs.

Rumors of its closure in May saddened me, and its closure is being attributed to changing dining tastes, meaning gone with the long, expensive meals. The decadence of the past is fading. The four hours passed by like two, beginning with a packed dining room and ending with just a few tables and laughter from a private party in the back, and I was never bored. I could have stopped eating at any time but could not. In fact, I only had enough room for a portion of the three small servings of cake I asked for, though I could have asked for all twelve. Their all-you-can-eat dessert cart will be missed, its smiling waitstaff, its assurance that you will leave satisfied, its carriage of your taste buds to a world that will surely be missed.

Adieu, mon amour,
Dame Suzy

22nd October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

Whatever you want to call it, not holding back and letting yourself feel something for somebody, even a complete stranger, enhances sexual satisfaction. Connecting with someone is the key. Those who limit sex to a meaningless hook-up are missing out on the heightened pleasure that comes with letting yourself go and actually feeling emotions about someone.

Americans are especially guilty of this, and I was no exception in college. I was of course very attracted to each piece of meat, and I kind of liked the meat as a person, but it didn’t go further. I never even thought twice about a couple of guys I had phenomenal hours-long, loud, awesome, athletic sex with; they were ripped and had stamina up the yin yang.

So who does it right? I’ve found that Spaniards, Italians, Argentines, and even an occasional Irish guy tend to make it more special, saying some beautiful things without being ridiculous. Well, hmm, even the American I met in Spain who’d spent a year in Italy was like that – maybe the Italian technique had rubbed off. Yay.

So what am I talking about? I’m not saying be an actor and lie, though if you’re good at it, go for it. It helps if you’re not settling for some chick that really doesn’t do it for you. Let’s assume you never do that  and you’re really attracted to her. You see her from across the room, and she’s the one you want to ravage, no one else will suffice.

Step one: Tell her she looks delicious, sexy, like a princess, or point out something unique she did that caught your attention. She brushed her thigh with her finger tip, she rejected an offer by a guy to pay her for sex, that kind of thing.

Step two: Use sound effects. Before sex, during, and after, to show how much you want her. One guy when he was driving me home kept groaning little groans because he wanted me so badly. That was a total turn-on.

Step three: Use the Spanish cheat: “Te quiero” which means I love you OR I want you. Either way, it sounds awesome. Or you can say “Je t’adore” – the French “I adore you.” You can say anything in French and she’ll be extra wet. Especially if you’re Spanish.

Step four: This you need to think up ahead of time and keep in your arsenal. Say a phrase that’s poetic without sounding retarded. One Roman told me “Whenever we run out of things to say, we should kiss instead.” And whatever you do, when you do kiss, do NOT bite or chew on her lip. That shit hurts! There’s something about my lower lip that encourages all kinds of men to treat it like food. It is not food. And I will not want to fuck you if you chew the hell out of my lip.

Step five: Touch – a gentle caress in the cab ride to your apartment, a smile and a sexy gaze. Talk with the taxi driver from time to time so she can have the excuse to just stare at you and your crotch.

Step six: Get her number and send her an SMS a day or two afterwards, saying how she’s sexy and you had a good time. Keep it simple, maybe a little more creative, but nothing gushing. You may think you don’t want to see her again, but you never know. May as well keep your options open.

Happy sexing!

19th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

The military’s don’t ask, don’t tell policy requiring soldiers to keep their gay status private has been declared unconstitutional by a U.S. District judge. A previous legislative measure tacked onto a defense spending bill failed along with the bill. Republicans claimed that they were waiting on a study of how the repeal would affect the military and that democrats were trying to push it through to get a boost in gay votes before the midterm elections.

Regardless, it is very difficult to determine what is the best recourse here. Keep your sexual orientation private, no one judges you based on it, no one harrasses you about it, but you suffer psychologically fearing being found out and discharged. Be open about it, and at first it will really suck. Fellow soldiers will joke about you maliciously, retaliate, etc. However, eventually, just as so much has changed in public perception of gays, so will military views.

Should we do it now or do it later? I’m all for the sooner the better, but legislatively, not judicially. It’s too up in the air right now, as the judge’s ruling could be overturned in Circuit Court. Let’s be decisive, shall we?

18th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

Thankfully, engineers go beyond their comfort zone to develop sex products despite recommendations against it. The Fleshlight is an example of such pleasurable genius. My own man bought one with several inserts in anticipation of one of my month-long trips away. Some inserts didn’t work, but one was fabulous after a few surgical adjustments. I was envious, because when I travel I have far less sex than when I am at home, and even less pleasure than sex.

And I love this Fleshlight ad:

From the Wired article:

What do the Marines, NASA, SWAT and aerospace have in common? Each has inspired at least one engineer to provide a new perspective — and a quality contribution — in the business of sexual pleasure.

Several of the engineers had problems getting manufacturers in respectable industries to provide materials. Why? One could argue that perhaps they were merely thinking there wouldn’t be enough demand to ramp up production. But in one instance, the company was already setting up equipment to build, then shut it down and said to go elsewhere when they found out what the part would be used for.

That’s like taking candy (pleasure) from a baby (me or you). It’s as if taking pleasure into your own hands is a sin. And don’t tell me that the Bible tells me so. I’m sure the Bible itself has been used as a pleasure tool. Have you seen some of those leather-bound editions? They’ve surely been used to spank people.

Now there’s a product idea! Making sex products out of recycled bibles. Hee hee.

14th October
2010
written by Dame Suzy

This is the uncensored version of one of my posts on a Sun (U.K. tabloid) discussion about how to impress a woman.

A little token works wonders and doesn’t make yourself your own competition. You go too big and your woman will expect something just as awesome time and time again. Nothing simple will be good enough again.

An Italian guy told me, “Whenever we run out of things to say, we should just kiss.” He also brought me to orgasm on the dance floor. He also had a very firm butt.

A guy I had hooked up with invited me to take a walk on the Catalan Valentine’s Day and just held my hand.

One guy took a towel he dampened with hot water to gently wipe my belly, a trick he’d learned at the massage parlor.

Previous