Words make me wet.
Yes, sir, I’ve been using essays as my personal porn since I was around twelve years old, when I got my hands on an anthology of erotic lesbian writing. Having had little experience with flesh and blood boners, I didn’t notice the lack of cocks contained within the pages, but I could totally relate to the descriptions of plump lips kissing, breasts being fondled, and the juiciness of pussies. The images I conjured in my mind made my pre-teen clit blossom and tingle. Before I’d finish reading an entire essay, I’d have to take a masturbation break and orgasm myself into oblivion.
Fast-forward sixteen years…and books are still my favorite form of foreplay. The latest tome that turns my crank is Please Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission. When I received the review copy via snail mail, I had to pinch myself. HARD. This was my “job”? To read an anthology that surpassed any previous level of kinkiness on my bookshelf and blog about it? My inner artist could’ve come right there at the mail box!
I began reading “Please, Sir” in bed, but it quickly revealed itself to be so dirty, I had to take it into the bath. As the author of a sex blog, I rarely have the opportunity to play the role of voyeur; “Please, Sir” was a refreshing glimpse of what my readers must experience from Man Eater on a regular basis.
"Please, Sir" was the perfect way for me to sample the BDSM menu sans testosterone intoxication (which gets me into trouble so often!). I experienced a plethora of acts (fisting, caning, rainbow showers) vicariously through the essays; some writers’ experiences made me eager to experiment (Tess Denasi makes choking sound enticing in her essay “I Breathe Your Name”); others turned me off completely (Alison Tyler’s description of the taste of a ball gag in “No Good Deed”). The beauty of reading about these touchy topics ahead of time, rather than being confronted with them mid-fuck, is that I could sift through my discomfort in a comfortable setting.
To be upfront, I’m a novice at this BDSM stuff. Looking back over my sexual history, I see little glimpses of my desire to be submissive, like how The Mexican could make me instantly wet by calling me a puta (“slut” in Spanish) or how Married Man got me riled up by biting my ass.
But for most of my adult life, the only kind of submission I did was sending poems to literary journals (and 99% of those were rejected!) I’m also a stubborn Scandinavian, so the idea of handing the reins over to someone—especially in a matter as dicey as sex—never appealed to me.
As the years passed, I divorced, and my “number” crossed into the double digits, I found myself yearning for a man to whip me into shape. Are any of you surprised that someone as feisty as me wants to be bossed around in bed? I didn’t understand it at first, either.
Then I realized that perhaps I was craving (snore) balance. As a single MILF, I have excessive familial and financial responsibilities on my plate. I have to be Teflon tough because there’s no one watching my back (or my bank account). But the Miss Invincible act is exhausting. When I finally get some down time to bask in the presence of a male (ideally, an Alpha), my feminine side takes over and I want him to call the shots, especially between the sheets.
Despite what my haters would have you believe, Man Eater has grown into a people pleaser. If a certain something will rocket you to a happy ending, honey, I’m happy to do it. What I’m not interested in is guessing what my partner’s preferred moves are. I don’t want to attempt the complicated tricks from “Cosmo”. The only thing I want to assume during sex is a position. There is something indescribably delicious about saying “Do whatever you want with me” to a man.
As for the pain aspect of submission, perhaps my armor is so thick that I need a heavy hand to break through it…and once the lucky guy has gained access to my pussy, I need as much force as possible to tap into that hidden honey pot of ecstasy. If pain is the vehicle that will get me there, so be it.
It wasn’t until recently that I met a man that made me feel safe enough to be submissive. Something about his demeanor told me that while he might be rough in the sack, he wouldn’t hurt me. I trusted him to nudge me toward the edge but not push me over it. He was so deft at domination that he could make me feel submissive even when I was on top. He had a way of gripping my hands above his head, pulling me tight against his chest, and not letting go until I came. It was as if he was prohibiting me from the auto-pilot orgasms (i.e. sitting upright, closing my eyes and escaping to that island of ecstasy alone) of my past and forcing me to make fucking truly intimate. The fact that this position resulted in some of the most powerful orgasms of my life was just the icing on the cupcake. Because of this (and other tricks, of course, but mostly this) he remains, in my mind, the best lover I’ve ever had.
The last time this man finger-fucked me, I felt myself open in a novel way; suddenly, the appeal of fisting made sense to me. I wanted my cunt to swallow his whole fucking arm. I didn’t say so, however. I just added that act to my mental “Honey Do Me” list, along with several others from "Please, Sir". This book has been quite the crash course in getting my freak on. I've been compulsively highlighting, dog-earing, and covering the pages with Post-Its. It's the same kind of anxious excitement I experienced the first time I opened a Pilsbury dessert cookbook. So many hedonistic delights, so little time!
Like "Masochist on Vacation", the essay by Aimee Pearl, in which the author describes precisely why submission is so attractive:
“ ‘Take it,’ he whispered, and in a flash, I was calm. I relaxed into a state of knowing he would release me, he would let me breathe again. He would control me, he would even own me in a way. He would dictate the terms and conditions of my very life, but just for that brief moment, just for that pause between breaths, that moment when I couldn’t breathe, that moment when he held my breath in his capable hands. I trusted those hands, and I trusted him.
"He held my life in his hands when he took my breath away. And knowing he would give it back to me, and that this was an opportunity to show him just how much I trusted him, made me sink even deeper into my own submission to him. As he ran his fingers around the edges of my limits, I knew he could even kill me. I could have died in his bed. This was the very edge of edge play.” (p. 118)
“Please, Sir” couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time. I was deep in negotiations with Playboy about what we would and would not do during our trysts. Because he had decades more sexual experience than me, Playboy really wanted to push the envelope. I was a little more wary, yet willing to experiment.
By exposing myself to other people’s naughtiness in this anthology, I was preparing myself to negotiate about, and priming myself to participate in, whatever risqué combo of sex acts that Playboy might suggest. Post-coitally speaking, “Please Sir” gave me permission to wear Playboy’s spanking scars like tattooed proof of our roll in the hay...and it made me crave another beating that much more.
That said, I think there is a fine line between being submissive and being abused. During the never-ending one-night stand with Gorilla Guy, for example, there were moments where I felt as though I could’ve been interchangeable with a blow-up doll. He was just getting off; and I was so shell-shocked I couldn’t speak up. I don’t remember a lot about that night (Roofies?), but I know we did some things I wouldn’t have agreed to had I not been coming off a long dry spell.
In the past, when I played the role of passive receiver, I was acting from a place of worthlessness, or low self-esteem, or shyness. Now I believe being submissive and feeling empowered should go hand-in-hand. Your partner is not TAKING your power; you are GIVING it away. It is the ultimate demonstration of trust. Though the dominant partner may employ pain-inflicting methods, the ultimate goal is to please his partner.
If the stories in “Please, Sir” are any indication, there’s a lot of BDSM happening behind closed bedroom doors. Some might think a book like this is beyond their comfort zones…and they might be right…but comfort zones were meant to be explored and stretched…just like the female anatomy…and now I’m thinking fisting again…
But because this is still a foodie as well as an infatuation junkie blog, I must include a recipe. (It’s how Man Eater climaxes onscreen.)
This recipe seems like a natural match for this post. One night, after binging on the stories of “Please, Sir”, I was horny as hell. There were too many people around to slip into my bedroom for some quality time with my vibrator and it was too hot to get off in the hot tub. How could I get my ya-yas out? Ah-ha! There was an abundance of overripe bananas in the kitchen. (No, that’s not what I was thinking!)
I made banana nut butterscotch bran muffins. It wasn’t until the jumbo-sized treats came out of the oven, the pan literally DRIPPING wet, that I realized the delectable pun I’d made. The bananas made the muffins moist! What’s more, because the bananas were thoroughly bruised, the muffins were even sweeter than usual. And here were nuts involved, too! Big bananas, warm nuts, moist muffins, and “Please, Sir” bedtime stories…sounds like a decent Friday night to me!!!
If you’re going to force me to connect the dots (please, force me…), BDSM is like cooking in that variety is the spice of life. By experimenting with everyday ho-hum ingredients (or body parts and verbs), you can make something unexpectedly satisfying. Not that I’ll ever get tired of bananas. Oh, no. I could eat those at every meal…hmm…
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Order your copy of Please Sir!
Visit editor Rachel Kramer Bussel's Lusty Lady Blog!
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Before I proceed to the wet muffin recipe, I’d like to welcome all the new readers to the Man Eater blog! If you liked what you read and are hungry for more sinfully sweet material, here are the links to my Top 10 posts. Read until you go cross-eyed (or need to take a masturbation break), then come back and eat your hearts out!
MAN EATER'S TOP 10 POSTS
Black & Blue & Read All Over
Two Writers Don't Make A Write(r Come)
C'mon is a Four Letter Word
Going Bananas in Bed
Cookie Dough-Oh-Oh
Secretary and Pizza
Portland, Part One: Up In The Air
This Baby(cake) Brought to you by Jameson?!
How You Like Them Apples?
If The Buddha Baked
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BDSM BANANA NUT MUFFINS
INGREDIENTS
2 cups raisin nut bran cereal (with raisins removed, because I like to pick ‘em out and eat ‘em first)
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed ripe banana
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 egg
½ bag butterscotch chips, divided
METHOD
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
• Grease jumbo muffin tin with cooking spray.
• In a bowl, combine the raisin nut bran cereal and milk; let stand for 5 minutes.
• In a large bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
• In a separate bowl, beat together mashed banana, sugar, brown sugar, vegetable oil and egg.
• Combine the cereal and banana mixtures. Stir in the flour mixture just until combined. Fold in half of butterscotch chips. Set other set aside for drizzling later.
• Scoop batter into muffin pans.
• Bake for 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into center of muffins comes out clean.
• Remove from oven and let cool on wire rack.
• Heat butterscotch chips in bowl in microwave on high at 30 second intervals until melted. Drizzle over cooled muffins. Nibble while reading the dirty stories in "Please, Sir." Just keep the pages clean, okay?
