Welcome to NSFW Lesbosexy Sunday!
+ The Autostraddle Hot 100 is out, much like everyone on it.
+ There are five songs about fisting.
+ xojane asks –>Â Are those of you in Long Term Relationships Having Sex 2.5 Times A Week? Be Real With Me: “I have a job, and I watch “American Idol.” It’s on like 7 times a week; I don’t have time for that much sex. Plus, life is freaking exhausting. Have you ever been to the post office? It’s the worst. And you have to do stuff like that all the time — picking up prescriptions, returning phone calls … I could take a nap right now, easy.” – I wonder if these numbers are different for queer relationships than for heterosexual ones?
+ Learning is fun, especially when you’re learning to upgrade your masturbation:
“While Pressure and Tension orgasms are probably the most prevalent kind for a majority of people, they are limited in terms of bodily sensations- similar to a quick blip on the pleasure scale. The other problem is that they rarely translate into sharing orgasms with a partner. The solution is simple! It’s time to upgrade your masturbation technique.”
I suggest practicing with the rest of this post.
“7:45 a.m. Am running late out of the door, but stop on the way out to give my partner a peck on the cheek, which turns into a deep kiss …which turns into a make-out session with some groping action and a breathless me cursing the fact I have to be at work in fifteen minutes. Don’t people know that there are some of us who would like to have some hot sexy action in the morning without having to wake up at some ungodly hour? Pull my lover’s hands off my breasts and slide out the door with naughty thoughts racing through my mind.”
—The Queer Sex Educator Who Wants Five Hitachi Magic Wands and Loves Making Out
“She’s going to give me a sexy, knowing smile, then, before leaning in and kissing me breathless, making me curl my toes inside my kitten heels. She’s going to slide her hand a little lower, cup my ass, and pull me a little higher against her so I can feel the crush of her breasts beneath that freshly pressed shirt and the undeniable ridge of something strapped beneath those jeans. She’s going to whisper in my ear, ask me if I want to go someplace, and I’ll say yes, I know a place, and take her home.
I’m going to close my door, and she’s going to press me up against it, lift me and settle my legs around her waist, my skirt bunched around my hips, those big strong hands gripping the undersides of my thighs. We’re going to move like that, tongues twining, hips rocking, breast to breast through all these layers of clothes. And when that’s not enough, when we’re all hot and bothered and those layers of clothes are too much to bear, I’ll whisper, ‘Follow me,’ and lead her into my bedroom.”
— “What Girls are Made Of,” by Evan Mora, in Curvy Girls, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
“She is wearing the new garters and stockings I got for her when she finished her PhD, and nothing else, her small pink nipples saluting me through my button-down shirt when she presses herself against me. She grabs my cold hand and leads me to her pussy, slides her warmth and wetness against my numb fingers. Her breath catches in the back of her thread.
‘I was just thinking of you, right here, inside me,’ she whispers. ‘Cold outside. I am going to run you a bath.’
I nod again, slip two fingers up and inside her, grab a handful of curls in my other hand, kiss her hard.”
—”Hold Up,” by Ivan Coyote, in Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica, edited by Tristan Taormino
“I don’t feel a chill at all as she slides off my sweater and pants, runs her finders over the pearl heart trim of my lace red bra, and kneads the knuckle of her thumb in the crotch of my red lace panties before she slides them over my hips and down to the floor, grinning all proud at the heat and wet inside my cunt, grinning at the way I press against her hand. She whispers, ‘How long have you wanted this…?’ and my head falls back as if it’s very heavy all of a sudden and I whisper back, ‘Forever, since I first saw you, maybe even before that.’
And she shudders, that butch shudder of realization at being wanted by a woman. She unbuttons her jeans and slides them off, kicks off her shoes, wraps her arms around me as if I’m something that might slip away, and pushes me gently down on my back.”
— “Sweet Thing,” by Joy Parks, in Best Lesbian Erotica 2007, edited by Tristan Taormino
“We kiss, we combust, we go up in flames. I wind my arms around her neck, thread my fingers through her hair, stroke my tongue against hers. All the while she teases me, explores me, testing my wetness with her blunt fingertips, painting them along the length of my pussy.
‘Wider,’ she whispers against my lips, and I inch my ass towards her, one foot on the dashboard, as open as I can be. Three fingers replace two, then four replace three, and Sid fastens her mouth to my breast, licking and sucking the rigid peak until I’m just about ready to explode.
‘I want you to fuck yourself on my fist,’ Sid says, her tongue lapping up my mewing assent. She holds her hand still, leaving rise and fall to me, letting me work my cunt down over her knuckles, stretching wide, so wide, until she slides inside. I can feel her hand, and it feels so good, balled into a fist deep inside me. Slowly, she moves, then faster and harder, until her forearm is pistoning into me.
‘Now,’ she says, against my lips.”
—”My Femme,” by Evan Mora, in Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, edited by Kathleen Warnock
“She’s rising and crashing into my fingers, so hard and so new that I rise up and turn, stretching out, never moving my hand, and use the other to push off what bit of her underwear still clings to her. Spread her open, slip a finger inside, gentle, so gentle, and she yells something I can’t hear, as if part of her is far away now. And I move inside her slowly as she wriggles all over the cutting board, and all of a sudden, I need to taste her. I throw my head down between her moving legs, trade my finger for my tongue. She is sweet there too, sweet and fresh and slippery wet as cream. I lap her up, suck her sweetness into my mouth, my tongue fluttering hard and fast, then soft and slow inside her lips. I grasp her thighs on either side so I can hang on, stay with her, buckle in as if she’s a wild ride in a small-town midway and she cries out loud, almost a scream, and comes shaking and gushing wetness into my mouth.”
— “Sweet Thing,” by Joy Parks, in Best Lesbian Erotica 2007, edited by Tristan Taormino
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