Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

Three’s a Crowd, Four’s Awkward, Five is Just Right. December 24, 2009

Filed under: sex — vixations @ 4:25 am

My experience with ‘sums’ of people went backwards. I was getting gang banged by 7+ guys before I ever got in bed with just one guy and one girl at the same time.

I’ll start at the end.

My most recent threesome involved my good friend who looks a lot like me, and two guys we met at the bar. The sounds like four, right? Well, no. We went back to their apartment, made out with our respective boys for a while, and I found out (somehow) that his penis was WAY too small to be worth it. I started feeling nauseous, so I left the room immediately and went across the hall to complain to my friend who was with her man. They were already naked, naturally, and invited me in. I stumbled into the bed, removed my clothes which were already half off, and began the touching and kissing and licking that is standard for any sexual experience. I found this post on theĀ Rules of Threesomes, which is somewhat helpful if your threesome is planned. Its biggest flaw, however, is the fact that the first ‘rule’ of threesomes is establishing the rules. WTF. What if your threesome isn’t planned? What if you’re already too drunk to speak? There’s no rules on what to do then.

So, I’m telling you, here’s the REAL first rule of threesomes: Don’t have one if there are any feelings involved. And don’t EVER have one with anyone who has jealousy issues. Case and point – my threesome with my friend and Blondie from the bar ended with her huffing and puffing and storming out the door of his bedroom to sleep on the couch. Why? Because she got upset that he started giving me more attention than he was giving her. It had nothing to do with his feelings for us or our looks. It was simply that he had been on her for a while and decided to move on to me for a bit. He was merely following Threesome Rule #2: Be As Giving As You Can. Men can only handle so much sexy. And they only have one member. So, unless there are toys and extremely curious women involved, threesomes are a waste.

We’re still friends, by the way.

I won’t get into detail about the one before that, with the same girl but different guy. Let’s just say there were too many substances involved and he had trouble performing. Worst day of his life, I’m sure.

Before that, there were four. It was New Year’s Eve, there was champagne and black dresses and high heels. There was lipstick and pale skin and an inflatable mattress. There was a couple who had been dating for over a year, and a couple with a purely hidden, purely sexual affair. The other girl and I had had very intimate moments with each other when no one else was around, and it wasn’t weird for us to make out with each other on the bed, at the bar, in the middle of a party, etc. The issue with the foursome was that we violated the first rule of threesomes. Rules for threesomes also apply to any number of sums. This is not to be forgotten. Men: when you are in a relationship with a female, you cannot assume that she is NOT going to be mad at you for penetrating another girl, even if SHE herself is on top of another guy. You probably think it’s hot that you can watch her make out with a girl, then make out with her, and then make out with her friend. It’s NOT COOL. And if you intend to maintain a relationship with a girl, you cannot cross this line. We learned that the hard way after she went storming out of the room, I started crying, and the couple were causing a huge commotion outside the bar less than an hour later.

We’re also still friends, by the way, but she and her boyfriend are no more.

Before THAT, there were three girls out to dinner on my dad’s credit card. ‘Take your roommates to dinner!’ he said. Dinner? You mean pitchers of sangria and rabbit ravioli at a swanky Lower East Side hole in the wall? Yes. You mean ‘sex baloney’-flavored hookah and $3 glasses of wine on fluffy couches in the East Village? Yes. Well then you also mean three horny girls, all with the capacity to send multiple raunchy text messages to any boy in the neighborhood.

They were two boys who we had slept with before, just not all at the same time. It was perfect. They were simple fuck-buddies. Nothing else. And we were three girls who felt comfortable with each other, and didn’t care about what the boys thought of us. One guy would be on two of us at once, and we could switch off not having to do anything for anyone else for a little while. If we got bored with the guys, we could focus on each other and let the two of them watch. If we got bored with each other, we could go give the guys two tongues at once. The rules weren’t established initially, but somehow we all knew that the only penetration would be between the couples who had penetrated before, and the boys clearly didn’t feel comfortable doing otherwise. Unfortunately, one of the girls had never done ANYTHING like this before, in fact she had just lost her virginity about a year before this, and couldn’t handle all the lips and fingers and nakedness. She walked out of the room, and the five were no more. Still, this was definitely the best sexual sum I’ve ever had, if only for the mere fact that no one got jealous, angry, or awkward after it was over.

And before all that, well, that will remain a mystery.

This isn’t meant to be a how-to guide. It’s just one girl’s account of what works and what doesn’t. Boys, be extremely careful with who you get involved in your sums, and don’t get overwhelmed with all the boobies and vaginas. And girls, be confident. Either make rules at the beginning, or don’t get jealous, and you’ll be on the road to making every man’s fantasy come true.

 

Addiction: (n) December 20, 2009

Filed under: love,sex — vixations @ 12:23 am

“The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.”

I love this definition, mostly because I love the word ‘enslaved,’ mostly because that’s exactly what I am.

It’s interesting that addiction is always associated with drugs, and I understand that it’s because drugs are actually physically addictive, but I believe there are many other things out there equally addictive that don’t involve putting something into your vein or up your nose, but rather in your vagina.

There is such a thing as sexual addiction, and I know that because I saw the movie ‘Choke.’ Just kidding. There’s really a Sex Addicts Anonymous club out there, and people really use it. I personally don’t see why anyone would join, unless they’re not getting enough sex to fuel their addiction, in which case they probably want to meet people in their Sex Addicts club to have sex with.

I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem getting what I want, in more ways than one. I want to be clear on this: there’s a difference between working hard to get what you really want, and being spoiled. I am lucky enough to have been blessed with a mix of both because I have a great work ethic and I’m an only child. I also happen to have an attractive mother, so boys generally don’t have a problem with sleeping with me.

The boy I’m addicted to is the boy I’m in love with, who is also one of my soul mates (there are definitely more than one). To me, addiction is when you continue to do something or be somewhere or put something in your mouth even when you know how bad it is for you. You tell yourself before the day begins that you are not going to have anything to do with your addiction, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind later that day, you justify it and you convince yourself that it’s no big deal, and that THIS TIME you’re not just using your addiction to get your fix.

I say that boys ‘generally’ don’t have a problem with sleeping with me because there’s one in particular who does. It’s the one I’m in love with. And the reason he has a problem with it is because he’s addicted too. The second he texts me, my heart jumps. The minute we touch, our bodies get hot with desire.

No, this isn’t a trashy romance novel. It’s just the truth.

When he’s inside me, it’s hands down the best feeling in the entire world. It’s even better than drinking peppermint hot chocolate by the fire or sipping red wine with fancy cheese or getting a massage at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Okay, I’ve never experienced that last one, but I’m pretty sure his penis feels better than that. The only thing that’s better than him inside me, is him inside me after smoking a joint.

And that’s exactly what we do, and it’s exactly what fuels our addiction.

There’s the other part too, the part where we talk to each other about everything and share the same dreams and are in love with the same things. But at our age, the sex is more important than words because neither of us wants to think about how insanely awesome we would be if we ever actually got together, or the day we realize that we really can’t live without one another.

We’ve been through a lot together, from his painful breakup with a girl, to my annoying breakdown on the ride to Coachella. We’ve had sex in the hot tub, the car outside of LAX, the floor of his bathroom, and the stairwell of my apartment, to name a few. He wrote me a song about that time with the stairs and the Flip camera and the security camera, but never shared it with me until last night. He’s bad at exposing his true feelings, so he uses lyrics to get them across to me. And I don’t have a problem with it.

I also don’t have a problem going to bed at 3am and waking up with him at 5:30am when he has to leave for work. Because I’m addicted. And you can’t fight the addiction.

 

The Toothbrush Dilemma December 12, 2009

Filed under: dating,relationships — vixations @ 4:57 am

I usually called him when I was bored, but only after calling a few other people. He wasn’t that nice to me, and why would I hang out with someone who’s anything but sweet and genuine and smiley and has a big penis? Yea, I don’t know.

He usually called me when he wanted to go to a movie or when he wanted someone around to make fun of. We had that sexual chemistry from the start, but he was uncircumsized and I just have to say, for all you ladies who have never experienced that, it’s very different. Not necessarily bad, but nothing I was used to after having amazing sex for a year with a guy that I’m in love with.

Despite his fleshy penis, we decided to forego that condom after getting tested for STDs, and it started to get better.

One night after work, we went to dinner at Animal and actually listened to each other talk after a bottle and a half of wine. Then we stumbled back to his house, smoked a bowl, and had hands down the best sex we ever had.

Then I went home for a week and a half to celebrate Thanksgiving and spend time with all the boys I grew to love between middle school and now. He sent me a few playful texts telling me about stroking his cock and how good my wet pussy feels. I wish I had an ‘erotic texts’ folder in my phone where I could save all those fun conversations.

I texted him to tell him about the night I squirted, but didn’t tell him that I had any help.

Friday night he texted me late after work, and I didn’t respond for a few hours. ‘You cheating on me?’ he said.

Uhh, what?

‘You’re my wife now,’ he said.

‘I guess I missed the wedding.’

‘Wanna come over?’

Wtf is going on.

‘Yea, but I’m really tired.’

‘Me too. It was at Animal!’

‘What?’

‘The wedding!’

‘Oh. And then we consummated the marriage.’

‘Twice.’

Right.

I tried not to think anything of it. We met for lunch the next day, and after four mimosas he brought it up again.

‘So what were you doing last night?’

The truth is I was sleeping. But instead of telling him that, I didn’t say anything and looked out the window. I wanted to see how he would react. Why was he even asking me this? He doesn’t care about me.

‘I can tell that you’ve been with other people. I don’t want to have to worry about that. I just don’t do that.’

Well, if we’re not in a relationship, then what does it matter what I’m doing with other people??

I told him about the guy I gave a blow job to over Thanksgiving, but I didn’t tell him about the Brazilian or the guy I’m in love with. He doesn’t need to know. Plus I made the Brazilian get tested and he’s clean (thank the lord… I wouldn’t want to have to explain any of that to a guy that I’m having unprotected sex with).

‘You can do whatever you want, but if you want to hook up with other people then I’m not going to hook up with you.’

I’m so confused. This whole time he was telling me he’s been in so many relationships and the last thing he wants is a relationship, but if we’re only dating each other and only sleeping with each other, then what does that make this?

That night, I got dressed up to go out to a birthday party in Hollywood. I looked hot, because, hey, you never know who you might meet. After a couple hours at the bar, I realized that I wasn’t trying to look hot for any of these boys. I was trying to look hot for him. I wanted him to think I looked pretty. And I wanted him to kiss me. I left the bar early and went to his place. We smoked a bowl, drank some Pinot, and I told him that if he didn’t want me to sleep with anyone else then I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else.

We spent the rest of the weekend at his place lounging, cooking, sleeping, watching movies, and doing other Sunday things. But after brushing my teeth with my finger three times in a row, I asked to use his toothbrush before bed.

‘Of course, babe, you know where it is.’

I went into the bathroom.

‘We’re going to need to get you a toothbrush to keep here.’

Fuck. What am I getting myself into???

 

The Truth About Being Skinny December 3, 2009

Filed under: love,sex — vixations @ 5:21 am

Living in Los Angeles comes with its perks (warm weather, beach, sexy men) and its pitfalls (Hollywood, celebrity drama, being far away from home), but one thing I was not expecting after living in New York City is the immense pressure to be thin. I assumed that after living in the fashion capital of America and seeing the emaciated models walking around all the time (freezing their asses off because they have 0% body fat), I would have definitely felt like throwing up everything I ate. Fortunately (or unfortunately?), I love food way too much to see it all mashed up in the toilet.

Coming to L.A., however, has made me want to be thin more than ever. The difference between skinny people in New York and skinny people in L.A. is that the skinny people in New York don’t TALK about being skinny. They just don’t eat and drink like two vodka sodas and end up on the ground somewhere. In L.A., everyone is talking about what they didn’t eat last night, and hold the bread on that sandwich, and vodka on the rocks please because I need to lose 5 pounds by Friday for that premiere I’m going to with the lyricist for Justin Timberlake. When I show up at a club in Hollywood (approximately once every six months), I literally want to cry in the bathroom. And last time I went to Playhouse, I actually did.

After about three tears, I realized that I didn’t want my ass to look like a 12 year old boy’s. I realized that WANTED to have to wear a bra because my boobs are more than just mosquito bites. And I want men to have something more than bones to grab on to when they do me from behind. And I want to be able to indulge in booze and fried food.

The truth is, I want to lose 8 pounds. And I want my arms to not jiggle when I raise them in the air. And I want my thighs not to touch. And I want to be toned and lean and comfortable being on top with my shirt off.

But the real truth is, I want to be more than a pretty, skinny, petty Hollywood bitch. I want a man to be attracted to me for my charm and my lips, not my designer clothes that fall off my body because I have no shape. I want a man to drown in my curves and to kiss every inch of my soft skin after a dinner of fine wine, a bite of everything on the menu, and a chocolately, warm, gooey dessert.

Since my genes won’t allow me to eat what I want and NOT work out for at least an hour a day, I’ll have to settle for my 5′ 7″ 143 pound frame. Or I’ll have to find someone to have sex with me for an hour each night since I HATE the gym. Takers?