My entry for the Encyclopedia of Sex... spitroast

Earlier today I discovered the Encyclopedia of Sex via a link on Dana's blog. Later in the day I received an email from the site's creator asking for help. Did he email everyone in the blogosphere? or just My friends? Regardless, I came up with a submission of My own, but couldn't login. So, for your entertainment and enlightenment, I present My pilfered definition of spitroast: whereby one male will penetrate a female (or male) in the mouth and another man will enter the vagina or anus of the orally penetrated person. If the receptive partner is on their hands and knees, this is also called a wobbly H.

The above definition is lifted from The Free Dictionary under "Multiple Penetration"

As I might use it in a sentence, "You little pussy faced bitch! If I have to tell you to get your hands away from your cock one more time, I'll have you spitroasted tonight!"

I must add that I have only learned this term Myself in the last 2 or 3 years when an Aussie friend of mine came back from a night of drinking after playing netball. One of the other girls on her team told them all a debauched story about being spitroasted by her boyfriend and a friend of his. My friend immediately related this tale to all of our friends over brunch the next morning, asking if any of us were familiar with the term.


Sexy BDSM chats at 99 cents a minute and RATS!

I did a little experiment with My niteflirt listings and for about two days, made all of them 99 cents per minute as opposed to My regular $2.99. It was an effort to bolster ratings on My new listings and see if the frequency of calls would make up for the per minute decrease in earnings. This experiment failed miserably. I did get many more calls, but the bulk of them lasted under 5 minutes. Few of them left ratings and My regulars called for approximately the same amount of time they usually did when I charged triple the price.

I am currently reading Rats: Observations on the History and Habitat of the City's Most Unwanted Inhabitants by Robert Sullivan. I love anything to do with old New York and though his study took place recently there are many anecdotes ala Low Life. I’m up to the part about Kit Burns.


Drunk at Ground Zero

I had an excellent low-key b-day. One of My childhood friends who I rarely see has intinctively called Me on My actual birthday the last three years. Each time she thinks the actual date is later in the month. We had dinner together and a major catch-up session. Thursday J picked Me up at the shop and we headed over to the kitting factory for the New Model Army show. He's only 23 and is very much a disgruntled youth. Hanging out with him reminds Me so much of high school. We picked up a small bottle of vodka and a bottle of orange juice, mixed them and strolled over to the show drinking our "cocktail." We got there an hour after the doors opened but still an hour before NMA went on, so we started wandering aroung tribeca. We ended up at Ground Zero. Drunk and laughing hysterically, I think we may have upset some late night tourists. This was the first time I actually went close enough to look at the site. It has been so long that I wasn't upset by it at all, just sorta bewildered at the sheer amount of open space and the personal landmarks that are no longer there. We stood against the fence and I said stuff like, "the Borders was just about there, and the stairs were over there...." I had such a great time at the show. There are so few bands that I still care about.

The Ball is coming up quickly and I still haven't figured out what I'm going to wear. C has randomly obtained a black woman's braided wig and it has become the basis of his Rick James costume. See the cover of Street Songs:
Along with some of My pvc gear and a little black face...


It's My birthday!

Twenty-nine years ago today I exited My mother's womb approximately seven weeks early (probably the last time I was early for anything!). My day began with a wake-up kiss, chocolate truffles and flowers from C. He came home for a snuggle before I left for the shop. Typically he shaves his head and beard for My birthday (the guy I started dating had a shaved head and a goatee, not this fluffy bearded shaggy headed homeless looking dude he becomes every winter). This morning the fluff was still there, so I'm hoping it will be gone by tonight. The b-day calls have been coming all morning. Everyone is asking what I'm doing to celebrate. I don't really have anything planned other than going to see New Model Army play thursday night at the Knitting Factory. I was once a rabid NMA fan and they put on a great show, so I'm really looking forward to it. I put out an email reminding My regular clients that today was My birthday and called for all "slaves, panty bitches and pain sluts" to pay tribute to Me by hitting My Amazon wishlist.


My birthday, the fountain of youth and the cocksuckers

So, this Tuesday I will turn 29. Over the past six months or so I have begun to think about aging in regard to myself for the first time. I can see the difference between Myself and a 19 year old in a way that I didn't even realize existed when I was in My late teens and early twenties. Don't get Me wrong, I'm not freaking out or thinking that I am old, just that I am not young. Or really, that I just don't have that exquisite blush or roundness that is exclusively youthful. I can actually understand now that massive rush toward the fountain of youth and the multi-billion dollar industry that caters to women's vanity. These days I rarely wear makeup except for session, family gatherings and perhaps for a night out. My mother wouldn't have left the house for ANYTHING without a full face of makeup on. C thinks makeup is just a mask and prefers Me without it. At first it was refreshing to have a boyfriend who was so into Me as a person and to not worry about My appearance all the time. However 5 years in, I wish he could appreciate the ways in which some makeup accentuates My beauty rather than viewing it exculsively as a detraction. On the random occaission that I decide to throw on some lipstick on My way out of the house for no reason at all, I end up feeling like it is an act against him, rather than an act for Me.

I have suddenly had a multitude of cocksucker calls. It has been a constant barrage of guys that want Me to take them to glory holes or pimp them out. Is it Me? Do I inspire these guys to want to suck cock?