In this episode, Silken tells her lover that she wants to tie him to her bed when they get home. This spurs them to tease each other throughout the afternoon, and she finds herself so hot and bothered that she masturbates in the car on the drive home.

(This is a re-release of episode #32 from July, 9, 2009)

From my chair on the balcony I try to extend my senses, to feel something, anything, but what I’m feeling now.

Pathos.

I am doing my best to be present with my body, to understand how this pathos feels, not just emotionally, but physically.

Right now, pathos feels under-oxygenated. My breath is shorter, faster. It no longer fills my center. My muscles are tight. Twitchy. Restless. My shoulders ride higher, up near my ears.  I feel it in my gut, too, the tightness. An ache has settled in my chest, my eyes. It is a long list.

This is what anxiety and anguish feels like in the flesh.

In my head, it feels like being small and afraid in the face of uncertainty. Trapped. Cut-off. Cornered. I feel like I must act, must do something, anything. But what?

And so I remind myself to breathe.

Life is uncertain, and no amount of resistance to that fact is going to change Reality. Reality is mutable, transient, turbulent. Unpredictable. And yet, right now, in this moment, it is what it is.

Accept, my mind says. But my body betrays emotional resistance.

I figured that my sisters and I would grow old together, the three of us. The Three Musketeers. I thought we’d be hard-of-hearing old ladies sitting on the back porch swing, laughing until we had to pee, talking about the good old days with Grandmother, the wagon rides down the hill in our little red wagon, and riding horses on the mesa in Colorado. I thought we’d go on vacations, bicycle rides for three, and scold grandchildren.  Then one sister died in 2008 after a long illness, and I revised that dream to just the two of us. But today, the likelihood of my baby sister surviving to my age  is slim, never mind to old age. And I feel. A lot of things.

I know we all die. And I know it isn’t anything to be afraid of. I got that, really got it, when I was holding my grandfather’s hand as he exhaled the last bits of himself two years ago.  I understand the beauty of the life-cycle, the transitory nature of it, the glory of a life well-lived. You could say that I am at peace with Death.

But to die young, ah. To lose someone in the prime of life. To watch them hunch in on themselves with pain. The pain of living. Of breathing. Of being. I can handle it. Watching someone die from cancer isn’t a new experience for me. But I’m not enjoying it. It is very stressful on everyone. Especially my sister.

Underneath it all, I’m sad for me. And for her kids. And for our parents — who will have to deal with out-living another of their children.

Life is. And quite often these days, life is Pathos.

Eros and Aramis.

Citrus, cinnamon, and sandalwood: the scent of Aramis Cool Blend envelops me as Gabriel’s arms do. I rest my forehead against his shoulder and breathe him into me. He always seems to know when I’m in that place, that overwhelmed, anxious and impatient place. He hugs me hard, his arms forming a tight band that pops my back. A welcome release.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs against my ear. “How can you be cold? It’s over 80 degrees out here.”

“I’ve forgotten warmth,” I mutter back, dispirited and exhausted. And cold. I’ve been sleeping with the electric blanket on. In Summer.

He steps backward, holding me at arms length. He starts to say something, but his eyes are riveted on my breasts. My nipples. Bra-less and cold, my nipples were already hard, but his nearness, the scent of him, have added additional length.

His hand reaches toward my right breast, thumb grazing the nipple. His touch sparks through me, little electric arrows racing along my nerve-endings, dissipating the fog of despair wrapped around me like a comforter. I feel!

Another brush of his thumb and I gasp and sway, my eyes closing. So good. So sweet. Pleasure is so life-affirming.

He steps nearer, his hand never leaving my breast. I can feel the warmth radiating from him. I tilt my face up to his, eyes closed, like a flower following the sun.My mouth trembles with a sad smile and tears well up under my eyelids.

“Make love to me,” I ask him. Implore him. “Make me feel alive.”

He steps around me. Pulls the hair away from my neck and brushes my skin with his shadow.  A sharp, hissing intake of my breath. I feel that! Mmmmm… yes!

His arms encircle me, one around my shoulders, the other, my midriff. He draws me backwards, off the balcony, and guides me down onto the persian carpet. With feather-light kisses and touches he opens my blouse, exposing my breasts.

More tears at his gentleness. I need this.

When his mouth closes over my erect nipple, my entire body vibrates with erotic energy. My pathos subsides beneath a tide of Aramis-scented eros as I surrender to a new feeling: I’m alive!

So gloriously fucking alive!

*  *  *

The Silken On Sex erotic podcast is made possible by your support. Please visit SilkenOnSex.com to make a donation. Or, visit the show’s sponsor AdamAndEve.com for your sex toy purchases. When you use the code SILKEN at checkout, You will get free shipping and save 50% on any item.

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Some of the essays I relate to, some of them I don’t. I mean, women writing about how they miss the boys their husbands once were, or how their children’s demands cut into their “me time” doesn’t really affect me… I don’t have a husband, don’t have children, and don’t have any angst about the lack of either, as some of the single writers do in the book. Still, its a great glimpse into the female psyche, from some very well-spoken and educated women.

Next on my list is “The Bastard on the Couch” edited by Daniel Jones and subtitled: 27 Men Try Really Hard to Explain Their Feelings About Love, Loss, Fatherhood and Freedom. This is the partner book to Bitch in the House, and the editor is married to Cathi. I’ve heard that this is an interesting and entertaining collection of well-written essays, and I’m looking forward to reading it.

Silken on Sex #78:

It is fair to say that I’m an enthusiastic masturbator and sex toy aficionado. My primary partner calls me his pervy dirty girl, and fortunately is not threatened by my self-pleasuring practices. He knows that my libido is off-the-charts and that it takes a herculean effort on anyone’s part (including my own) to keep me feeling satisfied for more than a few hours at a time. But he does try, and between his efforts and mine, we keep things very interesting.

Which is where my chest full of sex toys comes in.

I am grateful to be a woman, and grateful that so many people have put so much ingenuity and effort into accessorizing women’s pleasures.  Toys to fulfill our every pleasure, fantasy, and sexual need line the shelves of thousands of adult stores all over the world. And fortunately for men, I’ve noticed that the numbers of male-oriented toys out there in the market has increased dramatically in the past decade.

While sex toys are great for self-pleasuring, they are also invaluable tools for spicing things up between couples. Sex can become pretty routine amongst couples, something scheduled for Sunday nights after the kids are in bed and the dog has been walked and the garbage put out. And for those couples who don’t have children, too. I know too many couples for whom sex and intimacy have taken a back-burner to more career-oriented pursuits. The end result of all this is that people grow sexually frustrated and/or bored with their same-ole same-ole sex lives, and start looking for a way to spice things up — often in the form of finding someone else. But as we all know, once that New Relationship Energy (NRE) fades, we fall back into the same boring habits and ways of being, which simply fuels the cycle of serial monogamy. I’m of the opinion that everyone should make fucking like they’re hoping to keep “porn star” as an economic fallback position part of their routine — and there are so many sex toys and accessories to facilitate fun, experimental, and even downright steamy “rock star” sex.

With that thought in mind, I am sharing Silkenvoice’s Top 15 Sex Toys & Aids in three categories: those for women, men, and couples, followed up with recommendations on sex how-to guides and porn. I swing both ways with regards to sex partners, and while my recommendations target the larger heterosexual audience, they are also useful for gays and lesbians.

Women

1. A wand massager like a Hitachi Magic Wand or similar knock off like the Adam & Eve Massager is a must-have for most women, save those with uber-sensitive clits. There are even a variety of attachments to put mind-blowing orgasms within your grasp.
2. A rechargeable Jackrabbit is a joy. Mine has paid for itself man times over in batteries not purchased.  There is also a large selection of battery-operated rabbit vibes to suit every shape of woman and her stimulation needs. If they are out of your price-range, don’t worry–there are a lot of vibrating dildos out there. If you don’t have one, get one. It will make your toes curl.
3. The Voila Massager is thin and flat, and one of my favorite finds. It can be cupped in the fingertips of one hand for those ladies who like to masturbate laying on their bellies, as well as being perfect for clitoral stimulation during sex — it is thin enough not to get in the way — it has 7 levels of vibration and pulsation, and best of all, it is rechargeable!
4. A slender glass dildo, which can be warmed up to body temperature in water, is great for anal  play. I recommend that or the EZ Bend anal vibrator. A lot women are very hesitant about anal play but I’ve got to tell you, try it, and keep trying, until you’ve relaxed enough to enjoy it. Anal orgasms are thrilling and intense.
5. The Sybian, which is an amazing fucking machine that rocks my world, or for 1/10th the cost, The Loveseat. I had one of these until I got my Sybian, and I loved it. It is a saddle of sorts for a massaging wand, and you can purchase a remote to control the wand’s vibration with — for hand’s free pleasure.

Men

1. The Aneros prostate massager. Many men are even more leery of anal pleasure than women are, which is a pity. The Aneros is worth getting past your reservations for — how would you like to experience full-body orgasms like women do? I’ve seen the Aneros make men cum without any stimulation of the penis. Very hot! There is also a unisex version for men and women called Peridise that I haven’t tried yet.
2. The Fleshlight is the ultimate stroker toy for men. It looks like a flashlight on the outside and inside is soft pink flesh-like material that provides suction. I love to use it to jack-off guys I’ve tied up :)
3. Massager Masturbator Sleeve: If you’ve got a Hitachi Magic Wand or similar wand massager in the house, you must get one of these. Slip the sleeve over your cock, fit the head of the massager into the cup, and turn it on. It will make your eyes roll back in your head, your body tighten, and your toes curl. Oh, and you’ll cum, too.
4. The EZ bend anal vibrator is a toy I’ve also recommended for women.  It is great for men because you can bend the tip to the angle you need to stimulate and vibrate your prostate at the same time. This can also produce full-body orgasms for men.
5. The Venus 2000 machine does all the work for men. It has an infinitely adjustable stroke length and speed for hands-free fun. Guys can just lay back and moan and writhe like a woman. I find it very fun to use on men I’ve tied down.

Couples

Sex toys can really spice up your sex life, alleviating the routine and adding new repertoire.

1. Adjustable penis extender: I’m not going to lie, some days we wish your cock was bigger, just like some days you wish we were tighter. With this, couples get both. Made of super stretchy rubber, this will add 2″ to your length and a bit of added girth, while at the same time giving your cock a sweet squeeze. It easily fits over the penis and includes ticklers for additional pleasure for your partner. If you find that the sleeve is too long for you, just cut the sheath until you find the desired size.
2. Strap-on vibrating harness: This is a sturdy, adjustable harness that will accommodate most dildos, and even comes with a vibrating bullet. Real women wear strap-ons, and so do men. I have one friend who straps on John Holmes when his women-friends have worn him down to a nub. Enjoy the confidence and power of a cock that won’t stop, regardless of your gender.
3. Sex sling with cuffs: Ever gotten a cramp in your hip or ass trying to hold your leg in that perfect position for more than a few minutes? I have. What a mood-killer. The sex sling is a fun device that makes creative positions possible. I like to put the padded neck portion along my shoulders instead of my neck. Experiment and enjoy.
4. Sex wedge/ramp:  One word — Comfortable. One of my partners picked up this wedge when I pulled a muscle in my back that had me in physical therapy for 4 weeks. Not only did it make sex possible, but it fueled lots of ideas for when my range of motion returned. This particular Libertator brand of wedge comes with a booklet chock full of positions. I’ve tried them all.
5. Restraints/bondage gear: If you don’t have any bondage gear, you’re missing out on one of the best ways to spice up your sex life. If you’re curious, but don’t know where to start, I recommend the Under The Bed Restraint System — especially if you don’t have a headboard or footboard conducive to tying someone up.

Great Sex How-To eBooks

I’ve recommended all these toys and aids, but don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you hanging. In addition to the information available on my site and in my stories, I’m also going to list my Top 5 Great Sex How-to Books — available in eBook formats from Amazon.com:

1. How to Tell a Naked Man What to Do by Candida Royale. This is a primer for women on how to be dominant in the bedroom.
2. She Comes First: The Thinking Man’s Guide to Pleasuring a Woman by Ian Kerner. If your female partner seems to be disinterested in sex, read this book and change everything.
3. Never Have the Same Sex Twice: A Guide for Couples by Alison Tyler. Each new chapter begins with a hot story and follows up with great ideas on how to keep sex from becoming routine.
4. The Ultimate Guide to Strap-on Sex: A Complete Resource for Women and Men by Karlyn Lotney. Buy that strap-on harness I recommended and this book and try something different on.
5. A Tired Woman’s Guide to Passionate Sex by Laurie B. Mintz. You think you’re too tired for sex? Read this book and think again.

Got Porn?

Lastly, if you’re looking for decent porn that isn’t going to install Trojans (and I don’t mean the condoms) on your computer, these are my Top 5 Free Porn Sites:

1. SilkenOnSex.com – Hot erotic stories in both text and audio formats that men, women, and couples enjoy, some of which are free, and some for purchase.
2. Spankwire.com – The best I’ve found yet. Well-organized and carries broad variety of porn in categories from anal to anime and fetish to voyeur.
3. Redtube.com – Free porn. Membership on site allows downloads as well as streaming
4. Youporn.com – Free porn. Membership on site allows downloads as well as streaming
5. BeautifulAgony.com – There is nothing hotter than watching someone masturbate to orgasm.

Related articles

• Toy Story: Your Guide to Erotic Playthings (lifescript.com)
• Houston inventor in sex toy court battle (mysanantonio.com)
• 8 Crazy Facts About Sex Toys (hellobeautiful.com)
• The 5 Most Popular Vibrators (marieclaire.com)

(This is the complete text of the erotic story Dirty Girl: The Preacher’s Kid. If you haven’t listened to my podcasts of this story, Part One is here and Part Two is here.)

Songs of Solomon 5:15 His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold; his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

She was a preacher’s kid, and like most preacher’s kids, she had a naughty streak, Rebecca did, only her parents didn’t know it. Most people didn’t. To all appearances she was a good Christian girl who did all the right things and never caused her parents a lick of trouble. But underneath the long tresses and proper dresses was the mind and body of a Dirty Girl.

“I’m a Dirty Girl,” she’d sing to herself as she walked down Main Street toward the parsonage, nodding and smiling to all the ladies who said hello, as she helped Mrs. Sunderval up the curb to the beauty parlor and patted the head of the dog sitting outside Lawson’s Feed. The refrain helped her get through the interminable routine that she had lived, day after day, year after year, for all of her 20 years on God’s green Earth.

Three times a week she walked home from the community college at the edge of town in her sensible flats, and three times a week she dropped her books inside the door, then headed up the road that lead past the church to the cemetery. This, too, was part of her routine, and it was the part that added the spring to her step and the color to her cheeks.

The cemetery was her domain, her playground since childhood. People mostly came on weekends, and the graveyard keeper came to mow on Friday mornings, so the rest of the time, it was hers, and hers alone. She’d played leap-frog over the crumbling old headstones with the big round spots of lichen growing on them, played hide and seek with the ghosts around the Pruitt family vault, and sunned herself naked on the cool grass.

Rebecca loved cemeteries the way gay men loved glory holes. Or at least, that’s what she thought. She didn’t know any gay men and she’d never seen a glory hole, but she’d read about them online, oh yes, and she figured she got the same naughty thrill from getting her hole filled in a cemetery as a gay man did getting his mouth filled by anonymous cock.

She cut deeper into the graveyard, toward the oldest section, toward her guardian angel, the larger-that-life sepulchral statue with the muscled torso and legs. He was the epitome of male beauty and in her teens her erotic dreams were filled with him, with images of being swept up into the sky by her guardian angel and feeling the thrust of him inside her with every beat of his wings.

When Rebecca reached the statue, she stripped off her clothes and sat on a sunny patch of grass to wait for her lover. The sun was warm on her skin, and the faint breeze caressed her teasingly. She felt increasingly more languid and eventually stretched out, letting the sun splash her with its heat while the grass cooled her back.

She looked up at the statue towering over her and her fingers crept to her mound, to the hair growing there and the secret pearl nested within. Her fingers slid between the lips of her lightly furred pussy as she spread her legs in the grass. She wanted her lover to find her that way, to come upon her masturbating wantonly, as he had many times before.

Just a few months ago she was rubbing her mound furiously against the angel’s bent knee, her arms wrapped around his neck for balance, when the Professor found her. He must have been surprised to see a naked girl humping a statue, because he made some sort of noise that caused Rebecca to look his way, and she saw him standing there with his hands full of gravestone rubbings and a huge tent in his pants. She recognized him instantly as the dreamy art professor who had recently moved to town, and scrambled down off the statue, using her long hair to cover herself as best she could.

“My my,” he said as he walked toward her with a conspiratorial smile on his face. “Who would have thought the preacher’s kid was such a dirty girl?”

His words pierced her like erotic arrows, making her flesh tingle. The juxtaposition of preacher’s kid and dirty girl were so deliciously shocking they heightened her arousal, and from the moment they registered in her mind, Rebecca was his. His Dirty Girl.

* * *

She’d fallen asleep in a sunny patch of grass, her pale skin glowing like the marble of the monuments around her, a heathen wood nymph turned to stone on the sacred ground of the Christian graveyard.

She looked like a blank canvas to him. He wanted to mold her flesh, her lover did. He wanted to shape her with his own hands, trace the curves, make minute adjustments to the perfection of her flesh for the sake of making her his. Marking her as his.

He pulled from his pocket a thick piece of artist’s charcoal, the soft kind that produced a deep black color, and unwrapped it. Today he didn’t need paper. Today, Rebecca would be his tabla rasa, his blank page.

Kneeling, he kissed her forehead, and whispered for her to lie still.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazel green eyes that reminded him of leaves in dappled sunlight, and her drowsy smile was loving. Open. Trusting. She was an innocent, he knew, a very carnal innocent. She took such childlike joy in her body, in the pleasures of the flesh. She knew no shame, no guilt, and she gave of herself with such abandon that it transcended all he’d ever imagined the original Eve to be, before she’d learned the concept of sin.

He took the charcoal between his fingers and drew upon her living flesh. Long sweeps of charcoal for the twining vines and smaller flourishes for leaves and flowers. Symbols, too, from Egypt, from Briton, from Japan, symbols of fertility, of life, of rebirth. Her arms, her breasts, her torso, her belly – all were soon covered in lines that moved hypnotically with each of her breaths.

With the stick he colored her pubis black, and with his fingers he rubbed it in, spreading the fine, velvety softness of the charcoal into the fine, silky softness of her lightly-furred mound, and when her fingers moved to hold herself open he had to grip his cock to keep himself from spending in his pants. Such a contrast, her pale pale fingers holding open the night-black pussy to reveal that pale inner pink that darkened to deeper red.

“Fuck me,” she moaned, her arms opening to him, arms engraved with symbols and spirals, wrists banded in black.

She looked primal and pagan, like a Pictish woman in a fertility rite; and while her face was blurred with lust, her eyes were intent.

“Fuck me,” she said clearly, almost demandingly. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

And then she lay back against the grass and slid her fingers along her pussy, staining them black, smearing the blackness into the pink as she strummed her clitoris.

Hurriedly, he unfastened his pants, shoving down the corduroy and his silk boxers to reveal a raging erection. Already there was precum dripping from the tip. A droplet swung downward to land in the grass on a long, crystalline strand.

She rose then, and pushed him backwards, hands tearing at his pants, and she straddled him, straddled his cock, and thrust herself down on to him, moaning as she did so.

It is impossible to describe the heat of her, the wetness, the suck of her pussy on his cock as she rode him, jockey style, balanced on the balls of her feet, one hand pressed against his chest, the other shoved underneath him, gripping his ass. She heaved and swayed on him like a girl dancing around a May pole, her agile body weaving sinuously when it wasn’t hammering down onto him.

She left charcoal handprints on his shirt, but he didn’t care. His own hands rose to her breasts, tracing the lines he’d drawn there, smudging them, blurring them so that her skin was mottled with gray. He pinched her nipples, those black-tipped points, pinched them hard enough to make her gasp and her legs to fold so that she landed on her knees astride him.

He flipped her then, flipped her onto her back, and shoving her knees up toward her breasts, he penetrated her in one long push. She cried out then, a sound of pain and supplication, and then her rigid body softened and she welcomed him into her.

She cradled her ass in her hands, held it up to him like an offering, and he took it, took what was offered again and again, hungry for her, aching to penetrate the mystery of her, that otherness, that fey-ness that presented itself to him in moments like these, teasing him with the knowledge of her impenetrable spirit.

He would have her, he would make her his this time, truly his dirty girl, his filthy dirty girl laying there, groveling on her back on someone’s grassy grave, begging for him to fuck her, to take her, to make her feel even more alive.

When he came it was with a bellow, a triumphant bellow followed by a series of moans as he emptied into her, his chest pressed against her smudged thighs.

He could tell by her eyes that she had not come, but that she was close, so close, and he knew just the thing to make her come.

“Roll-over,” he commanded, and she did, exposing the pale alabaster curve of her backside interrupted with black smudges that looked like faded bruises.

“Rub your clit,” he instructed, and as she raised her hips to slide her hands into the vee of her thighs, his hand fell hard on her ass.

“Oh!” she cried out, and she began squirming on her fingers, her body rocking as her toes dug into the sod and his hands fell like rain on her ass and thighs.

“That’s it, you dirty girl! Hump your hands!” He watched as her face reddened, watched her luscious mouth open in moaning gasps with each stinging slap of his palm.

“You’re such a dirty girl, Rebecca,” he said, focusing on tormenting her sweet spot. “My filthy dirty little girl.”

He knew she loved being called a dirty girl, knew it was a trigger for her, that it heightened her arousal and so he applied it as liberally. He wanted to watch her come that way, being spanked for being a dirty girl, climaxing because she was being a dirty girl… His Dirty Girl.

His hands were hot and tingly, and his wrists had begun to ache, but he did not stop. He renewed his efforts, his fingers occasionally landing on her slick pussy lips, spanking her tenderest parts. More swats from him, more squirming and gasps from her. Her ass and thighs were painted with pink handprints and black fingerprints. She looked like a crime of passion, writhing there on the grass in her prelude to the Little Death.

“Who would have guessed that the preacher’s daughter was such a dirty girl?” he said knowingly, reproducing with those words what she’d felt the day they’d first met.

When he said those words, Rebecca’s body convulsed. She cried out, her chest raising up off the grass as she wailed her pleasure. It was an intense, encompassing, delirious orgasm witnessed only by cedar trees and stone angels — and the man who had caught her humping a statue and captured her heart by calling her a Dirty Girl.

*  *  *

For more erotica by Kayar Silkenvoice visit shop.SilkenOnSex.com

Silken On Sex #75

“…Her eyes fluttered open, hazel green eyes that reminded him of leaves in dappled sunlight, and her drowsy smile was loving. Open. Trusting. She was an innocent, he knew, a very carnal innocent. She took such childlike joy in her body, in the pleasures of the flesh. She knew no shame, no guilt, and she gave of herself with such abandon that it transcended all he’d ever imagined the original Eve to be, before she’d learned the concept of Sin.

He took the charcoal between his fingers and drew upon her living flesh. Long sweeps of charcoal for the twining vines and smaller flourishes for leaves and flowers. Symbols, too, from Egypt, from Briton, from Japan, symbols of fertility, of life, of rebirth. Her arms, her breasts, her torso, her belly – all were soon covered in lines that moved hypnotically with each of her breaths.

With the stick he colored her pubis black, and with his fingers he rubbed it in, spreading the fine, velvety softness of the charcoal into the fine, silky softness of her lightly-furred mound, and when her fingers moved to hold herself open he had to grip his cock to keep himself from spending in his pants. Such a contrast, her pale pale fingers holding open the night-black pussy to reveal that pale inner pink that darkened to deeper red…”

This podcast is sponsored by AdamAnd Eve.com — enter “SILKEN” into the offer code field and save 50% on any item!

For more erotic stories intimately told — visit the shop at SilkenOnSex.com

This podcast is about conquering, about the distinctions between submitting and being conquered, about the contest of wills between a strong-willed woman and her  equally strong-willed match. This podcast is hot, rough, and more than a little spanked.

The music featured in this podcast is Melissa Ferrick’s song Drive.
This podcast is sponsored by AdamAnd Eve.com — visit the site and enter “SILKEN” into the offer code field and save 50% on any item!
For longer, hotter, higher-quality audio erotica visit the shop at SilkenOnSex.com.

It made me think about love/desire/intimacy and fear. It seems that it is one of the age-old truths about love, that while it does offer unique opportunities for union and the lifting of ego boundaries — at the same time, it faces us with our loved one’s ‘otherness’.

That we desire this other, that we yearn for him or her, does not eliminate the disappointment that is inevitable as we strive to know and possesses them. Why? Because we cling to our expectations of completion and wholeness and perfection when none of these is possible in the ways we have imagined. Our minds are too limited.

And so it is we ourselves who are the creators of our own dissatisfaction, for we cling to the hope, to the ideal, that some one or some thing will be ultimately satisfying to us. And before long, we are faced with the disappointing truth: that wonderful or perfect-seeming as the object of our desire appeared to be, it is flawed.

But it has occurred to me that it is our disappointment in love/desire and how we come to terms with it (or don’t) that is truly interesting. It deepens our inner lives, makes us grow, and illuminates the true nature of reality in contrast with the ideal.

When the first flush of New Relationship Energy has faded and you and your loved one are naked to each other, bared of illusions — are you disappointed with reality, or do you embrace it?

The Forfeit (16:27) A woman has talked her partner into masturbating to the edge of orgasm and backing off every day for a three week period, and finally, with the waiting, teasing, and denial over, they consummate their desire–outside, up against a stone wall. She’d bet him that he wouldn’t last 5 minutes their first time together and he accepted the challenge, with the agreed-upon forfeit being that the loser would spend an hour tied to the winner’s bed. He lost the bet, and so they go to her place, where she ties him to her bed and slowly wrings her winnings from his flesh.

This story features sex in public, massage, bondage, and exploration of the sacred via tantric sex.

To hear more, visit the shop at www.SilkenOnSex.com and click on The Forfeit

The next podcast episode will most likely be about erotic spanking, so if you find that topic interesting or arousing, do look for next Wednesday’s release.

He said he’d tried talking to her, had even asked her what he could do to spice things up, and her response was “I shouldn’t have to tell you what I want.” Which blew my mind. Amy was playing the You should read my mind and if you can’t I’ll punish you until you’ve tried everything game that many women play — a game that one of my lovers played so well that I swore off women for years.

So I invited Amy to meet me for coffee.

We’ve known each other for well over a decade and she’s accustomed to my directness, so I dispensed with the preliminary chit-chat.

“Boriska is worried you’re either having an affair, or that you’re going to leave him.”

Amy’s expression changed. I think she’d been expecting to play the sympathetic listener to my woe-is-me-my-sister-has-cancer tale, so she was completely surprised to find that her marriage was the topic. I sat in silence and watched her run through a series of emotions: surprise, anger, chagrin, and finally, something that looked like pouty resignation.

“I’m bored,” Amy said, looking down into her coffee cup. Definitely pouty.

“Bored?”

I couldn’t help but remember the last time I was bored.  I was 9 and I told my grandmother I wanted to go somewhere because I was bored. “You’re not bored,” Grandmother had said, looking over her glasses at me with her intense blue eyes, “You’re boring.” Something about the way she explained it to me really hit home, and from that day forward I was almost obsessed with being the opposite of boring. Today, one of the highest compliments anyone can pay me is to say that I’m interesting.

“I’m going to take a page out of my grandmother’s book, Amy, and ask you to consider that you’re not bored so much as boring.”

Her mouth fell open with a gasp and her eyebrows drew together in a frown. I raised my hand. I knew I needed to speak up fast or she’d flounce off in a huff. I love her dearly, but Amy’s what most of her friends call “high-strung.”

“Now before you get all upset with me, give me a chance to explain. When you say “I’m bored” you’re speaking as though the world, or in this case, your husband, is somehow failing to entertain you. That is a very passive place to be, Amy.”

She went back to pouting.

“You own your life, and you’re responsible for whether you’re bored or not. It is a choice. You’ve made choices that have led to you feeling bored in your marriage, so you can certainly make choices that make it more exciting!”

“It’s a lot of work!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” I answered.

“How can you? You’ve never been married.”

I looked into her eyes and smiled slowly, meaningfully. “Why do you think I’ve never married?”

She laughed, thankfully.

“Fair enough, Kay. Fair enough.”

We sipped our drinks for a long moment. Amy’s never been good at concealing her emotions. I could see her turmoil all over her face. I could also see that she wanted to talk, but just didn’t seem to know where to start. I decided to give her a nudge.

“So… why are you bored?” I asked.

“We’ve been having the same sex over and over for 8 of the last 10 years!”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“Whuuut?”

“If you’ve been having the same boring sex over and over, why haven’t you told Boris you want to try something different?”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

Oh. My. God. It was my turn to say “Whuuut?”

“He should know me by now…” She sounded both outraged and plaintive, if that is possible. I could almost see her anger and disappointment over her husband’s failure to magically transform into Fabio-the-Mindreader during the course of their marriage.

“Amy, you’ve been reading waaay too many romance novels. Sure there are men who can intuit what you want, but how can they know for certain if you don’t tell them?”

“Not everyone is like you, Kay… I’m not comfortable talking about sex…”

I got what she was saying, and yet I didn’t. Yes, there are few people so comfortable with talking openly about sex, but surely…

“Are you telling me that you and I can talk about how much we want to be bent over the couch for a hard fast fuck — but you aren’t comfortable talking about what you want in the bedroom with the man you’ve been sleeping next to for the past 10 years? Amy!”

She looked miserable and sheepish at the same time.

“Good sex is artful and intuitive. Great sex is artful, intuitive, and informed by communication. If you aren’t communicating your wants and needs to your husband then the only person you have to blame for your boring sex life is yourself, damnit!”

“How do I know he’d even want to try anything else? He’s got his routine down and seems pretty happy with it!”

I gave her my best oh come on, really?! look.

“I’m going to tell you a few things about men, Amy dear. At heart humans are novelty seekers, and we know that monotony in monogamy is almost inevitable… but we still settle down into monogamous relationships. Why? For women, it’s about security. For men it’s about guaranteed pussy. They give up variety in the hopes of increased frequency. So if you tell your man that you want to spice things up by having sex standing on your head in the corner — he’ll make it happen even if he has to build a scaffolding in the bedroom.”

Amy choked on her coffee, then gasped with laughter at that mental image.

“I’m serious. And another thing — In the absence of clear communication, men do their best to read us. They try anything and everything, and each time they are slapped away, or get an annoyed look, or a hurt yelp, they eliminate whatever they were doing from their repertoire. Forever. Most of them won’t try it again. Most of them don’t get that what irritated the fuck out of you last night might make you moist today. They just don’t want to feel rejected, Amy. People feel vulnerable when they are making love.”

She looked very pensive. I gave her hand a squeeze. “Think about it. You said he’s got his routine down — did it ever occur to you that he’s narrowed it down to those things you’ve never objected to? How many times was Boris doing something and you pushed him away and he never tried that again? Face it, Amy. You’ve insisted that he read your mind all these years and punished him for failing to do so. You’ve created your own boring, monotonous marriage, my friend.”

She made a face. A cross between a wince and a grimace.

“Sometimes you scare me, Kay.”

That brought me up short.

“Why?”

“Because you’re so insightful.  And because you manage to say shit no one else can say without sounding like a complete bitch.”

“You’re welcome.” I laughed.

“Does Boriska really think I’m going to leave him?”

“He’s worried about it. He loves you, Amy. He wants you to be happy, and if he can’t make you happy, why wouldn’t you look for someone who can?”

“Oh god,” she groaned. I could see it on her face, the realization that with her stubborn silence she really had made a mess of things. “What am I going to do?”

I grinned at her. “Well, I just happen to know that he’s got this fantasy about sex in the shower….”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh reaaallly?”

“Yes, really. How about we stop by an adult toy store to pick up a waterproof rabbit? And while you’re at it, send Boris a text saying you’re working on a naughty surprise for him and you want him to send a text when he leaves the office?”

Amy blushed and squirmed in her chair. She looked like an excited child.

“And then what you do is, leave him a note he’ll find when he gets home, telling him to strip down and meet you in the shower, and then make sure you’re in there and playing with your rabbit when he gets home. I guarantee he’ll break his routine.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I suppose he would.”

“Oh, and Amy… afterward… Talk to your husband. Share your fantasies. And be more communicative. I know women think men don’t listen to them, but if there is one place they’re eager to listen, it’s in bed. You’re responsible for your pleasure, so tell him what you want.”

Opposable Thumbs:

Because of our opposable thumbs, we human beings have unique capabilities. Our muscled, contrary digits allow us to pull, twist, manipulate, and grip; to use tools, to control, even “civilize” our environment. There is, however, one essential human quality that does NOT respond well to this wondrous digital opposability…

Love.

Love is given; it is to be received with open hands, as if it was a gift of pure, clear, life-giving water, flowing into and over our cupped palms.

Love is not to be pulled, twisted, manipulated, leveraged, or squeezed. Love is not to be hijacked, hitchhiked, clamped, or hammered.

No.

Use your opposable thumbs on love, and its life-giving magic will disappear, as surely as water flows through a grasping hand.

(from Charlie, October 2006)

Q: Lately I’ve been struggling with monogomy. My partner is a good man and a considerate lover, but sometimes I want to be with a woman, to enjoy a relationship with a woman. Is it wrong to want a mistress?

A: Not at all. One of the fallacies we are socialized to accept as truth is that one person can be all things to another. We find people attractive before we enter a committed relationship, and we will find people attractive afterward. It is unlikely that a single partner can meet all of one’s sexual desires all the time. But more than that, it is about energy. Dyad (monogamous) relationships are often closed systems. The couple gets wrapped up in each other during the NRE (new relationship energy) phase, usually to the exclusion of other people. Which can temporarily heighten that NRE high, but inevitably leads to an energy crash as the novelty wears off and there are no external sources of energy/stimulus to recharge. This is why serial monogamy occurs. It is a cycle of NRE high, crash, recharge, repeat. Which is a shame, because, usually, what we love about people doesn’t change, even if the qualities of the relationships do.

Why should a relationship that works in 90% of the areas of your life end? Choose happiness: negotiate sexual variety with your partner, instead. If you are both aware of what is going on, its not cheating. And when both partners are part of the process, the extra-marital sex tends to be less risky, both with regards to STDs and emotional health. For more information, I recommend looking into Polyamory. It is a growing “alternative lifestyle” group with support groups in most major cities and extensive online resources.

—

If you’re seeking erotic stories that are both literate and realistic, raunchy and well-written, visit the shop at SilkenOnSex.com — where high-quality erotic audios are the norm, and the fantasies are exceptional.

Want more Silkenvoice?
Get her AudioSensual CD on iTunes or Amazon.com
Visit her Erotic Audio Site: www.SilkenOnSex.com

Want more Silkenvoice?
Get her AudioSensual CD on iTunes or Amazon.com
Visit her Erotic Audio Site: www.SilkenOnSex.com

In this episode, Silken describes a conversation with one of her intimate friends, a friend who tells her that when he is with her he feels loved in a way he’s never felt before. What ensues is a discussion about the different ways we treat love, be it romantic, platonic, or filial, and the tendency people have to let past hurts get in the way of enjoying love right now.

Theme music for this podcast: Melissa Ferrick’s song “Drive”.

Why do you fear being known?
I ask when he says
I know him too well
that echoing well deeper than his voice
He does not want to be predictable,
dull, uninteresting
But it is deeper than that

I know
the fear of being known is fear of intimacy
I know

I know this fear. I lived it
Lived it like the babe uprooted from his mother’s breast
It goes back that far, yes
for all of us

We fear losing our mystery, we fear
losing what makes us compelling strangers
lest we lose what we fear most to embrace

Our intimate other selves
So we dance, dear
dance with our fear and the Other
who might be mother or father
in addition to lover

Know me, I challenge
stripped bare of pretense my body a gift
Here are my mysteries, touch them see
how my skin pebbles
fingers playing tumescent flute
same song every time

yet novelty is not lost
right now
in the moment
in the primacy of here-now

Why flee this intimacy, savor it instead
like tongue savors nipple tasty
forbidden pastry sugar-sweet
as carnal knowledge of one’s beloved

I nurture you
penetrate me
Know and be known
Some things can not be lost
Some things will not keep

I’ve added a recording of Pablo Neruda’s poem “Love” to YouTube.

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
Remember your hands; how did your lips
Feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
Have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
My vague memory of you. I live with pain
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
Vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
Glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of
Summer pain me; because of you, I again
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.