Swinging with Bloggers, Part 2: You REALLY haven't been here before...

The Expert Guide and I chatted and danced a little, but moved fairly quickly to a couch off to the side of the bar. I explained to him that I had never been to a club like that before and he explained a bit of the politics and dynamics to me, the differences between the clubs - graciously sharing his time with the new girl while gently touching her legs. And then I said: so, it seems quiet tonight.

He pointed out that it was the week after Halloween (apparently, at Halloween there was an over an hour line up outside the door) and then he added the very crucial bit of information: also, some people have already moved to the back.

I paused, taking the moment to slide my hand up his leg, and a little perplexed I said: the back? What's that?

Oh, he smiled, you really haven't been here before. The back is where people go to play. Well, this is clearly why I needed an Expert Guide.

Hold that thought, I told him as I dashed back to the girls who were, painfully, still with Skippy. I shared this startling piece of information: there's a back! Then I dashed back to rejoin the Expert Guide only to see the girls and Skippy heading off to explore. Clearly a good friend would not let her fellow bloggers go forth alone, so we joined them.

Now, keep in mind that us three ladies had never been to one of these clubs at all and Skippy had never gone to the back of one - so, when the friendly staff members asked us if we wanted a locker I thought: huh, why do we need one of those? Like for my purse? At which point is was gently explained to me: no, sweetie, that's where your clothes go.

My clothes?

I would estimate that the entire time that I spent considering whether this was a good idea was 0.0000000001 seconds. I mean, clearly, good idea. So, with my usual level of thoughtful consideration and self-restraint I went to the locker room and immediately started getting nudified. I am pretty sure my dress, shoes and stockings were off when I turned around to see Duchess and Topaz fully clothed, looking at me surprised at how quickly I disrobed.

Oh, I said, are we good? Do we need to talk this out? The answer was, as you might imagine, no, and soon we were all in our tiny panties and brown towels waiting to go forth into sin.

As a side note, initially I was perplexed at the brown towels - I mean, yuck, terrible colour - not flattering to blonde ladies. And then, as I (ahem) garnered a little more experience, it occurred to me that it is the perfect colour for such an occasion - it hides a multitude of sins.

So there we were: Topaz, the Duchess and I, mostly naked accompanied by two fully naked men - standing on the doorway to trouble, ready to go where the night wanted to take us...


I highly suggest you click on through to Topaz and the Duchess and read their thoughts on the evening. We will be posting this one and the next one about our activities in the playroom together. Stay tuned, perverts.

The Umbrella of Honesty

As my long term readers will know, I am somewhat morally retarded.

Sometimes, like today, this becomes more apparent. A friend consulted me today about her marital issues and disclosure vs. non-disclosure of her extra-curriculars. In response to her moral quandary I wrote: "well, that is within the umbrella of honesty, so I think you are ok." And then I clicked send and thought about it.

Really, the umbrella of honesty? Could I be more full of shit?

I emailed her back, scratch what I just said: there is no umbrella of honesty.

Here is the bottom line, dirty darlings: I don't care if you lie and I don't judge you for it. I really and truly don't. I understand that many of you can't make the choice to be honest and I respect your decisions about your own situations. And if you lie, I also don't care whether you do it for self-preservation or if you do it for purely hedonistic reasons: for the pursuit of pleasure, to cum as many times as you can. Some would call it selfish, but I say that without judgement: I am all about the self . My instinct has been to lie to get what I want, it is easier after all.

But, let's pay a courtesy call on reality, shall we? If you are within the umbrella of honesty the person you are dealing with will probably call it a lie. I had a recent experience where a man I adore was partially honest with me - he told me just enough to cover his ass if he got caught, but he did not tell me the truth.

Was he within the umbrella of honesty? Yes, but honest he was not. And it hurt.

I have done the same thing to the hubby, disclosed enough to cover off my risk - enough that I could spin the situation if I tried. That hurt him.

As the former queen of McTruth and self-justification, I have been struggling with the concept of honesty - because it has a tendency to interfere with my out and out hedonism. However, I have been trying to live my life as an ethical-slut: full disclosure, full permission and, yes, honesty. It is hard: it involves a lot of talking, a lot of holding hands and a lot of emotional heavy lifting. To be fair, someone else fucking your wife is not an easy concept to work through. ("So, sweetie, how many cocks is too many?")

But, this honest disclosure of activities and open pursuit of desire represents my ideal marital model and I am working my ass off to build my husband's trust in me. Trust I have violated and trust I acknowledge that I don't yet deserve. To my surprise and delight, the process of finding and fostering this honesty between us has been incredibly rewarding. And the new normal, even if it does not involve the unlimited sexual freedom I would prefer, is still worth all of the work because of our new and renewed connection.

Yes, dirty darlings, honesty is the new name of the game: but sometimes, like today, I back- slide in my thinking. So, for the record: although I may have told you something else, there are no shades of honesty. When you are caught there is not going to be an award for being kinda truthful, or implying the truth in a way that they should have figured it out. As I realized recently when some freezing rain pelted off the umbrella of honesty and slapped me in the face: it doesn't feel any different that you are under the umbrella of honesty when you don't know the truth.

Swinging with Bloggers, Part 1: Three Little Black Dresses Looking for Trouble

The best thing about planning an evening out with other sex bloggers is that you know pretty much anything is on the table. There are few restrictions and there is no judging.

With that in mind, when the Duchess, Topaz and I decided to plan a night of debauchery in Toronto we thought, hmmm...what should a group of dirty sluts do on an evening of in-character fantasy play? The obvious answer: a swingers club. After a dinner during which Topaz told us about her recent foray into the world of group sex, the Duchess told us about the series of men that have been raining into her life and I shared thrilling stories of how busy I have been at work (slut fail), we made our way to a delightful club a little later on in the evening for what was our first foray into this oh-so-intriguing world.

I wasn't sure what my limits were, I wasn't sure if I would like it, but god damn I was curious. And so, in the name of research, we went ahead to conquer a new frontier.

Topaz and I took off our respective wedding rings to demonstrate our availability - ironically travelling incognito as single ladies in one of the few environments where you can openly pick up as a married, we ditched our coats in the car in case of a quick escape and bravely opened the door: three little black dresses looking for trouble.

The first man we met was the gentleman at the door who handed us membership forms (members only, don't cha know) that required an alarming amount of information: name, address, postal code, phone number, email address. I looked at the form, looked at him and cocked my head to the side like a curious puppy: "you're not expecting my real name, are you?" He looked at me and gave me a funny look: "just whatever name you would like and an email address." Ah, perfect. He issued us membership cards and, much to my confusion, gave us each one of those froshweek bracelets - and waved his hand indicating we could go ahead.

We paused at the doors and looked at each other. I put my hand out to open it: "god, I hope my boss isn't in there" and in we went.

Now I don't know what I was expecting, but there was not a shocking amount of debauchery right at the door. In fact, it was really quiet - disappointingly quiet at first glance actually. Great, I thought, this is going to suck - but we foraged ahead.

We went to the bar and were immediately joined by Skippy, the world's most obnoxious single man. Skippy seemed a foot shorter than me, was extraordinarily preoccupied about whether or not we were married, and did not seem to get the hint that none of us would even consider fucking him. His sole goal in life seemed to be getting us to do shooters. While trying to think if a gentle way to say honey there is not enough booze at that bar to make me even consider it...I thought, great, this is really going to suck. But in the name of research and hopeful of possible nudity - we again foraged ahead.

With the ever attentive Skippy at our side we walked deeper into the bar to get the lay of the land. As we walked across the floor to take a seat I saw a very attractive man sitting on his own on the edge of the dance floor. He was just observing what was going on - obviously comfortable in his own skin and wearing a very sharp white shirt - have I told you what I sucker I am for confidence and a white shirt? Mmmmm. I gave him my best hello there handsome smile as I went by but continued up the stairs with Skippy and the girls.

The four of us chatted while we watched a woman dancing in the middle of the dance floor with a shirt, boots and no pants or panties, a man and woman in the corner engaging in what looked like some fairly enjoyable sucking and licking, and a husband slowly taking his wife's breasts out of her dress to play with her nipples while watching the pantless woman dance. Frankly, it was all a little surreal to a novice: the comfort level people felt, the openness. - it was all very refreshing to a slutty girl such as myself. I mean, really, what a delight to not have to pretend you are not looking to fuck. We observed the scene and I nodded politely while Skippy talked - and I kept looking at the very attractive man out of the corner of my eye.

I stayed with the group for a few minutes, I believe I lasted until Skippy said: "Let's be Sex and the City, I will just be one of the girls!" at which point I bailed like a pilot from a flaming plane (sorry, ladies): "um, ok, Sex and the City, he's hot - I'm going to go talk to him."

I walked up beside the very attractive man and put my hand on the small of his back: "hi, do you belong to anyone here?"

He looked at me and returned the smile: "No, do you?"

I extended my hand: "No, I'm Kimberly". He took it: "The Expert Guide"*. (*Names have been changed to protect the hot and fuckable.)

Oh darlings, the evening was looking up.

Can I Put My Finger in Your Ass?

Ok, I am not clear on how I get any work done at all - sometimes I get like a dog with a bone and can't stop thinking about a certain topic. A recent topic that occupied an abnormal amount of time: a finger in your ass while I am giving you a blow job. Yep, consider me dirty and distractable.

This all started last week when I was catching up with Letch's blog and found this post in which he said he has never had a finger up the ass while getting a blow job. Well, colour me, um...shocked but I thought this move was kind of de rigeur. I mean, really, you haven't had a finger in the ass?

So, I emailed I variety of men in my life (the "Unfortunate Men") and, with my usual complete lack of subtlety, limits and tact, inquired as to their 'putting it up there' proclivities. I got a variety of responses from "no" to "no, thank you" to "not yet" to "this is my work address" and "please stop blogging about my ass".

The, ah...bottom line from the question of the day: only one recipient of my invasive queries had done it - and he had done it with me.

Given that some of these gentlemen are those I would describe as dirty and open to just about anything, I was surprised to hear that this was not something they had done. My only thought on this: well, why the hell not? Is it that women won't do it to you? Is it that you are gay-phobic and worried about ass play? Interestingly, it was mostly a concern about contents and mess - which is funny, because I always assume men do not have these same vulnerabilities about the messiness of the body. Embarrassment from troubles of that kind is always my main concern with anal play as well, but boys always seem so confident about themselves and their bodies. (I know, stereotypes.) But, I guess a fear of shitting is a fear of shitting - you need a lot of trust to not worry about being mortified in that context. (For the record, I have never had an experience where there was even a hint of mess due to this activity.)

The reason this intrigues me so much is that I remember the first time I did this - it was with that dirty high school boyfriend I told you about here - the one who delighted me and took my hand to jump across lines together. When at his request I...ahem...slid it up there and worked the magic of the digits he had the most intense orgasm that I think I have given anyone to date - it stands out in my memory because it captured his whole body and mind in a way I do not think I have seen since. My understanding has always been that an orgasm with that kind of stimulation was the most powerful orgasm of all.

I wondered, am I remembering this wrong? Have I over-estimated the effect of a little digital prostate stimulation during oral? So, being a scientist at heart, I grabbed a volunteer and conducted a little field research. A lot of very wet oral, a generous amount of lube and a finger inserted and I tell you, dude was making noises like I have never heard, utterly lost in the moment - it was indeed a full body event. At my (ahem) probing questions afterward he informed me that his orgasm was 50% more intense. I am going to call that a win.

So in talking to these men in my life who have not played this game my first instinct was to say: I need to come and give you a blow job right now so you can try this out. Right now. Take your pants off. However, apparently though this is not an acceptable subject for a bulk email. Who knew?

All this to say, really, go and try this out immediately. Think of me when you cum, won't you?

2011: The Year of the Slut

You may have noted my absence - or that may be arrogance and you may have not noted it at all. I had intended to re-emerge after our big family vacation this summer but I found myself needing to take a step back, needing a little internet and blog free space, needing to be myself and not Kimberly for just a little while.



My life has been shifting: work has transitioned to be less stressful and more satisfying, I have had more spare time away from the computer - I have re-focused and re-jigged and re-prioritized and I am, for the first time in years, really and truly happy. Ecstatic, satisfied and delighted by life.



A large part of this new found joy is that while I was gone I fell in love: madly, head over heels, and uncontrollably in love. The kind of love that thrills you and warms you and seduces you. AND, even better, this love I found was with my own husband. (Yes, the same one as before, skeptics.). The hubby and I seem to have hit a new place of mutual understanding and appreciation and I am utterly blissed out on him and on life.



Also, speaking as a 30 something woman, I seem to have hit my sexual prime. I thought it was a made up thing to give sexually deprived husbands hope - but oh my god, I am like a teenage boy down here. If you thought I was horny before, then you ain't seen nothing yet.



Now, those of you that are new here might be thinking that this new found love and horny-ness would make me a non-errant and monogamous girl. Well, you newbies may want to review the previous few years of posts and re-think that one. As those of you with a little Kimberly-knowledge might imagine, this perfect confluence of events has led to a certain new found experimentation, a renewed opening of our previously open and then closed marriage and...well, just a few stories that you might want to hear.



2011 is looking good, dirty darlings, it is looking very good indeed. Stay tuned.