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These Boots are Made for … Licking

1 Minute Read

“Would you like to have your boots licked?”

Ummm. Hmmm. Maybe. Umm. These high, black leather motorcycle boots? Yeah, ok, I guess.

He knelt on the floor. He was balding, 40-ish. From Malta. I was at Pedestal, the Female Dominants and Male Submissives monthly gathering at Fire in Vauxhall, in London. It was my first time.

I’m not exactly a Dominant Female. I’m not NOT dominant, I just don’t identify as such. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m definitely not submissive. I don’t submit to anyone. I can’t stand girly-girl shit: those singers with their wispy voices, begging boys to love them. I refuse to relegate myself – or be relegated – to second-class status. I balk at any restrictions or proscriptions of who I am. Mostly, I grew up in mid-Century America, and I remember, vividly, what it felt like to be forced into a “female” role. Fuck that. So yes, you can lick my boots.

But I was not prepared for how hot it would be.

Here’s this guy I don’t know, carefully, devotedly licking my boots, up and down the leather, licking and kissing. Not slobbering. Cleaning them good, with his tongue. Damn, my panties started to get wet. I didn’t want to fuck him, but I didn’t want him to stop, either.

There’s something about having someone worshipfully groveling at your feet that is bizarrely, undeniably sexy: the power of it, the knowledge that the least part of you, the dirt on your boots, is being worshipped. The guy wouldn’t dream of any further physical touch. He wouldn’t presume to be allowed to touch my bare flesh. I was his Queen.

There was something so “fine” about it; something so perfectly reasonable. Of course I should be worshipped. Of course men would want to lick my boots. What could be more obvious and normal? I’m 57 and amazing. He’d be lucky to have the honor.

There were other guys there, better looking maybe, or younger, wandering around hoping for action, but this one had the grace and tact to ask, to behave with the utmost respect, to offer a service without a demand, to make himself useful (every girl needs her boots cleaned), and to know enough to never raise his head above mine.

If I don’t want to be subservient, why should I want anyone to be subservient to me? Here’s the difference between being female and being male, in my experience: no one is expecting him to submit. He’s not being pressed into it. He doesn’t have to submit to me, he wants to do it. He longs to be a second to my first. And that feels real good to my kinky, female-empowered self.

Talk about safety! That’s feeling safe. That’s feeling respected. That’s being in control, being in charge, calling the shots.

I deigned to show him some largess. I bent over and stroked his head. “Good boy,” I said, thinking “Good dog.” Wow. There I was, sitting along a wall with my three friends. We were nonchalant. We were sipping wine, and I was getting serviced by this stranger.

My pussy is reserved for my husband. But you? You can lick my boots.

The next Club Pedestal event is taking place on Thurs 24th Nov at Fire, 9pm to 5am. South Lambeth Road, London, SW8 1RT. You can book tickets here.

Diana Athill Rails against Romanticism

5 Minute Read

Our 55 year old friend is hosting us (two New Yorkers) in London for a week. To get us out of her house while she was “having a shag,” – a well deserved shag, too, I might add, one that had not been available to her for many months – she sent us out to see writer, Diana Athill talk at the Hampstead and Highgate Literary Festival being held at JW3 in Swiss Cottage.

Out came Diana Athill – 99 years old, pioneer of the confessional memoir and subject of the 2009 BBC documentary, Growing Old Disgracefully, tickin’ and kickin’, in a wheelchair, helped out of it and into a seat by her co-presenter, the author Marina Benjamin who has recently published The Middlepause: on turning fifty. Diana was decked out in a reddish tunic and some very nice long necklaces, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, and her whitish-blond head approaching baldness, which was the only thing that seemed old about her despite the wheelchair entrance.

41w6wsldubl-_sx348_bo1204203200_Diana began by saying that the two worst things to believe in or hold dear in life are “romanticism” and “possessiveness,” and that these two things destroy happiness and relationships.

She read a lengthy excerpt from her most recent work, Alive, Alive Oh! in which she described the three major romances in her life. She described a life in which she has been an unselfish, sex-positive, free spirit in her relationships and sexuality. Her mode of living has been and is to embrace the joie de vivre of living each day.516viobej2l-_sx324_bo1204203200_

In relationships, she was “most happy being the other woman,” because she got to have the “plums of the relationship and not the pudding.” She explained that the minute she had to do the pudding part (the daily grind of every day life), she lost sexual interest in her partners.

She described a first love, “Tony,” who went off to Egypt and disappeared from her life, because she didn’t want to go with him, leaving Oxford in the final year of her schooling and because “I was having too good a time.” She was “madly in love,” but “Tony” found another girl, during the separation. Diana pined, but then realized that finding a love does not mean that you fall in love “forever,” but rather that life is a succession of loves and experiences.

Someone asked her how to prevent himself from falling into the trap of “romanticism.” Diana said about Tony that she “felt dead without him,” and that every man she dated was more than anything else, “Not Tony,” until she found “Stephen,” who went from “Not being Tony,” to “being Stephen.” She spoke of how so many women think of relationship as the pinnacle of existence, but instead it’s a phase. To her, sexuality, friendships, relationships, interests all change as the phases of life change.

Diana’s early life is straight out of an episode of Downton Abbey: Stephen appeared in her life when her family’s “house in the country” (read estate) was occupied during the Second World War by soldiers on military training. The soldiers encamped on the grounds, and her mother, out of courtesy, invited the captain of the regiment to the house for tea; then, later, to dinner and a dance they were to attend. Diana and Stephen danced all night, and she described the passionate bonding with him: the intensity of their two hands touching, akin to “naked bodies meeting,” and how that portended their lovemaking. She ended up having a torrid affair with him.

It was a love affair, and he was married. But Diana never attached herself to him, even though the relationship was passionate and pleasure-full. She enjoyed it for what it was. In the talk, she mused about what would have happened had she pursued him, and perhaps caused a divorce, and eventually married him. Apparently in civilian life he was a schoolmaster, and she said, “I would have ended up being the wife of a schoolmaster. I would have been bored to death.”

Her most recent relationship was with a South African man named Barry, to whom she was married for 40 years. She explained that she was first his lover, then his friend, and then his caretaker until, mercifully, his younger family members took him back to South Africa to spend his dotage. At that point she was well into her 70s. She’d been having aches and pains that she had attributed to old age, but three weeks after Barry left she discovered the aches and pains were gone. A burden had been lifted! Her phase with Barry was over.

Not long ago she was on a panel, where she described sharing the stage with “one of the ancient Rolling Stones.” She quoted him, and I’ll paraphrase his sentiment here: “People have lived and died for thousands of years before I was born, so what’s the big deal when I do?” “Think about death once a day, every day,” she advised the crowd of mostly middle-aged women and men. “Then you won’t be so afraid of it. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

Talking about her life now, she said, “When I first moved in to live with old people they seemed old. I thought, ‘I don’t want to live with a bunch of old people!’ But now they’re Hazel and Mabel and whoever. They’re not old people, they’re just people.”

These days Diana spends a good deal of time sitting and reminiscing. Memories flow in and out, she says, and that’s just fine with her. If you are lucky to live long enough, she tells us, things go, and new things come. Each phase has its joys and sorrows: life is an adventure, and the point is to experience the joy of living. That’s it.


Having it Both Ways: My Marriage Is Partnered Non-Monogamy

1 Minute Read

Monogamy is a myth. I know there’s the fairy-tale out there: my one prince/princess charming, the love of my life, will come, and we’ll live happily ever after. But how many of us have had that experience?

I do not know a single person who has never, ever been attracted to someone else while in a monogamous relationship, even if, like Jimmy Carter, they have only “committed adultery in [their] heart many times.”

What is “cheating”? It is the natural desire for sexual variety. It is the explorative, curious impulse. It is horniness when you are away from your partner, or when, for whatever reason, sex with your partner is not working out well. Among other things, that could be because a partner is sick, they’re busy with “the children,” tired from work, etc.

Of course you’ve read a million “solutions”: Spice up your sex life, make time for sex, etc. These are good suggestions, and certainly should be followed if they are needed, but they do not replace the natural urge to “fuck around” sometimes.

What happens when both partners are allowed to pursue sexual interests? The core issue is fear: “Will s/he be younger/more beautiful/better at sex than me, and thus my spouse will want them instead of me?”

Most of my life has been what could be called “serial monogamy,” although in my case it was rarely true monogamy. You see, to me, it is unreasonable to ask someone to pledge sexually fidelity to me for the REST OF THEIR NATURAL LIFE; just the same, I feel that it is unreasonable for ME to pledge lifelong sexual fidelity to anyone.

On the other hand, casual sex is also not really all that much fun FOR EVER. Partnership has its priveledges. Why should sexual fidelity determine one’s ability or desire to be committed and partnered, even possibly for life? If sexual fidelity was not a concern, many people would not have gotten divorced. What usually happens? It is the angry, accusatory and jealous dialogue that ends the relationship; the “cheating” is indicative to betrayal, a wound to the ego, and the secret of it is the worst blow, not the actual sex. People feel their spouse has betrayed them if they “cheat,” and that’s a deal breaker, but what if it wasn’t?

Some people have developed semi-open systems: many sports wives, musician’s wives, etc, know that their spouses will “cheat” on the road, and have rules about how much of that stuff is ok, and where spouses should draw the line. Many people also have double standards, such as when husbands have this unspoken rule: “I can cheat because there are groupies on the road, and they don’t mean anything to me, but you [wife] cannot cheat.” That arrangement is obviously unfair. I’ve been in that relationship, and it doesn’t work well enough for me.

Over the years I’ve combatted the constraints of traditional monogamy in various ways, mostly by having threesomes with my committed, “monogamous” partners. This has helped to release the pressure valve of desire for new pussy and or dick – whichever takes the fancy. For me, “being bisexual doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night,” as the saying goes. I’m lucky to be bisexual, and like it best when my partner (in my life they’ve mostly been male) has been bisexual. Oh, the fun threesomes we can have! But I don’t just want the occasional threesome. I want permission to be myself in my life. I want to be free to fuck someone if I feel like it.

After a life of sexual experimentation and much serial monogamy I finally found a person who isn’t threatened by this fact: a partner who “got it”: my husband Martyn.

In July of 2015, after 10 years of being together, my husband Martyn and I got married. “Why?” Some people ask. Because I cannot imagine ever wanting to be partnered with anyone else, while both of us are alive, because I love him, because we work together so well as a team, because we trust each other, and because we have fun together. We support and comfort each other. We make a home of each other. We cook together, cuddle together, sleep together, have separate interests and pursue them, have common interests and pursue them.  Because this relationship “works.” We call our relationship “partnered non-monogamy.”

What is the result of granting sexual freedom to each other? For me, because I am free to do as I wish, and because I am openly doing this, any sexual adventure I embark upon is safe, sane, and carefully weighed. I think, “Do I really want to do this?” “Do I like the person enough to fuck them? How about we just fool around a little and then I go home and get to get fucked my fabulous husband?” I am more judicious and more selective.

Here’s what I think about myself: I am fuckin’ fantastic. I am a 56 year old lifelong New York City intellectual. I’m 5’6”. I have beautiful long brown hair. I am about 30 lbs overweight. I have a lovely pussy and beautiful tits. I am great in bed. I fuckin’ rock. My husband is the luckiest man on the planet.

It’s actually a lot about self-esteem. I truly know that I am not 20. I don’t have a “perfect” bod, whatever the fuck that is. So if some 23 year old wants to fuck my husband, that’s awesome. He’s awesome! This 23 year old does not threaten me. I think she’s a delightful piece of chocolate picked from a box of yumminess. What a tasty little snack! How could I deny my husband such a treat?

Does he really want a relationship with that 23 year old? Do you want a relationship with a 23 year old? Probably not. Just sexually speaking, often these youngin’s don’t have all that much practice. My sexual skills are rather impressive, if I do say so myself. That is a nice checkmark in my favor. But I am truly not worried. Even if she’s terrific in bed, and I would hope that she would be: it’d be nicer for him: when you get into a relationship with someone you take in all their baggage. Their life becomes a part of your life. That’s a choice we don’t make every day.

In actuality, mostly Martyn and I prefer to have sex with others, together. Why? I, for one, find I am often more comfortable having sex with others when he’s around. I just want to know he’s there. I don’t even have to get his dick inside me. Sometimes it’s about safety and comfort in the situation. Also, it’s fun to come up with creative sexual ideas together and execute them, whether it’s a seduction, a configuration of bodies, or an exploration of a particular kink, and sometimes it’s about compersion.

Compersion is the feeling of happiness or thrill in another person’s pleasure. There is nothing cooler than sitting on the bed, holding a woman’s hands while my husband makes her cum with his tongue. You know how I feel? I feel proud: proud at how good my husband is at giving head, happy that he is enjoying himself, happy that she is loving it, and, frankly, it turns me on. These sexual experiences do not lessen me. They make me happy; they keep me interested, and they make us better partners. We share these intimate moments. We rejoice in each other’s pleasure, and we don’t live in fear.

Partnered non-monogamy: love yourself and give it a try. For us, it has made our love continue to grow. “‘Til death do us part.” That doesn’t sound so bad to me these days. This, I can do.

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