Fantasy Friday: Lips Like Sugar

They say almost half of all women experience a "wet dream" at least once in their adult lives, but I've been lucky enough to experience them quite often. Of course, I don't wake up having ejaculated all over myself as men do, but rather I notice the telltale signs -- usually my pussy is dripping wet, and my lips down there feel engorged and full, like I've just been given the best orgasm of my life. I wake up and instantly start playing with myself, feeling the delicious moisture between my legs, even going so far as to taste myself on my fingers as I try to summon up the dreams that brought on such a carnal reaction in me.

This morning was one such occasion. I woke feeling almost a remnant shudder of an orgasm, desiring strongly to fondle myself and to soak my fingers in the erotic juices that my dreams had caused to flow. I closed my eyes and reached down to rub my wet clit, feeling the engorgement and wanting so desperately to feel that tension and release of an orgasm over and over again. I closed my eyes and replayed the dream, writhing slowly to the scenes in my head....

Liz and I had somehow ended up in the bedroom after having a candid and revealing discussion about our sex lives, with me basically blurting out how sexually frustrated I was and how I'd give anything to have someone lick my pussy and make me cum. Liz, being the good friend that she is and a nympho to boot, suggested that I let her do the honors.

"Have you ever had a girl go down on you?" she asked.

"No, but I'm not opposed to it," I replied, looking her in the eye with a mischievous smile, unaware at the time that she was volunteering her services.

Fast forward to the good stuff, where I find myself sitting on the bed with her as she takes my top off, licking her lips in anticipation and straddling my body as she tells me to lie back and let her do all the work. Before I know it, she's flicking her tongue on my erect nipples, causing me to moan, and I involuntarily start rocking my hips up and down as she rubs her body all over mine.

Liz is on top of me, pinching my hard nipples between her fingers and slowly making her way down to my pussy, kissing every inch of me and leaving a trail of saliva right down to my clit. She hovers over my pussy, calling my name and holding my gaze as she inhales my scent.

"God, you smell so good," she says, and I can sense her hunger and intense lust for me, right then and there.

With that, she envelops my clit with her mouth, sucking and licking, flicking her tongue over it until I can't take it anymore. I'm writhing almost uncontrollably now, and at the moment when I feel like I'm going to scream, she takes two fingers, puts them in her mouth, gets them nice and wet, and inserts them deftly into my pussy, all the while worshipping my clit with her tongue. Her fingers fuck me gently at first and then harder as her tongue flicking on my clit gets faster. She's licking and kissing and lapping at my pussy so expertly, I almost want to scream her name over and over again, holding her head in my hands, grateful for these erotic sensations I've missed over these past few months. I can feel the tension rising in me, and I know she senses that I'm going to cum soon, so she holds back slightly, quickly changing positions so that now she's 69ing me, and her glorious pussy is backing on to my face and she says, "Now it's your turn."

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but she has my arms pinned with her legs and she's still working on my clit with her tongue, so there's nothing I can do but lap up her pussy juice and run my tongue all over her soaking, wet pussy. Her pussy lips are the softest things I've ever encountered, and even though I'm not used to the taste, I bury my face into her, losing myself in the sensations I'm feeling all over my body, from head to toe.

"I'm going to cum," I moan...

I play this scene in my head, rubbing myself to orgasm, relishing the fact that I can have such vivid sex dreams. I'm cumming forcefully now as I remember the scene in my fantasy, lying on my bed, feeling the waves washing over me.

Latina Girl on Girl free video clips here.

The Kink Next Door

Happiness is...kinky sex.

So it turns out that two percent of all Australians regularly participate in BDSM, or what some may term "kinky" sex. Shocker alert: those two percent are actually NORMAL, WELL-ADJUSTED human beings! Oh my god, I could have told you that, and I don't even have a degree in psychology nor did I conduct a survey, nor did I do any research. Wanna know how I know? C'mon, ask me. I BROWSE THE INTERNET. I'VE PATRONIZED SEX STORES. I WATCH TV. I'm a normal, well-adjusted member of society, and in the limited contact I've had with other sexually progressive individuals, never have I said to myself, "Jeez, no wonder that nutcase is into kinky sex." Seriously, if the Interweb is any micro/macrocosm of the world today, then we live in a multi-faceted, complex world (or series of tubes) where kink and fetish is just one way we can release our inhibitions, embrace our sexual selves, and indulge our fantasies however intense, painful, or twisted they may be. When you think about it, BDSM and fetishism aren't necessarily "kinky", but rather a natural outgrowth of an ever-evolving sexual landscape. Normal, well-adjusted people exercise their sexuality rather than suppress it, so it seems logical that as your sexuality grows and expands (ahem), then so do your taste and preferences, the "fringe" becomes the norm.

Now before I get too carried away here and write a whole frickin' essay on the topic, let me just provide a case in point: Porn Producers. Ask anyone in the porn industry, Porn Producers and the people who make porn are incredibly normal (boring, even) and lead average, well-adjusted lives. Porn stars don't count, cuz they're, well, they're ACTORS. But the people behind the scenes are completely and utterly so non-kinky it's not even funny. Ask yourself why there hasn't been a good reality show about the people who make porn. They're not what you'd call "good TV." Boring, non-drama, NORMAL. Now you make the connection here between the point I made in the first paragraph and this one because, frankly, my head hurts now and I think I just summoned more brain power in the last 10 minutes than I have in an entire year.

If you wanna read a good article on the subject, one that's a whole helluva lot more eloquent than my response to the issue, then go to Savage Love and read this week's column. In the meantime, Viva La Kink! Viva La Fetish! Now put that ball gag back in your mouth and get on all fours before I spank you.

This Has Nothing To Do with Sex, but Oh Well.

Here's something I don't quite get: Nude bicycling. Even more perplexing: Nude people on bicycles trying to prove a point -- one that, oddly enough, has nothing to do with nudity or bicycles. I mean, I get the whole idea of people getting on their bikes and converging to form a massive brigade dedicated to a certain aim. Why walk when you can bike, right? And I also understand the idea behind shedding your garments to draw attention to your specific cause. Why wear a slogan emblazoned T-shirt when you can flash your boobs AND spray paint your slogan on your ass at the same time, right? But who thought getting naked and riding a bike was a good idea? Obviously someone who's never heard of chafing.

Take the World Naked Bike Ride, for example. Even they admit on their website that it's "the craziest, wildest, most insane event of the year." I know, right? Only crazy people would straddle a hard, vinyl-covered bicycle seat with nothing but sweat between it and their delicate genitalia. The Naked Bicyclists state, "We face automobile traffic with our naked bodies as the best way of defending our dignity..." Um, I think your dignity went out the window the minute you donned a stuffed coyote bicycle helmet and painted racing stripes up and down your naked body...AND THEN, decided to ride a bike naked. (See aforementioned WNBR website for proof of this fashion faux pas.)

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what they're trying to do. Heaven forbid if I should fault them for trying to make a difference in this fucked up world and challenging society's taboos to boot. For me, though, I think I'll protest in a way that's just a little less, I dunno, painful, maybe? Like riding tandem on a recumbent bicycle while someone else pedals and I sit with my bullhorn yelling, "Eat more cock, less meat!"

And that, my friends, is just how strangely my mind works on this lazy Monday afternoon.

Farewell, Beijing.

As I write this, I'm imagining that somewhere in Beijing's Olympic City quite a few athletes are groggily rolling out of bed or managing to scrape themselves off the floor, and nursing their hangovers after a night of decadence and debauchery. Yesterday's article in The Times Online on Sex and the Olympic City got me fantasizing about all those scantily clad Olympians and their hot bodies writhing against each other in what I imagine to be an Olympic Orgy, full of gold-medal blow jobs and relay races involving free condoms, teabagging, and kung pao chicken. Thinking about it makes me want to take up some obscure event like trampoline gymnastics and try for the 2012 games just so I could wear a hidden camera and catch "Olympians Gone Wild" on video. Hell, if I could have sex with a trampoline gymnast, then it would all be worth it. Or sex with a gymnast on a trampoline. Or even sex with an Olympic gymnast. Or just a gymnast. Not even an Olympian. I'll take what I can get. How bout just sex on a trampoline? Anyone?

Fantasy Friday: Is It Cold in Here?

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Your Headlights are On

This might be Too Much Information, and I know I run the risk of getting attention from all those fetishists for large nipples when I say this, but my nipples are huge. How huge are they, you ask? Well, you know those fembots from the Austin Powers movies? Y'know, the evil robots whose boobs were actually machine guns and whose nipples were actually shotgun barrels? Well, like that, only TEN TIMES BIGGER. If my nipples were detachable, my nursing 6-month-old would be choking on nipple pellets the size of gumballs when she eats. Put it this way, "nipple play" has taken on a whole new meaning for my husband and me. It is now an Olympic event.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the large nipples. I've always wanted larger nipples and, of course, my husband (ahem) enjoys them. It's just that, if this were winter and 30 degrees colder than it is now, I could double as a coat rack and hang purses and shit from my mammary protrusions. I think it has to do with pumping. As in pumping breastmilk. That god-forsaken contraption called the breast pump has quite the suction, and by the time I'm done, woooo-hooo! Watch out world! Watch out anyone in my direct path! Watch out people with two functioning eyeballs! It's rather scary, if you ask me.

I always fantasized that larger nipples would signal the beginning of a whole new arena of sex play for my husband and me. (Imagine cupless bras, nipple clamps and, I dunno, lots of tit-fucking, maybe?) Unfortunately, the only reason I have these larger nipples is because of The Child, who we've subsequently nicknamed "The Coitus Interrupter." I secretly think she realizes how she got here in the first place and has vowed to never let mommy and daddy do that ever again.

So, I have unusually large nipples, virtually no opportunity to enjoy them (save for the few occasions where I sit and stare in amazement), and a sex life that is overshadowed by the wonderful world of Parenthood. Perhaps I should just take photos of The Nipples and sell them on the Internet. There's a market there, right? The Child (or C.I., as I call her) will never have to know how I funded her college education. If I can't enjoy them, someone should. Right?

Happy Hump Day, everybody!

Boozy John and the Thieving Whore

If I were smart enough and had more creativity than the ounce that I struggle to keep now, I would create a mildly successful and wildly entertaining screenplay based on the Adventures of Boozy John. Who's Boozy John you ask? Well, I'll tell you. He's the 38-year-old guy who woke up one morning and told himself that he needed to change his loser status. He rolled out of his futon, yelled at his mom to leave him alone, and looked in the mirror and said, "John, enough of this life of Taco Bell every night and bootleg porn to while away the lonely hours before dawn. You've got to make a change." So, in a moment of spontaneity, he decides to get a $62,000 cash advance on his credit cards and, intending to spend the cash fairly quickly, stuffs all of it into a duffle bag. Then, cash in tow, Boozy John gets on his bike (yes, his BIKE) and rides to the local bar, indulging in numerous glasses of cognac (because, y'know, he's rich now, and HE'S CLASSY). Unfortunately, John fails to realize how intoxicating 12 glasses of cognac can be, and drunk off the power of 62,000 crisp one-dollar bills in his bag and the hard liquor now marinating his liver, Boozy John decides to get a hooker. Not just any hooker, mind you. He had to find one that was willing to hop on the handlebars of a ten-speed operated by a drunk, middle-aged bicyclist reeking of cognac and Taco Bell. (Believe it or not, a hooker like that isn't hard to find. Trust me, don't ask me how I know.) Enter Jessica Garcia, a 30-year-old streetwalker who was willing to duck into an abandoned building and give Boozy John a $30 blow job. After one whiff of his stale breath, Jessica senses an opportunity, especially after Boozy John boasts of his ability to cum in 2 seconds and slurs in her ear that he had $62,000 in cash in his duffle bag. Before you know it, dear readers, John is out cold, fly unzipped, cum stains on his corduroys, bike stolen, and the duffle bag nowhere to be found.

I wish I could say this were my story, but (as they say) truth is stranger than fiction. Don't believe me? Here's the article: Cops: Hooker swipes $62G from boozy john. My only question is, couldn't he have splurged on a cab or, I dunno, a savings account? I can only hope that he got a good blow job at least. Perhaps he and the would-be porn inspector should get together and write their own screenplay based on their lives. It would be the first porno based on a true story.

Happy International Swingers Da...huh? That was yesterday?

Apparently, someone forgot to give me the memo. Yesterday was International Swingers Day. Which means you are required, by law, to find an international swinger and fuck the hell out of him/her. Too bad I missed the actual day of celebration. That and the fact that I don't know any International Swingers. I just keep picturing some extremely tan, swaggering Frenchman wearing a cowboy hat and clogs and braids in his chest hair. Why? I dunno. My mind does strange things sometimes.

Anyhoo, hopefully swingers around the world found other swingers around the world to play with. There seem to have been parties all around the country (the International Swingers Day website list parties concentrated mostly on the East Coast and in the South...there's one in Dallas, Texas, that is "Celebrating Margie's Years of Service". I'm afraid to ask.

Fantasy Friday: CFNM Fun

There's nothing like a good CFNM Fantasy. In case you're wondering, CFNM stands for Clothed Female, Naked Male, and for those naughty women who like being in the position of control, and for those naughty men who like to bend over and take it, CFNM truly fulfills those wild fantasies.

Today's fantasy involves this not-so-far-fetched scenario: Three hookers encounter a customer who's full-on cute and horny as hell, but flat broke. What's a hooker with a heart of gold to do? Why, jack him off fully clothed, of course. And while she's at it, why doesn't she just enlist the help of her two bored hooker friends too? They're more than willing to tease and titillate the poor, sex-deprived john. I could go on and sarcastically spin this CFNM tale, but you'd much rather watch it wouldn't you? Click here.

Ode to Park Bench

Ode to Park Bench

Your planks are like the rafts of my imagination
Your legs sturdy yet sublime
Your chipped paint, the memories of infatuation
Your holes, so luscious and divine

I want to fuck you, Park Bench
There is no other way to say it
I want to cum all over your
Pigeon shit-splattered wood
I want to fuck you, Park Bench
I'm weird, I can't deny it
But, god, you make me feel so good

Man who had sex with park bench cut free

That's One Way to Get Free Porn

At least you could say this guy was resourceful. He had a fake police badge in his toy chest, a flair for the dramatic, and a hardcore addiction to porn. The leather brace on his left arm should've been a tip-off, people. That and his ponytail. And the fact that he was driving a red Dodge neon. What self-respecting officer would drive a Dodge neon? I can only imagine that the leather brace on his wrist was his attempt at trying to look cool while at the same time providing some sort of therapeutic relief to his overworked left hand. Resourceful AND prudent. I so wanna meet this guy.

Man claimed he was detective to obtain porn

Thongs and Cottage Cheese. Don't Ask.

There's nothing that screams purity more than THONG UNDERWEAR. From the geniuses on the far right of the political bell curve come a product that all those pre-pubescent, confused, and sexually awkward American teens can wear with pride and subsequently get labeled with the reputation of "cock tease" for the rest of their high school career. Yes, people, that's right. Abstinence thong. A product marketed specifically to all those girls who have ass sex in order to "save themselves" for their wedding night. The company that makes these doesn't call it underwear, it's an "under-goodie." As in, goodie-goodie? As in, "Oh, goodie! I get to read the words, 'I Abstain' on this chick's panties instead of licking her clit!"??? Like, what the hell does "under-goodie" mean anyway?

The only way a thong can promote abstinence is if it's worn by some 300-pound dominatrix with cottage-cheese labia and the propensity to drool at the sight of salami. Ha! I just made myself laugh. Cottage-cheese labia.

Blame It On the Child

Dear Readers (Yes, All Two of You. I see you hiding back there.),

It's amazing how quickly time flies. I looked at the date of my last posting, and hard to believe, it's been over a year. I registered the domain name "pinkartichoke.com" back then, failed to renew the registration, and alas, it has now been snatched up by someone with an affection for the actual vegetable. So, we're stuck here in Blogspot Land, with a less-than-exclusive domain name, and a year's worth of sex-related high-jinks and foibles to make fun of, and a whole lotta explaining to do.

Well, first off, there's the issue of daily postings. Daily postings are nice, in theory. I told myself I'd keep up on this blogging stuff and post everyday, think of funny things to say quickly and without hesitation, generate a loyal following of readers, and create enough traffic to support myself and my husband for the rest of our lives. Easy shmeasy, right? Of course, I didn't take into account my own undeniable and ever-present laziness, nor did I factor in the true and unspoken and unwritten law that when you're not getting paid to work, the work somehow suffers.

Secondly, within this space of a year that this blog has remained untouched (and unread, for that matter), I got sperminated, knocked up, and gave birth to a lovely, bouncing, baby girl. You'd think that in the nine months that I was preggers, I'd have some desire to plop my overweight and overburdened body down and think up some funny shit, but noooooo. Life happened, and I had no desire to keep up with it AND keep up with a blog, too.

Anyway, that's all I want to say about all that. Let's move on to the future, shall we?

I have a child now, and one of the things I want to teach her is perseverance. Eventually, I'll teach her about sex, and hopefully she'll have inherited some of my and my husband's twisted senses of humor, but for right now, I'll teach her perseverance
and show her that Mommy can take care of her all day long, keep up with life, AND keep up with a blog, too.

So, here I am. I'll be posting on a semi-quasi-regular basis now. Fantasy Fridays might not be every Friday, but they'll be there. Sex and laughter shall ensue. As it always does on a regular Saturday night in my house. (OK, maybe on every 3rd Saturday of the month, if I'm lucky.)