Really, when it’s all said and done, it’s really true that, "it’s only kinky the first time."  I can easily recall every exquisite detail of the first time a boy put me on my hands and knees to have sex.  Oh my, oh my.  I was barely past virginity and I thought I’d be marrying this boy and having babies in the future.  He was a hulking giant (6’4′) of bulk and brawn, and I was a little thing of 105 pounds.  I needed his permission and his man-hungriness lust to encourage me, show me the way.  To teach me to be kinky.  And at that time, being on my hands and knees — naked! — was very kinky, indeed. 

I felt dirty.  I felt slutty.  I felt fucking wonderful.  He could see me, all of me, lusty and lewd and hungry.  Oh, I was so dirty, dirty. dirty.  And he knew it.  And it made his fucking cock so hard to see me losing control like that.  Right there in front of him.  Right there atop my own mother’s coffee table, where he could fondle me and finger me and touch me and eventually … fuck the living daylights out of me.

Later — think of Diane Lane sitting on that bus in ‘Unfaithful’ — over and over again I’d replay what we’d done, how bad I’d been, how dirty and hot I’d felt and how good it was.  Oh it was soooo good to be bad.  It was so damn good and I wanted more, more, more.  And so we continued to learn, explore and stretch our sexuality in new and devious and dirty ways.

My passion (and lust) for that boy eventually waned.  No marriage, no babies.  I was off to college; off to bigger and better things.  I was off to open up the world — open it wide for myself and all my dreams.  It was the only path I could take, but I’m so glad I didn’t know that until it was upon me; that in my innocence and blush of first love, I was able to submerge my "good girl Catholicism" deep into my Delphic heart and learn the joy of "feeling dirty" with this boy so eager to teach me.

What amazes me is that these numbered of years later — internet-enlightened and supposedly sexually wiser than the "free love" generation — so many of us walk one way and talk another when it comes to kinky, fetish-y, dirty-ish S E X.  I know you’re doing it!  I know you’re doing a helluva lot of it!  I specialized in Kinky Phone Sex, Fetish Phone Sex and FemDom Phone Sex.  So don’t you go forgetting that.  Not even for one minute.  I’ve got your number!

Well, er, you’ve got MY number.  Semantics.  Let’s move on.

But really — and I do mean REALLY — think about the porn you access, think about what YOU think about when you masturbate.  I certainly don’t masturbate to vanilla scenarios. NOT EVER.  And I’m pretty sure you don’t either.  Come on … fess up.  You can tell me all about it.  Or maybe you conveniently don’t remember/think about the particular bent piece of brain  candy you were chewing away at the last time it was hands-on solo?

I say "conveniently" because I used to do that.  Guilty as charged!  I’d have this horrifically perverse psycho-drama playing in my head as I, as the boys say, "rubbed one out."  I would get hot and itchy and crazy-lustful.  Which transferred into a seriously out-of-this-world breath-taking orgasm. YUMM-FUCKING-Y!  Then I’d think to myself, you’re a bad girl.  Shame on you. There is something wrong with you.  You are disgusting.  And so I’d promptly and ever-so-efficiently forget it, erase it, deny it.  Gone, gone, gone.

And wouldn’t you know it?  There it would be, right back where it belonged: that bright & shiny Halo right there atop my good little Catholic school girl head.  A little crooked, perhaps, but none the worse for the wear.  Now that all that "naughtiness" was for all intents & purposes erased, I could go about the business of being conventionally normal.  Just like everybody else.  Which is quite the trick isn’t it?

The slippery part of this business is that — when our halos are back in place — we’ve really do forget.  It’s an intermittent amnesia of sorts (because you can bet we’ll revisit those vile scenarios and nasty thoughts sooner rather than later … and often) which affords us quite the lofty spot from which to express our shock, our disgust at "those other people" with the "weird fetishes" and "forbidden desires" and "perverse kinks."

Which is just silliness. Because one man’s Panty Fetish is another man’s BDSM is another man’s Body Worship is another man’s CFNM is another man’s Strap-On Training is another man’s Public Masturbation, is another man’s CBT is another man’s Forced-Bi is another man’s Castration is another man’s Puppy Training is another man’s Cuckolding is another man’s Tease & Denial is another man’s …

You get my point?  Don’t you?

This doesn’t mean we’re running around every day salivating and humping and chomping our fetish fangs all over the place.  I mean that wouldn’t look very nice at church now, would it?  Plus it would make for a lot of dry cleaning.  In my REAL LIFE I  have tender and romantic sex, with the occasional wild and crazy encounter.  And if you want to know more about that … well, you’re going to have to at least buy me dinner.  🙂

But I am quite serious when I iterate that all of us have THE RIGHT to Feel Dirty.  It’s just one part of our multi-faceted sexual selves.  If we deny this part of us, harness our super powers (prayer, hobbies, nightly bouts of self-flagellation) and Just Say No to the Kryptonite (get out of my head, lewd thoughts and craven images), we’re really just perpetuating out-dated psycho-sexual mythology and carnal misconceptions.  And then inflicting this erroneous crap on ourselves and others. 

As a wise woman once told me:  Thou shalt not should on thyself.  I thought it was good advice at the time and I’ve always kept it handy for the occasional crisis of conscience. I would just hope we remember to not should on others, either.  

How about this for a bumper sticker: Eradicate Sexual Obscurantism! 

xo, Angela

As you probably noticed, there wasn’t a lot of Christmas nor New Year’s  Hoopla here at  Zen this year.  Well, things just didn’t pan out quite as I had planned.  Nonetheless,  I  will remember the past holiday as a bittersweet one, not without its blessings, and certainly one of learning lessons. 

Someone close to me experienced an incredible loss and, because I care about this person, my heart ached (and is still aching) for her.  Except for Christmas Day, spent with my mother and family, I was about the business of giving what little help and comfort I could to my friend.  Which is exactly and rightly what I should have been doing.  But that is more about my private life and — if you don’t mind — we’ll just leave it there.

All I really want you to know is that I truly did learn a lot — mostly lessons of love and about doing the right thing.  Which means I’ve changed in very grown-up ways and am a much better, much fuller human being moving into the New Year.  And I have a heart full of gratitude.  It’s a lovely way to fill a heart, don’t you think?

So … because December’s end and January’s beginning were so topsy-turvy, I didn’t work very much, got backed up on email and just generally put this part of my world kinda-sorta on hold.  I was around — here and there – briefly and fleetingly.  It was a "catch-me-if-you-can" situation.  Some of you did, indeed,  catch me.  How does that work when I’m up to my eyes in personal turmoil and you’re calling for a nasty round of Fetish Phone Sex?

Well, if you were an established client with whom I’ve built a rapport, I probably gave you a brief peek into what was going on this side of the Phone Sex Curtain.  You deserved that honesty from me. 

Then again, if you were a first time caller, I was my professional self doing what needed to be done in my very particular way … focused on you and your needs, astute attention to detail, aiming for a slam-bang finish.  You didn’t need to know that my heart was bleeding. And so … I kept that from you.  As I should have.

Back in the saddle this past week, I’m pretty sure I succeeded, as quite a few of you new fellas have called me back, some even taking the time to leave awesome feedback and recommend me to others.  I am truly grateful and did follow up with Thank You emails.

But there’s always the exception, isn’t there?  Because, during that time,  I did have a new caller leave me a one star review (ouch) saying: "Not my cup of tea at all! I have to wonder if these positive feedbacks are from friends or something?"  Maybe I was seriously off that day, because I’m certainly not perfect — not by any stretch of anyone’s imagination.  Or maybe I had one of my visceral, gut reactions (rare, but they do happen) to the guy’s seriously bad vibes and was just going through the motions. 

I really don’t know, because — according to my records — the gentleman spent all of two minutes with me.  If you do ever find your way to my blog, Mr. X — this is assuming, of course, that you ever actually read — I am curious:  Do you think a sexual encounter takes two minutes?  Is that how you fuck?  I have, of course, blocked your from further contact.  Good riddance to bad rubbish.

New Year’s Eve I actually worked, which is rare, because I don’t do too many holidays.  But it had been a good experience last year and I absolutely abhor going out into the  mayhem … so I figured, why not.  Plus I’d finally stopped by my P.O. Box to pick up what I believed would be a few Christmas presents the previous day.  What were you guys thinking?  It took me three trips to get all those packages into my house!

So I opened a bottle of bubbly and sat in front of my fireplace unwrapping presents and taking calls.  Oh, and getting a little bit tipsy.  It was divine and I am forever grateful. And if you hear me saying I bought a new book or new books (which is usually the case … who can resist when your at the center of pile upon pile of tomes?) this entire year?  Put me over your lap, pull down my panties and spank my little FemDom tush.  You gifted me so many awesome books that I have plenty to last, maybe even until 2011. Seriously.

Anyway … here we are twelve days into the new year.  I worked my ass of this pass week, taking calls from (almost) dusk to (almost) dawn.  Regular life is back in its place and I’m glad it is.  Of course we do have Valentine’s Day looming. 

And in between here and there?  I’ve had more than a few delightfully wicked calls, which we will keep a secret between you and me.   And — when I finally settled down to catch up email — found your always-attentive and appreciative missives:  

A Christmas Quickie from faithful and dependable Mr. D (he keeps me in headsets for my phone) : 

Merry Christmas, precious Angela! Hope you are happy and  … maybe shopping … maybe for shoes…. maybe with someone else’s money! Know I am thinking about you and wish you a joyful Holiday Season.  Lotsa Luv!

A Happy New Year from Mr. B (who calls even when on a budget):

I hope you are well and having a wonderful holiday season.

I want you to know how much I appreciate you. You are a real woman who does not hide behind your job.  While you have to be guarded in your business you have been so nice to me and it has meant a WHOLE LOT!  Thank You! 

You are so real and so honest it is that "human touch" which makes you so much more special.  Whether you are a seductress, a "hottie," an author, a thinker, one of the socially conscious, a promoter of not only yourself, but even of your competition, a partial/almost fiancee, or a positive force in JewBoy’s life, (my life and the lives of so many others) … you are, above all else, a decent woman and, for that, I am filled with affection and gratitude.

You are special: and I wish You an appropriately SPECIAL 2010.

Much love and best regards

And  — wouldn’t you know it — a review of AVATAR from PQS (Zen’s very own and precious Pervert Savant):

There are lots of nice special effects but the plot of the thing is really simple.  The overall effect is sort of like seeing “Dances With Wolves” in a video game format.  Worth seeing for the mechanics chanics of it all (You get to wear wowie 3-D glasses!)  But overall, the whole thing left me wondering why they couldn’t have put more of the $350 Million it cost to make and promote into something as basic as screenwriting.  

The dialog is tired, the plot is extremely predictable, and lots of it seemed purloined from other blockbuster sci-fi pics of the recent past.  Sigourney Weaver even gets pulled out of Alien to do a very lame role as a “scientist/anthropologist”.  They also borrowed freely from her earlier “man in mechanical moving machine fights alien” to do an “alien fights man in mechanical moving machine” scene.  The noble aliens of Avatar take on corporate driven evil Earthlings with…what else…bows and arrows!  Jeez…the more I write about this, the worse it seems. 

So, all in all, yeah … I think it’s going to be a very good year and an absolutely wonderful Valentine’s Day.

xo, Angela

♦~~~~~~♦

Get Your Phone Sex Fix with these Hot Girls:

Pretty in Pink is Your Barely Legal Bad Girl CLICK HERE

Strap-On Training with Mistress Eden CLICK HERE

Let your fantasies roam with Precious Buffy CLICK HERE

Hope yours is a Merry Holiday

with much affection, Angela

Catullus: Carmen 16

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
Nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici,
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

Which one scholar translates thusly:

I’ll fuck you up the ass, and you can blow me,
you cocksucker Aurelius and you faggot Furius,
for suggesting that my little verses
are effeminate and not pure enough.
A good poet should be virtuous,
but his verses don’t need to be.
Who cares if verses that have spice and wit
are soft and not very pure?
They can also get you going.
I’m not talking to boys here, but to two hairy men
who can’t even move their creaky old loins.
Are you two putting me down
just because you’ve read about my thousands of kisses?
Fuck you both. You can blow me.

___________________________________________________________

Tis the season and all that jazz.  What could be more festive than some lyrical obscenity from a Roman poet?  After all …  those ancient Romans knew how to throw a party, didn’t they? Think Crucifixion.  Need I say more?

Details & linkage at my previous post: Dirty Latin Poetry

I can write a fairly dirty (and downright hot and sexy) poem myself.  Have you read cunt is your drug?

xo, Angela

ps. Did you notice my snowflakes? Pretty nice, huh?