I haven’t worn a bikini since age 4.
Legs? What legs?
I like my sleeves, too.
Oh, and I don’t drink. Alcohol, coffee OR soft drinks. Ick.
Obviously, I’m secretly Mormon, I just haven’t told me yet. Though I hear Mormons are allowed to wear more makeup than this. And dance.
I can’t look at Kinky & Popular. Female vanilla naked female almost-vanilla naked female vanilla. Run away!
Do you know the main drawback of having erotica authors as Twitter friends? It’s shiny male vanilla chest male vanilla chest male vanilla yawwwwwwwwn GAG.
I can’t do play parties. But I can demo bottom for a packed classroom. I mean, obviously. When I turn into jelly I’m giving you everything. The least you can do is stare. Yes, that means you in the back as well!
I grew up in one of the most hierarchical, sex-negative societies in the sort-of-developed world. And I get terribly homesick for the munchers back home. Isn’t self-selection amazing?
I also grew up in one of the most unfiltered families in the world. My male classmates refused to sing obscene songs for my edification. My father and brothers obliged.
When I was about ten, I asked my father, “What would you do if one of us lived with someone before we got married?” He answered, “Well, we would be very sad, but we would still love you.”
My parents have also said, at various times: “It’s good that you defer to your husband! Of course you should finish your thesis before having children! If you want to get a divorce, don’t worry about us, we support you 100%!”
I’ve thought about applying to a Master/slave household. The hardest part was my mother’s voice in my head: “You want to be a CONCUBINE?”
The strident atheist Richard Dawkins converted me from agnosticism to more-or-less Buddhism. But my God, what would I do without Christian profanity?
Welcoming munchers keep asking me, “Is this your first time here?” I answer, “No, I was at this munch 10/15 years ago.” The ones who can still speak after that usually say something like, “Were you ten years old?!?”
While not munching, I got ten years of real-life BDSM experience. Practically all of it was with one dom. Counting generously, I’ve had two or three tops altogether. Am I experienced? Am I a wannabe? I really have no idea.
I’ve come out to 20 vanilla friends. Two of them said, “Me too!” Two more have since joined in while I wittered about making their lives harder. What am I, a gateway drug?
Let’s just say my vanilla experience looks a lot like my BDSM experience.
I try to get a wife’s permission before coming out to a male friend. Because you know, sex is going to be mentioned. I mean, alluded to.
No thank you. I’ll pass on the platonic hug.
I kind of hate writing. But by God I love formatting.
If I’m out to you, then you know about this blog. Tops. Brothers. College roommates. Convent schoolmates. Colleagues. Ex-student. Ex-professor. Ex. How else would they have vetted the posts where I mentioned them?
Having said that, on FetLife I’m officially 94 years old in Antarctica, and I won’t tell you my nationality (yet).
People say I am terrifyingly honest in this blog. Are you joking? This stuff is easy. But vanilla details about sticky pink skin – now that’s scary.
The hellishly hard part is saying what I want. Have you noticed that I tell you a lot about fiction and nothing about my own fantasies? I. Just. Can’t. Say.
I’m just weird.
Or am I? You tell me.
Because I think I make complete sense. You get all or nothing. Or both.
With love, because so much was given to me.