Smooch Slut

mmmmmmmwuh!

I love kissing. I love it a lot. It's so intimate, so easy to slide into a place of wanting this moment to last forever. The taste, the scents, the touch. Feeling someone respond to the slightest of movements, matching pressure, exploring.

And when it's someone new, it's a huge rush to initiate sexual contact for the first time. I'm pretty sure I can tell whether or not I'd enjoy having sex with someone based on three minutes or less of kissing. And I'm irrationally happy for a couple of days after I kiss someone new.

I'm a bit of a smooch slut. The day I left for college, I'd kissed 36 people (and by kissing I mean making out long enough to have a sense of how someone uses their tongue). Most of my friends had kissed that many people too. It was common to make out with your date to a party or a formal and not expect anything to come of it. I didn't realize until later that most people's high school cultures aren't that open. Lucky me!

I slowed down significantly in college and my 20s (kissees 37-48), had a big rush in my early 30s with a few in my late 30s as well (kissees 49-78), and then had another smoochsplosion, especially since I moved here in October: 10 people (kissees 79-88).

I love being a slut.

A few weeks ago, I had an incredibly fun kissing experience. I visited family in Houston with an extra day in Chicago afterward. I got to chatting with an attractive Australian before my Chicago flight. I texted my husband I was probably going to smooch an Aussie to calm my nerves before the flight, and he texted back, "Have fun, mile-high girl."

Although we didn't kiss that day, I managed to tell him I was a phone sex operator, which opened up fascinating conversations for us. After the flight, there was a lovely hug, and I told him I'd be in town unaccompanied the next day between 1 and 5 pm, and although I'd likely still seem drunk from the vertigo, did he want to meet me for coffee?

Coffee turned into hanging out at the Chicago Cultural Center, which I hear is beautiful, but I wouldn't know, because we only saw the cafe. We holed away on comfortable lounges in the back and talked about life for our little stolen hours instead of seeing the glass domes and artwork. Silly me.

He hasn't explored his dominant side as much as he'd like to, but he thinks if he did, he'd focus on tying up a woman and pleasing her orally until she begged for him to stop. "Why yes, I think it's possible for you to get involved with kinkster/BDSM groups and find women to take you up on that. No, I promise, I'm not lying." Silly Aussie.

Our time was drawing to a close, my head had settled down a bit, and I told him I thought we should kiss. He seemed genuinely surprised, but happily receptive, so with my body shielding us from the other cafe patrons, we did. There it was, the thrill of a new connection, the fun of learning another's responses. It didn't even take one minute, much less three, to know that the next time we're in the same city, I'm bringing silk ties and finding a bed and a couple of hours of privacy. He was my 88th.

When I told my local in-person lover about the Aussie, he replied, "The kissing fairy strikes again! Good for you!" and then told me about research he'd read about the positive hormones dumped into your system when you kiss a new partner. He's wonderful.

I've only had sex with my husband and my in-person lover since we moved here, but I've kissed 5 men and 3 women, including the Aussie, my photographer, and my husband's live-in girlfriend. My husband and I now have standing permission to kiss whomever we wish at scene / play parties. I briefly contemplated throwing a party to get me from 89 to 100 (call it a Dirty Dozen party), but I think I prefer to let my numbers rise organically.

I think my most memorable necking session was in my early 30s, during my post-divorce rampage. I had met this guy online, and we realized via chat that we wanted totally different things from a relationship, but we had good buddy chemistry, so we kept in touch over a couple of months via lazy, friendly chatting. He hadn't gotten laid since his divorce, and I was crazy horny one evening, so I said, "We should break your celibacy streak to take the pressure off your dates, y'know. As a favor for them." He laughed at me and invited me over with a "Why the hell not?".

And yet, even with that introduction to the evening, knowing I was there to fuck him, he still insisted on starting on the couch and making out with our clothes on, like teenagers in the living room, for at least 30 minutes. Probably 45. I was in heaven. I remember the sex only vaguely, but I remember the kissing as if it were yesterday because it went long enough to make me hyper-aware of every movement: the skin on my cheek sensitive from his 5 o'clock shadow, the way his fingertips traced the hollow of my neck, the feeling of his tongue enjoying my lips...

I think it's fair to say that for anybody I had connected well with via phone sex, I would at least be willing to kiss them in person, for at least three minutes. I'm looking forward to someone taking me up on that some day. Maybe you'll be my #100!

Kiwi Candy, the Crossover

The Hollywood-gorgeous Kiwi Candy and I were chatting today about callers we've shared in the nine months since she has skyrocketed to NiteFlirt fame. Background: she found my blog when she was first starting out, and at first I mentored her a bit, but we became friends as she kicked my ass in the ratings, and now I ask her advice as often as she does with me.

It's easy to bond in that vulnerable time of night that is made for fucking, that 10pm-2am window when both our defenses are a little lower and our minds are both set in sexy mode. We often keep each other company between calls.

She's as genuine as I am: she really loves phone sex, she really wants to please her callers, and she really is that adorable. But more important to me than her beauty and cuteness, she has the thing I require in my truest of friends: she genuinely cares about doing the right thing. Hell, if you generalize further, it's still true: she genuinely cares. She gives a shit. She's good people. I feel fortunate to know her.

Candy and I have never met in person, although I'm certain we will some day. (You'll get videos of us doing naughty things with each other if you fly me to her! Not kidding!) But we recommend each other a lot on our blogs and on our calls, which has led to us having 15 or 20 callers in common.

So today, we were talking about some of the Candy+Galiana fantasies our callers have played out with us, and we decided to do crossover blog posts about them. Because we're both giant dorks who amuse ourselves a lot. And this sounded fun, so we're doing it.

The Maid: He and I are married, and Candy is our maid, who probably never actually cleans anything other than my pussy with her tongue, while I'm guiding her head with my hands, and he's fucking her from behind. Oh, and my juices off his cock after he fucks me while Candy and I 69 with me on top. But not so much with the *dusting*, really.

Fembot Assembly: The Candy-bot makes a superb to help assemble a brand new Galiana-bot to test her pleasure thresholds. How does one test a new Galiana-bot? Have the Candy-bot lick and finger it when she is being fucked from behind, of course! Gosh. All the good technicians know that.

The Fembot Cat Fight: The handy thing about androids is that you can always wipe their memories and repair them, and they're as good as new! So, y'know, if the Candy-droid and Galiana-droid had their jealousy levels increased, we could rip each other to pieces... literally. It's obvious her chest panel is more delicate than mine, it's not my fault she can't function without this handful of wires. Oh, well, maybe it is. Oops. But what do I care? That'll keep her away from my man!

The Struggling Submissive: Since she admitted she's capable of having an orgasm without touching her pussy if the mental / visual stimulus is strong enough (as am I), he could tie her into an X and make her watch while he fucks me, and she can be released when she comes that way ... maybe twice ... if he's feeling generous ...

The Two-Girl Blowjob: The guy with the 11" cock (seriously, we've both seen him on cam, and he's not exaggerating) wants us both to slide our tongues and lips over him. Good, because I'm not sure either of us could take care of that thing on our own!

The Exhibitionists: Two different callers want to masturbate in front of us, as we're watching them, and possibly playing with each other, but the important part is that we're both watching him masturbate. We both honestly, genuinely love watching men stroke themselves, and we feel like we learn new techniques. We both especially like watching that guy in California with the full beard who does that overhand squeeze thing ...

The Strap-On: He wants to feel her pounding me with a strap-on because it shoves his cock deeper into my throat. Or me pounding him with a strap-on while he has his lips wrapped around her clit. Or one of us fucking him while he's fucking the other one. Or...

Oh good grief almighty, now I can't think straight. Surely someone has plane fare to spare, don't you? Pretty please?

Video: Submissive Slut

I'm pleased to announce my bounciest, ditziest, cutest, perkiest video yet: Submissive Slut Awaiting Master's Visit.

It's a custom video, and the instructions were:

* dress as cute as you can get: pigtails, your glasses, and girly lingerie (check)

* act out the scenario of: you're my submissive slut, and you're telling me how much you're looking forward to my visit this coming weekend (check)

* look sweet and innocent, but talk filthy (check)

* if you can gag on a toy or play with your pussy, all the better (oh hell yeah check)

I was kind of hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline when I shot this. I'd been thinking about sexy things all day and changing into a series of sexy outfits, so I was dying to get off. It was super-easy to let my favorite clit-stimulating pink egg vibrator do its thing while my shoving my favorite cock-substitute red vibrator down my throat.

Ahhhhh, it feels so nice to return to the basics, doesn't it?

Although the runtime is only 5:29, I did manage to have a genuine orgasm on video (and momentarily forgot to keep looking at the camera... some day I'll behave like a pro, I'm sure).

I am in constant motion in this video, never a still moment. Although it is more pronounced in the video than in my usual demeanor, this is absolutely an accurate glimpse into how incredibly damn wiggly I am when I'm turned on.

More than one person with the intention of dominating me in a BDSM way has paused to laugh at me and tell me some variation of, "I'm not sure I can beat you because you look so damn happy." This video captures that side of me exceptionally well.

If you wish to purchase it, it is $10 through NiteFlirt: click the Buy Now button and it'll be on its way to you in a jiffy.


Wow, talk about being the exact opposite side of the coin from my last post, isn't it? Fetish for variety indeed!

The List

mmmmwuh!

When we moved to Houston, we managed to sort/categorize/cull about half our stuff (which is fucking miraculous considering we had two weeks' notice), and I've been slowly sorting through the rest since the move, including prepping old computers for donation / recycling.

I found The List.

You know, THE List! Of course you know which one I mean ... /grin. Sure you do. THE LIST: the names of all the people I've ever had physical sexual contact with!

Ohhhhh THAT List.

My version of The List is ridiculously overcategorized. The rows are numbered, then there's name, Location, Year(s), Base (as in: 1st base is kissing, 2nd base is clothes off but no orgasms, 3rd base is orgasms but no penetration, 4th base is penetration, and then 5 means anal sex so I could categorize that separately), and then a column for each of 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th to let me quickly figure out what my total is for that "base" (although with five, I should call it something else, but it's my spreadsheet, so shut up).

It's possible that thinking about the people I kissed in high school makes me juvenile. Sure. I'll blame that.

I started The List when I got to 3, in the back of my diary, and I've kept it in one form or another since then. I thought I had lost it, but the spreadsheet version was on a computer I hadn't used since 2006. Whew! I never would have remembered half of it, but the memories are too fun to have lost.

My List includes such first-base-only gems as "Dean (Crawfish Festival)", "Mike (U of H)", and "Jim (from Numbers)". Numbers was an all-ages dance club in Houston I frequented in the late 80s. I never learned their last names. But hey, at least they were only kissing, right? So I don't claim too much slut cred with those.

But "Random Guy (Galveston)" was third base. I find it amusing I had to qualify beyond just "Random Guy", but apparently that's because the very next entry is "Random Guy (Shane's party)", and there are two more later.

I went to a very fun high school, where taking someone as a date to a formal was free license to make out with them with no expectations for a relationship. I was in a limo for prom with six couples, and we realized between dinner and the dance that not only had I kissed all six of the guys there, five of us girls had kissed all six of the guys. The other girl was only a sophomore, and one of the guys was her first boyfriend, but I'm sure by the time she got to her prom, the same was true for her as well. We were a smoochy crowd.

So when I left for college, I had kissed 36 people (35 males, 1 female), and had sex with 4, and only a few of those numbers would have been considered questionable by my peers. But at college, late one girl talk in the dorm, the other girls were shocked! Stunned! Dismayed! by my numbers. I called my sister and asked, "Why didn't you tell me I was a slut in high school? That seems like something I should have known!" I think she laughed at me. No frikkin help whatsoever.

Then things slowed down dramatically for a while: when I got married at age 25, I had only kissed another 12 guys, and had sex with 3, including my husband. We don't like to talk about those long, boring, dry years...

But then there was The Rampage -- after my separation at age 31, where I rebuilt my bruised ego through the healing power of sexual attention. I kissed 21 people (18 guys, 3 girls), had sex with 12 of them, and tried anal sex... with four guys. I have many happy stories about that period, and thankfully, they end with, "And I was very careful and very lucky, and I never caught an STD."

I met my husband in 2003, and we both assumed we'd be fuck buddies for a while, because it was the period we were both in. We ended up never breaking up, then he talked me into marrying him by telling me he would stay with me even if I didn't marry him (I should be able to see through reverse psychology, but apparently, I can't). Since then I've had 7 lovers.

That brings my totals to ... drumroll please...

77 1st base: at least kissed
46 2nd base: at least clothing removed
39 3rd base: at least orgasms exchanged
25 4th base: at least fucked
5 my silly designation as 5th base: fucked in the ass, in addition to 1st-4th bases

At my current rate, I'm going to be in my late fifties when I hit 100 smooch partners. I just decided: I'm going to throw a Century Slut party and kiss everyone present. Lemme know if you want an invite!

Five Blowjob Night

The other night, I had five calls, and I realized after the last one, they were all about blowjobs. Deeeeelicious.

I just had to stop writing for a moment to go get a lollipop. I will clearly need something to suck on while writing this. Hooray for oral fixations!

The first call was a nice, slow guided masturbation, but he was in the mood to tease me through my clothes, dammit. He was gently talking smut in my ear while telling me how to stroke myself, and I started begging for him to touch me, fuck me, shove his cock in my mouth, anything more than this tormented non-touch, please... He was standing over me, enticing me, and eventually gave in to my pleadings and slid himself to the back of my throat as he allowed me to cum, which tipped him over the delicious edge as well.

I like begging so much more before I start begging, and later when I think about it, than I enjoy begging when I'm in the middle of it. Funny how that works.

The second caller has fantasies of using me as a whore, as impersonally as possible, just meeting in a hotel room, getting sucked off, and then tossing me on my way. He wanted to hear stories about times I'd given head when the guy couldn't have cared less about my pleasure, when he just used my mouth like a glory hole.

As it turns out, I have a few of those stories: college spring break when my friend brought home a random hookup and his friend, I got stuck with the friend, and I obliged him with oral sex so he'd let me go to sleep; the drunk boyfriend who fucked my face while I hung my head off the edge of the bed and then passed out; my husband and I completing our sex-in-every-room tour of the new townhome with an unreciprocated blow job on the back porch, loud enough to meet his "slurpy" preference, but quiet enough to hide from the people in the nearby pool.

You'd think that guy would be the type to hang up right away after coming, wouldn't you? But no, he's surprisingly cuddly and chatty afterward, and wants to know all about my life. Such an amusing juxtaposition.

The third caller was in a tender mood, and wanted "something languorous, luscious... like the most sensual fellatio you can imagine." So I covered his body with kisses and massaging caresses, worked my way to his cock, and then took my time, enjoying the heat, the scent, the taste, the feeling of the rhythm building, the pulsing of his flesh under my tongue, the intimacy of him looking down into my eyes as I swallowed him whole time after time.

He was slurring his words from sleep or alcohol when the call started, so his sleepy, satisfied "Mmmmm, g'night Galinana" was hardly a shock. So cute.

The fourth caller told me a story, of why he had hung up on me last time he had called: because I was describing a three-way I had with a couple in 2002, where both of us girls were going down on the guy, and the caller had been driving during our previous call, and had gotten turned on, so he had pulled over, in the middle of nowhere, to masturbate while I described it in vivid detail... and a cop pulled up! Yikes! He got his dick back in his pants and convinced the policeman he was napping on a multi-hour road trip, thankfully. But wow, yeah, that's a valid excuse to hang up suddenly!

So for this call, thankfully, he was not driving, and he wanted me to start the story over from scratch, and give every lascivious detail. Since that weekend I spent with that couple is one of my favorite erotic memories, I was happy to oblige.

Then the fifth and final caller of the night wanted me to rim him while jacking him off, but it morphed into him guiding my head with his hand in my hair, me deep-throating him, while I fucked his ass with my finger to the same rhythm. He said he shot clear up to his neck he came so hard. Awww. That made me so happy. Isn't that what every girl wants to hear?

Then I logged off and looked over my notes to make sure I hadn't left anything out, and realized I'd had an all-blowjob evening. My fingers were pruney from sucking on them so much, my husband was frustratingly out of town, and my panties, uncharacteristically still on my body at the end of the evening, were soaked.

Why, hello, there, favorite vibrators with fresh batteries lying by my bed. Do me a favor and help me out with a little fantasy I've been working on, would you? It involves me on my knees...

New Lover Warning Labels

I should have the following warning labels attached to me when meeting with new lovers in person for the first time:

• I tend to avoid looking directly into people's eyes for more than just a brief moment at a time because it makes me dizzy faster (eyes are wiggly)
• Although I go limp and submissive when some people get all rough and tough and toppy with me, other people inspire giggles when they attempt to be growly
• I need to take a break about once an hour; thankfully, I've never been with a lover who can go for longer than an hour straight with no break, either, even without vertigo
• If you are in from out of town with no rental car, and I am providing your local transportation, my car will probably smell like dogs who went straight from a dog park pool to my back seat, because I will probably forget to get my car washed or detailed
• I will probably get a manicure and pedicure before your arrival, just to feel pampered and pretty, but I will probably guess completely wrong whether you prefer women to look natural and neutral or vamped up and slutty
• Our first moments together spent in person, adjusting to each others' energy, might be spent at a grocery store to ensure there are beverages and snacks in the hotel room, and it might not occur to me until later that some people may find this bit of practical planning utterly unromantic
• I'm the type who figures things out by trying, which sometimes results in the jacuzzi jets positioned for the middle back to spray me unceremoniously in the face
• If you insist on trying the whole spend-the-night-together concept despite my repeated attempts to explain my extraordinary levels of sedated grogginess before and after sleeping (anti-vertigo med side effect), I will feel free to use the phrase "Go away now" liberally
• Conversations attempted before noon sometimes result in me staring at you in silence for an inordinately long time; if this happens, please know that I am trying to figure out if I still retain the ability to speak
• I lose track of time in the shower, especially before noon, so if you postulate that "45 minutes should be enough time for you to shower before they close down the breakfast bar", I might stare at you like a grumpy child and shake my head "no" with no further explanation
• If you talk me into seeing where I live, and I do not straighten and clean before your arrival, I will spend at least an hour in an utterly non-sexy "getting stuff done" mode where I straighten and clean, during which any attempts to interact with me around sexy topics will be met with confusion at best, and the phrase "Go away now" at worst
• If I forget to stay caffeinated enough after 11 pm, I may slip into a nighttime version of the pre-noon grogginess which would work fantastically well for someone with Real Doll fantasies, but perhaps might not work as well for people who primarily find stimulation from intelligent interactions with coherent human beings
• If we are staying at my place, and I slip into my Real Doll imitation about midnight, but wake up to go potty in the middle of the night and remember that you have no idea what to do for breakfast, I might leave a bowl, spoon, packets of instant oatmeal, measuring cup, and insane amounts of Splenda in front of your room so you will trip over it in the morning, and neither of us will be able to figure out how any human being could ever require that amount of Splenda in that sized bowl
• If you want me to wear an outfit that you have seen in pictures and do not inform me of this ahead of time, it may not have been worn or washed since I took those pictures, which will certainly cause delays
• If you want me to cook for you... no, no, no, really, honestly, you don't want that, just trust me on this point

None of this is to imply, of course, that I have been a bit preoccupied with having a new lover visit me from out of town for multiple days in a row. Pffff. That would be ridiculous.

Oh, What a Night

This past week, I had custom video requests, ideas for follow-ups from my last robot video, and a custom mp3 request. So it was time to fulfill those.

I started getting ready about sixteen hours ago. There's still video rendering (or is it called mixing down? I am sooooo new at this...), but it's all edited, and the people who ordered them have their links (to at least the small versions) and passwords. Yay!

I'm going to bed now, and whenever I get up "tomorrow" I'll put the public ones up for sale, including video previews, and a special offer for anyone who has ever bought pay-to-view items from me in the past! Exciting!

But while there are still progress bars crawling along, I thought I'd share teaser pics.

The night started with a custom video for the Galiana-bot, which will be on sale as something like "Monitoring Fembots and Changing Clothes". It starts with doing simple monitoring tasks and reporting in on the activities of all those crazy fembots out in the field:

Then after work, time to let off a little steam:

And then get gussied back up a bit:

For the second custom video, which will be called something like "Remote Control Introduction", a girl robot meets her new Master for the first time and shows him how to work the remote:

Then it was time for the rescheduled "Galiana Demo conference call #02", since the first one ended... how shall we say it? Unexpectedly.

Surely this one goes better. After all, now we have moderators! And look how much fun the Galiana unit is having!

Then it was time to fulfill a custom request along the lines of, "Can you look adorable and sweet and innocent and talk like a filthy slut who can't wait to get hold of my cock?" Why, yes, Sir, I'd love to!

And then the last video won't be for sale, because there's personal information in it that would be impossible to edit out and still have it make sense to anyone else, but I thought I'd let you see a bit of what he got.

It was delicious fun... up until I had to start working with editing and rendering and directories and passwords... all that dumb yucky stuff. Boo dumb yucky stuff. I need a submissive who wants to do my video editing for me :)

But obviously it was a good night, because the Fuckatorium looks like a stripper from Tron threw a party here.

Oh, what a night... (yes, I'm old enough to know the song that goes with the blog post title...)

Variety Fetish

I have finally realized what my fetish is: variety.

The definition of having a fetish that makes the most sense to me is: sexual stimulation which you require in order to achieve sexual satisfaction.

The definition of having a kink that makes the most sense to me is: sexual stimulation that is unusual or non-mainstream which you enjoy.

By those definitions, I don't have a fetish for any particular activity, because the activities of any one sexual encounter may be completely different than the activities of another sexual encounter, and I can find both encounters thoroughly satisfying.
But here's what I could never find satisfying: the same encounter, with the same partner, over and over, with nothing else in the mix. And really, I need to switch both factors regularly to have a sex life that is satisfying to me on the whole: I need different activities, and I need different partners. Because while trying different activities with the same partner is awesome and fun, and while trying the same activities with different partners is awesome and fun, the real big bang of happiness for me is having both.

On a related note, have I mentioned how much I fucking love my job?

Yes, I can hear your question, and yes, I do understand that the concept of variety and the concept of fetish as I have defined it here are fundamentally at odds with one another. Perhaps that contributes to why I love the idea of claiming my variety fetish so much. Not only do I think it accurately describes my sexual proclivities, it is also inherently emotionally and intellectually complex.

Perfect.

And back to the definitions, to explain a bit more fully, I think it is most accurate to say that I have a variety fetish with a wide range of kinks, because the list of kinky activities I enjoy is long and distinguished. Feel free to check out my FetLife profile (membership is required to view my profile, but membership is free, easy, confidential, does not result in spam, and could help you find kinky / educational events in your area and yes, you're free to friend me). I chose from FetLife's list of "Fetishes" according to my definition of the word kinks. By perusing only their most popular 63 choices, I am interested in 42. A quick glance at the complete list suggests I would end up with hundreds if I were being thorough.

Callers often ask me what gets me off, what I like, what is my fetish. Since listing several dozen actions, or launching into discourse about the definition of fetish versus kink seems unlikely to be what most callers want, I developed a bit of a decision tree to help narrow the discussion. But sometimes, even the tree is too much, so if I'm feeling a vibe of "just pick something so I can get off and know I've made you happy", then I choose something that honestly sounds good.

On the one hand, it is not a lie to reach into a bag of truth and pull out one item, but on the other hand, it is not the entire truth. But back to the first hand, it is efficient to pick something and go with it. And it is also good customer service not to chat aimlessly with a man who's ready for action. And if it turns out I was wrong and he ends up in a talky mood, it is easy enough to go back and open up the conversation.

But it has bothered me that I didn't know a concise, simple, elegant answer to the question, "What turns you on?" Whether or not I use the answer in every situation doesn't matter; I wanted to know it for myself. Surely one existed, and on some far back burner, it was simmering.

Then about three weeks ago, I heard myself giving a new answer to the question of what I like: "Whatever I haven't done lately." I guess that caller was giving off the energy of wanting some discourse, because it was an answer that had never popped out of my mouth before, and it obviously needed some unpacking before it would lead to picking what kind of fucking we were going to do. Thankfully, my instinct was on target; we had an interesting conversation about our mutual prurient interests and why we both self-identified as sluts, and then we had scorchingly hot sex.

(side note about that call: it's funny, but I don't remember what actions we did, but I clearly remember calling his name when I came so hard I flipped over and curled into a ball)

While musing after the call, I came up with the term "diversity fetish", but I knew it wasn't exactly right, because it sounds like an interracial thing. And while I absolutely love men and women of every skin tone, it is irrelevant to my satisfaction. I want a package full of enthusiasm and intelligence and creativity far more than I notice how the package is wrapped.

Then a few days ago, I was explaining a slightly condensed version of this blog post to a regular caller who likes to talk theory, and the word variety tumbled out of my mouth, and I saw the shiny glint of gold on the end of my pick-axe, and I rode into town, triumphant, and bought the Inner Cast a round at the saloon and got myself a date with my Inner Whore to rejoice. (Inner Whore was happy to see me again, of course - she's a lovely darling sweetheart, that one is... Wait, why did I just turn Irish?)

So, Galiana, what do you like to do in bed? What gets your motor running? What do you love? Can you answer that in five words or less?

I can. "Variety fetish, with many kinks."

Booyah.

(related news: I changed my tagline from "The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, PSO (phone sex operator)" to "The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, a Phone Sex Operator with a fetish for variety" ... I reserve the right to continue mucking with the wording at my whim)

I Love Fucking

I love fucking.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I also love complicated role plays where my mind is just as engaged as my body. And I love spicing up sexual energy with the delicious flavor of power exchange through domination or hypnosis. And yes, absolutely, I love enhancing the hormonal mix of sex by tossing in some adrenaline-boosting pain or struggling.

But I feel like I've talked so much lately about my specializations that I've been neglecting to mention that I simply really. love. fucking.

I love being slammed against a door to close it, before I'm even all the way inside, pinned against it, and finger-fucked to orgasm while I'm holding on to broad, strong shoulders.

I love riding a man slowly, grinding into him, finding all the luscious spots that this particular cock hits inside me.

I love resting my pussy after a mind-shattering orgasm by taking hot, stiff flesh into my mouth and humming with pleasure at the taste of my wetness coating it.

I love luxuriating under exploring hands and mouth from someone taking his time to enjoy each spot and each moan.

I love being fucked from behind against the bathroom counter, facing the mirror, so I can see the animal lust in his face.

I love the scent and feel and taste of a woman's body under my lips and fingertips and strap-on...

Hmmm. Maybe I didn't get enough calls today, which forced me into reading one too many blog stories about gangbangs and hotwives. And maybe watching teaser clips for blowjob videos wasn't the best way to cool down...

Where's The Sluts

Someone found my blog today from a google search for "where's the sluts".

I'm so proud /sniffle. You get me, Google. You totally get me.

Delicious Distraction

Yesterday, I was all un-sexied because of concern about my mother's health. (update: she'll be fine - she talked me out of traveling unless they decide to do something invasive - right now she's just sitting in the hospital, bored, hydrating, and waiting another day to see if it resolves itself) I spent yesterday worrying myself into a frenzy before about 5 pm, which was completely unhelpful.

So to try to knock myself back into my normally happy place, I spent the evening chatting online with friends, doing laundry in case we need to travel, reading posts from PSO forums, browsing through others' phone sex listings, and making juvenile comments on friends' Facebook posts (one friend's entire post was "boobs" to amuse her son ... was I just supposed to leave that alone? of course not).

By about 10 pm, I was starting to feel a little clearer mentally, and a little more relaxed emotionally. I considered logging on, but decided not to push it.

And then in walked my husband, in his suit. With no shirt on under it. The black one. The one with the awesome smooth lapels that makes the suit almost look like a tux. He was trying it on because we might have a suit-worthy event if we do travel, and showing me that it fit him a little better than it used to.

Oh. My. God. Did it ever. My hands and mouth got all twitchy, and my tummy got all flippy, and I crawled across the bed to show him the effect it was having on me. One kneeling fluffer blow job later, we took the reconfigured Fuckatorium bed for a test ride -- turns out it is the perfect height for him to fuck me while kneeling beside it, with my legs wrapped around him and my ass almost hanging off the edge. And when that happens, turns out it hits this completely juicy spot inside me.

It was a perfect quickie - long enough for me to have a big, tasty, rolling orgasm, but not long enough to drain me of the energy I'd recovered. It was like a fuck-snack before bed. I slept better than I had in days.

This morning I woke up mulling about the sexy stories of mid-day naughtiness from my office cam buddy, hoping I can talk Doc into topping me today even though I shooed him away yesterday, wondering if I'd been too hard on a humiliation-seeking sub last time we talked, and where the hell is Agent Jones because my intrigue and espionage meters are getting dangerously low. And how to write the suit-fucking into the blog to give readers ideas...

Oh, hey, look at that, I'm back. Whew. I guess you can't keep a good Inner Slut down!

So today, I look forward to as many deliciously distracting calls as possible to keep my Inner Worry Wart at bay!

(Side note, thanks tons for the well-wishing notes from yesterday. Super super sweet. /sniffle)

Dammit, Chance!

Dear Galiana's Inner Slut,

Pay attention, girlfriend. The next time someone wants you to tease and sensually dominate him for 45 minutes, DO NOT get distracted getting your damned rocks off and finish up at 35!

Just because he started begging at 20 minutes, and you know exactly how it feels to be in that position... you remember when someone saner was in charge of Galiana's body, and whoever that dumbass was said you could go for an hour of teasing without climaxing, and then 20 minutes in, once you're completely in charge, and thoroughly fuck-drunk, you were saying things like, "ohdeargod, there's no way, I'm not gonna make it" and begging to come as if your life depended on it. I know, sometimes you didn't make it.

But this is a BUSINESS, woman. Don't be weak. Don't get so sex-scrambled that the only thing you can think you want is to ride that cock till you both explode.

Stay on target. Stay. On. Target.

Would you ... fortheluva... quit licking the juices off your vibrator and listen to me?!?

Dammit, Chance!

Most sincerely,
Galiana's Inner Drill Sergeant

Sluts Whores And Housewives

There's an old joke I've known forever, retold to me by "New York Guide" approximately like this:

A gentleman is pursuing a lady, and they date for a while, but she refuses to give in to his sexual advances. He starts to offer her things in exchange for her physical affections: dinners, dresses, jewels, and she finally acquiesces when he offers her a fur coat. At the fur store, she picks an extravagant full-length mink, and he suggests perhaps a rabbit stole, or maybe just $1,000 cash. Shocked, she asks, "What do you think I am, a whore?" And he replies, "Well, yes, we've already established that, I was just haggling." 

I have always had contempt for women who sell sex without being willing to call themselves whores. Women who marry for money, who date for money, or -- I shudder to think of it -- who withhold sex from their husbands or lovers for money. Who wins if you withhold sex?!? Baffling.

Well, really, I hate dishonesty and manipulation in general, unless both parties agree to it. In this relationship that we have, you and I, gentle reader (hahahaha, that's funny because most of you are nowhere near gentle!), you are aware that I might be hiding or replacing the technical details of my life to protect my privacy and safety, and I am aware that you might do the same with me. Consensual dishonesty is acceptable.

But dishonesty masquerading as a caring relationship burns me.

There were enough divorces in my family for me to understand that I could not rely on a man to provide for me financially, that I needed to learn to provide for myself. So I did. Quite nicely, in fact. And both my marriages have been with men who have made less money than I have for long stretches, and that's been fine with both of us. Secretly, I kind of even liked it. It was so clear to me that I married for love.

So while I've had a lot of disdain in my life for whores who pretend they are not whoring, I have always had a lot of respect for professional sex workers. And unabashed sluts - what's not to love about women with high sex drives who pursue their own pleasure? One of my favorite entries from TextsFromLastNight.com was approximately "What about us? Where's the Slut Pride Parade?"

So in the Slut vs Whore hierarchy in my mind, I've always sided with the Sluts first, then sex workers (prostitutes, strippers, phone sex operators), then a lot of other people, then housewives who marry for money but not love. Honesty first, then lust, then a lot of other values, then greed.

But I had a funny experience that made me realize that I might be shifting from slut into whore. Or I might have already shifted, and I'm just now noticing.

A caller mentioned off-handedly that he was going to re-up his account, because "the recession hasn't hit me as hard as most." And immediately, internally I perked up and had this strong, visceral "Well, hello there you sexy hunk of man meat, you" response. And then, just as immediately, for the first time in my life, I felt like a whore.

I have now lusted after a man for his money. I feel a little dirty.

Thankfully, he's also smart, imaginative, articulate, funny, and interested in exploring unique territory with me over the phone, so I could tell myself that my Inner Slut and my Inner Socialite were already wildly attracted to him, that was just the response of Inner Businesswoman joining the "Yes" vote.

But in my guts, I know: something has changed. I hope I still respect myself in the morning.