Wednesday, July 27, 2016

In Back

Seven years ago, I walked with some trepidation into a tiny shop on the third floor of a commercial building; it was up a narrow staircase, and I had to ring a buzzer at a heavy door with a tiny window to get in.  I only knew this place was there because other foreigners told me so: “Look for the interlocked male and female symbols,” they said.  Walking past masks, fake blood, face paint, props, and various other costume pieces, I saw what I came for: sex toys.  Well, sort of.  Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust and had Japanese writing on it; it all looked very old, as though it had been smuggled in via Soviet Russia.  There weren’t very many products – a fake pussy here, a crop there, a couple of PVC dildos.  Pornography is illegal in Korea; adult toy stores are highly frowned upon and hidden away, and I think they can only be open as novelty stores.  Anything considered “obscene” by the Korean government can be confiscated by customs; the Korean version of Amazon does sell a limited number of items, but only on its Korean-language page. and shoppers must submit a phone number for age verification.

A bit like these guys...
But back to this store.  The older man with greying hair behind the counter lowered his glasses and looked me up and down before asking, “Vibrator?”  I nodded and walked toward the counter.  From behind the glass, he brought out a huge rabbit and told me the price: 100,000 won.  Nope, I said – too expensive.  I was just looking for a cheap way to get off quickly.  He then brought out, in sealed plastic wrapping in a tiny box one egg vibe, bright yellow and transparent.  20,000 won, he said.  Sold.  I know this is outrageously expensive for a cheap plastic egg vibrator – but seeing as how Korea is lacking in feminist sex-positive sex shops, I took what I could get, and I got down. 

I had that vibrator my first two years in Korea; it never blew my mind, but it did the trick!  It was a traumatic time in my life, and that little vibrator meant waves of relief when I desperately needed it.  Every time I go home to the States now, I make several trips to my local superhero sex store and stock up, very, VERY thankful that I have all the vibrators at my disposal that I could possibly want (and that nothing has been confiscated by Korean customs).  And dammit, I want them all. 

I’m a fan of rumbly over buzzy; of patterns over continuous vibration; of silicone over… well, everything.  I use vibrators mostly when I want to get off hard and fast; if I’m in for a long wank or am highly aroused and lubricated, I prefer my hands and a dildo.  That being said – I bought my first vibrator on my eighteenth birthday (it was pink and had hearts all over it – triple ugh) and have never looked back.

I bought my mom a vibrator (maybe that’s what this post should have been about!) for her 55th birthday after she confided in me that my father wouldn’t touch her anymore… and she shed tears of joy when I said that every woman had the right to experience pleasure.  She called to say thank you the following week, and we never talked about it again – but I know it made an impact on her to know that her daughter had her back.  We should all have each other’s backs when it comes to the right to self-pleasure.  Maybe when I move back to the States, I should make it a point to mail all my friends in Korea vibrators for their birthdays – I’ll just write “novelty item” on the customs slip.  

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Straddle



Making out on a toilet can be surprisingly hot.  I guess it makes sense since fucking on a toilet in a public restroom is definitely hot. 

See who else is being and feeling hot this week:

Sinful Sunday

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Strings



Staying at a friend's house near the beach this week; the view has inspired me to pick up a guitar after eight years of not having played... and it feels like I've reconnected with something in myself that I didn't know I was missing.  Hope he's okay with the fact that I've been playing his guitar naked (among other nude activities...).  

I'm popping over to Japan for a week, so I won't be posting next Sunday - have a beautiful week, you lovely perverts!

Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Service

Michael, now rosy-cheeked from several shots of soju, was laughing harder than he had in a long time.  He liked it here.  His new coworkers, all just out of college like he was, urged him to flick the tin bit attached to a soju cap they were passing around as part of a game.  The two people seated next to whoever could manage to flick it completely off had to take another shot.  As he pressed his middle finger hard into his thumb and concentrated on the slim piece of metal, a plate arrived in the center of the table, placed gently down by a hand with slender fingers.  Michael followed the arm up with his eyes to see a beautiful young man; he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“We didn’t order this,” said one of his coworkers, pointing to the plate of sliced pears on the table.  “주문 안했어요.”  “네,” replied the young man.  “서비스.”  Michael looked at the coworker, confused.  “He says it’s service,” she told him, “meaning it’s free. Sometimes that happens – part of the magic of Korea!”  This sparked a conversation around the table of unexpected appearances of service food and how you’d never see that at home.

Michael, suddenly a bit dizzy, stood up and politely excused himself.  “Bathroom’s back there, mate,” said a coworker, pointing to a metal door next to the kitchen.  “Outside.”  Michael walked just a bit unsteadily back to the door, pushed it open, and felt grateful for the rush of clean and cold night air that surrounded him.  Better.  He spotted the bathroom; while walking toward it across a slab of wet concrete, he noticed smoke coming from the side of the small, grey building that housed a squatter and urinal.  Peering around the side, he saw the young man who’d brought them the pears, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smoking a long, thin cigarette. 

The man looked over at Michael – or rather, he looked Michael over.  He smiled and nodded slightly.  Mesmerized, Michael walked over to him and stood in front of him momentarily, not sure what to say, his breath now shallow and hard.  “담배?” the young man asked him, holding out his pack of cigarettes.  Michael shook his head.  His eyes dropped to the stranger’s fly, where they stayed fixed for a bit, then slowly climbed back up to meet his eyes.

All at once they were both fumbling with his belt, his button, his zipper; Michael reached into the man’s briefs to pull out a semi-erect cock.  The flesh felt smooth against his palm; he could feel the stranger’s veins as he stroked the shaft before dropping to his knees and taking it in his mouth.  He couldn’t take it all the way back; he continued to stroke the base while getting as much of the cock into his mouth as possible, making his mouth wet with saliva as he rhythmically pushed the head past his lips, to the back of his tongue, and forth again.  The young man didn’t last long; he was he was soon groaning and pumping Michael’s mouth full of warm, salty cum.  Michael licked the last drop from the tip of his dick before standing up, holding the stranger’s face for a moment, and briefly kissing him.  The stranger eagerly kissed him back and sighed, zipping up his pants. 

Michael strode back through the door into the restaurant and sat down among his new friends.  “You okay, mate?” one of them asked.  “You were in there for a while.”  “I’m great,” he replied, his cheeks rosier than before.  Things wouldn’t be so different here. 



This was inspired by the last Flash Friday prompt at F. Leonora's site; it didn't fit the image, but it was the first thing that came to mind when I read the word service.   

Saturday, July 2, 2016

La Patria



This photo was an accident, but it ended up being my favorite of the bunch.

I'll be leaving Korea in February and returning to the States; I'm having a lot of mixed feelings about this major transition in my life, as I've been here for seven years.  I have a strong community and roots here, but I don't feel like my work is having any impact on anyone, and that's not why I became a teacher.  I'm homeward bound in less than a year; moving toward half of the people I love and away from the other half.  Toward my motherland (la matria?) where my blood and my heart lie, and away from so many people who have a huge place in my heart.  Talk about change.

As an aside, I took this photo at 6:00 am next to a temple, and a monk saw me in my skivvies, sooooo... that happened.

See who else is changing...
Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Friends with Benefits

The first time I fucked a friend who I had zero romantic (or sexual, for that matter!) interest in was on New Year’s Eve, 2002.  I don’t remember why we left the party and went back to his place; likely we were outside smoking together and he said he needed to get something, so I opted to go with him.  We were both drunk, but not too drunk – just drunk enough to be warm and aroused. The night was still young – not quite midnight.

We went into his bedroom to get whatever it was he needed to get, and then… honestly, I don’t remember what happened next.  I remember we were kissing, and he was smiling, and then we were in the shower, and then we were wet and fucking on his bed.  I remember discarding a condom wrapper on the floor and laughing about how no one was missing us.  I remember how nice it felt to be intimate and sexual with someone without any expectation that it would happen again but also with care for each other’s feelings and pleasure because we’d known each other for years; how I didn’t worry that it would affect our friendship.  I didn’t think about where it would go or what I should do to make him happy, because I just wanted it to be what it was in the moment – an authentic connection, a mutually-enjoyed sensual experience.  Every time I saw him afterward, we would share a secret smile that said, “Thanks – that was lovely.”      

I’ve been thinking about this lately because I recently opened up a couple of friendships into sexual relationships, and both have been truly amazing.  I've always been strict about compartmentalizing my life; I suppose I still am in some ways.  But I refused to mix friendship and fucking because I was always afraid of hurt feelings.  Now that I’ve had my heart broken a couple of times in the past few years (and I mean really fucking broken), I’m not so afraid anymore.  I’m still here.  These broken hearts have improved my communication skills and opened my heart and body to new ways of experiencing love, friendship, and intimacy.  I definitely don't want to fuck most of my friends, but when I do, it feels like a safe space in which to explore, to feel sexy, and to be cared for without so much on the line. 

Also, one of these new friends with benefits is a service sub, and how can you say no to that?        

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Swinging

Not that kind of swinging.





I woke up at 4:30 to hike up to a nearby park in the rain to take these; worth it!

See who else is participating this week:

Sinful Sunday