Hookup, Find Sex or Meet Someone Hot Now
"..yes I said yes I will Yes."
Welcome to my blog!
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
Holidays...Sexually...Thumbs Up or Thumbs Down?
Posted:Dec 24, 2016 4:55 pm
Last Updated:Jan 30, 2018 5:15 pm
I'm back for a quick check-in.

I'm busy writing my book, "Be Your Husband's Lover: Seven Easy Steps to a Strong, Satisfying, Sexy Marriage," which draws together my experience as a woman, wife, lover, girlfriend, partner in crime, sexual sociologist, Pro Dominatrix and Sex Coach.

Currently, I coach women, men and couples to love as powerfully (and as long) as they can make it work while growing.

Anyway, back to today's question...

What feelings do holidays, specifically Christmas, Winter Solstice, Chanukah and New Year's Eve bring up for you? How do they impact your sexual desire?

I'm going to use Christmas as the word to encapsulate this winter solstice time because, as a Pagan/Buddhist/Chanukah/Kwanzaa-observing Christian (which means I come from a Christian tradition, grew up outside organized religion and appreciate other traditions), I see that human beings share a desire to acknowledge love, birth, death and renewal.

Based on my superficial study, all of those traditions celebrate Winter Solstice. (I don't know anything about Muslim traditions so feel free to chime in if there's something I need to know there.)


Maybe you feel a bit overwhelmed, not meeting your own expectations for creating holiday wonder for those you love. Maybe, like me, you feel a bit lonely now. And horny. You wish someone wanted to create for you an extraordinary holiday experience.

I remember my first Christmas with My FIRST REAL BOYFRIEND. (MY FIRST REAL BOYFRIEND = We said "I love you" even when when we weren't drunk. I was 21. He was 31.) It was our first Christmas and we weren't planning to spend it together. I planned to drive to Northern California to enjoy time with my family and he, southward, to spend time with his.

He blindfolded me, drove me around in a disorienting maze and parked at a spot wI didn't recognize. Blindfold off, he led me to a darling cottage. In advance, he'd set up lit candles, roses in a vase and had a wrapped gift --with a signed card-- for me. When we left, hand in hand, the next day, I recognized Santa Barbara's El Encanto Hotel, one of the most beautiful spots in the world...and only half a mile from his home.

Our time there was extraordinary because MY FIRST REAL BOYFRIEND exerted himself to delight me.

I have many happy memories of our years together, but --as I scan through memories-- that was the LAST TIME he went out of his way to court me and win my love. I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't think I EVER did anything to make holidays special for him. When it came to Christmas forever afterward, each of us would race out to locally owned Earthling Books to buy a book we thought the other might like. And, in my case, one I also wanted to read. In short, I was pretty self-centered. I felt guilty for a long time for my failure as a wife, friend and lover.

Now I've applied NuSkin.

NuSkin = My word for when we peel off the past, feel the pain and guilt, recognize our vulnerability and plunge out into the beach, toasting our bodies and spirits in the delicious, potentially harmful, rays of love again. This time we apply a coat of sunscreen but we go ahead and strip ourselves naked again.

I do not blame MY FIRST REAL BOYFRIEND for the fact that he's now my ex-husband. He and I loved one another for 17 years. We're now friendly, continuing to work together to do our best for our adored offspring as they mature into adulthood.

He enjoys most holidays with them because "I just don't care about holidays."

Or do I?

At this time of year, like Scrooge, I dive into Christmas Past, view Christmas Now wonder about Christmas Future.

I believe --as much as all of us desire hot sex and to feel fully alive-- we want even more to feel loved and connected to someone who knows and cares about our needs.

So...am I wrong about that? What's up with you and holidays?


I massacred a turkey today! And I got fucked in hot water yesterday.
Posted:Dec 4, 2016 8:33 pm
Last Updated:Dec 24, 2016 2:36 pm

I love, love, love turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and cranberry sauce. Oh, cranberry sauce...I could write an ode to cranberry sauce.

But I'm not a very traditional person. At Thanksgiving, when I was married with young , I enjoyed the fruits of the labors of one of my friends, a consummate homemaker. She has also gone on to be a kick-ass county commissioner. Go figure!

In previous years, my have gone off to their dad's for Thanksgiving and his vegetarian wife has slaved to create the perfect holiday while I go horseback riding. One year, I taught my to pull a cart and went out on the road for the first time because I knew there would be no one else out on the road. This year, I drove a load of Dominatrix-extreme stuff (that I've never used) up to the lucky buyer of my gear at the conclusion of my Tantric Kink Virtual Auction. I saw some Bay Area friends and lovers, had a great time and drove home again.

NOTE: I'm not writing about my current sex life because --to me-- it's not that unusual. I'm seeing the usual line-up of sexy couples, fuck buddies and but one fivesome sorta looks like the next. I have retreated from dating to find a partner because, honestly, I'm discouraged. Sam in Bend-Over, OR, has disappeared. Quite literally. His phone is disconnected. He doesn't reply to my emails. I even sent a package via amazon with a Paul Simon CD and a note saying "There are 50 ways more graceful to leave your lover than what you've done." I hope he's okay. I'm mad I never got a chance to say that I don't really want all his custody drama in my life anyway. Sour grapes...but I'm moving on. Slowly. Cuz I'm disappointed.

My friend Jeff --who is among the nicest, funniest, smartest men on the planet (a pity he believes in monogamy!) -- says I should go ahead and write only these things on my dating profiles:

* I'm a Sex Coach. I'll always be someone who knows and is passionate about sex and relationships. (That doesn't mean I'm any better at it than anyone else. I've got a lot of data and theories.)

* I value lifelong learning and personal development. Either support me or join me in the quest to live life on the skinny branches.

* I spend my time on my relationships with friends, family and those who love me.

After this detour, I'm returning to my original topic. I bought a frozen turkey around Thanksgiving Day and defrosted it a couple days ago. Today I realized I'd better get at that fowl before it went foul.

So, here's what I did. I hacked this 20-pound bird apart. I acknowledged the presence of my cave-dwelling ancestors who smacked their meat with a club. My turkey was covered in annoying plastic and ties around the legs. I growled, pulled them with my fingers and shredded them with my knife.

I'm glad I had a fabulously sharp Henkel knife! I read an article about the only 3 knives you need to own and I bought: 8" chef, bread and paring. Yeah! And then I bought a wall magnet to hang them on the wall in my very tiny kitchen!

I hacked off the drumsticks, thighs and wings, drenched them in butter, Celtic Sea Salt (with valuable minerals!) and fresh-ground rainbow peppercorn and then popped them into the oven in my one-and-only baking dish. I covered the dish with recycled aluminum from tacos at my local taqueria. (I believe in reduce, reuse, recycle so I feel like a despicable, First World wastrel if I throw my to-go stuff into the trash. But I don't hate myself enough to stop ordering take-out!)

Next, I sawed off and sauteed the breast meat --in locally-owned Il Fortuna olive oil-- for turkey fajitas and tetrazzini later.

Finally, I began boiling all that turkey richness out of the carcass --which still has all the meat I was not able to hack off.

But I did massacre that turkey. Hell yeah!

And I'm pretty happy about it as I prepare to enjoy sauteed turkey breast with stuffing and cranberry sauce. Tomorrow: turkey fajitas with bell pepper and onion. Next, it will be turkey drumsticks and hot turkey wings in BBQ sauce. Finally, a rich turkey broth that I'll turn into whatever stew my gut desires.

Okay, that "gut" thing reminded me that I actually have had a couple first dates lately. I had two agreeable dates with Aaron (a recent SB emigre) who is a pleasant, smart, chubby, Jewish guy. He says he's kinky and open-minded. (I have a prejudice in favor of Jewish men. I assume they're funny, smart and good with money. I have serious hots for Jerry Seinfeld despite his white running shoes.) For my tastes, Aaron uses "blessed" too often in sentences but I was willing to overlook that.

However, when I invited him to join me for the monthly Sex Positive Potluck, he demurred. He said his "gut" told him not to go.

My gut says he's too chicken for me. Frankly, I prefer turkey.

In addition, I've now seen three times Tim, a guy in Paso Robles. My friend Raquel, who has been an awesome friend and wing woman, helped me pick him up the first time we visited funky Franklin Hot Springs in Paso Robles. Tim did two things that turned me on:

As I floated over his seated body when we met the first time (in broad daylight), he moved his hand up my leg and held it at my thigh, right below my bikini bottoms, without trying to annoy my pussy with water friction. His other hand moved a finger into the crack of my ass, just the upper portion, right below my bathing suit. (Unfortunately, the place is NOT clothing optional though it IS and beer friendly. Just no glass allowed around the pool!) I took him back to my hotel room and was delighted in a great many ways on that first meeting.

The second time with Tim the pool experience (and the sex) was only so-so...BUT he took me fishing at San Simeon with his best friend for a totally awesome full day and then barbecued some crapiton fish at his home for me and his friends. Crapiton, of course, is not the name. I'm sure the name will come back to me since it starts with a "C." I think.

This third meeting time, we soaked in the dark at a Paso Robles hot spring my friend La Sirena calls "soak and poke." I found it difficult to hold my bikini bottoms so I used them as a necklace. (I'd abandoned the top a while ago to facilitate his stroking and squeezing of my breasts.)

I was delighted to find that I DID have silicone lube in my sexual survival kit. Silicone is the magic ingredient for enjoying sex in water. Make sure you put it on with the relevant parts OUT of water so the lube adheres. In the dark, we were sliding in and out and, well, don't visit to that Paso Robles hot springs is you don't want bodily fluids swimming next to you!

Off to enjoy some turkey! Gobble, gobble.


Hitting the Sexual Doldrums
Posted:Oct 29, 2016 3:58 pm
Last Updated:Dec 8, 2021 5:44 am

Definition doldrums: a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression.

My sex life certainly suffers from stagnation. That's why I haven't checked in lately with you, my fellow pervs.

Still having sex, yes, of course. But it's not particularly novel or worth writing home about...except a couple weekends ago when I picked a guy up at Franklin Hot Springs in Paso Robles. Or maybe he picked me up because I felt so deliciously weightless and free while floating in the hot springs.

While he was chatting with me and my gal pals, I found myself floating toward Tim as he sat on a cement step. He didn't stop me and he didn't grab me. As I moved closer, he gently stroked my legs under the water, letting one hand rest at the top of my thigh. The other hand let a finger rest in the cleavage of my bikini-clad ass.

In broad daylight in a "family friendly" spa, which is why I was wearing a (very skimpy) bathing suit.

I will tell anyone who asks about the most provocative move for women:

It's when you get close to delicate areas and DO NOT PRESS ON.

Awakening female desire requires a dance. It's not like how you turn yourself on, guys, stroking whichever part of your dick responds best to intense attention.

For me, and for most women, it's about suggestion and creating our desire to move toward you.

Move toward him I did. Tim was surprised when I announced out loud to my gal pals that I intended to take him back to our hotel room and fuck him while they continued soaking. My gal pals weren't surprised because we are Sisters of the Healthy Sexual Appetite.

The sex was surprisingly tender, sensual and, well, fun...especially considering that Tim had already drunk a six pack of 25 oz beers. That's a whole lotta beer! Next time I'll investigate whether he can fuck as well without as much of a beer load on.

Though my sex life lately has not included much novelty, I am gearing up for the next phase of my business as a Sex Coach. I spent last week in Vegas just recently at a conference for entrepreneurs and enrolled in some intriguing training programs:

* "You Everywhere Now" about how to write your how-to book and get it out into the world RIGHT NOW

* Sassy Mastermind--a year-long program for leveraging my 1:1 coaching business into an online model. Search Lisa Sasevich if interested.

* Infusionsoft--a software package to make it easier for me to communicate with prospective .

* Global Experts Accelerator--Software for online assessments to draw in prospective .

I believe that creative energy is sexual energy. Our sex drives fuel the rest of our lives. Currently, I'm harnessing my sex drive to fuel entrepreneurial business growth.

Because I've realized that I'm responsible for taking care of myself. And that I can do it for myself!


Walkin' Tall in My Boots
Posted:Oct 9, 2016 4:53 pm
Last Updated:Oct 29, 2016 3:15 pm
So, there I was dancing to Soul Biscuit, a local cover band, at a cool, old tavern, swaying and cocking my hips, shimmying my shoulders. Those, plus the jazz square, are the only dance moves I learned from a couple years of dance class​es​. But, I was rockin' them pretty well if I do say so myself.

I was wearing my favorite green cowboy boots with a skirt that swings. Not swinging that skirt too high because, well, as I am wont to do, I wasn't wearing any panties.

A gentleman sashayed up next to me. At least I thought he was a gentleman until he slapped my ass. I had given him the merest of smiles, which I did not intend to signify "Hey, Daddy, I'm a bad girl. Wanna spank me?"

That's an invitation I do offer but only to those whose hands I choose to smack my tender flesh. As he says all kinds of nasty things in my ear about what a Filthy Fuck Toy I am. You get the idea, I imagine.

So, I slipped outside for a few moments to regroup and fix what might have been a wardrobe malfunction. The tie on my skirt was loose, and I was a little nervous that the skirt might simply slide off.

The same gentleman, oh, I'd ​guess he was about 65, gray hair, standing eye to eye with me in my boots, ​wearing a plaid, nicely pressed shirt and jeans,
swaying slightly probably because he was drunk, walked up to me, rubbed my arm, smacked my ass again and started telling me how he has a house on the beach and a girlfriend but she's crazy and he needs a sane one.

Interestingly, I've heard this kinda story before about how the guy's wife just died and he had no idea she was a Dominatrix and now he needs someone else to financially control him. It's a scam to keep a delightful woman (myself) talking to him on the phone while he wanks off. I'm over that story.

I nodded, and he moved closer to me. I moved close to his ear and whispered, "I'm going to say this once, politely. Do not ever smack my ass again." He nodded and moved away.

Succinct​, sane​ and safe.

And then I went back inside and continued to enjoy dancing with my own bad self.


Leave-taking Redux: The Nasty Hot Way
Posted:Sep 16, 2016 8:47 am
Last Updated:Oct 9, 2016 4:59 pm
I complained last month that the leave-taking sucked when "Sam" of Bend-Over, Oregon, departed Santa Barbara. The funny thing is, each of the previous visits, when I'd been in Oregon, and he orchestrated the departure, it was fabulous.

He packed me home-cooked and beautifully prepared meals for my plane trip.

In addition, he'd prepared me lovely meals all day long in the first two visits. All my gal pals (and my sister) said, "He won't keep that up."

So, no, he didn't keep up the constant feeding me. Instead, this time when I was preparing to leave, he spent a ton of time berating poor, defenseless customer service ladies in India to ask if it were possible to send music to two wireless devices. No, it's not...unless you have the special wireless splitter I now own.

Nonetheless, he bought me some awesome wireless headphones and did a personalized --just for me-- version of Bondassage®, the practice I offer as a trained, professional Domina.

Bondassage is a sensual blend of sensory deprivation (thus the headphones and a blindfold are key), sensation play and domination. He did so many things that were awesome it's hard to remember them all:

* Put a hammer in the freezer and put the frozen (silicone) hammer between my legs when I was on the massage table.
* Used his tie to tie up my legs and then pull the tie through, rubbing my pussy as it passed
* Set a vibrator on the base of my spine
* Forced me to suck his cock
* Put the Ben-Wa balls (below) inside my pussy and then fucked me long and hard with them inside (SO TOTALLY AWESOME I can't even tell you!)

Sam said in advance that he'd really enjoyed thinking about what might thrill me, that thinking about what would make it hot for me was a welcome refuge from thinking about the awful domestic drama that is currently part of his life.

I appreciated that Sam searched for the perfect collar to put around my neck, one that I could actually wear out in public to play out my fantasy of being possessed or owned. With a huge load of cum dripping down my leg. That's for next time!

As it was, I did have a huge load of cum dripping down my leg as I raced to the airport check-in counter with 90 seconds to spare. I kept the Ben-Wa balls inside until I arrived in San Francisco...where I pulled them out, standing in the parking lot of my mom's condo, and set them in my suitcase. Feeling the cum dripping down my leg and seeing the sparkling evidence of it on my ankles, feeling the balls inside as I did kegels to squeeze my pussy muscles and remembering the sexperience, that's the kind of nasty stuff that totally turns me on.


MIA due to WTF...
Posted:Sep 12, 2016 12:52 pm
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2016 8:34 am

I've been MIA for a few weeks due to WTF.

"WTF" in this case means "Who THAT (I'm) Fucking."

I visited Bend-Over, Oregon, once again, the scene of an adventurous week detailed in past blogs.

Backstory: In June, I visited Bend for the first time ever, posted an ad on craigslist (since a domestic drama made it impossible for me to hang out with my dad as planned) and enjoyed adventures that included meeting Sam. And exploring surrender with him.

In July, I visited Sam a second time, on his invitation. In August, he visited me in Santa Barbara and helped me make my rental studio easier for guests. Then, we parted on a weird note (after a "where are we going" talk and no "good bye" fuck) so I decided to visit again sooner rather than later to 1) Spend time with my dad 2) help him I patch things up with my sister Brenda 3) figure out WTF Sam and I want with one another.

Besides the obvious. I ADORE fucking him. Our bodies fit well...especially after he suggested that I "Bring heels" which places my pussy at the right height to bend me over his couch. And which allows me to get a thigh work-out while grinding on top of him seated in a FSD (Function Specific Design) Chair. FSD includes narrow seat and tall back.

He visited his storage unit to find implements with which to gently tease and torture me. He said that thinking about how to create a variety of sensations in my body offered pleasant ease from the "toxic ex" drama that occupies most of his time and mental energy. (That's my biggest reservation about him. Do I really want his domestic drama to be center stage for the next couple years?)

In the next couple days, I'll post details on how TOTALLY AWESOME was the sensation play Sam delivered in the LAST 45 MINUTES before he took me to the airport. I arrived at the airport with 90 seconds to spare before the end of check-in.


I'm back home again now and making plans for a sexy Saturday afternoon gathering with my Bi-BFF, her hunky Boy Toy (they're just back from 10 days in the Dominican Republic, Cuba and Haiti; lots of exciting stories to share), as well as some other fave couples.


Crazy Idea du Jour...
Posted:Aug 22, 2016 2:49 pm
Last Updated:Sep 8, 2016 2:18 pm
Feel free to tell me where you've heard this before and I'll acknowledge I stole it.

For now, this is MY Crazy Idea du Jour.

What if we could compress time and only live the interesting stuff?

My inspiration springs from Tim Ferriss's book "The Four Hour Work Week: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere and Join the New Rich." I am a TOTAL FAN of Tim Ferriss. I wish I were Tim Ferris and had written the book.

In fact, since I'm a woman and NOT Tim Ferriss, I'd fuck him any day of any week. He's got a lot in his book on "The Four Hour Body" about how to increase sexual potency for men! (BTW, male pattern baldness tends to be related to high testosterone which may explain why I find shaved heads to be hot!)

Hell, I'd even learn Argentine Tango for Tim Ferriss. However, he would sadly shake his head "No, Angie, you may not learn Tango with me."

Because he's been learning Tango --as well as half a dozen languages and how to do some weird ring fighting thing in Asia-- for the past dozen years while I've been raising well-adjusted twins. He's been doing the stuff that matters to him and I've been doing what matters to me. (Though we have in common a love of Argentina!)

My personal Tim Ferriss attachment aside...Tim Ferriss's approach pushes me to consider how to suck the greatest intensity out of every minute of life.

So...What would it be like if we only did the hot bits of life?

Consider that idea while I go take care of my own needs in the most efficient manner possible...

{=} {=} {=}


Our Sex Party Norms
Posted:Aug 21, 2016 11:25 am
Last Updated:Aug 24, 2016 11:25 am

I took to his first-ever sex party on Wednesday a 74-year-old gentleman whom we'll call "Bill. Bill's been curious about sex parties and swinger events after hearing my stories over the past nine years but it has never seemed like exactly the right time.

Last Wednesday offered right timing. Sort of. Bill's wife (he says they don't have sex any more) was out of town so Bill could go out for an evening without lying about it.

When my gal pals and I discussed the party plan, we realized that we were pretty heavy on male meat for this month's Sex Positive Potluck. (We call it the SPPL because we are people who are positive that sex is great! We meet once a month, nosh and get it on together in many and varied forms.) A "sausage fest" tends to make uncomfortable both straight guys and newbies to the party scene. We crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. (Unlike swinger events, we don't require that it be "couples only" or seek gender balance.)

Three women and six men gathered together that night. We started with a session of Zegg Forum to build community and trust. (Read about Zegg here: Poly Agony vs Poly Community) We're a little different from swingers who get together just to fuck. We are people with long-term relationships with one another. We identify, for the most part, as poly (polyamorous which means non-monogamous with honesty about it), "tribe," and family, with all that implies. We love one another, get mad and hang in there because we love one another and need our family.

Understand that Bill is a newbie/"civilian" (not in the sex positive world) and a totally vanilla guy who says he's never considered having another guy suck his cock. Bill isn't even interested in kink except for occasionally spanking my ass because he knows I like the sensation.

So the Zegg Forum where we reveal "what's alive" with us --whether it's personal hopes, miseries, fears or gripes about one another-- was totally foreign to him. Bill probably doesn't know any people who talk about that stuff. Out loud (rather than in their minds). We speak it. Out loud. Hopes/gripes/fears shared, we moved on to the next part of the evening.

We talked a bit while sipping drinks and nibbling the chicken enchiladas I'd brought (home made that day!) and the salads in plastic containers from various local stores. (I don't always have time to prepare real food but, occasionally, I make the effort.)

Then the hostess, my friend Jaynie, suggested we move into her bedroom for a conversation about "mildest and wildest" fantasies for that evening. Mildest is what it would take to make you happy you showed up. Wildest is the furthest out there thing you can imagine happening. That night.

Blah, blah, blah. 20 - 30 minutes of talking.

I said I'd be really happy to have as many hands as possible on my body while on the massage table with light and intense touch. That got the group started.

I enjoyed light touch all over and some slow, intense nails raking down my back. When I flipped over, I realized I still need to keep working with Jaynie's husband to refine his touch on the pussy. If he were more skillful, his whole life would be better. He needs more lessons in subtlety with pussy!

Then, my gal pals rose to the occasion and helped me give Bill a great sexperience at his first sex party. After Heather and I did "two mouths on one cock" for Bill, she asked me if I wanted her to fuck him.

"Sure," I replied. She fucked him for five minutes or so until she said to him, "I think I'm done."

Afterward, he said --surprised-- to me, "I didn't even come yet."

"Yeah, so....?" I thought.

Then, I remembered. He thinks sex begins when a guy gets a hard-on and ends when the man ejaculates. Oh, yeah. That's The Old School Model of fallogocentric sex. Sex parties are pussy-led. One of my things at sex parties: I am NOT responsible for the guy's experience --or his getting off-- unless I'm crazy about him (or he specifically requests it and I agree. Out loud.) Neither is he responsible for my sexperience but I may some times explicitly request his support for my safety.

I neglected to tell Bill that if he wanted to ejaculate, he needed to tell Heather. Of course, I doubt Heather would be willing to oblige because he can only get off in Missionary on a bed. She would not want him laboring above her on a bed. Too intimate! She was only willing to put her legs in the air on a massage table with him standing. That position removes her from too close contact. Or bad breath.

I will tell you that Heather is smart to have figured out how to get what she wants and only give what she's willing. That's how she continues to be a "YES" for sex parties.

Next, Bill asked Jaynie for a demo of her blowjob expertise (Believe me from having watched her in action...she is awesome!). Jaynie assumed that she'd suck his cock with enthusiasm and that would be that. He ejaculated in her mouth and, later, she told me by text she considered him a "presumptous newbie" and that from now on would I tell others she "enjoys cock sucking rather than blowjobs"?

I replied, "You need to say 'I enjoy cock sucking and I do not suck to completion without negotiation.'" Newbies do NOT understand the distinction between cock sucking and a blowjob.

And I say to her now...THANK YOU for making Bill's WHOLE DAY, WEEK, YEAR!!!

Jaynie, you may have been annoyed because he did not understand the norms. But, Jaynie and my sex positive friends, we are so far into this thing that we don't even remember what the norms are in order to inform newbies.


For a while, I stroked two cocks --one in each hand-- got flogged on my butt and shoulders while leaning on the massage table, sucked Bill's cock and got well-fucked my long-term friend Dom.

It was a pretty good party. Not wild and out there but interesting and varied enough. I felt pretty good about giving Bill an experience of how our tribe gets it on.

So, you, how was your Hump Day?


Six Dicks Ago
Posted:Aug 17, 2016 8:44 am
Last Updated:Jan 30, 2018 5:07 pm

I got a text message this Mon 8/15 at 9:43 pm that said, "Hi I'm in San Fran until Friday. Would be great if you could cum see me."

It took me a while even to recall who the texter was. Good thing I'd had him text me face photos since our encounter in May... which I'm sure was at least six dicks ago. I do recall his dick quite well. My curiosity piqued, I'll probably go back and count in this blog how many auditions I've conducted since then. (EDITOR'S NOTE: BPBabe was exactly right in her guess: six new dicks assessed between May 1 and now, mid-August.)

"Afterthought much?" next popped in my head. Perhaps a business trip cropped up at the last minute, but I hate when some guy snaps his fingers at me and expects me to jump.

The "Snap Texter" used to be known as "Mr. Quietly Confident" whom I met in May in Phoenix while attending the Plush Parties' Spring Fling. (You may read about that party with my Bi Gal Pals in If not chemistry, then what) It's not as if we've kept in close contact or he's asked me to come visit him just to see him. No, he assumed since he was in the same state as I, I would fly right up and do him.

Out of curiosity, I did check how much a last-minute round trip flight SBA to SFO would cost: $856!

For future reference, in inviting a lady to join a man in a particular city where she does not reside, the Sex Coach-approved approach is to say, "My dear, I would adore to see your shining visage. Please allow me send a chariot to fetch you and bring you cheerfully and stress-free to my hotel room where I will wine and dine you for as long or as short a time as your schedule allows."

Snap your fingers at me and I'll snap back. Or simply block you from further contact. By contrast, my experience with Sam of Bend, Oregon, reminds me that I like to have a man who desires to make my life easier and more pleasant. Yes, I am a grown up, (very) independent woman but, man oh man, do I enjoy having someone take some care of me.

There's something that happens for women when a man truly desires to make us happy and relieve some of the burden of getting stuff done. We can relax, open, flower and have a lot more to give. Cheerfully. Without resentment. I think I only wrote about how my leave-taking from Sam sucked. What I didn't say is that he spent two days racing around Santa Barbara with me to help me fix all the stuff that annoys me in the studio where I occasionally reside and which I let out to guests, like the Portland couple who came to study Tantra with me.

Sam found a good deal on a "Soundbar" for my in-room TV and iPhone sound system. He installed the Soundbar on the wall, recommended and installed an arm for my flat screen TV (freeing up table space), fixed my horrendous electrical cord system, fixed the water leak out on my deck and moved my furniture around to create a feeling of more spaciousness. As I look around at the new, improved space right now, my heart overflows with appreciation for him.

My Bi-BFF wrote me the other day that she spent the weekend rescuing her lame-ass ex (for the LAST time). She got home after helping him move his shit out of the home they'd just sold and was so exhausted that her Hunky Boy Toy (new boyfriend with whom she now resides) made her a Margarita and gave her a straw so she didn't even have to lift her head.

She and I agreed, "That man's a keeper!"

In short, if you want to be more than just another dick to a woman, her happiness needs to matter to you.


Nipples? Yes, please.
Posted:Aug 12, 2016 3:08 pm
Last Updated:Aug 20, 2016 8:59 am
My Bi-BFF suggested last night that maybe, just maybe, I give myself a break from dating and fucking. I nodded my head "yes" with fingers crossed.

This morning I ran threw the list in my head of guys I've considered and postponed due to my infatuation with "Bend-Over. I'll drive" Sam of Bend, Oregon.

I remembered the Ventura Dom "Redbeard" with whom I've been texting for a year and a half. He and I have met in person once for a beer when I just happened to text him at the right moment. I was intrigued by the fact that he noted I said seven times in the course of our hour-long conversation that I was almost ready to meet someone with whom I could truly connect.

That was back in December 2015. Now I find myself absolutely done (almost) with the previous unavailable guy and peeved at Bend-Over Sam for being the next.

Just now, I texted a naked photo of my pussy to Redbeard.

He requested the photo in June, the last time I found myself in Ventura with a bit of time for fun. You see, he's a Dom and I'm not truly a submissive. I just like to scare myself a bit with the prospect of surrender.

He wrote, "Mmmmmm. Nipples?"

I replied, "Two at last counting."

"Excellent. Just checking," he said.

In another six months, perhaps we'll get naked together.



That sucks, Sam!
Posted:Aug 12, 2016 9:22 am
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2016 8:34 am

That sucks, Sam!

And not in a good way.

Apparently, I need to keep working on the same lessons.

I started this blog in January to vent my ire and disappointment, spew a little bile in the process about severing my attachment to The Unavailable Guy (TUG). One of the things I learned with TUG was about the importance of leave-taking and re-connecting. When one is not monogamous (and maybe even for monogamous couples), it matters how you take your leave from one another and reconnect when you've been apart.

Now eight months later, I scored well on the reconnecting, poorly yesterday on the leave-taking but top marks on the pop quiz about "What do you do, Babe, when you encounter a man who is 'just not ready'?"


Back away slowly and you won't get hurt.

After I dropped Sam (the star of my June and July visits to Bend, OR, as detailed in BendOverIn My Storage Unit 2, BendOverIn My Storage Unit, Part 1 quotBendOver I39ll drivequot, Bring heels Part 2 BendOver I39ll drive, Part 3 BendOver I'll drive, Part 4 BendOver I39ll drive, Part 5 BendOver I39ll drive , Part 6 Finally the Sex BendOver I39ll drive) in a parking lot out in the wilds of Simi Valley, where he went to visit his father, and watched his back slowly retreat, I wished I'd been able to figure out a way to more gracefully take our leave of one another. I assume we may see one another again, despite the distance between Bend, Oregon, and Santa Barbara, CA, but we've decided it makes more sense to have our visits be infrequent and shorter to avoid activating my desire for deeper attachment. (I met him in June and spent two delirious days, returned to see him in Bend in July for three nights and he visited me in SB for five nights.)

Funny example of my attachment vice: After waking him for sex at 4 am a couple days ago, I had the 1978 Walter Egan tune, "Magnet and Steel" earwormed into my brain. I found it on the tube and played it for him, terribly embarrassed at how schmaltzy is my personal musical soundtrack. For me, the song was not so much about love but how sex makes me want to be stuck to a man.

Anyway, now it's "adios" to the idea of a road trip together to Baja. That sounded like fun...as did the one to a Canadian ski village. Off limits for me. The memory still burns brightly about how spending time with a man who has declared that he's emotionally unavailable simply turns into torture for me.

But when you take leave without any time for tenderness or even one last quick fuck, it sucks! And not in a good way.

Sign me peeved,

For Lovers...of Language...The Big Five!
Posted:Aug 6, 2016 8:47 pm
Last Updated:Aug 12, 2016 9:08 am

This evening as I prepare for the arrival of my lover Sam from Bend, OR (the one who has the co-starring roles with me in BendOverIn My Storage Unit 2, BendOverIn My Storage Unit, Part 1 quotBendOver I39ll drivequot, Bring heels Part 2 BendOver I39ll drive, Part 3 BendOver I'll drive, Part 4 BendOver I39ll drive, Part 5 BendOver I39ll drive , Part 6 Finally the Sex BendOver I39ll drive), I am thinking about language and, particularly the idea of "The Five Languages of Love."

First, let me go on record as saying I don't like the word "lover." Rather arch, It smacks of pretension but I can't find another word I like better. He might refer to me as his "friend" to his other friends but I know what that means (and also what it means when he refers to other women as his friends). Fuck Buddy, which implies casual friends who fuck, doesn't quit fit where we are. Neither does boyfriend/girlfriend. We are mature people exploring where our interest in one another goes with a third visit in six weeks. Okay, so I'll use the word "lover" and get over it.

Now, let me check the oven for the chicken I'm roasting with sliced garlic cloves under the skin, stuffed with lemon and rosemary. It smells divine. Whew! I caught the grilled bell pepper, portabella mushroom, onion, pasilla chiles and eggplant just in time. I'm not planning on a huge meal this evening. I'm stocking up for the days ahead. I'll just bring cantaloupe and ripe figs wrapped in prosciutto to greet him at the airport in case he needs some calories before I start fucking the life out of him.


I'm not a gourmet chef though I am quite a foodie. Great food flavors rival my love of cock. But, what I'm doing is not about the food. It's about Act of Service.

One of the smart things I did (while taking a break from fucking) during my last visit to Bend was read aloud the questions to my lover Sam from the online quiz on "The Five Languages of Love" (5L and get his responses. What it did is that it clarified that for each of us what reads as caring is when someone provides Acts of Service for us. Someone does something to take care of our needs and make us happy.

The 5LL are:

* Acts of Service
* (Words of) Affirmation ("I love you. You're special to me")
* Touch (non-sexual)
* Quality Time Together
* Gifts (physical presents that signify someone was thinking of you).

I consider these "love languages" important because most of us give what we like to receive. The good thing is Sam and I have as our #1 item: Acts of Service. The stuff he did for me --preparing food, hauling his SUP board to the river for me, setting up a storage unit sex scene in advance, packing me food for the flight home-- made me incredibly happy.

Interesting to note is that his second one is Affirmation while mine is touch. The quiz forces one to pit each of the options against the other. As I heard him choose ANYTHING over touch, I got an insight, "His not touching me in public and not being all touchy/feely, it's not personal. It's just not his thing." In fact, Touch ranked last for him while it's second for me. Because he likes to offer Acts of Service extending himself for non-sexual touch may be something he can do. I'm conscious of making an effort to speak my appreciation of him because Affirmation registers with him.

The other thing I've spent a lot of time doing today is "staging" the house for sex everywhere. An Act of Service, it's been a ton of fun for me, creating a huge surge of anticipatory shivers as I place heels near the Function Specific Design (FSD) Chairs I bought with fucking in mind. FSD --narrow base and high back-- is his trademark. When I wear heels straddling him (as he directed me to do in "Wear Heels") I can grind to my pussy's great delight.

So I don't forget in my oxytocin-induced haze, here are the topics on my mind for upcoming blogs:

* Clothing that Flatters the Mature Slut
* Poly = Honesty. How do I tell the truth with both courage and kindness?

Oh, the point of this blog in case my anticipatory quivers obscured it: I recommend checking out "The Five Languages of Love" quiz to understand what speaks to you...and to your lover. It's free and easy to find with a search engine.


1 comment
You May Get a Second Chance for a Second Impression...
Posted:Aug 5, 2016 6:39 am
Last Updated:Aug 12, 2016 10:36 am

I've been dating so long (Egads, 16 years off and on since I separated and divorced from my ex-husband) that I've developed a quick intuitive sense of whether I'll click with someone or not. Because my search for a Primary Partner, someone available for emotional intimacy in a non-monogamous relationship, has proven challenging, I've stopped screening people out in order to see who shows up because they are attracted to the offer in my ads.

That's how I decided to meet JayDee jarule89 who contacted me through this site. He had a few strikes against him: visiting but not local to Santa Barbara, grammar slips (not as sexy as nip slips, in my opinion) but some huge factors in his favor:

I own my delight in seeing my pink bits penetrated by black dick. A friend says it's my "Plantation Mistress" taking advantage of well, let's not go there. Whatever. I'm a racist. We live in a racist culture. And I like black dick.

JayDee and I met briefly and walked near the beach, chatting easily and discovering we're both poly, familiar with the issues that come up when one is honest about non-monogamy and interested in the psychology of sex. JayDee was also horny as hell (a quality I value in a man), ready to get it on in the few minutes before he needed to report to work at Michael Jordan's basketball camp for , which was taking place at UCSB. But we couldn't find a private spot fast enough. As a slut who plans ahead, I was, of course, carrying my preferred Female Condoms and coconut oil lube...just in case. So we put a bookmark on it.

That evening, I ignored my own rule about "I don't drive for sex" and drove over to fuck him in Student Housing near UCSB where he was housed. Since I'm a UCSB grad (Go Gauchos!), it was a bit deja vu. After smoking a little pot, we enjoyed a quick-to-the-point fuck that showed potential for future fun. My first impression of JayDee was good.

I'm not big on serving as a late night booty call (Frankly, I prefer to do the calling, "I don't drive for sex" and he had no car). So JayDee and I planned to meet the first day he had some time off. He peeled off from hanging with his boys and we had some drinks and appetizers downtown and then I drove us to the home where I'm house-sitting in the foothills in Santa Barbara. Okay, so this leads us to my second experience with JayDee: 2 BBCs amp MeCross that one off the

To summarize, I hesitantly agreed to an impromptu 4some, which was sometimes a 3some, with JayDee, one of his boys and my most adventurous gal pal Heather. It was NOT a good time had by all. Frankly, I was pretty frosted because I felt used as a place for two guys to get off. I was disappointed because I'd expected better from the easy rappoire of my first meeting and potential from the quickie with JayDee. First impression, good. Second impression, bad.

I wrote a diatribe to my gal pals describing in great detail how the experience had failed to satisfy me. I thought about sending it to JayDee, but over the years, I've learned that no good comes of sending emails with emotional content. It's better to deliver the information at the right time in person or at least by phone. As a Sex Coach, I have learned that men listen better when they're horny, knocking on the pussy gates.

When he sexted me (texted for the purposes of seeking sex), I suggested we talk by phone. I summarized the low points of my last experience with him and said I'd been surprised because I'd expected better of him. The amazing thing is, JayDee listened, agreed and said he could do MUCH better.

I am here to testify that, OMG, YES, YES, YES, YES!!!! He could do MUCH, MUCH, MUCH better. He tuned in, slowed down, demonstrated finesse and a level of skill with fingers and mouth that I have rarely experienced. And then, OH MY FUCKING GOD, the fucking was OUT OF THIS WORLD. Just brief periods of Energizer Rabbit Fucking, broken up by long, slow, deep strokes, varied angles and, well, most everything a knowledgeable slut who loves to fuck might enjoy.

But here's the most interesting take-away for me:

I'm not a 30 to 40 year-old African-American man.


I mean I don't know a damn thing about what life is like inside the skin of JayDee and his 'boys. I got a sense of it, talking with him the other night about what it was like for all these incredibly fit, high testosterone black men to be stuck week after week in our white bread backwater village where there are no clubs (to speak of) where they could go meet women.

Add to that, their very real safety concerns, like when we were going to meet his friend "L" to hook up for the 4some. L did not park to wait for us at the bottom of the private road as I instructed. He moved a good distance away and parked on the major thoroughfare near a church.


It NEVER occurred to me that a black man sitting alone in a car in a totally white, expensive neighborhood is just asking for trouble, as wickedeasy wrote about "DWB, Baby," (Driving While Black) in her post on 40 years agoand yesterday.

My life experience is limited to my life experience. I'll never know (unless reincarnation exists) what it's like to be an African American man in America. But I could inquire about it and challenge my assumptions. My first impression was seconded by a positive third impression. Or was it a do-over of the second impression?

Whatever. I learned that when the new info doesn't jive, inquire!



To link to this blog (bipolybabe69) use [blog bipolybabe69] in your messages.

  bipolybabe69 59F
59 F
December 2016
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat

Recent Visitors

Visitor Age Sex Date
AVIDREADER357  57M11/13
plzinglvr2 70M11/10
davebraz 73M10/27
Fravo1979  42M10/19
neilthekiwi  47M10/16
realhotwife 55F10/14
illianz7 42M10/1
Pair4more 55/55C9/30
scipio93  62M9/15