Life is changing for me as I post this, which is also the excuse as to why it’s been so difficult to keep up with my blog these past two weeks. I want to write about it ALL, or at least about this Sex in America panel I went to two weeks ago, and also about my trip to Jamaica, but right now I’m moving things around and shaking them up, and the truth is I have a mess to clean up (literally, in the room I now sit). So for now I will leave you with an HNT from last Thursday, in my hotel room at Hedo 2 where yes, there are mirrors on the ceilings.

Pardon my french,but this is ridiculous: N.Y. county sends out absentee ballots listing Barack ‘Osama.’

Goes to show you that it’s way more common for guys to get fucked in politics than in a bar with a room full of drunk bachelorette’s and free booze. Politics is so much dirtier than my grandma panties on the second day of my period.

*this is not to say that all grandma’s wear these panties (the kind with elastic waistbands and cotton liners) but these types of panties are most often associated with grandmas. I, however, am weening myself off of said panties even during my visits with “Harry with the red hair.” In fact, I think I just threw out my last pair. Oh, and I don’t really have a heavy flow. I know. TMI.

Photo by Circe

I’ve had this secret, or not so secret - depending on how close you are to me and how much you know about me - fantasy to become a burlesque supastar. I’ve got the name picked out (Rockie Rhode), and even my first song (that you’ll have to wait for), but up until now I haven’t had the incentive to actually get out there and take it off. Or maybe it’s not the incentive I lack (loads of eager eyes staring at my body as I wriggle and writhe on stage, as opposed to loads of eager construction workers oggling my body as I walk down the street, is good enough for me) but the motivation to learn a routine to make me look like a pro has taken a tad bit longer than expected. I’ve been promising myself the outfit, the pasties — another of my mental obstacles since I have those really large areola, and since said really large areola make me want to wear really large pasties, which then leads me to a mental discussion and overanalysis of my overly large areolas cause hey we’ve all got our issues — and the space to do it in, and now, suddenly, it’s happening..to me…for me…with me.. YES!

But before I tell you more, my mind must make one small digression. It’s about pasties. About an appreciation I have for them. Cause one thing I really like about pasties is how they can make some of the saggier sets of sisters look like a pair of perky potatoes (pre-schoolers and pre-pubescents also came to mind when I was looking for a “p” word to go with perky, but there’s something inherently wrong with associating either of these things with my breasts). That is all. Let’s return to some regularly scheduled thoughts.

This all leads me to Tess, my dear friend and certified sexpot, who lovingly emailed me (and 11 others) a few weeks back with a raison d’etre. Yes, finally I have the even-more-added-incentive-and-motivation to take it all off.  And BTW, if you haven’t seen Tess’ cleavage of the day posts, you really should…I’m talking some of the best! boobs! like ever!

So without further ado, I am going to take most of it off, and Rockie Rhode will spring forth from my loins, and boobs will bounce, and pasties will sparkle and I will be reborn a calendar girl/burlesque supastar (or at least a Burlesque supastar in training).

One more thing. You can be a part of it too. (I can see the excitment bursting from your loins as well now).  Cause me, and those 11 others like me, or not like me, or maybe they don’t like me - hello paranoia! are getting together a week from Sunday to shoot the 2009 Sex Bloggers Calendar. All proceeds go to Audacia Ray’s Sex Work Awareness project.

You know you want to buy a calendar. Or even a day in it. It’s going to be sexy. All the info you need to know (like the who, how and why) can be found on the calendars’ blog. So check it out. And check me out. Construction workers and all!

Dildo Art on the Playa. Burning Man. 2008.

Wow.

I just got back from a two week trip to Burning Man and it’s hard to land again. For starters, I do not have sand in strange places, which I am sure some people do, and which I would imagine could make it hard to land, or sit, but I have showered numerous times since leaving the playa and I haven’t found any weird sand, or other unidentifiable objects, anywhere near my nether regions. And I know it’s always hard to land, but this time it feels really hard. Something is shifting for me here in New York Shitty City, and it has nothing to do with sand. Okay, now I’m just bringing up sand for sand’s sake. Right now I’m lethargic and it has nothing, well, almost nothing, to do with the late nights out (I didn’t have all that many of them) or the fact that my skin started to cook if I stayed in my tent after 8AM. Back home I still can’t sleep all that well, and I think this overall sense of lumping around has to with me. here. now.

In the desert I lived my whole week in the moment. I seriously spent almost every second being exactly where I was. Sure I thought about things at home - mainly my man and my cat - but on the whole, I didn’t think hard about what wasn’t in my control. I lived in a way where I was always where I was supposed to be. And it changed me. Something inside of me has shifted to this place of presence and it’s where I want to stay.

A place where I’m a little kinder. A little gentler. A touch wiser. A whole lot hornier.

I am really horny right now. I’ve been really horny since this past Saturday at Burning Man. Before that I was only feeling dusty, but something shifted in me the day before the last day of the event. It wasn’t that I wanted, or needed, to hump, in fact the two major dust storms really put a damper on my mojo, but something shifted in me on Saturday. I can actually feel the shift in my organs, my systems, my internal structure. I realize now that for the past few months I haven’t been present in my body for more than a few hours at a time. And now, after a week without email, the Internet or Obama/McCain, I am me again. All of me.

Someone use the word sensualist to describe themselves to me, and ever since it’s been stuck in my head like gum on the sidewalk (which btw, if you haven’t ever noticed, in NY there’s not a square of sidewalk without gum). I like the idea of living my life as a sensualist. Of not only being present, but of feeling that presence. Of getting turned on by everything. Wind, sound, a certain look. It’s as if every moment, every breath, is a tangible, graspable entity and once it I can notice things, I can really experience them as they are. I want to feel the world, as well as experience it, and think sensually even when I’m not thinking sexually.

For some reason the word sensualist makes my skin tingle. I’m going to go with this feeling for as long as I can. I want to touch my life, not just live it. I want to experience my partner, not just fuck him. I want to find the sensual in everything I do, even as my fingers touch each key as I type these words. It’s not going to be easy to make this last, but the more I think about it all, the hornier I get.

Cover of Spanked. The book that sparked a thousand thoughts.

Last night J. and I shared a few choice words. The kind of words that suck when they’re the last words you say to your lover before bed. The kind of words that solidified my decision to go to sleep without the exchange of any other kinder, gentler words. No “good night, sleep tight.” And forget “I love you.” I was pissed, and not in the English sense of the word.

Alas, today’s another day. Besides the fact that we talked this morning (communication is good!) I’ve also given some thought to his much needed punishment, some thought to how I may let him know he was a bad boy, but also let him know how good he usually makes me feel. Punishment is not my favorite activity mind you, especially since I received heaping portions of it as a child, but people think I should be good at delivering ample “sexual” punishment when necessary. People who know me think that when it comes to my sex life I’m a natural dominant/top, and they say this because of my seeming heaps-o-confidence and jiccy-ness (JIC stands for Jamye’s in Charge). And while perception is one thing, truth be told, I’m more apt to let someone else get the best of me when I’m naked and horny. But not after reading Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press. Nope. After reading over half the stories from the hottest book on spanking ever, I am so ready to be the one doing the spanking.

While I’m thinking ass spanks for J., the book is not just about the ass. It covers spanking anywhere, and everywhere, one could imagine delivering a spanking (of course places like the kidneys and spine are off-limits, and you should read up on how to spank before you decide where to spank). And while it’s totally turn-on-able writing, I’m also happy that it’s got little bits of instructional advice dangling within the text. Like if you’ve never spanked before, take Elizabeth Coldwell’s advice in “Through A Glass, Sharply”:

…my gentle caresses have become firm taps. Not enough to make Elliot flinch, but enough to begin the process of warming up his bottom, ready for the harder blows to come.

Or L. Elise Bland’s description of her favorite spanking utensils, from the short story “The Breeding Barn.”

…some of the most exciting toys are those I find in the everyday kitchen - wooden spoons, spatulas, Japanese rice cake molds, pizza servers, breadboards and ice-cold marble rolling pins to cool off a pair of hot buns after a good waling. Still, the hardiest paddle of all is the human hand. You never leave home without it, and it never raises eyebrows in public.

Good advice, and there’s heaps more of it, as well as totally well-written erotica in Spanked (not to mention some fun-tastic cover art). Personally, I found myself more turned on when the woman was in the role of the spanker, and not the spankee. Maybe it’s because it’s where I now fantasize going with J. Because some time this week I’m going to force him to take his place over my knee and give him the punishment I didn’t know he deserved until I plunged deeper into Spanked. That being said, “Laser Tag” by Madeline Glass, and “Pink Cheeks” by Fiona Locke (both stories with a male spanker) got me hot, and it wasn’t because I was reading them while doing cardio at the gym. Seriously I’m hard-pressed to find a story that smacks of boredom in this book.

I didn’t know it was possible to write so much hotness about spanking. But now I do. And I also know where my hand will be going sometime later this week. J. I hope your ass is ready.

For more on spanking:

Check out Spanked: The Blog
Tomorrow Babeland’s blog will continue the Spanked virtual book tour/review

I learned via Naked City, that the Njoy Eleven is finally for sale. I thought you could buy it for a while, since I reviewed it for Xbiz* a few months back but I guess you couldn’t. Regardless, now you can. So I figured I’d give you my review:

Njoy Toys motto should be “Satisfaction Guaranteed.” Like Kathy Bates in Misery, I am a number one fan, and Njoy Toys has yet to disappoint me. Seriously, I’ve been touting the pleasures of the Pure Wand for as long as I’ve owned mine. Not only do I have great orgasms with the thing, but it makes me squirt almost every time. Now I can add a new notch to my belt, and a new toy to my box, because Njoy’s Eleven is another home run. It’s the hugest thing I’ve ever put inside of my pussy and I loved every big, fat inch of it (all eleven of them to be exact). Not only did I have a fantastic orgasm, but once again I came, I saw, I squirted.

It’s heavy, very heavy, as in 2 ¾ pounds of sexy stainless steel. Which means it’s not only a great sex toy, but it’s also a great workout. The diameter of the smaller end, 1 ¾ “ isn’t very small, and the ridges are a nice added touch. The large 2” end is so big that I seriously couldn’t fit it in my mouth (yes, I tried), and, trust me, I have a large oral cavity. I’m proud that I could take it all inside of me, even if I had to start slow (and with the smaller end) and use lots and lots of lube. This is not a toy for people afraid of size, no way, in fact it’s now sitting out on my dresser so I can bring to friends about how much I can handle. This toy laughs at little toys. It may even chew them up and eat them for dinner. But that’s okay. I’d understand. Because the Eleven is a serious toy for serious sex. It’s definitely the new king of my toy box. And yes, one could take it up the ass, but honestly, I’m not there yet.

*In case you were wondering - I review sex toys for Xbiz on a monthly basis. My “column” is called Tools of the Trade.

A few weeks ago I saw this van driving on the streets of Brooklyn, and now I don’t ever want to eat fish again. I’ve been a vegetarian (with the exception of sucking on certain types of sausage and other human body parts) since I was 13, and honestly I didn’t eat fish on an even-semi-regular basis until I was in my early 20s. My mom used to make me “tuna” sandwiches when I was like 8, but when I found out what tuna was (she never added the fish bit at the end of her “here’s your tuna sandwich” sentence), I stopped eating it. Completely, and sort of sadly, cause I loved my tuna on soggy white bread, crusts cut off, with cucumber on top. That is until I was about 23, and bored with my diet, and so, I began eating certain types of fish.

I still don’t eat shellfish, no bottom feeders, nothing but a few types of select white meat fish and tuna (the steak kind, not the mashed-up-in-a-can kind).

But now, after this, I have to reconsider.

Sometimes I feel confused about sex. About my own sex life. About sharing a lot, or a little or nothing at all. Sometimes I think that as a person immersed in talking, studying, reading about sex that I should want to have sex all the time, that my relationships should be defined by sex. I have good sex with my boyfriend of over 3.5 years, but even now, when we’re packing to get out of town for the weekend, he isn’t so optimistic on the number of condoms to bring.

“Just three?” I question, as he begins to pack them in our bag.

“Should we bring more?,” he asks.

Three. That’s one for each day, as long as we don’t have a mishap like a rip or an *erection defection. Three. Once a day for three days. Is that a lot or a little in my relationship right now?

If three is my lucky number, and we really only need one per time, and we will be with my parents, and we do live together, and we aren’t getting out of town to have sex in new places, is three enough?

Yeah, I’ve been giving myself orgasms (albeit often with his help) almost every day this month, but then I read someone like debauchette, whom I greatly admire for both her mind and the one time I met her, her body too (when I say met, I mean introduced as in “Jamye this is Debauchette,” who had a different name now than then). And she makes me think of how important sex can be in a relationship. But I ask the rhetorical question, should sex define a relationship if the person’s line of work is in sex?

Even sex with myself doesn’t define who I am. Even if sometimes I have to have an orgasm. Sometimes I have to stop everything I’m doing to whack one out. But I’m more than my orgasms, even if that’s all I’m focused on this month. And yes, I had two, one each day the past two days that I’ve been in bed, doing nothing, not even wanting to lift my eroscillator to my clit. I’ve managed to bang two out..and move on. Because I’m just that committed.

But I’m stuck on the importance of sex in a relationship. I know it changes over time, but does it change you over time too?

*erection defection - when a hard dick goes flaccid as a result of putting on a rubber

Here’s my masturbation breakdown from LA to NY.

May 12th – Flew to LA from NY. Had no alone time, until it was time for bed. Tried Screaming O’s new Fing-O vibrator but it was too loud for me to use in my friend’s apartment. Finished myself off with my hand.

May 13th – Spent one night in another location. Used Fing-O vibe while everyone was out at a ball game. Happy to have gotten it done, and even happier to have had some alone time to do it in.

May 14th – First day of shooting (a lot of sex) for Playgirl TV. While the day went well, I have some bad news. Really bad news (well, bad news relative to my masturbation mantra for May). I never got to masturbate today. Nada. No finger, no vibrator. Today nothing came between my clit and me. Other people came; mainly men, but I didn’t touch myself. By the time we got home it was after 2AM, and the day was done and so was I.

May 15th – Masturbated in the afternoon after spending the morning with an amazing psychic and appearing on the first ever sex.com radio show.

May 16th – Second day of shooting for Playgirl TV. Needed to get a solo scene out of all my male, and female, talent. Had one male talent that I didn’t think would perform. He said he’s never done a solo scene. So, while the female talent was busy taking still photos, I took matters into my own hands. Literally. Translation = he masturbated; I touched myself (over and under my clothes with my own hand, but nobody ever saw anything but my hand over or in my pants). Yes, I may have crossed the line between director and talent, but I got a great performance out of my actor, and I believe I did what had to be done in that situation. Besides, I got to fulfill my masturbation quota for the day. Didn’t have an orgasm, but didn’t need to. Had a new experience, and that was most important.

May 17th – Was sick, really sick, as in not well in the body. After finishing up shooting on Friday, I came home to the beginnings of a cough. Cough turned into some form of illness that left me feeling zombified, and I was most uncomfortable in my body. It felt like if I could rip off all my skin and go soak it somewhere far away, and then maybe, just maybe, I’d feel better. I spent all of Saturday sleeping, watched a little TV and forced myself to masturbate because I couldn’t just lie around and not get the job done. Forcing myself to masturbate (with Fing-O vibe again) made me feel better, much better, and I slept soundly the rest of the night.

May 18th – Felt better, much better. Masturbated while my friend was in the shower. Did it quickly, with the vibrator. I am really missing my favorite eroscillator these days. But I know I’ll be home soon enough and we shall be reunited.

May 19th – Super sick again. Was feeling better yesterday, but not today. I had no desire to masturbate, although I really wanted desire, and I even wanted to make it happen on the plane. Thought it would be fun to join the My-Oh’ll High Club, but it didn’t happen. Instead continued sneezing every three minutes. It’s like I’m a full-blown snot manufacturer. I could probably produce enough snot to feed a village of starving children in a third world country, that is if snot was something that could sustain a village. I suppose snot could be used like glue too. It’s got that consistency. Fine, snot isn’t sexy, but masturbation is. Especially when someone’s watching you. Tonight J. had sex with me while I masturbated with my eroscillator. It felt really good to be home.

May 20th: Still sick. Very sick. Tried an e-Stim electrosex kit. Felt good and bad at the very same time. Couldn’t use it on my clit because it felt like someone was shooting my clit with needles. But liked it around my vagina, so kept it there while I used my vibe. Got off, but barely have been getting out of bed today.

Days 9 through 11 have come and gone.

I’m back on track with my jilling off. Back on track in that I haven’t missed a day since I decided I almost missed a day, but now, days after the initial minute and minute (one is a measure of time and one means sooo small) masturbation mishap, I’m feeling good again. However, there are challenges abound as I head into a week of living on couches and guest rooms that don’t belong to me and my man. Yes, I’m in Los Angeles right now, without my handy eroscillator, without my trusty man meat and without the comforts of doing it in my own apartment, on my own bed, my own couch, my own rug.

But unlike having sex with your partner when you’re out of town, the good thing about self-love is that you can do it anywhere. On second thought you can do your partner anywhere to, if you clone a copy of his willy. But that isn’t warm like the real thing.

Anyway, I don’t necessarily need dick to double click my own mouse, but being away from my handy plug-in vibe means that some nights it’ll be back to my good old handy hand. I did bring along the Screaming O’s new Fing-O finger vibrator, which I don’t even think is out yet, but since I’m the lucky recipient of a first edition, I’m going to give myself one manual finger and one vibrating one. I figured it’s small, potentially quiet, and really quite cute, and this way when my hand needs a hand, I can give it a finger.

I’m a bit worried about how I’m going to masturbate tonight though. Day 12 could prove tricky as tonight is definitely a sleep-on-the-couch night, and that means I won’t have much privacy. I’m already exhausted, but I know that a girls got to do what a girls got to do.

And this girl has gots to get off. Because, pardon me for repeating myself, but it’s my homage to masturbation and I will come everyday this month come hell or high water.

I’ll also be directing for Playgirl TV while I’m out here, so that could give me some good fodder for self-stimulation. Really when it comes to my own fantasies I can be quite dull. Actually often times I’m just boring. Bland. Banal. My favorite fantasy involves thinking about getting my pussy licked or having a penis, usually my boyfriend’s, inside of me. No plot. No story. Just action.

This week I’ll get to see lots of penis, but none of them will be my main man’s. And so, as Poison says:

You can look but you can’t touch.

Well, actually that’s what my boyfriend says too. And so that’s what I promise to do this week. Get great sexy footage that makes me want to masturbate even more, and then they’ll be turned into vignettes that help other people get sexy too. Yes, it’s sexy time .Whether you’re alone or together. Or alone and together. Or together yet alone.