Glitter. Real Stories About Sexual Desire From Real Women

Glitter

Real Stories
From Real Women
About Sexual Desire

Edited by Mona Darling

Copyright © 2013 Mona Darling
Darling Propaganda LLC

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10:0988964716

ISBN-13:978-0-9889647-1-6

To my MAL

To my best friend and favorite bartender. Fourteen plus years of stalking and you still haven’t  been able to ditch me! Thank you for putting up with my incredibly weird career choice.

Had I the dare to choose, I’d choose you from all the men on all the planets the night sky has to show me.

Saffron (Christina Hendricks)
,
Firefly

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Textually Active
Amber

The Snow Storm
Christy Summer

If I’m Going to be Honest…
Courtney

After School Special
Alicia Wolfe

P is for Pleasure
Polly Priss

FIRE TRUCK!
Belle

Just Curious
Krissy

Games Children Play
Clara’s BFF

Dearest Bob
Meg

Invisible Bisexual
Delilah Night

The Celibate Slut
Jess

Kinky Girl
Lucky Girl

Hiding in Plain Sight
Nikkiana

The Learning Curve of Crippled Sex
Jenn

The Others
Sweet Cheeks

The Fear
Lexie

You Brought This on Yourself
Sandra D

Broken
Kate Anon

I’m a Jane
Jane Johnson

Healing Through Safe BDSM
Maple Muffins

Fucked Up and Glorious
Hopper James

Dirty Little Sex
Foxy Kitten

That Miranda
Elis Bradshaw

Scheherazade
Kate Conway

The Sensualist
Luisa Colt

The Ins and Outs of Virginity
Katherine

Sex Worker Mommy
Penny Barber

Unintentional
Kailynn

Inexperienced, Not Stupid
Firefly Sub

At Least We Tried
Alicia Wolf
e
             

Schooled
Taffy Davenpor
t
             

Just a Good Southern Girl
Sweet Cheek
s
   

Then and Now
Tizzy Wal
l
             

Are We Doing This Wrong?
Hipster Homemaker

The First Night
Lynn Lacroix

Playmates
Frederica De La Fontai
n
             

Sex as a Fancy Tool
Melind
a
             

Feminist and Submissive?
Picky Britches

Waking Up
Nina Potts

It’s Just Sex
Bell
a
             

Firsts
Lauren Marie Flemmin
g
             

The Power of Shame
Mona Darlin
g
             

About the editor

I want to thank every woman who shared her story. By opening up and sharing your fantasies and desires, you are normalizing and destigmatizing women’s sex and desire.

You are all amazing.

I also want to thank everyone who encouraged me to continue collecting these stories. It has been a true labor of love.

A portion of all proceeds is donated to a certain large womens health organization that neither knows about, nor endorses this book.

When I started my blog, talking about IVF, parenting, and my job as a dominatrix, I wasn't sure what to expect. I thought I might get hate mail from people who didn't understand that sex workers and BDSM players could be loving parents. I expected to be shunned by the other mommy bloggers. But instead, they welcomed me. I shared their same struggles with parenting and infertility, yet was able to talk to them about another side of themselves that they usually kept private. Women from every walk of life started telling me about their secret desires and past adventures, their sexual histories.

At first I talked to these women privately. Some talked about kinky escapades ‘back in the day,’ while others confessed things they had never shared before: a rape or particularly shaming curiosity that had affected their sex lives. Most didn’t want an answer, they just wanted to be heard; to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge. To feel like they weren’t alone.

We all think we are alone. We are the only one. That we need to hide that part of us. In reality? We all have a past: a desire, a fetish, a kink, a secret.

This book is a collection of those secret stories.

Some are sexual histories taking the reader down a path of relevant events that brought the writer to where she is today. Some are stories about one particular event or relationship, be it tragic, kinky or hot. The one thing that brings them all together is that they are all true stories from real women.

Reading these stories feels like exchanging secrets with a room full of girlfriends over cocktails. Many cocktails.

I want this anthology to be a talking point, a conversation starter. I want any woman who reads it to come away from the book identifying with at least one story; to know that they are not alone, to feel less ashamed and more empowered.

The contributors to this anthology discuss everything from masturbation to fetishes, from sexy to sad. Not every story will sit well with you for a variety of reasons. I hope you can still read it and be supportive of the writers.

Let the Glitter Begin!

Textually Active

Amber

@AFullMargin

I'm a full time single parent and full time student preparing to transfer into my first bachelors program at thirty. I'm pansexual, kinky and tend to avoid politics and religion wherever I can. I'm a bad feminist. I've been writing fanfiction and erotica for over fifteen years and, at the moment it's my sexual outlet of choice.

I came of age in the ‘90s, born in 1982 and raised in rural Arizona by working parents that didn't really think I needed sex ed - they were right, by the time they thought to even begin introducing it at school and eventually at home I was already prepared for the advanced courses. Bless a precocious mind and easy access to pornography.

After dinner, I put the kids to bed
,
light a few candles and some mellow-scented incense. A mug of tea, usually lavender or mint, and something sweet to nibble on complete my personal self-care regimen. Before I had kids, it’d be my boyfriend or girlfriend going to bed and when I used to drink, it’d be a shallow tumbler with a double shot of tequila instead of tea and when I smoked it’d be my trusty Marlboro hard pack and zippo instead of hand-dipped incense, but the routine has remained mostly unchanged for over a decade. I turn on my computer and with a few keystrokes the experience has begun.

Tonight, I’m a bubbly twenty-six-year-old vixen looking to wrap my fingers around a sugar daddy’s big fat…wallet by the best means at my easy disposal, this time by posing as an escort. Yesterday I was a wealthy executive being beaten and fucked raw by an ex-commando mercenary working for a man that I screwed on a business deal. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go off my rails and change into the hazy green skin of a tentacle monster on the hunt for virgins who dare disturb my slumber. Perhaps I’ll be a fifty-something divorcee meeting with his new lady love for a clandestine night of passion between slices of his homemade pie and full contact cuddling. Or even a super-spy bedding an intersexed space alien he met in a pandimensional brothel, an awkward thirty-something with an unspoken crush on his long-time best friend, a bored plus-sized housewife who decides to moonlight as a mistress for thrills, any number of gawky young adults still learning about the pleasures of sex, a survivor of the zombie apocalypse desperate to feel anything but fear and hopelessness, a curious anthropomorphic feline, part of a gang bang, a sex slave or slave owner. I could be anything, any one, any number of faces and bodies and stories working toward the simple goal of text on the screen dripping with unadulterated lust.

This is my sex. Late at night by the light of a few candles and my monitor I spin stories of sex and intrigue, lust and longing. Tales where lonely cops, waitresses, mythical creatures, parents, teenagers, models, politicians, soldiers and spies are stripped down to the level of lovers. Givers and takers, tops and bottoms, masters, mistresses, slaves and pets and anything and everything in between. My fantasies, no matter how taboo or vanilla they are that day, are safe and as free from judgement as one can be while still straying out of the solid walls of my mind.

Far from what I’ve been told people assume when they find out about my text-based hobbies, I’ve had sex in the real world. Quite a bit of it, considering I’m a fairly unassuming looking overweight thirty-year-old single mom. I started young, too young, perhaps, but curiosity has always gotten the better of me and over the last fifteen years I’ve dabbled in anything that’s taken my interest. Much like my fantasy life, finding my true self IRL (in real life) has been difficult. The list of identities I’ve held in one form or another includes (but is certainly not limited to): bisexual, gender queer, victim, bottom, mistress, gay, goddess, top, slave, slut, boi, little girl, ftm, observer, furry, director. Right now, at this moment, I consider myself to be a pansexual mamabear with toppy tendencies despite my intensely submissive fantasies…it’s a label that’s stuck longer than most but I won’t pretend it’s how I’ll always see myself.

The ‘vanilla’ world disappointed me, I remember as a young teenager being frustrated with the pervasive reliance on gender roles and rigid “gay” or “straight” sexuality. The black-and-white world of this-is-good/that-is-bad has always bothered me and the only way I could ever explain it is to say that my world is gray. Which in and of itself isn’t entirely true. It’s more like it’s a Technicolor rainbow of possibilities where things are flexible and fluid and the rigid notion of sexuality being an either/or only continuum was done away with. Throughout my formative years I can remember the streams of contradictory information coming from every direction: girls only like boys but good girls don’t sleep with boys and you should have a close female friend but if you kiss you’re lesbians and that’s dirty…

I forged my own way. I played with boys and girls, exploring everything I could, like a fat kid at a Dairy Queen with a big bowl of little pink spoons (which was also a literal indulgence of mine, but in all fairness I was a pretty cool fat kid). Before too long, though
,
the
y
took my spoons away and I was left without people to explore. At thirteen I was the weird kid who giggled a lot and knew way too much about sex: the pervert and the slut. That was the year I started writing.

The first gentle steps into textual sexuality were much like the fumblings of any virgin; I kept a diary where I wrote down all of my fantasies in gory, graphic detail. Thoughts I’m almost ashamed to admit came out of the mind of a sexually-obsessed tween. Things along the lines of “I bet Mr. (insert teacher here) has a really big dick. I wonder what would happen if I told him I’d suck it.” Which – oddly enough – would be one of my first documented fantasies involving intergenerational relationships with an authority figure, something which has popped up many, many times in my fantasies since. At fourteen I fell in love with the internet and found fanfiction, which I still write to this day and don’t ever plan to stop. I’ve just this year found my very first stories under a pseudonym I haven’t used since 1999. In them Hercules and Ioalus (from TV’
s
Hercules: the Legendary Journey
s
) shared a very manly time at the baths including scrubbing and copious amounts of poorly-written anal sex. Many stories followed, all based in various fandoms and around various pairings.

After those initial writings I became like a woman possessed. I wrote about anything and everything, spending hours chatting with friends who were into the same exact things I was. It was heavenly but at that time it was all limited to discussin
g
fictiona
l
sex lives. It was safe but unsatisfying. I got my personal kicks in the real world, experimenting with sex all through high school with anyone I was attracted to that seemed interested in me. I supplemented heavily with porn in every form I could get my hands on: videos, magazines, books, nifty.org and newsgroups with alt.sex in them.

My next big step in my personal textual-sexual revolution came in the form of something anyone who has ever been in a large chatroom has probably seen: an instant message with the simple line “a/s/l.” I can’t remember the guy’s handle, but shortly after I answered it became pretty clear what he wanted. Eventually he asked outright what my fantasy was, and for the first time ever I shared my biggest fantasy of the time: for a marching band practice (I would be the third chair trombone in this scenario) to turn into an orgy. Oddly enough, it’s one of the few fantasies that has survived to this day and every so often I’ll Google ‘marching band orgy’ only to be sorely disappointed and reminded that when I die some poor soul will end up reading my search history and learning things nobody ever needed to know. In return, he sent a grainy webcam picture of his cock. Thus began the cybersex portion of my sexual journey.

Cybersex was my first introduction to openly sharing my own fantasies, learning about kinks that I had always assumed nobody but me had. I’d stay up until the early hours of the morning getting off with men and women I never intended to meet, sharing our fantasies over IM and in private chatrooms, one-on-one or in small groups. In that time I was always upfront about who I was, no characters, just a lonely, horny girl looking to swap fantasies and talk about the weird shit I’d love to do with someone else. The cybersex led to real life sex back then, random hookups and my shaky introductions to the BDSM scene around eighteen or nineteen when I was treated horribly for being a newbie and more or less clueless about things like roles or identities; I just wanted to play! And I played. And learned games that I hadn’t even thought about at that point in my life. I recall on my twentieth birthday I got my very first caning at a play party because I’d mentioned to a guy I met in a chatroom that I wondered what it would feel like to be beaten and humiliated and then fucked in public. I got to play out fantasies of being “Daddy’s girl” as well as a mistress with a man twice my age licking my toes before begging to eat me out. It was a pretty good run, really. But in the end, it was just too much. I got sick of being told
I
ha
d
to be either a Domme or a sub, that
I
ha
d
to be into leather and pain and humiliation, which sometimes I was, but not always. But again, there were always those either/or lines. Too many times I got told that situational switches don’t exist or that I wasn’t straight enough or that I wasn’t lesbian enough or that it was a man- or woman-only space. I got sick of fucking people I barely knew and engaging in what I now know was very risky and self-destructive behavior and plain old poor judgement. I wanted freedom to not just be me, but to be anyone I damn well pleased. And I wanted to be loved for it.

Retreating back to the internet, I found a place to call home, the furthest place I could possibly find from the leather-and-pain I thought of as BDSM at the time: I became a furry. Okay, to clarify: I’ve never been sexually attracted to animals, nor do I ever expect to be. I never wore a fursuit (though I have played with someone in one) and I never subscribed the whole ‘otherkin’ thing. That said, for a (before-children) period between the ages of about twenty-one and twenty-three I identified as an anthropomorphic gray and black tabby cat. Still with me? Good, you’re a trooper.

The furry community was an eye-opener for me, for the first time I found others that were in tune with my philosophy of sexuality as something that should be playful and friendly (even when the scene you’re playing isn’t). I was able to explore fluctuating identities and the concept of playing a character other than myself in a sexual context. My writing changed and grew as I did until it too became more fluid. Fiction began to crossover into my life as cybersex with the intent to get off and maybe hook up with someone was replaced with roleplay where the goal was to weave a story with someone else.

But again, I grew and changed and my sexuality and identity changed with me. Over the course of the next five years I’d have two lovely children, become a single parent, and lose most interest in actually having sex with someone in the real world. Don’t get me wrong, if the right person and the right time happened to coincide, I wouldn’t think twice about it, but most days I’m pretty sure I’ve had more than my share of the ice cream buffet that is sex.

Roleplay and fiction became my outlet of choice then, and for over three years now I’ve been pretty happy with that. My sex life is far from over, in a lot of ways I see it as just beginning in this world where I can be anyone I can imagine and indulge in things I either can’t or wouldn’t do in the real world. If I wanted to, tonight I could be Batman. I could write a story by myself or with friends where I yet again save Gotham and then have a three-way with Catwoman and Robin. Leaving the masks on, of course. And if I feel like it, I can be an unassuming thirty-year-old single mom with a wild imagination who wants to cuddle and maybe kiss and someday fall in love. It’s like a pornographic costume party where we’re all wearing a mask and our readers (of what we choose to make public) are voyeurs to our exhibitionism.

At the end of the night, when my lust is sated and my imagination has drifted off, I snuff out my candles and shut down my computer before retiring to bed with a few good toys and a very, very vivid memory of the many lives I lead.