The Beautiful Kind

Oh god, they’re back.

Candy cane sandwich cookies at Trader Joe’s.

Last year they kept running out of them, so this year they prepared for the cookie addict onslaught with huge displays.  You have to buy at least two boxes at time, cuz the first box goes so fast.

Especially in my house. Here is how I eat them:

1. I take four and nibble on them for as long as I can make them last.

Here is how my guy eats them (this is also how I imagine Santa Claus eats them):

1. He takes half a box and dumps it into a mixing bowl.

2. He fills the bowl with rice milk.

3. He lets it sit for a couple minutes.

4. He eats the cookie soup with a spoon.

I have a fit every time he pulls this caveman move.

When my boss told me he was about to meet via teleconference with a couple of Dutch dudes, I sent him this video and told him to watch it immediately following his meeting with Jan and Hans. I swear I can’t stop watching this thing. He couldn’t, either, and now he keeps babbling about “farting in the duck.”

The German language can be so much fun. If a person is speaking German, they sound pissed off even if they aren’t. An old woman can be smiling and speaking German to you, and it sounds like, “Fuck you and the fucking Rottweiler cur you rode in on.” And my god if they’re shouting in German, well, that’s the best way to shout. Do you think Hitler could have been so heinous had he been French or Spanish? I think not.

One of the best German films I’ve seen lately was Aimee & Jaguar (alternate title: Dykes & The Nazis Who Hate Them). The movie tells the story of a blonde! woman who falls in love with a Jewish woman. The BEST part of the movie is when the lesbians throw a scandalous little soiree and the blonde woman’s Nazi soldier husband comes home and finds her in bed with a hot Jewish woman. HAHAHAHAHA classic. Of course, you can imagine how the movie ends. I’ll give you a clue - it starts with a tra and ends with a gic.

I have two favorite German words. I’ve known about the word schadenfreude for a long time - taking pleasure in another person’s suffering. An example of this is when Dick Cheney shot that guy while quail hunting. Or when Anna Nicole Smith died - the whole country was masturbating furiously throughout that whole fiasco.

My new favorite German word is funktionslust - the pleasure and satisfaction one derives from doing what one is good at. You know, like blow jobs. What gives you funktionslust?

(Meanwhile, I STILL haven’t seen my Hitler movie…)

The Beautiful Kind has a myspace page.

http://www.myspace.com/thebeautifulkind

Last night my guy and I took a LUSH bath using the Silver Clouds bomb. We didn’t realize this one had a sparkly center. Within moments, we were sitting in glitterwater.

I pointed to his crotch. “Ha ha, your cock looks like Cher.” (It was even pointing at me like the real Cher in the photo at left.)

It got even funnier when I grabbed it and started wagging it around and making it sing Believe, that song they play in gay bars all the time. (Say, do you think that’s why gay men like Cher so much? Cuz with all the plastic surgery she’s had, she looks like a big smooth penis?)

The next day my guy went to work in a ratty old punk t-shirt, jeans, his black Doc Martens, and…covered in glitter. I wonder if he’ll still have sparkly pubic hair by the time he gets home tonight.

Oh lord this is another one of those super dirty posts that my guy gets shit for later from his friends (”So, how’s the Magic Wand treating ya?”) but this time maybe I’ll get more ribbing. OK here goes…

It was Sunday late morning. We had spent the morning lounging in bed, cuddling. Now we were down in the living room, ready for a change in scenery.

I said, “What do you want me to do?”

He thought for a moment, got a gleam in his eye, then replied, “I want you to go upstairs. Take off all your clothes. Get the handcuffs - no key - a glass dildo, and lube.”

Wordlessly I went up and stripped and fetched the things. Already, I was too excited to be cold.

I came back downstairs, where the living room and dining room curtains were wide open. Anyone walking by could see me.

I laid the things out and he cuffed my wrists behind my back, one at a time. I don’t like the cuffs. They’re hard and cold and uncomfortable.

“Now get down on your knees,” he ordered, and I knelt in the middle of the living room and looked up at him expectantly.

(Sidenote: I’m thinking of using this pic for my holiday cards this year.)

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he said casually, then turned and walked out of the room.

WTF?? I contemplated my situation. What to do with myself while he did his own thing? Check email? Um, no, I can’t. Exercise? Kindof hard to do situps with my hands cuffed behind me. So I ended up kneeling there thinking, waiting, my ears perked to his every move - the sound of the shower, his throat clearing, brushing his teeth…

About ten minutes later he came back in the room rock hard and with a camera in hand. He took pictures of me in that position, nude and cuffed. I scowled at him. He said, “Don’t give me that look, smile!” So I did.

Then he made me suck his cock and took pics of that too, his engorged head rubbing my forehead, nose, in my mouth.

He sat down on the floor and pointed at his lap, and I went to suck him some more, but he said, “No, lie across my lap.”

I did and he smacked my ass a few times. The handcuffs made it harder to bear. He lubed up the glass dildo and worked it into my pussy, fucked me with it.

After a while, he lifted me up by my arms and led me over to the dining room table and leaned me over it. He pushed my body down onto the smooth, cold tabletop and proceeded to fuck me so vigorously I was on my tiptoes and the table was scooting across the room. Jesus, if anyone happened to stroll by and glance in the window…

Then he took me over to the couch and leaned me over the arm and fucked me hard there. When he pushed up against me, the cuffs would tighten around my wrists with mean clicks, over and over, and it fucking hurt.

Finally he pulled me up by my hair and escorted me up to the bedroom. We laid on the bed and he unlocked the cuffs. I rubbed my sore wrists. He gave me the Hitachi Wand and told me to masturbate, but that I wasn’t allowed to orgasm until his cum was on my face.

He jerked off next to me, and I kept the wand on my pussy and and it bucked and buzzed and I rubbed his ass and brushed my mouth up against his nipple. Finally he reared up and came, hot and heavy all over my tits.

I said, “It didn’t reach my face!”

So he took handfuls of it and smeared it on my face, ahhhh. He rubbed the rest of it into my tits, massaged my hard nipples with his cum and I exploded.

Tonight I was supposed to have a tea party with a gay couple I met on myspace with cute dogs who live nearby but they never got back to me with what time I should come over. So instead I sat around and worked on a million writing projects, listened to my 2nd favorite band (The Handsome Family - I’d print some of their lyrics here but I know better, HA), finished reading the Sunday NYTimes, drank cherry wine, didn’t catch up on email, played good little sub housewife cooking and cleaning, masturbated to humiliation porn, and discovered that Joseph Stalin was completely HOT back in the day.

Never did get around to watching my Hitler movie…

I know there are a lot of you people out there trolling the internet who are sexually frustrated and having a hard time getting laid. Trouble is, you don’t know what it is that’s coming between you and that simultaneous orgasm with another human being.

Well, I do. And I’ll be glad to tell you. I might even offer you suggestions on how to improve your chances of getting laid. If I don’t know you personally, I’ll provide you with a handy questionnaire that will help me get a good picture of your sad and sorry state.

The rules are: 1) you have to be honest and 2) you have to be prepared to take the criticism. It might sting a bit, but you’ll be better off in the long run. Your real name or face will not appear on the website. Reader participation will be encouraged. It’ll be kind of like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy or Dr. Phil, only instead of five fags ganging up on a clueless shlub or a giant penis bossing around a yuppie couple, I’m a slut and you’re a dork.

Feeling brave? Got nothing to lose? Horny as hell? Apply and request a questionnaire by emailing love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

Dear Slut,
Do you think that there’s a connection between sex and artistic expression? Both are closely tied to the idea of creation, so would the connection be strictly categorical? Or could the hormones released during arousal give the brain a little boost? As a lover of the arts and sex, I imagine you have thought about this and I’m really curious about your thoughts on the subject. Thanks,
- Mr. Always in Need of a Muse

Dear Always,
I definitely think creative people are better in bed - artists, musicians and so on. Who would you rather sleep with - a composer/cello player, or a tax accountant? Yeah, it’s a no brainer. But it really gets interesting when you throw crazy into the mix. Both crazy and artistic people tend to be passionate.

Sex with the mentally ill or artistic types is usually great, but the trouble with mentally ill people is that they’re only fun about half the time. During their down moments you have to deal with medication and locked units. With artists, you get to fill in the blanks with good art and stimulating social events like concerts and art openings. Of course there are plenty of artists who are crazy - think Van Gogh and Sylvia Plath.

An interesting study from a couple years ago had this to say:

A survey conducted by psychologists from Newcastle University and the Open University suggests that creative people share several key traits with schizophrenia sufferers. The most sensationalist outcome of the study is evidence that artistic people are twice as sexually active as the norm.

However, the study makes the serious point that the inclusion of schizophrenia traits within the artistic personality, and the corresponding genetic pattern, may explain why the full-blown disease persists despite the evolutionary argument that schizophrenia’s negative impact on relationships and reproduction would eliminate the disease from the gene pool.

Ah, so THIS is why my poet mother who shaves her eyebrows and shoplifts kittens had five kids.

Bottom line: You know you’re in a good relationship when your partner inspires you to accomplish great things. And you’re getting lots of oral sex.

Inspired? Send questions to love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

Get this. I made a new friend online at goodreads. Goodreads is a hot website for book sluts like me - you can list and rate books, review them, see what other people are reading, and chat up like-minded people all over the world (for instance, I want to be friends with ANYONE who hated the book A Child Called It). It’s like being an amateur librarian.

Anyway so my new friend F is awesome and here’s an example. You know how every review of The Jungle is someone whining, “I’ll never eat a hamburger again!” which is a response I like, but it’s a little cliche and the declaration usually lasts about a week.

Here was F’s review of the book: “Poorly written, but incredibly effective. I’ll never be able to rape a Lithuanian girl again. ”

I’m pretty sure he won’t go back on his word with this one. Not only is F sensitive (or at least humorous), but he also turned me on to LUSH bath bombs. I didn’t even know we had a LUSH store in St. Louis, and I was curious enough to brave the Galleria. Hot damn, it turns out I’m a bath slut, too. It’s kindof weird to pay $6 a bomb and drop it in a tub and watch it dissolve like a huge Alka-Seltzer and then flush it down the drain, but I’ve spent my money on weirder things (like women’s magazines, shmancy cocktails and fantasy rape porn).

The bombs have wild ingredients in them like seaweed (mermaid bath), honey (bee bath), tiny silver stars (night sky bath), and confetti (party slut bath). It’s fun to watch the water turn color and for the fragrance to permeate everything and to slosh around in the odd bits. It’s also fun to find little silver stars in your hair later on.

Note: I have yet to take a LUSH bath and read at the same time. That might just send me over the edge.

So here’s the thing.

I notice that oftentimes people post song lyrics on their blogs as a way of piggybacking on an artist’s creativity and suggesting that they feel the same way or can relate to the sentiment behind the song.

They think that by posting the lyrics others will be able to automatically relate to how they’re feeling and “get it.”

Well, we don’t. Lyrics without the music is dork. I made this mistake once on my blog - I posted the words to an Okkervil River (my fav band) song cuz I liked it SO much and wanted to share it with the WORLD. I had a vague sense that I was misstepping as I committed the deed, but I copy and pasted anyway. Afterwards I looked at it there on the page, and it stared soullessly back as if to say, “You might as well post your grocery list, dork.”

I squirmed with embarrassment and took it down.

See what I mean here? Do you feel the angst, the energy, the passion?

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

Jesus, no wonder Kurt Cobain killed himself.

“You’re using my dead wife’s address labels for mailing out your panties?!”

- my guy, noticing an outgoing package on the kitchen table

.
Well she’s not going to use them…

The other day I sent someone a nude pic of me via email, and he happily reported that I “fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of someone emailing me nudie pix!”

Well I have to say it’s been fun fulfilling one of my lifelong fantasies - mailing my panties to strangers and getting money in exchange. (I’ve mailed panties to boyfriends in the past and they didn’t act properly grateful, hmf!) I especially like mailing them to work places; it heightens the “tee hee!” factor a bit.

A friend of mine gave me a great idea - sell them for charity. That’s right, if you donate at least $30 to one of my favored charities, I’ll mail you the panties of your choice (within the U.S., outside U.S. I’ll need you to pop for shipping.)

Farm Sanctuary
Longmeadow Rescue Ranch
Equine Assisted Therapy
Stray Rescue
Jane Goodall Institute
Unicef
Oxfam

Here are thumbnails of panties still available (click to enlarge).

I know, I know, they look so much better on me…

I am very thankful for Jimmy and his sock monkey booties.

I got fucked in the ass last night.

Finally! I’ve been working on this goal for a while.

Here’s how I got buggered:

We were lying around in bed about to engage in fornication when he said, “I don’t know, I’m not feeling very creative tonight. I keep wanting to do what we did the last time we had sex.”

Not a bad idea, as it was great sex. But I could sense the disappointment in his voice, so I suggested, “How about we try anal again?”

“Are you sure?” he asked warily. He’d been locked out of the back door too many times, despite knocking on it plenty.

“Yeah let’s give it a go,” I said. I had enemas and butt plugs lying around, but didn’t prep ahead, which made me a little nervous. Well, even more nervous than the fact that I was going to take a fat one up the ass. This was no finger, people.

So we lubed up and tried, and tried, and I squealed like the guy in Deliverance. It fucking hurt. Dammit, why did my butthole have to be such a tricky bitch?!

We switched to a spooning position (more lube!), and I used my vibrator on my clit as he pushed his way into my ass. Ahh, we found the trick that would make it work. All the pain I was feeling got channeled into intense pleasure. He got his head in, then slowly rocked back and forth in order to get the rest of his meat in place. Finally I was filled to capacity.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking my ass!” I exclaimed.

He was able to pick up the pace, and went from being all ginger and gentle to ravishing and rough. I was taking it like a queen YESSSS.

It was SO hot hearing him behind me, grunting and growling and pawing on me and sawing in and out of my ass, feeling his pubic hair tickle my ass cheeks. The build up was phenomanal. I don’t think I’ve said the word “intense” enough to describe the event, so intense Intense INtense INTense INTEnse INTENse INTENSe INTENSE

“Are you gonna cum in my ass?” I gasped in a way that I meant to come out all sexy and husky, but instead sounded more like a cat getting her tail pulled.

Amazingly, and I’m not sure if it was the vibe or the sensation of being ass fucked, but we both exploded at the same time. I screamed my head off. My whole body shook, even my hands. He stroked and soothed me.

“We have exhausted our baseball terminology for bedroom activities,” my guy observed, panting.

Thank goodness for that.

Then, right after he pulled out of my ass (”It’s not even dirty!” he marveled) he got a raging case of the hiccups.

Saturday night was sweet - my guy and I were invited to a girlfriend’s party (aka HisLittleSlut!), and while I only gave her books on tattoos for a birthday present, he treated HER like a birthday present and tied her up ala Japanese bondage so her Photographer Boyfriend could capture some gorgeous shots.

At dinner we were sitting around the fancily set table (I can’t remember the last time I ate dinner at a place that had chargers for godsakes) and my guy sat next to Birthday Girl, who was wearing a very short skirt and a flimsy tank top with no bra. Most of her lovely C cups were hanging out, and he kept trying not to stare out of politeness, even though I’m pretty sure she wanted him to.

After dinner we were beckoned into the bedroom because my guy was a little shy and didn’t feel comfortable putting on a show for the crowd (I told him no one was going to notice him - the focal point is a beautiful naked woman, silly!) In the soft glow of the bedroom, Birthday Girl unabashedly stripped and presented herself to my guy for the royal rope treatment.

He dutifully pulled out the crate of tools we brought along and selected some rope and then reverentially applied the soft twisted rope to her hot, supple flesh. He framed her breasts and brought it up between her legs, which wedged teasingly between her shaved pussy lips. You better believe he sported an aching woody the entire time, but he kept his cool and didn’t grab at her tits like most dudes would. The eroticism of the moment was enhanced by the fact that she was the only one of us nude. She was definitely comfortable in her own skin.

Once she was knotted she posed for the camera and Photographer Boyfriend took some amazing shots, which you are fortunate enough to view here. I didn’t belong in that room with all these artistic folk, I felt like I had a backstage pass. Wellll, I guess I’m doing my bit by writing about it later, yeah? She LOVED the feeling of the ropes, said she felt very comfortable, and didn’t take them off until she went to bed that night (the knot was at the small of her back, so I assume her boyfriend got to unwrap her).

I TOLD you it was magnificent. The funny thing was after the photo shoot she pranced out to the crowd to model the bondage wearing only her skimpy tank top and my guy STILL tried not to stare at her chest out of habit, even though moments ago his hands roamed all over her naked flesh AND she was bare ass.

Sunday night I saw Circus Harmony at City Museum (I’m becoming quite the City Museum groupie ey?)

I had never heard of this local circus group, but was invited by one of the band members. The circus offers classes for all ages, and this particular show, which occurs once a year, featured kids 17 and under. Like Cirque de Soleil, they’re a humans-only circus. Their mission statement is as follows:

Circus Day Foundation teaches the art of life through circus education. We work to build character and expand community for youth of all ages, cultures, abilities and backgrounds. Through teaching and performance of circus skills, we help people defy gravity, soar with confidence and leap over social barriers, all at the same time.

I was blown away by their talent and energy. The show was spectacular and sexy (I feel a little weird describing a show featuring kids as “sexy” but my hunch on the definition was right, I’m going for meaning #3), with juggling, contortionists, trapeze, acrobats, and clowning around without the gross greasepaint. They performed with the accompaniment of a live band that was so amazingly brilliant and perfectly timed, it sounded like a recording.

Seriously, it was incredible. And the performers didn’t even have to take their clothes off in order to wow the crowd. I’m just sayin’.

Last month I house sat for a friend of mine. She was glad I was available, and told her husband happily, “With TBK house sitting, we don’t need to hide the porn and sex toys!”

So of course while I was there I looked for her porn stash. Despite extensive snooping (turns out I’m a lousy snooper - I stayed there all week and failed to discover the liquor cabinet), all I could find were VHS tapes, and the VCR wasn’t hooked up, a frustrating predicament since I break out in hives at the site of anything boxy, black and electronic.

I HATE remote controls and get extremely agitated when confronted with multiple versions in my house or other people’s houses. Here’s why: You press the buttons with the intention of turning on the TV or adjusting the volume or playing a DVD and NOTHING HAPPENS. Fuckity fuck fuck! WHY do so many people have remote control DECOYS lying around??

Anyway, I finally found a DVD that looked racy and cult-like. It was called Fuego! The description on the box was promising:

Isabel Sarli, Argentina’s greatest cinema sex symbol stars as Laura, a nymphomaniac who may very well be sexually insane. Despite the constant attention of her husband, Laura just can’t be satisfied: “I need men! I need men!”

Though she makes it with almost every man in sight, what really pushes her hubby over the edge is Laura’s affair with Andrea, her lizard-like lesbian housekeeper.

You’ll thrill at the bombastic title tune that blares every time her motor starts running!

I’m afraid I didn’t thrill. I didn’t even make it to the second film offered as bonus material called The Female, where for some reason “choosing between her sheepherder husband or a fugitive horse thief sends Isabel Sarli straight to a whorehouse.”

But I did watch the movie while sitting on a vibrating pillow and took a bath in my friend’s jacuzzi tub afterwards, so the evening wasn’t a total waste.

Masturbating

Lying face down

Using left hand on clit

Right hand on my breast

Glass dildo in cunt

Hitachi magic wand manned in back by my guy, placed on my asshole and base of dildo, sending intense vibration right into my being

Ecstasy

Yep, Arby’s is the latest logo someone has pointed out to me that has a “hidden” element I never noticed before, but now I obsessively look for.

FedEx has the arrow between the E and the X.

Heineken has the e’s that are slightly tilted and suggest smiling faces.

And Arby’s has the phallic look. How could I have missed something so obvious before?!