Keeping it Fresh!
Even BDSM gets boring after a while. No matter what tools you use, it’s still frequently tie up, spank, sex – or some variant of that. So how do you spice up an already spicy sex life?
One word: Roleplay.
Everybody has a fantasy about being with someone they can’t, or having sex in some impossible situation. Maybe you’re yearning to be taken by a studly cowboy. Maybe you’re itching to pick up a hooker on the street. Or maybe you want your partner to get a little “dubious-consent” kind of rough. No matter what you dream of, fantasy can be a healthy part of your sex life.
Got a fetish for the delivery person? Go to a thrift store and look through the shirts for uniforms or polo shirts with official looking logos on them. If you’re after something specific, like a police officer’s uniform, hit up a party supply store.
Or don’t bother with the clothes – go for the mental aspect. Get naked and act out a sexy scene from a movie or even a book. If there’s a romance or erotica writer in your life, that suggestion goes a long way towards stroking their ego…and maybe something else.
Set up a special local in your house. Turn your bedroom into a beach. If you’re a neat freak, use tan colored bath mats instead of sand. Or go the extra mile and arrange something away from home by enlisting some help from the local hotel manager. Fill the room with tropical plants and bring along a CD or MP3 player loaded with tropical rainforest sounds.
For a romantic night in, pretend there’s no power. Turn off all the electric things, light a few candles, and pop in a CD or MP3 of a thunderstorm. Want to really wow your mate? Buy a lightning machine. These create a lightning effect to the sounds of the storm.
The point is – let your imagination run wild. As long as you’re with another – or several ::wink:: - consenting adults, anything goes!
For my part in the hop, I'm giving away a free pdf copy of my uber kink m/m/m romp, "Finding Sanctuary." To enter to win, just leave a comment below with your e-mail. Easy, peasy!
****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****
extreme BDSM, watersports, multiple partners, infidelity
Finding Sanctuary is the story of Vincent, a typical, average guy who has begun to unravel. He has a respectable, mainstream life, with a solid job, nice girlfriend, comfortable house—all the material trappings. What, then, is causing this restlessness, these blackouts? The first revelation is that his best friend Eric is also his heart’s desire. But then Eric invites him to a weekend at a BDSM playhouse ... There Vincent will confront his fears and test the limits of his sexual boundaries. Eric has his needs, too—needs that conflict with Vincent’s. Will their fragile new bond survive the weekend? Will Vincent find the sanctuary he so fervently desires?
But did the lack of any permanent mark have a deeper meaning? People marked themselves all the time—tattoos, piercings—to symbolize their beliefs, things they wanted to remember forever. Things they loved. Farmers branded cattle to display ownership. Vincent’s father had certainly never loved him—not by any definition of the word Vincent knew or understood. Hadn’t wanted to own Vincent either. Hadn’t left that mark.
The realization should have brought him relief, Vincent thought, but in some dark and twisted way, it didn’t. It depressed him. His own father hadn’t wanted to claim him, hadn’t wanted to leave a mark for Vincent to remember him by.
Vincent wanted to be marked. Claimed. Owned. Seemed so perverse, but there it was. He had never really belonged to anyone, not even Jenny. His father had never said, this is my son Vincent. Jenny never said, this is my fiancé, Vincent. Always just, this is Vincent.
No one in the world claimed him as theirs. No. That wasn’t true. Eric did. Eric had always claimed him. My friend Vincent. Vincent, my good friend. My best friend Vin. No one else even had a nickname for him. No Vinnie. No stupid mobsteresque Vincenzo crap. But he was Eric’s Vin.
He wanted Eric to mark him. Needed him to. Some small mark, somewhere on his body, somewhere hidden and private, where only he would know, but where he could touch any time he wanted. Maybe the back of his neck, just under his hair. To have something tangible. A reminder of Eric’s love, and that he was Eric’s. “Are you into knife play?”
Eric started and looked at him, tearing his gaze from the television. “I’ve seen it done, though I’ve never done it. I don’t know that I like it for myself, so much, if I’m subbing. But if I’m Doming and someone wants it, I’ll arrange for it and I might even participate, depending on who they are. I’d learn to do it, if it was something my sub wanted frequently. Wouldn’t bother me to do it. I don’t have very many boundaries, and most of them have a little wiggle room, if I’m honest. Why?”
“I want you to scar me.”
The corner of Eric’s mouth twitched up into a grin. “Why?”
Because I’m yours. Or at least I want to be. “I want ...” His voice trembled and cracked. “I want ...”
“Those are the hardest two words for you, aren’t they? I want.”
Vincent nodded. “Sometimes.” Most of the time. Always, actually. Hadn’t ever mattered what he wanted. He felt suddenly small and fragile, as if the slightest touch, the slightest breath of wind, might shatter him. Uncomfortable feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit.
No possible answer beyond a shrug, so that was all Vincent gave. Who the fuck knew if he was okay or not. He certainly didn’t know. The pressure of tears built up inside his eyes and he stood, not wanting Eric to see them. Not wanting to face them himself. Just walk around for a moment, think of something nice, that would fix him. Nice. Nice ... Vincent chuckled. The only nice thing that he could bring to mind was Eric.
He paced into the kitchen, his head threatening to start throbbing any minute. Damn, but he hated this. Hated his father for doing it to him. Hated himself for clinging to that cop-out. In his heart, in the back of his mind, Vincent knew his father wasn’t to blame. At least not anymore. A man reached a certain point in his life, a certain age, and his problems began to revolve more around his own lack of action than anything else. His fault then, how twisted up he was.
Vincent shook his head. Rage surged up inside him. No, not his fault. He’d taken action. Spent two thousand fucking dollars on therapists and prescriptions. And he wasn’t twisted, either. Nothing twisted about loving Eric, goddamn it. His vision blurred, and not from tears. How the hell was he supposed to pursue any kind of relationship with Eric when the mere thought of it sent him into a fit?
What did he think would happen at the playhouse, anyway? That he’d get there, miraculously find some way to get over all his fears and reservations, and not make an ass of himself by blacking out? Hardly.
Pointless, he realized. All of it. The reading, the weekend, hoping for anything between himself and Eric. Might as well call an end to all of this right now, before he embarrassed himself. Before he hurt Eric. Or hurt Eric any more than he already had. He turned, intending to march back into the living room and put an end to everything, but Eric stood in his path.
“You okay?” he asked again.
Vincent shook his head. “No. This ... we shouldn’t do this. Or I shouldn’t. I should go home.”