Dec 172014

Wicked Wednesday
My relationship with my body hair is a little complicated. I don’t really care how it is. I’m too lazy to regularly shave my legs, I only shave my pits when I feel like they’re making me smell and my pubic hair changes depending on whatever mood I’m in when I shower. My only body-hair preference is I prefer pubic hair to be at least trimmed, though I love the look of a full-blown bush on others.

One time I rimmed my boyfriend and his butt-shaving abilities are lacking, but it’s ok because it turns out I don’t care as much as I thought I did. When I’m doing ma thang I’m not even thinking about hair, aside from the initial “this feels funny on my tongue”.

For me though, when it comes to body hair and the removal of it, I’m always torn. I compulsively pluck my body hair, especially pubes, and alongside that, I’m extremely prone to ingrowns and I skin-pick. So it’s a vicious cycle of either; get stressed, pluck hair, get ingrowns, pick skin, get ingrowns, pick, ingrowns, pick or shave, ingrowns, pick, infected ingrown, pick skin, scar, ingrown under scar, pick, worsen scar. I try to avoid shaving or plucking my pubic mound because of these cycles, but I already have a lot of scars from it. I like to keep my labia shaved, when I can be bothered doing it, but hairs on my mound to prevent giving myself more scars. Not very sexy, I know.

I love how a little hair looks. My favourite is a couple weeks after I’ve shaved all over and the hair has grown back just enough and it’s all uniform and straight, facing the same way.

When I was a bit younger I used to hate body hair, or at least I pretended to when talking about it with friends, but I was always far too lazy to stick to shaving. As I’ve matured I’ve realized that I don’t give a shit, if someone wants to shave or grow their hair long enough to braid, I’m in no position to judge. Those damn feminists got to me.

 Posted by at 7:01 pm
Oct 272014

Finally a Wicked Wednesday I can write a post about! It’s pretty fitting that this is my first Wicked Wednesday too. It’s not even Wednesday yet, but I don’t care, I wanna post it now.

My first time wasn’t actually that long ago. My first real, proper, sexual experience. It happened on the… 25th or 26th of February this year. A few days after my 18th birthday. I’d had some experience sexually, with a female friend. She had a crush on me and Truth or Dare during sleepovers would usually end in lots of making out and me rubbing her through her underwear. I’d never had anything done to me though. I didn’t really mind, sex was never something I really cared about. I actually found it incredibly annoying when my friends would talk about it. Now look at me, I have a sex blog where I talk about sex and sex stuff.


I had met a guy online and we hit it off really well. We’d been following each other on Tumblr for years, but it wasn’t until 2013 we really started talking. In October we became an official couple, and started planning and saving for me to go see him. I’m in Australia, he’s in the Netherlands. I’m usually extremely uncomfortable around guys, and as much as I wanted to bone the ever loving shit out of him, there was the chance that I would get there and spend the two weeks awkward and uncomfortable. Thankfully, we got along in person just as well as we did online. Skype and photos do not do him justice, he’s hot over the net but he’s even better looking in person. Light brown hair with ginger tones, green eyes, amazing face shape, wonderful eyebrows, big dorky smile and a plush lower lip that begs to be bitten. He’s tall and lanky with enough muscle tone to prevent him looking too thin. He smells great always and he has cute patchy facial hair that I love.

I’d only been there for 10-ish hours before we had sex. We’d been in his room making out for quite literally hours. I had beard burn on my face from kissing him so hard and so much, but I didn’t care. I’d been waiting months to be with him and kiss him, I wasn’t going to stop because of some beard burn. His neck was covered in hickies. I am ridiculously easy to get turned on, and so hours of making out was killing me. I eventually started pushing myself into him while we were kissing before getting on top of him. Feeling a hard cock through jeans, rubbing my crotch against the bulge is fucking magical. He was teasing me, “what’re you doooing?” knowing perfectly well what I was doing, what I was wanting, and he was right there with me. It wasn’t long before we had our pants off. Continue reading »

 Posted by at 11:10 pm