The Art School Diaries are excerpts from a real diary, which a dear friend of mine has permitted me to post, so long as she remains anonymous. She wanted to burn them… but I find them fascinating, in a profound and pathetic sort of way. They speak to me of the human condition. And they […]

Confessions of an Apollonian dream-life within a Dionysian dithyramb. Warning: heartsickness and sappy love songs ensue.

A strange thing happens when I’m getting licked. My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only when it’s time to get the pussy licked: the clit. I get absolutely focused on coming, like that’s all there is. Waiting for it, building up to it, is almost torture. I get greedy and lazy. I want it and I want it now.

I was standing in the middle of the room, completely naked, one foot on the floor and one on the dining room table. He was still fully clothed, down on his knees, licking my pussy and beckoning my g-spot with his fingers. Juice was dripping out of me. I was cumming a steady stream of fresh cream all over his face. I was being drained. He was swallowing it in gulps.

Did Nikki’s parents abuse her? Did Kat’s father not love her enough? Was Kerri ignored? Molested? Raped? Was Jane on drugs? How much money could they possibly be making that would make this “worth it”? Are they really just dumb whores? Why are they willing to be treated like abject objects? Like pieces of meat?

So here’s a sticky situation: after wrecking my car after a pill & robitussin binge, I get no calls from him. I get angry — I get drunk - I remember I’m a free bird - I sing “Free Bird” at Karaoke - I get more drunk - I get talking to some guy, a cute 24 year old freshman. I happen to be the Teacher’s Assistant for his Art History class.

A brief history lesson with mild literary criticism.
A few months ago, Freddy and Eddy contacted us to see if we were interested in posting some of our educational writings on the subject of BDSM on their site. Their experience of BDSM was quite limited, and the associations they had with it were not very warm […]

I recently received an inquiry on the definition of Power Exchange.
Before we visit Merriam Webster and Friends for some etymology, history, and a side-order of semantics, I’d like to revisit a philosophical ramble I had not too long ago:
Life is Submission. We submit to the elements, to the weather, to the day and the night, […]