CALICO LANE

This entry brought to you by the idea that it is awesome to masturbate, and I would be in a much better mood if I did it more.  But the mess… sigh!

You see, strong external vibes (Hitachi, Acuvibe, even my Pocket Rocket) can make me squirt.  (That’s supposed to be a G-spot thing.  But I am given to understand that the g-spot and clit are either related or connected or parts of the same thing. My experience isn’t typical, but not unheard of.) I can get off with my hands and no puddle, but it’s not the world-rocking, overwhelming orgasm I have with a partner… or a vibrator.  Usually it just winds me up more.  A vibrator is fun and intense, sort of a mechanical middleman, like the old joke about jerking off with a non-dominant hand.

So I asked Twitter:

MissCalico bets you’d know: is there an elegant solution to the problem of squirting in bed? Puppy pads, while effective, are not that solution.

What I couldn’t fit in a tweet is that disposable chucks are also expensive and not ecologically friendly.

The answers rolled in:

Dr_Memory @misscalico plastic mattress cover, cheap sheets?

mrsexsmith @misscalico the liberator throe is pretty great.

20_Sided_Dave @misscalico towels, or a receptive mouth!

elisabettampls @misscalico liberator throw ($$$) or washable chux- that’s what I use and they are nice- eBay.

MistressAlexNYC @misscalico Nasty Pig in Chelsea has gorgeous heavy rubber bedsheets.

EssinEm @misscalico I love my @liberator throe!

nikolasco @misscalico towels seem like the obvious way to go. beach towels for size, doubled- or tripled-up as needed

MsMaggieMayhem @misscalico Rubber sheets under your top sheet go unnoticed for the most part.

johannapotente @misscalico Nasty Pig Play Sheets?

lqqkout @misscalico Liberator Throw?

DominaSnow @misscalico Bamboo towels. Super absorbent and super soft. Match them to your sheets. #squirtingsolution

MJCino @misscalico Towels could be more elegant than puppy pads. Bonus elegance points for matching/complimenting bedsheets. Squirt doilys are no

StrapOnJo I vote against the Liberator Throw. No traction for hard fucking b/c it slides around. @misscalico Liberator Throw? via @lqqkout

That’s four for the Liberator “Fascinator Throe“, one against; three for the Nasty Pig Play Sheets, which are actually a sort of machine-washable neoprene; four for towels; one for a plastic mattress cover; two (counting an email vote) for washable chucks like the Luv Linen; and one (sigh, someone had to say it) for a mouth.

These are all great options.  But it still boils down to the question: would I rather have an orgasm, or do laundry? And it seems silly, but fuck, I hate doing laundry.

Luckily I have generous friends with waterproof vibes and big bathtubs.

I had the good timing to be in San Francisco last week during one of Madison Young’s events at her art gallery, Femina Potens.

I served chocolates:

I spanked the host:

I spanked guests:

My date spanked another of the service submissives:

I was honored to be asked to perform with Monk, inasmuch as getting tied up can be called performing.

(CUFFLINKS OMG CUFFLINKS.)

Up and over!

Monk goes up with me:

You can see the full Art of Restraint photoset at SFWeekly and check out the other performers’ websites: Fivestar, Lochai, JP Robichaud, and Dylan Ryan.

Sometimes coming to from a faint is like floating out of the sweetest dream. This was far from it. I must have been struggling, because I came to confused and terrified. Every muscle was locked. What was this place? What was I doing here? There was hardwood inches from my face. I couldn’t move.

My body twitched hard, as if it were running in a dream, and gasped air. “Oh…”

That was always one of the first things I said, Oh… God…

“Always just as easy,” he murmured.

In the eternal second — one, or five, or ten, I could never tell how long it took for time to skitter back from its fragments and my body to shudder free of paralysis — I looked up at him because he was all that was holding still.  With his hand on my throat, maybe he really was God.  He could damn me and save me.  And I was coming up from a bad, bad trip. Wherever he’d sent me, I didn’t want to go back.

He smiled as I roused. He didn’t take his hand off my neck.

The full-body panic began to give way to a mere tight shoulder, and I moved my arm cautiously. Maybe I had tried to catch myself.  It didn’t feel sprained. My elbows were a little skinned. Damn floor.

My hands worked again and I held on to his arms.

“I hope,” I said, finding my voice, “that I didn’t make too much noise.”

I was beginning to remember it all.