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Sometimes things go missing on my computer for awhile and I unearth them. This picture is an example of that, I really need a better filing system:

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Post tags: boobiethon, hnt, socks

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However, Catalina and Marky are amazingly cool people and both brilliantly fun, smart, and sexy. Know how sometimes when you are meeting someone for the first time it can be weird and you get uncomfortable because they aren’t exactly what you expect them to be? Well, this was not one of those situations.

On Saturday they both attended my class along with a small group and I got to have a great conversation/workshop with some lovely people about how to improve communication in their relationships and share fantasies with phone sex. After my class, it was time to go shopping since that was what the Fetish Fair was about.

Jay and I saw tons of cool stuff from some great vendors but we were most swayed by the amazing assortment of canes from The Kink Shop. We picked out three pretty thick ones and I can’t wait to try them out.

Our friends Liz and Alex had come to see us at the Fetish Fair and after we got our canes, Liz ran up to me in a gorgeous under the bust corset. She hadn’t been wearing it when I saw her just a few minutes before and I quickly complimented her on it. So, just for kicks, she said she would show me the vendor she had got it from.

Bear in mind that I had absolutely no intention of buying a corset. They are certainly gorgeous but it seemed like a lot of money to spend on a single item of clothing. However, the owner of Passional was really lovely and sweet and cinched me into a few just to try them out. This brings me to my tutorial on how to get your boyfriend to buy you a corset. Just follow this simple procedure:

Step One: Try on corset and let boyfriend see.

Congratulations! You have just successfully gotten your boyfriend to buy you a corset. I wish I was kidding but Jay’s hand was on his wallet before I even made it to the mirror. Sure, it was a lot of money to spend but he rationalized that it was a gift for both of us. So, how does it look?  How about you tell me.

More pictures are right on Flickr.

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Post tags: corset, education, fetish fair, lingeria, Phone sex, presentation

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Jay and I went shopping today. The plan was to buy some new shoes but I ended up trying on bras and tops. I like what this one does for me. In fact I like it so much that I think I’ll go take some pictures with just the bra.

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2008. | Permalink | 9 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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When this woman calls herself an erotic facilitator, she isn’t making things up. Artemis is one of those people that have instant magnetism in a room and she always has her eye out for how to bring people out of their shells and give them confidence in their sexuality. I’m honored to be friends with her. I’m also thrilled that she was inspired to take some photos of the harness she put on me. Here is one of my favorites. She titled it “Nipple Love” because it features Jay’s hand on me as we lounged together.

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Post tags: artemis, harness, hnt, rope bondage

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He also wrote this gorgeous post about our play with Hania last week. Sigh. I will certainly be recounting the experience from my perspective as well but reading it from his was fun. While we were all together, I kept looking up at him and smiling. He was a bystander some of the time but he never lost the look of wonder and delight from his eyes. He is such a treasure to have as a lover and best friend.

Here are a few of his words:

Hania motioned for me to help her out of her top, then her bra. Her breasts, while smaller than Ellie’s, were very large for Hania’s small frame and quite perky. The dark almond colored areolas that we thought we saw the month before were even more sexy than Ellie and I had imagined (trust me, we spent a few nights in bed talking about Hania’s lovely body).

Ellie laid down on her back and Hania straddled her playing with her breasts. They rubbed their bodies together, kissed, sucked, and licked for almost an hour before Hania started pulling Ellie’s panties off.

I wish I had a better vantage point so I could give a play-by-play. The only thing I can say for sure is that the three of us all seemed to be enjoying ourselves. Hania’s slurping and kissing, Ellie’s moans, and my angelic expression probably express the feelings of the moment better than a verbose description could.

This weekend, we’ll be going out of town for a very impromptu weekend with Artemis and Jeff. She called me last night and we agreed that when Artemis asks for your attendance, you do what you can to make it happen. We should come home with new stories to tell and some brand new rope skills. Rope skills that I hope to use and continue improving at Dark Odyssey in a few weeks.

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Post tags: hania, hnt, jay, love

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After getting the harness in place I was molested. Significantly. Implements used included a violet wand, an e-stim kit, a Hitachi, and wax that was melted using a blow torch.

After 3 hours had passed, she set me free. The rope marks were beautiful.

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2008. | Permalink | 23 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: BDSM, bondage, harness, htn, marks, rope, rope bondage

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Tomorrow night I have a pretty fabulous play date. I am blissfully in the dark about what will be happening to me. However, I know there will be rope skillfully applied by a brilliant artist. There will also be a wicked sadist, giving a generous dose of pain. I’ve been asked to bring my toy bag as well so I know there will also be some delicious vibrations.

Am I nervous about being left in the dark? Well, a little bit but I’m also beside myself with excitement. So here I am, ass out, waiting for the first swat and expecting to be taken but not knowing where.

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Post tags: BDSM, hnt, pictures, Sex Toys, spanking

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These are some of my favorite panties. They are simple and cotton and cute. And I like how my ass looks in them. I don’t have any particular memories of them (although I’m sure they have been peeled off of me during a variety of sexy moments.) I just know I like them a lot.

Sad thing is, they need to be put out to pasture. See, they still look cute and colorful but too many washings has degraded the elastic. That coupled with a bit of weight loss means that they just don’t stay up anymore. They slide off my hips easily when I stand and move around.

Today, walking across campus with a student, I felt them sliding. I am wearing a dress today. As we made our way to the library I try to tug at them inconspicuously without pulling my dress up over my hips. I clench my knees together and take smaller steps hoping that I don’t become a living Art Frahm pinup (there are worse things to become, but I didn’t even have any celery!)

When we arrived at the library I excused myself to the bathroom to remove the runaway panties, and stashed them in my purse. What a pity to be gallivanting around the library panty-less and in a sun dress with no elicit purposes and no one to blame other than the man who ensured the manufactured obsolescence of the elastic.

So, raise a pint (or pour a drop, whatever your style is) for my cotton panties with the little pink flowers. They will be immortalized here on this Half Nekkid Thursday, but my ass just won’t be the same without them.

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Post tags: hnt, Lingerie, Photos

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A few days ago I was thinking. I was also being fingered. Neither of those two occurrences are peculiar in isolation but they are usually independent of each other. Nonetheless, as Jay slid one hand under me to cup my ass and deftly worked at my pussy with the fingers of his remaining hand, I found myself in thought.

I quickly realized that these were thoughts I have had before.

Over, I thought. Yes, right there on my clit. Mmm, with your thumb, that is lovely.

I was thinking these things and they were happening. I looked at Jay and he was intently focused on my pussy and nibbling on my hip. I listened carefully, was I speaking?

I heard the sound of my wetness being stirred up. I heard my own moans and my breath catching in my throat as I shifted my hips to meet his touches. But I didn’t hear myself issuing directions.

This is when it hit me. Jay touches me in the exact way I want to be touched. He anticipates what will make me squirm and quiver. He seems to deliver it instantaneously, as the thought crosses my mind. Or perhaps before.

His touch is part of my body’s memory – the history and geography of who I am and how I feel. Thinking of his hands on me is soothing, it feels like home, and it makes me slick just from the memories.

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2008. | Permalink | 5 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: fingering, love, memory, Sex

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The rest of the batch live here.

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New slip :)

Originally uploaded by lumpesse

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2008. | Permalink | 12 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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Ellie: Yeah, I’m just feeling like I should go back to being a boring blog attention whore and stop trying to think
Ellie: ::giggle:: here are my tits, ooh I got fucked so hard last night
Ellie: that is the only thing anyone responds to
Ellie: not that I”m trying to elicit a response
D: I think it’s sexy when you think, and then include a picture of cum covered ass
Ellie: yeah, that was sort a big “fuck you” though, don’t you think?
D: I like the challenge of thinking with limited blood rushing to my penis
Ellie: lol
Ellie: I think I’m just being a bitch lately.
Ellie: Like I’m really bored by sex.
Ellie: Well, not sex, the way people talk about it.
Ellie: For pure titillation.
D: ok, I was confused for a minute
Ellie: Mostly, I read the Sugasm this week and only found 2 things I wanted to finish reading much less vote for.
Ellie: The sexual education is the same information I’ve heard a million times.
Ellie: The BDSM blogs mostly make me want to gouge my eyes out because of the aggressive takedown of the English language that they are trying to stage.
Ellie: and most of the single chicks with shitty webcam photos. . .ugh
Ellie: and I have no doubt that these people are all very interesting but they fucking conform to this silly set of memes and expectations
Ellie: sex blogging doesn’t feel any more exciting or revolutionary than food blogging
Ellie: but at least I read food blogs and think “hmmm, I want to try that recipe”

Now, I won’t argue with you that I am a total cunt here. Also a pretentious asshole. I remember when I first started this and it was fresh and exciting and who am I to begrudge someone else their early moments in the sun and the excitement and titillation of exhibitionism?

Oh yeah, I got fucked last night with my legs up over my head. Jay pounded me until I screamed. I’m sure it woke the neighbors.

Here is a blurry picture of my tits and about an eighth of my books:

Yep, still feels mundane. Sigh. . .

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It is official. The connection I find between knowledge/schooling and sex moves beyond the theoretical and beyond the fact that I want to fuck my professors.

My notes scribbled inside The History of Sexuality Volume 1 could be for a future paper and they could be for this blog and I’m not sure which venue is appropriate anymore. I’m not sure that my identity as a potential scholar is at all divorced from my identity here. Each day that identity gets more fluid. I tell one more person that I am a phone slut for hire or that I am polyamorous or that I am kinky or that I own sex toys or any number of other details that are starting to feel mundane.

This evening I went to a Foucault reading group. It was 6 graduate students plus Jack, a professor in my department. I refer to him now by the name I gave him in a piece of fiction I wrote 3 years ago (and by “fiction” I mean “daydream committed to blog“). That piece was written near the beginning of my graduate studies (and at the beginning of this blog) but I have known Jack since I was an undergraduate. I don’t kid myself that I have come full circle in some way, but over 3 years of documenting my feelings and thoughts about sex must mean something.

The nature of blogging is that it busts up our ideas about narrative, there often isn’t a clear story or arc of reasoning. Especially in the world of personal blogs, the evolution of emotions and ideas is what carries the real narrative quality. With each post I write I know that it will reach the readers that have read every word I have ever published here (a very small group) as well as those that stumble upon it in isolation of what comes before and what comes after. They may see it 5 minutes after I write or 5 years but it stands on its own in a way that it absolutely cannot. That is my cross to bear of course, but sometimes it makes the writing unbearable and impossible. An impenetrable wall of hyperlinks, exposition, caveats, and insecurity. But I still write.

This isn’t an essay about what compels me but this is rather a story about how I am longing to set myself free from this anonymity. It sounds like a contradiction, right? Anonymity is supposed to bestow my freedom on me, allow me to say and be the things that I never could be in the rest of the world. But what if I want to be those things out in the open, proudly, and productively. What then of my ubiquitous “head shot” that features my arm flung over my face? Where my body is capsized, the emphasis of my being not on my eyes but on my mouth and my tits. Am I just a mouth and tits? I have a voice and I have a sexuality (or at least desireable curves) but I can’t be seen and perhaps I can’t see out. Perhaps you didn’t come here for a deconstructive analysis of my own dirty photos. Perhaps you are the reader I cited above and (if you are even still reading) you are thinking “what is this chick on? what can I get off to? isn’t this supposed to be a sex blog?”

I know that risk. I know that being a sex worker I have this privilege of being myself that I can only exercise to a certain degree. I do have to be always on, always willing to serve, I do have to present an image of myself that is both real and hyper-real at the same time. Am I horny? Generally, yes. This moment, of course. With you, absolutely. That is my mantra and it reflects who I am to a degree. It also determines me. Is it a fabrication if I have become what I strove to represent myself as?

So I was talking about Jack and the Foucault group. I sat with a group of my peers today and I talked about Foucault. Simple enough, something that graduate students do. But it felt like I had so much more at stake. Every fiber of my being was screaming to really dig into the implications of these ideas. What about sex workers? What about BDSM? What about bisexuality? What about a million other predilections/perversions that are all around us but I may not be personally invested in?

But we talked about power. And there is nothing wrong with that, it is the guiding idea in Foucault’s work and it is crucial to understanding what he says about sexuality and sexual identity/orientation. But I craved something else, an honesty that would shock and impress and be productive. I wanted to share knowledge, an ars erotica, with my peers but instead I operated in my usual capacity. I listened to Jack, I nodded my head, and occasionally I re-phrased what he said in order to make sure I understood it. He agreed and all was well but my insides were screaming and my mind was racing with ideas and questions that were both on the tip of my tongue and impossible to articulate.

So, I’m left in this chasm between my academic authority and the authenticity of my experience. Neither is represented here or there and I feel incomplete.

I know this post went in a million different directions and there are more still streaming around in my mind. What would Foucault say about this? Why do I even care what Foucault would say about this? Really, it is an absurd and laughable question but I still find myself clinging to it.

Oh, and happy fucking Half-Naked Thursday, here is a picture of my ass splattered with come. It was taken with Jay’s camera phone after he fucked me during a call with a client. Posting this feels so mundane.

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::Timid wave::

It has been awhile, perhaps some of you thought that I just decided to never come back from Thailand. Well, I did. And school has been intense. But, you know a few things are true when I show up after a long hiatus.

1. The emails asking me when I’m coming back have started to actually make me feel guilty.
2. I have something clever to say.
3. I am procrastinating on school work.

I was having a conversation with a friend (male) about the way he responds to requests for cock shots from all of the ladies that are jocking him. (I’m not entirely convinced that this actually happens, but I decided to play along to preserve his ego.) Anywhooo, he sends me a picture of himself with a suction based pink jelly dildo thwacked onto his forehead. Totally classy, right? (Did, I mention that I would totally do him if he wasn’t such a sadist that I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week afterwards?)

This got me thinking about unsolicited cock shots. In the adult dating world they seem to be like a business card. “Oh hello, nice to meet you, I’m a professional dog groomer and I like snowboarding. I hope we can get together and have some fun. Attached you will find a picture of my penis! Cheers, Tom” (This was an actual Myspace message that I got from THE Tom, by the way.)

Honestly, I’m always left scratching my head on these. What do I do with this penis photograph? How do I evaluate it? Well, after careful research, testing and 2 focus groups I have developed:

Ellie’s No-Muss No-Fuss Grading Rubric for Cock Shots

Step One: Did the sender give you a picture of their cock?
If No: Proceed to step two.
If Yes: Fail. Delete the email and bleach your retinas.

Simple, huh?

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2008. | Permalink | One comment | Add to del.icio.us
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