The Hang Ten: middle 3 fingers inside the vagina with the thumb and pinky serving as both a push off point and a stabilizing force while the heel of the palm stimulates the clitoris through constant pressure.
The DJ Hero: Using 2 or 3 fingers to stimulate the clitoris in a circular motion, while using the other hand to play with breasts and nipples.
Rollin’ with the Homies: Using all of the fingers to stroke the entire vulva in a repetitive, up and down motion.
The Jackhammer: Fingerfucking oneself with 2 or 3 fingers in a steady rhythm. This only works if you are not too fat, and/or you have fairly long arms.
Bad Girl: Slapping or patting the vulva or clitoral area once or twice in quick succession.
Girl Fight: Pulling pubic hair.
The Houdini: Bringing oneself to orgasm by constricting and releasing the pelvic floor muscles and nothing else.
Terrorist Fist Hump: You know it’s serious when you’re fisting yourself.
Tainted Love: Reaching behind or around with the secondary hand and playing with one’s asshole.
Vibrator, applied to the clitoral tissue. Contrary to popular belief, a vibrator should not be used as a dildo, although sometimes the fastest way to get to the clitoral nerve mass is from the inside.
Dildos, in my experience need to be a few inches longer than your favorite dick length in order make good use of leverage.
Butt plugs are not just for gays ladies. I have been told, and have come to believe (through careful experimentation) that when constant pressure is applied to the anus, vagina and clitoris, a woman can experience a sustained orgasm several minutes long.
Combo Platter: Using toys and manual stimulation simultaneously.
Some girls say that the rhythm of riding a horse has done it for them. I rode horses and never experienced that, but then again, I almost always rode bareback. Maybe it has something to do with the saddle
Sitting on the washing machine or dryer. Again, I tried in vain to figure out what the thrill was, but for the life of me it never worked.
Positioning one’s vagina directly under the flow of water as it comes out of bathtub spigot. Another one I never mastered.
Hand-held adjustable speed shower head. Yet another masturbation technique that’s lost on me.
Any combination of these things.
I’m sure that I missed some things, I really encourage you guys to add to the list. I think this’ll be fun.
TheJunkenstein: @Marinaisgo Write exactly about your writer’s block, your relationship with writing, what has put you in a dry spot. Go for the feelings
I have 5 drafts sitting in my blog archives right now, all different things I’m trying to put together, or figure out. None of them are happening and I’m kind of stuck. I want to write about the failure of identity politics, and my personal relationship with my birthday, and the concept that transgender issues can easily affect cisgendered people, and a hundred other things, but so far I’ve got shit.
If you’ve ever carted wool, which you probably haven’t, and which I actually only vaguely remember doing myself (it’s been about 17 years), you’ll understand when I say that writing for me is like carting wool. You take the clump of gross, almost sticky, unpleasant raw wool, so fresh from the sheep that some of it still has shit on it (it’s washed, but some things persist), and you mash it onto one carder (which looks like a wire dog brush), then rake it from one carder to another in a methodical repetition that breaks apart the fibers and makes it suitable for spinning. My feelings, experiences and ideas are the raw wool, my draft process is carding, my final draft is spinning and the reader finishes the process by weaving or knitting (or whatever) the final piece for themselves.
So I’m not really having writers block, I’m just in the unpleasant beginning parts of far too many things for me to be happy or comfortable with. With crafts or art it’s easy for me to start, and go wherever I want, but writing seems to have more significance, especially when it goes on this blog that everyone can see. I know that I’m a skilled writer, if not a good one, so I expect a higher quality from it than from any of my other creative outlets, especially when the subject is serious, like the subject matter for all the blogs I have in the works. When it’s something with less perceived impact, like these twitter blogs I’ve been doing, there is a lot more room for error, and it feels informal.
So the issue is that while I can bang out a twitter blog and not think about it, those other blogs stay with me for months sometimes. I’ll be doing dishes, working, or driving home and running the subject matter over and over in my mind, slowly, methodically, separating each fiber, making it more and more suitable to be something else. Because as it is, there is nothing separating the emotions from the experiences, the reason from the passion, and I feel very frustrated at my inability to take these ideas straight from my head and have them make sense.
I want people to read them and like them–and like me–but I have to organize everything first. And the anxiety over being misunderstood, or misrepresenting myself only makes the process more difficult.
I don’t really get this once since I tend to avoid pants like the plague. I have a very high waste, and I carry my fat in the front, so wearing constricting fabric all up around my fat stomach has never appealed to me. Not to mention the fact that pants bother my vagina. Also, my lack of ass and hips in relation to my stomach make me look ridiculous every time I wear them.
When I was in highschool and college I wore pants constantly, but they were always far too big for me and I would sag them down around my hips. At the time I was either thin enough or retarded enough to think this was a good look, but once I started trying to be taken seriously as a professional, educated woman, I knew that pants had to go.
Every so often, on a weekend or on an extremely casual day at work, I’ll dig out my old cargo shorts, and try to relive the glory days, but I know it’s over between pants and me. My gross old Cartman gut hangs over my awesome cargo shorts, and no matter how many or various different shirts I wear on top of that, there’s no way I could lie to myself and say that it looks okay. So i put a damn skirt on and I go about my day.
I have to admit that I miss pants terribly at times. I don’t like the vulnerability of skirts, but they’re infinitely more comfortable than pants, so I stick with skirts and dresses most of the time. Although I do have a secret wish that my weight loss will continue at least until I can wear pants again and not look like a fool and feel like a sausage.
