Wag The Doggy

How many women knew their puffy vagina lips actually showed so plumply while they're bent over in doggy?  I didn't have a clue, even after shooting many scenes, until I finally decided I was no longer afraid to take a very honest look.  All that time, in personal experience,  I had thought the guy was able to just "find it", and why on earth does he just want to look at the back of my head?!  Well, there "it is", and he's hardly looking at the back of anyone's head.  

Some women do have issues with doggy.  I think much of this is because this is the one position where women share very little of the same visual with men, and hence have a hard time relating.  Yes, men are generally more visual creatures, and women are generally more emotional.  But, I've always found women, even with all their lovely emotion, simply want to understand their man.  Guys, you can get out the video camera or digital if your woman will allow it, to show her, even hitting the erase button after, if it makes her more comfortable.  Or, you could try to describe it in true "Venus" terms, which is, "It's the equivalent to what you see when you look down when I'm having sex with you in missionary." And if it is the truth, remind her that all that boils down to is "Me and you completely inside one another."  

And girls... arch the ass.  It's called "The S-curve."  You will NEVER look better!  Look back at your guy if you want now and then.  But, in all honesty, this is one of those positions where you keep the S, you know your man is loving you, and you can bury your head in the pillow and enjoy a little moment with Rafael Nadal for all that matters.  

That said, I have found this position work best for both sexes if kissing is not forgotten now and then.  

The Entertainment Lawyer

The first weekend after shooting my very first Barely Legal scene, my Hollywood producer friend, Amanda, and I attended a party of some even bigger Hollywood producer up in his palatial estate in the West Hollywood Hills.  I was flirting with a very attractive entertainment lawyer.  I was always good with flirting.  And things were going well. I was sure I would give him my number.  Then, he stumped me with the question, "What do you do for a living?"  

"I'm a director."  

"Anything I've seen?"

Sebastian was in talks with some large studio at the time to sell our independent movie, but had not yet heard back... welcome to Hollywood.  So, I listed the names of my actors, which didn't seem to get much of a rise out of him.  

"What are you working on next?"

I didn't want to seem like a loser who didn't have the next script in the can, and so, I told him. "I'm directing a movie for Hustler."  

"Hustler?  As in Larry Flynt Hustler?"  He was suddenly practically bouncing out of his khakis, as if he had hit the jack-pot.

I confirmed that was the Hustler.  And before I knew it he had five of his hot male attorney and producer and somebody's brother at Harvard friends surrounding me, asking me all sorts of questions about porn and all vying for my attention.  I had experienced male attention before, but this was male attention on speed times five.  Then, the entertainment lawyer wanted to know if he could be in one of my movies.  "I'd have to see the goods."  I laughed to myself.

"Are you going to get me hard?"

"No, I'm not going to get you hard."  The answer probably would have been very different if we were alone, and some form of dating had been established.  

"That's not a fair audition."

"You can go in the bushes and do what you need to do."  That was what I learned the boys who wanted to be in movies could do... really easily.  Of course, I didn't really expect this guy to do it.  But, his buddies started egging him on.

"Where's the fluffer?" He asked hopefully.

"If you can't do it... " I had no idea what I was talking about.  I didn't even know if I should get a fluffer for the next shoot... mental note: ask my newly discovered godfather of porn, Simon Wolf, about fluffers.  I was simply enjoying the flirting... on speed times five.  Then, before I knew it, the lawyer was in he bushes and came back with his pants down and his erect penis pointing right at me.  

Amanda had been standing a distance away, in the same old same old circles of shmoozing for a bit, when I suddenly saw her b-lining her way toward me.  Yet, there was no way to stop the other guys from all running into the bushes.  Just as the lawyer was pulling up his pants under the shadows that night should give, and the glow of thousands of miles of electricity reflecting from a layer of finely tuned desert smog, making hiding anything entirely all too difficult in Los Angeles, Amanda was on top of me.  "What are you doing?" 

"Nothing.  Just talking."

"Don't get all porno on me."  Her Catholic upbringing was preferring I kept such sessions contained to Confession in a tiny wooden box.  

The lawyer suddenly chimed in, staring at her large breasts.  "Are those real?"  

And as Amanda's jaw was dropping, out jumped five men with their pants around their ankles and cocks standing at attention.  "Who's the winner?"  

Amanda grabbed my arm and it was evident were were going home... with five men with their pants down still following us to Amanda's car, pleading to know the winner and begging to be in my next movie.  

During the quiet car ride, I thought how happy I was that I didn't give my number to that entertainment lawyer who was definitely not the winner.  I laughed out loud.  Amanda smiled, "So, who was the winner?"  

I smiled back.  "The girl I shot last week who had the biggest clit I'd ever seen.  I was ready to yell, "Cut", because I was suddenly worried I had hired a transgender.  Have you ever really looked at another woman's vagina?"  

"I have no interest."  She changed the buttons on the stereo and we were suddenly jamming out to "The Cure."  

The inevitable question... What do you do for a living?

I was great with parents.  From the time I was a very little girl, all of my friends parents would go out of their busy, white-collared social schedule just to tell my parents repeatedly what a well-mannered daughter they have.  I never thought I knew something someone else didn't.  I took it for granted that everyone knew the proper placement of the napkin when politely excusing oneself for the powder-room.  

The dress I had purchased from the Manhattan Tory Burch boutique on my morning routine walk-of-shame from Tom's five thousand square foot loft in Soho, to my little bedroom on First and First.  It was caftan style in white cotton with a silver floral print, just in time for their end of the summer sale at five-hundred dollars.  Thirteen years in Los Angeles had caused me to forget many of the rules from my East coast routes, but by all practical standards I figured I had at least the upcoming Labor Day weekend to get one good day out of that white dress.  And five-hundred dollars to be well suited for my boyfriend's parents during the first meeting, was well worth the expense.

The dress was still laid out on my white lacquered French antique full-size bed, while I was packing my weekend sized Prada suitcase, when Tom called, "My mom's not feeling so well, so I think it's best I just go down myself this weekend."  

I sat on the bed, wrinkling my new dress, "What's wrong with her?"

"It's just a cold or something."

"I'm not afraid of a runny nose."

"I don't think she's feeling up to company."

I was wondering how far I could push the no white after Labor Day rule.  "I'm still in town the following weekend."  

"They're going away that weekend."  No further weekends were suggested.  

I looked at myself in my dresser mirror, above photos of my waspy friends and their children, and a photo of me, perfectly coifed in prep-school uniform, with my tiny arm around my father looking dapper as usual in a gray wool pin-striped suit.  "You were the one who asked me."

"I probably should have talked with my parents first."

I noticed the lines starting to form on either side of my mouth, even when I wasn't smiling.  "So, you won't be in town for the long weekend?"  

He started to ramble on about his responsibilities to his parents.  I started to rummage through my wallet for the Thory Burch receipt.  "Tom, you don't want to introduce me to your parents, do you?"

A heavy pause said everything.

"Did they ask what I do for a living?"  

He stumbled his way through something, which definitely let me know they had.  

"What did you tell them?"

"I changed the subject."  He said with slightly nervous laughter.  

The dress was an exchange only, no refund.

I had my answer as to why this handsome man five years my junior liked the cougar in me with every night he kept me in his loft, but would never take me home to meet his parents.  The only thing I didn't yet understand was how, with all my proper table manners, I had become the girl you couldn't bring home to mom.

That night, we sat on his brown leather sofa, eating New York pizza and watching Japanese animation... the kind that always ends with the monster moving his exceedingly large, numerous phallic tentacles in and out and all around the young schoolgirl's body.  During a sojourn to Tokyo, I was fascinated by the discovery their equivalent to "People" magazine, and all the like, contained graphic photos of young girls and cartoon style hardcore porn.  I was stunned at the perfectly acceptable touch on the tush amongst strangers, the regular dinners where the wives were left home, and the goes without saying every man to his Geisha.  Yes, every culture certainly has their rules to sex... and just about everyone in every culture has sex.  The most difficult part however, is that the rules are generally unwritten, and the sex is mostly misunderstood.  

Tom was stroking my leg, aroused by the gigantic tentacles penetrating the Miss Goody Two Shoes.  He liked my legs, preferably in thigh-high stockings and stilettos.  Regularly obliging, this evening I was wearing my new Thory Burch dress... no stockings, no stilettos.  I wanted him to remember the image of the girl he couldn't take home tomorrow, looking every bit the perfect girl a mother would love.  "Are you ashamed of what I do?"  I finally blurted it out.

Tom look up at me, his eyebrows burrowing.  He sat back with a sigh, focused now solely on the happenings of the little girl.  "You know what you do turns me on."  

"Good, because what you do turns me on, too."  We shared a smile.

He continued, "But, my parents aren't going to understand."  

"Yet, they understand the gambling you do on Wall Street every day."  

His one brow raised, "I rarely lose."

My brow to match his, "I rarely lose, too."  

Tom got up to brush his teeth.  Still feeling unfinished, in typical girl fashion, I continued, "What did your parents say when you dated your last girlfriend for six years before finally telling her you had no intentions of marrying her?"  

From the bathroom, he hollered back, "What does that have to do with anything?"  

It always amazes me how men can't follow a woman's train of thought.  I joined him in the bathroom, taking the pink toothbrush from the silver cup holder.  He spread the toothpaste across the bristles for me in a clean line, but just shy of a generous amount.  "You let her believe what you were doing with her was going to be something else.  A woman's youth is important, and you took those years with false promises.  At least what I do is honest."

As we both put brush to teeth, our stares were penetrating through the mirror.  Allowing the combination of toothpaste and saliva to inch its way along the corner of his mouth, "I was twenty when I met her.  She knew I wasn't ready to get married from the start."  

Trying to hold back the puddle of well-churned saliva, "Six years is one year short of common law marriage in many states."  

"We all make mistakes, alright?  I like you.  We have a good time together... even when you get a little nutty, and regardless of what you're doing for a living."  

"Then why don't you tell your parents that?"  The thick white drool was now running down my chin.  

He rinsed away his minty-fresh.  "Look, you're not going to be doing it forever."  

I spat the white foam from my mouth into his sink.  "What if I am?"  

Tom moved into the bedroom closed off by heavy sliding doors, once used to only belong to the artists who inhabited Soho, before they turned the property into something worth having and were forced out to Brooklyn.  I finished in the bathroom and found him naked in his large four-poster King size bed.  I picked up my over-night bag.  He pulled back the sheets, "Just come to bed."

I turned to face him... looking deeply into his large brown eyes.  I wanted to "just come to bed."  I wanted to envelope myself in those freshly ironed Frette sheets and furrow into the pocket between his hairless chest and his arms which wrapped all the way around me and came out the other side to hold me through the night.  I wanted to never leave.  But, I knew that night that those Frette sheets I had purchased for him would one day belong to another woman, regardless of any past she could easily hide.  

"Just hire a hooker.  It would be more honest."  It was twelve steps in my Hermes sandals to the door, passing a massive old trunk with its open lid.  I turned back, walked to the trunk in which he kept hundreds of pornos.  I took one out and looked up at him.  "This one's mine."

If anyone had seen me walking home that night, no one would have guessed that past my Hamptons Girl exterior, inside my understated Gucci purse was a DVD called "Young Sluts, Inc.", that it was one of many I had shot for Hustler, and most of all that I still had a whole lot more to make.  

Ursula in the movies

My first Ursula, in one of my "Young Sluts, Inc" movies.  

Ursula, The Russian Spy

Ursula, the Russian Spy, came about when I was staying at my then boyfriend's loft in NYC.  He had inherited some sort of car business and was constantly talking about the Gumball Rally and Bullrun and all sorts of gadgets to make the fastest time driving across country.  All that mattered to me was the sex.  I'm not sure if it was his infectious laugh, his massive porn collection hidden in a built-in floor vault designed by a decorator, his fast car collection, his thick cock, or his big loft, but somehow he knew just how to turn me on.  And so we were "dating", some four thousand miles apart.  

On one of my weekly visits to his loft, while he was at his inherited job, waiting for him to return home so he could fuck me before heading out with God knows who so we could turn one another on only to return to the loft and fuck some more, I went for a walk.  It was one of those street vendor shops only Manhattan knows all too well, where I saw this wig.  It was short dark hair, with some pink high-lights, giving that smart Brunette just a bit of fun.  I had to have it.  

Returning to the loft, I knew exactly what I was going to do with it... get out my camera, some lingerie, and with the wig in place, remind my lover, through email, that I was not so quietly waiting for his return.  It started with photos of "Ursula, The Russian Spy" on her mission.  She was breaking into his loft, discovering his secret "materials" only to get turned on herself, before leaving.  All was properly documented.  And when he returned home, we had incredibly naughty sex with the wig in place.  

I returned to Los Angeles, knowing all too well where to find him on www.nerve.com (fyi, the very best dating site for anyone slightly left of center.)  I created a profile, using one of the many hopeful porn girls who had sent me their photos.  She was perfect... looked exactly like his mother.  And I gave her his mother's job prior to marrying his father... flight attendant.  He had posted, under favorite movies, a porn with a note that to anyone who really knew that movie he would give fifty bucks.  Truth be told, I had never heard of that porn, but a quick google search and I knew all I needed.  A few emails with me as this other woman, with him not having a clue it was me, and a date was set to meet... fifty bucks in hand.  

I then contacted a male friend in the big apple, and clued him in.  He was to meet my boyfriend at the bar at the W hotel, deliver the Ursula Spy file and request the fifty bucks for his troubles. I took the photos of me as Ursula, now "breaking-in" to my place and discovering this false on-line girl to be the real me.  I Fed-exed them to my friend who arrived at the set rendez-vous in place of the fabulous creature I had devised.  And my man laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and so did I.  My friend received his fifty dollars and my boyfriend and I knew exactly where we stood.  He loved my creativity and I loved his ability to spark this in me.  And so the whole exclusive thing and possible cheating was entirely avoided.  

Instead, Ursula, with that same great wig, started showing up in my movies.  I was on a creative roll, inspired by my man.  And the sex rocked!  Certainly giving me lots of material for my movies.  We even found another couple on nerve.com to get it on.  

Then, another trip East, taking care of his turtles while he was out of town caring for some sick relative... yeah, I may be blonde but I was starting to see through this one... or perhaps feel would be the better choice of words.  I discovered a hairdryer in his bathroom.  This is a man who shaved his entire head.  A hairdryer?!  To make matters worse, I suddenly noticed a shampoo bottle and hair conditioner in his shower!  I knew this wasn't for his pubic hair, which he never did shave neatly for me.  I was on a mission and out came Ursula.  I didn't have the wig, but I had recently purchased a black bunny fur Russian hat, so I devised Ursula's cohort, Katrina. And the photos revealed the spy's discovery... the other woman's cheap fur scarf, and God were her clothes silly, but in particular the robe on the back of the bathroom door with the other woman's name monogrammed into it... the very robe he had purchased for all of his employees and had told me he had also purchased one for me with a monogrammed "Kat."  I never did see my robe.  But, hers was definitely standing out like a sore thumb. 

It was the last time I would send this lover an Ursula file.  It was the end of our sexual relationship, but Ursula had only just begun.  And I'll always love him for that. 

Q&A What's the right thing to do with dating multiple women?

Kat, 

I recently went on an online dating site and it seems I have hit the pussy jackpot!  I lined up 6 girls that i am attracted to and scheduled them all for back to back dates.  After 3 weeks, I still have 4 on the line and it's time for the "I'm coming over to cook for you" date.  It's a sure thing!  I know it's okay to date more than one girl, but what is the noble rule for fucking?  Can I sample them all and see which one is the most freaky, or do I need full disclosure with each one?  It's not like I'm leading them on, we're just dating and having some kicks.  I think they understand this. What is the right thing to do?  

Yours Truly, 

Long Line Fisherman

Long Line Fisherman,

The right thing to do goes back to you being absolutely sure they understand whatever it is you're wanting.  Honesty, honesty, honesty... from both genders.  This means, if you tell your girl(s) you're into getting your kicks off right now, and she says any form of "that's totally cool", she better also stand by that, and has no griping to do when she realizes she isn't going to change you into Mr. Marriage Material.  

I've found the best way to be honest, but not over the top, with on-line dating is to mark the what you're looking for, in this case, as "Play."  And you may want to possibly add, "Friendship."  If you do mark "Long Term Relationship" or any variance there of, she may not be as understanding as you think.  

You may worry if you'll ever get laid again with what I'm suggesting.  But, there are many women out there who are also looking for the similar.  Just as you would mark "Long Term Relationship" if you're really into that, and would thus find women also seeking this, be bold and make sure you've set the groundwork from the beginning.  Then, you can do exactly as you marked and if you have any doubts you can simply remind yourself of your good intentions by looking back at your profile page.  

In the meantime, if you happen to meet some girl for whom you really fall, you can take it from there with her.  But, don't be surprised if she points out her on-line dating page as "Play."  

Kat 

Q&A My boyfriend likes big cocks in porn, is he gay?

Kat,

My boyfriend's into porn, so I agreed to have him get out his porn collection, only to discover most of it was lots of guys on one girl and he was really into the big dicks.  Is this normal?  Or is my guy gay?  

Confused Girlfriend 

Confused Girlfriend,

Not to worry, he's not gay due to what you write above.  It is very common for men to want a big cock inside their fantasy girl. It's every bit the reason why Big Black Dicks and Little White Chicks was such a success.  Men watching porn want a girl who's a naughty slut.  If she can easily take a huge cock, they equate this to being that very naughty girl.  And if she can take five of them... all the better!  His fantasy porn is really all about the girl, even though you may simply see it as lots of large penises.  

If this is his fantasy, and you want to please him, you may want to tell your man, while fucking him, in the best honest voice you have, what a huge cock he has.  Let him know how much that turns you on, before taking it like a pro.  And just when he thinks he's gotten his ultimate... put some of your fingers in with his cock... as many as you can handle.  A dildo in with his cock could send him through the roof.  And if it's on vibe, it can be incredibly stimulating for both of you.  If you know how to do anal, you may even want to then put that vibrating dildo in your ass, while he's fucking you.  A girl who just can't get enough live not Memorex will spin his head, and... he'll feel it through your skin, and if you're relaxed you'll feel all the greatness of being fucked by multiple guys.  You could even do a vibe in your pussy with him, and one in your ass.  And note to keeping the one in your bum-hole while fucking... bend one leg, pushing the vibe in with your heel.  

Don't worry about your guy.  Embrace and enjoy!  

Kat 

Q&A Do the girls really cum in porn?

Dear Queen of Porn,

Do chicks in porns ever orgasm?  I've seen enough to know that it looks like they are faking it.  Is it not professional or something to actually cum on camera or are they just desensitized?  I like the amateur home movies when you can tell that a woman is really into her man's cock.  The honesty is much more erotic than a gang banged cum belching road whore who can't get off.

Honest Abe

Honest Abe,

They rarely cum.  I once shot a b/g scene where the two were so into one another, near the end of the movie, they were really fucking.  My camera operator turned to me and said, "We're shooting no-core."  He was all confused and thought we should stop rolling because of this.  I told him, "Keep shooting."  You couldn't see much in hard-core, and yet too much for soft core.  But, they were really fucking and really into it and it was one of the few times I was really getting off behind the camera.  I'm with you.  

But, the sexual gymnastics the girls have to perform to give great hard-core lends little to really being comfortable and thus in the ripe mood for an orgasm.  I agree with you... love some of the real amateur stuff... and Japanese Animation porn for similar reasons. But, much of the amateur porn sucks in not being able to really see what's happening.  There are few movies both amateur and pro-am, where you can really see all and also get a great feel the girl is truly into it.  And these go down in great porn history in my opinion.  

There is no doubt the professional porn gives the best shots.  But, just imagine for a moment fucking in front of people you don't know, with all the pressure mounting of actually cuming, so the wardrobe girl, make-up artist, and everyone else can get home at a decent hour.  FYI... this is why real porn studs are only a very few stable.  So, one would think it is best to watch the amateur stuff where it's just a couple and their camera.  But, my biggest mistake in the beginning was shooting couples.  They generally don't fuck as well on camera as two people who don't know one another as intimately and just want to get it on with one another.  The reason is because the boyfriend/husband doesn't want to "hurt" his girl in a very vulnerable situation for her.  Thus, his more timid approach while on camera, leaves her equally going through the motions.  Also there's a lot of amateur stuff which really just gives me the feel it's some guy and a girl who figured they would make some loot in putting their homemade porno on YouPorn.  Any which way... the very best is when the people in front of the camera really want to fuck each other and have at least some good sense of how to shoot or are comfortable with their pornographer.  It's every bit the reason why I embraced gonzo, which keeps the group small and the emphasis on fucking as opposed to glitz and glamour.  

It's really not so much that the girl isn't into the guy's cock. Pornographers do try to line up people who want to fuck one another, and with the right casting you will find a great scene in the professional line-up of porn.  But, it's just that the girl has a lot of other things on her mind the bigger the set and the greater the pressure.  

At the end of the day, there's nothing like going home to your lover and fucking her/his brain's out sans camera.  That's generally where the best honesty lies.  

Kat 

Q&A Does Size Matter?

Kat,

Does size really matter?

Your Average Guy

My Average Guy,

Yes.  But, before you become disheartened... size matters for the right size girl.  We've heard it before this way... "the perfect fit."  Just as men are built differently here, so are women.  Some women just can't take a twelve inch cock.  I say this having loved my ex-boyfriends twelve-inches. But, my girlfriend's sister had had the same cock, and she couldn't stand it this big.  I've found around seven inches to be the norm in personal experience.  I've also found anything within the "norm" range to be quite satisfying, provided you know how to work it.  I've also made the mistake of shooting a hot girl who would only fuck her boyfriend, who just happened to have a pencil dick.  It looked absolutely terrible on tape, and she NEVER convinced me it felt any better.  Though, that was probably because they were both new to porn and worried about performance.  If you happen to be below "average", I would simply suggest... make up for it in other ways.  

And this is where we get to what you've probably heard before... it's how you know what to do with it.  Women are emotional creatures.  A great lover does not need a huge cock.  If he has one, and it's not too big for his chosen girl, he probably doesn't need to work as hard.  But, if it's not as big as she would have liked it... it's similar a woman who is incredibly sexually exciting capturing the intellect and the spirit, but perhaps is not the most model-beautiful.  Turn her on in other ways than simply huge cock standing at attention, and it really doesn't matter.  

I can't tell you the number of times my boyfriends have worried about me having seen some of the biggest cocks around.  But, how many times have I worried I didn't come in a super-model package?  When I became comfortable with my seeming imperfections, because I became well aware of what truly made me unique and special and loveable, my non super-model status no longer mattered to those who mattered to me.  In other words... size does matter, but it's not the only thing which matters.  And it's not the most important thing which matters.  (I did, after all, break it off with my twelve-inch boyfriend for reasons much more important than size.)  Confidence is most attractive to both genders.  I'm not talking about cocky, but confidence.  It does seem that twelve inches or a super-model body can naturally give one confidence in our world.  But, there are other ways to achieve the same thing.  Learn it and own it.  That's what matters most.  

Now, if you're a man with a cock bigger than most, like my ex was with this sister to my girlfriend... be aware.  Just because you have a big one which matches the porn studs in the movies, doesn't mean your chosen girl is going to want that.  There were so many times the girls on set complained because the guy's penis was too big.  You never saw this, because it's what happened between those cuts in the movie.  She was "acting", after all.  If "acting" is not what you're seeking, you may want to realize you have a very large penis and to simply move forward with caution.  Again... just like my super-model girlfriends who seem to often scare off the men from making advances toward them, you may want to learn just how deep you can thrust for starters.  When the girl's relaxed, because she knows she can trust you to not hurt her, her body will actually open more and more for you.  Take it slowly, and she'll eventually get there... to take it all.  

As you can see... yes, size does matter.  But that doesn't mean you don't have to make it the perfect fit.  

Q&A Volume in the Pop Shot

Kat,

How do I get the best coverage, when cuming on a girl?  

London Cuming

London Cuming,

Most of the male studs I shot did tell me what they eat does matter.  I was told Omega-3 is the winner here for more spunk.  So, if you're looking to duplicate the porn studs cum-shot, dive into that tuna before your pop!  I've also been told wheat germ.  Protein seems to be a theory on increased volume, as well.  And lots of water!!!!  

Sadly, all the fun toxins... alcohol in particular, seem to do every bit to thwart your porn stud desires.  

And if your girl's having any problem lapping it up afterwards, bring in the pineapple and cinnomen.  

Then, from all I've seen, you do need a bit of time to build up that spunk.  The best pop shots I got on tape where from the guys who hadn't fucked for at least a day.  Keep in mind, many of the best studs are popping at least 3 times a day.  My goal was always to get the guy's first pop of the day.  Good food, good sleep equals a great pop.  

Lastly, I would suggest holding your cock when you cum... and thus directing the flow of the cum on your target.  There is a reason the studs in porn are doing just this after all.  If you want it all over your girl... and you've done your prep work in eating and sleeping... now it's up to you to really aim that baby just right... not letting it all pile up in just one place.  

The perfect mess of a pop shot does take work.  But, not to worry... you can crash out on her cum soaked body just moments after it's all done.  

Kat 

Your Questions

Over the years I have received countless questions on sex and porn, from both genders.  I welcome any and all such questions here, under "comments."  I will try to answer all of them, if I feel I can share a different perspective from the typical... which I'm usually pretty good at.  

Your Sexual Fantasy/Story

Feel free to post your own sexual fantasy, story, anything sexual you'd like to share with us here, under "comment."  There are no rules, other than... keep it REAL.  

Q&A Leopard changing his spots

Kat,

Can a leopard change its spots?  I am a 40 year old bachelor who has been single for 12 years.  I have been a very appreciated lover and charming companion to countless women over my tenure.  I have grown bored of being a player and seek a higher level of enjoyment.  Young coed conquest, exotic playmates, sex crazed MILFs, swinger parties and dangerous liaisons with married sluts just doesn't do anything anymore.  I love the pursuit, but I am often disappointed once I get the honey.  Can a sexual deviant settle down with just one woman?  Can I go lagit and still keep my passions alive?  What kind of woman do I need and should I be honest with her about my raunchy past?  I just want to love and adore a woman, like I once did, without the fear of rejection.  I am a good and trustworthy man with a really healthy appetite for pleasure.  Is there a woman for me who will love me in spite of my past?  

Don Juan d'ChicagoCan

Don Juan d'ChicagoCan,

Two things you say stand out to me: 1) You're disappointed once you get the honey; 2) You want to love and adore a woman without the fear of rejection.  The first would lead me to tell you something every mother has every told her potentially equally appreciative daughter... Wait to get to know one another.  My mother said it like this, "Your generation takes the honeymoon before the marriage and you're all messed up because of it."  There's a lot of truth in the words of an old woman.  If you truly want the honey worth a mountain of gold, make a real effort to get to know the Queen Bee before you delve into the honey like a silly big bear waiting to be stung.  In rushing into the honey, there are two ways you'll be disappointed.  1) You fall for the promise of the most fabulous honey and you discover your hive is just plain ordinary for your palate. 2) You actually have a spectacular hive, but you ruin it by jumping into the honey part too soon, missing all else which comprises the real worth of it's sweetness.  Either way, if you don't want disappointment, don't become consumed by the honey until you know what type of stinger is protective of her honey.  

To your second statement, I would say... this is about genuinely understanding yourself. And owning what is yours... confidently.  Your past has made you who you are.  If you're not confident in who you are, no woman can do her voodoo here.  This is up to you to make yourself whole... without the fear of rejecting yourself.  I have found a partner's "rejection" can often be a wonderfully honest piece of information for both parties involved.  If it's not a right connection... better to know sooner than later.  My suggestion is to be true to your sense of life, love, and exploration, and be open to those who equal you here.  If you hide behind your hurt,f for fear of rejection, you're only denying yourself.  

Thus, my answer to your overall question... yes, yes, YES.  Embrace who you were, who you are, and what you want.  Stand tall on that, enjoy the time before getting lost in the honey, and the truth will be very clear to you.  

As to what type of woman you need... your equal.  If you're not afraid of that... she'll be much more evident than you think.  But, it sounds to me you have to decide just how many spots you want these days, before choosing another.  

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Q&A Doggy Head

Kat, I am concerned my wife no longer is satisfied by my love making. The other night I came home early from work and found her naked, on her back, with a jar of peanut butter and our dog between between her thighs. Is this healthy? Should I be worried my four legged buddy is doing my bride?

Sincerely,

Jiffy Lube

Jiffy,

"Healthy?" Let's break it down into two parts. A woman can get all sorts of problems from raunchy sex without a good shower afterwards... urinary tract infections and yeast infections being the most common. A man is also not immune should he join in here. But, cleaning off well, before one goes to sleep, or work for that matter, can ward off any of the annoying little bugs.  And turns out at least a good piss after sex can do the trick.  

As for the "mentally healthy" side... it's all part of nature.  Dogs wouldn't go there if there wasn't some natural smell that attracted them.  FYI... you may want to tell our girl to save the money on the peanut butter, because no Jiffy is needed.  Dogs have incredible long, perfectly rough tongues, and it's just near impossible for any man to match that while munching the muffin.    So for starters... it just plane feels good for "everyone" involved.  Throw in the whole naughtiness, and you're into the mental zone of why both sexes venture out of the typical missionary.  This fantasy is more common than one may think, and I have yet to ever hear of any chick going off the deep end of reason because her dog gave great "head."  

Should you be worried your four legged friend is moving in on your action?  It sounds to me like you have an adventurous woman.  I doubt she's going to only "do" Kujo, the way I doubt she's only into laying on her back for you.  I'm sure you must have recognized this along the way, and probably embraced it in choosing her.  Just think of Kujo like any other toy or plaything she may have had or wants to discover.  None of it replaces love and affection from and for a partner.  My suggestion would be to allow her to feel just as comfortable with this, as you may have in other somewhat off-beat acts of sexuality.  If she hasn't yet gotten her fill, perhaps ask if you can watch and masturbate, during this?  Maybe kissing her while Kujo does all the work?  Your acceptance of this exploration for her will probably bring you closer.  And before you know it, she'll be begging for your tongue down there again.  Don't forget... Kujo is giving her unconditional love.  My bet is she has a whole lot of exploration in her, and would love to do it all with you... the man she married.  But, she will hide it from you if neither one of you can address it, or if she feels you may condemn.  

I would never advocate either lover go along with something the other wanted, with either one feeling it not working for oneself.  Everyone is entitled to their own feelings, and it should be respected... with compromise to any union of two human wills.  If the dog just doesn't work for you, you don't have to be part of it.  But, do realize the woman you married is sexually inquisitive.  I am always a big fan of communication.  If you can at least get to a place of voicing your thoughts on this with her, without making her feel badly for having such thoughts, you may both find an alternative way to explore a similar fantasy which works for both of you. Often, simply dirty talking about a particular fantasy can do wonders for a woman.  Think about it like you would a very naughty fantasy you would love to share with your wife.  What would you want?  

Don't condemn.  Communicate.  And explore TOGETHER.  

The Double Egg

I was remembering my instructions carefully. His voice was deep, and more so when he talked dirty. "I want you to go to the Hustler store on Sunset. I want you to buy a double egg. I want you to come back to the Four Seasons, suite 417. The door will be ajar. I want you to undress at the bottom of my bed, slowly. I want you to bring me those eggs."

I was thirty years old, walking out of my silver BMW, which was still registered in my father's name. Down Sunset Boulevard, I could see the bright lights ahead, "Hustler Hollywood."

This was no dark alley, hide-away smut shop. This was the Virgin Mega-store of sex. It even had a cafe, like Niemans or Barneys. This was liberation at its best. Women could now go where their husbands had been for years.

I roamed through the multi-colored shelves. Rubber penises, glass penises, plastic penises, some that needed batteries, some with balls, some with suction cups, some that looked like baseball bats, plastic blow-up dolls, rubber vaginas, rubber mouths with bright red lips, big plastic rings with horn like things that resembled dog dental bones.

And there they were. Purple, plastic covered egg-shaped things with two cords leading to one battery pack. It was.... the double egg.

On my way to the register, mission almost accomplished, I paused in front of a display shelf of DVDs. It was the first time I had seen my name on a movie, at a store where people were actually paying to watch something I had directed. The name was Snowy Rivers. The movie was one of the early "Barely Legal"s. At the time, I was still saving Kat Slater for the heroine in my big budget feature. Having to choose an adult a.k.a. came all too quickly for me, and seriously analyzing those of my predecessors, I thought one was supposed to pick the cheesiest name one could dream up. So there, at the Hustler video store, I had finally realized what every aspiring filmmaker hopes. The closest person to tell was the gay male sales clerk. I skipped over to the register with my double eggs, and the Barely Legal. "That's me!"

He examined the box cover. "The braces did wonders, honey."

I realized he thought I was the girl in the photo, with the gleaming braces across her white pearlies. "No, no, I directed it. I'm Snowy Rivers."

Not only did he share in my job, but he also gave me a ten percent discount on those eggs. "Send my best to Larry for me, Snowy." I knew then that I was going to have to change my name.

I had grown up on Vogue and Elle and Town and Country, and with friends' mothers who spent more time with their personal trainers than their husbands, and designer clothes that looked best on a hanger. I undressed my one hundred twenty pound, five foot seven frame quickly, and hopped under the covers in hopes that Alexander hadn't see the slight paunch my stomach made when I bent over to untangle my "Seven" jeans from around my ankles. I'm very aware that "Paige" jeans have long since replaced "Seven", but this dates back to 2001. And in 2001 I arrived at that hotel room looking just as fabulous as any Bergdorf Blonde ready to embrace all the lusciousness of those lovely five star robes.

He rolled his broad shoulders over me. I liked a man with broad shoulders. This was a man. He was forty... a decade older than me. I was done dating the trophy boy-toys. I was over the excitement of Hollywood. I had been on the list to every cool club in the nineties, dined across the table from Oliver Stone, attended Daniela Rich's New Year's eve party in Aspen, macked out with a bunch of the hot young actors you saw on television, dated boys who owned Ferraris, and made a movie during which I passed on Katie Holmes and Mena Suvari in the lead roles. And when I sat poolside at my best friend, Bethany's sprawling home, watching her lap in the water with her daughter and this great raw-ruby necklace that was so large it looked, from a distance, that someone slit her throat, and gazing across the weed-proof lawn, past the cabana and up to the white metropolis of security, I knew... I was ready.

I remember what one of those well-kept women at Sebastian's father's four-story town house on the upper east side of Manhattan once told me, "Marry well or marry often." I started to think about the halves of the Ferraris I could have owned by now. But, I was a romantic. I couldn't fuck a man I couldn't convince myself was Prince Charming. And I couldn't marry a man I couldn't fuck. I was ready to fuck Prince Charming.

Alexander had a child, who lived in Greenwich Connecticut, with his ex-wife. His father was a famous architect... the kind who creates multi-billion dollar hotels and block long office buildings seventy-five stories high. He was a Hollywood producer who once had a beach house in Malibu and now had two houses in Greenwich. Having once been a Connecticut kid myself, I could imagine the lovely cedar Greek Revival freshly painted white, with a large porch and red front door, with a brass lion's head knocker, and gardens cleanly cut into a rich green five million dollar lawn.

I took in ever inch of his breath, as if to make it my own. His heart pounding between my naked, natural B-cup breasts, I welcomed his long fingers around the edge of my panties. I was not ready for the lawn-mower sound of the on button, to one of those eggs he was rubbing on my clit. But, I liked it.

I wondered if our kids would inherit his ice blue eyes. I remembered Bethany discussing the big "B"/ little "b" theory of being a brown eyed girl marrying a blue eyed man. My mother's Swedish blue eyes would certainly help the blue eye thing along, I thought.

He slid his penis along the wet lips of what I would later discover to be a puffy pussy... as opposed to meaty. Meaty and puffy are quite different. But, I didn't yet know any of that. I did know that I was really good at getting wet, and wet was something guys liked.

He kept his blond hair rather short, and somewhat conservative. So, just before he would penetrate, I would run my hands through it just enough to give him that Billy Idol look. Then, I really wanted to fuck him.

In all my wetness, he slid the egg in with his penis, deep inside. I can't remember if it felt good, but I do remember that I liked kissing him. I remember how his slightly receding white blond hairline offset the redness his face developed as he worked himself up over me. I remember the large platinum cross he wore around his neck that would bang into my forehead, as he was taking me in missionary. I remember watching his eyes roll back into his head as he was approaching orgasm, with his red temples and the sweat from his cross dripping into my eyes. I remember wondering if he were a devil or an angle, but that either way I would follow him.

This time our hands were pulling and holding and digging. Our hips were moving as one. I was moaning louder than a baby on an airplane. He loved that. Then, his strong chin competing with my strong chin, I gasped for air, "Did you just put that egg-thing up my butt?!"

I was about to hit my sexual peak in more ways than had ever been explained.