Bisexuality Gets Visible in Health Care

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Feminist Porn Awards 2011!

Oh how we wish we could be in Toronto right now for the 2011 Feminist Porn Awards with Good For Her.  This ground-breaking film festival highlights erotic films that strive to provide erotic entertainment that is smart, sexy, and appreciates women as viewers.


Learn more in our Self Serve interview with Director Alison Lee:





Want to see some feminist porn?  Check out this year's nominees.

Salacious!

In case you haven't heard yet, Salacious is a new queer, feminist, anti-racist sex magazine that's quickly winning a place in our communities' hearts... and other, slightly more salacious bits.

The following is an excerpt from my contribution to Salacious' premiere issue. They have officially sold out of the first issue, but you can still pick up a copy at Self-Serve--run, don't walk--they only have a few copies left!

Check them out at www.salaciousmagazine.com

Illustration by Mancer

Warning: The following is quite explicit and involves Daddy/girl play.




“Are you going to be a good grrl for Daddi?” A command disguised as a question.

“Yes, of course, Daddi.”

"Now then, I know you heard me. From this point forward you won't utter a single fucking word unless Daddi asks you a direct question. Do you understand?"

As I spread my legs, I begin to nod and am stopped short by you jerking on my panties so fast that my cheeks are exposed before I even know what’s happening, followed by your hand coming down so hard on my ass, you can see pink welts rising up immediately on parts of my exposed flesh. "Use your words, little grrl."

The pain shoots through me, causing my eyes to well up, and I stop the rubbing only momentarily before I remember and start back up again, quickly saying, "Yes, Daddi." My voice audibly quivering. Having inadvertently disobeyed one of your simple demands leaves me more pained than the blow from your open palm.

Softening a bit at the thought of your baby grrl crying in front of an imminent audience, you decide you'll teach me an easier lesson. "That's better, little one." Caressing my ass a bit, you gently pull up my panties, covering the stingy, welted parts with the cool, silky material before sliding your hand down and pushing the crotch of my panties to one side. There's visible wetness pooling between my lips, what with the rubbing, firm language, and stinging smack...This pleases you greatly.

I inhale sharply at the slightest touch of your fingertips there, confused by my mixed feelings of liking and fearing it. "It's okay, darlin’. I'm not going to hurt you. Just so long as you cum for Daddi--just like I taught you the other night--before our guests arrive. You're going to learn to not start a job you can't finish. Especially when it's a job for Daddi. Just because I taught you how to touch yourself, it doesn't mean this is something you're allowed to do on your own. You are to only do that for Daddi and with Daddi. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." I can feel myself growing wetter and wetter with each word and the impending threat of potential embarrassment and punishment. I'm so scared that I won't be able to finish before the guests arrive. So I rub harder, much harder, and faster.

"That's right, baby grrl, you'd better get to work. Those guests are sure to show up any minute now."

You move your fingers slowly, teasing the fuck out of my tight, little cunt, just barely skirting the edges of my opening. "And if they get here before you cum for Daddi, do you know what's going to happen?"

"No, Daddi." The back of my neck glistening with the effort I'm putting forth and the fear of just how painful and embarrassing my punishment could be.

"I'm going to have to shove my big, hard cock inside of you and fuck you until you're screaming out in pain, our guests watching and waiting. After that, I’ll leave you to them, allowing them to do with you as they please."

"NO, Daddi!" I cry out before I can catch myself. Your free hand lands severely on my ass, harder this time, my body uncontrollably releasing a violent jerk as I swallow the pain.

"You will take your punishment like a good grrl. Or you will be punished even more harshly. It's all up to you... Now Daddi wants to see you push your hips into the bed, just like I showed you. And then lift your ass in the air. Do it several times for Daddi."

I follow your instructions to the tee, not daring to disobey again, achingly embarrassed that I messed up twice already. Watching my body moving against the mattress like that gets you all the more riled up and so you begin to flick your fingers faster and faster through my wetness, keeping me spread wide open. Which, in turn, makes it incredibly difficult for me not to squirm around uncontrollably. "Lie still. I don't want to see any movement on your part except for that which you've been instructed to do."

I quiet my body, wanting to be the best grrl possible for my Daddi and follow all his instructions explicitly. Maybe this way it won't be quite so bad in front of the guests and he'll be proud of me instead of so angry. But the motion of your fingertips has left me wanting...of what I'm not sure. I start to make little noises and you coo encouragement, your breath warm and moist on my ear, my neck.

I can't stop my body from instinctively pushing back to meet your fingers, wanting more.

“What is it, darlin’?”

"Please, Daddi...pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...Daddi...please..."

"Shhh, sweetheart. Not yet. You're not ready for that just yet..." Your cock throbbing and painfully stiff, wanting so badly to give me what I'm unknowingly asking for. Hearing me plead like that is such torture. Part of you is just wishing that I won't be able to cum in time and then you'll be forced to teach me that lesson. After all, a good Daddi never goes back on his word.

I whimper a little bit and so you decide you'd better give my pussy a little spanking. Your fingers smacking up against my wetness again and again is such a pleasurable sensation--audibly, visually, tactilely--that you can't help but do it a little faster and harder, making me drip even more. I continue to make little noises and by now you've had enough of that kind of taunting--the kind that gets your dick rock hard with desire, completely unbeknownst to your innocent, little grrl.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear another noise out of you, not a single fucking peep. And that includes when you cum--I don't want to hear it. No words, no sounds, nothing. You got that?" Not interested in a response, you continue your threats, "And you'd better fucking hurry up. You don't want to make Daddi hurt you with his cock. You don't want all our guests to watch while you cry out and scream. You don't want them to shove their fingers and cocks into all your holes and make you scream even louder, now do you?" Not getting a quick enough response, you get a little rough with me, grabbing a handful of my pussy and tugging hard. "Answer me, damn it! Do you want them to help your Daddi split you wide open and make you bleed?"

"NO! NO! NO, Daddi! Please, please no, please don't! PLEASE! Pleasepleaseplease! I'll be such a good grrl, please!!"

"Then you better fucking cum for Daddi." You ease up on my lips and spread them again, continuing to tease my opening, just barely pressing inside a bit, fucking me faster and faster with just the pads of your fingertips--priming me for a later date. "That's right,” you say, calming down a bit. “You don't want those guests to see you like this and be forced to help Daddi."

Clearly breaking into a sweat now, I grind my hips into the mattress harder and the sight of my sweet, little ass pumping up and down practically makes you cum in your pants. Sensing the building tension about to break, you press your entire fist up against my cunt. A warning.

Hardly able to speak, I barely manage to get out, "Daddi...may I...please...cum for you?"

Proud that I've remembered to ask, you grant immediate permission. "Yes, baby grrl, cum for Daddi. I wanna feel it."

With that very first word, I’ve begun to tremble and you can feel it shake violently through my entire body. "That's right, sweetheart. That's good. Such a good grrl. Cum for Daddi."

The combination of your words, anger, encouragement, teasing, manhandling, and threats have done a number on me and with the last spasm riding through me, I finally fully collapse into the bed, exhausted, giving my tired muscles a rest.

You wait a minute before removing your hand and neatly pulling my panties back into place--making me quiver ever so slightly. “You know, the Day of Atonement is just around the corner. I have a feeling you’ll be learning the true definition of repentance between now and then.” You give me a couple pats on my bottom as you rise from the bed to exit the room. Pleased, you see that my hair has begun to curl up into those unruly waves and kinks you so enjoy.

Lying there limp on the bed, from down the hall I hear, "Now straighten out your party dress, get yourself together, and don't you even dare think about changing those panties."

Yes, Daddi.

~Kiki DeLovely

Brickhouse Chronicles: A Heaping Slice of Prurient Pie- Confessions of a Female Fat Admirer

In continuation of the "National Hug a Fat Chick Day" theme, I've decided to come out of the closet and make a confession.

*Nervously steps up to podium and clears throat*

"Hi, my name is Eve and I'm a dyke who loves fat chicks"

Whew......I feel so much better now!

I've felt so alone in my unbridled Sapphic lust of fluffy female forms that I chose to keep these urges to myself, waiting for the day when some other dyke would step forward and be the spokesperson for Female Fat Admirers Anonymous....but I can restrain myself no more! There are plenty of resources for men (gay and straight) who prefer their partners to have some extra cushion for the pushin', but where are my fellow female chubby chasers? Am I the only woman on this planet whose body type preference includes more than what Maxim magazine says is acceptable? Am I part of a rare breed? Am I the only dyke who has visions of luscious fat women with big bottoms running through her head? Hamm....in the event that I am...WOOHOO!! More fat chicks for me!

In case you haven't picked up on it....I love fat women. It's a love affair that I've had since I was a little girl and would stand transfixed to the TV. as my dad played his Pam Grier movies over and over and over again. Eavesdropping on the conversations that my dad and uncles' had with each other and sneaking looks at my dad's collection of 'Player' magazines (the black version of Playboy) taught me that I wasn't the only one who worshipped at the altar of voluptuous women. My dad was definitely a big influence on me developing my highly refined taste in appreciating the curvier things in life because he lived and breathed for big women...especially my mom. He would wax poetic about how much he loved her big hips, the way she walked, and how he thought she was the most beautiful woman on this earth. I couldn't agree more.

As I got older and interacted more in the "real world" outside my front door, I started absorbing the message that thin was the only acceptable form of beauty to appreciate and the desire for any other body type was a serious deviation....but at night I secretly thought of such well endowed sex goddess like blaxploitation icon Pam Grier, the hot chubby andro-dyke in my homeroom class, and women with the sort of soft, squishy, wobbly bits that continued to mesmerize me as they lusciously jiggled by me whenever I’m out and about. I stopped playing the conformity game after I came out of the closet and have been slowly working on reclaiming my former position as a non-repentant Fat Admirer #1 because there's no place like home. Don't get me wrong...I've dated and appreciated more than my share of lovely slender ladies, they have wobbly bits too and the fun part is looking for 'me!

I have to admit that one of the chief reasons why I'm so addicted to being an active part of the leather and queer community is that there's no shortage of lusciously curve enhanced eye candy to ogle at and it still blows me away that most of these women don't realize how fucking gorgeous they are. I don't mean gorgeous in the oh-so safe and sterile "you inspire me to love myself way", I mean gorgeous in the "you inspire me to bend you over and love YOU way". I love getting feedback from gorgeous fat women because frankly I makes my day and warms my libido but I find it hard to come up with stuff to say to them in return besides "duuuuuhhh, I think you're purty!" so I'm usually at a loss for words in the face of curvalicious beauty.

Speaking of beauty, the big dyke who "inspires" me into speechless lust the most is my wife and I happily while away most of my days ogling her and harassing her for sex because I find her to be absolutely delicious! Sometimes she has her bad days when she thinks that because she's a big daddy butch that she's not attractive and I couldn't disagree with her more. I love how when she holds me I feel completely safe in her strong arms. I especially love how she's able to physically take me down and make my wobbly parts jiggle! To me (and quite a few other dykes with good taste), she's the epitome of the classic old school butch: handsome, gentlemanly, and powerful *dribbling on keyboard*....I loves me some wifey!!

In conclusion...I'd like to say to all of the lovely fat, chubby, rubenesque, zaftig, plump, curvy, voluptuous, big, fluffy, squishy, juicy ladies out there....

Fat bottomed girls you make my rocking world go round!!

Brickhouse Betties Yahoo Group:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Brickhouse_Betties/

Brickhouse Betties Facebook Group:

http://www.facebook.com/groups/brickhousebetties/

My Wife’s Amazing Leather Bear Blog Home

http://www.blogger.com/profile/10359506735811402423

The Third Kiss

Hi there!

I’m Kiki DeLovely, Self-Serve’s newest guest blogger. I’ve recently started publishing my erotica and I’ll be sharing excerpts of these steamy stories with you here.

This little morsel comes from my story “The Third Kiss” and appears in Best Lesbian Erotica 2011. Coincidentally, you can purchase said book at Self-Serve. ;)

I’ll just preface this to say that the excerpt is from the middle of the story--to find out what happens on either end, you’ll just have to buy the book. ;) Our narrator is typing her dream from the night prior to her crush...who happens to be sitting directly across from her.



We fell to the floor again. With fury and madness, fell onto each other. With burning and intensity, fell into each other. A tangled mess of hands searching, limbs interwoven, my lips unable to leave yours, your tongue wrapped around mine. Not caring if we could even breathe, let alone remember to do so. Grasping, desperately, pressing harder and harder up against each other, knowing that we had to remain above the thin layer of clothing separating mouths from hardness, fingers from wetness. Knowing it, loathing it, and yet, it making that first kiss all the hotter. The ardor gripping us so tightly that we might suffocate. That first kiss lasted an hour easily--maybe longer. You were packing and I felt you grinding against me, your cock stiff on my thigh. You wanting me so badly to do more to acknowledge its presence. Me wanting so badly to straddle you and ride out this orgasm that had been teetering on the edge from the beginning, leaving me dizzy now. If only for a brief moment of release. Knowing that, for me, it would be ever so brief--wanting more, always wanting more. So instead, reaching down, I grasp your hardness, hoping to relieve you, hoping that relief will last longer than a moment.

The moment my hand makes contact, you moan deeply in my mouth, your tongue reaching further, the vibration echoing down my throat, penetrating me as I wish you could. I take your cock in my hand and work it how my pussy would, rubbing you up and down, both of us too excited to take our time. I stroke you firmly, moving faster, as fast as I can with such the protective layer separating my palm from really getting a good grip on you. You’re so lust-crazed that you thrust at an impatient pace--an impending explosion bursting at the seams--your tongue moving with an unimaginable quickness. The way you move that tongue in my mouth, something I had never experienced before, and with such speed that it makes it difficult to concentrate on my task at hand. So I begin to suck on it, which quiets you briefly, only to make you all the more excited again. You regain control, fucking my mouth intently with your tongue, as you imagine what my lips would feel like wrapped around your cock.

And right then the seams give way and you explode with an intensity of bulls charging through a brick wall--coming so hard that I feel it rampage through me and all my weight collapses on you, exhausted and sated in the here and now.

We laid there, marinating in bliss for just a few minutes before realizing we had to get back. So we smoothed our clothes, ran fingers through each others’ hair, and started back. On the way up, you trap me against a wall in the stairwell and all the desire floods back, rushing over us, and you take my chin in your hand, bringing me towards you for another kiss.

I stop you. “Don’t you think you already used up your three kisses?”

You just shake your head and smile. “This is only the second one.”

Brickhouse Chronicles: Daydreaming The Fat and Queer Body Electric

Being a proud fat chick is important to me because being queer fabulous is important to me. Like many women, ever since I was a young girl, I always felt uncomfortable in my skin. Everywhere I turned (outside of the safety of my home), I was hit with the constant message that black was not beautiful and that not having a slender body was to be a source of shame and embarrassment. I developed a woman's body early and my wide hips, large breasts, and softly rounded tummy were constant sources of consternation for me because I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to be graceful. I wanted to be loved.

I spent my high school years starving myself and exercising for three hours a day Monday through Friday, and binging on the weekend. I wanted so badly to be viewed as beautiful like the light-skinned black girls who seemed to find acceptance by society as creatures of beauty. In my mind, being thought of as beautiful meant that your life was so much easier. The thinner and lighter one was seemed to correspond with how nice people were to you. As I fell into the dangerous mind set that thinness and starvation equaled discipline, I just knew that once I got my appetite under control that the very un-Christian feelings that I was having about other women would go away. I lost a lot of weight and got lots of positive attention from friends and family for “finally taking care of myself” but the feelings of alienation from my body and sense of sexuality just wouldn’t go away.

Fast forward to my adulthood when I first came out of the closet….not much had changed. The only images of dyke women that were viewed as acceptable and sexually attractive that I saw when I first came out were those of thin, androgynous, white, and extremely athletic women. The starvation, exercise, and binge regimen that I had worked so hard to get rid of re-surfaced with a vengeance. I just couldn’t relate to all of the utopian stories that I kept hearing from various women about how once they came out of the closet, they found a sense of self acceptance not to mention a long line of lovers’ who were eager to get their hands on the abundant curves that these women possessed. My coming out experience was laced with encounters of fat-phobia and racism and I started to believe once again that love (or at least a good lay) was around the corner if I just lost these pesky hips, boobs, and my newly found sense of femme identity.

My saving grace came in the form of two things: 1) I started to go to the local Transgendered support group as a show of solidarity for my best friend 2) I found a book titled ‘Looking Queer’ which featured several essays from various individuals on the rainbow spectrum and their experiences with the realities of body image in the queer community. It was with the transgendered group that I learned to not only love the skin I was in, but the value of helping others in seeing their inner and outer beauty. It was with these incredible ladies that I learned that that things I had spent most of my life hating and hiding (hips, lips, and tummy oh my!) were things that the majority of them had to work hard for through surgery, padding, and ovarian fortitude. Thanks to these goddesses, I was beginning to understand the concept of Femme Power. The book ‘Looking Queer’ was the first time that I had encountered stories about the difficult road to fat acceptance that I could relate to. I read the stories of people who were poor, fat, and of color and how they navigated the waters of lookism within the queer community and realized that I was not alone.

As I gradually developed a stronger sense pride in having a body that was lovingly meant to be fat and dark skinned (and got laid…it does wonders for my disposition!), I started to venture out and try and learn new things that had always tickled my queer fancy, such as exploring the various sex and queer positive communities that were at my disposal and learning to dance to all of the beautiful Middle Eastern and African music that had always moved my heart. But I could not have gotten this far without first beginning to accept, love, and pamper my body. So for me, being queer fabulous is truly connected with learning the art of being fat and fabulous.

This is something I wrote a few years back in dedication to my journey, and to the love that my wife gives me.

Hair and Hips: A Nappy Girl’s Manifesto

I love my hips the way I love my hair
They are full and fierce with thickly coiled and curved defiance
They are a reflection of the women in my line who came before me
Dark skinned, full-lipped and wide hipped
Dancing, working, loving and birthing under the skies of sun-parched lands
I love my hips the way I love my hair
How they have stood in direct challenge to my attempts at taming them
Starving, torturing, burning, and hiding them to dull the pain of imperfection
The "imperfection" of being too fat, too nappy-headed... too queer
I love my hips the way I love my hair
How they are soft and alluring to an experienced lover's touch
Writhing, desiring, and needing
The pulling, guiding, thrusting, and licking of a night's heated lovin'
I love my hips the way I love my hair
They are a reflection of my life's joy as I admire myself in the mirror
Dark skinned, full lipped, wide hipped
as I dance, work, and love under sun parched skies.

Brickhouse Betties Yahoo Group:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Brickhouse_Betties/

Brickhouse Betties Facebook Group:

http://www.facebook.com/groups/brickhousebetties/

My Wife’s Amazing Leather Bear Blog Home

http://www.blogger.com/profile/10359506735811402423