What’s In A Kiss?

Posted in Dating, kissing with tags , on July 17, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

So, my last date licked me.

This sounds like the beginning to some sort of sexy, sex-filled story, but it’s anything but. After an evening of listening to him make it clear he thought he was a sexy beast, he leaned in as though he was going to kiss me and licked me. I jolted backwards in protest at having this tongue, that appeared to be acting independently of the rest of his mouth, touching my lips. He didn’t appreciate the gesture and he let me know that was how he kissed.

Well. I recognize that variety is the spice of life, but that is most definitely not how I choose to kiss, especially not as an introduction to someone’s mouth.

This led me to musing about some of the best (and worst) kisses that I’ve received.

The worst involved over-eager tongues, especially what I call the “substitute penis” tongue. Much like the licker mentioned above, these men seemed to think that thrusting their tongue into my mouth was the sexiest thing ever. Often, their tongue will begun to thrust out the moment they even see my mouth, which frankly, leaves me repulsed. Are they getting an involuntary tongue erection? This is the only thing that explains, to me at least, why a man would believe I desire his out-thrust tongue to approach my mouth. Don’t get me wrong, I like for tongues to be involved with kissing. What I don’t like is for it to be the main focal point of the kiss immediately. I don’t like it when I get tongue before I even get lips. Nor do I like it when I then feel like the man is trying to do battle with my tongue or lick my internal organs. I’ve even had men who request that I stick my tongue out of my mouth for a kiss. What? Am I at the doctor? Some finesse with the tongue is appreciated.

Also on the worst list would be kisses that are too hard and feel like they bruise my mouth. Alternately, I’ve been kissed by men who’s lips reminded me of soft, wriggling worms because the pressure of their lips was so damp and soft.

Of course, bad breath is a given no-no, certain to turn even a good kiss into a bad experience.

Best kiss? Placing one hand behind my head or on the side of my face and then leaning in slowly until our lips meet softly, then adjusting pressure to move the kiss from gentle to passionate. Using his tongue to delicately taste my lips and mouth at first, then perhaps a more thorough exploration as the kiss heats. Even using his hand to guide my head into the kiss is sexy to me (as long as I don’t feel like he’s trapping me there). Letting his hand wander down to my waist of the small of my back to pull me in closer while our mouths are fused together.

I’ve kissed plenty of men who get it right. When it’s extremely right it’s one of the sexist things ever and it’s all I can do to keep my wits about me and not rip off his clothes. When it’s wrong it makes the thought of doing anything else that involves touching feel very, very unappealing. I have definitely refused a future date based on a horrible first kiss.

What’s your kissing style? Have you ever continued to date someone long past when you should have dated them based on the kissing? Have you ever refused to date someone you otherwise thought was swell, because the kissing was so bad?

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Match..Oh Match…How I Loathe Thee

Posted in Dating, online dating with tags , , , on June 27, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

My membership with Match.com is getting ready to lapse and THIS time, I’m going to let it. It will be hard, because Match seems much like a gambling addiction would: A constant state of anxious high, wondering if this will be the big payoff, when in reality you’re certain to wind up broke (emotionally) and wondering why you sold your soul for something that never pays off. I’ve come to truly despise online dating, yet don’t know how to meet people in my day-to-day life. The thought of going off-the-grid makes me fear being loveless forever and doomed to die alone, with cats finally eating my dead corpse (which isn’t found by humans for days).

The fact that I don’t own cats is only mildly reassuring.

I’ve hit a dating dry spell and for the last month, every single man I’ve messaged that seems mildly attractive and interesting has blown me off completely. This fills me with panic and makes me wonder if I’m a loathsome beast who can only attract men who think hunting and fishing is the bomb and who use “lol” at the end of every sentence. Then I wonder if my self-esteem meter, that seems to be plummeting into the negatives since D, is somehow sending off a vibe that repels men even across the great internet. My mother, seeker of all that is new age, insists I’m sending out negative vibrational waves that are keeping people away. It’s her only explanation for what seems to be a mystery. I’m smart. I’m pretty. I’m articulate and have a range of cool interests. So what is the problem?

Am I only messaging douchebags? It’s possible; I definitely have the penchant for being drawn to them.

I recently read an article that placed my city on a list of “worst cities to meet men”. It’s entirely possible that the single men who have a lot going for them feel they are the elite. I had one man, with whom I exchanged several emails, balk at the suggestion of grabbing a drink. I asked point-blank if he was disinterested, to which he offered a coy “no” followed by ambiguity. He then offered up that he was just scared of commitment. WHAT? My reply? “Dude, I asked you out for a drink, not for your hand in marriage. I don’t even know if I’m interested in you unless we meet, so chill out.” He replied back with a quick “lol” and a sheepish reply, but I’d already lost interest. If a man is too afraid to even meet up for a drink for fear of implying too much interest, what does that say? Frustrating. How about the man who adds me as a “favorite”, but can barely respond to emails? Maddening and confusing.

I had a really, really hot doctor (supposedly) that lives an hour and a half away message me and ask if I’d like to drive to his town for a date that evening. His pictures are of him in a power suit or with an unbuttoned shirt, tanned abs rippling, smiling at the camera in a pose he clearly found seductive. Obviously he thought himself hot enough that I’d drop what I was doing and drive to him. What guy messages a woman he’s interested in to ask her to drive an hour and a half?? One who clearly thinks his photos will get him laid with minimal effort expended.

I had another man message me and ask if I was seeing or messing around with anyone. Naively, I didn’t quite get his meaning until he elaborated about the Friends With Benefits relationship he just ended, assuring me he was fully single now and ready to date. Since when did it become acceptable for a prospective date that I’ve not even met to discuss casual sexual partners in opening emails? Talk about TMI…

Now I’m within days of my subscription expiring and suddenly, several interesting men come up out of NOWHERE. What the hell? Just as I’m about to give up for awhile and really work on healing and therapy, now I’m tempted back into possibilities. I have a date tomorrow night and another one lined up for next week, along with a couple of other men that I’ve not made plans with yet. Will they pan out? Who knows? Once again, the online dating wheel is spinning and I have no idea what it will land on…

Oh, Match. I hate you and your promise of possibility. I despise your window-shopping clients, who forget that there are human beings behind the profile pictures. I despise your marketing ploys, which are often just false advertising aimed at lonely people. I’m still not renewing. Perhaps one day I’ll decide to revisit you, to see if the small offering of single men in my city has expanded. In the meantime, I’ve joined some social groups that center around actually doing things I enjoy. So perhaps I’ll never end up joining you again.

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Do I Look Moist? (A Soliloquy About Youth)

Posted in Relationships, self-esteem with tags , on June 8, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

I remember seeing a portion of a sitcom nearly 10 years ago, where one of the characters was obsessed with looking “moist”. I totally didn’t get it. What did that even mean?? As it turns out, she meant moisturized, dewy, youthful. Still in my 2o’s, I could hardly relate.

As I near forty, I’m starting to understand. I’m not obsessed with the need to appear youthful, yet I’m definitely more aware of the changes in my body and the ways in which time is shaping me. And yes, I definitely find myself slathering on the moisturizers in an attempt to get that dewy look that comes so effortlessly to the young. I see tiny lines under my eyes when I get too tired that I try to smooth out with eye cream. I know the day is coming when even a good night’s sleep and a good eye cream won’t erase the marks of my years. While I’m not thrilled, I’m also not horrified. I’ve got a lot of experience and at least a bit of wisdom about some things from living for nearly 4 decades. I wouldn’t trade it for youth and the taut skin that comes with it.

Still, there is something to be said for the allure of the young.

The other day I had a nineteen year old boy that I know tell me I was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met. The words were without guile; in fact, I’m not certain this particular boy is even capable of guile. He told me that I radiated beauty, inside and out. For just a moment, I felt exactly how he saw me: Beautiful. What was even more poignant is that he was looking at me with eyes unburdened by baggage from 20 more years of living. He wasn’t judging me through a lens smudged with regrets. He expected nothing from me in return, he just gave me the gift of the compliment.

Considering my very bruised and damaged self-esteem, it was a compliment I’ve been holding onto for the last few days.

The young remind us of who we used to be, of the energy that used to surge through our bodies. They remind us of what it feels like to jump without looking, because we don’t even understand what it means to fall; of what it means to love without reserve, because we’ve not had our hearts truly broken. There are moments I envy that lack of experience and the ability to see the world as fresh and clean, while still believing I know everything. Then I remember that to be able to stand in that place again would mean having the mistakes and heartbreak ahead of me.

Still, for just a moment, it felt good to bask in the glow of this boy who is only 7 years older than my oldest child and to enjoy the knowledge that, lines and all, he found me beautiful. Hopefully life will treat him gently and not wipe that innocence from his eyes too quickly. One day soon, perhaps he’ll meet a beautiful, “moist” young woman who will have that same starry look in her eyes and think he is the most wonderful person ever.

I’ll hold that wish for him and hold the gift of his compliment close, for a long time to come.

 

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A Slice of Motherhood On The “Holy” Day

Posted in Mother's Day, Mothers, Parenting with tags , , , on May 14, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

Sunday was Mother’s Day, which is celebrated in America as though it were  holy. Mothers are suddenly elevated to Christ-like status and cards, gifts and visits are all lined up to make sure the women who gave birth to us know how amazing we think they are. I got texts from people I barely know proclaiming: “Happy Mother’s Day!” This morning everyone is asking: “How was your Mother’s Day?”. Because, of course, I must have been in a swoon of maternal bliss all day long, right?

Well…

This past week I’ve felt amazed, grateful, horrified, amused, angry, touched, bewildered, bewitched and horrified by my children, sometimes all within the same hour. I’ve kissed them and told them how amazing they are, then the same day yelled at them and asked why they were being jerks. I’ve looked at both of them and wondered how they managed to grow up and become so mature, then wanted to toss them out the window a few hours later for fighting over who gets to sit on my lap first. Actually, I’ve wanted to toss them out the window multiple times. I missed them all the nights they were with their Dad, then wondered why I missed them when they were finally back with me.

Saturday morning I was in my car driving for an hour trying to get to my child’s volleyball game. When a huge traffic glitch made me miss the game (indeed, I never even made it to the game), I pulled over into a parking lot and cried for ten minutes at the thought of disappointing her. On Mother’s Day I ooohed and aaahed over the handmade gifts they made for me, then I made them lunch and helped mediate several small sibling skirmishes. I helped my oldest pack for a week-long field trip (the longest time away from home ever) and took her shopping for last-minute camping gear ($90 that I could ill-afford). I made a special dinner (last meal before the long trip!). When the break-and-bake cookies I purchased the day before as special treat could not be located (I’m sure I’ll find them rotting somewhere insane later), instead, we moved to a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies as a second-rate treat…then abandoned them when we discovered an ant infestation creating a home amidst the chocolate chips. Finally, scrounging, I dipped a scoop of only slightly freezer-burned vanilla ice cream and drizzled chocolate and chocolate chips over the top. It was pronounced mostly good and the dessert treat was saved.

Later that night, as I was cuddling them both (in my bed, as a special treat again) they bickered over who was touching more of my body. It was “stop making that noise!” and “You’re on my side!”. Finally, one of my children comments on how skinny she is and how she feels like a freak. I reply back with: “All bodies are different. You’re very thin and your sister is more rounded and you’re both beautiful.” This prompts my youngest to proclaim: “You’re saying I’m fat!”. I very emphatically deny this and let her know I am NOT saying she’s fat.

“Everyone thinks I’m fat.”

“That’s simply not true. What makes you say that?” I ask her gently. Her lip trembles and she finally says, *— called me a ‘big, fat pig’!” Turning toward her and holding her, I tell her firmly: “You are not a big, fat pig. You are a beautiful, smart, amazing girl and I love you. Anyone who says that is simply wrong and being very unkind. I’m so sorry they said that about you. I’ll bet that hurt your feelings, didn’t it?”

Her lip trembling dissolved into weeping and she buried her face in my neck. As I tried to talk to her about it, her sister tapped impatiently on the wall and made little, huffing noises of unhappiness. Finally, the oldest bursts out with: “This is SO boring. I’m so bored. Can we PLEASE stop talking about this? It makes me feel awkward.” Her sister continues to weep her pain and hurt into my neck…

…and I briefly wonder if I’m raising a child completely devoid of compassion, who will grow up to be a sociopath. A few more impatient words from her about boredom and I finally lose it and furiously tell her to leave the room if she’s so bored. Which she does. I mutter an exhausted and exasperated, “Jesus!”, to which my youngest begins to recite the 10 commandments to me (WTF???) and tells me I’m taking God’s name in vain (again…WTF???).  My frustration level growing, I snap at her, tell her sister to come and get in the bed, then turn off the light and leave the room. Thirty minutes later I pass by the room and hear my oldest daughter calling out to me.

“Mom…I’m sorry.” She says in a quiet voice. I hug her and we have a conversation about compassion and I tell her I love her. I kiss her sleeping sister’s forehead. I clean up the kitchen, start laundry and take care of last-minute details for the big field trip. Upon coming to bed and kissing my sleeping children again (because I’m sad that I snapped at them), I realize I am so heartsick about the “big, fat pig” comment that I can’t sleep. At midnight I get back up and do yoga, then finally fall into bed 30 minutes later. At 5 a.m. I’m awakened by my oldest, informing me her sister has peed in the bed. So I get back up, put dry towels under her butt and force her to get up and strip off the wet clothes. I lay there for 30 minutes, realizing my alarm will be going off at 6, then finally get up and start the day (which now includes stripping the bedding). I make them a great breakfast, for which they both hug and kiss me and say “thank you”.

And that’s motherhood.

Sometimes I am understanding and patient, knowing just the right thing to say. Sometimes I’m frustrated and lose my temper, yell, then have to go back and apologize. Sometimes I’m so on top of this parenting thing I amaze myself. Then other days I realize the shoebox I’ve given my child to carry her show-and-tell to school in has a half-naked pin-up girl on it. There are moments I’m driving down the road and we’re all singing at the top of our lungs and I see happy, rosy-cheeked kids and feel like a success. Then they open up the glovebox and discover breast-augmentation pads I tried as a lark one night, then felt ridiculous and pulled them out before I arrived at my destination. I’ve spent hours composing notes from fairies, sprinkling rose-petals in a trail for birthdays, baking birthday treats, giving massages and cuddles and kissing an infinite number of boo-boos (of the heart and the body). I’ve also (according to my little morality police daughters) said “Fuck” four times in front of them, once told them they had driven me to drinking, have yelled and called them little jerks and more nights than I’d like, watch tv with them instead of doing crafty things or baking. Because I’m exhausted and I just want us to all sit there and be drugged for awhile. I once attempted to drug my oldest with valerian root tea so she would just GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP. She was up for 3 and 1/2 hours. I’ve watched my youngest pull out stripper dance moves and wondered, horrified, if she somehow learned them from me.

That’s motherhood too.

I was a fully-formed human being before I had this awesome responsibility of being a mother. Guess what? I still am. The evolution of my being is a work in progress and so is my parenting. There are no saints in this world. I’m going to do amazing things and I’m going to do shitty things and at the end of the day, I’m going to pray the good outweighs the bad. I’m busting my ass to try to do my best, to raise these amazing little people into amazing adults. It’s hard work! Yes, I get paid in kisses and hugs and hand-made cards and that has a sweetness to it. Yet, let’s be honest. Parenting is the hardest work you’ll ever do for the least immediate compensation. Parenting is a garden; I’m spending hours preparing the beds, planting and tending the seeds, in the hope that one day I’ll have these healthy, breathtaking flowers. Yet I won’t get to see the full fruits of this labor all at once. This is something that will take years to fully blossom.

So…kudos to all the mother’s out there who are planting and tending, hoping their love and work infuse their children with the strength to stand on their own as healthy and happy adults who bring something beautiful to the world. I applaud you for the nights you crawl, exhausted, into bed after a day where you felt like Atlas with the weight of the heavens on your shoulders. I pray you have strength to carry on, to bear your burdens and your childrens, to wipe your tears and theirs away when you need to. I am right there with you as you cheer them on during volleyball and softball, cello recitals and school plays, times when they are hurting and there’s nothing you can do.  I’m also the one standing firm on “Go clean the bathroom like I told you to an hour ago, because you’re a member of this family and you’re going to help!” even when you know you could do a better job without them. Like you, there will be nights I remove privileges, knowing I’m going to get a miserable, hellish evening in return, because they have to know there are consequences in life. I’ll be the one saying “Eat your vegetables. Turn off the tv. Do your homework. Be nice to your sister. Clean your room. Don’t throw the ball in the house (CRASH!). BE NICE TO YOUR SISTER!!!”

And although the garden will be a slow process, with tiny flowers here and there and some blooms it might take years to see…it’s still worth it. Somehow, for all the back-breaking, exhausting work (mental and physical), the best words of praise you’ll ever get are tiny hands around your neck and “You’re the best mommy in the world and I love you.” That moment when you see the life lessons you’ve been trying to instill in them since birth, coming out in their day-to-day lives…yeah, that’s a “this is worth it” moment. Or when you watch your kid stand up to someone who’s in the wrong and she refuses to back down just because it’s scary and would be easier to just cave and be a follower. Well, it’s hard to beat that for reward. The hope that one day I’ll get to watch them as adults and know they might have pain, but they’ll be okay because I gave them the tools they need…

Maybe I’m starting to get Mother’s Day a little more. Not the media-hyped version, but the day where kids are reminded to say “Thanks” and our society takes a pause for recognition. The handmade birdhouses and mugs, the cards drawn with love, the beaming joy and pride on a kid’s face when they’re celebrating YOU and hoping it makes you feel cherished, love and appreciated.

Happy belated Mother’s Day, moms.

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Internet Stalkers

Posted in Dating, online dating, stalkers with tags , on May 7, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

While waiting for my Match.com profile to expire, I still continue to receive messages occasionally. Sometimes it will prompt me to browse and in so doing, I came across the profile of a man that I’ve noticed has viewed me several times in the past. So I sent him a short message to say hello; afterall, his profile was interesting and his pictures attractive.

To which I received absolutely zero reply. He did, however, view my profile 7 times over the course of the next week and a half. Finally, I sent him a second, semi-teasing email asking why he continued to view my profile and yet didn’t respond to my email. He’s viewed my profile 4 times since then (and I received confirmation he’s read the email), but still, no reply. I’ve encountered this sort of strange, online dating stalker before. I simply can’t understand it. He must have every single line of my profile memorized by now and something obviously keeps luring him back. Yet he can’t respond with even a brief reply? Weird, very weird.

I also received an email from a guy telling me how interesting my profile is and how much he’d like to get to know me. Awwww…sweet. Of course, he’s found me on every single internet dating site I’ve joined for the past THREE YEARS and sent the same message. To each one, I’ve sent the same polite, “no thank you” response. Seriously, he’s sent me like 15 messages on various sites over the past few years. At what point do you ask something along the lines of: “Dude, do you have short-term memory loss? It’s still me, the woman who has already said no like a dozen times.” It’s just creepy at this point and I don’t even bother responding anymore.

Online dating…where there’s always something or someone that makes it bizarre.

 

stalker 2

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Homework and Monday Blues

Posted in self-improvement on May 6, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

Another weekend come and gone, which makes me immensely sad. I spent my weekend ferrying children around OR making good on promises of playdates and sleepovers.

Last night, during the few hours I had without my children, I finally got around to doing my homework assignment from my therapist. I was instructed to write a letter (using pen and paper, so I couldn’t edit) in a stream of consciousness style, describing my anger and hurt toward a specific person with absolutely no filtering. It was challenging. My upbringing, the modeling I received from my parents, my almost overwhelming need to avoid conflict and be the woman that no one dislikes…well, that adds up to some serious problems expressing anger. Armed with a glass of wine and several blank sheets of paper, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I cried through a lot of it, then I managed to get down to the nitty gritty stuff. Four pages later, I was completely exhausted.

Now, faced with the entire week, I simply want to curl up in bed and refuse to get up. Of course, this is NOT what I’ll do. I’ll do what I do week after week and be moderate and responsible. The need for immoderation is rising in me though…Now if only I can make it until Friday.

Monday-Break-Up

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It’s A Small World Afterall

Posted in Dating, Relationships on May 3, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

The city I live in is fairly small, so running into people I’ve interacted with on dating sites is bound to happen. It has happened, but rarely with as much of a “disconnect’ as what follows…

While on Facebook, I come across a photo of a friend who just had a great article written about his art/craftmanship in a magazine. The photo is of his entire “team” and one of the team members caught my eye. When I followed a hunch and looked up his Facebook page, lo and behold, there is the guy that I wrote about in my blog Blase Much? Yes, the one who sent me an inexplicably weird email days after we briefly chatted…the one who told me my hair was pretty and it made his dick hard. Needless to say, I didn’t respond favorably.

I mention this to my friend’s wife and she is completely bewildered and refers to him as a total “Sweetie”, while expressing how out of character it seemed for him. Hmmmm…now, it’s possible that he is a total sweetie with the boss’ wife, but a complete jackass to women online. Still, the whole thing seemed strange.

So I sent him an email on Facebook, reminding him of the exchange and asking what happened. To which I get a reply back that says he has no idea what I’m talking about, wonders if a friend decided to play an unkind prank with his account, then apologized for what happened. He could be lying, but I’m going to choose to believe he’s not. The encounter seemed really bewildering and off when it happened, totally not in keeping with the couple of emails we’d initially exchanged. Between that and the character vouching he got from my friend, I’m going to go with his story.

Still, it was a reminder of just how small this whole dating world is and to be careful how you treat people online. You never know who they know, or how it will come back to you in the future!

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“Dating A Single Mother” (Shamelessly Stealing)

Posted in Dating, single moms with tags , on May 2, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

Today I read a great blog: Dating A Single Mother.

I’ve heard a lot of negatives about dating single mothers, even reading “amusing” quotes like: “Dating a single mom is like playing someone else’s saved game”. I know there are plenty of men who probably pass me by because I already have children. I’ve gotten questions like: “Do your kids have the same dad?” on the first date even, almost as though there’s an assumption that I was loose or negligent with my birth control. No…I married someone who I ultimately could not stay married to, for multiple reasons. I did not have this clarity when I chose to have children with him and fully believed we’d be together forever. This is not a failing on my part. My children are a beautiful gift from a relationship that was a huge part of my life for a long time. While I recognize that my children would be an extra responsibility in the relationship, they would also bring an extra element of reward. I have great kids and I’m a better person for having them. Plus, I truly believe I will make a better partner because of all the things being a parent has taught me.

So, I hope the author doesn’t mind me reposting her blog, but reading it brightened my day and I felt I had to pass it along to any other single moms out there who might need it.

Cheers!

 

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Friday and Forgiveness

Posted in Uncategorized on April 26, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

friday-funny-quotes

First of all: TGIF. This week may have held a birthday, but it also held a child vomiting on me and an audit from the IRS. I’m glad to see it pass. I’ve always loved Fridays because it usually (although not as often, lately) means a slight lessening in the pressure of the work week and a chance to relax. So…hurray and kudos to all of us for making it!!

Finally, here are some thoughts for a Friday on the topic of forgiveness. After all the rah-rah forgiveness quotes out there, here are a couple that at least for today, feel a bit closer to how I’m feeling right now.

forgiveness

forgiveness 2forgiveness 3

May everyone have a lovely, lovely weekend. May all your pleasures and joys be keen and all your mistakes be nothing that cause lasting consequences!

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The Mystery of The Octopus Sex is Solved!

Posted in fetish with tags , , , , on April 25, 2013 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

One interesting perk of writing a blog is that I get to see what leads people to my articles. For three years now, I’ve continued to be mystified by a recurring pattern of searches that bring people to me: “Octopus sex with humans”. They find my site based on one blog article I wrote a couple of years ago:

The Human Octopus

I’ve always been bewildered by the frequency with which this particular search pops up. I could, theoretically, understand curiosity from a couple of people. Okay…I’m lying. I can’t even begin to fathom how someone conceives the idea. At what point does someone go: “Hey…wouldn’t it be cool to have sex with an octopus?” Still, it kept happening and I was still mystified. Today I happened to mention it to a coworker, who responded casually with “Oh yeah, that’s all the rage in Japan. There’s a whole cult following for it.”

Uh…really???

So of course, I have to google it. I mean…octopus sex? Who knew? Sure enough, there is an entire underground of weird kink that originated in Japan, devoted to “tentacle erotica”.

octopus

“The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife” by Hokusai: 1814

There are numerous anime films featuring tentacle penetration, often non-consensually,. There are comics devoted to the subject, with rape by tentacle being the main theme. Of course, America jumped on the bandwagon and upped the ante with live action B-films portraying tentacle sex. Los Angeles Artist Zak Smith even has an entire  series on octopus sex.

Okay, people…what the hell?

I have my kink. I have no problem with other people having theirs. This, however, is completely beyond my comprehension. Still…at least the mystery is solved!

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