Pass the Pussy, Please: Honey Rider

Good morning loyal fans, lol!


My latest column has been posted on that lovely little online smut magazine Black Heart Magazine.

By Rachel O. Esplanade

"Until you lose your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is." - Margaret Mitchell ("Author of Gone With the Wind")

Recently, a friend asked me how she could maintain her "good" reputation. I wonder what that is like to want people to believe that you are "good"? In truth, I wonder even what a "good reputation" means. Does it mean that you only form monogamous ties? That you only sleep with people because you love them? Does "good" imply that you are "life partner" material? I know, I am looking for a life partner and at last check I still want one. However, I must admit that I seek a life partner with a rascally past. Ya know, some experience, already clued in to safe sex and with a few kinky ideas of their own to explore... their own handcuffs.

My buddy Dykoon advised me once to become the woman I wanted to date. For me that would be someone outgoing and suave who is also accomplished in their work, their dreams and their ability to express themselves sexually. In fact, for the last few years I have been trying to create a certain type of "good" reputation. That of an experienced lover who does not spill the beans. A kind of tame able player. I highly agree with the "Nerve's Guide to Sex Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen" that by being a well behaved lady on the streets, I can then be a beast in the sheets.

This past July, I experienced my first full evening of slow dancing at the Slow Dance Night Fringe which took place as part of the St. Ambroise Fringe Festival at the Academy Club. The entire evening was an exercise in etiquette. How does one refuse interested gentlemen politely? and more importantly, accept being refused? With grace, of course! I discovered that it was important to maintain a pleasant stream of polite conversation while wrapping my arms around someone whom I just met's torso as Barry White crooned in the back ground. Most people are happy to discuss themselves and their lives. While dancing I met a science fiction writer, a bike mechanic, a dead doll dancer, a smut zine editor and a couple of drag kings. Sadly, though, no sparks romantic or otherwise. Ah well, maybe I'll have better luck at the next slow dance this October.

As for the rest of my summer, it was delightful. All those rainy days left plenty of room for playful lie ins. Sadly, though, my little daddy blue has returned to his parents' PEI basement for the semester and I have returned to the Internet dating fold. My forays on plentyoffish and craigslist have had such predictable outcomes I will not repeat them here. I have replenished my pussy party pack and am ready to hit the streets ... and hopefully a few sheets ;) But where shall I wander? Outspoken is on hiatus until the winter, and both the launch party for Lickety Split #7 and the autumn Meow Mix have no set dates. Some good news is that queer comic, and host to a number of queerish events, DeAnne Smith is back from Australia. In fact my research has discovered there are quite a few queerish events coming up in Montreal. As a result, I have taken the time to compile them into a public google calendar entitled "Montreal Queerish Event Guide". Anyone can view it but those of you with gmail accounts may also subscribe to text message alerts from it.

See you out there,
Rachel

xoxo
Rachel O. Esplanade
The Queerish Event Guide

Pass the Pussy Please: Octopussy

Hello my friends,

My latest "Pass the Pussy Please" column at the delicious online smutty black heart magazine has been posted!

"I want you to wrap your cunt around my cock." Wow! Her words had me wet and my hips rocking immediately. Why is dirty talk so fucking sexy? Why does it turn me on so much to have her whisper "my cock" in my ear even if the cock in question is periwinkle blue? And how fucking hot is it that when I ask my young lover why she is rolling a condom onto said silicon member her simple reply is, "Because I want you to fuck me with it later." Sex is hot. Safe sex is hotter.

Recently, I have taken on the task of finding my true queer lady love amongst the thirty four thousand or so Montreal women who identify as bent. Of course, before the mythical "Big L Love" strikes me down, my quest will no doubt find me auditioning a number of women and, fingers crossed, a lot of pussy. Casual sex can be loads of fun but part of what makes it of no regrets fun for me is my not leaving anything more than happy memories behind. Likewise, I only want happy post fucking sensations in my vulve. I have no desire to experience stinging tingles that will send me squirming to my doctor's office.

A prevailing myth is that woman to woman contact is somehow immune to STIs. If you believe this, let me enlighten you: Bacteria and viruses do not care what your gender or sexual orientation is. So, knowing that more than a few women are ignorant in this regard, I decided to be a good non-gender specific scout and arrive well prepared to my third date with a lovely I had met at an Outspoken Montreal (http://www.outspokenmtl.com/) event last fall. To that end, I slipped my "pussy party pack" consisting of: Nitrile gloves, flavoured condoms, sachets of lube and a pair of shielded scissors into my satchel before heading out the door. FYI: The scissors are included to make dental dams from the condoms, so far my favourite method.

The date went splendidly! The whole evening, dinner, stopping for bagels, making out next to our cooling tea at her place in mile end, was steeped in sexual chemistry. Or at least it was until I asked my date to put a glove on the hand that was diving into my panties.

"But I want to feel you." I gave her a concise, somewhat breathless, safe sex chat and was severely turned off to hear her protest not only gloves but dental dams as well.

"I want to taste you. What are the chances?" After a few more attempts of convincing her, I got up, re-attired myself, collected up my party pack and was out the door. Thank god I have reached the stage in my life where my logic overrides my pheromones.

What a disappointment! I angrily stalked the two blocks east to St. Urbain and the 363 South stop. I checked the time. Hmm … having found myself fifteen minutes from the next scheduled bus and an hour from last call, I sent the following booty text to my young one: "I'd like to wrap my cunt around your periwinkle cock"

Just as I made out the bus at the stop lights one block north, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. A soft voice inquired as to my whereabouts then asked if I would like to stop by Faggity Ass Fridays (http://www.headandhands.ca/index_en.php?0). Perhaps I could share a drink with her and her friends before selecting some gloves and condoms to share with her later?

The above column contains a couple of unintentional "teasers" in terms of events I have not blogged about. Not to get too deep into the non-erotic details of my life but my home desktop has been flaky of late e.g. freezing while a scary burning smell emanates from the power supply. Don't worry, though, my auditioning has continued on without the help of my computer. Once my computer is functioning properly again, I will update the blog with the details of my adventures with my hot young lover daddy blue and some less worthy participants on the queer ladies scene.

Until then, sit on a terrace and have a shandy for me.
Rachel ***** (daddy blue xxx)

"Pass the Pussy Please"

Hey You,
Guess what? I am now distilling my adventures into a regular bi monthly column entitled Pass the Pussy Please for blackheartmagazine.com. Begin the begin ...

Pass the Pussy, Please: Pussy Galore
By Rachel O. Esplanade
The only reason I am queer is because I love to eat pussy. It is absolutely my most favourite thing to do in the whole wide world. So simple, my desire to explore the ruby fruit jungle drives my queerness and all the other sexual pleasures are icing. Lovely very good, tasty yummy, icing but the cake ah the cake!

But where does that leave me in Montreal? Where can I find the local pussy I like to please? Also, as much as I like to eat pussy I'm really looking for one to enjoy on a regular basis. Ya know, in one of those long term monogamy type things that I've heard so much about. Based on that and my age, I have set my search criteria to be "a single queer woman between the ages of 25 and 45 in the city of Montreal proper." According to my calculations, there are approximately thirty four thousand women who meet my criteria. That's a lot of women! Fortunately, I am always up for a challenge but where to begin?

Since August, and with the tenacity of the wooden spoons guy outside of Ogilvy's, I have been making a concerted effort to meet all thirty four thousand: I juggle several online dating profiles, am a regular at Kitty Cat Klub and Chouettes Coquette events, volunteered at image + nation, have been to every meow mix, most Faggity Ass Fridays and, when nothing else is on, am in the Village. Short of crashing vegan pot lucks posted on facebook, if I hear of a queer woman event, I'll be there. As a result, I have been on a handful of dates, had two decent shags but, sadly, no pangs of "Big L Love". Mind you, I am having a brilliant time enjoying my freedom and all the winks and flirts that accompany it.

Recently, I met a very sexy woman at the "Self Love Meow Mix", which was packed to the rafters with hot women. This lovely had eyes the colour of the Mediterranean sea, light green speckled with gold. A cute tweedy cap perched atop her onyx locks which tumbled in loose curls to her shoulders. The dark colour of her hair lay in sweet contrast to the paleness of her complexion, accenting high cheekbones, the cutest little nose and her full red lips. Beautiful. What a shame that after some light conversation, I invited her to an event the following Thursday.

"I can't go out during the week"

"That's too bad. Do you have to get up early for work?"

"Well, it's more that I, like, work with retards."

Inwardly cringing but secretly hoping she was referring to some office mates I asked, "Oh, can they tell if you have had a late night at the water cooler?"

"No, silly, I really work with retards. Once when I was hung over I lost one of them."

Hmmm… sleeping with someone capable of losing one of her intellectually challenged charges? I wasn't going there. I guess that makes it thirty four thousand minus one.

Enjoy!
Rachel (***)

PS by bi monthly I mean every other month, not every bisexual month I experience ... though that would be an interesting column in itself.