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5 Ways To Build Endurance In Bed

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5 Ways To Build Endurance

So, you love having sex. You like the ins-and-outs of the whole process and of course, the grand finale. But when you’re going at it, you find yourself getting exhausted, tired, and ready to throw in the towel (long before you actually get to a point of ecstasy). Your ability to maintain energy during sex is a lot like your strength to push through a tough boot camp class: it’s all about endurance.

“Endurance is important in bed because it gives us a sense of control and feeling of empowerment. We are able to meet our partner’s sexual needs, and feel sexually and erotically fulfilled ourselves,” Dr. Holly Richmond, psychologist and sex therapist tells Bustle. “It lets us know for certain that we are a good lover. If two people’s sexual endurance is equally matched, there will be no reason to ask, ‘Was that good for you?’ Having sexual endurance gives each person a sense of sexual self-efficacy and know-how.”

If you’re struggling with getting up your stamina, don’t worry. There are easy ways — both mentally and physically — to get your head and your body into the bedroom:

1. First, Define What Endurance Is

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When experts speak about endurance, it’s not just about how long you can stay on top of your partner or hold a position. As Richmond notes, it’s actually about all aspects of love making that require a strong will. As Dr. Richmond explains, physical endurance might be what you first think of: “The physical aspect, giving and receiving pleasure, is one of the most important pieces of sexual health that I help my clients explore. In a nutshell, it’s asking, ‘What feels good to you? How do you enjoy being sexual with others? How well do you know yourself and your sexual needs? How willing are you to ask your partner about their needs, and meet them if possible?’” she explains.

But then there’s emotional strength while having sex which she explains: “The act of staying present and attuned to your partner, is also an essential element of great sex. I might ask, ‘Do you want sex to be just about your genitals, or are you open to mind/body eroticism, an embodied experience that can make good sex great sex?’”

2. Make Sure You Invest In Foreplay

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Part of what will get everything flowing in the right direction is ensuring your body turned on. A big way to do this is with foreplay — from using your hands to your mouth on one another. This helps build your endurance because you spend less time in actual intercourse trying to turn one another one and more time warming up everything. As Richmond advises — foreplay can actually start long before you get naked, too: “Explore what gets you in the mood. Is it sexting with your partner, putting an explicit sticky note on their car seat, whispering in their ear that morning about what you want to do to them or want them to do to you? Build endurance that lasts all day,” she says.

3. Get Out Of Your Head

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It’s easier said than done, but the more you can stay present during sex, the better your endurance will be. You waste mental energy that could be focused on intimacy when you start rattling off to-do lists in your head while trying to also have sex. When you let go of everyday stresses for just an hour, you won’t wear yourself out as quickly.

One way to do that is to prioritize your daily choices, Richmond says. “Stress is not sexy. If you are constantly running from one engagement to the next, always in work mode or mom mode, your sexual endurance will be nil. It sounds cliché, but taking time for yourself (not necessarily by yourself) — time where your needs come first — is essential. Exercise, quiet time alone, and social time with friends and family are all necessary qualities that enhance your overall health and sexual health, of which endurance is feel-good byproduct.”

4. Masturbate

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It’s no secret that masturbation can seriously make your sex life better. From when you do it all by yourself to using it as a sexy addition for your partner to watch, knowing your own pleasure zones and what gets you off helps you have a fun experience. It can also help build your endurance because you don’t spend time doing things that don’t work and instead, focus on the ones that do.

“If you don’t know your body and mind, and what keeps your aroused, how do you expect your partner to? Be willing to explore your fantasies when you masturbate, and then if it feels safe, share them with your partner,” Richmond tells Bustle. “Also, practice with your hand or a vibrator by bringing yourself close to orgasm, and then bringing yourself back down…and then bringing yourself back up again. Being able to control your orgasm with your technique can extend a quickie to hours of pleasure.”

5. Lastly, Breathe

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If you’ve ever ran a race or tried to make it through a grueling workout, you likely heard your instructor (or your internal coach) reminding you to inhale and exhale. Breath is so important in anything physical, sex included. It helps you structure your pace, slow down and then dive right back in.

“The pacing of your breath is as important as the pacing of your body. Things may go too quickly if your breathing is shallow and rapid. Think long, slow deep breaths, and let your body follow,” Richmond says. “You can learn to easily regulate your excitement with your breath for an extra erotic mind/body charge.”

Complete Article HERE!

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Powerful fantasy creates jack-off material for horny adolescent

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Name: Mike
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Hi, my name is mike I’m 20 and I’m a bisexual. And I have an 8 and half inch uncircumcised cock. And I believe my stepmom has been spying on me. Now do I take the opportunity to have sex with her, or do I let it go. She’s extremely beautiful, very thick with a nice hairy pussy and big titties. I’ve seen her spying on me numerous times. What should I do? Should I drill her or should I not? Let me know.

AS IF, Mike! Nice try though.

I have a good deal of experience working with real issues of intra-family sex, so when your message arrived I knew it was sheer fantasy.

There is so much about your story that is completely unbelievable. First, you start out with way too much information about yourself — your bisexuality and your eight and a half inches of uncut cock. What does that have to do with anything? Unless, of course, you’re flashing your boy meat to your unsuspecting stepmother. But then if you’re flashing her, she can’t be spying on you. More likely, she is revolted by your impudence.

MILF

Second, you don’t give enough information about how the supposed spying occurs. Someone with a real story to tell would have reversed these things. He would have gone into detail about the incident or incidents involving his stepmother and he wouldn’t have volunteered the size and shape of his johnson.

The next mistake you make is the detailed description you volunteer of your super-hot MILF of a step mom — beautiful, thick, hairy pussy, big titties. How would you know she has a hairy pussy unless you’re spying on her? BUSTED!

And say, what’s a 20 year old doing still living at his father’s house anyway? Are you some kind of slacker?

Should you drill your stepmother? Indeed, what could possibly go wrong with a dead-beat son fucking his father’s wife? In your dreams, Mike. In your dreams!

Even though Mike is full of shit, there may be others in my audience who are really struggling with issues of intra-family sex. So I’d like to take this opportunity to discuss this very thorny issue a bit. Incest, particularly the heterosexual type or the adult-to-child type, is considered taboo and a serious crime in nearly every culture, both past and present. There’s plenty of good reason for this, not least of which is issue of inbreeding. But the genetic concerns aside, the most devastating thing about incest is the secrecy. No one violates this universal taboo in the open. The secrecy and the inevitable shame and guilt will, sure as shootin’, destroy a family dynamic.

Even when the intra-family sex is not technically incest — sex between blood relatives — like Mike’s fantasy with his fantasy step mom — the secrecy, the violation of the inherent family bond of trust and the inescapable guilt and shame will destroy the relationship between the perpetrators as well as destroy the family.

If you find yourself in a seductive situation with family member, don’t give in to the temptation. Even a seemingly harmless encounter between consenting adults will inevitably have dire consequences for all concerned.

Finally, because the incest taboo is so strong and so universal it also creates the perfect environment for equally powerful fantasy development. Take Mike as an example. This lad’s fertile imagination, coupled with an overactive libido and too much time on his hands, has created the quintessential jack-off material for horny adolescent. He imagines himself man enough to fish in the same waters as his old man. Titillating whimsy for sure and definitely lots of boy juice will be spilt into wadded up Kleenex. But that’s precisely where it needs to say — as a cherished albeit forbidden fantasy.

Good luck

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The Thrills of Left-Handed Wanking

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By Tom Usher

left hand

I’ve always been confused about my strongest hand. When I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I used to switch hands when writing or coloring in, when one or the other hand got tired. As a grew older I realized I was left-handed when I was writing but had an ambidextrous hangover because my stronger side was always my right.

But, I hear you ask, what does this mean for your preferred wanking hand of choice? Yes, a pertinent question. A little personal, as I barely know you, but it means in reality that I’ve always used both hands, and never really thought too much about it either way, you weirdo. After doing a bit of research I found that left-handed wanking, or “non-dominant hand masturbation,” is a thing.

“I wank with my left hand so I can browse porn using my mouse easier with the right,” is one excuse trotted out a lot by wankers. Others say the “orgasm is more intense and lasts longer when I wank with the left hand.” Finally, a lot of wankers seem to say that “wanking with the opposite hand makes it feel like someone else is doing it.” All good and valid reasons from people of an ‘ambisextrous’ nature (ZING). But to find out the real reasons why we may choose to bash off with our non-dominant hands I spoke to counselor, psychosexual, and sex addiction therapist Michael Stock, a member of the Association for the Treatment of Sexual Addiction and Compulsivity (ATSAC).

VICE: Why might you think guys might want to masturbate in different ways? What reasons have you heard so far?
Michael Stock: The key thing with internet porn is that the person, or teenager, watching it and masturbating separates sex from emotion. They’re short-circuiting—going straight to strong sexual arousal using porn, rather than putting in the effort from being with a man or woman. When they switch on their computer, they have more porn than they can shake a stick at their command—with anonymity and accessibility.

So you think people end up wanking in different ways because it’s become so easy to be aroused?
Yes. A typical guy will orgasm within about two minutes of starting to masturbate. Some people will say, ‘no that’s not me’ but most men masturbate roughly to porn, completely focused on the idea that they have to get to the orgasm—nothing pleasurable about it. Some of my clients play around for several hours and might sit there watching porn, stimulating but not allowing themselves to come, but most come quite quickly.

What mental or physical difference can non-dominant masturbation make, then?
I imagine it’s about variety, because the human brain craves excitement. If I were looking at porn, I’d start on the reasonably soft stuff and then I’d want more and more, which all has to do with dopamine. That’s when people get addicted. I’ve worked with clients who the only way they could come is masturbation—they couldn’t even do couple sex anymore. So I can imagine that non-dominant hand masturbation is another way to get some excitement and make wanking feel different.

I see a lot of stuff on the internet about the shape of people’s penises and how it affects things differently when masturbating. Have you come across anything like that?
I would say that’s unlikely to be true. I think there are a lot of rumours but, first of all, most of us are boringly normal, and secondly the size and shape shouldn’t matter. The only issue is if a man has been circumcised or not: circumcised men may find the head of the penis, filled with nerves, feels very sensitive. Unless the shape of the penis was absolutely extreme, it’s not relevant.

Have you seen any experiments or research done on the right and left hemispheres of the brain and how that impacts on masturbation?
I think that’s a red herring. Neuroscience says the right and left hemispheres talk to each other all the time—this idea is very overdone. You’re right in the sense that as someone right-handed, the left hemisphere of my cerebral cortex controls my right hand and the right side of my brain controls my left hand. But I wouldn’t think using one side of the brain or the other would be particularly important in masturbation. It would be different probably more realistically, if you think about it—and I’m going to assume you masturbate…

Assume away.
… If you were masturbating with one hand, your thumb and finger would be in a particular position, rubbing up and down the shaft of the penis. If you used your other hand, you’d stimulate other areas of the penis.

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I’m ambidextrous, so this idea of right-handed people masturbating left-handed is a new thing for me.
You’ve made the case for me! You can be ambidextrous, able to do it either way around, and we can certainly learn to change. I’m strongly right-handed. I can write with my left but it’s extremely difficult; it feels like I’d get brain-ache after a while. I would say that for someone imasturbating with their non-dominant hand, the main effect would a different, and somehow novel physical stimulation of the penis.

Earlier you mentioned how porn may be desensitising us when it comes to our pleasure from masturbation.
I’ve had young men as clients, 18-year-olds, so hooked on porn that they’ve become uninterested in couple sex. We train our brain all the time, and I believe most of our behavior is learned. Young guys in particular—say 16-year-olds—who masturbate a lot are in the middle of a crucial time when their brains are growing in complexity, in neuropathological ways.

At 16, your brain did something called ‘pruning.’ It went in and got rid of lots of neural pathways it didn’t need, like a railway network over the UK that’s gone mad laying tracks everywhere until you say, ‘This is crazy I don’t need this track.’ And your brain rips up a track. Your brain goes from an overgrown weed at 16 to a nice tree structure two years later—you’ve pruned your brain. Today’s youngster are being exposed to more extreme porn when they’re young, in this pruning stage, and that’s where things have grown really interesting for someone in my line of work.

Complete Article HERE!

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I lost my virginity yesterday

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Name: Mariana
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Location: Washington
I lost my virginity yesterday and I did not bleed. Why is this?

You lost your virginity yesterday? Where, at the mall?

I don’t mean to be facetious, but that phrase always grates on me. Mostly because it sounds like you were careless and misplaced something really important. Like, I lost my keys. I lost my phone. And it was all your fault!

Why do people (gals) say things like, “I lost my virginity?” Ya almost never hear guys say that.

What you do hear is shit like, “I took her virginity.” But wait; you took it? I thought she lost it? Can someone actually take something that has been lost? Maybe the more accurate phrase is I found the virginity she lost. But that would suggest that the guy didn’t take an active role in “winning” the virginity game. And that simply won’t do. Because the men folk, as we all know, gotta be the hunters, if ya know what I mean.

The language of sex is often so fucked. No wonder people, young folk as well as oldsters, are so confused and conflicted about sex.

Hey, sorry for the digression, Mariana.hymen-types

So, my dear, are congratulations in order? I mean, was your first time enjoyable? Are you happy you’re no longer a virgin? It’s so amazing to me that you didn’t mention anything about your first intercourse other than that fact that you didn’t bleed. I guess, for some young women, that all that really matters.

As you may know, a hymen is a mucous membrane that is part of the vulva, the external part of your genitals. It’s located outside the vagina, which is the internal part of your genitals. Not all women have a noticeable hymen. You may or may not have had one to begin with. However most women do. Simply put, having a hymen and/or having it rupture during one’s first fuck is not a reliable indicator of virginity.

Many girls and teens tear or otherwise dilate their hymen while participating in sports like cycling, horseback riding and gymnastics. A young woman can tear her hymen inserting a tampon, or while masturbating. And it’s possible that the girl may not even know she’s done this. Often there is little or no blood or pain when it happens. The tissues of the vulva are generally very thin and delicate prior to puberty.

i lost my virginity

Like I said, the presence or absence of a hymen and/or bleeding in no way indicates whether or not you are a virgin.

Some hymens are elastic enough to permit a cock to enter without tearing, or they tear only partially, and there is NO bleeding at all. As I hope you know, when you are adequately aroused, you lubricate and your vagina becomes more flexible. It will stretch without discomfort for most women. It’s even possible for a woman to have sex for years without ‘tearing’ her hymen. And, like I said, some women never have much of a hymen to begin with.

Is that helpful? I hope so.

Good luck

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How I Spent My Summer Vacation

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Hey sex fans!

I’ve been away. Did ya miss me? Yeah, I’ll bet.

Last Sunday, 07/24, I woke up feeling a bit wonky. Couldn’t quite put my finger on why I was feelin’ out of sorts; I just was. But I had a swell outing planned for the day, so I couldn’t flake. A couple of friends and I were planning on taking the ferry to Bainbridge Island for lunch. The weather was perfect for our little cruise across Puget Sound.

Bainbridge ferry

My friends and I met at Pikes Market, a famous landmark here in The Emerald City, and we walked to the ferry from there. I walk about four miles every day so the 15-minute walk should have been a breeze for me. But something was wrong. I felt lethargic and winded.

pikes market

The 35-minute ferry ride was magical, as always, but upon disembarking and walking to the restaurant I began to really hurt. Not one to spoil the fun I marshaled my resources and made it to lunch.

The walk back to the ferry was excruciating. I was lightheaded, slightly nauseous, and completely winded. My heart was pounding like it wanted out of my chest. My companions became as worried as I was.

Once we docked in Seattle I had to once again disembark then walk to public transportation and to home. I was in a panic. The crush of the crowd around added to my distress. I thought for sure I was gonna faint, or barf, or worse. I was certain that my lungs were gonna give out on me. After many stops to catch my breath and buckets of sweat from the effort I finally made it home.

I’ve been monitoring my blood pressure for several months. (Ya gotta do this when you’re old, like me.) So once at home, I took a reading. My blood pressure was normal, but my pulse was unusually low, a reading of 49 to be precise. A couple of hours later it was 45. This was odd. I had never experienced anything like that before.  Mostly my pulse rate hovers in the upper 70s and low 80s.

I felt much better on Monday. But come Tuesday, I was a total wreck. The least bit of exertion left me exhausted and prostrate. I knew it; my lungs were finally giving out. I put in a call to my doctor and got an expedited appointment for the very next day.

Tuesday’s blood pressure readings were slightly elevated, which was great, but my pulse was way down. I took several readings and each was in the mid 30s never over 40. I still didn’t get it. (This is probably why I’m not a brain surgeon.)

Wednesday turned out to be a nightmare. Unbeknownst to me I was about to began a headlong descent into the maw of the medical industry.

My doctor’s appointment was at 10:30am. The doc took one look at me and ordered an electrocardiogram (EKG). “HOLY SHIT!” She exclaimed. (Or something to that effect.) “How is it that you’re still standing?”

Needless to say, this got my attention right quick. “What?” I inquired. “Although you are not having a heart attack you are this close to the pearly gates. Your pulse is about to flat line, you monkey!” My doctor stuttered. (Ok, maybe she didn’t mention the pearly gates, or call me a monkey, but that was her drift for damn sure.)

Maybe it was the stress or shock of it, but I started to laugh. My doctor asked; “What’s so funny?” I said; “Did you ever see the movie, Death Becomes Her? Remember the scene in the emergency room?”

She gave a faint smile and said; “Yeah, I get it, but this is no laughing matter. Get thee to the Emergency Room ASAP!”

Off I went.

I got to Swedish Hospital (First Hill) Emergency Reception just before noon. The guy behind the desk asked what was wrong with me. I said; “Basically, I’m having a heart attack.” Apparently those are the magic words because the team swung into action. I was admitted immediately, blood was drawn, another EKG, x-rays were taken, and I was hooked up to a heart monitor. Diagnosis: Bradycardia with second-degree heart block.

You need a pacemaker IMMEDIATELY!

We’ll get you a room on the cardiac ward at our Cherry Hill campus, which is just a mile away, as soon as one is available.”

“Oh, OK, I guess,” said I as the severity of the situation finally began to dawn on me. As you can see, I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box.

The fact is, I’m more versed in facing my mortality than the average person, what with the decades of death and dying work that I have done. But let me tell you, staring into the abyss is still daunting.

Back in the emergency room I was laying on a gurney with electrodes and wires sprouting from my chest and back. I lay there for hours listening to the cries, screams, and moans of my fellow emergency patients. Codes blue and grey are being called with regularity and I can just imagine the human misery that surrounds me.

At 5:00pm one of the emergency nurses tells me that a room at the cardiac ward will be available at 7:00pm. “But, 7:00pm is the changing of the shift. So the soonest we could get you there is 7:30pm.”

7:30pm comes and goes. “What’s up?” I ask. “We’re trying to locate transport for you.” Was their retort. “But the Cherry Hill campus is just a mile away. I could walk there from here.” I countered. “But you need a special ambulance, one with a nurse on board, one that can monitor your heart in transit.” “You gotta be kidding!” Said I. “Not at all. You could flat line on the way to Cherry Hill and we’d be liable. Don’t worry, Richard, we will surely have the transport by 10:00pm.”

AMR

The transport didn’t actually arrive till 12:30am. That was twelve and a half hours on a gurney in the ER! And the fun is just beginning.

I finally get to the Cherry Hill campus at 1:00am. I am ushered into a room where I am then interrogated for 45 minutes. (Are you now, or have you ever been…) They called it an intake, but a rose by any other name. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at 5:00am the previous day with only water to drink. Now, even the water was being withheld. I guess they anticipated I would have my procedure later that (Thursday) morning.

swedish cherry hill

Not so fast there buckaroo!

Thursday dawns, but nothing happens. I’m confined to my bed (the second worse bed in the world. The first being the ER gurney I left yesterday) and am attached to a heart monitor. I am faint from hunger and more than a little dehydrated. By noon they decide they need to feed me lest the hunger and dehydration kill me before the arrhythmia.

I scarfed down my lunch like a dying man…mostly because I was.

Allow me to pause my narration for a moment and comment on the cardiac nursing staff. They are superb! And even that superlative leaves me wanting. These women are freakin’ rock stars in my book. One in particular, Nurse Jen, totally got me. We both had the same gallows humor. She is my hero.

Eric Williams

Eric Williams, MD, FHRS

Late Thursday afternoon Dr. Williams, a cardiac electrophysiologist, saunters into my room. He’s gonna be doing the cutting on me. He is a tall handsome black man with the most unassuming manner. He looks me in the eye and talks to me like I’m a human. I’m super impressed with his bedside manner. He tells me my blood work and enzymes are excellent. My x-rays show that my heart isn’t enlarged. (But wait! Every one tells me I have a huge heart.) And there’s no sign that I had a heart attack. We talk about the pacemaker and the procedure. He tells me it’s about the size of a silver dollar. (When I actually see the blasted thing the next day, just before they shove into my chest, I have to wonder where Dr. Williams gets his silver dollars.) The procedure is very routine; he tells me. “Yeah sure, for you maybe.” It’ll last approximately 45 minutes, during which I will be enjoying twilight anesthesia. “Twilight anesthesia, huh? That sounds delightful.” Better living through chemistry, I always say.

I get a sedative Thursday night to help me sleep in my little bed of torture. And nothing by mouth after midnight. (Oh no! Not that again.)

Friday morning my nurses prep me for surgery. First, they have to shave my manly chest, don’t cha know. Nurse Jen takes the lead with a maniacal gleam in her eye.  This is more than a little awkward and also maybe a wee bit kinky.

Finally the fateful hour arrives. I get a second IV stent, because apparently one is not enough for these folks. Then I’m wheeled down to the bowels of the building where I disappear into one of the surgery suits.

1pacemaker0129

Does this look like the size of a silver dollar? I don’t think so.

Two hours later I’m back in my room dopey as all get-out, but still kickin’.

I’m home now, i’m happy to report. They liberated me on Saturday, 07/30, afternoon. And I am only slightly worse for the wear. I have a very distinctive slash across my left pectoral. There’s an unsightly bulge just below it.  It looks like i’m growing a third breast. And a nasty purple and brown bruise that runs from my shoulder to my sternum and from my collarbone to my nipple. I sound like a real attractive guy, huh?

The Moral Of The Story
Life-is-not-a-dress-rehearsal
My friends, life is short! Ought we not live every day like it’s our last? I think so. I have decided that I will try to be more kind to myself and those around me. Because, ya know what?  In a twinkling of an eye, it can and most assuredly be over.

wake up and live

The End

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