I’ve changed my mind. I have decided to start a blog tonight after all. It has been a long and somewhat frustrating day, very mundane and tedious. Grocery shopping, fighting with parking attendants and rude women tutting at me at the supermarket – goodness only knows why. So to ensure that I sleep soundly, for I am now convinced that there is a deep and meaningful correlation between my sexual satisfaction and sleep, I will write. And yes, bizarre as it sounds, I do get sexual satisfaction when Zenpuss puts fingers to keyboard and let’s her imagination flow, to the best of her limited ability.
Today, the subject is tits; big, juicy, boobs, knockers, jugs, whatever you like to call them. I am going to talk about tits, about my own, other peoples and the fascination that the world seems to have with tits.
I was in a shop today, looking at some chocolates. A huge variety, all carefully manufactured to entice and lure the customer into choosing more than they intended. There were some interesting plump, spherical chocolates with a pink icing at the centre. I passed them by. A family stood next to me and the bloke said, “Blimey, they look like boobs!” His two teenage daughters and his wife were horrified at his proclamation, and sternly criticised him for airing his opinion. I, on the other hand, decided to help the poor bloke out, and told the family in a jocular way that I too had thought they looked like boobs. The mother then looked at me, in slight awkwardness but still jokingly, stating that she could understand a bloke coming out with a comment like that but was surprised a woman had thought a similar thing.
Oh dear! Found out! Alert, alert! Sexual weirdo in the shop! Woman who mentions tits! A woman who sees something sexual in a poor innocent ball of chocolate! Whoops!
Well, now you come to mention it, I can think of something very sexual indeed to do with little balls of chocolate!
Seriously though, this woman – the mother, epitomises the sort of pent up inability to think let alone speak out about something sexual in public. She looked a modern, trendy type of 40 something woman and I honestly didn’t think she would be remotely shocked by my comment. Surely she must have looked at the sweets, and seen a certain resemblance to a pert pair of tits with a protruding nipple discreetly blobbed on the top? I think she did see what her husband saw, but as a woman, she couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t be right. Wouldn’t be proper or appropriate. Leave it to the loony. I bet she thought I was coming on to her husband too for that matter.
And I think this links with previous blogs about women just not been sexually liberated, not being in touch with their own sexuality and the obvious sexuality that is screaming out of various subliminal places if you choose so to interpret. Alternatively, of course, I am a raving nymphomaniac who sees sex in everything. Not so, I am afraid.
So let us consider tits. Let us think about how this woman who I met today might think about tits. Let us see whether I have a point to all of this.
Girls, at an early age, are quite interested in the changes and developments to their own body and those of their counterparts. The first girl in the class to have the chest growth spurt is considered to be the most mature, irrespective of her emotional or intellectual maturity. Others are in awe and somewhat envious of this onset of womanhood. She gains a status in the group, and others wait in eager anticipation to join her. Yes, boobs are a serious status symbol at this point in life. In the shower at school, in changing for PE lessons, girls do look at one another and discover how their bodies are developing in comparison to their peers. I would go as far as saying that there is an instinctual directive that tells us, allows us to look at other people’s bodies at this point in life, and it is perfectly normal. So when does it change from a healthy interest in puberty to something more intimate, more unnatural, less socially acceptable? When, as women, do we learn that looking at boobs is not appropriate behaviour? Because this does happen. Over a short period of time, we go from looking and wondering to shying away at the first opportunity. In the case of PE lessons, we clasp that towel to our bodies, as we try and manoeuvre the 30 inch double A bra around the circumference of our bodies, still clutching to the towel which is strategically placed to conceal our upper bodies. And the angst if mother has packed a towel that is handkerchief sized so you have to almost double up into the foetal position to simultaneously hide your fanny with its little glimmering of pubic growth. This change happens subliminally, but somewhere young women are already picking up a sign that a) you should not reveal your tits to the world and b) if someone accidentally drops their towel before the bra is secured in place, you certainly shouldn’t be looking.
And what does this start to tell us about how women perceive their bodies, and what does this tell us about tits?
Well, I guess it tells us the following.
Tits are a sign of development. They are a sign of womanhood. They are a sign that we are moving from one stage of life to another. And as that stage moves forward, we learn to conceal our boobs because that is the socially acceptable thing to do. By concealing them, they become something private, something possibly sexual, something that suddenly becomes a taboo. The unspoken.
And young women are already in a learning curve that tells them to not think about tits, not look at them, and certainly don’t reveal them. Yet, there is an interesting paradox taking place at exactly the same time. The fashion industry then manufactures clothes that are revealing, that require bra removal to wear the products that sexualises our bodies at, quite frankly, too young an age. On the one hand, you have so –called ‘normal’ society directing young women to just pretend that boobs are not there and on the other hand, persuading them to be as sexually precocious as possible in the manner of their attire. Is it any wonder that we have such mixed up views about sexuality, about what is appropriate and acceptable, about what is allowed and what is unmentionable?
Same as periods, same as fannies. Our societal taboos are really detrimental to a woman’s understanding and appreciation of their own sexuality. No wonder, we cannot talk about sex. Maybe the whole thing is a misogynist directive, ensuring that all women are subservient to the men folk of their society, but that is probably a little over the top. Who knows? It is just a thought.
So here we have it. Women, who are a developing an unhealthy disinterest in boobs. You start with a serious interest in having a look, and gradually, through various societal messages, you are reminded that women do not look at other women, unless of course, they are raving dykes.
Well, I am here to say that I do not have lesbian tendencies. I have stated before that I am a fond ‘consumer’ of the cock. It fills me, satisfies me, stimulates me. I want cock deep inside me, penetrating the sensual parts of my body that respond so effectively to its touches. Yet, I think, retrospectively, I have always had an interest in the shape of other women’s bodies, maybe not in a sexual way, but I have always had the ability to look at a woman and appreciate the aesthetics of a rounded, sexual body. And whilst looking at a beautiful woman, your eyes are naturally drawn to the shape of their body, the curvature of their breasts. This genuinely doesn’t have to be a sexual thing, merely an appreciation of the female form. But surely, I hear you say, that if you are looking at a woman like that then there has to be a sexual entity to it? Well possibly that is so. Maybe, I have always looked at women’s bodies and seen it sexually, wishing that I felt that sexual about myself. Maybe I have always looked at women’s bodies and contemplated touching them, feeling around the outer edges of the boobs, thought about tracing my finger in a circular motion around the side of the breasts, spiralling them in towards the nipples. In truth, I just don’t know. I do not know whether this is what has been happening to me all of my life. What I do know is that in my blossoming epoch of current sexual growth, I can see a very clear and definite sexual pleasure in viewing other women’s tits. And I have thought about this. Maybe, through learning and appreciating my own sexuality, I have discovered a love of the beauty in other people’s sexuality. Maybe, I have learned to enjoy looking at tits as a means of understanding a sexual partner’s interest in boobs. Maybe I have been suppressing a desire all of this time. Maybe I have suddenly remembered the times in the past, when I have felt a stirring within my pussy at a picture of a naked woman. It doesn’t really matter how I came to this understanding. The fact is this – I do like looking at women’s tits. I like the vast differences in their shape, their voluptuousness, their position in relation to the rest of the torso. I like seeing women holding their tits, proudly showing that they are sexual beings with wonderful, powerful assets that delight so many. I like to see good, strong, protruding nipples that stick out eager to be touched, licked, fondled. I like the beauty of a woman’s form and I like to see what it is about this that is so appealing to a heterosexual man.
Furthermore, there are times when I want to touch tits. I want to feel the fullness of them in my hands, just in the same way that a partner feels mine. I can appreciate my own tits and their significance to my partners if I have experience of another woman’s tits in my hand. And that is good. Tits are good. Tits are incredibly beautiful. They epitomise womanhood. Sexuality. Lust.
Confession time here. I used to hate people touching my tits. I loathed a sexual partner touching them sensitively. I was happy for them to grab them but not to gently stimulate the nipple.
But this has changed. I want my partners to feel the weight of them in their hands. I want them to suck hard on the side of the boob. I want them to lick my entire boob, moving their tongue around and around as they progress towards the centre, taking my ample nipple in the mouth and pulling it into an erect state. I want them to blow on it, to sensualise it. I want them to take photographs of them. I want them to gain the greatest excitement of undoing my bra and revealing these big, buxom breasts. I want to feel cock between by boobs. I want him to slap his cock in my cleavage, pushing either breast towards the middle, so that his cock is stimulated by the mass of boob either side, and he can slide in and out, revealing a head of luscious cock as he moves.
I want to taste tits. I want to lick all around and move towards the nipple, I want to push the nipple around in my mouth, circling and sucking, creating climax for a partner. I want to push myself down on a woman so that our boobs are compressed together, so that our nipples clash against one another, so that they kiss together in a height of sexual stirrings. I want to hold tits and caress them whilst the rest of my body is in close proximity to pussy. I want to have my tits held and kissed by a woman. I want to offer my tits to be sucked with a vigour and urgency by two people simultaneously. I want to have someone touching my tits whilst I am being carefully fucked by a huge and horny cock. I want someone to watch my tits bouncing up and down as I am fucked from behind, watching them sway in time to the thrusting motion of that cock sliding in and out of my body. And I want cum all over my tits. Cum that splashes and sensationalises the nipples that can be smothered and spread across my tits.
I want you to read this and desperately want my tits in your face right now. I want you to think about touching them, holding them, wishing for them to be near you right now.
You can just imagine how wet my cunt is as I write. Very, very juicy.
Tits. Good, wholesome tits.
Tits are incredibly important. I haven’t even mentioned their absolute significance biologically, possibly because I wasn’t too good at it. However, there is a huge significance in that as soon as a baby is born, it is the boob that is required before all else. The boob is the first point of contact for all of us, man or woman as we arrive in this world, ready, lactating, eager to serve. Maybe this is why instinctively, we have a love of boobs whether we choose to suppress it or not.
And now for my boobs. They have been through various stages of progression. They have been small and useless sized and they have been enormous, useless sized too! We joked at school and took the pencil test. I failed, unable to hold the aforementioned writing implement underneath my tit. There wasn’t enough of it to retain it in position. And then they grew, possibly with the weight gain and development of the rest of my body. And they began to blossom. I actually needed to wear a bra then. And I liked their growing voluptuousness.
After giving birth, they obviously grew. They were like footballs rather than discusses. They had a strength in their size. And now they have settled to be a basic, average size – comfortably shaped in the context of the rest of my body. I’m not happy with them. I cannot yet see their beauty. I can feel their fullness but in all honesty, they are nothing special. They would not necessarily have appeal on a porn site. They are just basic forty year old boobs with rather flat nipples. Yet, I am very aware that other people appreciate them, possibly because they are mine rather than for their generic aesthetical beauty. And that is positive. I am honoured and delighted that other people look at my boobs and get a satisfaction from them. And that has an extremely positive effect on my psyche.
And everything that I mentioned before about sucking, licking, sharing boobs, well, I am glad that others get off on my tits. I love the fact that what I wrote previously about what I wanted has actually taken place. I have had my tits caressed and fondled by man and woman. I have enjoyed the kisses that start on the mouth, work their way down my neck towards my tits. I have felt the eternal joy of having two people sitting in front of me, each having one of my tits in their mouths, me straddling them and leaning back in the sheer, unadulterated joy of being sucked and fondled by two simultaneously. I have had someone grab my tits with utter urgency as he feels the warmth of my gushing cum soak his cock and balls as he slides in and out of my juicy cunt.
They are here, ready and waiting for a return visit.
So to end. Finally back to the start of this epic piece of writing. The wife in the shop. I wonder whether she has experienced some of the things I have discussed. Does this notion of tits resonate with her? Surely she remembers what it was like as a teenager with flourishing developments in herself and her peers? Did she actually stop seeing beauty and sexuality in boobs? I somehow doubt it.
Come on girls. Let’s be positive about our bodies. Let us celebrate that we have sensational bodies that need to be seen as wonderful entities by all. Let us liberate ourselves and be proud of our sexuality and let us now allow it to be exploited by others. Let us take control of women’s sexuality once and for all, and girls, that means being a little more honest about what turns us on, including tits.
Sunday 18 May 2008
Saturday 17 May 2008
Sex and periods
As I have started to tackle some issues that are not usually aired in public, I thought I would mention another unmentionable. Periods. Menstruation. The curse. The monthly visits. Actually, I'd rather discuss sex, not because I am remotely concerned about talking about periods, but because the stimulation of talking about sex is probably just what I need at the moment.
I have never shied away from talking about periods. It has always intrigued me as to why we women feel the need to be coy about something that is a natural cycle of being. When I left my job some years ago, I received the usual joint staff 'goodbye and good luck' card. Amongst the usual "all the best for the future" and "we're going to miss you" comments, I received one that still makes me laugh. A dear colleague wrote " now that you're going, who are we going to discuss tits, arses and fannies with?" Maybe she had insight into my future interests! Maybe she realised how a woman develops sexually as she approaches forty.
Anyhow, I've not shied away from periods. I've talked about the sodding length of them, the irrational moods you get a couple of days before, the need for feminax on the second day and the ridiculous cost of feminine hygiene. I've laughed with friends - one who had to ask a male friend to help locate an errant tampon (yes, he did have to go in) and exchanged stories with them about hard edged cardboard irresponsibly trimmed on the factory floor to provide maximum pain on insertion. They have sniggered at my notion that Tampax are favouring the womenfolk in the US of A by providing more comfortable tampons. Oh yes, I could give the heir to the throne a run for his money on tampon talk.
I mention all of this because it is yet another sign of women hiding their sexuality from the public domain. Let's all hide the fact that we're woman. Because that is what it is. Periods are a pain. They are uncomfortable, aching, sloppy nuisances. Periods play total havoc with your minds. Anyone who knows me realises that I can be mind blowingly stroppy and arsy just before my period where all rational thought can disappear. My friends have my monthly patterns of aggressive outbursts down to a tee. You can almost see their mental arithmetic minds jumping into action, remembering the last time I blew up at them. My already extended tummy takes on the look of a five month pregnant woman in its bloated monthly state. But despite all of this, we really should try and look at the lighter aspect.
Periods tell us we are fruitful, young and capable of procreating. They remind us of the fact that we have a sexual reproductive system, and are therefore sexual beings. They tell us that we are women. And yet we cannot talk about them willingly or openly. Cunts, tits and fannies. We are constantly trying to pretend they are not there. We hide them as soon as we can. We have secret little talks with our younger sisters about the curse. We don't even tell them all the facts accurately so that when they too have periods and have the same moodswings, the heavy tits and the pain right to the coxslyx, they think they are abnormal too and the myths self-perpetuate. And that is before we even get onto the myths of sexuality.
I read recently of how women in centuries beyond gathered together for their periods. In middle eastern countries they collected in tents. Imagine that, shedloads or rather tentloads of stroppy women all together, carefully herded away from their menfolk for forty eight hours! How wonderful indeed. But I hope we have moved on since these misogynistic times. We don't need to hide our sexuality any longer. Let's liberate ourselves so that we can say what we want, how we want it, what we need, how we enjoy it. You can start, if it is more comfortable to so by just freely talking about your pain in the monthlies. Once you feel comfortable with this, then maybe you might progress to admitting that you quite like sex, or that you fancy 'a bit of cock' from time to time. You might discuss how you get aroused, or is this too much? Maybe you could then move forward to discuss sex toys, to consider and report on your sexual fantasies. The idea is to feel comfortable, gradually and surely. By sharing our experiences without any element of gossip can only help us to enlighten and liberate people whose tenseness around their sexuality is enhanced by thinking they are not normal. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have the sexual freedom to admit that you want a big, juicy,stimulating cock inside you? Wouldn't it be great to freely state how much you are aroused by photographs of cocks in pussies? Wouldn't it be exciting to share sexual fantasies, to explain how you so desperately want to have sex in a field by a river, or in the back garden for any onlookers to view and get excited themselves (just a personal one!). I love the thought of someone being so aroused by seeing my wet pussy gobble up a needy cock that they instantly need to touch themselves and wank away until a pleasurable climax. Wouldn't it be liberating to tell the world that under the right conditions you can orgasm consecutively, wetting your partner with cascades of cum, pushing with your bulging and protruding organs so that their cock hardly has room in your cunt? All these freedoms can start by just mentioning the reality of being a woman and enduring that monthly pains.
It has been suggested that some women may be afraid of their cunts. They may not know how to touch it. They make not like the smell it produces. They may feel concerned about the little white juices that leave their stain on their panties. They may be terrified that they might pee during the excitement of sex. All concerns may relate to their experiences and ability to talk about periods. Being comfortable with menstruation and the fact that it happens may help overcome initial concerns about gushing. Inserting a tampon actually may help to get you familiar with the inside of your body, learning the shape and folds, knowing the position of your g spot in anticipation of something far bigger and readily welcomed than a tightknit bud of cotton wool.
Be comfortable with the fact that you have bodily fluids and your concerns with sex will dissiapte. Use towels. Not the little bricks for sanitation but the big. fluffy ones that can soak up your frequent and exciting gushes of bodily fluids. If you know you're juicy, be prepared, for as someone once said to me "I don't ever want you to hold back".
Finally, sex and periods. It's an individual thing, comfortable only if your sexual partners are of like mind. But as sexual beings, should we be ruling ourselves out of action for a potential quarter of every month? If the mood takes you, then go for it. I never liked having sex whilst having a period but that was when I was unfamiliar and unsure of my body and its sexuality. In the last six months, I have not let a period get in my way of sexual gratification. Having said that, it is now sometime since I had sex of any sort. Penetrative - seems like ages ago. Self stimulation - well even that has been too long. My tedious little period is on its sixth day, and is showing signs of vanishing, so I'll leave this blog and find my clitoris. My little finger is good and strong after typing, and it will easily walk its way down my body,into my panties, pushing down and around that oh so precious little spot that sends nerve tingling joy all over my body.
I have never shied away from talking about periods. It has always intrigued me as to why we women feel the need to be coy about something that is a natural cycle of being. When I left my job some years ago, I received the usual joint staff 'goodbye and good luck' card. Amongst the usual "all the best for the future" and "we're going to miss you" comments, I received one that still makes me laugh. A dear colleague wrote " now that you're going, who are we going to discuss tits, arses and fannies with?" Maybe she had insight into my future interests! Maybe she realised how a woman develops sexually as she approaches forty.
Anyhow, I've not shied away from periods. I've talked about the sodding length of them, the irrational moods you get a couple of days before, the need for feminax on the second day and the ridiculous cost of feminine hygiene. I've laughed with friends - one who had to ask a male friend to help locate an errant tampon (yes, he did have to go in) and exchanged stories with them about hard edged cardboard irresponsibly trimmed on the factory floor to provide maximum pain on insertion. They have sniggered at my notion that Tampax are favouring the womenfolk in the US of A by providing more comfortable tampons. Oh yes, I could give the heir to the throne a run for his money on tampon talk.
I mention all of this because it is yet another sign of women hiding their sexuality from the public domain. Let's all hide the fact that we're woman. Because that is what it is. Periods are a pain. They are uncomfortable, aching, sloppy nuisances. Periods play total havoc with your minds. Anyone who knows me realises that I can be mind blowingly stroppy and arsy just before my period where all rational thought can disappear. My friends have my monthly patterns of aggressive outbursts down to a tee. You can almost see their mental arithmetic minds jumping into action, remembering the last time I blew up at them. My already extended tummy takes on the look of a five month pregnant woman in its bloated monthly state. But despite all of this, we really should try and look at the lighter aspect.
Periods tell us we are fruitful, young and capable of procreating. They remind us of the fact that we have a sexual reproductive system, and are therefore sexual beings. They tell us that we are women. And yet we cannot talk about them willingly or openly. Cunts, tits and fannies. We are constantly trying to pretend they are not there. We hide them as soon as we can. We have secret little talks with our younger sisters about the curse. We don't even tell them all the facts accurately so that when they too have periods and have the same moodswings, the heavy tits and the pain right to the coxslyx, they think they are abnormal too and the myths self-perpetuate. And that is before we even get onto the myths of sexuality.
I read recently of how women in centuries beyond gathered together for their periods. In middle eastern countries they collected in tents. Imagine that, shedloads or rather tentloads of stroppy women all together, carefully herded away from their menfolk for forty eight hours! How wonderful indeed. But I hope we have moved on since these misogynistic times. We don't need to hide our sexuality any longer. Let's liberate ourselves so that we can say what we want, how we want it, what we need, how we enjoy it. You can start, if it is more comfortable to so by just freely talking about your pain in the monthlies. Once you feel comfortable with this, then maybe you might progress to admitting that you quite like sex, or that you fancy 'a bit of cock' from time to time. You might discuss how you get aroused, or is this too much? Maybe you could then move forward to discuss sex toys, to consider and report on your sexual fantasies. The idea is to feel comfortable, gradually and surely. By sharing our experiences without any element of gossip can only help us to enlighten and liberate people whose tenseness around their sexuality is enhanced by thinking they are not normal. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have the sexual freedom to admit that you want a big, juicy,stimulating cock inside you? Wouldn't it be great to freely state how much you are aroused by photographs of cocks in pussies? Wouldn't it be exciting to share sexual fantasies, to explain how you so desperately want to have sex in a field by a river, or in the back garden for any onlookers to view and get excited themselves (just a personal one!). I love the thought of someone being so aroused by seeing my wet pussy gobble up a needy cock that they instantly need to touch themselves and wank away until a pleasurable climax. Wouldn't it be liberating to tell the world that under the right conditions you can orgasm consecutively, wetting your partner with cascades of cum, pushing with your bulging and protruding organs so that their cock hardly has room in your cunt? All these freedoms can start by just mentioning the reality of being a woman and enduring that monthly pains.
It has been suggested that some women may be afraid of their cunts. They may not know how to touch it. They make not like the smell it produces. They may feel concerned about the little white juices that leave their stain on their panties. They may be terrified that they might pee during the excitement of sex. All concerns may relate to their experiences and ability to talk about periods. Being comfortable with menstruation and the fact that it happens may help overcome initial concerns about gushing. Inserting a tampon actually may help to get you familiar with the inside of your body, learning the shape and folds, knowing the position of your g spot in anticipation of something far bigger and readily welcomed than a tightknit bud of cotton wool.
Be comfortable with the fact that you have bodily fluids and your concerns with sex will dissiapte. Use towels. Not the little bricks for sanitation but the big. fluffy ones that can soak up your frequent and exciting gushes of bodily fluids. If you know you're juicy, be prepared, for as someone once said to me "I don't ever want you to hold back".
Finally, sex and periods. It's an individual thing, comfortable only if your sexual partners are of like mind. But as sexual beings, should we be ruling ourselves out of action for a potential quarter of every month? If the mood takes you, then go for it. I never liked having sex whilst having a period but that was when I was unfamiliar and unsure of my body and its sexuality. In the last six months, I have not let a period get in my way of sexual gratification. Having said that, it is now sometime since I had sex of any sort. Penetrative - seems like ages ago. Self stimulation - well even that has been too long. My tedious little period is on its sixth day, and is showing signs of vanishing, so I'll leave this blog and find my clitoris. My little finger is good and strong after typing, and it will easily walk its way down my body,into my panties, pushing down and around that oh so precious little spot that sends nerve tingling joy all over my body.
Wandering Hands
"Don't worry - I've spoken to the hands and warned them about the degree of self-control we expect!"
Oh dear was my first reaction. I was looking forward to aforementioned hands having a good old wander around my body, identifying places that they would cause greatest impact to my senses. But he was right. In company, it is probably not particularly socially sensitive to be groping one another in full view of others, though, given the right people with whom you are socialising it could be a very exciting prospect!
Well, he was true to his words. The hands remained firmly out of range, in his pocket and behaved themselves with the appropriate degree of self-control. Unfortunately, the determined will power that his hands had agreed to had not been so carefully acknowledged by his cock, which was standing prominently and eagerly within his jeans, pushing towards me with a will very obviously contradicting the resolution with which his hands had complied. Poor hands, they didn't stand a chance. Once I had acknowledged that I was extremely aroused by the hardness of his cock, there didn't really seem much point in hiding the hands away in the pockets of his trousers, and anyway, I am sure that by this point the hands were very aware of a strong sexual excitement growing within their proximity. Maybe, once cock is as hard as a rock, then instinctively hands either jump towards cock for stimulation, or if there is an alternative, they reach out automatically to search for boob and pussy. Maybe we just shouldn't fight against the instinctual thoughts of our body parts. Instead, let's just embrace it!
Which obviously, is what we did. Embrace it fully. Let hands do their wonderful work, ambling around my tits, tweaking my nipples into a climax all of their own. Wandering around my now naked bottom half of my body, searching through my pubic hairs to where I had a sopping wet pussy, determined to invite hands to stimulate me more until drips and then gushes of juices pour out of me, collecting and glistening on those naughty and gloriously mischievous hands. Once the hands had done their work, it was up to Mr. Cock to reach in a reiterate. Fuck me, fuck me please! Awaken my senses and enliven my labia!
Simply wonderful.
In recognition of those naughty hands and their delightfully ill disciplined partner in crime, I have written a jovial little ditty, which I hope amuses the reader!
Hands - by a horny Zenpuss
Hands that mischievously linger
Over waiting arms and feet,
Absorbing the flesh beneath them
An epicurean kind of treat.
.
Hands that mischievously squander
Not a millisec of time,
Learning to roam my body
Following that sensual line.
.
Hands that mischievously wander
Fondling my tit
Nipples fulfilled, hands subside
Advancing towards my clit.
.
Hands that mischievously meander
Searching for my hole
Diving in, and reaching forth
To satisfy my soul.
.
Hands that mischievously canter
Through the forest of pubic feast
Manipulating within me
You horny, horny beast!
So there you have it. Hands are wonderful, hands are sensitive. Hands are one of the greatest tools of foreplay.
Thank you hands for not adhering to any promises of appropriate behaviour, though I think that they behaved perfectly appropriately.
Oh dear was my first reaction. I was looking forward to aforementioned hands having a good old wander around my body, identifying places that they would cause greatest impact to my senses. But he was right. In company, it is probably not particularly socially sensitive to be groping one another in full view of others, though, given the right people with whom you are socialising it could be a very exciting prospect!
Well, he was true to his words. The hands remained firmly out of range, in his pocket and behaved themselves with the appropriate degree of self-control. Unfortunately, the determined will power that his hands had agreed to had not been so carefully acknowledged by his cock, which was standing prominently and eagerly within his jeans, pushing towards me with a will very obviously contradicting the resolution with which his hands had complied. Poor hands, they didn't stand a chance. Once I had acknowledged that I was extremely aroused by the hardness of his cock, there didn't really seem much point in hiding the hands away in the pockets of his trousers, and anyway, I am sure that by this point the hands were very aware of a strong sexual excitement growing within their proximity. Maybe, once cock is as hard as a rock, then instinctively hands either jump towards cock for stimulation, or if there is an alternative, they reach out automatically to search for boob and pussy. Maybe we just shouldn't fight against the instinctual thoughts of our body parts. Instead, let's just embrace it!
Which obviously, is what we did. Embrace it fully. Let hands do their wonderful work, ambling around my tits, tweaking my nipples into a climax all of their own. Wandering around my now naked bottom half of my body, searching through my pubic hairs to where I had a sopping wet pussy, determined to invite hands to stimulate me more until drips and then gushes of juices pour out of me, collecting and glistening on those naughty and gloriously mischievous hands. Once the hands had done their work, it was up to Mr. Cock to reach in a reiterate. Fuck me, fuck me please! Awaken my senses and enliven my labia!
Simply wonderful.
In recognition of those naughty hands and their delightfully ill disciplined partner in crime, I have written a jovial little ditty, which I hope amuses the reader!
Hands - by a horny Zenpuss
Hands that mischievously linger
Over waiting arms and feet,
Absorbing the flesh beneath them
An epicurean kind of treat.
.
Hands that mischievously squander
Not a millisec of time,
Learning to roam my body
Following that sensual line.
.
Hands that mischievously wander
Fondling my tit
Nipples fulfilled, hands subside
Advancing towards my clit.
.
Hands that mischievously meander
Searching for my hole
Diving in, and reaching forth
To satisfy my soul.
.
Hands that mischievously canter
Through the forest of pubic feast
Manipulating within me
You horny, horny beast!
So there you have it. Hands are wonderful, hands are sensitive. Hands are one of the greatest tools of foreplay.
Thank you hands for not adhering to any promises of appropriate behaviour, though I think that they behaved perfectly appropriately.
There were three in the bed......
In my effort to travel onwards to sexual enlightenment, I would like to describe some of my experiences and see if they resonate in any way with the reader.
I am not an experienced lover. Some might go even further to suggest a certain ineptitude, but as with most things in life, I am ready and willing to learn and experience, with the help of qualified and capable teachers! My interest and enjoyment of sex has not been an adult life-long thing. I have had times of great sexual energy and times of, to be ruthless, frigidity. Right now, I am fortunate to be in über sexy mode and I hope this lasts for some considerable time, so that I can savour each glorious moment of ultimate pleasure.
I will write in greater detail about the female ejaculation that I have experienced over the last few years particularly in a blog all of its own. It is worthy of a blog in its own right, as I am still fascinated by the total lack of knowledge about female cum and orgasm. All I can say now is that the sensation of cumming, knowing that you are going to gush great floods of sexy juices from your hot pussy is eclipsed by nothing. Try it. Let go and allow it to happen. It's a huge release in more ways than one.
So now to sex. The act. The fuck. The joy.
There are times when I have had a good old fuck, times when I have had sex and times when I think I have made love. Sometimes, these can happen simultaneously but there is differentiation.
I invited two friends round the other evening. I invited them because I enjoy their company. We can all collectively talk together for hours without major gaps in the conversation. I feel comfortable with them and I believe this is an important, almost vital part of the proceedings. I also invited them because I had hoped that we might have the opportunity and desire to share each other sexually. All three of us.
So it happened.
I had never kissed a woman, let alone allowed one to enjoy sucking and fondling my boobs. I was turned on by her touching my body, and excited by the prospect of lying with her and letting me reciprocate. I don't really consider myself remotely bisexual although I cannot deny that I have looked at women undressing at the gym or in a shared changing room at a shop. Yet, here I was totally turned on by being intimate with a woman.
I think that these sensations were stimulated by the fact that someone was watching us and soon would be joining us, in glorious nakedness. Being a hetero woman, ultimately, I want cock. That satisfies me. I love it. He undressed and climbed into bed with us.
So we had sex, the three of us. I kissed her and caressed her tits, sucking on her erect nipples. I kissed him with an energy and desire that I fully recognized. I watched them as he inserted his erect cock into her sopping, wet cunt. And I took my turn as he transferred from her to me, thrusting his ample appendage into my screamingly orgasmic inners.
I soaked the bed with my cascades of cum, as did she.
I took the greatest of pleasures in looking down at this sexy man, as he had his cock inside my sexy friend and his tongue deeply entwined in my own fanny, licking me from side to side, and thrusting his tongue gently yet forcefully to where he knows I gain the greatest pleasure. This eroticism, this sensual appreciation of male and female form is all new to me, and it is wonderful. I will not deny that I still prefer the one on one form of sex. The intimacy and warmth from such a connection is incomparable ,if it is with the right person.
In all honesty, I am not doing this subject justice. I need to think more carefully about what I am writing to really convey the sexuality of the moment. There is so much to discuss and contemplate. Watching other people having sex is clearly a turn on. If this wasn't the case, then why do so many people buy, produce and participate in porn films and websites? But watching two people that you know and like is even better! It is sensationally horny in a way that I could not have imagined that I would enjoy. I am more turned on my being watched than observing because I get the gratification twofold; I have his cock firmly in my ever needy vag and have the pleasure of someone watching, maybe greedily anticipating their opportunity. I want people to see me fuck. I want people to want what I am experiencing, not necessarily with me but I want them to be turned on by watching me have sex. Another blog.
I will return to this FFM experience later with more insight and information.
I am not an experienced lover. Some might go even further to suggest a certain ineptitude, but as with most things in life, I am ready and willing to learn and experience, with the help of qualified and capable teachers! My interest and enjoyment of sex has not been an adult life-long thing. I have had times of great sexual energy and times of, to be ruthless, frigidity. Right now, I am fortunate to be in über sexy mode and I hope this lasts for some considerable time, so that I can savour each glorious moment of ultimate pleasure.
I will write in greater detail about the female ejaculation that I have experienced over the last few years particularly in a blog all of its own. It is worthy of a blog in its own right, as I am still fascinated by the total lack of knowledge about female cum and orgasm. All I can say now is that the sensation of cumming, knowing that you are going to gush great floods of sexy juices from your hot pussy is eclipsed by nothing. Try it. Let go and allow it to happen. It's a huge release in more ways than one.
So now to sex. The act. The fuck. The joy.
There are times when I have had a good old fuck, times when I have had sex and times when I think I have made love. Sometimes, these can happen simultaneously but there is differentiation.
I invited two friends round the other evening. I invited them because I enjoy their company. We can all collectively talk together for hours without major gaps in the conversation. I feel comfortable with them and I believe this is an important, almost vital part of the proceedings. I also invited them because I had hoped that we might have the opportunity and desire to share each other sexually. All three of us.
So it happened.
I had never kissed a woman, let alone allowed one to enjoy sucking and fondling my boobs. I was turned on by her touching my body, and excited by the prospect of lying with her and letting me reciprocate. I don't really consider myself remotely bisexual although I cannot deny that I have looked at women undressing at the gym or in a shared changing room at a shop. Yet, here I was totally turned on by being intimate with a woman.
I think that these sensations were stimulated by the fact that someone was watching us and soon would be joining us, in glorious nakedness. Being a hetero woman, ultimately, I want cock. That satisfies me. I love it. He undressed and climbed into bed with us.
So we had sex, the three of us. I kissed her and caressed her tits, sucking on her erect nipples. I kissed him with an energy and desire that I fully recognized. I watched them as he inserted his erect cock into her sopping, wet cunt. And I took my turn as he transferred from her to me, thrusting his ample appendage into my screamingly orgasmic inners.
I soaked the bed with my cascades of cum, as did she.
I took the greatest of pleasures in looking down at this sexy man, as he had his cock inside my sexy friend and his tongue deeply entwined in my own fanny, licking me from side to side, and thrusting his tongue gently yet forcefully to where he knows I gain the greatest pleasure. This eroticism, this sensual appreciation of male and female form is all new to me, and it is wonderful. I will not deny that I still prefer the one on one form of sex. The intimacy and warmth from such a connection is incomparable ,if it is with the right person.
In all honesty, I am not doing this subject justice. I need to think more carefully about what I am writing to really convey the sexuality of the moment. There is so much to discuss and contemplate. Watching other people having sex is clearly a turn on. If this wasn't the case, then why do so many people buy, produce and participate in porn films and websites? But watching two people that you know and like is even better! It is sensationally horny in a way that I could not have imagined that I would enjoy. I am more turned on my being watched than observing because I get the gratification twofold; I have his cock firmly in my ever needy vag and have the pleasure of someone watching, maybe greedily anticipating their opportunity. I want people to see me fuck. I want people to want what I am experiencing, not necessarily with me but I want them to be turned on by watching me have sex. Another blog.
I will return to this FFM experience later with more insight and information.
Hysteria, stress and knowing your body
I listened to Radio 4 Woman’s hour the other day.
There was an article about a BBC programme where early 20th Century medicinal practice was being discussed. Apparently doctors thought that they could treat a melancholy, hysterical woman by inducing an orgasm with an ominous sounding vibrator. The reason for this course of action was that it was felt that the women were sexually repressed. "Is there something wrong with me?" says the fictional Mrs. Turner. "No, I treat many women with this affliction, known as hysteria." replies the excited doctor."All you require is a gentle massage". At this point, he clearly inserts the vibrator into the woman. Job done and off she goes.
I rather like the idea of purchasing a bunny on prescription from the NHS. Joking aside, it could be economically viable. The growth of depression and stress in our lives, and the squillions spent on Prozax and its equivalents for women is spiralling, possibly uncontrollably. Maybe there is scope in returning to the methodology of the past and sending some of these women down to Ann Summers with a voucher for a dildo? I am being flippant in a sense, but I know from my own experience that there is a significant link between sexual satisfaction and an inner peace. I am not implying that I am so crude as to just see sex as a means of coping with the stress of the world in which I live. Clearly, there are far more pertinent reasons for wanting sex - love, attraction, excitement, sharing, pleasure for pleasures sake. But I am realising, as I become more aware of my body and all its needs, that I am immensely stress free, calm and capable once I have had sex, whether that be with other people or self-inflicted! As much as I enjoy touching myself, and as much as I can even now feel my inner muscles welling up when thinking about sex, there is, of course, no substitute for the real thing. I have been very fortunate to have a range of sexual experiences; sex with a woman and a man, sex with a very beautiful friend, sex on the telephone, sex on my own - but more of that another time.
My point is that yet again, in our closed and visionless society, we are not exploring other possibilities because a certain subject is taboo, and the reality of this issue that some depressive tendencies could be alleviated by thinking outside the box. I admit, I do not like the mysognist undertones of treating Victorian women to make them more receptive to their gentlemen folk but if we push aside this concept to explore the possiblity that there are many sexually repressed women out there, who have not even considered that they are in this state, because our society does not allow them to contemplate such as thought. They could learn to love the sensuality of exploring their own body, of using a battery powered tool to insert into their vaginas to get, not only an orgasm going, but a recognition of what they are about and where all the pieces of the internal jigsaw fit together. How many women that you know really understand the inside of their body? How many have even felt around inside there? How many know that on reaching inside with expectant fingers searching the folds within that you can create your own stimulation that will bring on a cascade of action? Yes - women cum too. I'm just beginning on this journey, and I am slowly realising that my hibernating sexual appetite is more than coming to the forefront, and I love it, embrace it and need it to be stimulated in a range of ways.
So hysteria is treatable! Negative hysteria treated by a positive hysteria. A journey towards sexual recognition. I am on that journey, and I am quite prepared to travel any distance in order to satisfy my desires.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/womanshour/01/2008_15_fri.shtml
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8pvHTbXxgs dreadful pop/disco song but interesting video!
There was an article about a BBC programme where early 20th Century medicinal practice was being discussed. Apparently doctors thought that they could treat a melancholy, hysterical woman by inducing an orgasm with an ominous sounding vibrator. The reason for this course of action was that it was felt that the women were sexually repressed. "Is there something wrong with me?" says the fictional Mrs. Turner. "No, I treat many women with this affliction, known as hysteria." replies the excited doctor."All you require is a gentle massage". At this point, he clearly inserts the vibrator into the woman. Job done and off she goes.
I rather like the idea of purchasing a bunny on prescription from the NHS. Joking aside, it could be economically viable. The growth of depression and stress in our lives, and the squillions spent on Prozax and its equivalents for women is spiralling, possibly uncontrollably. Maybe there is scope in returning to the methodology of the past and sending some of these women down to Ann Summers with a voucher for a dildo? I am being flippant in a sense, but I know from my own experience that there is a significant link between sexual satisfaction and an inner peace. I am not implying that I am so crude as to just see sex as a means of coping with the stress of the world in which I live. Clearly, there are far more pertinent reasons for wanting sex - love, attraction, excitement, sharing, pleasure for pleasures sake. But I am realising, as I become more aware of my body and all its needs, that I am immensely stress free, calm and capable once I have had sex, whether that be with other people or self-inflicted! As much as I enjoy touching myself, and as much as I can even now feel my inner muscles welling up when thinking about sex, there is, of course, no substitute for the real thing. I have been very fortunate to have a range of sexual experiences; sex with a woman and a man, sex with a very beautiful friend, sex on the telephone, sex on my own - but more of that another time.
My point is that yet again, in our closed and visionless society, we are not exploring other possibilities because a certain subject is taboo, and the reality of this issue that some depressive tendencies could be alleviated by thinking outside the box. I admit, I do not like the mysognist undertones of treating Victorian women to make them more receptive to their gentlemen folk but if we push aside this concept to explore the possiblity that there are many sexually repressed women out there, who have not even considered that they are in this state, because our society does not allow them to contemplate such as thought. They could learn to love the sensuality of exploring their own body, of using a battery powered tool to insert into their vaginas to get, not only an orgasm going, but a recognition of what they are about and where all the pieces of the internal jigsaw fit together. How many women that you know really understand the inside of their body? How many have even felt around inside there? How many know that on reaching inside with expectant fingers searching the folds within that you can create your own stimulation that will bring on a cascade of action? Yes - women cum too. I'm just beginning on this journey, and I am slowly realising that my hibernating sexual appetite is more than coming to the forefront, and I love it, embrace it and need it to be stimulated in a range of ways.
So hysteria is treatable! Negative hysteria treated by a positive hysteria. A journey towards sexual recognition. I am on that journey, and I am quite prepared to travel any distance in order to satisfy my desires.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/womanshour/01/2008_15_fri.shtml
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8pvHTbXxgs dreadful pop/disco song but interesting video!
Ever had sex over the telephone?
Circa 1984, watching the Brit Awards. Noel Edmonds turns to Holly Johnson and asks, "have you ever met Prince?".
"No" responds the Frankie frontman, " but I have had sex with him over the telephone!".
Oh how we all laughed at the Liverpudlian humour and the riskee nature of that blatantly gay singer flirting with the ever so heterosexual DJ! Indeed for a naive 18 year old, it was quite an unusual comment and an awakening of sorts. I realised Holly was gay; I knew what that meant but I am not sure I really understood how gay men 'did' it. For all I knew, they probably did do it over the telephone, because that's a little odd, a little out of the ordinary, and I guessed that they could wank away as they spoke, so yes, I guess that would constitute sex on the telephone.
I had sex over the telephone today. Fucking good sex. I watched my friend as he unzipped his trousers and held his plentiful balls, cupped in his hands, whilst he teased the waistband of his pants away from his body. He then reached inside to reveal his lovely, stimulated cock that gradually grew with a carefully practiced yank and I hope an excitement that it was on full view for my eyes only.
He then pulled down his pants to give me a full and glorious sight of his hardened balls that I was sucking on some 48 hours previous and that luscious cock that was getting firmer by the second as he pulled his foreskin back and forth.
He then moved the camera further and nearer to his excited genitals so that I could see his precum juices oozing out of his hole and trickling down his thumb and foreskin. A magnificent sight. I could almost taste those juices as they dribbled out of him in his excited state.
Whilst all of this delightful activity was taking place, I had my hand firmly clutching my pussy and could feel myself getting harder and wetter. As I unbuttoned my own trousers, I realised with no surprise whatsoever, that my own sexual juices were trickling out of me, moistening my knickers and reminding me of the urgent need to slide my fingers into a very needy and cum-ready cunt. Gently, submerging three fingers inside, I gradually reached to feel the bulging masses growing simultaneously with my friend's cock. I curled my fingers around and reached for my g spot and massaged away as I brought myself to a point where I knew I was about to cum. I reached inside again to feel an amazing amount of juices. Gurgling liquids ready to gush, and within seconds I could feel those hot squirts of cum trickling over my fingers and rushing down my hand, and then my legs as I pulled my fingers out of my body.
Just explaining this sequence of events has awoken my pussy, where I can feel a lovely familiar feeling rising between my thighs. I like that overwhelming feeling and urgent desire for sex. I love the sensation of arising sexual need.
So here it is. Me, finally understanding what Holly Johnson meant. Yet in 1984, even popstars couldn't have imagined that the advancement of technology would enable a phone fuck quite like that. For a young eighteen year old, who had only lost her virginity a matter of months before, this sort of stimulation was unbelievable, unrecognisable, unattainable. I didn't know that you could self-stimulate. I didn't think it was allowed, and yet, here I am some 24 years on describing sex on the phone via video connection that Holly J and his sexual 'relaxing' anthem could only envisage in his wildest dreams.
"No" responds the Frankie frontman, " but I have had sex with him over the telephone!".
Oh how we all laughed at the Liverpudlian humour and the riskee nature of that blatantly gay singer flirting with the ever so heterosexual DJ! Indeed for a naive 18 year old, it was quite an unusual comment and an awakening of sorts. I realised Holly was gay; I knew what that meant but I am not sure I really understood how gay men 'did' it. For all I knew, they probably did do it over the telephone, because that's a little odd, a little out of the ordinary, and I guessed that they could wank away as they spoke, so yes, I guess that would constitute sex on the telephone.
I had sex over the telephone today. Fucking good sex. I watched my friend as he unzipped his trousers and held his plentiful balls, cupped in his hands, whilst he teased the waistband of his pants away from his body. He then reached inside to reveal his lovely, stimulated cock that gradually grew with a carefully practiced yank and I hope an excitement that it was on full view for my eyes only.
He then pulled down his pants to give me a full and glorious sight of his hardened balls that I was sucking on some 48 hours previous and that luscious cock that was getting firmer by the second as he pulled his foreskin back and forth.
He then moved the camera further and nearer to his excited genitals so that I could see his precum juices oozing out of his hole and trickling down his thumb and foreskin. A magnificent sight. I could almost taste those juices as they dribbled out of him in his excited state.
Whilst all of this delightful activity was taking place, I had my hand firmly clutching my pussy and could feel myself getting harder and wetter. As I unbuttoned my own trousers, I realised with no surprise whatsoever, that my own sexual juices were trickling out of me, moistening my knickers and reminding me of the urgent need to slide my fingers into a very needy and cum-ready cunt. Gently, submerging three fingers inside, I gradually reached to feel the bulging masses growing simultaneously with my friend's cock. I curled my fingers around and reached for my g spot and massaged away as I brought myself to a point where I knew I was about to cum. I reached inside again to feel an amazing amount of juices. Gurgling liquids ready to gush, and within seconds I could feel those hot squirts of cum trickling over my fingers and rushing down my hand, and then my legs as I pulled my fingers out of my body.
Just explaining this sequence of events has awoken my pussy, where I can feel a lovely familiar feeling rising between my thighs. I like that overwhelming feeling and urgent desire for sex. I love the sensation of arising sexual need.
So here it is. Me, finally understanding what Holly Johnson meant. Yet in 1984, even popstars couldn't have imagined that the advancement of technology would enable a phone fuck quite like that. For a young eighteen year old, who had only lost her virginity a matter of months before, this sort of stimulation was unbelievable, unrecognisable, unattainable. I didn't know that you could self-stimulate. I didn't think it was allowed, and yet, here I am some 24 years on describing sex on the phone via video connection that Holly J and his sexual 'relaxing' anthem could only envisage in his wildest dreams.
Friday 16 May 2008
Feeling horny - again
Prologue
This was written a week ago and it has been altered accordingly.
I feel so horny at the moment. I've got a seriously juicy pussy, that has protruding labs in quiet desperation to be touched. I am lying here thinking about the many things that excite me and how much I need to pull up my skirt, to position my moist knickers away from my eager cunt, waiting to be released from the tight clothing around it. I want to slide my hand down my body toward my pussy, stroking the top of my clit through the warm texture of my pubic hairs that are gently covered with pre cum spotlets of excitement. I want to curl my fingers into a hook, beckoning toward my hole. I want to curve them into my body, swiftly following the contours of the folds of my inner skin, as I reach and manoevre toward my oh so very needy g spot. I want to feel my way toward my spot and to gently spring it to life. Then I want to push it with an urgent vigour, rubbing hard until it is ready to ejaculate hot, gushing streams of female spunk. I want to feel that overpowering climatic orgasm run through every vein of my body, bringing my sexuality to the heart and soul of my being.
And I want to do all of this with someone watching me, someone sitting before me holding their cock, enjoying the feel of it in their own hands. And as I am ready to cum, I want that cock placed underneath my cunt so that I can drip my juices all over it, and watch it grow with excitement as my fuck juices flow out if me. And once that cock has received the stimulation of my wetness, I want it to find its way straight into my cunt, immediately after I have cum, and jab hard within me, thrusting powerfully and ably until I cum again, with me pushing and yet retaining it within me, allowing cock and owner to be yet again smothered with my cum! And then, because I am feeling particularly greedy, I want to get on all fours, turn around and be fucked from behind with infinite passion and energy. And when the time is right, I want the cock to withdraw just at the time of climax and I want to feel hot, sticky semen splashing all over my arse. All over my arse, rubbed in and around it. And then I want to suck the remnants of cum away, savouring each droplet of flavour. I am now going to fuck myself senseless as I have about a gallon of fluid that will not allow me to rest in bed until I have seriously squirted.
Epilogue
And much of the above has just happened, just now. Hot, oozing juices cascading out of my sexually cleansed cunt, time after time, perpertually following on with but a touch of a finger, a fist, a fucking marvellous, majestic cock that pleasures me every single time it thrusts its way inside me, allowing me to devour it with the greed and hunger of my raw sexuality, pushing on that cock as it vies for space in my embellished, engorged pussy. I have just cum everywhere; over the settee, over the carpet, over that sensational cock, over my hands and his. Oh I want this again and soon. I felt that awesome, spunky, hot, hot cum as it splashed onto my arse, trickling down my body. And that was the very best arse massage I have ever experienced, artistically spreading warm, thick, glistening spunk into every pore, tickling me with the smoothness of the circling motion of a hand already moist from my own lubrications. A sensational, satisfying end to an evening. How I love to be fucked with such extraordinary care and consideration. And what makes it even more special and personal is that somebody took the time to read my words, to inwardly digest them and then ensure that my moment of fantasy horniness became a reality; all perfectly executed just as I had suggested and hoped. Maybe I should write more about other sexual fantasies and await the moment when they can be realised. Thank you, you fucking gorgeous human being.
And with a prologue and epilogue such as these, what on earth do we put into the main body of writing? I'll just have to fantasise something together.
This was written a week ago and it has been altered accordingly.
I feel so horny at the moment. I've got a seriously juicy pussy, that has protruding labs in quiet desperation to be touched. I am lying here thinking about the many things that excite me and how much I need to pull up my skirt, to position my moist knickers away from my eager cunt, waiting to be released from the tight clothing around it. I want to slide my hand down my body toward my pussy, stroking the top of my clit through the warm texture of my pubic hairs that are gently covered with pre cum spotlets of excitement. I want to curl my fingers into a hook, beckoning toward my hole. I want to curve them into my body, swiftly following the contours of the folds of my inner skin, as I reach and manoevre toward my oh so very needy g spot. I want to feel my way toward my spot and to gently spring it to life. Then I want to push it with an urgent vigour, rubbing hard until it is ready to ejaculate hot, gushing streams of female spunk. I want to feel that overpowering climatic orgasm run through every vein of my body, bringing my sexuality to the heart and soul of my being.
And I want to do all of this with someone watching me, someone sitting before me holding their cock, enjoying the feel of it in their own hands. And as I am ready to cum, I want that cock placed underneath my cunt so that I can drip my juices all over it, and watch it grow with excitement as my fuck juices flow out if me. And once that cock has received the stimulation of my wetness, I want it to find its way straight into my cunt, immediately after I have cum, and jab hard within me, thrusting powerfully and ably until I cum again, with me pushing and yet retaining it within me, allowing cock and owner to be yet again smothered with my cum! And then, because I am feeling particularly greedy, I want to get on all fours, turn around and be fucked from behind with infinite passion and energy. And when the time is right, I want the cock to withdraw just at the time of climax and I want to feel hot, sticky semen splashing all over my arse. All over my arse, rubbed in and around it. And then I want to suck the remnants of cum away, savouring each droplet of flavour. I am now going to fuck myself senseless as I have about a gallon of fluid that will not allow me to rest in bed until I have seriously squirted.
Epilogue
And much of the above has just happened, just now. Hot, oozing juices cascading out of my sexually cleansed cunt, time after time, perpertually following on with but a touch of a finger, a fist, a fucking marvellous, majestic cock that pleasures me every single time it thrusts its way inside me, allowing me to devour it with the greed and hunger of my raw sexuality, pushing on that cock as it vies for space in my embellished, engorged pussy. I have just cum everywhere; over the settee, over the carpet, over that sensational cock, over my hands and his. Oh I want this again and soon. I felt that awesome, spunky, hot, hot cum as it splashed onto my arse, trickling down my body. And that was the very best arse massage I have ever experienced, artistically spreading warm, thick, glistening spunk into every pore, tickling me with the smoothness of the circling motion of a hand already moist from my own lubrications. A sensational, satisfying end to an evening. How I love to be fucked with such extraordinary care and consideration. And what makes it even more special and personal is that somebody took the time to read my words, to inwardly digest them and then ensure that my moment of fantasy horniness became a reality; all perfectly executed just as I had suggested and hoped. Maybe I should write more about other sexual fantasies and await the moment when they can be realised. Thank you, you fucking gorgeous human being.
And with a prologue and epilogue such as these, what on earth do we put into the main body of writing? I'll just have to fantasise something together.
Monday 5 May 2008
Thinking of pornography
So photography and Zenpuss. Hopefully, a reasonable combination.
Let us look at photography in greater detail. And I am going to talk about pornography/photography. Because in many ways, the word 'pornography' suffers the same social distaste as its sister (!) word that I discussed in the previous blog. How many other words are out there under the disdainful cloud of public miscomprehension I wonder? Maybe we could go out and search for these words and rescue them from the tawdry demise.
Now many people would argue that one of the most beautiful sights in the world is that of the human, natural form. Why is this the case? Well, in itself, I actually think we are a beautiful species. We walk around zoos and look at all these animals in their wonderful, unrobed natural state and never, ever consider popping some panties over their bits as they freely pee for public view. A few little children may giggle, and their adults companions avert their eyes as the mammals mount one another in full glare of their little darlings but let us not forget, these are animals, who are working from their instinctive intelligence and performing according to a specific need of theirs. They don't worry about who is watching. I know. They do not have the brains and the intelligences of us human counterparts, but bear with me on this. We, as a species of animal, were once in this natural, raw state, where our sexuality was as instinctive as the giraffes and the zebras. I wonder when we decided to run into the cave to have sex rather than do it outside infront of other human beings? (Interestingly, there is an article discussing stone age sexuality which suggests that they were ‘the oldest swingers in town’ and certainly did discover recreational sex way, way before some people have previously thought. It was assumed that their sexual acts were merely performed for procreation. The article goes on to suggest that monogamy only became established “as hunter-gatherer societies took up agriculture and settled in houses, allowing the social roles of men and women to become more fixed”. Now this is definitely worth a blog later).
Gradually as the world moved on, and the functions of the brain became more refined, we developed other intelligences, other senses, other emotions and ultimately social taboos. (I realise that I am jumping around rather here, and need to get back to the point!). What I am trying to say is that we were once exactly as other animals; free to pee in public, free to have sex as and when our instinct told us to do so. We may not have developed the emotional and spiritual aspects of good sex at this point, but that is how it was. And jumping ahead again, we now find ourselves in a society when we do not express ourselves sexually in front of other people. We may kiss or hold hands. We might even have a little grope 'behind the bike sheds' or in the shadow of a backstreet building. But we do not have sex in front of other people. By this statement, I am not advocating this as a required day to day occurrence. I don't actually want to watch everyone having sex but I would quite like to see some people doing it, when I choose to, when I feel that it is going to turn me on and excite me.
And this is where the issue of pornography enters into the discussion.
Pornography. What is its actual meaning? The word itself derives, as with many of our language, from the Greek for prostitute ‘porne’ and writing ‘grapho’ – writing about prostitutes. So it already has a social complication. People are fine with writing and recording but they may not be as comfortable with prostitution, and many are certainly not comfortable with recording via photography. And those of us who have enjoyed posing for a few tantalizing photographs or video clips, have we been prostituting ourselves for the satisfaction of being recorded in our full, natural, glorious and sexual state? I don’t think so. The dictionary definition is ‘sexually explicit material whose primary purpose is to cause arousal’. Well that isn’t so bad, but now have a look at this other dictionary definition. Pornography is “obscene writings, drawings, photographs or the like, ….. those having little or no artistic merit”. Yet again, we are into the very negative interpretation of the word. Who the hell has made the judgement that photographs or pictures, words on a page, erotic sculptures and artefacts have no ‘artistic merit’? Our history, our treasured art throughout the world is full of images of naked people. Picasso, Michelangelo, Degas and Dali – they all produced the most wonderful, beautiful, sensual images of men and women; pictures of women splayed on chairs, displaying their sexuality for everyone to see. Do these masterpieces have no artistic merit? I don’t think so. Do we honestly, in our prudish manner, imagine that these pictures, statues etc were produced without the ‘primary purpose to cause arousal’? I don’t think so either.
Russell Brand opens his Booky Wooky with a scene from his confinement in a sexual addiction treatment centre. When he had arrived, the counsellors at the clinic had removed his copy of the Guardian because it had a photograph of the Venus de Milo. Bizarrely, they had allowed him to retain his copy of The Sun without removing the page three ‘stunner’. Now isn’t that a weird thing but it could further my argument about the true state of the art of pornography. Maybe these ‘sex experts’ realized that that the curvature of the statue, the life-like folds of the layers of muscle and skin on the stomach, the pertness of the breasts, the looseness of the clothing around the lower body were all far more tantalizing, arousing and exciting than the day to day big knockers on Page Three of the red tops. Maybe, the slight sight of the buttocks defined by that vertical line draws you to the linen drape and entices you into ‘thinking’ about what might the artist have seen on that day. What beauty lay beneath that piece of cloth? Isn’t this the tantalizing issue? Isn’t the arousal sometimes, in what we cannot see? These counsellors at Russell’s clinic clearly thought so. I am totally convinced that Mr. Brand, like many Essex and other boys, would certainly get off by looking at the tits as seen on page three, but the point is, he could equally have been aroused by the beauty and the definition of sexuality as seen through this image of Aphrodite. In our society, one is defined as pornography, albeit it mild, and one is defined as an internationally accepted thing of significant beauty. Yet, I strongly suspect that there was more sexual arousal, more expression of excitement in the making of the statue than the quick snap of the blond, boobed bombshell.
And why do I come to this conclusion? Well, I have visited a range of sites recently to have a peep (deliberate use of the word) at some naked bodies. I have looked at men with huge dicks, women touching themselves intimately. I have seen women with their hands cupped over another woman’s breasts, holding their tongues tantalizingly close to an erect nipple of another. I have seen men pushing their sizeable cocks into a woman’s shaven pussy, whilst she has her tongue sliding into her female partners cunt. I have seen women pouring juices out of their very needy and excited bodies. I have seen women’s faces splashed with cascading cum. Do these photographs excite me? Are they there for the purpose of causing arousal? Well of course they are. They are pornography, and they work for me. As I look, I can feel that familiar sensation growing within me; that bruising urgency of arousal that requires me to direct my hands to stimulate my clitoris or to finger my g spot until I too cum with a glorious gushing of my own sexuality. And yet, the real excitement is possibly in the ‘now’ when the photograph was taken. I am more excited by the fact that these people, who were posing for the photographs, were in a moment of extreme excitement when the photograph was taken. The real turn on is that. I am looking at their well-defined bodies, and enjoying their form, their features, the sex of it but I am also celebrating their moment of energy and vitality when that ‘now’ event took place. I know from experience how it feels to be photographed in some of those situations. I know what it is like to have someone snapping away as I gush. I know what it feels like to have a camera pointing at my cunt as I splay my legs and open my hole so that the folds of my skin, the redness of my desire, the wetness of my wanting can be seen by the photographer. I know all about the excitement of having a wonderful cock inside me and having a clear image, taken for prosperity, capturing the moment when I could feel that warmth of two bodies rubbing together and enjoying one another’s needs. The end product of the photographs is wonderful. They certainly are produced for the main purpose of arousal but the real arousal comes from the taking, from the actual moment, from the ‘now’ when it happens. Maybe this is why there can never be an exhaustion of wanting more images. I can look at many photos of cocks. There is a world wide web full of them. And yes, they can excite me. But nothing, nothing excites me more than the cock that is in front of me when I choose to take a photograph of it. I can look back at those photographs and get the whole flavour of the day, of the cock, of the sexual urgency and lust of the moment.
So my opinions of pornography have changed. Or have they? In reality, maybe I was always suppressing a desire to have a look. Maybe I have always had a need and a desire to look another people’s bodies. Maybe there are plenty of other people out there like me. The art of pornography is all about recording the sexuality of the moment from which others can take pleasure. As long as people are consensual then what can possibly be wrong with this? We have beautiful bodies. Like the animals in the zoo, we have nothing to hide. Some of our bodies may be less conventionally beautiful than the alleged ‘perfect ten’ but we all have a body that is sexual in form, and we should celebrate this as and how we choose.
I am very conscious that this discussion is just a starting point. I am aware that there is probably gross naivity in its writing, and it is certainly not the end of my blogging on pornography. I would like to explore this subject in far greater detail and have far more personal experience of it too.
Let us look at photography in greater detail. And I am going to talk about pornography/photography. Because in many ways, the word 'pornography' suffers the same social distaste as its sister (!) word that I discussed in the previous blog. How many other words are out there under the disdainful cloud of public miscomprehension I wonder? Maybe we could go out and search for these words and rescue them from the tawdry demise.
Now many people would argue that one of the most beautiful sights in the world is that of the human, natural form. Why is this the case? Well, in itself, I actually think we are a beautiful species. We walk around zoos and look at all these animals in their wonderful, unrobed natural state and never, ever consider popping some panties over their bits as they freely pee for public view. A few little children may giggle, and their adults companions avert their eyes as the mammals mount one another in full glare of their little darlings but let us not forget, these are animals, who are working from their instinctive intelligence and performing according to a specific need of theirs. They don't worry about who is watching. I know. They do not have the brains and the intelligences of us human counterparts, but bear with me on this. We, as a species of animal, were once in this natural, raw state, where our sexuality was as instinctive as the giraffes and the zebras. I wonder when we decided to run into the cave to have sex rather than do it outside infront of other human beings? (Interestingly, there is an article discussing stone age sexuality which suggests that they were ‘the oldest swingers in town’ and certainly did discover recreational sex way, way before some people have previously thought. It was assumed that their sexual acts were merely performed for procreation. The article goes on to suggest that monogamy only became established “as hunter-gatherer societies took up agriculture and settled in houses, allowing the social roles of men and women to become more fixed”. Now this is definitely worth a blog later).
Gradually as the world moved on, and the functions of the brain became more refined, we developed other intelligences, other senses, other emotions and ultimately social taboos. (I realise that I am jumping around rather here, and need to get back to the point!). What I am trying to say is that we were once exactly as other animals; free to pee in public, free to have sex as and when our instinct told us to do so. We may not have developed the emotional and spiritual aspects of good sex at this point, but that is how it was. And jumping ahead again, we now find ourselves in a society when we do not express ourselves sexually in front of other people. We may kiss or hold hands. We might even have a little grope 'behind the bike sheds' or in the shadow of a backstreet building. But we do not have sex in front of other people. By this statement, I am not advocating this as a required day to day occurrence. I don't actually want to watch everyone having sex but I would quite like to see some people doing it, when I choose to, when I feel that it is going to turn me on and excite me.
And this is where the issue of pornography enters into the discussion.
Pornography. What is its actual meaning? The word itself derives, as with many of our language, from the Greek for prostitute ‘porne’ and writing ‘grapho’ – writing about prostitutes. So it already has a social complication. People are fine with writing and recording but they may not be as comfortable with prostitution, and many are certainly not comfortable with recording via photography. And those of us who have enjoyed posing for a few tantalizing photographs or video clips, have we been prostituting ourselves for the satisfaction of being recorded in our full, natural, glorious and sexual state? I don’t think so. The dictionary definition is ‘sexually explicit material whose primary purpose is to cause arousal’. Well that isn’t so bad, but now have a look at this other dictionary definition. Pornography is “obscene writings, drawings, photographs or the like, ….. those having little or no artistic merit”. Yet again, we are into the very negative interpretation of the word. Who the hell has made the judgement that photographs or pictures, words on a page, erotic sculptures and artefacts have no ‘artistic merit’? Our history, our treasured art throughout the world is full of images of naked people. Picasso, Michelangelo, Degas and Dali – they all produced the most wonderful, beautiful, sensual images of men and women; pictures of women splayed on chairs, displaying their sexuality for everyone to see. Do these masterpieces have no artistic merit? I don’t think so. Do we honestly, in our prudish manner, imagine that these pictures, statues etc were produced without the ‘primary purpose to cause arousal’? I don’t think so either.
Russell Brand opens his Booky Wooky with a scene from his confinement in a sexual addiction treatment centre. When he had arrived, the counsellors at the clinic had removed his copy of the Guardian because it had a photograph of the Venus de Milo. Bizarrely, they had allowed him to retain his copy of The Sun without removing the page three ‘stunner’. Now isn’t that a weird thing but it could further my argument about the true state of the art of pornography. Maybe these ‘sex experts’ realized that that the curvature of the statue, the life-like folds of the layers of muscle and skin on the stomach, the pertness of the breasts, the looseness of the clothing around the lower body were all far more tantalizing, arousing and exciting than the day to day big knockers on Page Three of the red tops. Maybe, the slight sight of the buttocks defined by that vertical line draws you to the linen drape and entices you into ‘thinking’ about what might the artist have seen on that day. What beauty lay beneath that piece of cloth? Isn’t this the tantalizing issue? Isn’t the arousal sometimes, in what we cannot see? These counsellors at Russell’s clinic clearly thought so. I am totally convinced that Mr. Brand, like many Essex and other boys, would certainly get off by looking at the tits as seen on page three, but the point is, he could equally have been aroused by the beauty and the definition of sexuality as seen through this image of Aphrodite. In our society, one is defined as pornography, albeit it mild, and one is defined as an internationally accepted thing of significant beauty. Yet, I strongly suspect that there was more sexual arousal, more expression of excitement in the making of the statue than the quick snap of the blond, boobed bombshell.
And why do I come to this conclusion? Well, I have visited a range of sites recently to have a peep (deliberate use of the word) at some naked bodies. I have looked at men with huge dicks, women touching themselves intimately. I have seen women with their hands cupped over another woman’s breasts, holding their tongues tantalizingly close to an erect nipple of another. I have seen men pushing their sizeable cocks into a woman’s shaven pussy, whilst she has her tongue sliding into her female partners cunt. I have seen women pouring juices out of their very needy and excited bodies. I have seen women’s faces splashed with cascading cum. Do these photographs excite me? Are they there for the purpose of causing arousal? Well of course they are. They are pornography, and they work for me. As I look, I can feel that familiar sensation growing within me; that bruising urgency of arousal that requires me to direct my hands to stimulate my clitoris or to finger my g spot until I too cum with a glorious gushing of my own sexuality. And yet, the real excitement is possibly in the ‘now’ when the photograph was taken. I am more excited by the fact that these people, who were posing for the photographs, were in a moment of extreme excitement when the photograph was taken. The real turn on is that. I am looking at their well-defined bodies, and enjoying their form, their features, the sex of it but I am also celebrating their moment of energy and vitality when that ‘now’ event took place. I know from experience how it feels to be photographed in some of those situations. I know what it is like to have someone snapping away as I gush. I know what it feels like to have a camera pointing at my cunt as I splay my legs and open my hole so that the folds of my skin, the redness of my desire, the wetness of my wanting can be seen by the photographer. I know all about the excitement of having a wonderful cock inside me and having a clear image, taken for prosperity, capturing the moment when I could feel that warmth of two bodies rubbing together and enjoying one another’s needs. The end product of the photographs is wonderful. They certainly are produced for the main purpose of arousal but the real arousal comes from the taking, from the actual moment, from the ‘now’ when it happens. Maybe this is why there can never be an exhaustion of wanting more images. I can look at many photos of cocks. There is a world wide web full of them. And yes, they can excite me. But nothing, nothing excites me more than the cock that is in front of me when I choose to take a photograph of it. I can look back at those photographs and get the whole flavour of the day, of the cock, of the sexual urgency and lust of the moment.
So my opinions of pornography have changed. Or have they? In reality, maybe I was always suppressing a desire to have a look. Maybe I have always had a need and a desire to look another people’s bodies. Maybe there are plenty of other people out there like me. The art of pornography is all about recording the sexuality of the moment from which others can take pleasure. As long as people are consensual then what can possibly be wrong with this? We have beautiful bodies. Like the animals in the zoo, we have nothing to hide. Some of our bodies may be less conventionally beautiful than the alleged ‘perfect ten’ but we all have a body that is sexual in form, and we should celebrate this as and how we choose.
I am very conscious that this discussion is just a starting point. I am aware that there is probably gross naivity in its writing, and it is certainly not the end of my blogging on pornography. I would like to explore this subject in far greater detail and have far more personal experience of it too.
Saturday 3 May 2008
c word
The C-word. The unmentionable. We are back to semantics here again, aren't we?
I have just been reading the blog comment that I received yesterday, and I liked it enormously. There was this man, honest and open about his sexuality, which in itself is invigorating, explaining how he likes looking at cunts. He sees a desirable beauty in them. He can distinguish and discriminate, identifying all the intimate and preferable parts for him. He can enjoy for his own stimulation but he can equally use the visual information for the benefit of his sexual partners, using this knowledge to excite and empower the women with whom he chooses to have sex with.
I am delighted that he likes cunts. I like to see the look in his eyes, as he delves inside mine, carefully peeling the folds of skin away, plunging his fingers inside to manipulate and widen an already open and needy hole, sensitising every fibre as he smoothly submerges himself.
But he is probably unusual, maybe unique. Firstly, in that he is utterly genuine about his love of the beauty of a woman's cunt but secondly in that he is prepared to talk about it openly, without inhibition (within reason!), explaining quite candidly, that he is not mad, he is not perverse. He is simply an honest man reflecting his joy of the woman's body without feeling the need to hide his love of pornography under the sheets of his bed.
But let us explore this word - cunt. The word that is so disgraceful that it has its very own single letter acronym. How many words are known by a single letter? Do you know the A-word, the D-word and the S-word? Well I suppose there is the F-word; another unmentionable that we should pretend does not exist. ‘Cunt’ has such derogatory undertones. It is not a word that can be mentioned in public in the same way that ‘fuck’ can. It is deemed to be uncouth using this word publicly, so that when you use it in a 1:1 sexual situation, there is a slight unease with the first mention of it. I can remember sitting in a car, some time ago, when the man mentioned above wanted to explore me in a very intimate way. It wasn’t the first time that he had finger-fucked me in his car, but he, like me, enjoys sexual language, and he realized very quickly how much I enjoyed him languishing his linguistic expertise in my ear as part of a marvelous and enticing foreplay. He, being a thoughtful and politically correct person, mentioned how he was excited and energized by having his fingers in my cunt. And then he asked if I minded him using that word. I had no problem with him using it in that context, despite the fact that in other situations, I did feel uncomfortable with it. My discomfort with the word ‘cunt’ however, is the same as any other word that is used to deliberately degrade women. The word ‘bitch’ though is far more cutting, sharp and demeaning. And I do dislike the word cunt being used to describe something as dirty, bad, the ultimate nasty put down. I dislike the fact that people automatically see the word ‘cunt’ and think ‘yuck’!
I wonder whether our friends across the nations have the same problem with finding a word that reflects the wonder and the intense sexuality of a woman’s parts. The French word is ‘vagin’. What are their alternatives? I don’t know. What I do know is that one of their so-called slang words for vagina is ‘petite fleur’. How wonderful that our lovely counterparts across La Manche automatically use a beautiful image within their terminology for this thing of divine beauty.
But of course, as with any word, the meaning is in the use and visa versa. It is about context.
Let us look further. Our feminist friends have not really helped the cause. They too have taken umbrage with the word. It is a dirty word. It is degrading. It is denigrating women. Well, if you allow it to, then yes it is. But tell me an alternative that is appropriate. Ben Elton did a wonderful sketch a few years ago about the acceptable word variations for the penis, and the fact that there really was only one appropriate word for a woman’s bits – the VAGINA!. Isn’t vagina, he went on to say, such a clinical sounding word. I cannot replicate the humour but needless to say there was a long list of words used to describe the male sexual organs – cock, dick, willy, prick, manhood, schlong, shaft – the list is endless. All of these words were deemed to be okay, able to spoken aloud in general. What were the alternatives for vagina? Cunt (socially unacceptable – infact I am not sure he was allowed to use this word on the BBC), toot toot (honestly) miff, pussy. Even the latter was deemed as unacceptable by the majority.
So you are in a situation with a new partner. You badly want to explain how you are in dire need of penetrative sex. What are your alternatives?
“Hey, I would like your penis in my vagina”. Wouldn’t do too much for me.
“Hey, put your cock in my vagina.” Okay – may have used the cock word, which is a bit raunchier but the v-word is like an antidote for the blue pills.
“Hey, put your cock inside my cunt”. It really does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? It gets you in the mood. It makes you think that there is some worth to making that journey. Well, let’s make this known. Use the word for your benefit lady. After all, you do want something out of this sexual experience don’t you?
Maybe, there should be a feministic re-evaluation of this word. Maybe, we should reclaim it as our own. Maybe, we should get more women to consider using this word as a sensual, exciting word that reflects the rawness and earthiness of their sexuality. By placing it in the domain of women, then we can choose to make the word acceptable. How joyous it would be to do that, to lift a word from its social prison, allowing it the freedom that it deserves. Its very make up with hard consonants at the beginning and end of the word, with that mute, downward pushing penultimate ‘n’ and that urgent and most underused of vowels, standing its ground in the phonetic make up just epitomizes the urgency, the excitement, the thrill of the part of the body that it is trying to describe. So yet again, I call upon my fellow females to have a little rethink about this word, about how it is used, and see if we, with the aid of some well-meaning and sexually adjusted men, can reclaim this special little cunt word
I have just been reading the blog comment that I received yesterday, and I liked it enormously. There was this man, honest and open about his sexuality, which in itself is invigorating, explaining how he likes looking at cunts. He sees a desirable beauty in them. He can distinguish and discriminate, identifying all the intimate and preferable parts for him. He can enjoy for his own stimulation but he can equally use the visual information for the benefit of his sexual partners, using this knowledge to excite and empower the women with whom he chooses to have sex with.
I am delighted that he likes cunts. I like to see the look in his eyes, as he delves inside mine, carefully peeling the folds of skin away, plunging his fingers inside to manipulate and widen an already open and needy hole, sensitising every fibre as he smoothly submerges himself.
But he is probably unusual, maybe unique. Firstly, in that he is utterly genuine about his love of the beauty of a woman's cunt but secondly in that he is prepared to talk about it openly, without inhibition (within reason!), explaining quite candidly, that he is not mad, he is not perverse. He is simply an honest man reflecting his joy of the woman's body without feeling the need to hide his love of pornography under the sheets of his bed.
But let us explore this word - cunt. The word that is so disgraceful that it has its very own single letter acronym. How many words are known by a single letter? Do you know the A-word, the D-word and the S-word? Well I suppose there is the F-word; another unmentionable that we should pretend does not exist. ‘Cunt’ has such derogatory undertones. It is not a word that can be mentioned in public in the same way that ‘fuck’ can. It is deemed to be uncouth using this word publicly, so that when you use it in a 1:1 sexual situation, there is a slight unease with the first mention of it. I can remember sitting in a car, some time ago, when the man mentioned above wanted to explore me in a very intimate way. It wasn’t the first time that he had finger-fucked me in his car, but he, like me, enjoys sexual language, and he realized very quickly how much I enjoyed him languishing his linguistic expertise in my ear as part of a marvelous and enticing foreplay. He, being a thoughtful and politically correct person, mentioned how he was excited and energized by having his fingers in my cunt. And then he asked if I minded him using that word. I had no problem with him using it in that context, despite the fact that in other situations, I did feel uncomfortable with it. My discomfort with the word ‘cunt’ however, is the same as any other word that is used to deliberately degrade women. The word ‘bitch’ though is far more cutting, sharp and demeaning. And I do dislike the word cunt being used to describe something as dirty, bad, the ultimate nasty put down. I dislike the fact that people automatically see the word ‘cunt’ and think ‘yuck’!
I wonder whether our friends across the nations have the same problem with finding a word that reflects the wonder and the intense sexuality of a woman’s parts. The French word is ‘vagin’. What are their alternatives? I don’t know. What I do know is that one of their so-called slang words for vagina is ‘petite fleur’. How wonderful that our lovely counterparts across La Manche automatically use a beautiful image within their terminology for this thing of divine beauty.
But of course, as with any word, the meaning is in the use and visa versa. It is about context.
Let us look further. Our feminist friends have not really helped the cause. They too have taken umbrage with the word. It is a dirty word. It is degrading. It is denigrating women. Well, if you allow it to, then yes it is. But tell me an alternative that is appropriate. Ben Elton did a wonderful sketch a few years ago about the acceptable word variations for the penis, and the fact that there really was only one appropriate word for a woman’s bits – the VAGINA!. Isn’t vagina, he went on to say, such a clinical sounding word. I cannot replicate the humour but needless to say there was a long list of words used to describe the male sexual organs – cock, dick, willy, prick, manhood, schlong, shaft – the list is endless. All of these words were deemed to be okay, able to spoken aloud in general. What were the alternatives for vagina? Cunt (socially unacceptable – infact I am not sure he was allowed to use this word on the BBC), toot toot (honestly) miff, pussy. Even the latter was deemed as unacceptable by the majority.
So you are in a situation with a new partner. You badly want to explain how you are in dire need of penetrative sex. What are your alternatives?
“Hey, I would like your penis in my vagina”. Wouldn’t do too much for me.
“Hey, put your cock in my vagina.” Okay – may have used the cock word, which is a bit raunchier but the v-word is like an antidote for the blue pills.
“Hey, put your cock inside my cunt”. It really does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? It gets you in the mood. It makes you think that there is some worth to making that journey. Well, let’s make this known. Use the word for your benefit lady. After all, you do want something out of this sexual experience don’t you?
Maybe, there should be a feministic re-evaluation of this word. Maybe, we should reclaim it as our own. Maybe, we should get more women to consider using this word as a sensual, exciting word that reflects the rawness and earthiness of their sexuality. By placing it in the domain of women, then we can choose to make the word acceptable. How joyous it would be to do that, to lift a word from its social prison, allowing it the freedom that it deserves. Its very make up with hard consonants at the beginning and end of the word, with that mute, downward pushing penultimate ‘n’ and that urgent and most underused of vowels, standing its ground in the phonetic make up just epitomizes the urgency, the excitement, the thrill of the part of the body that it is trying to describe. So yet again, I call upon my fellow females to have a little rethink about this word, about how it is used, and see if we, with the aid of some well-meaning and sexually adjusted men, can reclaim this special little cunt word
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