Today and my sexuality

A Woman in her Forties, talking sex.

The question was, “What does it feel like to be a woman approaching the peak of her sexuality?” (apart from being continuously hot and horny).

The response was an amalgam of words that I associate with being a woman approaching my peak – exhausting, frustrating, fulfilled, blissful, grateful, divine, needy, juicy, empowered, lusty, dirty, frightened, satisfied, delighted. Most of these words had an accompanying explanation, for example, exhausting because I think about sex far more now than I did a few years ago, frustrating and needy because I cannot get the sex I want readily, fulfilled, blissful, divine, satisfied when I do get the sex that I want, etc.

These words are merely the tip of the iceberg as far as what I really want to write, how I really want express the feelings and thoughts of a more mature woman approaching, I hope, her sexual prime.

But the whole thing about being a sexy woman, no I will change that. The whole point about being a sexual being is that there are so many thoughts and facets, and it isn’t as simple as just happily and contentedly accepting your lot and getting on with it.

It can be totally all consuming, especially when you do have access to the sexual experience with an exceedingly sexual being that you happen to adore being with. It can equally be all consuming when you cannot access the experience or the person.

Take today. I had a rather bizarre dream last night that left me somewhat exhausted this morning; not exactly disturbed but certainly restless. As the day progressed doing my usual Sunday chores I was increasingly aware that I was feeling particular horny.

This is the lovely and irritating thing about being sexual. It is a delight to be able to conjure up both imagined and experienced images and thoughts pertaining to gloriously sexual times but when all those around you consider you to be relatively asexual, then you cannot really sit there and say, “Excuse me folks, I just need you all to get out the way so that I can go into the bathroom and have a damn good wank whilst looking at some photos of a delightful cock that I know”. Families are not really supposed to know about each individual member’s sexuality, are they? Not sure why, but that is the way it is. Even the most sexually enlightened aren’t exactly comfortable talking to their offspring or indeed their partner about their sexuality, especially if, in the case of the partner, this has not been the case for many a year.

So I have to say that it was rather frustrating for most of the day to be thinking about sex more or less continuously, and not being able to do anything about it until I managed to get my lover into a conversation that could, at least, partially placate my growing horniness. And I really don’t want to sound like a tedious broken record, always shoving innuendos into the conversation just to satisfy my over zealous sexuality, but I really need this.

Again, here is an example. I was talking to him about filming ourselves having sex, and how we could do this. I explained how for most of the day I was thinking about him shooting his cum when we last made love. It was a fucking delightful cum, spurting out in three or four clear shots that jetted out of his cock, all globby and horny. I do love, and I really mean love, seeing my lover squirting his spunk. It has to be one of the horniest sights ever. I always want to spread my hands in it, or lick it up. Utter fucking horniness. (You see, I’ve gone off again! Such a sexual one!).

Anyway, I was writing how I was looking forward to him spunking on me again as soon as possible, and I whilst I am writing this, I am almost writhing and wriggling, trying to contain my urges. I start to write a response and I actually have to contain myself because maybe he doesn’t really want to hear the explicitness of my mind on a grey and dreary Sunday afternoon. Just because I am feeling like a horny beast doesn’t mean that he has to be subjected to it too. So when he explains to me that he has plenty of more spunk to cover my anatomy with, I have to respond by saying, “Mmmm, that will be lovely darling” whereas in reality what I really want to say is something like, “I cannot wait for that moment. I am dribbling lubricants out of my pussy at the mere thought of you, your stiff cock and your sexual juices. I want you to cum all over my face, waving your spunking cock in front of me so that sperm splashes everywhere. I want you to cum on my pubes, soaking them and allowing your spunk to seep into my cunt, amalgamating with the plentiful quantities of fuck juices that will be gurgling away in there. I want you to cum all over my tits and then smother the spunk in as you rub your cock through your juices. I want you to demand that I open my mouth just as you are about to cum so that I can suck up the very last remnant of your juices to prolong your orgasm some more. I want you to spray your cum all over my arse, after thrusting deep inside me, making you feel so excited and energised that you need to whip your cock out just at the point you know you are about to explode”.

I am thinking all of this whilst I write, and it is wonderful. And maybe this is an example of a woman who is coming into her own, or indeed cumming into her own. A few years ago, I probably wouldn’t have been able to even think such explicit thoughts let alone put them down in a written form. I certainly hadn’t experienced them. And I don’t think people can really understand how liberating all of this is.

Not only have I experienced much of what I was thinking, but I also know what I want, what I aspire to sexually. If I was in a situation where I had another sexual partner, I know what I would want, how I would ask for it, and what I could give, I think. This is a major shift from a naïve, inexperienced thirty something, to a woman who is revelling in this newfound freedom of sexual subversity, for that is how some people would regard my behaviour.

And this is what I want to tell the world. I want young women in their twenties and in their thirties to know that they have a sexual awakening ready and waiting for them. But in a way, I really want them to be able to have their sexual awakening far sooner than I did. Everybody deserves, has the right to the freedom to express themselves sexually so that they can get the very best, the ultimate sexual experience, and not settle for anything that does not fulfil and overwhelm their mind, body and soul simultaneously.

I will explain more of this in my next blog, as this is just a little taster.

For tonight, there are two more points that I want to make.

Firstly, the constant feeling of being sexual really isn’t that constant. I do actually stop thinking about my pussy for large portions of the day. I am not totally debilitated by my sexual desires. I can actually operate and function normally, and I think the trick is to ensure that the sexuality does not have to be suppressed but enjoyed, embraced and, when the time is right, acknowledged enough to do something physical, sensual and practical about it. But I am not so consumed with my sexuality that it comes to mind every time I have a moment to myself. Such fanaticism would negate the wonderment I feel when I am being sexual. Having said that, there are fundamental changes. I am aware of my sexuality when I write, and I know that once I have posted this blog, I am going to be fairly keen on masturbating until I cum, and because I have been feeling particularly horny all day, I think I will probably cum more than once, which reminds me, I must put some new batteries in my purple pal. Here’s another odd thing. In the past, when I went to the loo or had a shower, it was all about daily ablutions or the simple act of peeing. Now I have to admit that I think about my body in a far more sexual way when I am cleansing myself, when I rub a sponge over my pussy or my tits. When I pee, I think about how much it can turn people on to listen to me peeing, and I get far more aroused by these little daily functions. I am far more at ease with the physical state of my sexuality, even if I am not entirely content with other parts of my body. And I when I am on the loo, I adore the freedom of not having my cunt contained in clothing. Silly really but I think this is a sign of being so much more comfortable with sex.

Secondly, there is the thing about my sexuality, how can I put this, not exactly in comparison with others but in a way, whether my sexuality and my sexual ability is actual as good as I am led to believe. I know that some might say it is totally irrelevant how good you are as long as you feel sexual, as long as you can feel the bliss and delight of all encompassing orgasm. This is where years of fallow and uneventful sex comes into play. If you are used to a fairly run of the mill sex life, then something different is bound to feel exciting. But what I feel about sex with my lover goes, I think, beyond this. I’ve had decent sexual partners before. I have had experiences of orgasm but I haven’t had the experience of ejaculating so vociferously. I haven’t experienced that blown out, Satori, utter mesmerising sex which leaves you speechless, exhausted in the most divine manner, where you body, mind and spirit is so totally satisfied that you literally don’t want to move or think.

I have had decent sex before but I am completely absorbed by this sexual experience, which is why I crave it so frequently.

This is not about comparisons but I would feel a little foolish if I considered the possibility that I am building this sexual intimacy and togetherness into something unique when in actual fact, for my lover, it is a relatively common experience.

I am so appalled and embarrassed by my naivety sexually that I tend to be dragged into the thought that just because this is the best sex I have ever experienced then it should be for my lover too, which of course is utter bollocks. I don’t need it to be the best sex he has ever experienced. I do not expect that in any way but I do hope that it is in some way comparable with his other wonderful experiences and not just a figment of my underused and under-developed imagination. I suppose I say this partly because if I am going to tell the world about this divine sexuality and the journey to sexual enlightenment, I just want to get it right for other people.

And as I write, I know.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is now. What matters is that right now, I am experiencing the most fantastic sex for me, and he is experiencing the wonderment of seeing a woman who he cares about flourish sexually, knowing that together there is even more to come,