Sleeping, sex and quickies
The article in the Guardian magazine told the world something quite amazing. It stated that there was correlation between how a couple slept together and how intimate they were when they were awake. It stated that the closest couples were those who went to bed at the same time, even if one fell asleep before the other. It stated that a lack of sleep can be quite stressful and the cause of inflated problems because fatigue affects the frontal lobes meaning that self-control can go out of the window. It then stated that you should do something together just before going to bed, like watching something you both enjoy on television rather than talking about mundane chores. It finished with the surprising conclusion that if you really want a good night’s sleep you should have damn fine sex, preferably with an orgasm. Apparently, endorphins released during orgasm have sedative qualities and arousal releases opiate like effects ensuring a good soporific state.
Tell me something I didn’t know, on nearly all of these statements.
But I suppose it is always good to have your knowledge confirmed by the weightier and more serious newspapers. It is always good for such newspapers to remind the unenlightened world that these are the realities of life and that sex is rather good for you in so many different ways, which is why people should do it more often!
I, of course, struggle with all of these statements, mainly because I know them to be right, mainly because even though I know them to be correct, I don’t live my life in this way.
I think sometimes that my lover thinks I have a perverse fixation with sleeping with him. I adore falling asleep with his arms wrapped around me, letting my endorphins loose, giving me that natural high from the opiate-like microbes or whatever they are. Blimey, we have always known that there are natural highs in life and there is nothing more natural and nothing more perfect than the natural high that comes from sex.
I love the times when we have slept together, falling gracefully into slumber after the usual phenomenally good sex that we have. And we have woken in the middle of the night and still needed to make love. And I have also delighted in waking up in the morning and having yet more sex because the intimacy and closeness of the sex just keeps the appetite going and the desire increases with more sex. Sex breeds more sex breeds further desire for sex and so on.
There is no saturation point – back to drugs and natural highs!
Yes, I think I can safely admit that I am addicted to this type of sex. I have an insatiable appetite.
Is it any wonder that I want it to happen more frequently? Is there any abnormality or perversion in that?
Sleeping with someone who you care about and who you want to share a bed with is a divine experience. The proximity, familiarity, loveliness is awesome. It is priceless. It is irreplaceable. It is what I crave, yes crave! In saying this, it doesn’t mean that without it my relationship is incomplete. Far from it, and we can always imagine - when it is not possible to spend a night with one another.
The joy is that I know enough about sex to know that irrespective of whether we are spending a night together, we still have the endorphins, we still have the natural highs and we can still de-stress and fall into a divinely soporific state. It doesn’t have to be night-time for this to happen.
It’s just that, as this article points out, that would be a sensible state. That would probably be the natural way to live.
This is the ultimate stress buster!
And I know this because in my life, I break all these natural rules. I go to bed hours before my partner. We sleep at either end of the bed. We don’t watch television together. We don’t do these things.
We certainly don’t have sex.
I know the reader might say “Well do something about it” but life is not that simple. I’m not into comparisons but sometimes, it is difficult. It is so difficult.
I’m not going to write any more about this because I fear that I could be seen as the biggest hypocrite in the world for espousing this as a way of life and not managing to engage in it myself.
Needless to say, in different circumstances this would be exactly the way I would go to bed, night in night out.
One final comment, though I must add.
In this article it said it would be a good idea to go to bed together after watching something you both enjoy on television. Whilst I think this is a good idea, I also think that talking to one another is also something that I would advocate. You don’t need television. Talking, not about chores but just talking is good. And the other thing missing from this article is music.
Those words at the start of Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” were not just conjured up on a whim!
Music and love, whatever that may be, go hand in hand. Before, during, after sex – music is life-giving, life-enhancing.
Use it wisely!
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Another magazine, another sex article – only this time it is advocating quickies.
It says that we shouldn’t dismiss the quickie as an insignificant sexual experience compared with the longer version with full-on foreplay. It says that a ten minute quickie instead of “45 minutes” is often more appealing to women. It goes on to say that the wonderful “new man” may be worried about giving his woman a quickie because it doesn’t really give her time to orgasm (Duh???) and is therefore somewhat selfish. Apparently, when talking about quickies, the majority of the women interviewed used words such as ‘energised’, ‘exhilarated’, ‘empowered’, ‘invigorated’.
“It provides more of a buzz, rather than that sleepy relaxed feeling of long sex” says one contributor. And then comes the comment from the specialist – the expert. “Even a 20 second hug raises your oxytocin (bonding hormone) levels”. So a quickie is fine.
Before I make comments on these, I have to mention one wonderful anecdotal fact in this article. It says that a recent Scottish study found that people who have sex every other day looked seven to 12 years younger than the less active!
So maybe the best birthday present one can give to their partner is sex every other day. I think this is a must. It has to be arranged. What greater gift can you give to one another, especially if there is concern that age is creeping up and up and up!
Right, let us return to this article.
One of the first things I would like to say is that it is once more positive to see articles about sex in a relatively up market magazine. People should be encouraged to get sex as often as possible, and should not dismiss the pleasantries of a quickie.
In contrast to this though, I sincerely hope there might be a day when people read these articles purely for affirmation of their behaviour rather than learning something new. I hope that information based articles should be redundant.
Whilst I am about to scrutinise and challenge some of the comments and do exactly what I am about to complain about, I have to say something.
Is it really necessary to compartmentalise sex in this way? Quickies, long love-making, oral sex, DIY – we order, analyse, circumnavigate sex too often. It goes back to a statement I have made time and time again. In this country we are so preoccupied with sex that we don’t actually get round to doing it, naturally, as it comes, as it feels right in the moment. We pretend that we are enlightened about sex but the very fact that we need such articles suggests that we are hardly using this wealth of knowledge in our daily sexual lives. I think there is a huge danger than people feel they are sexually enlightened because they read such articles without blushing. Now get them to read the article with their partner. Different story, I think. Now get them to do some of the things suggested in the articles – and it is time for sleep and crawling under the duvet, away from aforementioned partner. Or am I being too harsh?
Anyway, as promised, let’s get back to the article.
I actually think it is a good idea to suggest people have quickies whenever they can. Quick sex is brilliantly horny. Recently, I had very little time with my lover and he suggested frigging me till I came on the kitchen floor. At first I was disappointed that we didn’t have longer, then I realised that in procrastinating, we had actually run out of time, so a very small finger fuck was all there was time for, and I had to hold back from cumming because there wasn’t enough time!
The point is that if the time is right for sex you should just get on with it because that is the right thing to do.
Of course, I am going to have to take exception to this idea that women cannot cum quickly. To be fair, even the article says that this is bollocks. “Women do not take longer to get aroused than men; they simply get too little and the wrong kind of stimulation” says the co-authors Marcia and Lisa Douglass in their book, “Are We Having Fun Yet: The Intelligent Woman’s Guide to Sex”.
And herein lies the issue. People do not use all of their intelligences to get aroused.
By the time my lover has got his fingers or his cock or his tongue into my cunt, I’m already there, quickie or no quickie, because he fucks my mind as competently as he fucks my body. He has stimulated me, and I have enabled him to stimulate me with his kisses or the urgency in his eyes. There have been times when I have thought about sex so much on my journey to his house that I am completely aroused before he opens the door, such is my anticipation and imaginative foreplay, so that as soon as he touches me, I am aware that one millimetre of a move will bring on a cascade.
Essentially, I use my mind as well as my body and then I remember and embrace the spiritual wonderment of sex and all of this BEFORE any bodily contact has taken place.
Please listen to this folks. This is so damn important.
Women can get aroused but don’t leave it all down to your partner twiddling and fiddling with your sexual organs. DO something about it for yourself with your thoughts and your feelings, even if you cannot contemplate giving yourself a finger fuck to get things going.
The other thing that I want to mention is this timing issue. A quickie could be three minutes if you want it. There are some people who will read this article and think that ten minutes is a long session not a quickie, and will be quite demoralised. Poor them is what I say because on reading this article, I was feeling somewhat smug. The reason for this smugness was the fact that they suggested that 45 minutes was a long love-making session.
Pah! That’s sort of medium. I am such a bloody, lucky girl. Over an hour is not unusual. Two hours on and off has not been unheard of. Going back to the Guardian article, prolonged sex interspersed with sleeping is not unheard of; perpetual non-stop sex through the night is going to happen and soon! Promise!
I don’t want people to feel horribly envious of me and I am only saying this to remind people that if they want hour or hour’s long sex, then they should strive for it, for it is attainable.
Again, I am not suggesting that I have cock inside me for an entire, uninterrupted two hours, but who the hell said penetrative sex was the be all and end all of sex?
Give me a good finger fuck; shove even more than one or two fingers up my fanny, and replace them with a hard cock, and I can guarantee I’ll be happy. Lick my cunt and take my copious cum in your mouth and I promise I won’t want to stop there. Lie down and relax for a while whilst grabbing a handful of my tit, gently tweaking my erect nipples – it’s still sex and as soon as I am ready for more, I will spread my legs or take your hand and forcefully direct it to do some more work. It’s all sex!
‘Energised’, ‘exhilarated’, ‘empowered’, ‘invigorated’ – these are all words that everyone should be using about sex whether it lasts for three, five, ten, twenty, eighty or two hundred minutes. These are the feelings that come from good sex, and it is the goodness of the sex rather than the amount of time which is the really important thing, the thing that we should be advocating above and beyond anything else.
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And just to prove the point, I’m going to have to have a quickie now – a quick wank because whilst I was writing this penultimate paragraph, I had a huge flashback to the incredible sex I had last week and a rush of adrenelin and hormonal rushes at the thought of having that again.
Monday 27 July 2009
Wednesday 22 July 2009
Writing about sex
When you are awoken, enlivened and excited you want to tell the world – well I do anyway.
I think I was born with a desire to help other people, or maybe it was part of the nurturing process, but that is a conversation for another time.
Come to think of it, it would be quite a good discussion – Sexuality and the Nature/Nurture debate.
Obviously as humans, we have a predilection for sex due to the fact that we are essentially animals and it is the way that we reproduce. But where does the appreciation, acceptance and for want of a better word acknowledgement of our sexuality come from? Is that instinctive as well or does it have to be carefully nurtured, without being stymied by the constraints of social acceptability?
Later!
To return to my original theme, I have always wanted to help people to make the best of their lives. I want people to realise their potential, not merely academically or intellectually, but to really live life to the full, using their emotions, caring for one another, feeling good, stretching themselves, learning to be empathetic, looking at the abundant beauty of their world and their lives.
It all sounds very visionary, but why shouldn’t people have a vision and a hope? Doesn’t that keep us alive and thoughtful?
I had a chosen path – a career choice that enabled me to ‘help’. The pathway needs a diversion at the moment because I cannot reach the people that I originally intended to ‘help’ but what this diversion has also brought is the thought that there are other ways and other people that I could help.
‘Help’ has been placed in inverted commas because I am not sure it is the right word. Help implies a certain amount of reliance, and as far as sexuality is concerned, I want people to discover their sexuality and revel in it for themselves. I want them to explore their sexuality and be invigorated by it and its potential to continue to excite and energise them. I also want them to know that whilst sexuality is reliant on relationships or encounters with other people, there is plenty one can do for yourself, and I am not just talking about masturbation.
Sex is about the mind, body and soul; learning what you want and need to enable that climatic combination of these three core elements of sexuality is something that everyone should, at the very least, be aware of.
So how can I help?
Sometimes, I am not so sure but one of the things that I am trying to do with these blogs is to show people that sexuality is not something for a chosen few. It is not something for the twenty something’s alone. It is not wrong or unacceptable to be a horny woman with 2.4 kids in middle age. It is something that people should be far more concerned about and it is something that is ‘achievable’ for the majority not the minority.
So how can I do this?
I guess, by doing what I do – looking at areas of sexuality that are either taboo or unspoken, thinking about the politics and the socialisation of sexuality, writing to normalise the sexual experiences that I am currently having.
And this is precisely where I am today.
All I want to do is write an account of my most recent sexual experience.
There are a variety of reasons that I want to do this.
Firstly, it enables me to relive the special, horny moments that I have most recently had. In the writing of this, I can enjoy remembering every little detail and it turns me on once more, so that I can physically recollect and thus feel my cunt coming alive with that heavy and pressing urgency of sexual fluids building up and ultimately needing release.
Secondly, I hope that my lover will read such accounts and similar physical and emotional things will happen with him. How often do we actually have this opportunity to read about your partner’s feelings and thoughts about their own sexuality because of what you have done to them or had done by them?
Thirdly, I write to show people that this is my life, and it could be theirs too.
I want to ‘help’ people to understand that this beautiful sexuality is not just some unattainable aspiration but they could and more importantly should be experiencing the type of experiences that I am having.
This is real folks. This is not some imagination or some titillation to attempt to excite. This is an account of the realities of breathtaking appreciation of my sexuality and the sexuality of another.
Finally, I hope that by reading about my sexual experiences, other people would consider writing about their sexual experiences to see what this whole process of writing does for them.
So, here we go.
Last night, I was, quite frankly knackered. Not sexually knackered but really tired and drained from a range of meetings and events over the last few weeks. I slumped into the chair to eat my evening meal and could so easily have drifted into a long and deep slumber.
Once I had refuelled myself with some tasty food however, I finally woke up, not to an overt and ridiculous frisky level, just a pleasant acknowledgement that I was alive.
Sitting there watching television, sex was not at the forefront of my mind. I was simply enjoying a simple, normal evening in front of the box, settling into a very loving embrace – just being comfortable.
And I don’t want the readers to think that I am so sexually driven that I am incapable of just enjoying this type of evening. I would have been more than satisfied to leave it at that. There is an utter delight for me to simply sit and be held and share the commonplace normalities of tv watching. It isn’t that I needed sex that much. It isn’t that I had an urgency to fuck.
But I’d been awakened and there I was, suddenly aware that parts of my body, my mind and my entire being was been consumed by simply feeling good, and well – if there is an opportunity to be sexual then fine – I guess it doesn’t take too much to get me going.
So, when he held me, it felt wonderful. When he placed his arm across my chest, it felt right, when he pushed his hand into my bra and twiddled away, gently manipulating my nipples, it felt deliciously warm.
Did he do all of this knowing that once stimulated, I was not likely to be able to stop at a boob massage? I doubt it. He did it because it felt right for him to do that; just sit there and hold me. It is perfectly natural to want to sit there and fiddle with my tits. It is not a prerequisite or a carefully planned form of foreplay. It is was just the right thing to do, and although he knows me well enough to know that once stimulated I am highly likely to want more, it wasn’t why he did it.
So as he is gently caressing by tits, cupping them in his ample hands, I feel a need to reciprocate, not as some sort of quid pro quo, but I just want to feel his balls in my hand.
I had no intention to vigorously grasp them so that he instantly gained a hard on. That was not my motive. I just want to smooth my fingers around his balls, feeling the firmness of them, running my hand around their shape, their form.
Of course, they change shape then. His cock, which is peacefully lying over his balls begins to grow with my slight and gentle touches, and his balls are similarly tightening, contracting and expanding at my touch.
I now want to feel them for real. I don’t want them to be covered and restricted by the cloth of either his jeans or his pants. I want my hand to forage through his knickers, through his pubes to reach down and fold my entire hand over his cock and balls, and as I continue to run my fingers subtly up and down his cock, I am aware of a need to move it to an upright position so that I can really begin to squeeze his balls in my hand.
I love feeling that part of him where his balls and cock come together, and as I do this, I know my hands need to take his cock and clutch it, and I know that the time has come where he needs to be stroked into a sizable hard on.
Time is taken, there is no rush, despite a ticking clock reminding me that I should be on my way.
Time is insignificant now and counts for nothing. His cock is growing in my hands, because I am touching him and he is responding not just physically but as I look across to him, I know, from the look on his face, that the physical enjoyment is transforming into that overwhelming joy of inviting the mind and the soul to join in the fun.
His cock is now enormous and stiff and I am now rubbing him fairly vigorously and he is enjoying it.
I have never read a book about how to wank. I never know whether I am doing it properly, other than the obvious reaction of a stiffy, but he assures me once more, that this is what he likes and what he wants. Similarly, as I take his sizeable one in my mouth, I have no idea as to whether this is the best way to give head. I don’t know whether I should be sucking more, or licking more, or providing more variety in the strength of my touches but whatever I am doing, he seems to be enjoying.
I adore the taste of my lover’s cock in my mouth. I love to feel it slide down my mouth to the point of contact with my gagging reflex. I want to suck him hard and wipe my tongue all over his dick that is increasingly excited as it sits in my moist imitation of the juicy cunt below.
By now, I am alternating between going down on him and wanking away. His stiff cock and his gentle moans of satisfaction remind me that I am clearly doing something that appeals to him and I cannot decide what I want more – his cock in my hands, my mouth or my cunt which is about to explode.
With passionate kissing, and longing licks of lips, with swirling, intertwined tongues we know that our sexuality is heightened. We both want each other and yet, in a way, penetrative sex is not essential. We have the reality, the truth and the delights of our sexuality right here and now. The fucking of cock and cunt is not a vital element at this point.
But I want to cum and I cannot do that subtly right now. I have to whip my knickers and trousers off because I know that I am about to spunk a fucking big load out of my bulging cunt.
His cock is so fucking beautiful at this point and I want to cum. It is overwhelming. My desire to cum is almost unbearable. I rush my attire away as he too de-robes. I didn’t need his cock inside me to cum. I was there with my mind. As he held his cock in one hand and my pussy in the other, I was completely sexually alive and ready for some penetrative sex. So the obvious thing to do was sit right down on his erection and fuck him hard as I ride away to an aggressively hot and fulsome gush.
I soaked his shirt and his sofa. His tummy, pubes, balls and cock were drenched in my sex. And still I kept on riding him because my cum was still cumming. More cum, more delight, more fucking, more wonderful, wonderful kissing and acknowledgement of our joint desire and joint sexuality. How good can this get? Can it really get any better than this?
And to top it all, he finishes himself off with a fantastic gush of spunk that I wipe all over my panties so that I can go to bed that night smelling his fuck juices as a reminder, as if I needed one, of this sensational sexuality that we share.
Oh yes, writing about this is damn good.
My reasons for writing are done.
I’m so turned on that I have had to interrupt this writing to escape to the toilet and get a few fingers inside me to ease the ubiquitous juices out of me. I hope that the second reason for writing will come with my lover reading this account.
The third and fourth reason – well that is up to the readers.
Please feel free to respond.
I think I was born with a desire to help other people, or maybe it was part of the nurturing process, but that is a conversation for another time.
Come to think of it, it would be quite a good discussion – Sexuality and the Nature/Nurture debate.
Obviously as humans, we have a predilection for sex due to the fact that we are essentially animals and it is the way that we reproduce. But where does the appreciation, acceptance and for want of a better word acknowledgement of our sexuality come from? Is that instinctive as well or does it have to be carefully nurtured, without being stymied by the constraints of social acceptability?
Later!
To return to my original theme, I have always wanted to help people to make the best of their lives. I want people to realise their potential, not merely academically or intellectually, but to really live life to the full, using their emotions, caring for one another, feeling good, stretching themselves, learning to be empathetic, looking at the abundant beauty of their world and their lives.
It all sounds very visionary, but why shouldn’t people have a vision and a hope? Doesn’t that keep us alive and thoughtful?
I had a chosen path – a career choice that enabled me to ‘help’. The pathway needs a diversion at the moment because I cannot reach the people that I originally intended to ‘help’ but what this diversion has also brought is the thought that there are other ways and other people that I could help.
‘Help’ has been placed in inverted commas because I am not sure it is the right word. Help implies a certain amount of reliance, and as far as sexuality is concerned, I want people to discover their sexuality and revel in it for themselves. I want them to explore their sexuality and be invigorated by it and its potential to continue to excite and energise them. I also want them to know that whilst sexuality is reliant on relationships or encounters with other people, there is plenty one can do for yourself, and I am not just talking about masturbation.
Sex is about the mind, body and soul; learning what you want and need to enable that climatic combination of these three core elements of sexuality is something that everyone should, at the very least, be aware of.
So how can I help?
Sometimes, I am not so sure but one of the things that I am trying to do with these blogs is to show people that sexuality is not something for a chosen few. It is not something for the twenty something’s alone. It is not wrong or unacceptable to be a horny woman with 2.4 kids in middle age. It is something that people should be far more concerned about and it is something that is ‘achievable’ for the majority not the minority.
So how can I do this?
I guess, by doing what I do – looking at areas of sexuality that are either taboo or unspoken, thinking about the politics and the socialisation of sexuality, writing to normalise the sexual experiences that I am currently having.
And this is precisely where I am today.
All I want to do is write an account of my most recent sexual experience.
There are a variety of reasons that I want to do this.
Firstly, it enables me to relive the special, horny moments that I have most recently had. In the writing of this, I can enjoy remembering every little detail and it turns me on once more, so that I can physically recollect and thus feel my cunt coming alive with that heavy and pressing urgency of sexual fluids building up and ultimately needing release.
Secondly, I hope that my lover will read such accounts and similar physical and emotional things will happen with him. How often do we actually have this opportunity to read about your partner’s feelings and thoughts about their own sexuality because of what you have done to them or had done by them?
Thirdly, I write to show people that this is my life, and it could be theirs too.
I want to ‘help’ people to understand that this beautiful sexuality is not just some unattainable aspiration but they could and more importantly should be experiencing the type of experiences that I am having.
This is real folks. This is not some imagination or some titillation to attempt to excite. This is an account of the realities of breathtaking appreciation of my sexuality and the sexuality of another.
Finally, I hope that by reading about my sexual experiences, other people would consider writing about their sexual experiences to see what this whole process of writing does for them.
So, here we go.
Last night, I was, quite frankly knackered. Not sexually knackered but really tired and drained from a range of meetings and events over the last few weeks. I slumped into the chair to eat my evening meal and could so easily have drifted into a long and deep slumber.
Once I had refuelled myself with some tasty food however, I finally woke up, not to an overt and ridiculous frisky level, just a pleasant acknowledgement that I was alive.
Sitting there watching television, sex was not at the forefront of my mind. I was simply enjoying a simple, normal evening in front of the box, settling into a very loving embrace – just being comfortable.
And I don’t want the readers to think that I am so sexually driven that I am incapable of just enjoying this type of evening. I would have been more than satisfied to leave it at that. There is an utter delight for me to simply sit and be held and share the commonplace normalities of tv watching. It isn’t that I needed sex that much. It isn’t that I had an urgency to fuck.
But I’d been awakened and there I was, suddenly aware that parts of my body, my mind and my entire being was been consumed by simply feeling good, and well – if there is an opportunity to be sexual then fine – I guess it doesn’t take too much to get me going.
So, when he held me, it felt wonderful. When he placed his arm across my chest, it felt right, when he pushed his hand into my bra and twiddled away, gently manipulating my nipples, it felt deliciously warm.
Did he do all of this knowing that once stimulated, I was not likely to be able to stop at a boob massage? I doubt it. He did it because it felt right for him to do that; just sit there and hold me. It is perfectly natural to want to sit there and fiddle with my tits. It is not a prerequisite or a carefully planned form of foreplay. It is was just the right thing to do, and although he knows me well enough to know that once stimulated I am highly likely to want more, it wasn’t why he did it.
So as he is gently caressing by tits, cupping them in his ample hands, I feel a need to reciprocate, not as some sort of quid pro quo, but I just want to feel his balls in my hand.
I had no intention to vigorously grasp them so that he instantly gained a hard on. That was not my motive. I just want to smooth my fingers around his balls, feeling the firmness of them, running my hand around their shape, their form.
Of course, they change shape then. His cock, which is peacefully lying over his balls begins to grow with my slight and gentle touches, and his balls are similarly tightening, contracting and expanding at my touch.
I now want to feel them for real. I don’t want them to be covered and restricted by the cloth of either his jeans or his pants. I want my hand to forage through his knickers, through his pubes to reach down and fold my entire hand over his cock and balls, and as I continue to run my fingers subtly up and down his cock, I am aware of a need to move it to an upright position so that I can really begin to squeeze his balls in my hand.
I love feeling that part of him where his balls and cock come together, and as I do this, I know my hands need to take his cock and clutch it, and I know that the time has come where he needs to be stroked into a sizable hard on.
Time is taken, there is no rush, despite a ticking clock reminding me that I should be on my way.
Time is insignificant now and counts for nothing. His cock is growing in my hands, because I am touching him and he is responding not just physically but as I look across to him, I know, from the look on his face, that the physical enjoyment is transforming into that overwhelming joy of inviting the mind and the soul to join in the fun.
His cock is now enormous and stiff and I am now rubbing him fairly vigorously and he is enjoying it.
I have never read a book about how to wank. I never know whether I am doing it properly, other than the obvious reaction of a stiffy, but he assures me once more, that this is what he likes and what he wants. Similarly, as I take his sizeable one in my mouth, I have no idea as to whether this is the best way to give head. I don’t know whether I should be sucking more, or licking more, or providing more variety in the strength of my touches but whatever I am doing, he seems to be enjoying.
I adore the taste of my lover’s cock in my mouth. I love to feel it slide down my mouth to the point of contact with my gagging reflex. I want to suck him hard and wipe my tongue all over his dick that is increasingly excited as it sits in my moist imitation of the juicy cunt below.
By now, I am alternating between going down on him and wanking away. His stiff cock and his gentle moans of satisfaction remind me that I am clearly doing something that appeals to him and I cannot decide what I want more – his cock in my hands, my mouth or my cunt which is about to explode.
With passionate kissing, and longing licks of lips, with swirling, intertwined tongues we know that our sexuality is heightened. We both want each other and yet, in a way, penetrative sex is not essential. We have the reality, the truth and the delights of our sexuality right here and now. The fucking of cock and cunt is not a vital element at this point.
But I want to cum and I cannot do that subtly right now. I have to whip my knickers and trousers off because I know that I am about to spunk a fucking big load out of my bulging cunt.
His cock is so fucking beautiful at this point and I want to cum. It is overwhelming. My desire to cum is almost unbearable. I rush my attire away as he too de-robes. I didn’t need his cock inside me to cum. I was there with my mind. As he held his cock in one hand and my pussy in the other, I was completely sexually alive and ready for some penetrative sex. So the obvious thing to do was sit right down on his erection and fuck him hard as I ride away to an aggressively hot and fulsome gush.
I soaked his shirt and his sofa. His tummy, pubes, balls and cock were drenched in my sex. And still I kept on riding him because my cum was still cumming. More cum, more delight, more fucking, more wonderful, wonderful kissing and acknowledgement of our joint desire and joint sexuality. How good can this get? Can it really get any better than this?
And to top it all, he finishes himself off with a fantastic gush of spunk that I wipe all over my panties so that I can go to bed that night smelling his fuck juices as a reminder, as if I needed one, of this sensational sexuality that we share.
Oh yes, writing about this is damn good.
My reasons for writing are done.
I’m so turned on that I have had to interrupt this writing to escape to the toilet and get a few fingers inside me to ease the ubiquitous juices out of me. I hope that the second reason for writing will come with my lover reading this account.
The third and fourth reason – well that is up to the readers.
Please feel free to respond.
Saturday 11 July 2009
Back to Erotica
Back to Erotica
Last month, whilst on my way to experience yet more erotic behaviour, I listened to the new owner of Erotic Review Magazine talking about the re-launch, explaining why most of her contributors were going to be males.
I was affronted by the fact that she thought women were more or less incapable of writing decent erotic prose, if that is not deemed an oxymoron by some.
“Women are not passionate enough about sex and concentrate too much on feelings to be able to write raunchy stories”, said Kate Copstick. "It's almost like writing about food ... Ladies who lunch, should not really write about food because they don't really love food. They don't salivate at the thought of a great steak."
Believe me, Ms Copstick. I certainly salivate at the thought of great steak.
The counterargument to women writing about sex came from Kathy Lette. In her argument, she explained that her collection of short stories, “In Bed With….” had been a popular seller, thus proving that women could write well about sex and all things erotic. She continued by saying that a third of women were not achieving orgasm which showed men still had a lot to learn, with women well place to teach them.
I have a slight problem with Ms. Lette’s argument.
Firstly, her collection of short stories written by prominent female authors was quite frankly as erotic as a quick finger fuck behind the bike sheds, only less so. The writing was clichéd and stilted. It was full of big cocks, simmering lust, heavy breathing and Meg Ryan style orgasmic wails.
This brings me to my second point. Just because you are a female does not mean that you can teach a bloke how to bring you to orgasm. Most women don’t know what it is that makes them orgasm. Most women don’t want to touch themselves to find out, so are they really best placed to tell a man how to do it? Surely, if a third of women are not reaching orgasm (and I actually question this for I fear it is higher) then how can these women know what to expect?
Orgasms are not just going to happen by a slight manoeuvring of fingers, you know. I think it is far more complicated than that.
I sincerely doubt whether some of the famous female authors in Kathy’s book had actually experienced an orgasm, and clearly from what I had tediously read thus far in the book, they have never experienced the wonderment of a gushing tsunami of an orgasm.
Which brings me back to Ms Copstick, who I am sure would be honest enough to say that she has indeed had extremely wet and agreeable orgasms.
She argues that women are not passionate enough about sex and that they complicate and degrade the erotic by bringing feelings into the equation. She states that they concentrate “too much on feelings”.
Guilty as charged, Ms. Copstick.
When I am writing about sex, I absolutely want to feel it. Isn’t that the point? How can you have erotic, sexually explicit writing without feeling it in your groins as you write or read? I absolutely want to feel it because there is no feeling in the world as brilliant and sensational as sexual arousal and climax. And isn’t erotica without feelings just porn?
I am, of course, taking her comments out of context. What she is saying is that as a general rule, women find it difficult to separate the sexual act itself from the feelings associated for the person in which you are engaged in sexual liaisons. She is basically saying that women are too preoccupied with the emotions involved with sex to be passionate about the physicality of the action. She is saying that women are not passionate about sex itself, they are more likely to be passionate about the partner that they are having sex with. And to some extent she is right.
But this is not all women.
As a mid forties woman, I cannot be alone in being passionate about sex. How could you be anything but passionate about something that overwhelms and excites, energises and delights? How can you not be passionate about the one thing that sends you into oblivion that is life giving in its own right?
For me, sex is way too important not to be passionate about it.
What makes it all the more passionate for me is being able to enjoy sex with someone who is equally as passionate about it as I am, and is equally as passionate about me as I am about them. It is these feelings that Ms. Copstick might criticise. She might assume that I cannot write erotica because of ‘feelings’. I would counter argue that I can write better erotic material because of those feelings.
As with so many things in life, you cannot separate the mind, body and soul. If things are working well, they are embracing the power of all three. The brain, as more than one commentator has stated, is the largest sexual organ in the body, and I want this to be stimulated as much as my pussy and I cannot do this without recognising the power of the heart as well.
Physical, emotional, spiritual – they come together as a package, and when you consider erotica, then surely this multi-sensory, multiple intelligence idealism is befitting for something as important as sexual stimulation.
Anyway, returning to the idea of being passionate about sex, then I am extremely passionate about sex. In fact, if I cannot get sex for one reason or another, then I will find other ways of accommodating my needs whilst anticipating great and fulfilling sex in the future.
To this effect, I decided to take a walk into town yesterday to see if I could grab myself a copy of the Erotic Review. According to the news items on the magazine, I should have been able to find it in my local WH Smith. Searching in vain, I disappointingly left the shop without the aforementioned tome and I am still keen to find the damn thing so that I too can make an objective comment on its articles and features.
This week, there was another article in the newspaper about the demise of Black Lace, and we are not talking “Agadoo” or pushing pineapples or whatever that ghastly pop duo sang about.
Black Lace, according to the article, was a sub division of Virgin books, with a specific remit for publishing intelligent erotic books written by women for women. They concentrated on novels rather than short stories and have a relatively successful readership.
So why the demise? The authors of the piece apportion blame to various things including the growth of the internet, the timidity of the Brits and the assumptions of the erotically challenged!
What they are clear about, however, is that there is an audience, and a growing one at that. It could be that the particular owners of this outfit just didn’t realise its potential, or pulled out just at the wrong time.
And the idea of the audience is borne out by the number of comments that were made about the piece, some 366 to date.
I’ll return to some of the comments in a short while, but I want to concentrate on the old argument of women and their sexuality.
I would suggest that the failings of Black Lace are largely due to the fact that women’s passion about their sexuality is still deemed to be slightly sordid. Kate Copstick and her determination that women cannot be passionate about sex does not help. She states quite clearly that we need to move away from the ‘slut’ label for those of us who show some liberation with female sexuality but glibly dismissing women writers only exacerbates this problem. Surely Ms. Copstick should be actively encouraging women to open up to their sexual desires and passions. We are not going to break down the very considerable and established views that erotica and sexual enjoyment is a man’s domain without embracing and encouraging the creativity and sexual learning for women, and that includes opening our eyes to the potential of good, erotic writing from women.
I am sure that I am far more passionate about sex because of the fact that I have had the opportunity to write about it, and to receive comments about my writing. This has encouraged me to explore the greater depths of my sexuality and being able to write more has further increased my sexual desires and sexual fulfilment.
But we have to get over this problem of sex and women. Women who enjoy sex are not sluts and until that is a mainstream view then any literature that even begins to suggest that women can be sexually liberated, sexually aroused and sexually stimulated is going to fail.
I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know how we do this but I think it can start with the small seeds of people like me being more overt about their sexuality, in the right context of course.
As I said previously, there must be more people out there who like sex. There must be more women who are desperate to admit to their sexuality. There are equally, according to Kathy Lette’s quoted statistics, a vast amount of women who need to be rescued from the notion that they are never likely to experience an orgasm, and these women need to read about the experiences of women such as me who knows that orgasms do not just come from clitoral stimulation.
Women need to know.
They need to know how their insides bulge and become erect in just the same way that a man’s cock does when he is aroused. They need to recognise the various moist emissions from their body. They need to get a mirror down to their Fannies to see how every fold of their insides move and curve and redden at the thought or the touch of an experienced lover.
They need to read about this, and they need to know that it is women, real women, who have experienced this.
Women need to have their minds fucked.
And this is the real point of erotica as far as I am concerned.
One commentator on this article stated that there was a difference between porn and erotica.
“Porn is material whose primary purpose is to sexually excite its consumer. Erotica is material whose primary purpose is to make its consumer sexually excited.” Another commentator said
“I think there probably is a difference. If anything, it's that pornography seeks to stimulate the graphical explicitness, through visual and aural gratification, whereas erotica probably has a more imaginative and creative quality.”
I’d say that porn is the foreplay to erotica’s penetration. Porn is deemed negative whereas erotica has a slightly more positive and accepting spin but the real issue is that erotica fucks your mind in a way that the physical pleasures of porn cannot reach.
Women need to learn that great sex is not just about a physical act. Your mind needs to be totally fucked too. You have to feel the physical sensations and let that swarm over you, filling your mind with the very sensation you are feeling in your body, and if that can also come with a hearty dose of feeling close to the person you are having sex with, then so much the better.
Erotica enables this mind fuck.
You can look at, for example, a Klimt picture and see the aesthetic beauty of the female form. You can possibly feel the pleasure of the artist’s excitement but its erotic nature only comes into play when you allow your mind to swoop into another world, imagining, thinking and feeling sexually alert.
The same can be said for erotic writing. You can objectively read the words and get stimulated but it is only erotic when you are fully connected with the writing, when you are swimming in the sensations that it musters, when you allow and enable the words to overwhelm you - and enjoy!
The very best sex, in my life anyway, has been the sex when I have had my mind as heartily and lovingly fucked as my body. And to be able to write about such experiences in a hopefully erotic way, prolongs the enjoyment and anticipates the return of such pleasures.
This for me, is what Kate Copstick says is missing from some women’s writing about sex. They may have engaged the heart and the body but they have placed prominence on the feelings of the heart rather than the all absorbing divinity of the mind fuck.
Here are another few responses from the newspaper article.
“Porn/erotica is designed to sexually arouse, be it loveless images on the television screen or expertly crafted prose. Trying to elevate erotica to the level of art while leaving porn in the gutter is as blinkered as those fanboys who call their comics "graphic novels".”
“As the owner of material that could be classified as 'porn' and 'erotica' (including Black Lace stuff) let me assure you there is no difference between the two. I just asked Mrs Soddball what she thought the difference was, and she said that women call porn erotica because they don't want to think of it as porn.”
“There can be precious few situations in this world where you are more likely to encounter dishonesty than in asking women about porn. Women deny using porn to other women, to men, but worse, to themselves. And when they *do* admit to using it, they try to redefine it as something else.”
“I think the argument that women just don't like erotic fiction was tried when the imprint was started, but it survived for 16 years putting out up to three books a month. So unless something has happened recently to put women off smut there has to be more to the problem than women just not liking sexy fiction”.
“My issue is that most porn (not all - MOST) is aimed at men and completely ignores me - as a female, as a potential consumer, as a woman, as a person who would like to see women portrayed as more than just holes incapable of experiencing genuine, consenting, respectful pleasure when given by men.”
“Why isn't some one seeing the potential of female erotica in the UK? I don't think free smut on the internet is to blame, otherwise why does erotica sell in the US. They got no interwebs there? And hey, you can have a wank for free with your fingers but pretty pink vibes can sell for £100. This is capitalism. With enough backing, you could sell fresh air to people.”
“What really upsets me about these threads is the avid defensive of porn without the recognition that it's surely the bassiest, most baked beans on toast level of sexuality you can imagine.”
“Study after study shows that men are sexually aroused by porn and women aren't (this offends my feminist principles and I wish we were all raunchy but there you are) and I guess this discrepancy explains why Black Lace is, er, screwed.”
Still plenty to do but some signs of hope, I think.
Last month, whilst on my way to experience yet more erotic behaviour, I listened to the new owner of Erotic Review Magazine talking about the re-launch, explaining why most of her contributors were going to be males.
I was affronted by the fact that she thought women were more or less incapable of writing decent erotic prose, if that is not deemed an oxymoron by some.
“Women are not passionate enough about sex and concentrate too much on feelings to be able to write raunchy stories”, said Kate Copstick. "It's almost like writing about food ... Ladies who lunch, should not really write about food because they don't really love food. They don't salivate at the thought of a great steak."
Believe me, Ms Copstick. I certainly salivate at the thought of great steak.
The counterargument to women writing about sex came from Kathy Lette. In her argument, she explained that her collection of short stories, “In Bed With….” had been a popular seller, thus proving that women could write well about sex and all things erotic. She continued by saying that a third of women were not achieving orgasm which showed men still had a lot to learn, with women well place to teach them.
I have a slight problem with Ms. Lette’s argument.
Firstly, her collection of short stories written by prominent female authors was quite frankly as erotic as a quick finger fuck behind the bike sheds, only less so. The writing was clichéd and stilted. It was full of big cocks, simmering lust, heavy breathing and Meg Ryan style orgasmic wails.
This brings me to my second point. Just because you are a female does not mean that you can teach a bloke how to bring you to orgasm. Most women don’t know what it is that makes them orgasm. Most women don’t want to touch themselves to find out, so are they really best placed to tell a man how to do it? Surely, if a third of women are not reaching orgasm (and I actually question this for I fear it is higher) then how can these women know what to expect?
Orgasms are not just going to happen by a slight manoeuvring of fingers, you know. I think it is far more complicated than that.
I sincerely doubt whether some of the famous female authors in Kathy’s book had actually experienced an orgasm, and clearly from what I had tediously read thus far in the book, they have never experienced the wonderment of a gushing tsunami of an orgasm.
Which brings me back to Ms Copstick, who I am sure would be honest enough to say that she has indeed had extremely wet and agreeable orgasms.
She argues that women are not passionate enough about sex and that they complicate and degrade the erotic by bringing feelings into the equation. She states that they concentrate “too much on feelings”.
Guilty as charged, Ms. Copstick.
When I am writing about sex, I absolutely want to feel it. Isn’t that the point? How can you have erotic, sexually explicit writing without feeling it in your groins as you write or read? I absolutely want to feel it because there is no feeling in the world as brilliant and sensational as sexual arousal and climax. And isn’t erotica without feelings just porn?
I am, of course, taking her comments out of context. What she is saying is that as a general rule, women find it difficult to separate the sexual act itself from the feelings associated for the person in which you are engaged in sexual liaisons. She is basically saying that women are too preoccupied with the emotions involved with sex to be passionate about the physicality of the action. She is saying that women are not passionate about sex itself, they are more likely to be passionate about the partner that they are having sex with. And to some extent she is right.
But this is not all women.
As a mid forties woman, I cannot be alone in being passionate about sex. How could you be anything but passionate about something that overwhelms and excites, energises and delights? How can you not be passionate about the one thing that sends you into oblivion that is life giving in its own right?
For me, sex is way too important not to be passionate about it.
What makes it all the more passionate for me is being able to enjoy sex with someone who is equally as passionate about it as I am, and is equally as passionate about me as I am about them. It is these feelings that Ms. Copstick might criticise. She might assume that I cannot write erotica because of ‘feelings’. I would counter argue that I can write better erotic material because of those feelings.
As with so many things in life, you cannot separate the mind, body and soul. If things are working well, they are embracing the power of all three. The brain, as more than one commentator has stated, is the largest sexual organ in the body, and I want this to be stimulated as much as my pussy and I cannot do this without recognising the power of the heart as well.
Physical, emotional, spiritual – they come together as a package, and when you consider erotica, then surely this multi-sensory, multiple intelligence idealism is befitting for something as important as sexual stimulation.
Anyway, returning to the idea of being passionate about sex, then I am extremely passionate about sex. In fact, if I cannot get sex for one reason or another, then I will find other ways of accommodating my needs whilst anticipating great and fulfilling sex in the future.
To this effect, I decided to take a walk into town yesterday to see if I could grab myself a copy of the Erotic Review. According to the news items on the magazine, I should have been able to find it in my local WH Smith. Searching in vain, I disappointingly left the shop without the aforementioned tome and I am still keen to find the damn thing so that I too can make an objective comment on its articles and features.
This week, there was another article in the newspaper about the demise of Black Lace, and we are not talking “Agadoo” or pushing pineapples or whatever that ghastly pop duo sang about.
Black Lace, according to the article, was a sub division of Virgin books, with a specific remit for publishing intelligent erotic books written by women for women. They concentrated on novels rather than short stories and have a relatively successful readership.
So why the demise? The authors of the piece apportion blame to various things including the growth of the internet, the timidity of the Brits and the assumptions of the erotically challenged!
What they are clear about, however, is that there is an audience, and a growing one at that. It could be that the particular owners of this outfit just didn’t realise its potential, or pulled out just at the wrong time.
And the idea of the audience is borne out by the number of comments that were made about the piece, some 366 to date.
I’ll return to some of the comments in a short while, but I want to concentrate on the old argument of women and their sexuality.
I would suggest that the failings of Black Lace are largely due to the fact that women’s passion about their sexuality is still deemed to be slightly sordid. Kate Copstick and her determination that women cannot be passionate about sex does not help. She states quite clearly that we need to move away from the ‘slut’ label for those of us who show some liberation with female sexuality but glibly dismissing women writers only exacerbates this problem. Surely Ms. Copstick should be actively encouraging women to open up to their sexual desires and passions. We are not going to break down the very considerable and established views that erotica and sexual enjoyment is a man’s domain without embracing and encouraging the creativity and sexual learning for women, and that includes opening our eyes to the potential of good, erotic writing from women.
I am sure that I am far more passionate about sex because of the fact that I have had the opportunity to write about it, and to receive comments about my writing. This has encouraged me to explore the greater depths of my sexuality and being able to write more has further increased my sexual desires and sexual fulfilment.
But we have to get over this problem of sex and women. Women who enjoy sex are not sluts and until that is a mainstream view then any literature that even begins to suggest that women can be sexually liberated, sexually aroused and sexually stimulated is going to fail.
I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know how we do this but I think it can start with the small seeds of people like me being more overt about their sexuality, in the right context of course.
As I said previously, there must be more people out there who like sex. There must be more women who are desperate to admit to their sexuality. There are equally, according to Kathy Lette’s quoted statistics, a vast amount of women who need to be rescued from the notion that they are never likely to experience an orgasm, and these women need to read about the experiences of women such as me who knows that orgasms do not just come from clitoral stimulation.
Women need to know.
They need to know how their insides bulge and become erect in just the same way that a man’s cock does when he is aroused. They need to recognise the various moist emissions from their body. They need to get a mirror down to their Fannies to see how every fold of their insides move and curve and redden at the thought or the touch of an experienced lover.
They need to read about this, and they need to know that it is women, real women, who have experienced this.
Women need to have their minds fucked.
And this is the real point of erotica as far as I am concerned.
One commentator on this article stated that there was a difference between porn and erotica.
“Porn is material whose primary purpose is to sexually excite its consumer. Erotica is material whose primary purpose is to make its consumer sexually excited.” Another commentator said
“I think there probably is a difference. If anything, it's that pornography seeks to stimulate the graphical explicitness, through visual and aural gratification, whereas erotica probably has a more imaginative and creative quality.”
I’d say that porn is the foreplay to erotica’s penetration. Porn is deemed negative whereas erotica has a slightly more positive and accepting spin but the real issue is that erotica fucks your mind in a way that the physical pleasures of porn cannot reach.
Women need to learn that great sex is not just about a physical act. Your mind needs to be totally fucked too. You have to feel the physical sensations and let that swarm over you, filling your mind with the very sensation you are feeling in your body, and if that can also come with a hearty dose of feeling close to the person you are having sex with, then so much the better.
Erotica enables this mind fuck.
You can look at, for example, a Klimt picture and see the aesthetic beauty of the female form. You can possibly feel the pleasure of the artist’s excitement but its erotic nature only comes into play when you allow your mind to swoop into another world, imagining, thinking and feeling sexually alert.
The same can be said for erotic writing. You can objectively read the words and get stimulated but it is only erotic when you are fully connected with the writing, when you are swimming in the sensations that it musters, when you allow and enable the words to overwhelm you - and enjoy!
The very best sex, in my life anyway, has been the sex when I have had my mind as heartily and lovingly fucked as my body. And to be able to write about such experiences in a hopefully erotic way, prolongs the enjoyment and anticipates the return of such pleasures.
This for me, is what Kate Copstick says is missing from some women’s writing about sex. They may have engaged the heart and the body but they have placed prominence on the feelings of the heart rather than the all absorbing divinity of the mind fuck.
Here are another few responses from the newspaper article.
“Porn/erotica is designed to sexually arouse, be it loveless images on the television screen or expertly crafted prose. Trying to elevate erotica to the level of art while leaving porn in the gutter is as blinkered as those fanboys who call their comics "graphic novels".”
“As the owner of material that could be classified as 'porn' and 'erotica' (including Black Lace stuff) let me assure you there is no difference between the two. I just asked Mrs Soddball what she thought the difference was, and she said that women call porn erotica because they don't want to think of it as porn.”
“There can be precious few situations in this world where you are more likely to encounter dishonesty than in asking women about porn. Women deny using porn to other women, to men, but worse, to themselves. And when they *do* admit to using it, they try to redefine it as something else.”
“I think the argument that women just don't like erotic fiction was tried when the imprint was started, but it survived for 16 years putting out up to three books a month. So unless something has happened recently to put women off smut there has to be more to the problem than women just not liking sexy fiction”.
“My issue is that most porn (not all - MOST) is aimed at men and completely ignores me - as a female, as a potential consumer, as a woman, as a person who would like to see women portrayed as more than just holes incapable of experiencing genuine, consenting, respectful pleasure when given by men.”
“Why isn't some one seeing the potential of female erotica in the UK? I don't think free smut on the internet is to blame, otherwise why does erotica sell in the US. They got no interwebs there? And hey, you can have a wank for free with your fingers but pretty pink vibes can sell for £100. This is capitalism. With enough backing, you could sell fresh air to people.”
“What really upsets me about these threads is the avid defensive of porn without the recognition that it's surely the bassiest, most baked beans on toast level of sexuality you can imagine.”
“Study after study shows that men are sexually aroused by porn and women aren't (this offends my feminist principles and I wish we were all raunchy but there you are) and I guess this discrepancy explains why Black Lace is, er, screwed.”
Still plenty to do but some signs of hope, I think.
Saturday 4 July 2009
Going Commando in a Sexually Mixed up World
I am wearing a blue strapless dress. Its material is light enough for me to breathe yet substantial enough for me to not worry about the translucent effects of the sun.
The carefully puckered elastic at my back and the solid neck tie means that I can be free from the constraints of my 36E.
The panties underneath are non-existent. No lacy trims, no crotch covering cotton, no VPL. Nothing, zilch, nada!
I don’t have to slide those panties down to sit on the loo and pee. I don’t have to remove anything should I wish to run upstairs for a quick blast of my vibrator (which reminds me, I must get my Roger back at some point). I don’t have to worry about unruly perspiration around the pubic area. There is a delightful rush of fresh air as I stand up, legs ajar.
It is so liberating to walk about with nothing on other than a piece of cloth that loosely resembles a dress. It feels very natural to be free from the constraints of undergarments. In warm and temperate conditions such as today, there is such joy in embracing the heat and feeling free.
I really do like this and can, to some extent, understand why people embrace naturism.
But then my freedom stops.
I need to go to the supermarket and I am just debating whether I am brave enough to traipse into the city without a pair of knickers. Of course, the answer to this is that I am probably not. Tied by the conformity of peers, I guess I will have to nip upstairs, raid my knicker draw and pull out a suitable pair of white lacy ones that will hide my naughty bits from the world, should I accidentally fall over and reveal myself to the world.
Considering this however, I am wondering how I would actually feel if the aforementioned accident did happen. Would I be ashamed that a few people who I don’t know, nor ever will, had caught a glimpse of my pussy? Would I be embarrassed by the thoughts going through these peoples’ heads about what type of floozy wanders around without any panties on? Would I be angry with myself for being such a flagrant exhibitionist?
Or would I think, sod them! If they cannot cope with a woman’s right to wear or not wear what she wants, then sod them. If people were shocked that I wasn’t wearing panties, then why should I be remotely bothered? It is their lack of liberty and enlightenment that should be shameful, not my choice to act and dress as I feel is befitting for the moment.
Of course, I am going to go and find a pair of panties. I think I will choose a cotton silk pair, ones trimmed with a good inch of lace all around the v-shape that imitates and streamlines the shape of my arse and vag. They are not too tight, and thongs can be a little tricky in this weather.
It’s interesting though. During the week, there have been more articles about our sexualised society and I hope to write more about this subject later but without wanting to sound too sensationalist or flippant, maybe if we embraced our bodies earlier in life and didn’t see them as something to be embarrassed about or hidden from the world, then maybe we would have a better or more positive engagement with our own sexuality.
In saying this, I am not advocating that everyone should boycott M&S, sending their profit margins plummeting as the ubiquitous panties sales disappears into a void. I am not suggesting that everyone should suddenly reveal their pussies and cocks to the world. I really don’t want to walk around my local supermarket staring at peoples’ bits, and reaching over some bloke’s flaccid one to grab a tin of tomatoes. But there has to be a happy medium.
People are basically inhibited. They do not want the world to know they are sexual beings, if indeed they are, and if there is a display in any form of their intimate parts, assumptions are automatically adopted.
It is almost as if we have to learn how to separate the sexual from the human form. How ludicrous is that! Yet, isn’t there a grain of truth in here too.
In our society, we cannot accept that others who we work with or shop with or even live with are sexual beings. In not accepting their sexuality, we cannot cope with the intimate parts of the body because it reminds us that they might actually be sexual, and we are taught implicitly that we should shy away from the fact that people are sexual beings; all this in a society that paradoxically sells so much by embracing and using that sexuality. Or is it precisely this shying away from sexuality that makes the advertising industry use it so effectively? Do advertisers use sexuality not for its aestheticism but because the lure is in the secret desire to be sexual in a society that does not allow us to do so?
I cannot go to the supermarket without my panties on because if people notice that I am pantiless, it is ‘telling’ them something about me. It is reminding them that I am a sexual person, possibly a sexy person; fully confident in my own sexuality that I can let them know, by this small fact of being knickerless, that I am sexual. And they don’t want to know. Not because I am particularly unattractive but because they don’t want to think about my intimacy, even though they can make assumptions that I am sexually active.
The other day, a friend of mine was telling me about her son bringing a girl home for the night. This is a woman who is sexually liberal, who fully embraces her sexuality and talks about it without any qualms. She told her son that she was fine about him bringing his girlfriend home but could he please make sure he didn’t make any noise whilst he was fucking her, because that would be revolting!
Why?
For goodness sake, why should it be revolting or cringe making to hear other people, even you nearest and dearest having sex? If we were completely content with other peoples’ sexuality then it wouldn’t bother us in the slightest.
If we were not appalled by other peoples’ sexuality, then I could go to the supermarket without my panties and no-one would raise an eyebrow, if they discovered I was knickerless, because it simply wouldn’t be of any significance.
I mean, wouldn’t it be fantastic if someone saw that I was without underwear in the supermarket and simply said, “Good on you gal. Bet you feel really free” And this same person wouldn’t be trying to get into my knickers (obviously not, if they weren’t there!). They would simply be saying this to acknowledge that I had no qualms about going commando and it showed that I had no inhibitions about my body, and consequently about my sexuality.
It’s the same with parents and their children. Young people allegedly cannot bear the thought of their parents having sex but if they didn’t have sex then the kids wouldn’t be there in the first place. I am absolutely not advocating getting your cock and fanny out in front of the kids but we really shouldn’t dismiss this revulsion with a giggle. Rather we should allow our children and young people to know that there is nothing vulgar or revolting about sex and that they should be glad that their parents are expressing their sexuality rather than ignoring its existence.
I, for one, take utter delight in the fact that my parents had an extremely healthy sex life, and I am also pleased that my mother can readily tell me this without me have a fit of the heebie-jeebies.
But back to my pantiless crotch…….
I like to go without panties because it just feels comfortable, and I like to be aware that my most intimate and precious parts of my body are uncovered, free, alive and unrestricted. I like this partly because it implies a comfort with my own body and a lack of shame in the fact that these are the physical essence of my sexuality.
If I were to venture out without my knickers, it wouldn’t be in some sort of provocative way. It would purely be for the joy of just being at one with myself. It wouldn’t be for any form of promiscuity or the hope that someone may be turned on by knowing I am without any cover. It would simply be for me to feel good about myself.
Having said that, there is no denying that sometimes I may wish to go commando for the very purpose of feeling sexually alive and with the very intention of turning someone on so much that they have to dive up my skirt to have a feel of the freshness and openness of my unclad pussy.
I like the idea of walking into someone’s house and been greeted with the usual delights of kisses and cuddles, followed by a swift grab of my tit. I love to think of his hands wandering over my arse, tracing the seams of my panties and discovering that they are not there; and on this discovery, transferring his hands around to my front for confirmation of the joy that my cunt is clearly and immediately accessible.
I adore the thought of taking a walk across a summer, sun-kissed beach with me wearing this dress and nothing else, or wandering down a valley where trees and bushes are clustered together to give some shade from the warmth of the day; where we can wander away from the pathway and slip into the oblivion of overgrown flora, where my nudity below can be dealt with.
Or maybe I could get completely naked in such a situation, rapidly removing my entire dress, knowing how easy it would be to slip it back on should prying eyes wander in our direction.
And I would love the fact that even if there were people around, I could just lay my lover on the floor, surreptitiously undo his flies, get his excited and erect cock out and just sit on top of him, feeding his dick into my moist and awaiting cunt, without it looking too obvious that we were enjoying a gentle and very natural fuck.
Mmmm, going commando does have its sexually satisfying and arousing benefits to be sure but essentially it is about being positive about being me, and hopefully other people might realise the rewards of feeling so liberated too.
The carefully puckered elastic at my back and the solid neck tie means that I can be free from the constraints of my 36E.
The panties underneath are non-existent. No lacy trims, no crotch covering cotton, no VPL. Nothing, zilch, nada!
I don’t have to slide those panties down to sit on the loo and pee. I don’t have to remove anything should I wish to run upstairs for a quick blast of my vibrator (which reminds me, I must get my Roger back at some point). I don’t have to worry about unruly perspiration around the pubic area. There is a delightful rush of fresh air as I stand up, legs ajar.
It is so liberating to walk about with nothing on other than a piece of cloth that loosely resembles a dress. It feels very natural to be free from the constraints of undergarments. In warm and temperate conditions such as today, there is such joy in embracing the heat and feeling free.
I really do like this and can, to some extent, understand why people embrace naturism.
But then my freedom stops.
I need to go to the supermarket and I am just debating whether I am brave enough to traipse into the city without a pair of knickers. Of course, the answer to this is that I am probably not. Tied by the conformity of peers, I guess I will have to nip upstairs, raid my knicker draw and pull out a suitable pair of white lacy ones that will hide my naughty bits from the world, should I accidentally fall over and reveal myself to the world.
Considering this however, I am wondering how I would actually feel if the aforementioned accident did happen. Would I be ashamed that a few people who I don’t know, nor ever will, had caught a glimpse of my pussy? Would I be embarrassed by the thoughts going through these peoples’ heads about what type of floozy wanders around without any panties on? Would I be angry with myself for being such a flagrant exhibitionist?
Or would I think, sod them! If they cannot cope with a woman’s right to wear or not wear what she wants, then sod them. If people were shocked that I wasn’t wearing panties, then why should I be remotely bothered? It is their lack of liberty and enlightenment that should be shameful, not my choice to act and dress as I feel is befitting for the moment.
Of course, I am going to go and find a pair of panties. I think I will choose a cotton silk pair, ones trimmed with a good inch of lace all around the v-shape that imitates and streamlines the shape of my arse and vag. They are not too tight, and thongs can be a little tricky in this weather.
It’s interesting though. During the week, there have been more articles about our sexualised society and I hope to write more about this subject later but without wanting to sound too sensationalist or flippant, maybe if we embraced our bodies earlier in life and didn’t see them as something to be embarrassed about or hidden from the world, then maybe we would have a better or more positive engagement with our own sexuality.
In saying this, I am not advocating that everyone should boycott M&S, sending their profit margins plummeting as the ubiquitous panties sales disappears into a void. I am not suggesting that everyone should suddenly reveal their pussies and cocks to the world. I really don’t want to walk around my local supermarket staring at peoples’ bits, and reaching over some bloke’s flaccid one to grab a tin of tomatoes. But there has to be a happy medium.
People are basically inhibited. They do not want the world to know they are sexual beings, if indeed they are, and if there is a display in any form of their intimate parts, assumptions are automatically adopted.
It is almost as if we have to learn how to separate the sexual from the human form. How ludicrous is that! Yet, isn’t there a grain of truth in here too.
In our society, we cannot accept that others who we work with or shop with or even live with are sexual beings. In not accepting their sexuality, we cannot cope with the intimate parts of the body because it reminds us that they might actually be sexual, and we are taught implicitly that we should shy away from the fact that people are sexual beings; all this in a society that paradoxically sells so much by embracing and using that sexuality. Or is it precisely this shying away from sexuality that makes the advertising industry use it so effectively? Do advertisers use sexuality not for its aestheticism but because the lure is in the secret desire to be sexual in a society that does not allow us to do so?
I cannot go to the supermarket without my panties on because if people notice that I am pantiless, it is ‘telling’ them something about me. It is reminding them that I am a sexual person, possibly a sexy person; fully confident in my own sexuality that I can let them know, by this small fact of being knickerless, that I am sexual. And they don’t want to know. Not because I am particularly unattractive but because they don’t want to think about my intimacy, even though they can make assumptions that I am sexually active.
The other day, a friend of mine was telling me about her son bringing a girl home for the night. This is a woman who is sexually liberal, who fully embraces her sexuality and talks about it without any qualms. She told her son that she was fine about him bringing his girlfriend home but could he please make sure he didn’t make any noise whilst he was fucking her, because that would be revolting!
Why?
For goodness sake, why should it be revolting or cringe making to hear other people, even you nearest and dearest having sex? If we were completely content with other peoples’ sexuality then it wouldn’t bother us in the slightest.
If we were not appalled by other peoples’ sexuality, then I could go to the supermarket without my panties and no-one would raise an eyebrow, if they discovered I was knickerless, because it simply wouldn’t be of any significance.
I mean, wouldn’t it be fantastic if someone saw that I was without underwear in the supermarket and simply said, “Good on you gal. Bet you feel really free” And this same person wouldn’t be trying to get into my knickers (obviously not, if they weren’t there!). They would simply be saying this to acknowledge that I had no qualms about going commando and it showed that I had no inhibitions about my body, and consequently about my sexuality.
It’s the same with parents and their children. Young people allegedly cannot bear the thought of their parents having sex but if they didn’t have sex then the kids wouldn’t be there in the first place. I am absolutely not advocating getting your cock and fanny out in front of the kids but we really shouldn’t dismiss this revulsion with a giggle. Rather we should allow our children and young people to know that there is nothing vulgar or revolting about sex and that they should be glad that their parents are expressing their sexuality rather than ignoring its existence.
I, for one, take utter delight in the fact that my parents had an extremely healthy sex life, and I am also pleased that my mother can readily tell me this without me have a fit of the heebie-jeebies.
But back to my pantiless crotch…….
I like to go without panties because it just feels comfortable, and I like to be aware that my most intimate and precious parts of my body are uncovered, free, alive and unrestricted. I like this partly because it implies a comfort with my own body and a lack of shame in the fact that these are the physical essence of my sexuality.
If I were to venture out without my knickers, it wouldn’t be in some sort of provocative way. It would purely be for the joy of just being at one with myself. It wouldn’t be for any form of promiscuity or the hope that someone may be turned on by knowing I am without any cover. It would simply be for me to feel good about myself.
Having said that, there is no denying that sometimes I may wish to go commando for the very purpose of feeling sexually alive and with the very intention of turning someone on so much that they have to dive up my skirt to have a feel of the freshness and openness of my unclad pussy.
I like the idea of walking into someone’s house and been greeted with the usual delights of kisses and cuddles, followed by a swift grab of my tit. I love to think of his hands wandering over my arse, tracing the seams of my panties and discovering that they are not there; and on this discovery, transferring his hands around to my front for confirmation of the joy that my cunt is clearly and immediately accessible.
I adore the thought of taking a walk across a summer, sun-kissed beach with me wearing this dress and nothing else, or wandering down a valley where trees and bushes are clustered together to give some shade from the warmth of the day; where we can wander away from the pathway and slip into the oblivion of overgrown flora, where my nudity below can be dealt with.
Or maybe I could get completely naked in such a situation, rapidly removing my entire dress, knowing how easy it would be to slip it back on should prying eyes wander in our direction.
And I would love the fact that even if there were people around, I could just lay my lover on the floor, surreptitiously undo his flies, get his excited and erect cock out and just sit on top of him, feeding his dick into my moist and awaiting cunt, without it looking too obvious that we were enjoying a gentle and very natural fuck.
Mmmm, going commando does have its sexually satisfying and arousing benefits to be sure but essentially it is about being positive about being me, and hopefully other people might realise the rewards of feeling so liberated too.
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