Female journalists and Female Sexuality

I know that I am not trained to be a journalist, and if one of these professionals came into my world and professed to know how to tackle my job, I think I might be a little aggrieved.
Poor journalists! They are in a mighty difficult position sometimes. People think it is a relatively easy job. The majority can write. Isn’t that all you have to be able to do?
Well, not exactly, unless you write for the Daily Mail or the News of the Screws.

No, journalists have an important role to play in life.
They are the commentators in places and on themes that the masses do not have access to influence. In some ways, they are more of a mouthpiece on social change than the elected (and non-elected) members with the power to legislate. They can seriously influence collective thoughts of the masses. Look at how some of the media campaigns over the years have directly impacted on the law being changed.

But journalists also have a responsibility, in my opinion, to reach out and explore, to challenge the norms, to question and consider the societal issues that are most prevalent to the people.
Of course, they have to account the daily or weekly news but I really feel they are also there to get the ball rolling on a range of life issues.

What I really cannot bear sometimes is reading something in the newspaper that really doesn’t take on the enormity of a subject when there is such an opportunity to do so; an opportunity that I would welcome so emphatically. This happened to me yesterday when I read an article about female sexuality.

In gross and possibly inaccurate summary, the article said that women want to fall in love whereas men are just interested in fucking.
Wrong on both counts! Wrong also to continue with this jaded and archaic representation on male and female sexuality! Wrong in not challenging it! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

There are so many parts of this article that I want criticise, I hardly know where to start!
But let us start at the beginning.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/aug/17/tanya-gold-stripping

1. The Title: “Women watch men strip for the fun of it. But men watch women undress for a much darker reason.” What darker reason? Is being sexual and recognising your sexuality a darkness? Is recognising you are a sexual being not ‘fun’? There are subtle uses of familiar words here that are already perpetuating myths and inaccuracies before the article has even opened. I know that the article is about stripping in public but if you equate this to a sexual situation between two consenting adults, then such a phrase is appallingly laughable, and I know that I am taking this out of context but bear with me. I get a laugh out of seeing a man strip in front of me. I enjoy it because it is ‘funny’ to see an erect cock whereas when I strip, the only thing he wants to do is get his cock inside me, and that is a dark thing? Such a statement on a level of intimacy between two people is clearly stupid but I would argue that the same could be said for collective enjoyment of stripping and all things sexual, i.e. the statement, the title is wrong! Some women may watch men strip for fun. A small minority of men may watch women undress for darker reasons but sweeping statements like this reiterate a degree of separation between male and female sexuality that does not exist!

2. The article goes on to discuss the Chippendales performance and the fact that women were behaving exactly as expected, waving in excitement, acting “like a man” is stereoptypically supposed to at a strip club, whooping and guffawing but then as soon as the ‘sex’ is placed in front of them, they all go shy and timid and don’t really want any more of it because what women really want is a hug and some tenderness. They want the cock to love them. Wrong! There are some women who would quite like to reach out and get a good mouthful of the cock who has just stripped in front of them but because of writing such as this, they have become accustomed to the idea that this is deviant behaviour. Nice girls don’t touch! Nice girls don’t even think such things because admitting that you might be turned on by seeing a man’s cock is not acceptable behaviour.

3. Women, apparently, prefer to watch sexual acts collectively whereas men go to strip clubs on their own. Why is this the case, I wonder? Can I please make it clear here, that the Chippendales do not appeal to me at all. The thought of going to a performance like this is simply not sexual but more of that later. Women do not attend these performances on their own because it is not socially acceptable to do so. By attending alone, you are actually saying that you are going there to get your rocks off. Blimey, our society can hardly bear to think that women masturbate so why would they contemplate a woman going to a sex show to get turned on in the way that they almost take for granted that a man could be attending for the same reasons?

4. The article mentions women’s “hackneyed female fantasy – the policeman, the fireman, the soldier, the gangster.” Although she mentions the fact that this is a hackneyed fantasy, by merely mentioning it, it implies that this is all women are capable of. The “hackneyed” fantasy is there for a reason because women cannot really be fantasising about things that are slightly more errant. I know this is a little trite but let’s take the other side of hackneyed fantasies. Apparently, most men fantasise about watching two women having sex with one another. What if a woman has fantasies about watching two women having sex together? Is that hackneyed too? Of course it isn’t, because the large majority of the population think that it is inconceivable that a woman might have such fantasies because it is far too sexy, and far too in a man’s domain. My point is that female and male fantasies don’t have to be that different. We are human beings and ergo we have sexual desires and those desires should not be portrayed as having huge gulfs between them on the basis of gender differentiation.

I am stopping doing this in number form, not because I have run out of points to make but because what I have to say now needs to be made very clear once and for all.

The entire article is essentially saying that men and women are totally different when it comes to sexuality.
Men can attend strip clubs alone, have a wank, have an ogle and then it is all over. Their sexual urges are satisfied. They don’t need a kiss and a cuddle. They don’t desire the tender post-coital moments because they are already thinking about the next time that they can get cock in cunt. Women however, don’t want to attend strip clubs alone, even if it was ‘allowed’ because they don’t like voyeuristic sex. They may be excited by a huge chunk of beefiness with a big dangling one but as soon as they are invited to go further, they are disinterested because they are “sugar and spice and all things nice”. They want to have an emotional connection with a lover because raw sex is not what women want.

I find this sort of generalisation totally unacceptable for men and women.
To assume or make assumptions that men watch women strip for ‘dark’ reasons is abhorrent. Men want tenderness, affection, warmth in sexuality as much as women do. Likewise, women want horniness, lustiness, sexual fun as much as men. In both cases though, it is simply not acceptable to say so. It is not acceptable for a woman to admit to wanting a fuck – just because that is what they want. They need a cock or a finger inside them to waggle around and hit those important parts of their body, sending them into a climatic state of arousal because that is bloody good for them. Get this – women have sexual urges too!
Men are human beings too. They want to feel wrapped in affection once they have had sex. They want to feel the warmth and the joys of intimacy with another that includes the opportunity to lie together having had sex and just allow that gorgeous feeling of togetherness ride over them.

Or of course, this might not be the case. There are some men who just want a fuck. They recognise their sexual urges and they want to do something about it. End of! However, judging by the young women I have seen on holiday this year, walking around the streets half clad with tits and pussies moreorless in your face, I would surmise that there are plenty of women out there who want exactly the same thing. They are gagging for a quickie! They’ve practically got their knickers off ready for it, and whilst that is not what I would want, and whilst I am not saying that just because they are dressed provocatively means that are automatically inviting it, we have to get used to the idea that some actually want it!

What this article does is perpetuate a whole load of myths based on flimsy and inconsequential evidence. As one commentator puts it, “Interesting article, but global pronouncements on the motives of entire genders with no evidence just makes it a curious talking point.”

Another commentator puts it more succinctly than I ever could.
“Men are allowed to eroticise women. Women are rarely given the opportunity to eroticise men; it's all for laughs. If I were a guy, I'd be pretty pissed off that my sexuality was constantly being ridiculed. It insults women too. Once again we're being told our desire doesn't exist. Being a straight woman can feel like having a fringe sexuality.
The idea that women aren't really interested in sex, that it's all about giggles and cuddles is utter nonsense. I wish this article had delved deeper and looked at why and how that idea is perpetuated in our culture instead of presenting it as some essential difference between nasty men and nice women.
The issue is not what we reveal about ourselves when we watch strippers but what it reveals about our culture.”

And here lies the real essence of such drivel. This article is not revealing anything about anyone other than the writer and the society that she writes for being unable to accept that women have raw, instinctual sexual desires that are not deemed to be socially acceptable. Even those of us who feel more sexually enlightened than others cannot really ‘come out’ and admit to the fact that we like sex, we want sex, we need sex.

Try as I might, I cannot bring myself to walk into my lover’s house and drop my knickers at the merest of provocation or hint that he might want me to do this because for my entire lifetime, I have had it drummed into me that I must contain, suppress or ignore the nagging little point that I may be a sexual beast, and if I did behave in that way, the only obvious thing to be said for me is that I am a nymphomaniac, and whilst we are on that subject, what is the male equivalent for such a phrase? Oh that’s right – there isn’t one!

With glorious synchronicity, last night a friend of mine was telling me why he split from his partner. He lived at one end of the country and his lover at the other. Due to a variety of commitments, they could only see each other once a fortnight. When they met up, they had the most incredible and frequent sex; three or four times a night and the best sex my friend has ever experienced. One of the reasons that he thought it was the best sex was because his partner was open and honest about her sexuality and her sexual needs. Nothing was held back, and this was exacerbated due to the lack of frequency of their sexual encounters. He walked in the door and she was pulling his dick out of his trousers before he could recover from the four hundred miles or so journey.

The split came because my friend happened on one occasion to be too knackered to do anything about it. Even little blue pills could not have ‘lifted’ his game and all he wanted to do was climb into bed, take his lover in his arms and gently fall asleep with the woman that he loved. She was agonisingly pissed off and threw him out of the house because he hadn’t performed.

Obviously, there was more to the split than that but in some ways, I really admire her for being honest enough to say, “Listen matey, you are needed for sex and you had better give me a damn fine seeing to”. But it also illustrates the fact that whilst my friend clearly enjoys sex in a way that men are supposed to, he also wanted the other stuff too. He wanted the affection and understanding. He got as much out of lying naked with his lover than actually having penetrative sex. Gross and inaccurate stereotypes based on gender differentiation should not be part of the real world.

So I say to Ms. Gold, author of this piece, and her editors - if you cannot consider an article that breaks down and challenges these inappropriate and stereotypical myths then please, move over to enable others that can. Let us please look at de-flowering female sexuality. Let us stop seeing men as some sexual predators who are only interested in getting their cocks dampened in pussy. Sex is far too important to trivialise in this way, and I am sick and tired of feeling like a social freak because I have the foresight and awareness to admit that I want sex.

And whilst we are on that subject, there may be women out there who just want sex and are happy to be fucked by anyone because it is the sex that is important to them. All I can say is that they are deeply flawed in some ways too, just as the stereotype of their male counterpart is. They are missing out on the real joy of sex; the sex where rampant sexuality is very much a part of it but so too is that utter oneness and connectivity that can only come from having sex with someone that means something to you. To me it is rather like masturbation. You can get a kick and an orgasm out of touching yourself or using a vibrator and the physical excitement and energy from that orgasm is bloody good but without the affection, without the touch of another human being, without being able to see the effect of your orgasm on another, without sharing each other’s orgasms and sexuality, the sex is a mere shadow of its potential being.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
A footnote: I am slightly heartened by the fact that this is the second article in one week of a sexual nature that invited comments. This is the second time in that week where the comments have surpassed the 700 counter.
There is an interest in sex out there and judging by the comments, there is an interest in challenging the very things that I am suggesting.

A second footnote: Do feminist writers really think that they are doing women a favour by suppressing female sexuality in this way? How can it be good for womankind to be robbed of the right to be sexually expressive?

A third footnote: ‘F’ words and gender – just for a minute, think about words beginning with ‘f’ that have something to do with sexuality. Put these words into columns of male and female and both. How many harsh, raw words are being placed in the male side? How many ‘frivolous’, flirty, fun words are in the female section? Take it further than the letter ‘f’ and see how even through our language we are perpetuating the problem.

A final footnote: I want a fuck!

Women models over the centuries

Sharing ‘me’ is a subject that I assume other people have had to consider in relation to having photographs of themselves placed on the Internet for enthusiasts to view.
There are two different types of sites, of course. Some sites are professionally managed and therefore, I assume, there is some financial reward for sharing ‘me’.
However, the amateur postings are a different matter. At some point, as I said in my previous post, somebody (hopefully) has to make the proactive decision to have their sexuality uploaded for all to see.

This is an era of swift multi-media where you can pose for photos in one instance and they are uploaded a matter of minutes later, if you so desire. The decision between posing and being viewed is minimal. There is potentially no time for a change of heart, although one would assume it can be removed from the website just as quickly.
But of course, in years gone by, the time between the modelling and the final product was, by comparison, huge.
I wonder whether some of those models had second thoughts, by which time it was moreorless impossible to change their mind, dependant upon the relationship with the artist.

I also assume that there were models who posed for payment and models who posed for the delights and enjoyment of expressing their sexuality, just as is the case now.
This also made me think.

There is the saying that prostitution is the oldest profession in the world. By implication, if buying sex is seen as something that happened in times of our ancestors, then surely there must have been some interest in sex.
Duh! What a silly comment! Don’t worry, I am going somewhere with this.

There have been great pieces of art over the centuries; many depicting women in various states of undress, for it is obvious that throughout the ages, the idea that the female form is aesthetically pleasing and potentially sexually arousing is not entirely new! Artists have always loved to capture the vitality and beauty of women. They have done so with such aplomb and there is something incredibly wonderful to see the various trends of the time through the shape and acceptability of the naked women depicted.
And of course the women that are in these masterpieces are, in the main, real women. The artists view and wonder and possibly fantasise over their muses. Alternatively, as is highly likely, the artists were fucking them senseless in between their sittings.

The point to all of these ramblings is that sex isn’t new, modelling isn’t new. In fact, it is highly likely that should these women have lived in a time of internet and porn sites they would probably be posted up there too. That is not to belittle the majesty of some incredible paintings to the negative undertones associated with pornography, and it also brings to the forefront that long-running debate between what is classified as porn and what is deemed to be erotic art.
And yet, here we are, centuries later in some cases and although the technology and the range of media for recording the brilliance of female sexuality has moved on, I’m not convinced that the general acknowledgement of female sexuality has in quite the same way.

Centuries have passed and it is still seen as abnormal or possibly deviant to pose for sexual pictures or photographs. Nude modelling in art classes around the world takes place but it is still seen by many as a little bit naughty and titillating rather than being taken for what it is – a study of the human form and appreciation of it.

We haven’t really moved on. Women’s pussies have been shown in some of the greatest or most respected pieces of art in the world. Certainly, their tits have been prominent and precious to all who view but we are no nearer to embracing the idea that women are just as sexual as men. They have needs and desires and they love a decent fuck as much as the next human being!
And yet, there is a wealth of evidence by the very fact that there were women who were willing to share ‘me’ that this has been the case for centuries before this one.
Why, therefore, are we still in a situation where a man enjoying his sexuality is deemed to be normal behaviour whereas a woman enjoying hers is seen as flaunting, flirtatious, frivolous and slut-like?
I know I am being a little generalistic here because we have moved on to some extent but it is at a snail pace.

I like to think that the women who I can see in these pieces of art were in some ways the forerunner to Zenpuss. In their own way, they were trying to bring enlightenment to the masses (or more likely, the minority and elite) about female sexuality. By placing themselves in a position where their private and most intimate parts were being drawn for posterity, they were acknowledging the beauty of the female form and, I like to think, showing the world that it is okay to be sexual.

Returning to the actual timing of the modelling, I find it very difficult to believe that the women who lay for these artists were not sexually aroused by being captured through the eyes of a creative and possibly thoughtful man.
When you see the overt and raw sexuality of some of these paintings, you cannot believe that there was not some form of sexual activity taking place in the sessions. I know the artists are good but surely the subject matter has to be ‘felt’ in its formation. I don’t mean physically felt although I would hope this also happened. I am talking about the feelings of the artist and the model. It is that which I hope is captured when I look at a piece of erotic art.

For me, the end product in the form of a photograph or clip of film is deeply stimulating. I love to see our joint sexuality there in front of me; the model and the artist combining for a damn, good fuck that is captured in the images of our intense moments of sexual arousal. Stiff cocks, dribbling with lubricants are bloody horny things to see, but it is all the more pleasurable in knowing that the cock is dribbling and the helmet is throbbing because of the sexual relationship between the photographer (me) and the model (him). Red and stimulated pussies, clad in sexy thongs that are riding into arse and cunt, with patches of moisture on the bedclothes are a far from gentle reminder that there is something very sexual and climatic going on here. The model is aroused. The artist captures that arousal. The sexual frisson is apparent in the final artistic product.

When I look at pictures such as ones that my lover has brought to my attention, I can see the sexuality in the physical image in front of me. The arousal on my part comes through being able to view this incredible piece of work but it is the idea that behind this image there is a story, possibly of passion, of lust or even of love, whereby the artist has only been able to capture the very essence of the woman’s sexuality because he has had the pleasure of sexual penetration with the cunt that he is so carefully replicating.
To me, that is quite a significant part of the erotica, and I like the idea that these women made a conscientious decision to share ‘me’ with the world.

Finally, I want to talk about the voyeur, the viewer.
I like to think that the artists and models, whether they be the former glories of masterpieces such as The Origin of the World or an amateur poser on a porn site, have actually been aroused knowing that they are going to be on show to the world. I like to think that they at least consider the sexuality and stimulation of the viewer.

For me, there is an intense pleasure in knowing that my lover can be aroused by such paintings. I simply adore the idea that he could stand in front of a picture in a famous museum, simply staring at the utter openness of a woman’s sexuality. I like the fact that such beauty could possibly make him have an erection, whereby he needs to take a break from viewing to just place his hands around his cock and gently soothe his sexual desires.
And I like to think that he is not the only man to want to do this on viewing such beauty. And I like to think that it is not only a man who can be aroused and express their arousal at such pictures.
Come to think of it, there really should be a place where people could view such drawings and be able to withdraw for a quick wank if they so desire.
Another sideline for Zenpuss has sprung to mind – Erotic Art Private Viewings where men are handed a hankie and women a vibrator so that they can get off in darkened rooms after visiting arousing imagery.

Erotic art for the model, the artist and the people who view this is full of decisions. It has been around for hundreds of years as has the sexuality it depicts.
I think it is therefore about time that we give these women the recognition that they deserve as the fore-mothers of sexual expression and applaud them for making that decision to share themselves with the sexually awakening world.

PS- footnote, see link I found when looking through some sites for this piece. http://www.britishmuseumoferoticart.com/

Sharing me

Sharing Me

There is a video of me in glorious anticipation of climax, opening my legs with a camera significantly poised to capture the moment when I emit my fuck juices.
There’s nothing strange about that really, especially as it is a piece of film that only two people have seen; the model and the photographer.

When I was posing for this video shot, there was slight trepidation in that I was a little concerned that I might be struck with stage fright. I know that I can cum and gush forth some serious amounts of fluid but when it was almost demanded for posterity sake, then given the incorrect circumstances, it could backfire and nothing would happen.

Of course, this didn’t happen. I did gush and in a pretty incredible but not unusual way. And the reason that I could cum in such watery quantity was down to the relationship and the relaxed state of being with the photographer, my lover. I didn’t feel that there was any demand on my performance. The filming was very much part of the arousal, and anyone who has not filmed themselves during sex should damn well get on and do it.
If you happen to find yourselves aroused by watching two or more people revelling in the human bliss of their sexuality, for it is this more than the aesthetics of beautiful bodies that turns me on, then you really must work with your partner on getting yourselves on film.

I never thought that I would actually enjoy being filmed. As I have mentioned before, many years ago I was asked to do some topless modelling, but never in my wildest dreams did I consider that I would have the gall to have my pussy photographed.
Of course, there was also a time when I really couldn’t see how anyone would want to photograph this monstrous hole, full of all collection of innards that I had no desire to see or touch for myself, let alone consider it to be horny for anyone else.
Yet gradually, with absolutely no demands or expectations from another person, I could see its value. I think it helped that I took photographs of myself, and this is a factor that hasn’t really been explored.

Once more, I have spoken before about it being quite a turn on to photograph yourself to see how your body works, what it looks like and therefore how arousing it could be for another but I haven’t seen it as part of a preparation for a filming session with a partner or lover or indeed on a professional basis.

And I really want women to feel comfortable and I really want women to feel the fascination and the joy and the liberty of being filmed, whether it be still shots or moving images.

When I set my sideline company up, I will have to explore this further.
I had, somewhat in jest, suggested that I set up a company that photographs women and their cunts so that they can see the natural beauty of a swollen pussy. The women would probably have to play with themselves so that I could get them to see a before and after shot, and I’d really want them to see the mass of pink beauty that they are capable of thrusting forward to the opening of their cunts. I’d like them to see the amazing creation that can be seen once they part their labia and delve inside.
This in itself is a worthwhile cause. Women do not know their own bodies, I am sure of that and this would be one way of realising that what they feel when they make tentative moves to pushing their fingers inside them is not weird or unusual. It is what women are like and it is what heterosexual men adore when they plunge a gloriously erect cock inside, feeling those immense amount of silky folds wrapping all around their hard one.

However, in consideration of what I said earlier, I also think I should be showing women how to photograph themselves. I can demonstrate to them, and explain precisely what I have done with photos that I have taken of myself. We could collectively discuss ways of turning our men on through photographing our aroused pussies, and I would actively encourage this as a way of enabling them to feel comfortable and aroused when they choose to be photographed by their partners.

I’ll never forget the first time I photographed my pussy. I was really turned on for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, I was planning to share these photos with my lover. I knew that he would be excited by the prospect of seeing my cunt on film but that wasn’t the real issue. He can have a look at the real thing whenever he wants to. He can slide his fingers, cock or tongue in whenever he feels he would like to.
The real issue was that he would be aroused knowing that I was doing this, knowing that I had developed so far in my sexual awareness that I could be turned on purely by knowing that he was going to receive a photo of something he was already familiar with!
The excitement and the arousal was in the ‘doing’ even though one of us wasn’t present.

I was also turned on by taking a photograph of my pussy because it was only then that I could really see what was so fascinating for my lover as he lay between my legs, moved my labia apart and watched in awe as my erection turned and twisted the lively mounds of skin around.
I could, for the first time, see what he saw, and that excited me.
I was excited by my own sexuality, and if that sounds peculiar then think again. In order to be fully sexual, in order to make the most of the very best thing in life, I do think you have to be comfortable and aware of yourself as a sexual being. Looking at yourself is part of that. Men have the opportunity to see and handle their bits in the course of every day life. Women don’t.

Returning to the video of my and my cummy cunt.
It is the most fascinating video, and though I say it myself, far more fascinating than some of the videos you see on the porn sites. There is nothing wrong or weird about being turned on watching yourself in an aroused state. If you watch porn on a semi regular basis, then in many ways, it is actually better to watch your own arousal because you can absolutely remember that moment when you are so horny that you can hardly breathe.

The video is so carefully taken that there is a close up right inside my pussy. You can see the openings and the layers of deeply coloured skin that has clearly been ready and gagging for a fingering. My lover’s fingers manipulate my organs and then retract to see the effect of his wonderful touches, and then, there are clear, dark holes that appear and open, emitting that beautiful fluid and very clearly coming from some secretive and special places that are definitely not the pee hole.
As a scientific study it is fascinating. As a piece of erotica, it is beautiful. As a porn film, it is horny.

I wish I could see this clip now. I would live to remind myself of both the moment of filming and the incredibly intimate moment of viewing it for the first time. The awe and fascination on both of our faces was divine.

At some point, these amateur sex movies are posted onto sites around the world to share with other people. Some of these people are clearly exhibitionists, possibly hoping for a break into the allegedly profitable porn business. Others are just exhibitionists who simply like sharing their sexuality. I sincerely hope, though I am not naïve enough to think this is the case, that all those who I view have given consent to their presence on porn sites. I really would hate to be watching someone who simply squirms at the thought of their sexuality on display.
So, I have to ask the question. Am I comfortable with the thought of my cunt been shown on the internet for the whole world to see?

Yesterday, I was in horny mood having read some papers and had some thoughts. So I visited youporn and got off on some sites of women squirting their juices. It really did turn me on to see their excitement of one another and also the quantity of cum that they were emitting.
I noticed that these clips had been seen by millions, and that prior to my visit, there had already been over 2500 hits on that one clip on that day.
That’s a lot of people surreptitiously watching porn, methinks!

The clip of my cunt does not show my face. The sound could easily be muted to drown out my moans of ecstasy and even if they could be heard, you couldn’t identify it as me, so in many ways, I should actually be fine about it, especially as it could be used to dispel the myth that the only thing women emit during sex is piss.
But I am not sure I am ready for that.

Now here is the most bizarre thing. My lover has told a friend of his about this clip – purely in the scientific sense of course. He jokingly asked how I would feel about him sharing this with his friend, and I took him literally. I actually thought he was asking whether I minded.

I wouldn’t want him to share it with anyone, and he wouldn’t do that but in some ways, it bothered me less that he would share it with a friend than if he had asked to put it on a website. That is somewhat bizarre because the friend in question already knows, I assume, that the film is of me, of my cunt. Would he be able to look me in the eye having seen my pussy in action?
Well again, the answer to that rather lies with the person involved. Some people simply would be too embarrassed but with others, people who frequently look at porn, people who certainly seem to be very comfortable with their own sexuality and those of others, it really shouldn’t be a problem.

There is no secret between these two men as far as my sexuality is concerned. There is no secret between these two men that they are both deeply sexual beings who fully acknowledge and sometimes discuss their love of all sexual things, so in many ways, even though it was mentioned in jest, it really doesn’t bother me – if I could get a guarantee that the new voyeur would still treat me in exactly the same way as he would had he not seen my aroused state.
And there is another thing, if I am happy to be watched by this man having sex with my lover, then why should him seeing an erotic, scientific, horny piece of artwork be a problem?

I was thinking about this. People who have had sex with someone can still talk to them and have ‘normal’ relationships. I have quite a few close friends who I have fucked or at least been very sexually intimate with them, and I do not consider this as a problem when we meet so why should a friend of a friend have a problem with knowing that I am sexual?

My lover has also shown me photos of his ex-partners. I suppose that may not be ideal as these people do not know I have seen them in their sexual prime but it is not going to effect or alter the way I feel when I meet them, just because I have seen them naked or semi-naked in photos that were taken to celebrate the specialness of the time and people involved.

I am actually not an exhibitionist. I still find it difficult to believe that my cunt is worthy of public viewing or small private, intimate viewing. Although I have a fantasy about being watched having a glorious fuck with my lover, I am still far too vain to not be worried that I am overweight. I don’t actually want to be seen in the state I am currently in but there is a part of me that really does not have inhibitions about sharing me, sharing this part of me, and maybe that makes me a little odd!

What I definitely do want is the opportunity to partake in more filming. I want every single aspect of my sexuality and every aspect of our joint sexuality captured in film for eternity, or as long as people want it. I want every new sexual act to be filmed as well as the basic love making that we enjoy. (I don’t actually think our love making is in any way ‘basic’). I want to see his face as he puts his whole hand in my cunt. I want to see him putting it in there and I want to see the instant reaction of my pussy when he moves it out. I want to see him fucking me in all different positions, and I want to be filmed splashing my cum on every part of his body.
I want to film him jerking off with his fingers in my cunt whilst he does it.
I want to film him sticking his cock in my mouth whilst I squeeze his balls as tight as I dare.

The joy of sex is in the act and the togetherness. Photography and filming merely enhances and savours those moments.

As for sharing, well – let’s just say, I’m not ruling it out.

Sex, shoes and the workplace

Sex, shoes and the workplace

I couldn’t let this one go really.
Jenni Russell this week has written an interesting article about shoes and sex and the domination of men in the workplace.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/aug/07/high-heels-tuc

The TUC are placing a motion that high heels should not be worn in the workplace because they are not conducive to a productive working environment.
Well, I suppose, as Jenni has pointed out, that rather depends on your working environment.
Is there a union for pole dancers? If there isn’t then I may put myself forward to set one up for these lasses, who gain an extraordinary amount of admiration from me that they can walk in these things let alone perform.

Jenni goes on to say that of course, there are situations when stilettos are probably not very helpful at work but to have a blanket ban seems rather joyless. However, there are equally places of work where having heels on can really help. For example, taller people get noticed more and are more successful – apparently.

The main gist of the article is to say to the TUC – come on! Do we really have to work in drab places where sensible lace-ups are deemed the only viable footwear, where a little bit of class and sexiness is banished in some sort of 1984esque Big Brother command?

Here’s a great paragraph.
It's been one of the great mistakes of the left in Britain to confuse equality with sameness, and to think that if we can just eliminate sexual differences, or sexual awareness in the workplace, the world would be a better, happier, more egalitarian place. Well, it's nonsense. People's minds and skills should all be taken seriously, and treated equally, but not at the cost of a sexless uniformity.

I think Jenni has this absolutely spot on!
Equality does not nor ever should mean sameness. Conformity denies uniqueness, and sexual difference is unsurprisingly never going to change. Men are always going to have dicks and women vaginas! The issue about equality of the sexes is not to pretend we are androgynous but to seek a balance of opportunity irrespective of whether you have tits or not.
You can shove a woman in a boiler suit but you can still see from the form that she is the female of the species. It is how she does her job that should give her the promotion that she deserves and eradicating gender from the workplace is never, ever going to happen no matter how many stilettos you throw out of the office window!


Jenni says that “Wearing high heels is one of the great joys of being a woman, just as wearing enormous basketball shoes and oversized jeans appears to be one of the great joys of life if you're a skinny teenage boy. They both exaggerate the qualities that differentiate the sexes; elegance, delicacy and longer legs on the one hand; size, strength and potential physical dominance on the other. That has no appeal to some people, but for others it can be one of the basic pleasures of a day.”

And indeed it is! Making yourself feel sexy with the clothes that you wear and the shoes that you have on your feet can be an exhilarating experience. It can raise your spirits, especially if you have to endure the doldrums of a drab and characterless office.
I love to see people making an effort to dress well in an office, and I don’t mean that they should all be formally attired or indeed flaunting their sexuality. Far from it!
The effort I am talking about is the effort they have taken to make themselves feel good, and one of the ways that some people may make themselves feel good is by making themselves feel sexy, and this is done by dressing in a sexy way.
This sexuality isn’t an overt “come on”. It isn’t an open invitation to fondle and fawn. It is about how that person feels about themselves, and if it provides a little enjoyment to those who look on and appreciate the effort then so be it.

Obviously there is a time and a place. Tarty, over the top flaunting is not pleasant. In your face sexuality at certain times is definitely not required. Some might even go as far to say that women who use their attributes to further their professional progress rather than using their all round intelligence and ability are doing womankind no favours whatsoever.
But I am not talking about this. I am talking about a desire to feel good and ensure that you are in the best frame of mind to get on with the job.

As for me, I have been accused in the past of flaunting my bits deliberately, of dressing in a certain way to capture the attention of a colleague or two. I can genuinely state that such times have been very limited indeed. Of course, there might have been times when I have attended certain meetings, knowing that a certain attractive man might be present, and I might have take a considered approach to clothing myself on such days but never to deliberately get my tits or thighs on show to further my career.

The reason that I dress in the way that I do is purely for me. If it gives me confidence to try and make myself look somewhat decent or even sexual, that is because I want to feel good about myself. It has nothing to do with the onlooker.

And returning to Jenni, like her, I don’t think you can take sexuality out of the workplace. This is a real place with real people, often spending more time in such environments than with the people in their home. Relationships, both platonic and sexual, are formed. Again, nothing that the TUC imposes is going to make any difference and nor should it.
We are all individuals, she chants. We all thrive on the relationships that we form, be it at work, through work or within our personal lives.

And whilst we are on the subject, workplace sex is extremely horny.

I think I’d quite like to work in a office with a daily offering of pre-work or post work sex as part of the terms of employment!
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Let’s return to the heels for a moment.

Many years ago, I had both the fortune and misfortune to work in a shoe shop.
Fortune because I was surrounded by a range of delicious shoes that were crying out for me to take them home with me as part of my salary, misfortunate because I then developed an Imelda Markos style interest in what was on the end of my feet.

I love shoes, and I love sexy shoes. I also love practical, comfortable shoes that allow me to walk properly when I want to but I particularly like shoes that give me additional height that therefore accentuate the length of my legs.

And I do have a slight fantasy about sexy legs and sexy shoes and fuck me stilettos doing their level best in getting a hard on for a desired cock.
Men should be treated to well-dressed women wearing shoes that show a desire for the wearer to get a good seeing to, especially if said legs are also clad in fine stockings that are gagging to be removed.

Kinky boots are good too, especially ones with long zips that have to be carefully withdrawn so that legs can climb out and splay in anticipation.
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This is just a short piece of writing because I have to do some real work soon but I do think it would be a tragic place if being sexy was eradicated from the workplace. More over, there is an underlying problem here because there is an assumption that we can be asexual or that we should be asexual in certain circumstances.
Surely all employers want human beings working for them, and if they want humans then surely they want sexual beings for indeed that is what we are, or bloody well should be.

Eva and me

Dear Eva and Hanif,

Thank you for a truly wonderful evening on Friday. I loved the band and the impromptu performances from the audience. It is a real treat to experience and be a part of the passion of other peoples’ music and I congratulate you both for bringing such quality and depth to the outer-reaches of this part of the world. Please let me know of any more events you are having as I would really enjoy being part of that intimate gathering once more.

Best wishes
Maddie

Email: mdl@pussydimensions.com

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I walked up the street, along the cobbled stones and posted my card of thanks through the door.
It was past midnight and I had been driven by a sudden urge to do this.
I wanted to be anonymous.
My mind had already been through a hundred scenarios and had weighed up the pros and cons of this and that method, but I had settled on the discrete.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Hi Maddie,

I’m really grateful for the card. How clever to choose that particular card – it was exquisite. It was a fantastic night, wasn’t it? Really rocked! There were so many people there, I am trying to picture who you are. Please do come in to the café and introduce yourself if you are still in town. If not, then drop me an email at this address. I’d love to chat some more with you – I’m intrigued by your email address!

Looking forward…..
Eva

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Okay, what do I do now? Do I continue to be anonymous or do I just go up there, plonk myself down at the bar and say, “Hello! It’s me!”

The wind was howling and the rain was but a few minutes away. The coldness emptied itself down my back and I was chilled to the very essence of my being, but the email gave me a buzz.
It’s not that I was bereft or alone. Far from it. I was surrounded by people who have been with me for most of my life but I suddenly realised that they may not know me that well, partly because I have not allowed them to.
Yet this stranger, this unknown quantity – well, ironically, I thought she may know me. She may understand.

I grabbed the computer and walked to the café. The owners were not to be seen and a lovely dark haired and wistful youth took my order of coffee and cake.
I sat in the window and looked over the fields beyond. The greenery was breathtaking. It should have been more scorched at this time of year from the power of the sun, but the blessing, if there is one to be had, of such quantities of rain is that the countryside looks vibrant and fulsome, swimming in deep green, inviting you to meander through, following the curved trail of the little brook.

I opened the computer and started to write about what I was seeing. I got carried away in a poetic composition that had a subtle sexual undertone, assimilating valley and stream to the female form, seeing the curvaceous hills as the hips of a voluptuous woman with a river of loveliness desperately seeking to escape.

I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice Eva walk through the door with a bag of change for the till. I didn’t notice her plonk her raincoat on the floor and release her wealth of hair from the pashmina that was draped as her protector. I didn’t hear her exasperated moans and her exaggerated pleas for the warmth of a hot drink. I didn’t even notice her looking over at me, absorbing the recognition, tuning her mind back to the collection of faces in the audience and thinking that this could be the card-writer.

And I certainly didn’t notice her as she casually walked across the wooden floor and stood beside me looking out at the view.

Eventually, that instinctual mechanism kicked in. It is interesting to me how you can be in close proximity to some people and remain oblivious to their presence. Yet, sometimes, there must be an electrical force that is gathering because within an instant, where the proximity has edged a millimetre further into the consciousness, you look up and are absolutely conscious of another being, even if you cannot see them.

I looked up and smiled at the figure smiling at me.

“Maddie?” she enquired.

I stood and extended a hand to hers, which she took and pulled me towards her for a European greeting of double cheek kiss.

“Wow, how did you know it was me?” I asked.
“Easy” she said. “I’ve been asking every good looking woman who has come into the café alone if she is Maddie, just in case I missed you!” She rolled her eyes and arched her back in slightly unnecessary laughter.
“Seriously” she said as she took a seat to my right hand side, “I recognised you instantly. I remembered your face from the other night, even though I was half cut on a vodka or two too many. I thought it would be you. Very pleased to meet you!”
“Likewise”, I responded and returned a genuine and relaxed smile.

“So what are you writing and has it got anything to do with that magnificent domain name on your email? I am most intrigued!”

I slightly lowered the hood of the lap top in that instinctual and over protective way I have. I’m not used to people wanting to look at my work. I am far less used to being prepared to share my work and I saw Eva’s slight alarm at my coyness.

I explained that I would love to show her my work but it wasn’t quite finished. Would she mind if I gave her the opportunity the minute it was done as I would really like her to look at this piece of work. I smiled again, hoping upon hope that I hadn’t offended or put her off.
She placed an extended palm over my hand and said, “Of course! Us artists have to stick together and respect one another’s wishes but I am looking forward to reading this”.

In my usual modest manner, I informed her that I was merely an amateur writer who essentially wrote for her own wellbeing. She instantly agreed and said that is how she had felt about singing. It wasn’t really for anyone else, even though she did get a major adrenalin rush from being listened to and the performing in its own right. I agreed and told her I could totally empathise with that. When my writing is shared and is appreciated, I have this surge of natural high, I explained.
Eva jumped a little on her seat. “Natural highs!” she whooped. “Natural highs are the best! Only enlightened people talk about natural highs! Have you ever performed, acted, sang, read your work aloud?”

We then got embroiled in a conversation about my singing, my learned instrument playing, my public speaking and she listened in engrossed silence, carefully nodding in the appropriate places, maintaining eye contact at all times, asking pertinent questions and agreeing with the feelings and thoughts I was offering.
We talked about photography and drawing, about the beauty of simplicity and the wonderment of passion.
We talked for ages and I felt that there was an incredible and powerful bond developing, even in these short and explorative discussions and themes.

“You’ve got passion!” she suddenly announced. “I like that in a woman!”
“I do have passion” I responded, “but I’m not sure I have gift to accompany that passion”.
“I suspect you are being too modest Maddie but perfection and brilliance is nothing if there is no passion. You know that!”
“I do!”
“Then show me your writing, unfinished and raw. Let me feel it. Or show me some of your photographs. You have explained your love of photography which totally mirrors my own thoughts on why I take a camera out and about wherever I am”.

I click a few buttons on the computer and bring up some “Water” themed photographs that I took some time ago. I sidled the computer around to her so that she could control the speed of the slideshow.
She placed her elbows on the table and watched in a mesmerised state, looking at every detail of the captured shots. She said nothing.
I turned away, looking out on the greenery once more. Instinctively, I returned my gaze to the voyeur, just as she completed the cycle. Her eyes had taken on the theme and little formations of glistening moisture filled in the corners. She took my hand and said softly, “You’ve got it – the passion and the gift”.

Without a word more being said, I retrieved the laptop, hunting for the unfinished poem. Again, I turned the machine towards her, saying nothing.

Verde, veni, the hills beyond, fulsome in passion and being.
Spurting in brilliance, erupting with life, the hills meander downstream.

The curves of the vales, the strength of their sides
The existence of all humankind
Breaks forth from the womb of the valley of man
And a child has hope in his mind.

But what of the hills when creation is done?
Where does the river run then?
What hope for the woman who bore of the child?
Where is that moment of Zen?

It’s here, dear friend, in the soul of my being, in the stunning and in the unknown.
And it’s time to declare that life is not done and the river, it just wants to flow.

The hills propel forward, they move with a touch
An appreciation for all that they are.
And the legs unfold as the waters increase
And the flowing fulfilment is near.

With a glimmer of hope and a passionate kiss
The hills, they clamour for lust.
And the vulva explodes and the delta decides
That the time for procrastination is lost.

She sings the song loudly with passion and grace, with a beauty as strong as the hills
She opens her thighs,, inviting the touch, and the river contentedly spills.

I am overtaken by a moment of panic as she reads the penultimate line and I desperately resist the urge to snatch the laptop away from her and flee from the building.
In my terror, I barely notice her besides me.
“Fuck” spills from her mouth with an over-emphasis on the vowel and a softening of the completeness of the last consonants.
She throws her arms around me, in a manner that others in the café would merely interpret as a collegiate gesture and she goes to kiss me near my ear.
Only she doesn’t just brush me a quick kiss. She lingers, holding me tight and whispers in my ear.
“Fuck” Again, soft and drawn out. “Fuck me now?” followed by a swift and significant tongue trickling over the lobes of my ear and a gentle yet urgent nibble.

My inner thighs are burning. Like a kettle boiling, I can feel my cunt increasing in size and bellowing in a need to be touched.
Eva leant back, picked up the cup and drank the remnants of her coffee.

As though the last words were unspoken, she said, somewhat louder, “Come upstairs. Those photos are brilliant Maddie and now I want to show you mine!” She said it with such force, such careful disguise of the double entendre that nobody overhearing would have known.

I closed the computer down as she removed our crockery and explained to the wistful one that she was going upstairs.

I followed her as we climbed a narrow staircase into a sumptuous room, overlooking the same hills and river. She took my hand and led me to the large bay window, then turned me, hands now on my shoulders to look out of the glass and onto that mound of green.
She smoothed her hands from my shoulders down the arms and I could feel the hairs beginning to spout up in response to her subtle manoeuvre over my pores. On reaching my hands, she stopped and grasped them hard, squeezing them and then burying her head in my neck.

I turned around and she smiled. We held hands some more, just drinking in each other’s eagerness and anticipation, and then she released me and whipped her top off, cascading her tasty and perfectly proportioned tits towards my awaiting self. As I did the same, she smiled once more and stopped me from removing my bra. Her nipples were erect and I longed to have them in my mouth. I longed to suck them whilst she played with her fanny.
But Eva was going to make me wait. She placed her palms over my tits and clutched them hard.
“I like!” she announced and arched her back once more in far from unnecessary laughter.

She removed my bra by pushing the straps down to the mainstay of the clothing and whooped with delight at their size. She tweaked at my nipple and then reached behind to unclip my bra, sending the full extent of my boobs bouncing out in their fullness.
She stepped back and removed her skirt, and I was mesmerised and extremely turned on to find that she had no knickers on.
She smiled once more at my recognition of another’s sexuality, and reached down to open her labia, looking first at herself and what she could feel, and then up at me as I feasted my eyes on the brilliant bush in front of me. Inserting her finger deep inside, she moaned a little at her arousal. She then removed her finger, and placed her elegant digit in front of my mouth, raising her eyes in question and invitation.
I opened my mouth slightly, with a viciously lustful grin and she thrust her finger into my mouth so I could wrap my tongue around it, tasting her loveliness.

She undid my trousers, and swiftly plunged her hand into my panties, feeling the softness of my pubes. Taking both hands to my knickers, she pulled them away from me and instantly returned them to my inner legs to feel the giveaway signs of moisture that was collecting there.

“This is the ultimate passion!” she cried and we embraced in a fervent kiss, tonguing each other and deliberately forcing our bushes into one another.
She reached down once more and felt for my bulging clitoris. It was hard and susceptible to the merest of touches.
Concerned all of a sudden about my ability to gush and the rather expensive looking rug below me, I retracted slightly and held back, to the best of my abilities, the watery cum that was filling my entire cunt. She pulled her hand away and pulled my hand to her cunt, again siding her labia apart and nodding at me to plunge my fingers into her pussy.
“Is this something to do with pussy dimensions dot com?” she asked.
“Mmmm”, I responded “but talk about that is for later” as I knelt down and allowed my tongue to follow my fingers into this divinity.

She didn’t cum and I was beginning to be concerned about her lack of gushing and my desperate need to. I leant back and she too knelt down and then pushed me onto my back, angling my legs apart and dived into my pussy. I was moaning and containing myself and eventually I screamed at her that I wanted to cum.
“Then cum, passionate one!” she said.
“But when I cum, I cum rather violently, rather wetly!” I responded.
“Of course you do!” she said. “You have that gift in abundance, I can tell”.
“Spunk your stuff all over me. Fucking spill it on my pubes. Drench me with your sex, Maddie!”

And at that she plunged deep towards my G-Spot and I erupted an incredible climax all over her tits that were wobbling away just at the point of ejaculation.
Elated, I lay there surging more juices out of me onto the luxurious mat.
She stood up, straddled her legs either side of my waist and wanked for a short second or two. Then she dramatically released her fingers and a mass of fuck juices washed over me. She crouched over my pubes and nodded to me, so that I would put my fingers once more in her cunt.
In doing this she came some more, soaking my pubes and igniting more cum in me.
She proceeded to lick her own juices off my pubes, sliding her tongue up and down, setting yet another cascade of cum from my cunt.

We were both soaked and we lay down once more on the rug, rolling over, licking each other’s body, sucking and stroking each other’s nipples.
Blonde hair was intertwined. Kisses were forceful and urgent. I grabbed her hand and asked her to fuck me hard, which she obligingly did. She came once more without a single touch, excited by the fact that I was responding so ecstatically to her fingers inside me.

For half an hour, we fucked and fucked some more. She joked that there were no juices left but then reminded herself that she had not yet experienced such dryness and she was sure it wasn’t about to start now.
Knackered and satisfied, we stood up and she took me by the hand into her bedroom and invited me in. We embraced and dozed in each other’s arms.

“Are you a lesbian?” she asked me
“No” I responded. “I am hungry for cock. As beautiful and incredible as this has been, my first love is a cock”
“Me too!” she said. “Though I have to say, that was pretty damn good and it would be a close call. I’d rather have your cummy cunt than many of the cocks that I have fucked over the years”.
And with that she dived under the covers and licked my essential parts to yet more satisfaction.
“I’ve never been with a woman who spunked as much as me!” she laughed.
As ever, I apologised which she admonished me about, and as if to prove she meant it, she then rubbed herself slightly and gushed straight onto the pool of cum that I had placed on the mattress.

“Do you want some cock now?” she asked.
“I’m content as I am but I wouldn’t say no”.
“You have a lover?”
“Yes”, I responded, “but he’s not with me right now.”
“Then you need some cock” she said, “and when I am without my lover in a strange town, maybe you could return the favour?”

At that she reached for her phone and texted her lover. She showed me the text and we giggled, waiting for the sound of manly footsteps on the stairs.
“Fucking blond brilliance upstairs. Get your cock ready and join us. NOW. Passionate pussies need penis”

He wandered into the bedroom as we were lying on our backs with our hands crossed over, subtly stroking one another’s bush. He pulled back the duvet and watched us, then simply whipped his trousers and knickers down, holding his substantial cock in his hand as he wanked it to its hardest state.
“Eva?” he said.
“No, fuck Maddie first!” and at that he wedged his dick deep into my cunt as Eva, got on all fours and licked up the juices that were coming out of me, channelling her head around his arse as he fucked me hard. He turned round to kiss her as he jammed me once more, and then gently and sweetly kissed me too.
I moved over and fed his cock into my newfound friend’s cunt and simply watched as they fucked happily, smiling at one another and both simultaneously reaching out for my tit and cunt as they rode away.
He then withdrew from her, lay me down on my back next to her, and pumped himself to ejaculation, squirting sticky, warm seamen over us both.

At that, he smiled and left us to it.

“So tell me about pussy dimensions” she said.

“I don’t think that is necessary”, I said. “I think you have probably just got the gist and I am not sure that you need the service that I offer for awakening womens’ sexuality!”

“I want to hear anyway” she said.

And so I started to unveil my plans for a sexually enlightened world.


To be continued