June Musings

Sexual Snippets
It’s been rather a sexy week or two with a multiplicity of multiple orgasms and some blow out mind-losing sex. What a very fortunate young woman I am. If only I were a young woman and I could have more decades of the sort of sex that has been absent from my life for so long.
It’s not just me, by all accounts either. There seems to be a considerable amount of sex in the news too.
Consequently, I seem to have rather a lot to write about and no time to do so. Therefore I am going to ask a favour of any reader who happens to be viewing the blog at the moment (whatever the ‘moment’ is).
Please let me know if you would like me to explore any of the snippets below in greater detail. Alternatively, if they are not remotely interesting, critical feedback is also appreciated.

The Economy of Adultery
I am beginning to think that there would be more people having extra-curricular activity if they could afford to do so.
It could be that simple. You need some dosh to have an affair. Money provides freedom and therefore gives an outlet for all that passionate delight. You also need a healthy amount of desire, opportunity and need too but the money helps.

Think about this though and think carefully.
There is a cliché about the extra-marital affair. It goes like this. The boss and his PA or secretary has a quick one under the table at work. More and more frequently they want to have sex in more comfortable surroundings so they opt for a local hotel or a team away day/weekend. It all costs money.
Of course, it was always managerial men that had affairs. The women that they fucked were single and reliant on some payment of sorts, be it a place to live or nice clothes to wear, provided by their affluent lover.
This is the usual picture portrayed of the affair and the adulterer.

This gross generalisation is clearly far from the truth and people with no money at all have had affairs over the years but there is this idea that adultery is for those blessed with the money and the opportunity and without either one of these, it is more problematic to have an extra-marital relationship.

So how about that opening statement then? More people would have affairs if they could afford to do so. Obviously the affording is not just a monetary value but what concerns me greatly is how many people are suppressing their instinct because of an unnatural expectation that has been placed upon them. What worries me is that there are people who are living in a loveless situation because they cannot financially afford the repercussions of allowing themselves the freedom and the right to human touch and an acknowledgement of their sexuality. Yes, there are other costs involved that far outweigh the monetary and they are probably more difficult to handle or consider but we should not entirely dismiss this financial issue in affairs.

Let’s ignore the clichéd version of the affair. Or let’s not. These clichés do not appear from nowhere and the reason that the powerful man had his affair rather than his wife was that he had the power in money to do so. Money provides the opportunity.
But really, let’s ignore it now. Of course there are people who have affairs who don’t have money.
All I am suggesting is that it is easier if you do. If I had a small slush fund for an affair, I think it would enable me to make decisions about how, for instance, I could spend a night or two away from my home, or I could have a little pot of money that would be there to spend on the things that I share with my lover. There are copious times when I have been in shops and thought, “He’d like that” or “We could look at that together” but I cannot buy whatever I have seen because either I do not have the money or that if I spent on a certain item it would be questioned by the other side of my life. Having, say, a credit card that was independent from my joint bank account would be rather a useful item.

I am being rather glib here and I do not mean to be. The importance of this section of writing is probably not just about affairs but about how people live their lives.
People are lulled into the idea at a relatively early age that they should be settling down into a relationship with another human being that they care for and that the choices that they make when they are in their mid-twenties should remain with them for a life-time, even though there is an additional understanding that everything else around them should change and evolve. In some instances, this works. In others, it doesn’t and what I fear is that expectation along with a lack of money means that people cannot feel free to walk away even. I also feel that some people do not have additional sexual relationships for fear of losing this financial security. All I have to say to such people is that quite frankly there is more to life and that following the instinct of sexual desire as well as the intuition about a particular person will probably bring longer term benefit and satisfaction than any amount of money in the world.

The irony for me is that I don’t need money. I would like money so that I can do some of the things that I mentioned but if my life was different, I would hardly need any money at all. In one life, I am a spendthrift; opening my purse at any given opportunity because it is there and to some extent, it gives me pleasure to please others. In my other life, my satisfaction and wholeness is so intact that I have no need for frivolous amounts of money. In my imaginary life, money is never an issue. In imaginary worlds, I would have my house or flat (which I know needs money) and everything else I could live without. The housing thing is a big issue for me (see next snippet) but once this is sorted out, people would have such a greater sense of liberty.
I think I’d need my computer or laptop. I’d like to retain the books that are important to me and other things that I need not mention now but other than that, I’d live quite contentedly on a very small amount of money.
Because the reality is that a walk on the beach or a stroll down the river doesn’t cost a bean. The warmth of a hug and the sensuality of a kiss are without price. The brilliance of a fuck and a good night’s sleep with the person that you care for wrapped around you is beyond a price, and if I had all of these why would I need for other things?

The real economy of adultery is that in this society we end up valuing the wrong things. I genuinely believe that affairs cost money and those with more untraceable money, like the stereotypical business man, find it easier to conduct their affair. However the real issue about money is that you don’t need it at all.

The Housing Issue
There was a time when all I wanted was a place that I called my own. Then there was a time when I wanted a three bedroom house with 2.4 children. I then raised my target to a detached residence in a salubrious part of town that was surrounded by countryside where I could take my two dogs for a walk. Then I wanted my castle in a kingdom where the swimming pool was delightfully accessible and the tennis court was a mere stones-throw from the bedroom window.
And so the idealism escalated.

But then during this time of spiralling housing aspiration, I wasn’t having any sex, or what I was having was pretty insubstantial.
It has now crossed my mind that all my housing hopes were merely the equivalent of a penis extension car only for the exact opposite reason. I was wanting to spend money to compensate for the lack of sex in my life. There seemed to be little I could do about the no sex but there was plenty I could do with a bulging purse that would give me some additional luxuries in life.

There is economy in sex. If people spent more time fucking, then they would spend less time wanting other peripheral things in life. The world would be happier. Consumerism and capitalism would be a thing of the past and we could all live happily ever after. Nothing would get done, I hear you cry. Well so what? Try as I may, you cannot have sex every second of the day. There would still be time to work the land or trickle your fingers over a type writer to make some money (hee hee). It is, was and always should be a question of priority and balance.

So getting back to the housing issue, if people were housed equably, meaning that they their essential needs were met, then this would free them up to use their time effectively. Isn’t this what someone like Maslow said; ensure that the essentials are satisfied and you can get on with your life, reaping greater benefits as you realise your true potential and worth?
In my ideal world, therefore, we would not have these rambling houses that have been my aspiration. We would have sensible sized houses and flats that are good enough for any person. The concentration in life would not be about the size of the home but the amount of liberty to be oneself because this has to be one of the essential measurements of wellbeing.

England and a fuck
Okay, enough on the economy. I am confusing myself with my arguments. I need to have a real good think about money and economies of sex. It is an interesting one.

Oh dear! I think sport was another distraction for me sometimes. Football was far more important when sex was not present, not that it was ever that important except during World Cups. I’ve never understood the off-side rule and I really do not know why so much money is invested in this game.
However, now I feel more fulfilled in the fanny region, football is slightly less significant yet it’s always good to regress into the fan-zone of World Cup fanaticism.

That is, unless you have the misfortune to have been born a Brit.
Friday night was horrendous. There have been times when I have watched my national team and my poor fingers have been raw with the anxious nibbling, awaiting the goal that would take the team into the next round. In a bizarre way, I don’t mind that in comparison with what happened on Friday evening. Yes, it is frustrating to sit there in a hopeless state of inertia being unable to do anything other than yell ineffectually at the television but the other night, I couldn’t even muster that sort of enthusiasm.
They were crap. There was no heart, no passion, no togetherness, nothing. They were useless.

So my lovely friend texted me and said “They need to get some women in there. These idiots need a damn good fuck.”
My response was “Well, there’s one woman who wouldn’t give them a fuck.” Had there been more room within the text box I might have added “They don’t deserve it”.
Added to that there is not one of them that I would particularly care to take to bed with me, though I’m not sure I would kick David James into touch too quickly. He can be my token England player!

The point my friend was despondently raising was that this team have been deprived of the love of a good woman for too long possibly. Cappello has banned the WAGs from getting anywhere near their boys. He seems such a control freak that he is probably having the sheets checked for cheeky emissions.

If I was their manager, I would have told them to have an early night with Lucy and Rita after that performance. Play like a wanker, go to bed and be one. It can do you nothing but good.
In the old days, of course, that would not have been as likely. These expensive football players used to share a room with one of their team-mates, the couplings often chosen from within their home club or geographical proximity. I always found it rather amusing that these highly paid men had to share a bedroom with another when clearly they could afford not to do so. I wonder if this still happens but perhaps the policing of the wanking situation was one of the reasons. Perhaps management felt that the boys would be less likely to masturbate to full-blown, screaming orgasms with a fellow wanker in the room!

On a serious note though, in order to regenerate and revitalise they probably do need a fuck. I know that I function much better when I have either just had a fuck, once the initial Satori stupefaction has subsided, or am expecting one shortly. Right now, these boys cannot see into a future other than a sexless one. I’m assuming that should they get through to the next round, the WAGs will be allowed to see their men for a quick dalliance as reward for getting to the knock-out stages but that’s crap philosophy. If I was a man with a high level of testosterone and a desperate desire for a woman’s cunt, I think I’d play like crap too so that I could get to the far more desirable place of my partner’s pussy.

This idea that the boys will be exhausted by sex is madness. Many of the players are in their twenties, and if I remember rightly, one quick surge will probably do the business. I hope I am wrong but I cannot see any of these players with their big egos and their inflated self-esteem thinking specifically at this time of their partners desire to ejaculate. They just want a squidgy, spunky orgasm as quickly as possible.

So yes, I would let them have some women in. I would hope such fulfilled horniness would increase their desire for life and feed them with the passion that they require to go and put a winning effort in for the poor thankless souls who paid good money to watch their stink of a performance.
And if that rather nice Mr. James is currently single, I’ll volunteer to get on a plane and do my duty for queen and cuntry.

Wanting your cake and eating it
My trouble, apparently, is that I want my cake and I also want to eat it. If someone offers me the possibility of one day with my lover, I want two. If someone suggests that I can have an additional hour or three at either end of the day, then I want the night in between too. If someone says I can have a couple of days away, I contrive in my mind to make it away for the week.
All of this is partly about greed. I admit that unashamedly. It is also about aspiration and hope; about desire not just for my own selfish needs but for his as well, if indeed that is what he wants.

But back to the greed.
During the war, there were certain things that you could not get hold of. You desired them but learned to live without them. I have heard stories of people seeing tropical fruit for the first time and being mesmerised by their look and texture before they even got to the delights of eating the flesh.
Once rationing was lifted and affluence increased, it seemed perfectly normal to want and have what you could afford to do so.
There is my analogy. I yearn for bananas and now I can get them. I didn’t actually know that I liked bananas so much but now I have discovered the joy of their luscious delights, I want more and I don’t think I ought to feel guilt about wanting them.

I have lived for decades, I repeat, decades without a desire or even a proper understanding of my sexuality. Once I have finally discovered who I am why the hell should I not be hoping for further fruition? I make no apology whatsoever for wanting more of this life-giving, soul-satisfying brilliance in my life. Quite frankly, if it complies with other people’s desires, then we should be getting it on as often as is physically possible. Sex is fucking brilliant. Sex together with consideration and affection, with a mutual need for human touch, and a thoughtful intelligent conversation thrown in as well, is what all human beings should aspire to.
(Unlike other girlies who think that John Terry is the fuckable one in the team because he has naughtily nobbed a French actress or two, I’d rather spend my time between the sheets with David James, not because of his rather fit body but because he is an intelligent and thoughtful man, with his Malawi Trust for young aspirational people and his love of fine arts. I just felt a need to reiterate that, and before anyone is wondering, I am not fixated with the man, I am just trying to substantiate my point here.)

If, after years of drought, I want my fountains to cascade, then what is wrong with that? Surely it is an understandable response?
Even if there had not been years of drought or famine or rations, if you have sensibly and considerably come to the actualisation that sex is a vital ingredient of a contented existence then surely that should be the driving force to, within reason, seek its fulfilment as often as is practical to do so.

In this world, we live by the wrong rules. My wanting the cake and stuffing it down my throat is seen as greed when I feel it should be seen as a healthy realisation that sex is the most valuable thing in life and the fact that my pussy needs cock is something that I should celebrate ignore. It is something that I should do everything in my power to do something about, and I am not about to ignore reason or empathy in doing so.

I repeat. My delta has been dry. My desire has been misdirected. My passion has been thwarted. My needs have been suppressed. Anyone who has not experienced this cannot fully understand what it is like to find your sexuality and its relevance in your life. For all the empathy that they may have, they cannot possibly appreciate the enormity of such a discovery.
Do I want my cake and eat it? Too damned right I do, and for once my apologetic life I am not going to say the “S” word because I am not sorry for wanting something so essential, nor I am I sorry for wanting more.

Hung and the Gigolo
My lover is a very blessed man. He is well-hung in the cock department. It is a perfectly wonderful cock with the right dimensions and proportions, and I wish my fanny was full of it at the moment. Going into too much detail might undermine his anonymity but let’s say that size does matter and he knows what to do with his twelve inches or so.

He also knows what to do with his fingers and seemingly as soon as I know they are approaching, this sends me into an eruption of ejaculation juices so that he only has to stroke the G-Spot with the slightest of touches before I am well on my way to the first of my many orgasms.

The word “proud” has such negative connotations. I blame the faithful lot with their deadly sins myself but there is a positive aspect to this word and I am proud of my lover’s understanding of sex, his acknowledgement of his sexuality and his desire to continue along his sexual pathway.
I’m not ‘proud’ in that I have access to his cock. The pride is for him not for me.

To that effect, I also feel a desperate need to enable others to have a taste of the delectable medicine that has mended me and my sexuality.
One of the purposes of this blog is to try and make this level of sexuality known to others so that they don’t see it as some pornographic myth. I want to share the news that sexuality is out there waiting to be discovered.
Therefore, I think it would be rather special if I could offer our services to women out there who want to find what I have found.

I have no ownership of this man and I wouldn’t want to. Out of respect and affection for me, he chooses to tell me who he is attracted to and who else he fucks. I wouldn’t want to be his pimp because pimping implies possession and I have no desire to possess this man however much I desire his cock, adore his companionship and value his intellect.

So taking that pimp is the wrong word as indeed is gigolo, I would like to offer his services out to women (attractive ones only, I am afraid) who feel that there is undiscovered sexuality between their legs and would welcome a helping finger or two to release it. If the aforementioned women would like to have the act of sexual enlightenment captured on film, then I would be happy to oblige. If they would like to drive their sexuality further forward and invite me to show what I have learned about finger fucking and the G-Spot, my lover would happily film that too.
We are flexible friends in the waiting, and going back to the previous snippet, if the opportunity and desire is there, and if it is enabling other people to have some cake and eat it, then I think it is our duty as sexual beings to support the fulfilment of others.

Photography and other people’s sexuality
She stretches out on her breasts and smiles into the camera with an eye full of sexual satisfaction. She sits upright with her legs astride so that the lens can take in the great swathes of her oozing cunt as it lies there in sticky sweetness.
The man with his fingers in her pussy has a smile all over his face. He is enjoying her sexuality and feels that it is he that is arousing her to this watery cum.

The camera never lies, so the saying goes, but the girl does. The camera actually captures the girl lying and lying for it was never the touch of the fingers stabbing perpetually at the clitoris that made her cum. The satisfied smile on her face was at her own sexuality and the fact that her mind once more had driven itself into the physical presence of her orgasms.
Or maybe it was a combination of both.

She looked at the photographs and knew instantly that this was what had happened here. The whole affair had been exciting. She had always wanted to have someone watch them having sex, and the fact that the cameraman participated in the foreplay was an added bonus but it was not his touch that had created the climaxes. Her mind was doing that.

She had never intended or expected it to be anything other than a familiarisation exercise. It was sexy doing something different and she was quite keen to explore the undiscovered aspects of her sexuality. She was worried that her sexuality was tied indefinably to her affection for her lover. She’s still worried that this is the case but suspects that it may not be.
She was open in more sense than one and would not have minded being fucked by another man in the presence of her lover, especially if she could have had his cock in her mouth at the same time. No, she didn’t even need that. Having him there just kissing and caressing her would have been enough.

But the camera does lie. It showed an excitement and satisfaction in all that probably wasn’t there. Look closely and there seem no signs of awkwardness but the camera doesn’t lie. They’re there if you look for them; in the blurred state of the final product, in the inability to look at one another, in the missed connection of mouths, in the inability to get right at the heart of the cunt with a finger inside.

She’d do it again for to explore her own sexuality means exploring others. She loved the fact that her lover was there to really fulfil her. The instinctual moves that he made were not captured on camera but she knows they were there. For all her beckoning, he knew when to come and he knew when the words of encouragement to his friend were exhausted.

In the final shots, the camera didn’t lie. It captured it all quite nicely. For a practice run.

Chris Huhne statement
The former Liberal Democrat leader contender made a short announcement yesterday.
“I can confirm that I am in a serious relationship with Carina Trimingham and am separating from my wife”.

Succinct and to the point: no need to mess around with any fineries.

There are a couple of points that I want to raise about this statement and the reporting thereof.

First of all there is no apology. It is a simple statement of fact. Huhne says he is in a serious relationship and that he is leaving his wife. End of conversation. There is no apology to the constituents for his inappropriate behaviour. There is no “I’ve talked it over with the leader and have considered my professional standing”. There is no attempt to patch things up at home when clearly things are irreconcilable. It is an honest statement of fact without the need to try and justify his decision or his action to anyone.
This is actually quite a bold move considering how others in the past have shared their sexual dalliances with the nation, and I like its simplicity.

Secondly, there is the reporting of this. It is clear to me that there have been a bank of reporters parked outside this poor man’s house waiting for some action. Either that or they have one soul who is selling his identical non-story to each of the newspaper magnates. The Mail, Telegraph, Star and Mirror all have the same story in the same tedious detail. I couldn’t be bothered to look at the other papers but I suspect that they would have been the same.
Effectively, there was nothing to report. They made an announcement. They spent Friday night together. They left the house separately only to meet up once more on the train station. They boarded separate carriages and met in the first class coach for breakfast. They separated once more on arriving at Waterloo and then got in a taxi together.
That is the extent of the story. There’s nothing to say so why bother? The only comment I would make was why go through the rigmarole of leaving the house together and doing the ten paces behind bollocks at the station? This is a none story!

The interesting part of the story is how this country and its shite media portray things.
Each of the papers mentioned comment on the longevity of the relationship. It’s been going on for over a year, they say with horror and apoplexy.
Only a year? Says I.
I’m not sure that you can get an understanding of one person in a lifetime let alone a year but that is a different story. I am genuinely shocked at the media’s open-mouthed astonishment at the year long relationship and I can only assume that their gob-smacked status is more down to the fact that these two managed to get on with the relationship without the bastard press rumbling them. The media and the paparazzi are just showing their dismay in not getting to grips with a potential story but then again, like with David Laws, perhaps they did know about this but couldn’t be bothered with such a story because the Liberals were never going to come to power.

In the vain attempt to bring any excitement to this story the media have subtly mentioned that Carina lives with another woman. The Mirror goes one step further and suggests that Ms. Trimingham has been involved in a Civil Partnership. Gawd, they’re desperate for a story aren’t they? And even if this were the case, does anyone really care if people, especially women, are bisexual these days?

The final thing is that the press are desperate to make this into a scandal. I think they are missing the Cecil Parkinson’s and the David Mellor’s of this world. Only there is a complete difference between those politicians and the Chris Huhne’s of this world. You can only have a pop at these politicians if they are living a hypocrisy. The issue with the Tories when they were last in power was that they had this “Back to Basics” strap line with its Victorian family values and its invincible moral code. Only, as we all know it was not invincible and it was open to all sorts of glorious lying.
Huhne has never suggested that they are beyond reproach or infallible so therefore it can hardly be a scandal. Bloody Daily Mail with their bollocky headline. They really are utterly stupid.

Other sex news
On that note, I realise that the snippets have grown into a considerable essay as within this sentence I have breached the 5000 words mark. Apologies dear reader, I got carried away, and I haven’t even managed to mention the sensible approach to sex and relationships that have been suggested by the National Institute of Clinical Excellence, I suspect a “soon to be defunct” Quango.
Neither have I mentioned the excellent discussion on Woman’s Hour about the statistical evidence around children and their access to porn, and how there were some beautifully realistic people on the programme who acknowledged it was time for us to raise our heads from their slumber and accept that porn is a part of peoples’ lives. (There were some idiots on there as well but that is another story).
There hasn’t been time for me to talk about Goddesses of Sexual desire and the ancient people’s fear of dangerous eroticism.
But tomorrow is another day and I hope that people want to continue to listen to Zenpuss’s little outpourings from time to time.

And in the meantime, be happy with your sexuality. Let it envelop you without it smothering you. Be aware of sexuality around you and the importance of developing sexuality within others when the time is right to do so. Be open and honest about your sexuality and most of all, expect the best.
Striving for the pinnacle of sexuality is not for compromise. And on that note, I am going to sink into a pecan cake with lashings of clotted cream and drizzles of maple syrup because there’s no point in having a special cake without eating it.

The Improtance of Post-Coital

As any regular reader will know, I am passionate about sex. I am equally passionate for women to know that there is so much more that they could get from sexual relationships. I am particularly passionate about ensuring those areas of sexuality that seem to be misconstrued or under-reported are given some credence and understanding, for example the female orgasm and female ejaculation.

Whilst considering what I wanted to write about I realised that there is another part of sex that is frequently underplayed and not commented on. Some might say it is not a massively important part of sex. Some might not actually do anything about it. Some might not consider it worthy of any particular commentary. Personally, I think that if you get this right, then it can have a fundamental impact on your relationship.

In an episode of “Friends” many years ago, one of the characters was explaining how he overcame the problem of sleeping with a lover who desperately wanted to be cuddled all night. He reckoned he had perfected this system of enabling his woman to snuggle up to him and as soon as she was in the first throes of slumber he would roll her over well away from him so that he could get a decent night’s sleep.
At the time, I remember watching this with my own circle of friends and we laughed at the reality of this scene. It resonated with us and we all agreed that whilst a post-coital cuddle was important and sensual, it really was more important and realistic to say something along the lines of “Delightful love-making darling, now can we please get well away from one another so that we can sleep”.

Oh how times have changed, or maybe I wasn’t being completely honest at the time or maybe it was about who I was sleeping with at the time. One way or another, the importance of post-coital time was more or less lost on me. Now things are different.

Post-coital time does not get enough mention. It is largely ignored because once the penetration and orgasms have taken place, then there doesn’t seem to be anything else that is as vital.
Or so it seems if you look around the internet.
If you google “post coital” you get a range of issues: post-coital depression (tristesse), post-coital bleeding, post-coital pain, post-coital headaches. Not exactly a hub of enthusiasm and excitement. It then goes on to post-coital contraception, post-coital fertility tests and finishes with an article on post-coital cigarettes.

Well, I think there needs to be a redress brought in here, and I am hoping that I am going to contribute to this rebalancing act.

Let’s face facts, there is nothing more amazing than an orgasm brought about by penetrative sex. I cannot think of a single thing that could ever give me more excitement, satisfaction, peace and sensuality in the world. It is the pinnacle of all. It is the combination of a completeness with oneself and another. It is that glorious amalgamation of mind, body and soul where each component is impossible to separate from the other.
Oneness, wholeness; utter perfection.

If we accept that this is the perfect point in our lives then why would we not wish to do something to prolong that magical, sensational moment? Why would we not consider the importance of spending time to absorb the incredibly positive effects of our orgasms and share this feeling with our lover?
It is somewhat mindboggling that people do not consider their actions after sex more carefully.

I adore post-coital time. I loathe it when I have to cut short that quality time of togetherness after making love or even having a quick fuck.
There is the initial exhaustion, lucky girl that I am. There is the suddenness of the moment when you have a realisation of complete fulfilment and then there is the sharing of those individual feelings in coming together.

My favourite post coital pose is to flop down in bewildered stupor at the brilliance of my life, shortly followed by being gathered into my lover’s arms and falling into a fairly deep sleep. Alternatively, I wrap myself around him and fall asleep in the nape of his neck.
Even if no sleeping is taking place there is a calm time of reflection or simply emptying one’s mind of anything and everything, once more prolonging that sensual moment of Satori.

I adore feeling the warmth of my lover’s body around me. I adore the fact that he makes me feel so appreciated by holding on to my breasts as he falls asleep. This is quite important. By cupping my boobs post-coital, it is as though he is reiterating the fact that whilst my tits play an important role in my sexuality and the sex that we have, they are just a part of me and it is the “me” bit that he appreciates as much as the “sexual me” bit. He doesn’t have to squeeze them or arouse me via my nipples. He just has to cup them and I can feel an ongoing satisfaction.

Likewise, there are times when he might wrap himself around me and gently place his hand over my pubic hair, so that when he awakes from a real sleep or moments of calm, he has his hand in place to assure himself that I am still there and still feeling sexy, and I am assured that he likes the feel of me, and my cunt, other than to dive straight into it.

Of course, the other issue about post-coital is that if you are a hungry person, there is never only one post-coital. The first post-coital is merely a breathing space because there is more to come; more orgasms, more finger fucking, more penetration.

Feeling together and connected after sex is actually quite important to me, which is why I feel quite devastated when I have to rush away sometimes. That post-coital time is vital in bringing one another together and sharing the feelings of Satori even if such words are not spoken. That sort of oneness can bring real growth, warmth and sustainability to a relationship. Without considering time spent post-coital, I think there is a possibility that you are doing a disservice to yourself, your partner and the value and longevity of a relationship.

It therefore came as a surprise but not a shock to find that there is a term for post-coital depression.
Post-coital tristesse is literally translated as “after sex sadness”. There is a suggestion that some people feel depressed, sad or even guilt after having sex. There is also a suggestion that those who suffer from post-coital tristesse are probably having damn good sex.
There is a suggestion that multiple orgasms can increase the incidents of post-coital tristesse and that if you want to eradicate post-coital blues, one might have to forego the orgasms.

There are times during and after sex when I have an overwhelming need or desire to cry. It is inexplicable other than the perfectly obvious answer of being overwhelmed by the experience, the love and the physical/sexual fulfilment. The fact that this is not ignored, that it is positively embraced as a right and proper reaction to something so vital and life-giving means that the moment passes, is managed and is not seem as something abnormal. The wholeness of being held during the post-coital time helps enormously in ensuring that I do not suffer unnecessarily from post-coital tristesse. That is yet another reason why people should be mindful of the importance of post-coital activities. I am convinced that I am more likely to feel bereft if I have not had these intimate moments immediately after sex.
Forego orgasms? Sod that! Work on the post-coital togetherness? Definitely seems to me to be the perfect solution to this alleged problem.

This is a short post as I need to get dressed and get some pre and post coital time of my own.
It is a subject that I will probably return to but I urge readers to give some quality time to thinking about this important quality time.
Sex has never been nor ever should be seen as the mere act of penetration. After-sex is as important as the build up in developing confidence, affection and consideration of one’s partner.
If you are going to take sex and sexual relationships seriously, you should certainly consider every aspect of sex and looking at post-coital behaviour is simply part of ensuring a quality of life and love that suits all.

In Praise of Replacements

In Praise of Replacements

I’m looking at a photograph of a beautiful scene that I know so well. There are meandering fields and a few beautiful houses, scattered around a countryside hill. I want to dive straight into the photograph and walk once more in the fresh air that I know is on offer there.

Photographs are incredible. I adore taking photos. I love looking at photos; of places that I know, of places that I wish to visit, of people that I love, of people that have immensely beautiful bodies that I wouldn’t mind getting to know. Photographs tell of past times, of future meetings. They capture that single moment that you can never repeat despite the fact that identical photos will be taken by other people at other times that bear enormous similarity to the one you have. However, their photos might have different focal points to yours, even though they are essentially the same. There will possibly be different purpose in taking the photo and undoubtedly there will be a subtle difference in the feelings that occurred whilst the photograph was taken.

My lover says that I probably have enough photos of his cock. How could he possibly take another photo and it be different from the very many that I already have? In truth, it is different every time, because the arousal and excitement is in capturing the unique moment that it was taken and indeed received. Therefore, no two cock photos could be the same, even if he were to take the same image in the same position consecutively for a week.
I will never receive too many photos of him enjoying his sexuality knowing that it is prompting the enjoyment of my own. It is like a glorious and perpetual circle. His photograph gets me horny. On hearing of my horniness, he too gets aroused and so on and so forth.

Photographs are wonderful and I love taking them and viewing them but nothing can replace the whole gambit of senses as being there in the place whilst the photograph was been taken.
A photograph is a visual feast. It relies on memory and thought but there is not a real need for touch, for sound or smell. The memory isn’t particularly good at remembering and regenerating smell. Photographs scratch the surface but they have a vital role to play.

Of course, it just goes to show how utterly important it is for us to use all of our senses carefully, ensuring that as often as possible we combine them to provide the greatest impact to a situation or a place or a feeling or a passion.
Take the photo that I was talking about at the beginning. I can look at the photo and I feel delight at its beauty but when I am actually there, I can smell the greenery, the freshness of the fields. I can hear the wind rushing through the trees at the top of the hill. I can feel the warmth of this quintessential serenity of a typical almost stereotypical English country village. I can reach out and touch the gate to the meadow that opens up and allows me to squash through the mud to the top of the hill.
It all becomes more real. It allows me to be spiritually uplifted in a way that goes beyond the mere viewing of a photograph.

But the truth is that I am not in that place any longer and I am not going to be back there very soon. I rely on the replacement to keep me going, to allow my spirits to dance contentedly at the memory and the prospect of a return to the place at some point in life. Photographs have their purpose.

So thank goodness for dildos. I rammed mine up me like I’d not been fucked before yesterday. I was literally gagging for an orgasm having not had one for five days. It is not good for me to go so long without an orgasm. It is even less good for me to go so long without a damn good fuck from a real cock either but that is a different matter.
I miss certain things and certain people very much indeed so to that extent I am very grateful for my vibrator.

Like the photograph, it doesn’t really do the trick completely. It serves a purpose. It is the photograph compared with the reality of being at the bottom of that luscious hill.
It keeps me sane and semi satisfied as I wait once more for the time when I can be making love for real but it cannot replace human touch and human connectivity. It cannot replace that eye contact at that point of penetration nor can it embrace you, clutching at your boobs as you fall together in a bliss-induced slumber.
I really do understand why people have blow up dolls for a fuck but you’d need a pretty exceptional imagination to really get a dolly or a vibrator compensate for a real man or woman.

My vibrator is quite a good one; not costly but it has a delightful buzz about it. Usually, I lie on my back and just rub it over my clitoris, ensuring that I am totally relaxed. Once I have calmed myself down ready for a full blown orgasm, I move the dildo down towards my labia, tickling the sensitive entrance to my pussy.
I then turn onto my stomach and ride the vibrator in the way that I particularly like to ride cock. I moisten myself up with this action and the vibrator slips in and out of my cunt with delightful ease.
Just when I can feel the orgasm coming on, I push the machine hard onto my clitoris and feel the vibration doing its work. I then relax into the bliss of the climax and almost instantly wish my lover was with me to finish me off once and for all.

It does the trick. It is functional. It makes me cum.
But I am a woman who wants more. I can get more orgasms by switching the machine on again but I cannot get the delight of foreplay despite my little ritual described above. I cannot feel the warmth of another human being lying next to me. I cannot have someone whispering affectionate comments into my ear. Most importantly, I cannot give anything back and I really am massively turned on by giving as much as receiving. Giving is the biggest turn on ever. Seeing someone respond as you suck their cock or splash your cum over their balls automatically induces more desire and more need to fuck some more.
You don’t get all of that with a dildo, no matter how good it is but I praise the replacement out of necessity regardless.

All of this gratitude for the replacements has made me think of something else.
Is there a link between those who are highly libidinous and those who have other addictions? Does a smoker have a higher sex drive or someone who likes a little more alcohol than is good for them? Do chocolate addicts delight in opening their legs and receiving a good fuck?
Taking this further, do people who have passion for some obscure hobby also have a higher libido?
If the answer to this is yes and the passion or the habit is a perfectly healthy one, then fine. Accept the fact that you are a person who needs highs of sorts and just enjoy.

But what if you are eating too much or drinking too much or smoking too much? Is there a possibility that we could use sexual activity as a replacement?
When the borderline alcoholic is looking for a drink, might it not be a good idea to suggest that they have a wank instead? Every time a smoker who wishes to refrain from doing so fancies a cigarette, perhaps they could consider a self-fingering instead. When a person who is obsessed with something that is unhealthy, something that is upsetting their equilibrium, possibly having more sex is the answer.

I’d hate sex to be used totally for therapeutic purposes. Sex is far more important than that. Sex is possibly the most important thing in life if it is done properly, holistically, for the right reasons with the perfect ‘climax’. But it does make you think that sex and sexual behaviour could be a way of calming people who need calming and cravings that need to be curbed.

Replacements are never enough. Nicotine replacement serves a purpose but it is no substitute to the drag of a cigarette according to those who smoke. Alcohol-free wine is drinkable but it is not the same as the taste of the fermented grape. Wanking is wonderful and I would be the first to advocate such behaviour in absence and with your partner. Wanking does not have to be a solitary activity. Far from it, but it is good when the need arises.

Replacements are good and should be used effectively but nothing, nothing can ever replace the Satori of sex.
How I miss that right now.