Marie Stopes

[I am speaking of]......the super-physical entity created by the perfect union in love of man and woman. Together, untied by love bonds which hold them together, they are a new and wondrous thing surpassing, and different from, the arithmetical sum of them both when separate.
So seldom has the perfection of this new creation been experienced, that we are still far short even of imagining its full potentialities, but it must have mighty powers we dimly realise.”

Marie Stopes

It is one of those synchronicity moments once more. There I was on Sunday discussing the need to look more closely at a range of women who have a thing or two to say about sexuality and by chance today, I almost fell across Marie Stopes.
This week, when I started writing, I had no intention whatsoever to look at the lives and works of specific women and yet, here I am once more about to write about another woman from another time or place.

Like Joumana Haddad, Marie Stopes had certain obstacles to overcome in order to get her work noticed, appreciated and understood without being admonished and even condemned for what she had written.
Clearly, one cannot agree with everything that these women say, especially Marie Stopes!
However, the fact that they have put themselves forward, knowing that in some way, they will be pioneers for a cause, is enough to congratulate them, almost, though I am concerned to congratulate a woman who appears to have some Nazi links/tendencies.

Personally, I think Marie Stopes had some extraordinarily awful ideas, particularly about her views on Eugenics, especially when you consider her links to Hitler, who was allegedly a personal friend.
She also held some pretty abhorrent views on Lesbianism, probably from an indoctrinated Scottish Presbyterian background.
However, she spoke some truth and she also was a strong advocate of birth control in a time when many people thought this was tantamount to the cruellest of murders (and yes, I am aware that some still do).

If Marie Stopes had not spoken out about the need for birth control, ignoring the taunts of fellow scientists and the hounding from certain members of the cloth, I may not be in a position today to enjoy the sexual liberty that I do. Many hundreds and thousands of women should be eternally grateful that there were people like Marie Stopes before us, doing the work, enduring the suffering for women like me to enjoy my sexuality.

Where does one start with the woman?
Marie Carmichael Stopes was born in October 1880 and died shortly before her 78th birthday. She was a renowned botanist and geologist and overcome all sorts of prejudice to secure her job as the first female academic at the University of Manchester.
Whilst there, she managed to secure work in Japan where she had an affair with a fellow professor, Kenjiro Fujii. It all ended rather abruptly and acrimoniously and she returned to Britain.

In 1911 she married scientist Reginald Gates but had the marriage annulled on the grounds of his impotence, something that she discovered by reading great swathes of volumes on human sexuality that she discovered in a locked cupboard at the British Museum!
At the court hearing, her husband said that Stopes was “super-sexed to a degree that was almost pathological” and that “he could have satisfied the demands of any normal woman”.

In 1916, she published what became known as the first sex manual, named “Married Love”. This was followed by a manual on child rearing called “Wise Parenthood”. The former publication was banned for many years in the States – more of this later.
How she managed to get it published in this country is an interesting tale, but it culminated in her marrying her publisher!



But of course, Marie Stopes is most famous for her sexual health clinics. She opened the first one in London in 1921 on the Holloway Road. This Mother Clinic moved to central London in 1925 where it remains today.

So who was this Marie Stopes, what did she write about and why do I think she was a consummate liar?

Let us take that quote from “Married Love” from the top of the page. She had this published in 1916, the same year that she had her marriage annulled, a big five years after the wedding. Now I have no idea how long it would take for a 120 page book to get published in the early 20th century but there wasn’t that much time between the annulment of the marriage and the publication.

This woman, a scientist whose main study was the reproductive elements of plant life, apparently needed a mass of books to realise that her husband was impotent. Well, call me a cynic but I am not sure that I believe this.
You see, I have a sneaking suspicion that she had actually had sexual encounters with the Japanese counterpart whilst she was on her travels. How I come to this conclusion I will demonstrate through her writing but also bear in mind that during her second marriage, she had a contract written to “allow” her to take young lovers.
This woman appears to know her sex and sexuality and if she had been in a sexless marriage for five years, how did she come to express loving sex so succinctly as she does in that opening passage.

Here is another one.

“With the dreams and bodily changes of adolescence, come to the youth and maiden the strange and powerful influences of the racial instinct. The bodily differences of the two, now accentuated, become mystical, alluring, enchanting in their promise. Their differences unite and hold together the man and the woman so that their bodily union is the solid nucleus of an immense fabric of interwoven strands reaching to the uppermost ends of the earth; some lighter than the flimsiest cobweb, or than the softest wave of music, iridescent with the colours, not only of the visible rainbow, but of all the invisible glories of the wave-length of the soul.”

Now it may be that she was quite a poetic person and that creative licence is part of her work but I somehow suspect that she has an inkling of understanding about the type of sexual togetherness that takes you to a new dimension; a spiritual high.

Here she is talking about orgasms, and female ones at that.

“The half swooning sense of flux which overtakes the spirit in that eternal moment at the apex of rapture sweeps into its flaming tides the whole essence of the man and woman, and, as it were, the heat of the contact vaporises their consciousness so that it fills the whole of cosmic space.”

Can you really talk in these terms and fully understand what you are saying unless you have experienced female orgasms? Vaporising consciousness is a beautiful phrase.

And so to knowledge.

“When knowledge and love together go the making of each marriage, the joy of that new unit, the pair, will reach from the physical foundations of its bodies to the heavens where its head is crowned with stars.”
“..... the fundamental knowledge which is necessary so that a man and a woman may understand each other, and love each other in the best way, is so often lacking and it was in order to give the knowledge of the normal right experience and relationship between men and women that I wrote this book.”

Without actually saying it in explicit terms, this woman is saying that the best sex, the most divine, fulfilling and perfect love is about intelligence. It is about a regard for others as much as yourself. It is about knowledge and using that knowledge and understanding of one another to talk you to a different realm.

And all of this, she tried to convey to an awaiting audience during the First World War. How frightening, nay shocking that we are still here nearly 100 years later, still living in an unenlightened world where “So seldom has the perfection of this new creation been experienced, that we are still far short even of imagining its full potentialities, but it must have mighty powers we dimly realise”.

It is vital that those of us who have experience this “new creation” open our mouths to tell the world that it is out there to be experienced. I have said this so many times, and I cannot say it too frequently.

Stopes continues to advocate time, using the senses to arouse and stimulate. She thought that city life was unbecoming to a healthy sex life.

“Even for those who have leisure to spend on love-making, the opportunities for peaceful, romantic dalliances are less day-to-day in a city with its tubes and cinema shows than in woods and gardens where the pulling of rosemary and lavender may be the sweet excuse for the slow and profound mutual rousing of passion.”

Whilst I agree that smelling the roses or the lavender are all very positive for sex, a healthy sexuality and sexual activity can take place in the city! It is about making the time to make it good!

Marie Stopes continued to discuss the roles of women and men in a marriage and the need for equality of emotion. Throughout the book she explains the need to recognise female desire. Although she discolours her argument with nasty comments about prostitutes, she is making the point, I suppose, that women should be enabled to be more like the “loose women” that their husbands like to have sex with. I think she was hoping that if women were more forthcoming in their sexuality then she could eradicate prostitution at the same time!

“By the majority of “nice” people woman is supposed to have no spontaneous sex impulses. By this I do not mean a sentimental “falling in love”, but a physical, a physiological state of stimulation which arises spontaneously and quite apart from any particular man. It is in truth a creative impulse and an expression of a high power of vitality. So widespread in our country is the view that it is only depraved women who have such feelings that most women would rather die than own that they do at times feel a physical yearning indescribable, but as profound as hunger for food.”

There we have it! A woman in the turn of the century stating that this is instinctual and women are as much entitled to sexual instinct as men.

Essentially, Marie Stopes tried to tell women that they had the right to enjoy sex and that they should probably be doing it with their husband and then all will be right with the world.
That is the basic premise.

Clearly there needs to be far more discussion.
The woman has some interesting points that are deeply clouded by a flawed view on genetics and a scary Christian standpoint that ensures that this book is definitely in the “subjective”. However, it cannot be ignored.

I am in currently trying to decide whether I ought to look at rewriting “Married Love” and calling it something else that encompasses all relationships that reflects the pinnacle of love-making that I discussed a few blogs ago. Perhaps I ought to rewrite it as “Satori Love” dispelling further myths, taking the main chapters of Stopes’s book but giving it a more Zen-like and contemporary feel.

As I said earlier, due to her Nazi sympathies that have not been proved yet have hardly been dispelled, I cannot feel completely happy with saying that this woman appeared to be on the way to an enlightened stance on sexuality. I mean, a woman who writes her only son out of her will because he married a short-sighted woman, cannot ever be called enlightened, but read those passages again. She is a thread away from getting to something real.
Her standpoint was to try and encourage marriage, and that in advocating female sexuality, it would enhance the monogamous state of being. Evidently, I am not going to argue for such a straitjacket but there has to be some applause for anyone to even mention female sexuality at a time where it was buried and only a decade on from women being treated for hysteria with electric shock treatment if they could not maintain a healthy sexual relationship with their husband.

Irrespective of whether she lied about her virginity, she did obviously have some problems with her first husband.

“In my own marriage, I paid such a terrible price for sex-ignorance that I feel the knowledge gained at such a cost should be placed at the service of humanity”.

This probably led to all sorts of problems and may have contributed to the following statement.

“When a wife is sleepless through the neglect of the mate who slumbers healthily by her side, it is not surprising if she spends the long hours reviewing their mutual position; and the review cannot yield her much pleasure or satisfaction. For, deprived of the physical delight of mutual orgasm, she sees in the sex act an arrangement where pleasure, relief and subsequent sleep, are all on her husband’s side......health not merely passive but is actively abused”

I sympathise.

Anyway, she got her book published and with the help of an American judge, it became one of the best known books in the States, given more credence than Einstein’s theories.
Here is an extract from the judge, John. M. Woolsey, who agreed to allow the book to be published.

"[Married Love] makes also some apparently justified criticisms of the inopportune exercise, by the man in the marriage relation, of what are often referred to as his conjugal or marital rights, and it pleads with seriousness, and not without some eloquence, for a better understanding by husbands of the physical and emotional side of the sex life of their wives."

"It [the suppression of sex-education books] demonstrates once more, and with shocking conclusiveness, that the government agencies vested with the power of initiating suppression are grossly unfit for the task. It emphasizes once more the truth that changing times mean changing morals; that the pernicious methods of secrecy and prudishness which characterized the treatment of sex for generations are things of the past; that with our modern attitude of encouraging and satisfying wholesome curiosity, of meeting our problems squarely and openly, we have come to regard sex not as something vile and unmentionable, not as something to be thrust into the background and to be smirkingly whispered about, but as a human function of momentous importance both to the individual and to society."

Why that last paragraph could have been written yesterday!
.......................................................................................................................................
And to conclude, here is a poem that Stopes used in the book.
I suspect this needs a blog in itself.

“To mate with men who have no soul above
Earth grubbing; who, the bridal night, forsooth,
Killed sparks that rise from instinct fires of life,
And left us frozen things, alone to fashion,
Our souls to dust, masked with the name of wife –
Long years of youth – love years – the years of passion
Yawning before us. So, shamming to the end,
All shrivelled by the side of him we wed,
Hoping that peace may ripen years attend,
Mere odalisques are we – well housed, well fed.”

Katherine Nelson

Oh, how I cry.

The Making of a Threesome: Part Four

The Making of a Threesome: Part Four

You cannot understand the tingle and excitement of this sort of sex unless you have experienced it. Just the thought of such luscious naughtiness makes me want to explode. Even now, as I write about that day, I can feel the pressure of a swelling pussy in my jeans trousers.
I simply adore sex and the incredible uplifting, all-encompassing passion that can go with it.

For it was passionate what happened that day; a very different passion from when James and I are alone in bed, making love, folding into one another or even fucking each other rigorously. That’s pretty passionate too!
But this passion was different. It was a passion for sexual stimulation not a passion for a relationship or an individual person, though clearly that came into the equation too. I am not sure that I could enjoy recreational sex with someone that I did not have at least a fleeting admiration or concern for. I don’t think I could fuck anybody, just for the sake of recreation or spreading a little happiness. I need there to be some connection.

Jill surprised me in some ways that day. She astonished me when she screamed for us to stop. I really did think that she was going to call a halt to the proceedings and I was alarmed at the thought that she may well disappear out of James’s house and never get in touch with me again. That thought rather horrified me; the notion that she might think she was being used.

And that was a tricky one.
To some extent she was. I didn’t particularly see her having a relationship with James, although if that happened, I was hardly going to worry about it. I was pretty confident about his feelings towards me and if they wanted to get together from time to time for some damn good sex, then I was not going to stand in their way, I hoped. I thought.
But she was being used in so far that James and I really did want another woman to have some fun with. It really was more for our mutual benefit than for hers though we hoped sincerely that she would be aroused and excited at the prospect. And we didn’t just want anyone. We wanted someone who could understand us and our relationship, who would not feel intimidated by our intimacy, who would not feel threatened or undermined.
It is a tall order to enter into an established relationship as a third party without causing all sorts of ructions.
I should know!

She also surprised me by her slight naivety. I had always thought Jill was extremely sexually liberated. The moment I met her I knew she was a woman who had a high libido and had been involved in all sorts of relationships. It was not stereotyping. She just oozed sexual awareness. Some people do.
When I had my moments of enlightenment sexually, I began to assume that all women who were sexually aware had very similar experiences to mine.
The look on her face when I gushed was one of alarm, excitement, fascination, horror, arousal – all sorts but mainly she was shocked, and you could see in that instance as she watched that she had never known anything like it and consequently must have thought I was pissing.

This bothered me and I knew that I had to do something about it.

Most importantly though, despite her being less sexually aware than I had anticipated, she had participated, it looked as though she wanted more and after a short and delightful quiet moment, I was ready for some more sex, and lots of it.
And another thing. Here was a woman who had more emotional intelligence than most. She knew precisely what I needed, what James and I needed after such excitement, what would ultimately be best for us all.
On retrieving her jeans from the floor and coming over to kiss us both, she suggested that she go into the kitchen and make some coffee, knowing damn fine that my male lover and I needed just a few minutes to ourselves.

In our solitude, we held one another. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to and quite honestly, I think both of us were already anticipating what we were going to be doing with Jill later in the day and who was going to get her pussy juicy first.
......................................................................................................................................................
Soon we were together once more.

I went into the kitchen first whilst James disappeared to dress himself.
I walked towards her tentatively. She immediately extended her arms for an embrace. We just stood there together. Although my cunt was throbbing, there was no attempt for any sexual behaviour. It was just two close friends hugging.
James came in and immediately recognised the nature of the hug. He walked past, wrapping his arm around both of our shoulders, giving us a quick peck on the cheek as he returned once more to the sitting room.

We followed with cups of coffee and a contented feeling.

“So....” said Jill.
“When do I get a fuck?”

It was a great way to break any tension, though there was little there.
James responded that within reason, she could have a fuck any time she wanted though he might need to watch a little finger stimulation in order to get his cock aroused immediately, having just spunked rather vociferously.

Jill laughed and explained that she would really like to talk some more before getting her fanny all excited again. She had a few further questions and she wanted some honest answers.

“So, I can see the excitement” she said. “I can see that you are both very sexy, very sexual beings. I like that. I was far more turned on by watching you fuck than I expected. I want to see that again. I want to experience that again but how do you feel about me now that I have entered into your intimacy in some way? Do you still want to fuck me?”

“Too bloody right I do” said James with full, honest eagerness. “You have a great body. You responded so brilliantly and intuitively to our needs and desires as well as instinctively to your own. Of course we want to fuck you!”

“Abi?” she asked

“I feel the same way. I have never wanted a woman more than I want you right now. I have never wanted James to fuck another woman more than I want that right now.”
And with that, I leant over and placed my palm over hers and smiled.

“That’s all very well” she replied “but I want to give you a scenario, Abi.
Let’s assume that we are all going to fuck this afternoon, and it is nearly midday now so here’s hoping. We all decide that this is such fun and it is not going to be a one off, that we are going to meet fairly regularly to fuck.
Let’s suppose that this is fine with all of us and that I enjoy sex with other people whilst you continue your relationship in the intimate way in which you have both described it. Let’s remember, I have a client who needs my fanny even though he doesn’t realise it yet!”

She continued.
“What happens when James and I are in the throes of some fucking gorgeous sex and you have to leave, to go to work or to see family?. What happens then? What happens if I decide that I would like to spend the night with James and that he agrees? How would you feel then? How far does your liberalism go Abi?”

Panic arose from nowhere. How far did it go? Could I cope with these things? I looked at James who stubbornly held his gaze to the floor. He knew this was my issue. He knew that this could undo me, undo all of this but he also knew that I had to be honest. Without that, we were going to go nowhere.

“I’d hate it, Jill” I said. “I’d hate it with a passion. I love the idea of James fucking other women and I hate the idea of him sleeping with them. It is my hang up. It is a problem. It is something that I have to contend with and so does he. However, despite everything that I have just said, I would cope with it. Quite frankly, it is up to you and up to James as to whether your instinctive desires are more precious and vital than my irrational needs. That is the issue and well, if they are, then I just have to live with that and learn to embrace it more readily in a more enlightened fashion.”

Terrified, I waited for the silence to stop.
Eventually, it was James who broke the silence.

“It might happen Abi. You know that, whether it be with Jill or another person. Jill you must know that too. I would never promise fidelity, not now. I’ve done that in the past and it has never worked for me. It is hopeless but what I said about my relationship with Abi still stands. It is whole. It satisfies me completely. I have no desire for another but if another woman came my way and wanted me in the way that you have just described, I would feel foolish in turning them away simply because I knew it would upset Abi. What idiot would push a woman out of his bed in this way?”

“An idiot who cared about his woman!” replied Jill

“ This idiot does care about his woman” James replied. “Having sex, sleeping with another does not detract from that. Abi knows that really. She just has to contend with some dark emotions to fully actualise and live with this. Nothing, no-one could replace my relationship with her. She has no need for these dark emotions. There is no need to envy another living soul. That is the truth and Abi has to somehow get this into her psyche and remember it fully.”

“Abi?” she asked.

“He’s right. I was being honest about how I might feel or how I think I might feel but I am work in progress. I have a load of preconceptions to work on, just as you have and just as James has. We are not stagnant. Hell, he may even turn around one day and be monogamous, heaven forbid! Don’t worry, it’s not going to happen and I would actively discourage it anyway”.

This broke the ice that had crept into the room and we laughed at the nonsensical and bizarre nature of relationships, how convention pulled us when we least wanted it pulling and how we were getting ready for the next stage of our adventure.

“I have some more questions but they will have to wait” she said. “I feel a tingling in my cunt!”

“Oh goodie” said James

“However, I do have one last question before we consider what we are going to do this afternoon.”

“Go for it” I said.

“This is rather personal but I am intrigued about the amount of pissy stuff that came surging out of your cunt today!”

James and I laughed for I think we had both anticipated this.
“Well obviously, it was female ejaculate” he said. “What did you think it was?”

Jill explained that of course, she thought it was piss and that despite seeing many porn stars doing something similar, she had always assumed that it was faked or that it was urine.
How was I going to get her to see the difference?

As far as I was concerned there was only one way, and I felt gloriously dirty in doing it.
I grabbed her hand and asked her to follow me upstairs. I beckoned to James to do the same.
I walked into the bathroom, remove my panties, held up my skirt so that they could both get a good flash of my fanny and squatted down on the toilet, pissing in front of them both, steering my eyes away from James’s very erect cock.

“Now” I said to Jill. “Please believe me that I would not ask you to do this if it wasn’t essential. Look down the pan and tell me what you see.”

In her defence, she did precisely that, looking down and telling me that she saw the familiar coloured water of urine.
I stood above the loo with my pants at my ankles and my skirt hitched up. I strained and asked them both to accept that there was no more urine in me. I had peed enough.
They appreciated this as fact.

I then asked James to come over to me and let me get his very aroused cock out of his trousers.
He did as he was told and stood in front of me as I looked at his big one, knowing the sort of impression it was making on my cunt.

Once more I straddled the toilet and asked James to finger fuck me as Jill stood on in awe.
He knew where to poke and swiftly made me cum, with a gushing flow that conveniently landed in the pan.

“Jill, you knew that I had finished pissing before. What do you think that is?”

“It cannot be more piss!” she said excitedly as she walked over to look for herself.

“It is completely clear Jill”, I said. “Look; not a drop of urine in there, just pure unadulterated orgasmic juices. When I fling my stuff out, it is gloriously free of urine and completely full of aroused liquid. I fucking love cumming in this way, and you, my lovely, are going to get down and taste it right now. Go on, put a finger in my cunt and then lick it clean. Does it taste of piss or something far more delicious?”

Although astounded by the directness of my request, she did as she was told.
She dipped her finger inside me, without looking at my face that was clearly registering excitement. She manipulated in around for a second or two, not much longer, and then she slowly slipped her finger into her mouth.
A smile broke out with her index finger still remaining inside her.

I knew that I had proved my point.
James grabbed hold of me and stuck his cock straight inside me.

“Bedroom!” I demanded. “Now!

An Enlightened Woman

Blue Tree

When your eyes meet with my solitude
Silence becomes fruit
And sleep turns into storm.
Forbidden doors are opened
And water learns how to suffer.
When my solitude meets with your eyes
Desire rises and spreads
Sometimes like an insolent tide
A wave running without end,
Or like a sap falling drop to drop
A sap more burning than a torment
Beginning that is never completed.
When your eyes and my solitude meet
I surrender naked as the rain
Generous as a dreamt breast
Tender like the vineyard that matures the sun
Multiple I surrender
Until the tree of your love is born
So high and rebellious
So rebellious and so mine
Arrow that returns to the arch
Blue palm nailed in my clouds
Growing sky that nothing would stop.

Joumana Haddad

Zenpuss is always on the lookout for enlightened women who are saying something about female sexuality and feminism in general. Too frequently in the past the former has been ignored and the latter has been usurped by people who cannot see the importance of the one to complete the other.

Does that make sense?
Essentially, Zenpuss gets somewhat frustrated with this notion that has lingered all too long that in order to hold dear to feminist principles and empowerment, one should renege on one’s sexuality.
Of course, it is probably the case that most feminists are not saying this at all. In fact, I can think of a couple of people I know who would have me over the coals for airing such a suggestion. They are fiercely proud of their sexuality and do not see it as an either/or.
However, there are some feminists who have done the sisterhood no good whatsoever by suggesting that overt female sexuality is merely a metamorphosis of male domination, with tits out being a subordination rather than a celebration of womanhood.

It appears that in this concern, Zenpuss has an ally in Joumana Haddad, the Lebanese poet who featured in the Guardian this weekend.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theguardian/2010/aug/21/joumana-haddad-interview
Before I go any further, I would obviously offer a disclaimer. Just because Ms. Haddad and I agree about one thing does not necessarily mean that we agree about everything, and she may well object profusely to some of Zenpuss’s more outlandish views on sexuality (though clearly I do not think they are that outlandish at all).

Joumana Haddad is an intelligent, beautiful and appealing woman. The interviewer says that she met her in a restaurant where heads seemed to turn as this woman walked in.
I’m not surprised. As I said, she is stunning.
According to the interviewer, it appears that Joumana has this kind of thing happen quite often and unlike some western feminists, she is not offended by it.

"I would never want to look like a man or act like a man. I don't need to. I mean, I love men, and I love being with them, and I love communicating with them, but I don't want to be them. I don't want to feel like I have to be like them in order to be heard!"

Oh well said, young woman.
I totally and utterly agree. If the only way to be noticed in this world is to have an array of male traits then I don’t want to be noticed. If I want to hear an intelligent response to something in life, I’d quite like to listen to it from someone who is remotely attractive and let us face facts, women tend to be more aesthetically pleasing than men, though this is not always the case.
I want women to be women in all their perfect glory. I want women to stick out in the right places and I want them to be proud of their considerable attributes.
And if heads turn in a restaurant as a beautiful woman walks in then why do we not celebrate this rather than rebuke? Isn’t it the most instinctive thing to do and isn’t instinct so frequently ignored or undermined in our lives?

But this woman is not just a pretty face. She has something to say. The poem at the top of this blog is from a book called “I did not sin enough” – a title that somehow explains why she has been confronted, condemned and reviled in her home country and other Arabic countries.

"We have done, and keep on doing, almost everything we can to encourage intolerance towards us."

, she says and I am in no position to either condone or agree with this statement but it takes a brave person, not woman, person, to say such a thing. For a woman to do it makes it all the more poignant.

But I am interested in what this woman has to say about sex and sexuality more than anything else, and I am desperately searching online to do just that.
In the article the Guardian the following quote is attributed to her.

"We constantly and obsessively think about sex, but dare not talk about it. We rid ourselves of one so-called abomination with one hand, then practice intellectual debauchery, which is much worse, with the other."

This is quite a statement! As a society we are obsessed with sex. It is everywhere. And yet we still cannot be honest enough to say that we like it. We still cannot be honest enough to admit that we like fucking with or without the additional pleasure of emotional attachment. Well, that is certainly the case with some people. We complain about sexualisation without doing anything to stop its unnecessary advancement into places it has no purpose in being and simultaneously we ignore the instinctual, honest love of sex.
It is indeed a fucked up world and as Joumana says, not only do we not talk about sex but then we exacerbate this problem by pretending that we have an intellectual response to it, without even beginning to consider the utter contradiction of what we are doing.
Madness!

But Joumana has another delightful part of her life that makes her a special person. Like other enlightened, empowered and liberated women, she has managed to get a healthy balance between singlehood and togetherness, between liberty and “belonging”, between time with her children and time with her spouse. Like another artist, Helena Bonham Carter, Joumana Haddad does not live with her husband but has a separate house some fifteen minutes away.

"It's good to keep a certain distance, you know? Keep your own space. I think if it were economically possible many people would love to do that. You would choose whether you want to spend the night with your husband or partner or not. But not just wake up and fight over the hot water and who's going to make coffee, because at the end of the day these things are really what ruin a relationship."

Oh dear, dear Joumana. Music to my ears, which is a pretty bold statement considering how much I want to be with my lover right now, how I long to have arms wrapped around me and other things within me.
Of course people would do this if it was economically viable to do so. Choice is the most liberating of things in this world of ours. Choice is all the more pleasurable if it is mutually and individually reached, if that makes sense. Sometimes, you do have to have the discussions about the hot water and you have to learn to disagree or be annoyed with one another. To run away continuously from challenge is not going to strengthen any relationship. Shit happens and discussing it sensibly rather than treading on egg shells needs to happen. However, this is less likely to happen if people are allowed to make choices for themselves, being mindful of the needs of others.
This is the Zen way, hopefully the Zenpuss way too.

She is the kind of woman that I would like to meet. She is the type of woman who I would love to have a deep conversation with. I feel that we would have an abundance of things to talk about, least of all her poetry and what inspires her to write.
I really do want to fill my world with such women if at all possible.

Here are some more quotes from the woman that reiterate my desire to meet her

“Eroticism is the pulse of life and is what most gives me the feeling of being alive.”

Yep, that is pretty much what I was talking about in my previous blog. I suspect that this woman knows a thing or two about sexual satori.

“I had always written about the body and eroticism, causing myself plenty of problems. So why not push the boundaries even further and publish a cultural magazine about the body? I founded my own small publishing house in order to remain independent, developed the concept and looked for freelance staff for the first issue.”

I know she would not thank me for saying so but whether she likes it or not, it is a brave thing for an Arabic woman to do this.





Another poem.......

BANQUET
When I sit before you, stranger,
I know how much time you'll need
to bury the distance between us.
You are at the peak of your intelligence
and I am at the peak of my banquet.
You are deliberating how to begin flirting with me,
and I,
under the curtain of my seriousness,
am already done devouring you.

Sartorial Sex

Sartorial Sex? Thanks but no thanks.

Sartorial sex? Sex that needs dressing up in elaborate clothes? Sex that involves embellishment in its retelling? Sex that requires exaggeration of the frequency and intensity of orgasmic sensations?
I don’t think so!

I don’t need sartorial sex!
I don’t need to pretend that the sex that I have is anything other than what it is. It requires no dressing up.

My sex is a cunt and a cock; mutually needy, mutually moist, mutually content.
Perfect wholeness, perfect oneness.
Total togetherness, complete individuality.
Serenity, sensation.
Peace, pandemonium.

My sex is loving and it is frantic. It is lusty but not driven by a lust. It is full of the most vital ingredients of respect, understanding, warmth, desire, passion, caring and an abundance of others that are equally important.

My sex fulfils me utterly to the point of seeming saturation. Only there is never a point when I do not want sex.
My mouth may shout “No more” but as I scream the words my legs are opening and begging for him to reach inside me once more, pounding again at the most intense point of amalgamated flesh that is protecting and collecting around my g-spot.

My sex is demanding and compassionate. It is liberating and yet I want it to devour me too, metaphorically tying me to the bed to take more and more of this perpetual brilliance.

My sex is intensely passionate. It is aggressive in touch and expectation. It is delicate in its penetration and feeling. At one minute I am begging for his cock to ram me as hard as he can, to bang forcefully into my cunt, pushing his delights so far into me that my entire abdomen seems to be exploding with an array of consciousness from every strand of skin that he gloriously manipulates. At other times, I can hardly feel him easing himself inside my body such is the juiciness of our bodies and the fixation on eyes and thoughts and feelings. There is a naked invisibility to our desire that makes the entire togetherness feel ephemeral so slight is the touch. Yet it is far from fleeting.

I call for more knowing that my body can hardly take another incursion, not that I ever feel that such divine penetration is offensive.
I beg for his cock because there is nothing, nothing, nothing that gives me more pleasure, more delight.
I need his cock, I need his adoration, I need his touch, I need to be held, to be cared for.

My sex gives me all of this, and in receiving, I give, and in giving, I receive.

My sex is my everything. There is nothing more important in my world. This sex is the pinnacle of human experience. It is where passions collide and mutually excite.

I want to write reams about this. I could write reams. I want to labour every single sensation so that the reader can see just how extremely important this sexual experience and my sexuality is.
And yet, my sex is a cock and a cunt.
It is that simple.
There is nothing more to say despite my wish to explain more.

My cunt, his cunt.
His cock, my cock.
Mine and his without possession, without ownership, without dependency.
Mine and his with possession, with ownership, with dependency in that single moment where the oneness and the desire for one another supersedes everything else.
It is a cock and a cunt.
That is all and a million things beside.

Am I needy? How can I possibly be so when I have had this sort of sexual experience?
Am I needy? Completely – to the point that I almost feel that I cannot get through the next twenty four hours without this majestic, sexual wonderment immediately.
My cunt is absolutely brimming with immense satisfaction at the moment but such incredible perusal of my cunt leaves it physically very tender. The tiniest of movements evokes an awakening, reminding me of what I have received all day. I have an orgasm collecting there in an instance.
My cunt is metaphorically bruised by amazing, incredible fucking. That sensation is still there some eight hours afterwards.
It is almost as though it is reminding me, no telling me, that I should and will have more. I may have to wait but I will definitely want more.

Is it wrong to want more? Shouldn’t I be satisfied by this immense sex and be grateful that I have ever had this experience? Of course but I would be insane, having had this experience, to simply park it as a memory and not desire it once more.

If I could, I would be lying back in bed right now. If I could I would be holding my cock, his cock in my hand, rubbing it into life, making it as erect and needy as it was earlier today. If I could, I would be begging him to rub my clitoris whilst he pushed his fingers inside me. If I could, I would spray my pussy juices all over him whilst demanding that he fills my cunt with ‘my’ cock. If I could, I would hold his face as he grabs a plentiful amount of flesh from my breasts, fondling them and forcing my nipple into an erection of its own. If I could I would plead with him to stop and immediately stipulate how much I need him back in me. If I could I would have him back in me and I would immediately be gushing my juices all over his shaft and feeling them ooze out of me to soak his awaiting balls. If I could, I would push his hands behind my arse and encourage him to spunk his gorgeous whiteness into my awaiting pussy. If I could I would insist that he talks to me and tells me how all of this feels. If I could I would tell him how fucking adorable he is and he would reciprocate knowing that a physical reward to such words are a mere second delayed. If I could we would orgasm together and fall into one another externally and internally, together and alone, loving and knowing.
Blissful in one another’s deliciousness.

If I could do all of this I would need no sartorial nonsense to elaborate my sex.

Because this sex is Satori; the ultimate expression of everything and nothing, of companionship and oneness, of complete satisfaction and an incredible desire for more.
Satori cannot really be explained. It is almost absurd to do so.
It is our cock and our cunt but it is abundantly more than that and yet in its simplicity, it is exactly that; his cock, his cunt.

All I know is that I can never ever return to a pre-satori sex existence. My cunt deserves the sex that I have. It has given me meaning. It has made sense of my being, of me being who I am. It has made me.

As I lie in nothingness and everything, I care about nothing and I care for everything. I consider my needs and I consider nothing at all.
I think there is nothing but nothing IS everything.

And that is the elaborate state of sex; the simplicity of knowing that through sex we can achieve a state of nothingness which encapsulates the most essential, precious component of life itself...............


.........................as I said, it really is not that easy to explain but for those who have got no idea what I am talking about, I sincerely hope you have this sort of sex to come. It is possible and from someone who had to do just this, it is worth waiting for.

Just expect your neediness to increase though.

As I said at the beginning, Sartorial sex? You can keep it. I don't need pretty pictures or beautiful drapes.
I need the nothingness of and the completeness of being.
I need satori.
And so do you.

Firsts: The Orgasms

“The pleasure of living and the pleasure of orgasm are identical. Extreme orgasm anxiety forms the basis of the general fear of life”.

Willhelm Reich

Men cum and that’s it for a while. Women can cum and cum with multiple delights.
A first orgasm is similar. A man can remember with infinite ease his first orgasm because it happens so resolutely, so obviously. A woman, on the other hand, might have a series of experiences that make up her first orgasm. In its multiplicity, please be aware, there is no dilution.

I offer nothing but a cliché.

Like the other children, I queued up in the corridor that led to the cold hall. Equipment was swung into position, groups were falsely made and whistles were blown to allow us to use the instrument that had been ascribed to us.
I waited patiently to get to the ropes, climbing rather too enthusiastically to the top and just staying there. I actually had rope burn between my thighs for the majority of my last year in primary school.
It was the most sensational feeling. I can distinctly remember feeling as though I was going to pee but the sensation was far more exciting than the mere act of pissing. It was a burning sensation that was free from pain and full of warmth that had no comparative; not then, not now.

I clung on for my life in the vain hope that this incredible sensation could last as long as possible. Once it had stopped I edged my way down the rope only to realise that I needed that sensation once more. Half way down the rope, I changed directions and clambered back up, holding the climatic position once more, feeling the girth of the rope between my thighs, waiting for the feeling to overwhelm me once more as though someone was pumping passion between my legs.

What is particularly interesting about all of this is the bizarre instinct that I shouldn’t actually mention this to anybody, that what I was feeling between my legs which was originating from that region but overwhelming and exciting my entire being, was something that I should not discuss with other people.
Where did that idea come from? Why did I automatically assume that I could not get down from the ropes and share this joyous experience with others? Nobody had directed me not to talk of such things. Or had they subconsciously slipped that into my psyche?

As it happened, I did tell someone. I told my best friend. We were inseparable. We shared everything. We had other friends but they were not significant. So I told my friend. I explained to her that she really ought to get up the ropes and feel that funny sensation if she clasped the rope tight between her legs.
The next week, she did it too and there we were, the two of us stuck at the top of a school hall rope, sharing our pleasurable orgasms, not saying anything, not laughing or talking, just sitting there as one would in view of a perfect vista that led your soul to another place.

At the time, I didn’t know anything at all about my nether regions. I knew that I peed from there but that was about it. I’m not sure whether I even knew that babies came out of there and I certainly didn’t know that something had to be out up there in order to make the babies.
What I also didn’t know was that, as a woman, I had this spot called the clitoris and it was the pressure upon this that was creating this warm, slightly burning sensation that was so damn appealing.

A few years ago, I had an argument with a school leader about the clitoris. We should not be telling girls that they have a clitoris, she said. If we told them about it, they would be down their knickers in a flash, feeling around for it and seeing whether they could get it to respond to their touches.
I wanted to tell her that I had discovered the joys of orgasms before I ever knew a clitoris existed, pointing out the knowledge of the biological existence of the thing would make no difference to an eleven year olds desire to explore. A girl could explore and could feel without the basic knowledge.

I rather approve of the fact that I experienced the orgasm before even having the knowledge.

Women’s orgasms are so different from men’s though and one assumes that the first orgasm is different too.

With boys and young men who have an orgasm for the first time, there is a distinct and definite acknowledgement of what has happened because you can physically see the white sticky stuff that is oozing out of your cock. Also, nowadays, through the most marginal improvements in sex education, boys know what is actually happening to their bodies. They are, in some cases, prepared for it. The slightly more enlightened sex educators actually mention masturbation. They certainly explain wet dreams and tell these young men about the production of sperm and the physical need to get rid of some of it in a perfectly natural way, either consciously through wanking or subconsciously through it seeping out in their sleep.

Young women do not have this. They do not have their orgasms explained because half the world seems to be under the impression that there is no such thing as a vaginal orgasm and they are non-too-happy about trying to explain the purpose of the clitoral climax as it appears to have no function in reproduction. Therefore, they cannot possibly explain either to young women. To illustrate this point, here is a quote that I discovered about vaginal orgasms.

“Some hundreds of the women in our study and many thousands of the patients of certain clinicians have been much disturbed by their failure to accomplish this biological impossibility”.

How appalling is that. Unsurprisingly, this quote is not given a name reference.

Of course, in this writing, I have made a fatal mistake in calling the female orgasm a “burning sensation”. It really is not quite like that. Cystitis is a burning sensation and yet there is the making of some similarity.
That sounds terrible! As though orgasms are painful. Believe me, they are not.
But evidently something physical happens to the pussy when stimulated. If you care to look, the pussy actually swells up and becomes engorged in exactly the same way a cock does. It creates a pressure and a tightness. The swelling is the beginning of the orgasm.
Cystitis is a swelling but a painful one. Orgasms are the opposite end of the swelling spectrum, giving immense pleasure and fulfilment.

The reason I am mentioning this is because that bruising sensation that you get when your cunt is beginning to swell is precisely the feeling that I remember when I was a young woman exploring my sexuality. In hindsight, I can see this as the development of my orgasmic life but it is only now, having experienced orgasms on a regular basis that I can return to this time in my life, through this writing and reflect on where my orgasms originated.
So although my first physical orgasm with assistance from a third party (i.e. the rope in the school hall) happened as described, in joyous female terms, there were seconds and thirds and fourths all moreorless at the same time, which I would like to explain now.

I knew that feeling then, of something between your legs making you feel very juicy and excited. I wanted to hold on to that feeling, knowing that it would dissipate within a relatively short time but I soon realised that I could get it back relatively quickly.
In some ways it is a little disappointing that my first orgasm is shared with an inanimate object but it is the truth.

However, there was much sharing at the same age that created other orgasmic sensations.
The first was looking at things that we felt we should not be looking at.

In the village, there was a lay by where the lorries turned into for a rest. Sometimes, they would spend the night there before setting off the following day to complete their delivery. In order to entertain themselves, they bought their magazines full of naked women who were showing their voluptuous tits, and they entertained some local girls too, judging by the discarded condoms found about the place.
The girls, neither the real ones nor the magazine variety, were not going to be shared with their wives or girlfriends so evidence of them had to be got rid of too. Hence, at the back of the lay by there was a mass of girly magazines and used johnnies.

My friend lived over the road from the lay be; a few houses down. When we were eleven, she took us over to the lay-by one day after school. Her older brother had shown her what was there, and she took delight in being the big girl who knew everything.
Tentatively we wandered over the road and walked around, oblivious to what we were about to be shown. Finally, we made our way to the ditch behind the off-road and this girl showed us this sexy secret.

I remember being shocked and a little intimidated by the supposed illegitimacy of the situation but at the same time utterly compelled to have a look. I’m not sure that I had ever seen real tits before. I certainly hadn’t seen pussy and I can distinctly remember seeing a brunette with a big hairy bush opening her legs for the world to see.
I was aroused. I obviously didn’t know at the time but looking back now I can see the immense pleasure that these photographs were giving me, and feeling quite guilty about wanting to see more.
I had that swollen feeling, as though I wanted to piss, yet it was more pleasurable than the feeling of a full bladder. There was a warmth and a sensual fullness that cannot really be described as there really is not anything comparable. Instinctively, I wanted to just press down on there, as though to hold that brilliant pressure there, forever.

I’m not sure whether the other girls felt it. There were about five of us and I do not know if they felt the same. There was giggles and laughter but I am not sure that they felt it the way I did. All I could think of was that feeling that I got with the ropes and how peculiar it was that looking at a picture of a naked woman had had such a similar effect.

This growing acknowledgement of sexuality continued as a friend who lived down my road insisted one day in sharing her moments of puberty with me.
We were talking about growing up and moving on, and for the life of me, I cannot remember how we got to the situation but soon, we were in her bathroom and she was showing me what was happening to her body. She had pubic hair, and quite a considerable amount of it being very dark herself.
I remember as she pulled down her panties and revealed this mass of darkness where I had nothing whatsoever even though I was slightly older than her. She then went on to show me her budding boobs as her nipples darkened and expanded.

All this innocent and perfectly usual behaviour was a complete turn on for me. Again, I was gloriously oblivious at the time but as the years have gone by, I can now attribute these remembered physical and emotional reactions to the personal knowledge of female orgasms I have now.

More orgasms came and went with pillows stuffed between my legs and surreptitious viewing in the PE changing room.

All of these orgasms happened before I got anywhere near someone from the opposite sex, before I had had any sort of penetrative sex but that does not take anything away from their importance and significance. In retrospect, had I looked at these incidents more carefully earlier on in life, I would have accepted and appreciated just how instinctively sexual I was, and would not have spent so many years in a sexual wilderness.

More sexual firsts to come.