Black Lace
What is it about black lace that is so damn erotic?
What is it about the intricacies of those small, miniscule gaps in the fabric where tender rumps can be seen in close, scrutinised detail that sends sensual shivers through the mind and heart of the viewer?
What is it that entices the man to trickle his fingers over the edge of the lace, caressing the skin beneath, tantalising the wearer to urge him further within?
What is it about black lace that makes a women want to wear it, has to wear it, hoping it will excite and delight her lover?
Black Lace – how the aga-bloody-doo was anyone so unsexy allowed to use such a name for the crappiest of crappy musical groups? To sensual people such as me, this really ought to be a criminal offence!
Black Lace, of course, is also the label for the female erotic writing brigade, where sadly, last year, it was announced that there would be no new commissions or publications. I wonder whether that is still the case. They still seem to have their guidance document for new writers on the website.
It seems a shame for something like this to be in decline just at a time when women are beginning to embrace the sexual liberty that should have been afforded to them years ago.
Black Lace – click on the link to the photograph above and you will see that it is from a website called “deviantart”. Clever name eh? Gets plenty of hits because of it.
I think people rather like deviant tarts. They clearly like deviant art.
But let us return to Black Lace.
Earlier this week, my beautiful lover sent me some photographs of my rump clad in fine black lace.
The photos were pretty damn good, with the light casting impressive shades across the mainly monochrome picture. Elaborate detail of the panties had been highlighted. Zooming had enlivened the original shot not blurred it. As a piece of artwork, irrespective of the photographer and the model’s relationship, they were rather impressive.
On receipt of these photographs, I told him that I was turned on. Was it wrong to be aroused by pictures of myself?
The response to that was that some might think that is rather kinky, but no. You should not worry about being aroused by erotic pictures of yourself because first and foremost, they are erotic photographs. If you already have a love and get excited by erotica, then why should it be any different if you happen to be the subject matter?
Of course, the arousal is not just about the actual photograph. As with any good turn on, it is a mixture of things that accentuate the feeling of horniness.
The photos were beautiful, and I appreciate enormously the fact that my lover even wants to take erotic photos of me. But my arousal this week was also about remembering when the photo was taken, why it was take, what happened immediately after the photo was taken, how aroused and hard my lover’s cock was once he had taken the photos, how juicy and needy was my pussy.
All those thoughts flooded back when I looked at the photograph.
But even that is not the end of the matter.
I imagined my lover downloading the images that he had taken, moving his head from side to side to get a better look, zooming in on essential places, knowing that his fingers have slid along, tracing the line of the fabric and gliding in further. I imagined my lover looking at these photos with an urgent need to grab hold of his cock whilst he was doing so, gently rubbing it, possibly with the memory of the moment of capture.
You see, sexuality, good sexual experiences do not come on their own. Yes you can have a wank and it feels good, but even that is probably assisted by photos, pictures, memories. You can have recreational sex without necessarily having intimate feelings for whoever you are fucking but you are still doing more than the physical act. You are loving the sensuality of two bodies coming together, irrespective of the feelings. Nothing stands alone in sex.
That is why it is perfectly understandable to be aroused by a picture of yourself, dressed in black lace, and remembering.
So, now to the real reason for writing.
I am now going to implore all women reading this to get out and buy a very decent set of black lace underwear. Preferably, take your lover shopping with you. Look at lingerie together. Feel the texture of the fabric together. Decide on the shape of the cut that will suit your arse and cunt most. Everyone is different and what is right for me may not be right for you.
Walk passed the pinks and the reds and the yellows and the oranges. There is a time and place for colour in the bedroom. Not now.
Concentrate on the black. FEEL and imagine what it is going to be like when you are wearing them, when your lover looks at you as the black lace veils the brilliance of the female form. Understand the magnetism of those intricate details that will excite your lover so intensely. Think about how you are going to make love in these perfect black lacy items; pushing them aside or stepping seductively out of them, leaving a pool of darkness on the floor as you fuck.
And once you have chosen your blackness of perfection, take photos of yourself or get your lover to do so. Take full frontals. Push your rear into the camera, accentuate those fulsome hips. Direct the viewer to the wonderful contrast lines of flesh and lace. Zoom in onto nipples, covered in tiny black dots joined together in subtlety.
Do all this and I guarantee that you will have a perfectly sensual fuck.
And when you have done all of that, whip them off and insist that your lover wears your discarded black ones.
More on this another time.
