Hysterical Sexuality

As the week has progressed since Stephen Fry made his ‘sex’ announcement that was then retracted and then counter argued and then reviewed and then analysed and dissected and rebuked, there has been an abundance of writers, both professional and amateur, making comments about the subject matter and the National Treasure’s right to open his mouth on the subject.

I include myself amongst them as I too made comment immediately after Stephen had done his business.

I started that blog with “Oh Stephen, Stephen, Stephen” and to an extent, I still stand by this exasperation but possibly not for the same reason as others have protested. I happen to think that Stephen is onto something. I happen to think that there are women who do not like sex. I happen to think there are men who feel that their women are only having sex with them out of duty rather than desire.

I happen to think that because I know people who do just that.

However, where Stephen and I part company is the reasons for this sexual inertia, or even whether this sexual inertia exists.

I also happen to believe that the reason some of these women do not like sex or are indifferent to it is because they have never had the opportunity to explore their own sexuality. I happen to believe that if women had been enabled to enjoy their sexuality generations ago, then we would have had a much healthier regard for sex in this country and certainly would not be in a situation where a gay man could even question a woman’s love of sex.

As if by magic to back my thoughts up, there are appeared in the paper today a reminder of how treatment for the sexually hysterical was developed in the late 1800s; something that Zenpuss wrote about over two years ago.

http://zenpuss.blogspot.com/2008/05/hysteria-stress-and-knowing-your-body.html

Or is it ‘by magic’ that these things appear?

If there is one thing I would certainly like to congratulate Mr. Fry on is his ability to be the Zeitgeist. Perhaps the ‘hysteria’ article only appeared so prominently because of Stephen Fry’s intervention last week. Admittedly, the article is about a film that would be appearing in our cinemas with or without the National Treasure’s comments but female sexuality suddenly seems to be the flavour of the month.

Thank goodness.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/nov/07/vibrator-victorian-women-film-hysteria

The story is about a Dr Joseph Mortimer Granville who “accidentally” invented the first vibrator whilst treating women for hysteria, depression, stress, sleeplessness and an unwillingness to go coital with their husbands. The patients submitted themselves to this electronic stimulation which resulted in “hysterical paroxysm” or orgasms to you and me.

1880 folks and we still cannot fully acknowledge the presence of a vaginal orgasm!

“There is something about that time in the 1880s, and just how strict the cultural codes were, that makes it funny” states US director Tanya Wexler. “Everyone pretended it was a medical thing, not a sexual thing, or rather, they really believed it”.

As I said, 1880 and how far exactly have we travelled.

Personally, Ms Wexler, I find it highly un-amusing that the strict cultural codes were in place and to some extent are still so today.

For example, how many “couples” do you think are going to see this film together, squirming in their seats as they worry about whether their hidden vibe is about to be found or whether there is a hidden vibrator at all, or indeed why there isn’t a vibrator that they are using together?

Mr. Fry could not possibly have made his comments if there was enough knowledge, understanding and appreciation of the female orgasm and female sexuality. He can only say such things because of the huge amount of ignorance that veils this all important subject. So it is far from amusing in my opinion.

And whilst we are on the subject of combining Fry, hysteria and sex let us consider one other aspect of this cohesive little story.

Stephen Fry, by his own admission, suffers from depression; manic depression in fact. He has been diagnosed as bi-polar. This is a debilitating illness where sufferer’s inertia invades every aspect of their lives. Left untreated it does not seem to be able to self-correct or disappear. However, with the support of drugs, the patient can improve.

But it is not just down to drugs. Lifestyle changes can also help the sufferer.

Is it possible that Stephen Fry is less “hysterical”, calmer and more contented now that he has embraced his sexuality and called time on his years of abstinence?

Please do not misinterpret this. I am not suggesting that the only way that manic depressives can improve is by having large quantities of sex, but it may just help. After all, the Hysteria work of Dr. Granville was successful. These women were allegedly cured of their hysteria once they had a regular dose of the vibrator.

Makes you think doesn’t it. I know that my own hysteria, of which there is a plenty, is certainly placated by a healthy dose of sex. I know that my own stress levels, paranoia and emotional unsteadiness are grossly exacerbated when I have not had regular orgasms, and I would even go as far as to say regular vaginal orgasms.

I need sex. I need healthy, regular, fully orgasmic sex. I need it now, I needed it yesterday and I will need it tomorrow. Fact.

But that is just me. I’m not a raving nymphomaniac as much as I would like to think I am. I am just a woman in her forties who has embraced sexuality and the need and desire for sex in her life. I need love and consideration too, and healthy relationships but that is almost another matter. What I definitely need is something that triggers that entire glorious serotonin rumbling through my systems. I need to be transcend the physical and be blasted into a surreal perfection of blissed out loveliness that only comes from damn, fine fucking, or making love, if you prefer.

Which brings me to my next extract.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/nov/07/stephen-fry-sexuality-victoria-coren

Talking of National Treasures, Victoria Coren is fast becoming one.

In this article, Victoria states that the fact that sexuality is such an individual thing. In her typical ‘hysterical’ and amusing way, she suggests that some of us might like to go cruising in the nude on Hampstead Heath (taking her scarf with her because it is November!). She also suggests that some of us might be interested in introducing pineapples into our sexual encounter but you could have two people who come together and both want sex involving a pineapple, only they have completely different ways (and ends – ooh er) of using the pineapple.

Sex is very individual.

To that extent, she argues, that Fry was both right and wrong, which is why there are so many opportunities to agree and disagree with him. There are women who don’t like sex. There are men who worry that their women do not like sex. There are women who have sex because that is the price one has to pay for the lifestyle that comes with it.

But there are equally women like Victoria Coren and I who might like sex and might like it to be a little kinky.

“What I think I want is to do filthy and disrespectful things with someone I love and trust. That's not a moral code; I just think it's sexier, to unlock the hidden and forbidden with someone you also talk to politely at breakfast and watch being a civilised grown-up on social occasions. Conveniently, love also gets stronger if you share every dark secret. That's real intimacy.

But I'm wrong, because some people define intimacy differently. I'm wrong because some of you now think I'm a slut. I'm wrong because I'll never know how much more filthy, or how much less, I'd be without the billions of influences on our suggestible little brains, including those from centuries before we were born, that built the culture in which we live."

Aahh Victoria, Victoria, Victoria – I love you!

No Victoria, you are not wrong. You are absolutely right.

We have an abundance of influences on our sexuality, and some of us have to remove some insipid ones that have been instilled over years and possibly generations. I suspect, for instance, that those Victorian women who were treated for their hysteria were not my foremothers. I suspect this treatment was for those who could afford the astronomical prices for such indulgences.

I do not know what my grandparents and great-grand-parents sex lives were like but I further suspect that there certainly wasn’t much concern as to whether the woman was sexually liberated and enjoying it all.

But of course she is also wrong!

Victoria concludes with this lovely paragraph.

“But for anyone to say that Fry is "right" or "wrong" in any general sense is madness. As his clarification spelt out, he was just throwing around ideas about the incomprehensible. There's no point trying to find the truth of desire with anyone but your partner. There is no "women" or "men" or "sex". Sentences beginning with any of those words are usually meaningless. There is nothing but an infinite number of vibrating particles, and love.

And in saying that, of course, I'm probably wrong.”

“There is no “women” or “men” or “sex””. That is correct. One cannot make sweeping generalisations about sexuality. However, we have to have a starting point and therefore there has to be statements such as “women can ejaculate” or “women can have vaginal orgasms”.

Once we have got passed those little hurdles, then we can start considering the type of individual sexuality that Coren describes so perfectly.

Sexual Snippets

Sexual Snippets: I wanted to write this evening only I wasn’t sure what to write about. Therefore the following may not be of particular interest or intrigue and is probably more for my benefit than the reader. However, I hope it is appreciated nonetheless.

The Taste of Things to Cum

I love it when I experience small synergies in my life. It makes me feel connected to the world and the people within. It is a quirky, surreal experience when some unrelated and isolated events or situations are moulded together through some invisible strand, pulling us all together in some form of unity.
We are all different, with unique needs and particular passions but then, all of a sudden, something connects.

Last week my lover was talking to me about food. He commented on how I was unusual in my liking for extremely hot and spicy food. He pondered on the idea that my cum and lubricant may taste different depending upon what I had eaten, and suggested, with his own liking for fiery tastes, that we might experiment to find out whether I tasted different after a madras curry or a particularly raunchy chilli.

I’m more than happy to oblige.

I rather like the idea of doing a food diary with a difference…. “Today I have been mostly eating……. So how do my fuck juices taste today?”

I’m even happier to oblige if it means that I get extra cunnilingus.
I adore cunnilingus.
Having his tongue wander around my pussy is one of the most divine and sensual experiences that I can get. Forcing his tongue inside me in preparation for his fingers frolicking around my fanny, sending me to orgasmic highs is stupendous and that is before he has finished me off with a wonderful cock slide, straight in to stimulate me some more.

But back to the taste test.
I rather like my lover been so accustomed to the variety of taste in my fuck juices that he can stick his tongue inside me and tell me what I had for dinner! How cool would that be!
I also rather like the idea of him getting a splendid spicy flavour from my juices that tingles his taste buds but I fear the amount of liquid that he encourages me to cascade may just dilute the effect. More of this later.

No sooner had we had this conversation that I read an account of a man who deliberately changes his diet to ensure his spunk tastes as good as it can. I hadn’t really considered the effects of diet on fuck juices and then within forty eight hours, the subject comes up twice.
I think a serious scientific study should be done on this. It could be life changing for those who are reluctant to engage in fellatio or cunnilingus, purely on the taste factor. It could be enormously liberating if someone could make a connection between a specific food and the deliciousness of secretions.
And just in case this can be proven, I will continue to eat chocolate and oranges to make my stuff as sweet as possible.

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Inexhaustible Gushes

I apologise to those readers who have considerable sexual experience. Mine have been somewhat average; more than most, considerably less than others, according to recent statistical information.
Of course these surveys are asking about frequency of sex rather than quality, and to this extent as I say, mine have been average, as has the quality, until recently.

So I have another query regarding sex and the bodily functions of an active, turned on woman of my age, or indeed any age.

Can you run out of sex juice?

I once had a conversation with a group of young lads in the course of my work, explaining how sperm was made and how millions of the little blighters were produced daily. The horror on one of the boys face was hysterical. He literally turned ashen and white. His smile faded and a look of the utmost concern registered distinctly in his eyes.
Willing him to ask a question before having to directly acknowledge his concern, I waited for the inevitable. Thankfully he asked before being cajoled.
“What happens to all the sperm? Where does it go?”

The poor lad had visions of his balls exploding if he didn’t manage to get the damn things out of him with a little help from Lucy and Rita.

As we know, the sperm disappears of its own volition without the masturbatory assistance of the aforementioned left and right hands, although I would strongly advocate that if the need is there to assist the little fellows on their way, then the mantle should indeed be firmly grasped.

The recollection of this conversation made me think about women and their fuck juices.
For example, how rapidly do they develop? I would suggest – pretty quickly between being stimulated and gushing forth.
Is there a part of your body that stores this juice? Well clearly not, otherwise there would be poor virginal women across the world with masses of fluid in their bodies waiting to strike forth.
Can you run out? If so, for how long? Or is the female body so incredible (which of course it is) that it can produce this stuff on tap given the right stimulation?

Last week, I had the utter joy of an immense amount of sex. On Monday, I came all over my beautiful friend as he lay on top of me, fucking me senseless. As soon as he slid his cock inside me, the impact of it being within me made me cum everywhere. Great swathes of juices were pouring out of me. Within the hour, I was riding his cock that was deeply pushed within me, whilst simultaneously stimulating my clitoris. Same thing happened – a mini cataract over his balls, his dick, his stomach and his bedclothes, dribbling out of me and down the side of his legs.
After lunch, we fucked some more and I covered the poor man’s settee in yet more juices, thoroughly soaking his t-shirt and my shirt.

The same happened on Thursday. More towels were needed and more fuck juices poured out of me.

Friday was sensational. Our love making was incredibly tender but fucking hard or sensually making love – it makes no difference. I still cum with incredible volume and intensity. Gallons of juices spill out and after some unbelievably powerful orgasms, I thought that there could not possibly be anything left to come out.

Before the cynics amongst you think I must have been drinking too much water or needing a pee, I can assure you this was not the case. I had neither drunk to excess nor needed to go to the loo prior to having sex.

More sex after lunch produced the same amount of cum and I honestly think that had I stayed in the place any longer, I would still have managed to get another gush out.
So what physically happens to my body? And am I capable of producing that much cum all day?
The other issue is that I am convinced that the more I cum, the more frequent the gushes, the more I want to cum some more, the more I do cum some more.

It seems to me that there is a strong possibility that the cleverness of the female form is such that it really does have the capacity and capability to have inexhaustible amounts of gush.
As with the food tasting experiment, I would now like to put myself forward as a human guinea pig. I want to fuck my man all day – from, let’s say, nine in the morning to nine in the evening – a full twelve hours of bonking. Mmmmm, guess whose fanny is filling up at the prospect?

Again, for those who may be concerned about my poor lover having to deal with this middle aged nymph, fear not. As I have explained on many occasions before, there is more to sexual stimulation than mere penetration. Even if he did get exhausted with fucking me with his cock, then he has plenty of well exercised fingers that are more than capable of curving into my cunt to extract more cascades of cum. And I am yet to exhaust him completely for he too has a very vociferous and healthy appetite for sex. He can keep going for a hell of a long time, and his cock is happily and frequently ready for as much sex as my pussy.

The results of these experiments will, of course, be written about on these pages.

Watch and wait.
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Fucking Frustration

It’s been a long week. After a thoroughly fulfilled sexual experience last week, I have had to go to the other extreme this week with no penetrative sex at all.
My dildo has had plenty of action and awaits me now as I conclude this writing.
It is Thursday and I am probably not going to have sex again for some considerable time.
I’ll survive but right now, I could seriously do with getting into my car, driving a reasonable distance and jumping into bed with a man who I know would appreciate the company.

It is not “fucking frustration” at all really because I have more than my fair share of wondrous sex, and despite outward appearances, I can cope without it. I recently went for an immense amount of time without it, and I coped.

But just as sleep breeds sleep, then so to does sexual desire demand more sex.
Last week’s marathon of sex did not placate my need or desire, rather it exacerbated it.

Today, I had the unexpected fortune of spending an hour with my beautiful friend, all the more lovely for it being totally unplanned and a huge surprise. We had a gloriously sexual snog, followed by a quick grope, just enough for him to get some of my lube on his fingers to taste immediately and also to hopefully linger long after I had gone. I managed a quick fondle of his balls and cock, loving the feeling of its arousal, and then we had to stop, behave ourselves, be rational and I had to take my leave.

It was wonderful, it truly was but tearing myself away was quite torturous. And now, I am longing to be in his bed and giving him some much deserved attention. I seriously hope that the sight of me, frazzled and unbecoming as I was, has given him the impetus to grab his gorgeous big one in his hand, slowly wanking himself to climax, whilst thinking about me doing the very same.

………. Where the fuck have I put my vibrator?