From Both Sides Now

It was Helen who had told me about this particular place; just outside Bristol, on the edge of the river, overlooking the suspension bridge. Quite an attractive redbrick building, in keeping with its neighbouring houses with wonderful deep, curved bay windows.
You got the impression that they could see you approaching but no figures could be seen from the street.

If you want a truly special and unique massage that is the place to go, she had said.

I wondered.

I suspected that my idea of a unique and special massage did not quite synergise with Helen's. But to be honest, I genuinely wasn't expecting anything other than an hour of relaxation, a time when I could drift away to unknown lands and undiscovered thoughts.
That is all I needed.

I was greeted by the ubiquitous over caked dollybird with more than a hint of tedium and false delight in her welcome.
I must be getting old. These young women would look so much fresher, more attractive if only they let their pores breathe, if only they'd scrape the heavily tinged gunk from their faces.

I was directed to the changing room where I undressed, apart from my lacy thongs, and reclothed myself in the customer uniform of the heavy towelling robe. It felt snug, and already I felt the release of walking around in a house full of people without my bra on. Liberation from bras is something that I can understand. There's such joy in whipping off a bra and just feeling no need to comply with anything.
Sod the world, sod everything, let the tits hang loose, no-one is looking.

I walked along the golden lit corridor to the relaxation room and waited for my name to be called. A tiny blond with a twenty inch waist poked her head around the door and asked for Caroline.
Not me! I was glad.
Her fingers were smooth and delicate and I had a feeling her touch would have been insipid.

Natalie then came in and called my name. Follow me, she said as she directed me into the chamber.
She was tallish, just over five and a half foot with the most beautiful, silky hair tipping into soft curls as they bounced on her shoulder. Brunette.
She was a good size; not puny, not overweight but well-made, and voluptuous in all the right places. She smiled as she explained the process, verifying that I was here for a full body massage and telling me the oils she was going to use.

She left me to de-robe and I slid impatiently and in anticipation under the provided covers.

Listen to the music and drift away, she said, as she slid back the covers and started to stroke my back in strong and determined motions.

Nice panties, she had said. Strange comment but appreciated nonetheless. Was it a come on? I doubt it. What on earth would a beautiful, very clearly heterosexual woman, ten years my junior see in me? Not that I even wanted her. Not that she was clearly heterosexual. I'm ‘clearly’ heterosexual but it doesn't stop me thinking, doesn't stop me looking or wondering.

Her touch was good and I told her. It was perfect; neither too harsh nor soft, just perfect pressure. I could feel myself drifting and worked hard on ensuring she knew I was relaxed. I untensed my muscles and flopped in response to her hand movements.

Further down my back she travelled in deep, swirling motions, tentatively clipping the waistband with her thumb by accident.
By accident. By reason? By purpose?

It happened again and as her hands switched direction to work their way horizontally over my eased back, I felt her fingers linger a little too long, tracing the line of my thongs with her thumb, catching the edge and ever so slightly flickering underneath.

I wonder if they are taught to do that, to arouse and relax the client in one fell swoop. Taught or not, it was working. The sensation of gentle, knowing fingers simulating the line of my panties always does something for me.
Anticipation is an astounding aphrodisiac; frustrating but astounding nonetheless.

I waited and enjoyed as she swooped once more from my coccyx right the way to my shoulders, pressing firmly to confirm my back massage was complete.
Untucking the towel from my panties, she pulled the cover over my back and walked towards the bottom of the couch.

Legs now. She moved the cover to reveal one of my legs and gently smoothed the oils into my calves.
I tentatively moved my legs apart; an unnoticeable move but one done to prevent them sticking together, should I accidentally emit some slight juices from my pussy.
I don’t think she noticed but as she moved from calf to thigh, I was immensely conscious of her hand going to my inner thigh, and I know that I was almost certainly moistening up should she have accidentally touched the lower part of my thongs.

I was beginning to feel the familiar feeling of juices building up when I get aroused. I tried to relax and not worry about them. Surely masseurs are used to people being turned on by their actions? They must be used to hard ons. Just not sure they are used to hard ons in a woman, but I certainly had one now. I was pulsating and desperate to feel the juice of my own pussy on my fingers. I’d have to have a wank after she had finished, before I left this room.

I must have been imagining everything for once she had travelled comfortably and confidently up and down my thighs, she simply stopped, held the cover high above her face and asked me to move over onto my back.
It wasn’t done in a harsh or clinical way, but was professional and evidently, she was not interested in seeing my body.

I moved and closed my eyes as she explained that she was now going to manipulate my neck and chest, working down to the arms and then it would be over.

I lay there as she swooped her beautiful hands over my neck and down to the start of my breasts.
I wasn’t exactly willing her to drive her hands under the cover that she had expertly placed an inch above my nipples, but I was hoping that her fingers would surreptitiously find their way beneath, just as they had with my panties.

She kept on swooping down, in deep circular motions that mocked me, drawing boobs with her hand on my chest, clipping the side of my tits with her forearm.

The cover was in the way and she carefully suggested that she might pull it down a little. There was nothing sexual in this statement. It was just a practicality. I said I’d prefer that anyway.
Maybe that was a little too forward, but she removed it anyway, and I hoped my nipples wouldn’t reveal my obvious arousal. They could just have been responding to the freshness of the air.

Although my eyes were closed I could feel her gaze as she moved her hands over my tits, carefully avoiding the nipples. It felt incredible, and I desperately wanted to finger myself as she further manipulated my tits.

And then, her hands cupped my boobs and remained there a second too long. She drew her circle again, driving her fingers down my cleavage and allowed her fingers to drift over my nipples. And then she stopped and squeezed and carefully put some pressure onto her palms which were directly over my now protruding nipples.

I opened my eyes and raised my chin towards her, still laying as still as possible, and as I did, without any warning whatsoever, she simply leaned forward and kissed my nose at the same time, squeezing my tits in a very sexual and needy way.

I smiled.

Still clasping my bosom, she moved to the side and then took both hands over to my left tit and held it, releasing my nipple to the coldness of the air. With gentle and stimulating caresses she smoothed it over and over again, and then she leant over and took a mouthful of my tit in her warm and comforting mouth.
It was sensational. I could feel her hot saliva as it trickled from her kiss as she circled my nipple with her tongue and sucked gently on its tip.

Her hand moved to my other tit as she continued to massage my nipple with her tongue.

Enough! I needed to control this. I could wait no longer.
Either my hand or hers had to get under those covers and inside my pussy. I’d parted my legs as she had sucked my tit and I am sure she had noticed this movement. This time it was intentional, deliberate, the affirmation of which I hope she approved.

I held my hand over hers, and dramatically grabbed it and slid it down the length of my body towards my white, lacy thongs.
Lingering a mere second at the edge of my panties, I pushed her hand invitingly towards my pubes.

She needed no further invitation, and without any pleas from me she traced the most natural line of my body, inserting her fingers past my labia and deep into my cunt, and for the first time in our session, her fingers moved vigorously and passionately as she finger fucked me, clearly delighted in the fuck juices she found within.

I undid her tunic and fumbled around to push my hand into her bra. Her nipple were as erect as my own and I clung onto it as she continued to find her way through the folds of my pussy, deeper and deeper toward my passion.

I was going to cum, and I feared my copious emissions might alarm her. She expertly curled her two fingers deep inside me, clipping against my G-spot, and once found pushed hard in a dramatic and familiar way.
I felt my release and I silently wailed as I erupted in a monumental gush, and as I did she released herself from my clutches and dived down to capture the juices in her mouth, licking her way around my pubes and sliding her tongue into the place where her fingers had done their tidy work seconds before.

She crouched down and placed her hands on my thighs and I fucking came again, splashing her face and moistening that beautiful hair as I did.
She moved from left to right, carefully tickling my labia with her tongue and then sliding once more into my fanny with her strong and capable tongue.

I clutched my boobs as she did this, feeling the remnants of oil to ease my journey.

She moved away and stood upright, smiling, dripping with my juices, and as she wiped them from her chin, she reinserted her fingers back into my cunt and simply rested them there as she moved around the other side of the couch, bent over and kissed me.

It's in the hands

Hello. Would you like to follow me please? This way, and through that door. My name is Natalie and I'm going to try and put you in a beautifully relaxed state of mind.

If you'd like to take your robe off, just leaving your pants on. I'll just wait the other side of the door whilst you do that. As soon as you're undressed, just climb onto the bed and cover yourself with the towel and bedsheet. Lie on your tummy with your face down in the hole. And relax!

Okay in there? Are you ready?
Good. I'm going to use a range of oils to smother into your body which will relax and stimulate you at the same time. It is a full body massage today, isn't it? Good.

I'm just going to pull the sheet down and tuck the towel into the top of your knickers. Lovely - oh they're pretty.

Let me know if the pressure is too much or too soft.
Happy with that? Good.

I'm going to work down your back, then your legs and then work on your neck. Once we have done your shoulders, I'll ask you to turn over and I'll massage your neck, chest, arms and the front of your legs.

Now just close your eyes and float away with the music.
............................................................

She has very smooth skin. I like that in a woman, especially older ones. A well defined spine. Mmmm, that feels good. She's already beginning to relax. Maybe she likes my touch. I'm just going to smooth her hair away from her shoulders, brushing it over to the left. Silky - maybe I'll just spend a little time stroking her head to relax her further.
Mmmm, she likes that.

My hands are pressing firmly over her back as I swish up and down in long, sensual moves. Each movement, each stroke dashes an extra centimetre towards the base of her spine, edging nearer to those fine lacey knickers.
They look startlingly white and pure.
The next stroke I'll just gently rub against the panties, just surreptitiously lead my finger just inside. See what happens.
Ooh yes! She liked that.

Don't rush it though.

Back around the shoulders. Wow, this woman is really responding to my touches. I wonder if she's responding all over. I wonder if.......
I'll try the lingering, lengthy stroke and take my thumb towards the top of her arse.

Yes! She let me do that without a murmer. She liked me doing that.
I'm going to brush across her body horizantally now, starting at the top, moving down. I'm now hovering over the lacy hem, digging deep, stroking my finger across the lace, not lifting it, just lingering, giving the idea I want to go in.
..............................................................

I'm just going to pull the towel over your back. We'll work on your legs now. Okay? Good. Stay relaxed for me.
...........................................................

Stay very relaxed. Wow! These legs look like they can be firmly wrapped round someone. Those thighs have seen some action!
I'll start with the calves. She's got strong calves; firm, powerful, beautiful.
And sweet feet! Gentle feet! Sensitive feet! She likes the movement of my hands cupping them.

Outer thighs now in deep, rotating movements. Still relaxed, good. Moving to the inner thigh.
Yes! Warm, almost moist before the oil has got there. Oh boy, is she responding that positively to my fingers? Does she know? Did I sense a slight shifting of her legs? Did they ease apart a little? Is she inviting me in?

My pussy is trickling. I wonder if she knows.

Yes! A definite movement. She's willing me in. I can feel it, sense it.....

.............................................................
If you'd like to turn over, I'll hold the towel so you can move with ease and place it back over you, to cover you?
Are you on your back? Excellent!

I'm now going to do your shoulders and upper chest. Place your arms by your side. Lovely.
Are you comfortable?
Wonderful.
............................................................
She's peaceful, relaxed and waiting.

I move my hands across her neck, sweeping into her face, then travelling back down, circling the top of her chest. Her tits seem big. I want to feel them. I want to taste them. Does she want that too?

I circle again, taking my thumbs towards her cleavage.
She likes that. She lets out a satisfied breath.
I repeat the action, and again, deep into her sizeable valley. I tantalizingly rub my thumb across the inner section of her left boob. Her facial muscles ease.
................................................................
Everything okay? Excellent. I'm glad you're relaxing. It feels good? Invigorating?
I'm just going to move the towel down to below your chest. Okay with that? You'd prefer that? Fantastic!
...........................................................
She is a responsive one! Thank goodness. I need this as much as she does.
Beautiful breasts. Big and comfortable.
I work my way around avoiding the nipples in great swathing motions; out to the side, inwards, around the base, feeling the weight of those fabulous tits in my hand.

I place both palms over her nipples and gently squeeze her excited boobs.
She opens her eyes and gazes at me, not alarmed, not smiling, just accepting, and then she raises her chin in invitation and I lean forward and kiss her nose. She smiles as I squeeze her tits a little tighter.

I come around the side of the couch with my hand still fondling her left tit. I take both hands to her one breast and I cup it and hold it as she smiles. I tweak her nipple until there is a mountain of erectness ready to lick and I open my mouth in anticipation.

She looks up and nods as I fall forth and take a mouthful of utter joy.
......................................................

Are you okay with this? You are! Good!
I wanted you the minute I saw you.
I hoped!

I hoped too, she said as she took my hand and led it underneath the towel and thrust it into her shimmering, White lacy panties.

I accepted the invitation, and as I sucked on her tit, I reached inside her knickers to feel the excitement that I had created between her legs.

She eagerly parted them now and flung the irrelevant covers to the floor.
I finger fucked her vigorously as she unbuttoned my tunic and took out my tits.

I manipulated myself as I reached in for more juicy satisfaction, and as I did, she exploded a gush of hot steamy cum, all over my fingers as they waggled away.

I bent over and licked her sticky pubes and I thought what a fucking marvellous job I have!

It's in the chat!

I was interested to read Pamela Stephenson's Sexual Healing column in the Guardian this week. A woman had written in to explain that she was having problems with her orgasms. At the age of 49 and two painful births, she has met a new partner and cannot manage an orgasm. Pammy responded to say that her oestrogen and/or testosterone may be low so take some supplements. She also suggested that the childbirth could have severed some nerves. Also on the physiological level, she mentioned that this woman could be concerned about repeating her horrendous birth experiences and is subconciously preventing orgasm or enjoying sex for fear of getting pregnant. Therefore, Pammy's advice - use contraception to prevent pregnancy.

Bit clinical methinks! Will tablets really work? Surely a truly sensational orgasm is reached through the mind as much as penetrating or sensitising the most appropriate sensual spots in the body? And as for women who have had difficult births preventing orgasm because of a fear of pregnancy - well it is a little far fetched. If women stopped having sex because of the horrors of childbirth we would a) have a much smaller population and b) a load of extrememly miserable and frustrated men and women around the place, all gagging for sex and being unable to do a single thing about it.

To be fair to Dr. Stephenson, she also offered some very sensible advice. She suggested that the woman return to self-exploration to find out how her body was working in order to convey this information to her lover.
Personally, I think this would have been my starting point to the response, not buried half way through. By the time the writer of the letter got to the masturbation section, she is half way to the doctors to take a look at severed nerves and to book her hormone tablets, which could negate her willingness to have sex let alone her inability to have an orgasm.

I think I would also have emphasised the fact that women in their forties do experience changes to their body and that wanting to find an answer to the orgasm issue is extremely positive. I would have reiterated to this woman that it is a wonderful thing that she is being so thoughtful in considering her needs and her desires and that this in itself is one hurdle down towards a sexual enlightenment.

Pamela also suggested, in a way, that if all else fails, perhaps this woman should consider using fantasy or erotic material without going into any explanation about what this actually means.

For me, this is a key issue. If you ask people how they interpret "sexual fantasies and erotic materials" you would undoubtedly get a massive range of responses. Are erotic materials dildos or hard core magazines? Are fantasies little imaginations of being with your lover in unusual places or are they the conformed idea of dressing up as nurses or schoolgirls?

I am afraid that because we are loathe to talk about sex, even with our lovers, the sexual fantasy thing can become this horrendous cliched idea of tarty costumes and loud dominant pleas for sex.
This is NOT everyone's idea of a sexual fantasy and some people are even turned off by the thought of this role play activity. Some people are intimidated by the thought of fantasies and playing them out.
So maybe another form of advice should be considered, or at the least, explain what is meant by sexual fantasies.

I'm not knocking fantasies. I have several of my own, and even if I cannot realise them, I enjoy talking about them and telling my lover about even more exciting ways I would like to enjoy our sexuality.

Here, of course, is my particular enjoyment - it is in the talking.
What I would have suggested would have been plenty of communication, not just with the lover but also to connect with your own mind, building up a sexual desire than mere physical approaches cannot do.

For me, there is nothing more arousing than talking about sex with my lover. Obviously, this is a personal thing and what works for me may not work for other people but it completely stimulates my mind to be able to sit in a room with my lover and talk about sexy things - no touching, or at least not of one another, simply discussing a sexual piece of information, and gradually realising that you are becoming so aroused and excited that you need to, at the very least, touch yourself, and that in that masturbation, you are clearly having a very positive and arousing effect on your partner, so that sooner rather than later, you have to come/cum together for a liberating and intensely pleasurable fuck.

I think that some of my very best, most gushing, intense and lengthy orgasms have come about in this way.

I would also advocate another type of build up in writing about sex either on your own or to your lover.
If I cannot be with my lover for any length of time, whether it be a week or even a day or two, if I am feeling particularly horny, and I cannot get to his sizeable cock, then I can be placated at least by words. Phone sex is especially good but if this is not viable, then words are essential.
I think I could go days without sex if I could just have a word or two to remind me of his thoughts, his sexuality, his enjoyment of my sexuality, his enjoyment of his own sexuality. They are so incredibly important to me, and I can feel the firm and determined pressure of my sexual organs hardening in their arousal, responding to these words.

I can miss sex and get by (just about) but I struggle without words.

So my advice to this woman would be to start with a few saucy texts, build them up to be more explicit, get on the phone to her lover and surreptitiously drop into the middle of the conversation about the state of her pussy. Feel around in "self-exploration" and tell your lover what it feels like to have your fingers inside your wet pussy. Get yourself an orgasm; let it out in words, write about it, re-read it, let your lover read it and see what it does for him or her. Ask for a response.
And if it doesn't work first of all, or every time, then fine. Keep going, keep trying to be honest and open about your sexual thoughts and what it is doing to your body.

And when you next see your lover, after you have been aroused in this way, do exactly the same thing. Sit out of touching range and start describing your pussy. Tell your lover about what you do to try and stimulate yourself. Gradually raise your skirt or undo the zip on your trousers so that you can gently finger yourself as you are talking. Work your way around your body to gently, or in my case, rapidly, moisten yourself. Look at your lover as he/she is watching you. Move your eyes across each other's body until the desire is so profound that you have to move towards one another and derobe to get to the essential parts that need some reconnection.

And if all this fails and you are still without orgasm, then I would also say this.
Orgasms are wonderful. They are incomparable to anything else, or are they?
I would forego orgasm to be able to wrap myself around my lover and feel him feeling.
I'm lucky. I don't have to forego orgasm. What I am trying to say is that there is so much more to positive love making than just having a climax. Of course it is wonderful but there are other things about sexual togetherness that are of equal value, and being in touch with one another's minds and souls as you come together to share one another and physically join together in penetration - that is priceless!

Zenpuss is thinking.....

Zenpuss says……

I’m confused, and so it appears are many others. What precisely is the Sex Industry in the United Kingdom and who precisely is allowed or not allowed to do or sell certain products, including oneself?

This question has materialised over the last few weeks with regard to the Lap Dancing Clubs that are opening on the High Streets of small and larger towns across the country. It has also reared its head in relation to the types of job that the packed out Job Centres are allowed to advertise – a point made in Jenni Russell’s article in the Guardian at the beginning of the week.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/apr/07/prostitution-sex-industry-economics

For me, there is a particular issue about exploitation that will not go away, and also differentiates what I deem to be acceptable and what is abhorrent. I cannot bear to think of the poor young women who feel forced into doing something against their will or their instinct because of poverty or the overriding and abusive influence of another. Nobody could ever condone that sort of practice and every feasible rule of law should be available to support these vulnerable and naïve folk.

Some would also argue that even if they have made this choice for themselves, there is a possibility that they are oblivious to the exploitation that they have stumbled into. They think that titillation is fun, when really it is merely an abuse of the female form, reiterating that it only has one purpose – for the amusement of the greater being, i.e. the male species.

However, it must be a fact that some people actually feel confident about their own body, enjoy their own sexuality and genuinely want to thrill and excite people into feeling good about themselves, and they utterly adore and enjoy being able to demonstrate their sexiness and get a real sense of excitement for themselves in arousing others. And I have to say that these people are extremely fortunate and have an important role to play. Somebody has to be happy to do this. Someone has to choose and enjoy performing for hard core because if they didn’t, hard core wouldn’t disappear. It would simply revert, if that is the case, to the exploitation that is so abhorrent.

Ms. Russell is correct. There is an enormous difference between sitting on a factory or shop floor making or selling dildos and performing ‘extras’ in a massage parlour in the back streets of Soho. She is absolutely correct in saying that if we don’t have the legal terminology to differentiate between these, then we should think about it – “fast”.

But this is only half of the issue.

At the beginning of the article, Jenni Russell also makes a very clear point about the contradictions within government. On the one hand, we have Jackie Smith and Harriet Harman talking about changes to the sex industry that will protect the innocents and at the same time, the Department of Work and Pensions is allowing advertising for jobs in what some would deem to be the same “Sex Industry” albeit in a different form to pimping and prostitution.

Well, yes. Of course there are contradictions. I can think of many more contradictions in government speak when one minister says one thing and another of the same party comes up with a completely different scenario or solution. There is very little that is new in that.

However, this shields a key issue about sex and sexuality in this country.

We’re all confused, or so it seems.

I am sure some readers of this blog, assuming that you are out there, would say they were far from confused. They are fascinated by sex. They love being aroused by hard core porn and are perfectly happy with the ambiguous boundaries regarding the various forms, roles, jobs etcetera within the industry.

Yet in reality, it is one shoddy mess, and there is no guessing for the reason. To me, it is quite apparent.

In this country, we cannot discuss sex sensibly. We cannot have these debates because as a society we are rather prudish and puritanical about this subject, and because of this, we get these hypocritical contradictions.

We loathe obvious sex, yet we window dress our chain stores with clothing for young children that are overtly and horrendously sexual. We hide sex toys in corners of shops to laugh at them , embarrassed at the thought of using them, yet we do use them, and if we don’t we wish we could. We do not condone the girly mags high on the shelves of the local newsagent, yet we are secretly dying to have a peek because that is our instinctual behaviour. Talk about an example of nature versus nurture.

We have a natural predilection to be interested in sex, yet our society tells us that overt sexuality is wrong, shared sexual experiences other than a monogamous relationship is unacceptable, even thinking about sex should be curtailed and hidden.

We brush sex and its successful and profitable industry away, hiding it in a deceitful and derogatory way, confusing its every avenue. We are appalled at prostitution yet legitimise it by using it – well some do!

We are completely and utterly confused, and why? Because the reality of facing our sexuality and being more liberal and thoughtful about sex would confront so many fixed and ingrained ideas of both individual and society, then in reality, it is probably best to just continue with the fudge and turn away because it is too damn scary to consider alternatives and think about sex in a more positive and stimulating way.

Until we have proper, sensible and open discussions about this, there will continue to be confusions, contradictions and hypocritical behaviour, and I do not exempt myself from this. I am as hypocritical as the next person, living a contradiction of being totally in touch with my sexuality and pretending that it doesn’t exist.

I suspect that Jenni Russell and I may have different reasons for wanting clarity. I suspect that Jenni has a fairly standard feminist view of the Sex Industry, though I am making huge assumptions. I share many of her views but I also recognise a real need to be more positive about some aspects of the sex industry that I am not sure some women will ever be able to do.

I return to my points above.

Not all who choose to be sexual within the industry are being exploited. Some are, and something needs to be done about that. But there are many who are simply being incredibly positive and honest about their sexuality and how it can be enjoyed by others.

Turning back to Lap Dancing clubs, the same issues apply. There are some girls who are being treated like utter crap, being exploited into paying for their spot. There are managers of these places who are clearly not adhering to the “no touching” rule that enables them to get their licence, and of course, something has to be done about this. There are people pretending that these are not sexual places. Why? Because the great British public cannot cope with sex being so prominent in theirs or our lives. The end product? More fudging. More confusion. More hiding. This is not good!

Utopia? What would that look like? Would we want to be like the Dutch or the Swedish in being honest and open about sex? Well, I think that is the case. What we cannot have is the status quo. We really need to have these discussions and we need them fast.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Another interesting article this week that is slightly relative to this was the in the Observer Women’s magazine. It was titled something like “The married women of Britain tell it like it is”. There were four or five married women talking about love, life, marriage, sex etc. They were the stereotypes ranging from newly married to the serial affair doer.

I wasn’t in there. Not one of them had anything to do with representing me, and I am fairly convinced that I am not unique.

Yet again, they talked about ambiguous and what I would have found somewhat patronising and futile questions. Not once were they asked about female orgasms or masturbation or what happens when they feel they want to go a step further in the flirting game. They weren’t asked about their ideas on polyamory or indeed the Sex Industry, whether they know about their partners sexual desires. Yet again, noone is facing the real issues. Nobody wants to talk about the real issues of sexuality that are far more interesting, and far more challenging.

When are people going to be ready to talk?

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Angelina is ready. But then again, she has always been ready.

She has always been extremely honest about where she stands sexually, and I would be more than happy to stand precisely where she is, and not because I have a particular interest in her partner. He doesn’t actually do it for me.

According to the headline piece on a magazine I saw today, Angelina has told Brad that she is totally devoted to him but also wants other sexual partners. He, apparently, is devastated about this and cannot understand her desire for others. I suppose if I was fucking Angelina Jolie, I may not want to share her with others but I would like to think that I cared about her enough to want others to experience her seemingly insatiable sexual appetite and experience. More importantly, I hope I would show enough caring to want her to enjoy her sexuality, knowing that she still wanted to fuck me more than fucking other people. Difficult concept, I know but I do think Mr. Pitt should think about this more rationally.

She wants to fuck other people. She wants to make love and fuck him!

He is in a relationship with one of the sexiest women that is known to many and therefore labelled as one of the sexiest women on the planet. I don’t know whether Angelina is the sexiest woman on the planet or whether the goer at 69 Mapletree Gardens in Middle England suburbia really has that title. He shouldn’t try and tether that horse – I wonder if she is a fiery horse? I doubt it – no she is a Gemini, Air Rabbit! How tame!

………………………………………………………………………………………….

I have to stop now. These are just some collected thoughts.

It saddens me that we, including I, cannot have this sort of honesty about sexuality. I dream of a day when this country will start to think more rationally and in a more enlightened way about sex and attachment and love and sexuality, about fucking and use of words deemed too naughty to print. Another example was in the newspaper today. There were complaints of an advert showing a woman having an orgasm using a new female-inducing orgasm product from Durex.

I beg to ask the question, were they worried about the offensiveness of hearing a woman doing an impersonation of Meg Ryan at her most famous moment, or were they more appalled by people making assumptions that there was actually a real thing that is known as the female orgasm, and if there was such a thing as a female orgasm, do these creatures really have to scream and bellow like that?

How I want to howl with the overwhelming delight of being brought to that sensational, rising and eternally divine moment of complete unforgiving and abounding orgasm?

And no-one is going to shut me up when I want to scream with the joy of it.

Fancy a Fuck?

Fucking for the moment

I adore a bloody good fuck. I don’t think, in recent years, I have shied away from this fact despite it being a fairly new phenomenon for me, despite it still being somewhat unbelievable that I can say this and actually agree with the sentiment behind the statement.

When I think of the years that I spent in isolated denial of the joys of sex, it almost sends me cowering into a foetal position in horror at the wasted years and misspent opportunities, not that there were that many.
But there is no point in dwelling on this. There is always the possibility that I enjoy sex more now because of the barrenness of decades before, and there is always the possibility that I simply wasn’t ready physically, emotionally, spiritually to truly appreciate the life giving values of a good sexual experience.

Let’s consider the now, and I return to my opening statement.
I adore a bloody good fuck. I also adore many more sexual pleasures. I have always masturbated fairly regularly. I have always found that pushing my clitoris against a large object and rubbing it until I cum is remarkably relaxing as well as intensely sensual.
I have always been blessed with a fertile imagination that has allowed me to have the sexual excitement that I never expected to experience. I still have plenty of these fantasies to live in real life but more of that later. It is the fucking that I want to concentrate on today, and fucking for the moment in particular.

When there is not an opportunity for regular sex, whatever your take on ‘regular’ may be, then one could make an assumption that you begin to crave sex in a way that one might desire food in a pang of hunger. One may also assume that once that hunger has been appeased, then the craving should dissipate, and that is certainly the case with food. I suppose that is also the case with sex, for some people, yet the reverse seems to happen with me.
If I have not had sex for some time, and yes, this could be merely a matter of days, then I definitely desire it, I devour it, I adore it and possibly appreciate it all the more for the fact that I have had to wait for it.
However, it appears that I have an insatiable appetite. Once I have had sex, and incredibly good sex at that, then I want more, not quite instantaneously but fairly soon afterwards.

In other words, for me, a good fuck seems to feed a need for another good fuck, and if I am fortunate enough to be pleasured twice, then I would still happily be fucked some more. In fact, I haven’t yet arrived at the time when I am ‘unfuckable’ because of an exhausted or raw red cunt or a decline in desire. I simply want fucking quite frequently.
Obviously, it goes without saying that my desire for sex is limited in so far that I don’t just want any old sex. I want good sex. I want to cum, to feel, to enjoy, to be taken to that special place where only certain experiences can take me. I am not so addicted to sex that I will simply open my legs for any cock, and I am not sure that I ever will.
But I do adore a good fuck.

All of this made me think today about sex and about how one prepares oneself for a time, however long, when one knows that the sort of sex that is particularly desired is not available.
It suddenly crossed my mind, as I lay in a luxurious hot and bubbly bath, with my fingers ever so gently sliding in and out of my fanny that I appear to be a complete contradiction. Here I am admitting to a strong almost insatiable appetite for sex yet knowing that I am not so addicted that I have to have ANY sex, merely for the sake of having sex.
In essence, if required, I can return to my semi-celibate days and simply wait. Obviously, during any break from penetrative sex be it a day, a month or a year (heaven forbid), then there is always the opportunity to self-pleasure, and I am looking forward to building up my skills in this area so that I can demonstrate my nimble fingers at a later date.

Now I know that this is not the way everyone would choose to cope with sex or even a lack of it, and I want to make it absolutely explicit that my way is simply that – my way. Other people may decide that they want sex as and when opportunities arise, and if that is their choice, then that is absolutely what they should do. It might even be my way one day, who knows?

All of this is somewhat interesting but not my real purpose in writing today. How one copes without sex with the person one wants to have sex with is an individual thing; not having sex or having sex, not wanking or tossing off on a twice daily basis is an individual thing.
But it is this that really struck me today.

Can you build up a mass of sex to keep you going? If you know that you are not going to see someone for a week, is it a good idea to have sex more frequently in the days before to somehow satisfy the desire that will develop as the week progresses? In essence, can you store sexual appetite like a hamster stuffs nuts in his over-burdened side pouches to keep you going, so that you can turn around by the Thursday and say, “Oh it’s ok. I can wait because I was fucked senseless three times on Sunday evening?”
Well it may work for some people but as I have explained previously, this is a slight problem for me because the more sex that I have, the more that I want.
Maybe for me, the opposite might be worth trying. Maybe I should build into a celibate week by cutting down the week before, but that doesn’t sound much fun either.

And this is why.

Really good sex, really excellent fucks, really intensive love making is not about what happened yesterday or what is going to happen in a week or a month’s time. Really good fucks happen in the now, every time, every glorious time.
Every fuck, albeit having similarities with previous fucks, is totally different. Every fuck, every session of love-making is unique for every second, minute and if you are a fortunate person like me, every hour that is spent having sensational and wickedly fun sex.

You cannot take sex and store it. Of course, you can have images and memories that either stir you into a desire for a wank or for a different type of penetrative sex, possibly with a different person, but you cannot store up sex in a way that you can pack a cupboard full of groceries to keep the appetite at bay. It just doesn’t work like that. Well not for me anyway.

Sex is the essence of the moment and this is the very reason why you cannot build it up like some sort of banking system, ready to withdraw an ounce of memory to keep you going. Obviously, you can do this. You can remember good sex to excite you, to give you excitement but it is never exactly the same and never has the precise intensity of the moment itself.

So, how do you cope with enforced separation of days or weeks or even longer? Well, it is entirely up to the individual. I have explained what I think I do, and I know that dildos and fingers get an extra bit of work, but this too is insignificant compared with the real thing.

The best thing to do is remember that sex is about the moment. Then, all you have to do is look forward to new moments, not in angst of days passing slowly, not in an eager desperation that could make the new moment fall flat in comparison with expectation, merely a simple acknowledgement that the very best fuck is about the shared moment of togetherness that is irreplaceable, unstorable, and present in the totality of that single moment.

My legs are opening by degrees in calm and thoughtful anticipation.

Panties Galore

Panties galore

I am back to one of my favourite subjects – panties, thanks to an article in the Guardian newspaper this morning.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/mar/21/celebrity-pants

The thing that most interests me is the journalists opening sentence, “It’s the most embarrassing thing I have ever done”.
So what exactly is the most embarrassing thing Mr Hattenstone has ever done? It is to email, text and telephone a range of, in very inverted commas, “celebrities” to send him some of their panties through the post: all for a good cause in raising some funds for some asylum seekers and bringing attention to the fact that what these people often lack is ….….panties.

Good on him for having a noble cause. Good on him for doing something positive and raising awareness not only of the knickerless plight of these suffering people but also the fact that these people exist and that the day to day needs that we all take for granted are not available to these people. But why is it the most embarrassing thing he has ever done?

It is quite interesting to see who has responded and would be even more interesting to see who decided that they couldn’t part with their precious ones in the name of embarrassment or gross inhibitions.
Obviously, if Zenpuss was a celebrity, then she would happily part with a pair of her knickers for a good cause, and it did make me wonder which pair I would actually send. More of that later.

I am a little saddened that this exercise is seen to be embarrassing. Surely we have moved on from this. How does this man cope with walking through Marks and Sparks with all the scanty knicks in there? Does he and other people walk through such areas of shopping centres oblivious to the sexuality of these simple clothes? Am I the only person who equates a pretty pair of knickers to sexuality?
I am not suggesting that every time I go shopping for panties that sex is the first thing on my mind. There are often more practical issues like the fact that I need some new panties but I have to say that on specific occasions I have gone panty shopping with a very specific thought in mind; which panties are most likely to arouse my lover, which ones will he like to see me in, which ones will entice him into derobing me?

The point is that there should be nothing at all embarrassing about asking someone to part with their favourite panties, especially if it is for such a worthy cause.
Yet again, however, this embarrassment epitomises our societies concern about all things sexual, or is it deeper than that? Is it a concern about intimacy? Are panties just too personal to talk about? Are we, as a nation, frightened of intimacy? I think there is a very obvious answer to that one. Imagine a French journalist asking French celebrities to part with their favourite panties. I strongly suspect that even the president would be content with parting with his boxers. Or do you think Sarkozy is more of a thong man? And as for Carla, well I think Mrs S’s knicks would be extremely sexy, just like the woman herself.

Panties are intimate. They are sexy. They have to be by the very nature of the parts of the body in which they have direct contact. However, we shouldn’t shy away from this. We should embrace it. And in this particular case, the journalist should use this as a positive. He should be shouting out from the rafters that these celebrities are prepared to part with something so intimate as a pair of panties precisely because the cause is so worthwhile. By doing this, it would give the entire cause more gravitas.
Celebrate the intimacy. Do not shy away from it.

This reminds me of a story from my place of work.
Many years ago, a very famous person was visiting the place where I worked. For some inexplicable reason, one of my colleagues had forgotten to put on her panties. She was so engrossed in ensuring that she looked reasonable for this mega- person, that she simply got dressed and forgot the knickers. On arriving at her place of work, she decided to look around at the people gathered to see if she could somehow borrow a pair.
A group of people who lived within a stone’s throw from work were standing together. She decided to approach the most matronly one who she deemed would wear knickers similar to her tummy hugging ones.
She collected her nerve and asked. The matronly one was slightly taken aback but was glad to be asked and walked home to collect a pair of knickers.
She returned with the underwear wrapped in a plastic bag. My colleague then marched off to the toilet to put the knickers on.

Of course, they weren’t the figure hugging mamma knicks at all. As she withdrew the panties from the bag, she realised that the matronly one must have delved through her drawers to find the sexiest, possibly special occasion knickers. She clearly thought that my colleague wore a certain type of knickers and she clearly wanted my colleague to think that she wore a certain type of knickers.

For the rest of the day, my colleague had to walk around in some skimpy black and red laced knickers that she felt were far from practical. This, of course, was also accompanied by fits of giggles at the madness of the situation and to this day, she is concerned about what the matronly one thought of her by the very nature of returning to work with sexy ones rather than what she really wanted; big nixs!

So returning to the newspaper article, Simon Hattenstone has received a number of knickers from a variety of people. There is a whole essay in what was sent to him, and a sexual psychologist would probably have a field day analysing the knickers that were sent and more importantly the knickers that were not sent.

Did certain celebrities feel that they had to send either a sexy or unsexy pair to keep up appearances? Did some send some big knickers as tongue in cheek? Have they ever actually worn the knickers that they sent? Were there any remnants, despite a wash or two?

Katie Price was apparently so concerned that her sexy ones may be bought in auction by some sort of pervert that she has scribbled the cause on them. Katie, I have news for you. That probably won’t put anyone off buying them and using them for their own sexual gratification. Helen Mirren sent some very plain white knickers that were deeply unsexy and nothing like what I expected her to wear. Jarvis Cocker provided a grotesque pair of blue y-fronts, flying in the face of fashion. I wonder if he wears faded jeans?
Daniel Day Lewis is evidently a man who is au fait with his own sexuality, offering a cheeky delivery of cock and balls sketches on his.

As for me, as I am sure you are aware, I would be fine about sending any of my knickers but I think a certain amount of vanity might prevail in so far that I would send a lacy, sexy pair rather than any practical panties (not that I actually own that many practical panties!).
I think I would want to send a pair of knickers that truly reflected my personality, my sexuality. Knickers are very personal, and so in giving to such a cause, this should be reflected in the type of knickers that I send.

So Mr Hattenstone, here’s a tip. Congratulate yourself on an inspired way of raising funds for a decent cause but do not be embarrassed. Be very pleased that these celebrities are prepared to part with some intimate piece of clothing. Be grateful they have certainly not been inhibited by other peoples’ misconceptions and misgivings about such intimacies, and thank goodness that there are people out there who do not have hang-ups, who feel that they can share their most intimate belongings with a wider world.

A Sense of Sex

A Sense of Sex

I thought it was about time that I had an intelligent look at sex. What does this far from simple statement actually mean?

Does it mean that I should bury myself in Biology text books to overcome the ongoing embarrassment at my appalling O level grade in this subject? Or should I invest in some sort of sexual manual that will give me an intellectual insight into the workings of mine and other people’s bodies? Or perhaps I should trawl through the myriad of anthropological papers and tomes on sexual activity and discover the amalgam of reasons why people take such an interest in the subject? All sound intellectually stimulating to me.

Or perhaps I ought to consider the social and emotional effects of sex on myself and other people. Maybe I ought to think about the intense bliss that overwhelms me when my passion is at its, excuse the pun, climax. Or I could consider the effect of my sexual activity on others; how my urgent desire is understood and acknowledged, how it is reciprocated, invigorated, explored, excited, how I nurture and embrace other people’s sexuality.

Looking at sex intelligently, I could think about the transcendental effect of sex, where I am lifted to a place of totality that I’d barely dared to dream of. I could consider what exactly happens to me when I lose all sense of myself and others in the completeness of being sexually at ease, feeling that same sense of completeness in others. I could think about the physical manifestations of my sexuality and what happens to my body when I am fully or even partially aroused.

Within the next few weeks, I think I am going to write all about these different ways of intelligently looking at sex, but for now, I am going to concentrate on a sense of sex, that is, looking intellectually at sex and the five senses.

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Seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling!

There are many things in life when we consider all five senses working together, intertwining and collaborating to give a complete experience.

Take food, for example. In many cases you are using all of your senses to thoroughly enjoy the experience of eating. Some of the senses are obviously more prevalent, and certainly some of them are less important. Other than the cooking of sizzling hot and spicy dinners, or the crackling spit of fried bacon spluttering away in a pan, the auditory sense isn’t as significant as the tasting senses yet it does contribute to the experience, particularly when you are eating socially, enjoying the company of others as you digest a satisfying meal.

Think of your favourite food. Think of what it does to your saliva glands when you see the food or hear it being prepared. Think of how you smell its desirable aroma, anticipating what you know from experience is going to satisfy you. Think of the touch it or the feel of it as it rests on your tongue before swallowing. Think of how all of the uses of these senses all combine to exacerbate the enjoyment of the taste of that special, desirable food.

It works beautifully doesn’t it? Merely thinking of all of these senses in relation to one another and to a particular part of life really shows how we can get the optimum experience out of vital day to day experiences.
Yet when we consider sex, there is a tendency to underplay some of the senses. There is a tendency to not use all of the senses to the best of our ability, choosing instead to concentrate on one particular sense, thus slightly lessening the potential all-round, all-encompassing experience.

Let’s return to the food analogy. If you merely tasted the food, rather than looked at it, smelled it, felt its texture as it moves towards your mouth, then quite frankly you may as well be eating cardboard or some horrid pill with all the vital ingredients to sustain life. Shoving food down your mouth to appease a grumbling stomach is ultimately not going to fulfil you unless you fully embrace the other senses.

So why would it be any different with sex? Surely, if you want to have a perfect sexual experience, you should not simply consider the physical feel of penetration but make more use of the other senses?

I am going to start with hearing. Similarly with food, it is probably less significant than some of the other senses, yet it can be so important in the stimulation of the mind that enhances and drives the sexual desire. Obviously, there are certain sounds or certain music that can arouse and excite, driving one to a sexual desire that needs to be satisfied with physical contact. Many people like to have background music whilst they are having sex, for instance. Many others like to talk and listen to one another’s voices, cajoling, encouraging, explaining as they sexual embrace one another but there are so many other auditory experiences that can stimulate one’s sexuality even further.

Words are important to me, so incredibly important. Actions are obviously significant but listening to someone telling me what a horny woman I am, or hearing about the state of my pussy as it is aroused is a complete turn on. Being told that I am cared for or adored induces a physical reaction of dynamic proportions.

Whispering “sweet nothings” into a lover’s ear is not some myth. There is a reason why such a phrase emerges as an important part of love making, and they are far from “nothings”. Every syllable of a well-constructed or even a frenetic and sexually flustered sentence can spiral your mind into a spin that manifests itself into an arousal that needs instant satisfaction. Listening to words before, during and after having sex are so incredibly important. I want to hear about the experience whilst it is happening. I want my lover to tell me how stiff he feels, even though I am fully aware of his beautifully erect and excited cock as it thrusts into my cunt. I want to hear him explain precisely what it is about my body that he desires, even though I have heard it hundreds of times before. I want to hear about the love and adoration as well as experiencing it.

The importance of the auditory sense doesn’t stop with the mere whisperings of words in a sexual experience. I am hugely turned on when I have just had an orgasm, and my lover rapidly squidges my juices around so that I can hear as well as feel the gurgling wetness of a glorious cum. I love to feel him whacking his cock on my clitoris but I also enjoy hearing him do this. Listening as he is beginning to cum himself, and listening as he can feel the spunk running through his cock, and listening to his intense moans of utter joy as he climaxes is a sensational, divine and ultimately arousing experience. I have done this to him, I have aroused him and I want to listen intently as he is overwhelmed by fulfilment.

And I haven’t even started on the simple things like listening to him peeing.

Sight is obviously important in sex. We are attracted to people in many different ways, and a stimulating intellect, a synergy of minds, a sharing of values can all contribute to that attractiveness. But it would be silly to disregard the importance of sight in that initial meeting.
There is plenty of research to say that people of similar attractiveness tend to gravitate towards one another as some form of natural selection. You rarely see a good looking bloke knocking around with a woman with pug ugly features or visa versa.
As Mrs Merton once said to Debbie McGhee, “So what did attract you to the multi-millionaire Paul Daniels?”
There is usually some other motive in play, whether it is financial, circumstantial or a great sense of humour, which attracts two people of dissimilar attraction.

“Eyes as gateways” is not a myth either. Seeing is an integral part of attraction and seeing is a vital part of sexuality. If this wasn’t the case, then how on earth would the porn world ever have been so prevalent and successful?
People like looking. People are stimulated by seeing. People like cocks and cunts and visual stimulation is clearly significant.

The mind is a wonderful toy. I don’t have to necessarily have my lover’s cock in front of me to ‘see’ him. I have photographs of his cock, his arse, his sexuality that I can look at whenever I feel a need to reinvigorate my memory of his beauty but I don’t even need these to see him.
I “see” his cock, I see his face, his smile, his sexuality in my mind.
I can see him now, holding his erect cock as it dribbles some lubricant out from his sizable helmet, waiting eagerly to slide between my open legs.

I’ve never really understood people who need to switch the lights off during sex. I want to see what I am doing to my lover. I want to see the depth of his experience in his eyes as they twinkle or glaze over, as his pupils grow. I want to see his longing, his desire, and this is before I even get to the overwhelming bliss of seeing his cock stiffen before my eyes as he anticipates getting deep inside me.
And I want him to see me too. I want him to study my fanny as it moves around with every phase of arousal. I want him to see my pink folds thrusting to and fro as he chooses how many fingers to place inside me. I want him to spread my labia so that he can get an eyeful of my movements, and I want him to watch and not just feel the sex juices as they squirt out of my over-stimulated body.

I have an ever-increasing desire to simply strip off as soon as I see him, not necessarily because of an urgent desire for sex, though that is never very far away. I just adore looking at his face as his eyes fall on my tits or my mouth that he longs to kiss. I want him to savour every plentiful inch of me with his eyes before he closes in to me and feels his way around my body. I want to pull my panties away from my pussy and just converse with him, not necessarily about sex, as he watches with anticipation as I trace my fingers around my pubic area, gently taking my index finger into the warmth of my aroused cunt.

I think people probably need to make more use of their sense of sight in sex. They need to linger a little longer on the beauty of a sexually aroused body. They need to be honest about how much they get off on seeing hard core porn.
People need to see sex. I find it difficult to believe that people cannot enjoy seeing people fuck. Personally, I am deeply turned on my seeing a stiff cock enter a pussy. I am equally turned on by seeing two women rubbing each other’s tits and playing with each other’s cunts, especially if I can have my lover with me so that I can take his hand and whip it into my juiced up pussy so that he can feel the effect of such visual stimulation.

And I haven’t even started on the utter joy of watching him masturbate.

I suppose that like sight, the sense of touch is the most prominent sense in relation to sex. It is the one that people would say was the most important. There are no words that could underplay of over emphasise the bliss of the meshing of cock and cunt together in the feel of sexual penetration. This is the ultimate joy of sex. It is the pinnacle of the experience but for me, it cannot possibly be as enjoyable if it were just for this physical sense alone.

The sense of touch is absolutely vital in good sex. I totally adore undoing my lover’s trousers and feeling down inside his knickers to an awaiting cock, ready to be stimulated by the touch of my fingers wrapping themselves around it. I love to feel this piece of sexual equipment growing and hardening as it reacts so forcefully to my touch.
Likewise, I adore feeling my reactions to his touches.

I used to be fairly ambivalent to having my tits stroked or my nipples tweaked. I would even go as far as saying that I didn’t actually enjoy it. But maybe I had had an experience that put me off. Maybe someone didn’t do it properly, and my appreciation of this particular sense of touch was diminished and dormant for so many years.
Not so now. I love to feel the wetness of my cunt draw forth more juices as two fingers stimulate my little nipples into life.

Touch is obviously not just about the stimulation of the sexual parts of the body. The touching and the feel of nakedness before, during and after sex is wonderful. Spooning together, overwhelmed by orgasms is a perfect way to feel, relive, embrace the goodness and purity of love making. Sliding my hands over his body, touching his face and feeling the warmth of a meaningful and thoroughly powerful embrace is incredibly heart warming as well as enlivening and intensifying the whole sexual ‘touch’ experience.

The intimacy of all of these touches is unbelievably life-giving and makes the feel of penetrative sex that much greater. I want to feel the wholeness of my lover’s body as he climbs on top of me. I want to feel him driving into me but I also want to feel him just lying there, with his cock resting in my cunt as we take a slight pause from energetic sex to just lie together in completeness.

How could anyone be reliant for sexual pleasure just on a quick dip? It simply doesn’t work. The sense of touch in relation to sexuality is so vital, so needed, so wanted and even thinking about it makes me want to hold someone very special very immediately!

And I haven’t even started on the stimulation of my G-Spot.

So there we have it. Three important senses being used to greatest effect in sexual activity. Three senses, working together to make a sexual experience that is enlivened, fulfilled, energised. Put all of the experiences together and you are beginning to build up a picture of some damn fine sex, and of course, I have not even started on the feelings, the emotions, the spirituality of sex. All of these things are for another time. This particular piece of writing is about the senses.

So far, we have looked at three of the senses, the three that people tend to rely on for their sexual stimulation. But there are two others. There is a sense of smell and there is the sense of taste.
Should we omit to talk about these? Are we conditioned to think that these play no real significance in our sexual lives? Are they the unsightly parts of sex that nobody really wants to acknowledge let alone talk about?
Are we making a huge mistake in under playing their significance?
My answer to that would be an overwhelming “yes”.

My taste buds are pretty weird. I am loathe to try new things. I am reluctant to embrace new tastes. I am limited in what I enjoy, yet the taste of sex is something that I hunger for.
Together with seeing and feeling my lover’s cock, I have a real hungry desire to taste it.
I love to suck his cock. I simply adore the sweet taste of the lubricant that juices out of him when he is aroused. I love to take his cock deep into my mouth, working up to a major thrust down my throat and tasting his sexiness within me. It is indescribably good to have feel that chunkiness in my mouth but it is more than that physical sense of his cock smothered in my lips and tongue and teeth. It is his unique taste that I want. He tastes really, really good and he kept telling me that I tasted really, really good too.

Intimacy involves so many aspects and surely there are very few things that are more intimate than a good dose of cunnilingus and fellatio, where the taste buds are aroused as much as the sexual organs. However, I happen to believe that sometimes a greater intimacy can occur when you are completely confident about yourself, and that includes the taste of yourself.

How do you know that your fuck juices taste good? Are you simply relying on the comments of your lover? Is he or she simply taken away by your sexuality and would want to tell you that you taste good irrespective of whether you do or don’t?
There is, of course, only one way to tell whether your fuck juices taste good and that is for you to taste them for yourself.
Admittedly, just as with attraction, each person has their own preference in taste but I would strongly advocate becoming intimate with the taste of your sexual juices because this in turn may make you feel more inclined to allow your partner to taste them more frequently.

I was unsure at first but when I saw my lover withdrawing his fingers from my cunt and directly placing them in his mouth as though they were the ultimate, lickable lollipop in the world, then I felt a need to experience what he was tasting.
I followed suit, and I was pleasantly surprised by what I tasted. My sticky, white nectar was sweet and flavoursome. I could understand why he wanted to get in there and lick away to his heart’s content. It wasn’t fishy or foul. It isn’t that way at all.
By doing this, I can understand and appreciate my own sexuality whilst simultaneously stimulating his.
When we cannot be together and we have a healthy dose of phone sex, I frequently rub myself and push my fingers into my pussy. I then take them to my lips and savour the taste of my lubricants, explaining to him what they taste like, how good they are at that particular moment and how much I know he would enjoy licking my fingers clean of sex.

When penetrative sex is inaccessible, even when we are together, I like to get into my panties and take a wad of my juices onto my hands. I like to then gently slide my fingers into his mouth so that even if he cannot get in there for himself, he can taste my sexiness at that particular moment. It reminds him, as if it is needed, how much I want him.

I even like to taste his salty spunk. I love the anaesthetic sense it brings to my mouth. I love just being able to have another part of him within me. I adore to quickly kiss his cock after he has cum so that I can get a morsel of that semen onto my lips to enjoy as I lie in a blissed out state of Satori.

You cannot undermine or exclude the taste of sex as part of the whole sexual experience. It should be embraced far more frequently than it currently is. It should be shared and valued as an integral part of foreplay and after effects.

The taste of eating off bodies is another thing. Personally, I haven’t ever done the “9 and a ½ Weeks” thing with ice-cream or chocolate or jam or yoghurt. I haven’t ever played with pieces of fruit to be retrieved from my cunt, but I wouldn’t rule it out if that is what my lover wanted, if that is something that could stimulate and excite us both.
But when you talk about taste in sex, some people think that this is the only possible stimulation. Personally, I get off far more on the natural taste of my lover than any amount of chocolate poured over his body could do, and I love chocolate!

Natural tastes are forgotten in sex, other than the sweetness of a kiss and the intertwining of tongues. Taste, in sex, can be extremely intimate, and what others may deem to be kinky, I would embrace as an integral part of my enjoyment.

And I haven’t even started on the significant differences in taste and texture of the variety of juices that I emit.

So that leaves us with smell. Is this the really unspoken part of the sexual senses?
For years of adolescence, I was led to believe that little girls are made of sugars and spice and all things nice apart from that grotesque smell of decaying fish in a sun-filled harbour. And little boys were blessed with less enticing flavours, exacerbated with the disgusting smell of mouldy cheese emitting from their cocks.
What an injustice we are serving up for our young people?
What an utterly stupid and appalling way to think about the smell of human sexuality!

Just as with taste, I have learned to enjoy the smell of my own sex. At one point, like many women, I was concerned that my sexual juices were far from sweet, that their pungent smell may be off-putting but as I continue to see what a strong inhalation of my sexuality does for my lover, I have had to reconsider this.

The other day, he was walking down the street, enjoying the crispness of the oncoming season of spring, and as he pottered along, he felt into his pockets and retrieved not one but two pairs of my panties. Each of them was riddled with my sexual juices; one full of pre-cum lubricant – the white, sticky stuff that was visually apparent on the black pair of knickers. The other pair of red thongs were soaked in my cum, hardened in the drying of the aforementioned garment, and simply full of my sexuality.

He closed his eyes instinctively to block out all other senses than the one he needed. He raised each pair of panties to his nose and inhaled deeply.
How fucking horny is that?
How enlightened! How intimate? How utterly confirming that not only does he readily embrace my smell but he actively wants it, needs to smell me whether I am with him or not.

I often give him a pair of my knickers to ‘keep him going’, to stimulate him with a part of me when I am not around. I am completely sexually excited when he tells me how he is sniffing me when I am not able to be with him. This alerts me and invigorates my sexuality, and I feel an urgent need to shove my fingers into my pussy and direct a swift manoeuvre towards my G-Spot so that I can deal with my arousal at his use of the sense of smell.

The sense of smell is a powerful reminder. Even when he had washed some of my knickers and they were robbed of my juices, they had a different smell. The smelled of him, his house as they were obviously aired to dry, and that stimulated me, to be able to sniff my own knickers not for sexual smells but just a simple smell of my lover and his abode.

But again, just as with smell, I have learned to embrace my smell.

I like to sniff my panties as I remove them to see whether they are stuffed full of sexy juices. I like to see if they are sexy enough to give to him.
I adore taking my panties off after I have been to see my lover to sniff out and remember what he has done to me. Sometimes, if I am lucky, I have managed to capture his cum as well as mine on my panties, and I adore smelling the intimacy of our day together.
And the mere sniff of such things arouses me enormously.

We really mustn’t underplay smell in sex. We should, as a society, embrace it and use it more effectively.

And I haven’t even started on the simple joy of bodily smells that are unique to one person.

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The physical ability of our senses is mind-blowing. To look out at an open field and see signs of spring thrusting to life is indeed life-giving. To listen to a special piece of music can touch your soul in a way that is impossible to intellectualise. To feel the softness of a newborn child snuggled up in swaddling is remarkable. To taste the familiar taste of your favourite food is stunning and to smell the ubiquitous smells of, say, bread cooking or coffee smouldering is enticing.

None of these senses work in isolation, and none of them work without experience, without thought, without feeling. And they don’t work independent of one another. They intertwine, the work simultaneously or chronologically, and they make these simple experiences joyous and life-affirming.

And the same can and should happen with sex. Putting all of these experiences together, using all senses simultaneously or collaboratively makes sex the peak of human experience. You can see sex and that excites. You can hear two people making love and that arouses, you can smell sex and long for more, you can taste the juices of your partner and expect the ultimate and you can feel the force of divine penetration and simply be.
But put them all together, and you are beginning to experience a sexuality that is so much more than the sum of the individual parts.

This is the thing that we should be telling young people about sex. This is the thing that we should be explaining to people whose sexual experience is limited or ineffectual.
Sex is that important and it should use every feasible sense known to man. In that way you really can be taken into another world, a state of satori and a sudden experience of ‘being there’.

And I haven’t even started to explain where our passions, our feelings, our positive emotions come into play…………