The Making of a Threesome: Part One

I turned around and saw her. There she was looking bewilderingly beautiful with her waves of black hair and an exceptionally fit body. Her arms were toned but without bulkiness. Her legs meandered on forever and she looked confident in the short straight skirt that she was wearing with infinite ease. She smiled at the shop assistant and tossed her head back in a guffaw as she handed over the money.
“I’ll do my best” she said. “If this doesn’t get him going, nothing will!”

I was so pleased to see her. I hadn’t seen Jill for nearly five years and I had no idea why it had been so long. We hadn’t had a disagreement, or not as far as I was concerned. We hadn’t moved to different parts of the country. We hadn’t got any reason why we had not spoken other than the fact that we both had busy lives and there never seemed to be a mutually acceptable time to meet.

Certain friends should always keep in touch - friends who knew as soon as they met one another that there was a bond; a connection like no other. This was how it was with Jill and me.
We met via a mutual friend. We did not know that we had anything in common whatsoever. We had different backgrounds. We were in quite different relationships; me being married, her being separated for a couple of years and in a relatively new relationship with Dave. She was brash and scarily to the point. I was politically correct and empathetic to the point of losing all sense of assertiveness.
Yet, somehow we clicked and it was a very short time before we were talking intimately about body parts, sexuality, orgasms and fucking.

Jill phoned me up one day and screamed down the telephone.
“He’s fucking someone else. I’ve counted the condoms!”
I tried to calm her down, to reassure her that she must have made a mistake. Dave adored her and the boys. He wouldn’t do that to her. He was incapable of being unfaithful. But Jill being Jill was adamant that he had been playing away from home and was determined to have it out with him. I tried to calm her once more, telling her to just be a little steadier, telling her to check everything out carefully before she blew her top unnecessarily.
She phoned back a day or two later to tell me that she had found the missing condom down the back of the chest of drawers. She wanted to thank me for stopping her being an impetuous twit.
Imagine that!

Of course, Dave was fucking another woman and Jill couldn’t cope with that. With a distinct lack of discussion, which would have been my exact response at the time too, she packed him a suitcase and chucked him out. He didn’t want to leave but she said that she was not prepared to share his dick with another pussy. She didn’t like sharing dicks.

Interesting really, because Jill was not exactly the most faithful woman in the world. Whilst she had been married she had had numerous affairs, with men and women. She was always encouraging the sexual side in me, not in a suggestive way, but just by telling me that what I really needed was a damn good shag. That would sort out my gynaecological problems.
She was right!
And I told her so.

We met one evening and she told me about her new partner; a younger person who turned her on like no person had ever done before. She looked at me and knew instantly that something had changed.
“What’s he like?” she asked.
At first I denied and scoffed at the very notion of me being unfaithful but she knew and there was little point in pretending any longer. I trusted her implicitly and congratulated her on her wisdom regarding her insistence that I needed sex.

And boy did I need sex. I still do.

Imagine this. Imagine finding a pot of gold that gave you just about everything you ever wanted only you couldn’t tell a soul. You had to hide this hidden treasure away from everyone you knew. Sometimes, there was an occasional glint of the gold but you had to tuck it away or pretend it was costume jewellery.
That is sex and me. I hide it from everyone except one or two people who I trust implicitly to know the truth about my newfound pot of gold; my lover, his closest friends, my closest friends. They are the only people who know.
That is fine but sometimes, being a relatively altruistic person, I want to share my pot of gold. I want other people to benefit from this discovery and not being able to share this is sometimes thoroughly frustrating.
It is not about boasting about my find, or my exceptional fortune at being with someone who understands me and is appreciated in return. It is not about that at all. I just want other people to know what they could have, if they opened their eyes (and other parts of their bodies) and discovered the pot of gold without even realising they were looking for it.

Jill would understand this, which is why I told her when she asked. I just said that I had met someone, that I couldn’t really explain what had happened, that it wasn’t lust, it wasn’t some steamy affair that was just about recreational sex, that I wasn’t in love, that it was just completely unique and I couldn’t possibly explain what was happening to me, other than the fact that there had been some serious awakenings in my nether regions, and despite only having had penetrative sex with this man once, I was really quite needy as far as wanting some more.

“About bloody time” was her response.
And after that, we drifted apart.

And here she was in the shop; a shops that I wouldn’t have dared walk into when I last spoke to Jill but my life has moved on immeasurably.
“It’d get my man going if he saw you dressed in that!” I said.

“Abi!” she yelled, and raced towards me to give me a very warm embrace.
“And how would you feel if I paraded myself in front of your man in this?” she asked mischievously.
“Delighted!” I responded to her surprise.
Her jaw dropped and she said that I couldn’t possibly mean that, and anyway, who was this man of mine?
I told her there was no “man of mine” but that there was certainly a man in my life and that it just happened to be the same man that I had told her about five years ago.
“Still!” she said in astonishment “Must be a good fuck”.
She said it was my eyes that gave away the truth.

She said we ought to meet up. I agreed and said that I wanted to hear whether her naughty purchase was going to work on her man, and if it was, perhaps I could borrow it for mine.

She then explained that she hadn’t exactly got her man just yet but was hoping that when she did, this would be the first thing that she put on. I suggested that perhaps she ought to check it out with a third person beforehand, once again offering the services of my lover to cast an eye over Jill in these garments.
She thought I was joking but I reiterated that I wasn’t.
“You’ve been with him for five years Abi? Don’t you love him? Doesn’t he love you?”
I responded to say that of course there was a mutual love there. There was also a mutual love and appreciation of sex and sexuality. I adored his sexuality and he adored mine. I could think of nothing more exciting for him than to see a fit woman dressed up in a beautiful set of bra and panties, parading in front of him for his expert advice on whether it was going to get her man aroused.
I could envisage her doing this and I could see him asking her to turn around in a certain way. I could see him reaching for his camera, telling her that he would be happy to snap a few shots that she could “accidentally” leave around the place. I could imagine him reaching into his trousers and grabbing his cock for a gentle rub.
She looked at me once more in astonishment. I assured her that it would be fine.
Perhaps we ought to discuss it further.

We went for a coffee and quickly returned to the subject of her lingerie and my lover. I reiterated once more that I would love her to strip off and parade around in front of my lover in the bra and panties that she had bought a few days ago. I told her that if he suddenly decided to kiss her or wander his hands over her pert tits, then that would be perfectly fine by me. Preferably, I would like to be in the room to see his reaction, to see if it excited her too, being looked at and longed for by another very sexual being.

The mistrust on her face was almost amusing. How could I possibly want this man that I cared for to be ogling her?
I told her once more the fact that he was such a vibrant sexual being was one of the things that I found attractive about him. How could I deny that sexuality if he felt it with others? What right had I got to tether the beast, which in my opinion was far from beastly? It made no sense. It makes no sense.
Why can’t people understand that?
There is no need for it to be a problem unless it is deceitful or hidden or made a secret. If there is honesty then how can it be problematic? If it does not take away but actually enhances the sexuality and the feelings for one another, then it can only be a good thing.

Jill continued. What if she was aroused by all of this? What would happen if she looked down and saw that he had an erection? How would I feel then?

I told her that if she was aroused then she ought to let him know. That if she wanted a kiss or a finger fuck, she should let it be known. That if she saw his cock was aroused, then perhaps she ought to get it out and see just how engorged he could get. That if they then wanted to fuck one another, then this was obviously the thing to do.

“And what about you?” she asked.

“How do you mean, Jill?” I responded.

“What about you Abi, how would you really feel if I was fucking your man?”

“Aroused” I replied truthfully.

“Look, you clearly don’t believe me” I said. “Perhaps we ought to discuss this further. Perhaps you would like to meet me down by the river on Wednesday evening. Perhaps we could thrash this out once more so that you can be perfectly assured that I am not going to disappear into a fit of green smoke, burdened with jealously and fearful that my lover will never want to fuck me again.”

She laughed and said that she would be delighted to meet up on Wednesday whether we walked about her parading her tits in front of my man or not. She would go away and have a think too but most importantly she was glad that we had met up and ecstatic at my sexual growth.
It may have been wishful thinking but I thought I saw her eyes dip towards my cleavage as she said this.

We hugged again, moved away from one another and I left in the divine knowledge that the mere thought of her standing there in front of my lover, irrespective of whether they had penetrative sex or not had sent my clitoris into over drive. I needed a wank and so I returned home to do just that.

The Sexual Quadragenarian

Footnotes and Snippets

Footnote to Older Models

I forgot to include this during my past blog and therefore am including it now before I forget.

What actually is the real word for thirty somethings? An octogenarian is eighty years old and it is a word that is frequently used in our society; more so with increased life spans.
So what is a thirty something called? And for that matter, what is a forty something or a twenty year old?
Good old Wikipedia does its masterful work once more.

When I was one
Life had just begun.
When I was two
I am nearly new.
When I was three
I was hardly Me.
When I was four
I was not much more.
When I was five
I was just alive.
But now I am six, I’m as clever as clever
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

A A Milne

Look at that poem. It’s one of those poems that people will probably have heard at one point in their lives. For some it is a very poignant and memorable chant from their youth. For those fortunate enough to have been brought up on Winnie the Pooh, it is a poem that resonates with times gone by.
So why have I included it on this piece of writing? All will be revealed and please forgive me for bastardising this beautiful little ditty.

A denarian is one who is aged between 10 and 19 – a word that we ought to be using as the attributes of being a teenager spreads ever earlier.
A vicenarian is a twenty something. Lots of vice in immaturity. Lots of naughtiness in the twenties.
A tricenarian is the name for someone in their thirties, not a trigenarian as I had suggested previously.
A quadragenarian is a forty something – again a word that we should be using more frequently. Zenpuss is going to rescue this word and set it in a delightful expression or phrase so that it epitomises the peak of female sexuality.
A quinagenarian is fifty and so forth until they get to the glorious decade of the sixties.
A sexagenarian, lucky people, are in their sixties.
A septuagenarian is aged between 71 and 79.
The octogenarian has already been mentioned.
A nonagenarian is a lucky ninety something.
And a centenarian has made the hundred mark.
Anyone over 110 years old is a supercentenarian.



Now here is an interesting thing. If you write these words on a word document, the first five and the last are not recognised as real words. They have a spell check line that emerges beneath them. Clearly there is not enough use of these special words.

So I have found out what a thirty something is but I have an alternative.
If a sexagenarian is a sixty year old, then maybe a thirty year old could be seen as half of a sexagenarian or a half-sex!

This is probably the case for women, even if it may not be so for men. I think there is the strong possibility that women, who do not come into their own sexually until the thirties are all but disappeared, are possibly only firing on 50% of their sexuality at this age. Thus they are a half-sex; one that is not fully fledged, one that has so much to look forward to.

If this is the case, then does that mean that those women in their sixties are fully fledged, full of sex, full of their sexuality?
I’d like to think so. I can see some major positives of sex in the sixties that is not about Woodstock and burning bras. With no prospect of pregnancy and a delicious lack of concern about leaking bodies, I can see some very fruitful experiences ahead of me as I turn towards being a sexagenarian.

I appreciate that women come into their own sexually at the age of forty but I am pretty determined that this is the start of a new sexual awakening that remains with these enlightened women for a lifetime. It should not stop as the bodies change, sag and diminish.
Men are perfectly adept at having sex in their sixties, seventies, eighties and so forth right up to the Supercentenarian if the will and the ability is still there. And even if they cannot get their tadgers up, they can still think and feel sexual. If this is accepted as perfectly natural, with the possible help of little blue pills, then why can it not be perfectly natural for women too?

I think Zenpuss will have to push this point home in a decade or so. Her lifetime of work will not be complete until there are masses of sexagenarian women happily confessing to visits to Ann Summers and an admittance to loving the sight of two nubile bodies having a fuck.

So I return to A. A. Milne’s famous poem. Scroll back and look at it again, and then multiply each section by a decade.
When I was one(ty), I had just begun – Denarians have the onset of puberty and their first sexual experiences. How exciting!
When I was two(ty), I was hardly new – Vicenarians have been around a bit now for those who are sexually enlightened. Sex is not a new experience but there is still more to come. So much more! Yum!
When I was three(ty), I was hardly Me – the tricenarians might think they know everything about themselves. They may have arrived at where they want to be professionally. They may be parents and feel as though they have reached a pinnacle but they are “hardly me”. Certainly women, as suggested previously, are merely half of what they could be sexually. They are indeed hardly me.
When I was four(ty), I was not much more – but I was beginning to break out and realise the potential of what was out there, sexually, spiritually, sensually. Forty somethings learn well.
When I was five(ty), I was just alive – Having not reached Quinagenarian status yet, I cannot comment but it appeals to me to consider that life doesn’t begin at forty but at fifty instead. Phew! I suddenly feel incredibly positive and anticipate with much excitement the onset of my next decade.
Now I am six(ty), I am as clever as clever. So I think I’ll be six(ty) now for ever and ever – Clever as clever, meaning I have embraced an intelligence around sexuality that could not be known in my twenties and thirties, and that security of sexuality will remain with me forever. Well, that is what I think.

So whilst A.A. Milne may not like having his writing scrutinised with this sort of explanation, I can see some worth in it, and I apologise to all Tigger fans who are offended.
Personally, I think Pooh would see some logic to it all.

Bisy Backson

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Becks

They love him don’t they? Women just go all juicy at the very thought of him.
Of course the majority who are moistening their panties do not know that they are doing it. Or rather, they think that they are about to pee when in actual fact, they are probably hugely close to an orgasm.

You can, of course, have an involuntary ejaculation without having a full blown orgasm. And you can certainly cream your knickers up without having a complete flood of ejaculate.
It really is about time that people got this into their heads and did not suffer revulsion at the prospect.

Which is why it was so very, very good to hear Mr. Beckham talking about his wife’s panties.
I’m not sure the comment was even acknowledged properly but I certainly heard it loud and clear.

David was being questioned by Jonathan Ross about his OCD problem: obsessive compulsive disorder. Beckham stated that he had to have drinks set out in two’s with the labels facing exactly the same way. He said that if there was an extra bottle or can out, then it would have to be removed and replaced in the cupboard. Weird!
He continued to say that he spent hours tidying up, explaining that he and Victoria worked well as a couple because he loved to clean and she created the mess. (I wonder if he tidies up after her with a huff and a moan!)
Ross then asked if he had to tidy up Posh’s panties, to which David confirmed that she did tend to leave them around the place. The conversation went on about whether he could actually find her panties, being that they are probably exceedingly small. This was preceded by the statement by Mr. B that he was particularly partial to her dirty ones.

There was a giggle from the audience; a slight guffaw but the subject changed quite quickly.
Now if I had been an interviewer on my last night for the BBC, I think I would have been tempted to go for it and delve a little further into this subject.

Readers, I do not want you to concern yourself with the fact that there is a specific person being mentioned here. If you are repulsed at the thought of Victoria’s used ones, then do not read on but if you are a person of sound mind, accepting that everyone is entitled to being a sexual person, then bear with me.
Becks is a rather sexy man, and I like the fact that he is a sexy man who finds women’s dirty underwear extremely horny, even if it is Posh’s.
I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what he did when he found a pair of disused thongs that belonged to his wife as he vacuumed the bedroom shag (I’m making assumptions here!). I wanted to know whether his OCD led him to storing the aforementioned underwear in a particular place in their bedroom. Being such a rich bod, did he have a special “Victoria’s Secrets” draw where he kept her panties until the aroma had dintegrated?
Or did he stop hoovering when he found a pair of panties, allowing himself time to sit on the edge of the bed and take a good noseful of his wife’s essence?

David, you would be doing the world a hell of a favour if you came out of the closet as being a panty sniffer. Being honest and delighting in one another’s sexuality is the only way we are going to get this show on the road, and with the vast exposure and incredible respect that this man fosters, there could be no greater person than to spread the word about the raw simplicity and wonderment of sexuality.

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How much would you pay for sex?
How much would you charge for sex?

To be honest, if the person asking for sex was attractive then I am not sure I would bother with a fee. Sex, however, is far more than skin deep. I would seriously fear that a good looking person would be nothing more than a facade and that beyond that pretty face with a well-toned body there was a person incapable of reaching the climes that I am used to.

“If so and so offered you £10K for a fuck, would you do it?”
The real answer is highly likely if there was a glimmer of sexuality and excitement in doing so but I am not sure that I could have sex with anyone, not even for £10,000.

Instead of denouncing prostitutes, consider them having to have sex with some pretty horrible characters. That is not a pleasant prospect. I am not sure how they manage to do so.
I can understand wanting to have sex for fun rather than a mutual desire and love for one another. I get recreational sex. I enjoy recreational sex but only to a point. Real sex is not recreational sex in my opinion. It’s good. It’s hard – in a positive way. It’s horny. But it is not all engaging and for me, sex will never be complete without the whole mind, body and soul stuff.
I also know that some people think they can get that through recreational sex but it’s not for me.

So yes, if someone offered me some money to have sex with them, then I would certainly consider it. If someone suggested to me that I would enjoy having sex with other people and that it would take nothing away from my primary sexual relationship, then of course, I would be more than interested in participating.
It is so utterly liberating to know that someone is interested in me being a sexual person and wants me to explore and develop my sexuality in whatever way I choose to do so.
Respecting my decisions on my sexuality and my sexual journey is equally important, and if it so happens at this moment in time that I find the greatest of sexual excitement and enlightenment with one person, then that should/is respected also.
That is incredibly important.

I wouldn’t want money though. I’d be crap at being a prostitute because I feel so passionately about sex that I really don’t think it should be sought out of need alone. There should be some desire there that is not steeped in the urgent need for a fuck.
I’d happily explore my sexuality whilst simultaneously exploring the sexuality of another without any desire for payment.
Giving life to another human being has to be the most incredible experience ever but giving sexual life to another can be extremely rewarding.
I am finally, possibly, beginning to get a glimmer of thought that I can actually give someone else sexual life, longevity and excitement but I don’t need paying for it and I don’t need to pay for it either.

In summary then, I would happily be paid for sex, though I would not see payment as a necessity.
Rather, I see myself as being a much better pimp!
Now there is something that I could well and truly enjoy.
More later.

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And finally.......

There is no finally. The world of sex does not have a finality. These are but a few comments in the month of July in the year 2010 but the finality of the subject and the sexual enlightenment of the masses is a long way from here.

This sexual quadragenarian is off to think about David Beckham sniffing knickers and working out just how much I could offer a sexy man out for to those who would be prepared to pay good money for an orgasm, with me holding the camera to capture it all.

It’s a good old world out there really if you are prepared to look for the positives.

Model Behaviour for the Older Woman

Model Behaviour

There are two articles in the Guardian this week that tell a similar story without even realising it.
The first article is about older women and how they have stepped to the forefront of fashion magazines. Apparently, the older look sells after all. People will flock to buy magazines and products that feature or are endorsed by the likes of Madonna, Elle McPherson, Christy Turlington, Halle Berry and Kate Moss to name but a few.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jul/13/rise-of-older-models

In direct contrast, or so it seems, there is another article, written the day after, about the appallingly crass reality television programme where judges are creating “Britain’s Next Top Model”.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jul/14/michael-hann-britains-next-top-model
Here, they have a range of younger women who are desperately seeking stardom through the flaunting of their very beautiful little bodies and learning all the sordid tricks of the trade.
The article concentrates on the group of girls who were told to pose as a threesome with some strange bloke to sell panties. As it turns out, although they were scantily clad in their negligee, it was the male product that they were trying to sell and not the garments that the girls were wearing.
See the results for yourselves and see what you think.
http://www.fred-and-ginger.co.uk/news-events/britains-next-top-model/

So what is the similarity between these two articles apart from the bleeding obvious that they are both to do with the fashion industry?
Essentially, although they probably don’t actually realise it, they are both appreciating the fact that sex is something for the older women. That is not to say that younger women cannot participate. I mean everyone has to start and learn somewhere but subconsciously, maybe they are both saying that sexuality is a more comfortable concept for the older woman; that older women are more in tune and at ease with their sexuality and therefore it is more natural and more vivid to use their sexuality in adverts than the falsehood of an imposed sexuality that we see when younger models are used.

Let us look at the two articles separately.
The first article explains how there seems to be a growing interest in the use of older models. The writer explains that as a thirty something woman, she felt ignored and invisible as she walked down the street. Prior to becoming a trigenarian, she felt noticed, whereas now she had entered into a new decade she had lost her oomph. Yet, all of a sudden, she was discovering the fact that there could be a second coming; older women are beginning to be seen as attractive once more.
The article moved on to explain how many older women were selling products that younger models could not do in such an authentic manner.
Older sisters are doing it with encouragement from a range of brothers.

As some commentaries on the article suggest, the cynical response to this is that it is purely down to economics. For example, one commentator stated that this is merely a financial issue and that they wouldn’t be using these older women unless it sold their product. Such a comment totally misses the point as to why it is that older women are “selling the product”. They are selling the product and being used by these magazines because their maturity sells things. And why? Because they are confident and comfortable with themselves and with their sexuality, and this confidence and assuredness comes across in their stance, their posture, their very essence, thus giving you the confidence and assuredness in whatever they are selling.
It’s quite simple really.

There are some fantastic quotes in the article from people who seem to know what they are talking about. Two Dutch photographers, Inez Van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin, say that they prefer to use older women because they have the experience that can be reflected in the shot.
No manner of acting can give reality to something that real experience can.
This reminds me of that glorious conversation between Dustin Hoffman and Laurence Olivier during the filming of “The Marathon Man”. Hoffman had been up all night, getting into his character using Strasberg’s method acting. His character was devastated by the loss of his brother and had allegedly been searching days on end to find the truth of his siblings disappearance. Old Oliver saw him and said “Good God man, whatever is the matter with you?” to which Hoffman replied that he was fine but that he had been up all night preparing for his role. The master actor rebuffed this nonsense with a quick response “Wouldn’t it be easier to just act, darling?”

But acting is not always possible. Real experience is often required. For example, just as masturbating with a decent dildo is fine, it pales into insignificance compared with the reality of two people making love with copious orgasms all round.
Real experience is far better, and I am now beginning to wonder if Meg Ryan had ever had a real orgasm before her “When Harry Met Sally” spectacle.

The Dutchmen state

"models like Kate [Moss] and Daria [Werbowy] are mature, they've grown up, they're women who have had a life and experience. For about five or six years now we haven't shot anyone under 18 for that reason, but also for the fact that, we feel the modelling business should not promote girls working under this age. They're not out of school – their bodies haven't developed yet and they don't have a sense of self. Sometimes they haven't had sex yet. It's hard to project all these things on someone who hasn't had that experience."

I’d go further than that. It is not hard to project these things on someone who hasn’t experienced it. It is almost impossible to do so.
It’s like seeing actresses “giving birth” when they have clearly never done so in real life. They scream and push and get chronologies all mixed up. They sweat buckets of moisture and finally relax as the baby’s head appears miraculously after half a minute. What they never portray is the relentless boredom, the insufferable pain, the tears of frustration and fear and the total horror of the event in its non-Hollywood reality.

The article continues to quote other fashionistas. Francisco Costa from Calvin Klein states

"The woman who puts my clothes on needs a certain level of sophistication. We wanted to acknowledge the women who have always worn our clothes: women who have their own identities, have full lives, have kids."

He is stating the bleeding obvious that the industry has clearly ignored for too long.

So within this article we have a celebration of maturity. We have an acceptance that older women have an unwavering confidence that is clearly captured on film and that this certainty sells products. The older woman has a sexual confidence about her. Take a look at the Dolce and Gabbana photograph of Madonna and a younger man and you have no doubt, despite the ubiquitous cross around her neck, that this woman can fuck. How appropriate that they also have a young man who is probably at the prime of his sexuality too.

Turning to the other article, the theme is also about age but points fingers to people who are making younger people do something that they are not ready for.
The article talks about a bizarre programme called “Britain’s Next Top Model”. I haven’t seen the programme and have no intention to do so. It sounds like a horrendous idea and a horrendous show with a mixture of would-be’s and has-beens all trying to give the fashion industry the gravitas that it evidently does not deserve. They are a sleazy bunch all-told.
In some ways, I think they are far sleazier than their pornographic counterparts. At least porn magnates admit to what they are trying to do. These people are potentially even more manipulative than the Heffner’s and co of this world. Why? Because they try and get young women to be sexual via the back door, so to speak. They are not up front about it. That is not pleasant.

The article continues to explain how the candidates for this unbelievably stupid title were asked to do a photo shoot, as stated earlier, for a famous lingerie company. The girls did not feel comfortable. They found the pseudo lesbian poses and the kisses that they had to do unbearable. It was obvious, according to the writer, that they did not want to be doing these things.
He continued.

What we saw on Top Model – the pressuring of young women into providing masturbatory fantasies for men – was more than modelling. Of course, modelling has always been about selling sexiness, especially lingerie shoots. But this wasn't selling sexiness, it was selling sex. Forget the sizzle, these girls were the steak, nothing but pieces of meat. And it was final proof that the celebrity trend of recent years – the faux lesbian kiss – has passed from being a desperate bit of attention seeking into a forced rite of passage for young women who might wish to make their living from their looks.

Now there is a certain amount of political correctness going on from this middle-class, middle-aged Guardian writer. He is hardly going to come out as being a fan of porn is he? And the whole article suggests a certain primness about the whole notion of sexuality. His attitude towards porn is evidently from a 1980s feminist standpoint.
But I suggest that he is onto something here without even realising it. He is so determined to be all high and mighty about same sex kissing that he misses an essential point about the whole notion of photographers working with these younger models.

He continues in the piece to criticise all the celebrities who have “kissed a girl” for the sake of sensationalism and creating a media storm. To an extent, I would agree. Feeling another woman’s tits or giving her a good tonguing purely for the sake of selling your latest film or record is a bit sick. However, if these woman are doing it because they are celebrating the vastness and multiplicity of their sexuality, then good on them! They do not warrant such criticism.
His criticism is also loaded with a hint of contempt for bisexuality too. He does not even consider the possibility that Scarlett Johansson or Penelope Cruz might have enjoyed their snog with one another. He does not contemplate the fact that Sandra Bullock was turned on by kissing another woman. He cannot accept, it seems, that these women found the whole experience very horny.
I have to say, I wish I had been in the room when Scarlett and Penelope were getting it on. There might have been quite a few trips to the loo for me!

But here is the real crux of the issue. If Fred and Ginger, the lingerie company, had been a little more thoughtful, they would have realised that they were using the wrong models. If they really wanted to sell their panties, they should probably have been looking at the older women who have that great comfort with their sexuality. They would not have to act or embellish the poses. They’ve been there. They can demonstrate what they have experienced. These poor, innocent and downright naive young women cannot do this.

So in essence, without even mentioning it, both articles are telling me that the time is ripe for older women to not only get out there and flaunt their ever maturing delightful bodies, but also get out there and celebrate the sexuality of their being. It is a sellable product in itself if only people had the foresight to realise.

Celebrating Couples

“I’d like to know who has been creaming up your panties! What or who got you all juicy today?” he said.
“You did!” was her response, “And I did!” she continued.
“How was that possible? I’ve not been anywhere near you?” he retorted.
“Because I have been fucking you all day in my mind, waiting for the opportunity to come here and have you for real. The anticipation is here on my panties to see!”

Oh the joyous and sometimes very necessary pleasures of a mind fuck. Nothing can ever be as sensational as the real thing but anticipation of this sort is a very perfect way to spend a day.

“Who was that man you were talking to today? Did you want to fuck him?”
“No, but I seriously wanted to grab his arse and have a good old fondle, and I would have quite liked it if he had felt the need to smooth his hands over my tits, but no, I didn’t want to fuck him.”

“That woman is a goer and she is giving you very clear signals that she wants you to go and stick your cock up her fanny”.
“Do you think so?” “Should I do it?”
“She looks pretty fuckable to me!”
“She looks pretty fuckable to me too!”

“Hello darling? Had a good day?”
“Yes thank you. Missed you incredibly this morning, though, sweetheart. Had a raging stiffy with nowhere to put it, and then this woman came into my room and just looked on in amazement as she saw my cock in its fullest glory. Had to fuck her!”
“Of course you did. Get any photos?”
“Of course – to add to the collection. I think we’ll put this cunt right next to that cock that you fucked last week in Vienna.”
“Mmmm that was one big cock!”

“What’s on television tonight honey?”
“Nothing worth bothering about – shall we get youporn out instead?”
“Ah yes. I found a really good video there whilst you were at work today. It’s of three women squirting over one another and a bloke trying to fuck them all simultaneously; cock in one, fingers in another, tongue in the last one. And all of them were ejaculating as he manipulated them to orgasms. Fucking marvellous!”

And so it goes on. Conversations that sexually enlightened couples ought to be having across the nation, beyond the seas to other continents and with other people.

It should not be read as shocking. It should not fill the reader with fear. It should not bring forth the oppressive state of antagonism. It should not trigger cries of infidelity and disgust.

As I said, the conversation continues.
“Would you mind if I spent the night with that blonde that we met yesterday?”
“Why? What has she got that I haven’t got?”
“Just a different cunt and a very expressive mind!”
“And my mind is still as expressive as ever, in your opinion?”
“Of course, sweetie. I just feel a desire to fuck this woman, to lie in bed with her and to feel how that feels”
“Okay but I will want to know every last detail, even if she has a better cunt than mine!”

Competitive states are hard to eradicate when they have been ever present in one’s life but that should not prevent someone from trying.
In fact, these sorts of challenges are the very thing to nurture someone’s growth whilst simultaneously revealing far more consideration, love, affection and understanding of another human being than most can ever begin to contemplate.

“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!”
“Good for you, my darling. How did that come about?”
“We were just talking, and she reached out and grabbed my hand. I was so turned on that I just clasped her face in my hand and rammed my tongue down her throat before she had time to think! Once she had got used to the idea that I was kissing her, I released my hands only for her to grasp my face in exactly the same manner. It was sensationally sexy and urgent!”
“Did you wank one another off?”
“Well we couldn’t do that where we were, so I suggested that we went to my car. We drove up to the hilltop and had some sensational snogs. I was desperate to move my fingers over her thighs and to feel how hot she was but was a little timid. She eventually pushed the palm of my hand right onto to her unopened jeans zip which I naturally took as an invitation to delve further!”

Isn’t this allegedly what every alpha male dreams of? Seeing his woman all hot and bothered for another woman, with the delightful prospect of being asked to join in?

“I’m frightened”
“What are you scared of?”
“I’m frightened that her cunt is more enticing than mine. I’m worried that you’re pretty bored of mine which is why you are spending so long with other cunts”
“Honestly, the two are not connected. Your cunt, your mind, your spirit is still as valuable and vivacious as it always has been. I want you as much if not more because of the time I spend in other cunts”.

If the fear arises, there is no point in pretending that it is not there. Acknowledging the darker side, even if there is nothing that you or anyone else can do about it, is a vital part to the honesty of partnership.

“Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary darling!”
“Why thank you sweetheart. I cannot believe that we have maintained such a healthy interest in one another all this time!”
“What shall we do to celebrate? Invite the neighbours round for a foursome? I want to show them the video that we shot last week. Great squirts from the two of you.”
“And the sperm shower was pretty horny as well.”

Nothing HAS to be straightforward. Boxes and constraints can be broken. Relationships and the make-up of established coupledom can be challenged. There is always another way.

In many ways, this would be my ideal way. Like many other stupid women before me, I cannot seem to rid myself of the shackles of conformity completely. I still feel as though I need a special person in my life but maybe that is nothing to do with conformity and more to do with what feels real at a certain moment in time. Maybe what others see as the conformity of a life partner or something like that, is actually just a way of being that fits in with one’s hopes or even needs for life.

The only reason that this sort of living fails is because onlookers cannot cope with the alleged complexities. What about the children, for heaven sake?

Let’s change the last set of quotes slightly.
“Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary darling!”
“Why thank you sweetheart. I cannot believe that we have maintained such a healthy interest in one another all this time!”
Door to the bedroom opens.
“Happy Anniversary Mum and Dad. Got you something special this year as it is your 25th!”
“Wow – tickets to the ‘Hands on Burlesque Show with Front Stage Passes!’
You shouldn’t have spent so much but what a perfect way to celebrate the longevity of our sexuality – with others!”

Farfetched? Why should it be? Once more, people are seemingly terrified or horrified at revealing themselves as sexual beings to their offspring but why is this the case? Not talking, not discussing perpetuates myths such as sexuality being something that we should hide and shield away from the world. In the honestly and value of family life, why should there be the old conformities there as well? Why shouldn’t people be honest about their sexuality with their children to the point of freeing the offspring too?
Freedom, liberty and all of that is so vital in life. Why on earth should expected norms of behaviour not be confronted on all levels.

The openness of a marriage or a relationship could extend to those involved within, including the children. If children accepted from an early age that their parents were sexual beings and that sex was an integral part of life that could not be lived without, then it would make life far less complicated than its current stringencies of brushing things under the carpet and avoiding the tricky situation of the potential for wandering eyes and roving hands.

How I would love to say to my children “Really sorry I cannot be with you today but I really need to go and make love to my gorgeous lover, who in turn really needs me to fuck him.”
The response would be “Fine – see you later!”

And it is not to say that this sort of openness is devoid of problems. Green eyed monsters could still emerge. Fear of loss and separation are never likely to be deleted permanently. People do fall “out of love” or move forward in a way that might leave a once dearly loved person behind. Nothing can staple one human being to another. Nothing can ever make that complete tie; not a marriage service, not a wedding band, not a spoken statement of love and affection.
Why can the world not see this?

“I kissed a girl.... It felt so wrong......It felt so right....... hard to resist, so touchable.......not what good girls do..... hope my boyfriend don’t mind.......just human nature”

I think we would dismiss these writers and the singer at our peril.
Katy Perry looked stunning and extremely fuckable in a plastic outfit that must have taken hours for her to put on. It looked like something out of Dr. Seuss meets Karma Sutra but it was a real turn on and I am sure my need to wank that evening was to do with watching her bopping away in that outfit.

But it wasn’t just thinking of her alone. I was extremely turned on by the fact that she regularly fucks Russell Brand. In fact they have decided to get married later this year, allegedly in India in latex costumes.
I’m not completely sure that I would want to fuck Russell either though I do think he is extremely horny.
I am completely sure, however, that I would like to watch them fuck one another. My pink bits are rouging up at the very thought of it.
Even better, I would be more than happy for them to watch me fucking my lover and I would happily suggest that we help both of them out of their rubber dresses in order to free their sexual organs for a right seeing to.

Horny people deserve horny people to horn off with.
Simple minds should have simple minds to fuck. Complex minds should be enriched by the complexities of another complex mind.

“Don’t they make a nice couple?”
What an ineffectual, stupid comment when nobody can really get into the mind and soul of one person let alone two working together.
“You two look good together. It looks right.” And looks assume every other connection?
But having been critical of such naive and pathetic statements, Katy and Russell do look good together. Yet I am far more concerned with their minds right now.

If I could give them a wedding gift that would ensure that they celebrated their silvers in 2035 it would be this. Read all of the quotes (embellished and made up) and see if this is the type of relationship that you want.
The very best wedding present that you can give to one another is to respect and value the freedom and the liberty of one another’s sexuality. Be mindful of one another’s needs and be prepared, at times, to compromise for the sake of something greater than individual desire. That is the Zenpuss way, I hope.

There is no reason why a relationship such as this cannot last a lifetime as long as they are mindful of one another. Is there really a possibility of these two remaining completely faithful to one another, and yet is it faithless to fuck another person if that has always been the understanding of those involved in the first instance?

People like Russell Brand and Katy Perry have the opportunity to reclaim coupledom and make it something that is devoid of the negative undertones of constraints and chastity belts.
I am not making any assumptions here and I would hate to offend them if they had indeed chosen exclusivity but it seems to me that there are two enlightened human beings here who are respected by generations of folk, and it is people like this who can put a new slant on being a couple.

Being a couple can still mean a commitment to one another that is genuine and expects longevity but it also respects sexuality and the nurturing of that. It appreciates the reality of living and loving. It still values one person, one love by not expecting exclusivity rather than demanding it.

I would like to think that Katy and Russell will consider this openness as part of their marriage. I can honestly think of no greater appreciation of one another than to respect the individual’s right to express themselves sexually without fear of repercussion or loss of a partner that they care about.

Loosening the shackles of expectation and conformity has to be a way forward.
I am so utterly overwhelmed and excited by the fact that I can have these conversations with my lover, even if they sometimes challenge me to the point of those very fears and anxieties that I wish to keep at bay.

Coupledom is not a heinous nightmare if it is rescued from its current form. Today, I celebrate the couple of celebrities who are embarking on a commitment to one another in their own quirky way, and if they want anyone to celebrate with them, well I know a man and woman who can!

June Musings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Improtance of Post-Coital

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Praise of Replacements

In Praise of Replacements

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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