19 May, 2008

The horn again

I feel like I was a horny monster today. I was in that state where I look over and seriously (and more leniently) assess a man's sexual potential than I usually would. My gropey little fantasies about the bloke at my work were cranked up a notch. Not only was I staring at his veiny arms with misty eyes, but I found myself contemplating what his skin might taste like, and what it might be like to snog him. I was even seeing the sex appeal in one of my fellow trainees, whom I frankly would never shag. But the mental image did cross my mind. And on a few occasions, I found myself contemplating dashing off to the toilet for a quick fiddle, despite the relatively high traffic in the toilets. As it was, I fluttered my PC muscles to exercise them, trying not to let on when it sent chills up my spine.

Breaking a minor dry spell

The phone rang. I briefly caught sight of the caller ID as I picked it up: Gabe. Ah.

Me: Hel-lo!
Him: Okay, I'm just about to have a shower, then I'm coming over.
Me: Okay, cool!
Him: So I'll probably be there in about an hour.
Me: Great, see you then!
Him: Bye!

I pottered around for a while, full of gleeful sexpectation. It had been over a month, and I was gagging for it.

When he knocked on my door and I let him in, I once again noticed a slight awkwardness about him. Two nights before, when he had just arrived in town, we both ended up at the pub with the same group of friends. We had sort of gravitated towards each other, and a few kisses had been exchanged. Enough to get me fired up, though he had made a comment at one point, that I was making it hard for him to keep his hands off me, as if keeping his hands off me was what he should be doing. I shrugged it off, as I knew him to be quite private with his affections, as a general rule.

In any case, a bit of flirtation was all it took for us to start kissing when he arrived at my place. One thing that had always stood out about him to me was that he tends to keep his kisses closed-mouthed. But this time, he parted his lips and snogged me properly, which pleased me. Pressed against him as I was, I could feel him getting excited very quickly, his body generating insane amounts of heat, and his breath coming in gasps as our hands went under each other's shirts. He pulled mine off me, and I returned the favour, pressing myself against his hot skin, and letting my breath and a few kisses trail down his throat to his chest. I was surprised to hear him moaning and whimpering, as I had always known him to be fairly quiet. I wondered briefly whether he was taking a leaf out of my book: the other night, he had asked why I set off so easily, and why I'm so noisy. I had explained that I didn't like suppressing my pleasure for the sake of embarrassment, or wanting to keep my dignity, so I just let go, and enjoy my sex life to the fullest.

We stumbled towards the bed, him kicking off his shoes in the process. We clung to each other again, still standing, and continuing to snog. I ran my hands down his naked torso, and unbuttoned his jeans. He unbuttoned mine, and as we took them off, we lay down on the bed together. He was on top of me very quickly, grinding against me and moaning. A few times, the tip of his cock pressed against my vulva, with only our underwear in the way. I reached into his underpants and trailed my fingertip over the head of his cock, before taking it in my hand and stroking him. A few times, it looked like he was going to relieve me of my underwear, but instead he would rub my pussy through my undies, which actually brought on my first orgasm. He slipped his hand into my undies and trailed his fingers along my slit. I could tell that I was wet and slippery. In the end, I took off my underwear myself. He kept his undies on until I got out a condom -- I suspect he might still be a little self-concious, which I found mildly amusing. It didn't stop him from putting the condom on and sliding his cock inside me though. I ran my hands over his back and arse as he fucked me, in short, shallow thrusts to start with, then going deeper, plunging into me right to the hilt.

My second orgasm hit within moments, melting into my third and fourth, by which time I was screaming at the top of my lungs. He only briefly paused to exclaim over the amount of noise I was making -- I certainly drowned him out. We switched so that I could ride him, me still shaking and uncoordinated from the orgasms I'd already had. When I straddled him and lowered myself down onto his cock again, we rocked together urgently, and I clenched all my muscles around him. I think I came again at some point there, and I could feel him building up too, before he suddenly stopped me and pulled out, throwing me back onto my back. "I don't want to come yet," he explained, and stuck his cock inside me again, fucking me hard and fast. I just held on for dear life. I'm pretty sure I had another orgasm before the last one hit, and I screamed again as he came inside me.

I still twitched and spasmed after he pulled out and collapsed next to me, breathing heavily. "That was insane," he murmured as I still twitched and arched, before winding down myself. Once I had done so, we lay next to each other with one arm lazily draped over each other.

"Well, another dud root," he observed, tongue firmly in cheek. I chuckled at that. "Oh, well I'm sorry." He paused. "That was deepest sarcasm, you know." I grinned and snuggled into my pillow. "Yeah, I know."

We had a brief break, during which we discussed musicals that we had both seen, which was kind of fun. I got up and pottered around a bit, half-clothed again, before he beckoned me back to bed as I walked past. A thorough snog led into a second round, though this one was a little less raucous. I rode him to climax this time, sometimes drawing it out by moving very slowly. When he came, he set me off too, and we curled up together.

He had to leave shortly afterwards, as he had a few things to do. He also informed me that this would probably be our last encounter, as he has a real relationship that has appeared on the horizon. Oh well. I suppose it does explain that slight awkwardness I had noticed about him. I was amused though to find out that our dalliance had lasted longer than any of his real relationships thus far. Well, I hope he has better luck with this girl. We had a cup of tea together and exchanged some sound files before he went on his way. We parted with a hug and a peck on the lips -- personally, I would have liked to give him a last devastatingly sexy snog, but that just wasn't going to happen. Oh well.

As it was, I still wanked myself to another five orgasms throughout the evening, and one more when Stripey called to have a lovey dovey chat and hear how my day had been. It brought my grand total of orgasms for the day to 14. Not too shabby.

Randomly, I got a visit from a former shagrat today. Back in the day, I had always jokingly referred to him as Fabio when people asked me about him, due to his prettyboy appearance, so I suppose that's what he will be known as here. Our dalliance had ended over a year ago, but we had caught up once, platonically, since then. As it turned out, his phone had met an untimely end, and he had thus lost my phone number, and his only way of contacting me was visiting me, so there he was at my door. I was mildly perplexed, but pleased enough to see him. I'm not sure if he wants to start something again or what... last thing I'd heard was that he had a girlfriend, but he said nothing of that now. Well, we'll probably be catching up sometime soonish, so I guess I'll find out what the go is. I'm not sure if I'd do him again... the sex was pretty damn good, but that had been pretty much all that was keeping us together. Sure, we occasionally went out and did something together, and he is pleasant enough company, but I don't find him terribly stimulating outside the bedroom. Still, it should be nice to catch up with him.

15 May, 2008

Yeah but no but yeah but

I wonder: has anyone here ever had that weird syndrome where you find someone insanely attractive, but the tought of sleeping with them almost kind of repulses you? I know that at least one of my female friends has had that, so I'm wondering if it's a girl thing, or a rare thing, or totally common.

I'm currently trialling for a new job, and there is quite a bit of training involved. One of the people who does the training is, to put it mildly, a sexy bitch. Of course, there is the whole professional relationship thing, so it's a no go anyway, but even as I perve at him, I know deep down I don't want to actually fuck him, even if it weren't for the social barrier. And I'm not even sure what it is. The other day, when he was addressing us newbies as a group, I found myself surreptitiously staring at where his shirt was tucked into his pants, neat and smart as you please. And my hands had a deep urge to untuck that shirt and stroke his torso, knowing full well that I'd encounter rock-hard muscle. The man is very fit, and on occasion, his shirt drapes in a way that showcases a beautiful set of pecs. When I'm lucky, I catch a glimpse of an erect nipple poking through the material. And another thing that makes him almost intolerably sexy: his veins pop out of his arms like crazy! I can see them criss-crossing over the backs of his hands, and running up his arms into his short sleeves.

Actually, now that I'm not looking at him, I'm even having thoughts of my hands not leaving it at untucking the shirt, but also opening his belt buckle, unbuttoning his pants, and trailing into his pubes, assuming he doesn't wax or anything like that. But beyond that, my brain won't let me get any further. I suspect that if he were standing in front of me now, I wouldn't even be able to go as far as the pubes, in my imagination. My brain just sort of baulks. I have, experimentally, tried to build him into a sexual fantasy, and it just won't work, which I find intriguing. I still blissfully perve at him nonetheless, but something about him just puts it totally out of the question for me, and I just can't put my finger on what it is. It makes me wonder if it is really something about him, or perhaps the professional relationship that puts him in a superior position to me. I wonder if that's the big turn-off. Because apart from his gorgeous body, he is also a pretty good-looking man, and he has that kind of neatly cropped hair that I have developed a strange obsession with. But, to tell you the truth, I can't even really imagine him having a penis (let alone the ability to get an erection), though I assume that he must have one, of course. I mean, the chances of him being a eunuch are kind of remote. And, if I try to play the completely unrealistic scene of him propositioning me, my reaction in that scene, every time, is a double-take followed by "What the fuck? Um, no."

It's an interesting phenomenon. It's almost as if my appreciation of his body were purely aesthetic, but it can't just be that, because I know that I got pretty wet perving at him the other day, and I actively avoided him at lunch, for fear of my heart jumping into my mouth.

By contrast, there's another fellow, on the same level as him, but who has not actively trained any of us. I have had the occasional brief chat with him, and when we parted after our most recent one, I found myself thinking, well yeah, I would. He's nothing to be sneered at, either, though perhaps a tiny little bit more on the cute side. I've certainly not spent anywhere near as much time ogling him, but my subconcious does come up with possibilities of seducing this one, though I'm pretty sure that that would be a terrible idea, too, and I have no intention of finding out. But the question remains: what the hell is it about the other guy? Do I just have a very effective "professional relationship, no touchie" filter? Or does the previously mentioned bloke just totally not smell right? Actually, I don't think I would know, because I haven't really come in a close enough vicinity of him to get a whiff of his pheromones. Mind you, impeccable as he is, I suspect he somehow manages to not sweat, and thus not smell sexy. And he also carries himself in a somewhat unapproachable way, and smiles only rarely. That could be it, actually: a broad smile is one of the sexiest thing a man can have, and he doesn't have it. There's something kind of stern about him, and it wards me right off.

Odd. Very odd. I suppose I should be grateful that I'm not consuming myself with an actual desire to fuck him senseless, and am instead left with this little puzzle, but it still occupies my mind at times. I don't know, has anyone here experienced anything similar, or am I just weird?

12 May, 2008

Would you like cheese with that?

I find it kind of interesting how within a few months, I have developed a bit of an aversion to mainstream erotica. I never liked it much in the first place, but now it actually kind of makes me shudder. I have just gotten so used to the stuff I've been involved with, which is all au naturel, and proud of it.

I only realised it now, when I was randomly directed on to the Australian Penthouse Aussie Babes Gallery. Sure, some of them still look reasonably nice, but many of the popular ones seem incredibly cheesy. It always makes me wonder. How did that become sexy? And I don't just mean things like Penthouse. I mean the straight out cheesy porn, too. It's not like say "Ooooh yeah, baby, your cock is so big" when I'm in the sack with a fellow, whilst clumsily groping my own boobs.

I wonder if it's as simple as the fact that mainstream porn is a primarily male-run infustry, fuelled by male fantasies. How many of these men who make mainstream porn have seen a genuinely vocal, enthusiastic woman in the sack? Do they even know what it's supposed to be like?

I suppose it's no wonder I get a kick out of having people witness the way I orgasm. It feels like I'm putting the word out there. And I know that few men are prepared for it when they first experience me coming. I have come to very much enjoy that wide-eyed, stunned, and ultimately gleeful expression on their faces. Many of them spend some time groping for words. My favourite reaction thus far actually came from Luke. The first time he experienced me having an orgasm, he looked at me in wide-eyed astonishment, and a big grin slowly spread over his face before he said, "Wow! Cool!"

So I can't help but think, surely the faked orgasms in mainstream porn can't be more interesting than a real woman mid-enthusiastic climax. It's certainly not for me. It's always going to be the latter that makes my heart pound, and I'm only vaguely bisexual, really.

I guess what I'm getting at is, maybe women should be less afraid to showcase their sexuality and be proud of it. Many women complain about how they hate porn, but I'm starting to think that perhaps the everyday woman does have the power to change the mainstream idea of what female beauty is. I just find myself shrugging at best, and cringing at worst when I see one of those stereotypical big-boobed, bare-pussied, bleach-blonde bunnies. But only recently, a masturbation video of a dreadlocked hippie girl with a fairly normal physique got my pulse racing. But yet many a woman tries to emulate the former, or at least looks to the big-boobed bunny for a standard in beauty, instead of the earthy hippie goddess.

Well, at the end of the day, I suppose it does still come down to taste.

06 May, 2008

Hormonal analysis

It's funny how the presence of regular pelvic floor muscle exercise, combined with lack of sex, can make a woman acutely aware of her cycle. At least, I have been finding this over the last few weeks. The peaks in randiness are astounding, I had forgotten how my body does that. I suppose it helps that I have been working out lately too... that does tend to contribute to the horn. I am back in that state where I can be horny without really realising it.

Case in point: after plopping down on the couch to watch No Reservations (it was a movie-renting kind of night), I ended up with my hands sneaking down my pants. This, in itself, is not in the least bit unusual. Idle hands and all that... no, much more notable was that as soon as I flexed my fingers to brush my G-spot, I was coming, and coming hard. Not only that, but I kept coming, for maybe thirty or forty seconds. This is by no means by record, but over the last few months, it has certainly been harder to get to that point. But tonight, it was unintentional, and I surprised myself so much that I almost fought my extended orgasm. Not only that, but I brought myself to three more, which were of a similar caliber. I admit that Aaron Eckhart was sort of doing it for me, despite that cleft in his chin.

Looks like I have surmounted that wall that had built up between me and my extended orgasms. I'm glad.

02 May, 2008

The first few glimpses

Hah! I am so fucking stoked! I have seen the first preview photos available of my nude adventures in the world of erotica. Only two photos, and backstage ones at that, but it still fills me with utter glee.

Also, gmail is being an absolute fucking twat at the moment. It's not letting me send anything! Grrrrrr.

30 April, 2008


I really hadn't realised just how much I had let my PC muscles go. It's no bloody wonder that my orgasms aren't what they used to be! A few days ago, I have started seriously exercising them again, and I am already seeing results. Or rather, feeling them. My orgasms are already becoming more intense and long-lasting again, and I am also getting wetter again! I hadn't realised how much of a difference it made. As a side benefit, which I hadn't even really noticed, my bladder is a bit more resilient, too. Totally obvious, I know, but I honestly hadn't noticed the difference.

I just had a conversation with my housemate about how the labia minora can really make intercourse more challenging. ::chuckle::

28 April, 2008

A new theory, and some musings stemming from it.

It's a doozy: the female "rape" fantasy. Of course, those words having passed my metaphorical lips, I immediately have to add this: No, women do NOT want to be raped, and if you believe that they do, you are a fucking moron.

There, that's out of the way. Now on to what I've wanted to say: something occurred to me today. Okay, no woman wants to be raped, but there does seem to be this universal little fantasy that seems to bubble up from the depths of our reptilian brains. What's up with that? I mean, there does seem to be something in it that is consistent with the rape theme, doesn't there? And to explain what occurred to me, I'm afraid I'll have to delve into the concept of rape a bit more. My apologies, I'll try to make it quick.

When you get right down to it, what is rape all about? A man getting so turned on that he just loses control? Shyeah, right. If you honestly think that, then go crawl back into your cave. It's not like only attractive girls get raped. It's about control. Sure, I'll concede that there probably are cases of rape out there where a guy starts out getting normally friendly with a girl, and she draws the line, he gets pissed off, and rapes her. But by then, from my understanding, it's fuelled by the anger at having the control taken away, rather than actual arousal.

In a "civilised" world where, let's not candy coat here, women are still in more danger of that sort of shit than men, women tend to cling to their control. And let's face it, you really can't fault them.

But I reckon that beneath that vice grip on that control, there is a desire to let go, and, even more importantly, for it to be safe to lose control. But even that loss of control isn't the be all and end all. Judging by a little stray fantasy that entered my mind today, I can have a stab at what it is: it is a desire to not be the one in control when entering into coitus with someone one is insanely attracted to, but, for some reason, shouldn't be sleeping with. It washes our hands of the responsibility. And many a woman may lust like crazy after some particular man who is taboo, like maybe someone with whom she has a strictly professional relationship, or a housemate, or a friend's spouse... she may not even let herself really fantasise about it, because she's a good girl and would not do that, it's just not on, and she can't get into it. But what if this hot piece of manflesh were to sneak under the covers with her, flooding her in those delicious pheromones, and though she wants it, she still says no, but her words are drowned out by heated kisses until she hangs limp in his grip, dripping wet, ready to be taken?

Sound familiar? Yeah, Mills and Boon built a fucking empire on this shit. And it does sell. While I admit I have never read any of them, I get the impression that a large chunk involve the feisty lassie asserting her toughness (Psh!) by, well, being feisty and oh-so-inflamed and angry at the smug muscle-bound alpha male, who proceeds to strip away her defenses with his, er, sex appeal (oh, she so wants it!), and gives her a thorough rogering. It's always made ever so clear that she just wants him so fucking much, even though she, you know, technically hates his guts. Which, by the way, leads into the hate-fuck, which in turn fits well into that theme.

I guess what it boils down to is that the line of consent is blurred. But even so, it can still be defined: she wants it on a primal level, but has some other issues, usually something to do with society not deeming it acceptable, that make her say no. It's still a thing that can't truly be recognised in real life.

So this, I suspect, is how the fanasy works. And some rapists do seem to say, "Oh, she wanted it, the little slut". Again, if this is a belief of yours, I advise you not to say that in front of a militant lesbian, or even a sweet yet assertive lass like myself, because I certainly couldn't guarantee that you would leave with your reproductive system intact. Let's dispel another myth here: "Sluts" do NOT want to be raped EITHER. Some people seem to have this fucked-up idea that you can't rape a whore, because she loves it. Fuck. Off. Let me tell you something: it already pisses me off enough that some peopel seem to believe that I will fuck anyone who asks, no matter what, just because I am sexually liberated. No. N-O. NO.

Let me clarify something here, while I'm on the topic: I love sex. And if I am attracted to someone, chances are, I will try and get into that person's pants, and not give a flying fuck about "waiting" or the "slut" stereotype. But if I'm not attracted to someone? They don't have a popsicle's chance in hell. And if someone tried to get pushy on me, and would not listen to polite refusals, no, I would not stop at kicking their arse.

Over the last few years, I have been shocked to hear recounts from my female friends who had sex with someone, because they deemed it to be safer to just play along. They were basically pressured. And just the other day, I myself fended off the advances of a man of whom I suspect that he is the type who ends up getting lucky with those women who don't fucking speak up for fear of ensuing violence. The guy wasn't even a bad person, from what I could tell, but he seemed to have developed this perception that if you push hard enough, and break into the fortress of a woman's defenses, you're home free, and it's all okay. It doesn't help that many women who aren't interested don't have the guts (for whatever reason) to just say no. I did politely refuse this man, and push him away, and he behaved. But I still felt dirty afterwards, partly because I couldn't help but wonder how many women slept with him just because they decided saying No wasn't worth the potential danger. It makes me sick, because guys like him probably wouldn't become rapists, if you just made it clear he didn't have your consent. It's just one little word. One word is all it takes to make it crystal clear. So many of us are so paralysed by fear that we don't even get out of the situations we do have some control over, and that's just fucking stupid.

And, on the other side of that particular spectrum, I do actually think it would be nice if less women who are interested in the fellow felt the need to be wheedled into bed over a period of who knows how long, just to satisfy their own fragile egos. Grow up. You're not bloody helping. While it's fine to want to take a relationship slowly, and be clear about your motives, it's another matter entirely if you're playing "hard to get", and keeping someone guessing, just because you need them to validate your attractiveness. We really don't need the line any more fucking blurred than it already is.

Yes, I have said before that I think a lot of my fellow women are full of shit. And it is that kind of behaviour that I mean. But even so, there is never, EVER and excuse for sexual coersion. Guys, if you're going to be fulfilling a girl's "rape" fantasy, chances are it will be previously agreed on, with safe words. It's the illusion of losing control. And frankly, I'd be tempted to say that if a girl plays "hard to get", then bloody drop her. Chances are, she's not worth it, and only reinforces a negative stereotype. Both men and women have their share of responsibility to take here. And at the end of the day, it is never EVER the victim's fault, so anyone trying to push the blame on them can just fucking fuck off. Even if the victim is one of those reinforcers of negative stereotypes.

Okay, I'm done with the vitriol. So much for keeping the delving into rape part short.

25 April, 2008

Always the way

Today, I got propositioned to be the co-dominatrix in a threesome of sorts. The other two parties being a male dom and a female sub.

I had to decline, of course, as I am currently attempting to be monogamous. Sure, I've been tingling like crazy the last few days -- it's been ten days since I last had a cock inside me, so I am approaching that two-week insanity mark where I just want to fuck something now, damn it -- but I still have more willpower than that.

Actually, a thing that I am awaiting much more impatiently than the green light to have sex again is to see the fruits of my labour. But it's still a little while to go until then, unfortunately. Aargh!

A tragedy

One of the big problems about being fluid bonded is that it really complicates blowjobs. With Stripey being so far away most of the time, if I wanted to give head to someone, it would always have to be with a condom. If you ask me, that takes a lot of the fun out of it. If you think fucking with a condom is just not the same as without, try sucking with a condom. For me, it just ruins the experience, so I only do it very rarely. As a result, blowjobs have become a much more intimate thing for me, more intimate than actual intercourse. Not that that's a bad thing, because I think a blowjob does require a lot more loving attention than just climbing onto a cock and grinding against it does.

The thing is, as a result of this, Stripey is pretty much the only person I ever go down on. And with him away for such long stretches of time, the result is that I get out of practise. Sure, I still retain my basic technique, but my endurance and my fine-honed skill is pretty much gone. I became painfully aware of this on the few occasions when I went down on him while he was here. And even worse, my gag reflex seems to have increased! Nooooooooo! I hadn't realised how much of a difference my teenage attempts to suppress my gag reflex had actually made. Looks like I'll have to get back into practise with that again.

I suppose there's also the fact that back in the days when I was still in practise, Stripey and I didn't see each other as much as we do when we're on the same continent. As a result, we always had time to build up that withdrawal-symptom arousal. I fondly remember one incident when I popped into his office, and we ended up locking the door, so I could gleefully suck him off. I made small work of him, and walked away satisfied that I had done a samaritan deed -- he had been really stressed out, and the orgasm had improved his state of mind.

But at the moment, I seem to be completely incapable of finishing a blowjob, and that really irritates me. If I weren't fluid-bonded and temporarily monogamous, I'd be tempted to round up a few of my male acquaintances and say, "Excuse me, do you mind being my blowjob guinea pig? I need practise."

Oh well. I suppose that's what root vegetables are for. While they don't exactly give you feedback, they can come in handy in terms of increasing endurance and suppressing that pesky gag reflex.

24 April, 2008

Watch me.

Perhaps I am a flaming narcissist. I'm certainly pretty fucking vain. And, by the looks of it, a bit of an exhibitionist. Maybe they're interchangable.

My recent dip into the Amateur Porn industry has kick started a few interesting things inside me. As I very briefly mentioned in the post linked here, it was a positive experience. I had never expected this to happen, especially as I was already pretty happy and confident with the way I look, but... well, that feeling of being happy in my own skin has actually increased. Now, more than ever, do I look at myself with my little pockets of flab, cellulite, stretch marks and all, and think myself beautiful. Even when I'm having a "fat day", I can still look at myself and like what I see. It's like I have become less self-critical as a result of this.

But that's not all of it. I also discovered that I liked the idea of people looking at explicit nudes of me. And it makes me hope that I get a call again sometime soon, for the sake of one of the masturbation videos. I like the thought of people seeing them. I want to be able to say, "Hey people, this is how a real woman comes! Watch and learn." I guess it comes from having masturbated in front of quite a few lovers in my time. Originally, it was a combination of still being horny post-coitus, and wanting to show my lover what to aim for when attempting to get me off. But, I guess, as I time went on, I started to get off on having someone watch me. And having me in the throes of my pleasure on film, being watched by who knows how many people... well, the thought is kind of satisfying.

And it was with this thought in mind that I wanked myself silly today. I had already had two orgasms for the day -- one before getting up, and one whilst on the phone with Stripey -- but ended up wanking to what must have been another five. It was greedy and hot and in rapid succession. And they were pretty damn good orgasms, too. I came quite close to fisting myself, near the end. But I suppose I was pretty fucking horny anyway. In fact, I have been taking a lot of opportunities for flirtation lately, even if I am currently being sort of monogamous.

To grope, or not to grope, that is the question.

The other day, I had this entry brought to my attention. The tone with which it was mentioned? A great evil, a horrible thing.

So I read it, trying to figure out what the deal with all the vitriol was. And frankly, I didn't really get it. Something about reading the entry made me a little uneasy, but why the big outpouring of hate? There seemed to be a conviction that the events recounted were downright misogynistic. What the hell?

Don't get me wrong, I think the so-called "Open Source Boob Project" had many flaws. Mostly, it didn't take into account the fact that, guess what? Women are wrought with insecurity and bloody obsessed with the notion that they're being objectified. I honestly think it causes many a woman to go off half-cocked. Starting that sort of project with such an emotionally explosive social group (I'm sorry, okay?) is bound to get messy eventually.

I know I'm probably totally betraying the sisterhood here, but I frankly think that women should learn to understand that just because a man is preoccupied by her breasts, that doesn't mean that he thinks her breasts are all there is to her. Remember, men are less well-equipped to multitask than we are. It is a physiological fact. Therefore, he will most likely pay attention to what preoccupies him most, and guess what that tends to be? Ka-ching! Yep, it's the boobies. No need to be offended about it. I say just give him time to get over it, and then show him that, yes, you're smart, too. Then you can preoccupy him with that. Or something.

My point is, I'd be very surprised if, in the moments when a man stares at a woman's breasts, he's thinking, "Oh, look at this complete embodiment of who this person is, I know everything I need to know about her just by looking at her breasts." Er. Doubtful. Sorry, but I still choose to have a little bit more faith in my male counterparts than that.

No, I think the real problem with the open-source boob project is that it was dealing with a bit of a touchy subject, pardon the pun. Really, I do think it's kind of a nice idea, in theory. Unfortunately, "In theory" is the operative term here. In an ideal world, where women (and people in general, really) are less worried about validation, it would be kind of nice to be able to ask, and to be able to get an honest reply, without discomfort. That's the thing, women do have a tendency to feel pressured, even if that's not the intention. And that, unfortunately, probably comes down to it being an evolutionary advantage dating back to the stone age. I'm not going to go into it now, but if you really want to investigate, you might like to read The Female Brain by Louann Brizendine, M.D.

And even if a woman is very confident in herself, and will quite happily say "Yeah, sure have a bit of a feel if you want"/"Nah, I'd rather you didn't, no offense or anything," (for pity's sake, be polite!) there are other issues. Sure, we can go on about how a woman would feel pressured to give her consent, or wouldn't want to seem prudish, or would want validation of her attractiveness, but frankly, I think that's a lot of wank. All that comes down to is, in my book, an unhealthy lack of confidence, which the rest of my sisters should really bloody well own up to instead of making it the problem of the men out there. Feel free to slam me for this, I probably deserve it, but it has to be said. I'm not going to pull any punches here just because we have the same bits between our legs.

The biggest problem in my eyes is this: there's still the matter of choice. A woman may be perfectly happy to have one stranger feel her breasts, but feel a lot less happy about another doing the same, for whatever reason. What if they're standing next to each other? Oops. Talk about a minefield. Of course, if you don't mind treading on a couple of toes, then I suppose that's not a problem either, but I think the object of the exercise was not to tread on any toes or make anyone feel uncomfortable here.

I guess that's what it boils down to: there is just too much potential for discomfort here, even if it's not intended. A bit of a pity, really, because a lot of this would probably be much less of an issue if we were all more confident in ourselves and our own attractiveness. In fact, I'd say let's all go lynch the media, instead of getting into fights amongst ourselves, but fat chance of that happening. A better alternative would probably not to let the unrealistic ideals of beauty we are presented with get to us, and just like ourselves the way we are.

I'm probably repeating myself a lot here, so I'll try and wrap it up now. I wanted to say a whole lot more about the whole objectification thing, and how it would probably bother us less if we weren't to a certain extent made to believe this objectification ourselves, but I've crapped on enough here.

20 April, 2008

Grab your dick and double-click for porn, porn, porn!

Okay, I've been holding back on this for ages, but here goes: I have recently become involved in the world of amateur porn.

It's difficult to write about this, mostly because I'm not sure how much I can say without giving away precisely whom I got naked and sweaty in front of the camera for. And even more aggravatingly, I don't want that to be a worry, because it's certainly not a matter of embarrassment or anything. I'm not terribly worried about the possibility of someone I know coming across the stuff featuring me, and getting off to it, or, alternatively, being disgusted at me.

No, what's more of a worry is the implications this kind of thing can have on someone's career. This society seems to believe that if anyone (especially a woman) has participated in some sort of pornographic thing, they're good for nothing else. If you boil it down even further, you could say that a horny woman is good for nothing but sex, and deserves no respect for her other skills. At least, that's a preconception that The Girl seems to have fallen victim to, and that seems to be alive and well.

Yes, men can complain about women putting up the "bitch shield", not letting them in, etc. And it is true, it only tends to filter out the nicest and most respectful, leaving the arseholes with less competition. But the fact remains: there's still some negativity towards women out there, and certainly some stigma towards women with a high sexual appetite. Many women feel the need to put up defenses, which unfortunately often backfire. The question is, what kind of "defenses" keep those that they are meant for at bay? I don't know.

That being said, I knew the risk I took, thought about it, and decided to go ahead. And I don't regret it. In fact, I'm glad I did it, enjoyed myself, and look forward to seeing the results. And I just wish that I could sing it loud, sing it proud, with my real identity and all, and not be judged for it. But I think we still have a ways to go before we get to that stage. Pity. But nonetheless, I have promised myself that if I ever get outted and someone tries to judge me, I'll bloody keep my chin up and say, "That's right, I did it, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

19 April, 2008

A happy place.

I ended up taking part in an impromptu aerobics session today. It made me think of this clip:

Okay, so the lack of pussy wedgies is a tad unrealistic, but I still never get sick of watching this. Ever. Doesn't help that with Stripey back on the other side of the world, I'm horny as hell. I spent most of today anticipating an opportunity to wank. Probably why aerobics gave me such a pussy wedgie, my equipment was probably all engorged and spread apart.

17 April, 2008

My dear, your posterior looks ever so fetching.

I got wolf-whistled and honked at a few times today, just on my way to getting groceries. This is mildly unusual, especially as I was just in a T-shirt and jeans. Okay, they were both quite form-fitting, but still. Although lately, when looking in the mirror, my arse has leapt out at me (figuratively speaking) as a positive attribute. Perhaps those squats I have been doing have toned it up a bit or something... the people who honked at me and wolf-whistled me were coming from behind.