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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Work-out

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::

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

So, are we going to fuck, or are you going to watch porn all day?

Last night, Stripey and I went to our first ever swinger's party.

It was specifically for newbies, and for couples only.

We were the first to arrive. So much for being fashionably late. We had actually thought that our cab was a tad late, but we ended up arriving only five minutes after the appointed time.

We were greeted by the cheerful, buxom organiser, who answered the door in a little black see-through number that revealed her lingerie. We got a tour of the venue, which included a spa, several bedrooms with just normal double beds, and others which were practically bed landscapes, for the larger groups. It was a nice enough house, really, and nicely mood-lit.

Bit by bit, other couples started to file in, and the first two hours of the party were spent just mingling, chatting to various people, and so on. There were two or three couples that were of vague interest. Of course, they shall remain nameless, as I really can't be bothered to make up a fake name for six people just for the one single blog entry.

The first ones we chatted to were an attractive young pair, I'm guessing mid-twenties. They were nice enough, and I found myself looking at both of them and thinking, well yeah, I would. Amusingly, we also found that they had just celebrated their anniversary, and in fact had been together for only one day less than us. Still, I came to the conclusion that my attraction to the pair was purely physical, I didn't really feel any particular brain sparks. That, and their body language was kind of closed. I don't think they ever intended to have any sex that night. I suppose that's the problem with these newbie things: a lot of newbies are too shy to have sex the first time round, so I'm guessing that these parties end up a lot tamer than the ones chock-full of seasoned veterans.

The second couple were the most interesting in my eyes: a little bit older, I'm guessing early thirties. Attractive, friendly, and with a little common ground with us. Yeah, I thought, I definitely would. I thought I caught some appreciative glances from the fellow, and I noted that the girl was giving Stripey an open, relaxed smile as they talked. The signs would have all been good, if it hadn't been for the fact that she was clutching her drink close to her chest in a very protective gesture. Damn it, I thought, what the fuck are we going to do about that? How does one open up that kind of closed body language? She would occasionally drop her hands and open up a little, and by the end of the conversation, we were standing a little closer than at arms' length, but it just wasn't going to happen. Oh well.

The third couple we spoke to were a little older, and not really my cup of tea on a physical level, but they seemed like very nice people. The woman was a bit of an old hand at that scene, which was a nice contrast to all the shy newbies all over the place. We chatted for a bit, which was pleasant enough, and then drifted our seperate ways.

Of course, we met a whole lot of other people, but for the most part, names flew in one ear and out of the other. There were quite a few attractive people around, but few of them really out to get laid that night, by the looks of it.

A lot of us ended up congregating in the hidden TV room, up to twenty people crammed onto the huge couch, watching some very eighties-like porn. The young couple from earlier were sitting next to us, and we ended up deconstructing the porn, which was really pretty woeful. The scene involved a fairly normal slightly curvy brunette, and a very young-looking guy with a big dick and a terrible haircut. Ah, porn. We came to the conclusion that most men in porn aren't terribly attractive, so that the men who watch it don't feel superceded. I found myself wincing often at the way he tugged at her clit piercing, and it was obvious that she was dry upon the actual penetration, and occasionally he mask of "pleasure" would slip. It made me want to go out there and actually find some good porn. Something that was actually sexy, rather than just cheesy and cringeworthy. We eventually all got sick of that, and went for some lesbian porn instead. The girls in it were pretty hot, but I just wanted to groan at their repetitive fake orgasmic noises. Sheesh. I couldn't help but think, Shortbus was so much sexier than that.

That being said though, even when I think porn is absolutely shit, my body still does respond to it, I find. During the porn-viewing, a couple would occasionally get amorous and then wander off to find somewhere to fuck. Eventually, Stripey and I decided that actually having sex was preferable to watching a very woeful fake re-enactment of it. We went and claimed one of the smaller bedrooms, and canoodled for a bit. Stripey briefly wandered off to relieve himself, and I ended up in conversation with a fellow who happened to wander past the open door and spot me in my bra and jeans. When Stripey returned, the guy at the door asked if he and his lady could join in. I wasn't actually sure which one he had come with... I thought it might have been one of the slighly curvy thirty-something blondes I had spotted around the place. In any case, Stripey and I hadn't quite figured out how we felt about that, as we hadn't really spoken to this bloke before, and, seing our uncertainty, he backed off pretty quickly. It reminded me that in a setting like that, if you want it, you don't waste time about saying yes. I'm guessing if one of our first two couples had come a-knocking, we probably would have, though.

In any case, we left the door to our bedroom open, and I did occasionally notice someone hanging around outside, watching the action for a bit. We stripped down pretty quickly, and I kissed my way down Stripey's chest, heading for his cock. He was semi-hard, apparently still not quite warmed up to the setting, so I took him in my mouth and lovingly coaxed him to hardness. He wavered again as I put the condom on him, but still rose to the occasion enough to fuck me as raucously as we ever do. In fact, I think we attracted a bit of attention wih the noise we made, despite the fact that I made an effort to turn the volume down a bit. There were, after all, neighbours.

After Stripey withdrew, I ended up masturbating to another orgasm, for which I had an audience standing outside the door. It makes me wonder just how much of an exhibitionist streak I actually have.

Shortly afterwards, we got partially dressed again, and went to see what else was going on. The TV room was still crammed with porn watchers, which, post-coitus, I really couldn't fathom. Why watch it when you could be having it? Although we did go and watch some of the other less shy couples for a bit, including the third of the ones we had spent a reasonable amount of time talking to. They were going at it with quite a bit of gusto, though I found myself wondering just how obvious the average girl's orgasm is. I seem to really be unusually obvious.

We left the others to their coital activities, and wandered back to the spa, where one fo the male organisers was chilling for a bit. He left shortly afterwards, and I decided to go in for a bit. It's been a long time since I last submerged myself completely in nice warm water. Aaah, heaven. I really need a bathtub, I think. Stripey kept me company outside the spa, as he didn't feel like going in.

The party wrapped up pretty shortly after that, and after getting dressed, we called a taxi back home. It was actually really nice to be home again in our very friendly little place, which is a big contrast to how yuppie-ish the house of the party was.

Spanky spanky

I am holding a rather nice wood and leather paddle which is simply begging to be broken in. Though I do believe I shall drill some holes in it when I get the chance.

Heh heh heh.

Me like my new toy.

Romping in the hay

I figure it's time for a gratuitious post, it's been ages since I last wrote one. Not that I haven't had the fodder -- hell, I'm brimming with it, I don't know where to begin! I suppose that's my own silly fault for barely blogging over the last few weeks. Woe is me, it's all piling up on me. ::chuckle::

Two days ago, Stripey and I ended up in some rather spontaneous coitus. I love it when that happens. It was in the early evening, Stripey was in the backyard, doing some gardening and observing the sunset, while I was sprawled naked on one of our beanbag chairs, contemplating a recipe book, as it was my turn to cook dinner. There is a totally boring and mundane explanation for my nudity, let me assure you, but my state turned out to be of importance.

Once I had figured out the dinner for the evening, my thoughts began to wander. Specifically, I was having happy thoughts of sucking Stripey's cock. I considered wandering into the backyard and doing precisely that, but laziness and the increased gravity of the beanbag chair won out, and I ended up with my hands between my legs instead. Which was how Stripey found me when he wandered in to tell me that the sunset was really beautiful. He grinned at the sight of me.

Him: And here I thought you were doing boring recipe stuff. Here I was, blissfully unaware that you were playing with yourself.
Me: Well, I did do boring recipe stuff. And then I started thinking thoughts about you, and, well...
Him: Mmmh. See, I was going to say maybe you should come outside, that sunset is pretty appealing... but this is pretty appealing too.
Me: ::smiles::
Him: So what were you thinking about?
Me: Oh, you know... sucking your cock, swirling my tongue around the head of him...
Him: ::groan:: You should have come outside, I would have liked that.
Me: ::smile:: Yeah, I know.

He stayed crouched next to me as I brought myself to screaming orgasm, obviously getting increasingly hard. When I stopped coming, he leaned over me and kissed me hard, and I suddenly founded myself grabbed by the arms and hoisted up from my beanbag. I had a brief moment of confusion before he veritably marched me off to the bedroom, and pretty much chucked me down onto the bed. I had to giggle, because it's relatively unusual for him to be so forceful. I have to admit, I kinda like it. He efficiently stripped down to his birthday suit, cock sticking out like a flagpole, and positioned him between my legs, his shaft rubbing against my pubic hair.

He fumbled for a condom while I fumbled for some lube (yes, even horny girls like me need the stuff on occasion!), and shortly afterwards, he slid himself into me, the two of us grinning at each other. "God, I love fucking you," he said, still grinning, and thrusting into me. I chuckled and wrapped my legs around him. After a few moments, he rocked back into a sitting position, and pulled me up with him, so we were precariously balanced, but still thrusting, and rubbing against each other in all those gloriously sensitive spots. He lay back and I went to straddle him, so that I could ride him hard. We were still smiling widely and keeping intense eye contact as I rode him, neither of us holding back. It was as gleeful as sex gets, with the noises we made during build-up half-way between moans and laughter. I kept grinding into him, and suddenly found myself coming. Usually, we set each other off very quickly, but this time, Stripey was a little further behind me, and got to watch me come, and after an appreciative "Aw yeah", fell into orgasm himself, and we happily screamed our heads off as we continued to grind against each other.

When we came down, we were both laughing for a while, and I collapsed onto him, still giggling. We disengaged shortly afterwards, and cuddled up together.

Me: ::giggle:: You marched me off!
Him: ::nods vigorously with a big grin:: Yep!
Me: ::giggle::

The thing is, despite orgasm, Stripey didn't actually lose his erection, so he ended up donning another condom, and we went for round two. I'm pretty impressed, it seems like his sexual stamina is improving. Admittedly, the second round was somewhat more sedate, but still damn nice, and we came to another simultaneous orgasm. Yay! He then leapt out of bed to have a shower, and I flaked out for a bit, only that... well... I kind of started wanking again. Yeeeah, I'm incorrigible. Stripey caught me at it, and had to laugh. He hung around to caress me and kiss me as I worked myself to an admittedly kind of subdued last orgasm, before I finally give it a rest.

Horny? Me? Naaaah.

Resurfacing from the depths of obscurity

Yes, I know it has been a long time since I last blogged. There are several reasons for this. For starters, Stripey and I have been insterstate, tramping through the countryside, and visiting friends and relatives.

We're also re-evaluating what we're willing to share with the public, and what we're keeping private. Anonymity is all well and good, but even so, some things are still private.

That being said, there are a few things I have been meaning to blog about, but not now. It's a busy day today, so the dirty stories will just have to wait. :-)

Hiding under the blankies

Yesterday's orgasm count: 9, and NONE of them self-inflicted! Hah hah!

I had quite forgotten what it felt like to come properly. Last night was the first time in an absolute eternity that I was completely spent and giggling on quite that big an endorphin high.

I'm not sure I'll be writing anything much in the near future... there is sex to be had.

He came!!!

Today's orgasm count: three, one from a thorough pussy-licking, two from a most epic and excellent shag that resulted in the sort of screaming that makes the neighbours fear what might be going on next door.

Yes, Stripey is here. And I'm gonna go cuddle him now, because I really can't be arsed to write more.

Anticipation

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.

I just got off the phone with Stripey. He is at the airport now, about to board the plane that will take him home. Or at least, about to board the first leg of his trip. In twenty-nine and a half hours, he will be in my arms again. I am fizzing and bouncing with excitement. Good thing today will be a busy day, it might help keep me distracted.

I'm a distracted wanker.

I seem to remember reading somewhere that a woman's tendency to multitask can interfere with her ability to orgasm. Generally, that's not really a problem for me, I just come anyway, and end up with some weird conditioning because of the other things I might have been thinking of or looking at. But tonight, I definitely had a case of the former. It's not unusual for me to get bored while in front of the TV, so my mind wanders, and I get horny, and thus end up with my hands down my pants, irrespective of what happens to be on the TV screen. And usually, I have no problem tuning out the TV and getting off. But somehow, this wasn't working as I was sprawled out in front of House tonight. Perhaps that's because it's just a level up in the mindcandy stakes, and I guess the gross medical images that pop up are kind of a turn-off. Either that, or Hugh Lawrie really doesn't do it for me.

A package arrived in the mail today for my beloved. One of the things he has ordered to arrive here for our impending reunion. It gave me a few hours of bright curiosity before he happened to call and told me what was in it. I suppose I can wait to open it together now. :)

What I miss most

Yes, I admit it, my libido is back. At least, I'm wanking again. That being said though, I find that what I miss most is... kissing. My lips feel neglected. It makes me want to lick or suck something, just for the sake of my poor neglected mouth. My fingertips find my lips a lot, just to carress them a little bit. The tip of my tongue rubs against the inside of my bottom lip. I want to be kissed deeply and firmly again.

Speaking of which, it reminds me of the last time I kissed my friend Zac. We have been friends for several years, and, in that time, have occasionally gotten somewhat heated with each other, sometimes to the point of sex. However, these occasions tend to be a year or more apart, and most of the time, we act like any other platonic friends, except perhaps for the occasional little private smirk we might share when something simultaneously reminds both of us of the times we have canoodled.

The last time we kissed, I realised that he is actually a fantastic kisser. On previous occasions, his kisses had been more of a formality on the way to sex. This occasion was different, as I guess he didn't have any intention to sleep with me that night. He had come to my place to hung out, we'd had dinner and slumped in front of the TV with a beer each, and somehow ended up scooting closer to each other. Before long, we were curled up together, almost shyly caressing each other. That's the thing about us: we always have to court/seduce each other anew, which I suppose is why we rarely have sex or even kiss. It's still an aberration from our normal interaction, and having to seduce the same damn person again and again gets pretty tedious. There are other things to pursue, really, which tend to be more rewarding.

Be that as it may, that night, the opportunity presented itself, and after our little courtship, we started to kiss, just for the sake of kissing. I guess that's why it was so nice: kissing was the goal, so he bothered to use his skill. I guess we all have our different preferences in how a kiss should be, which affects our kissing styles: in my case, I like my kisses deep. Sure, a bit of playing with lips only can be wonderful, but if it goes on for too long, and we don't get around to plundering each other's mouths, it gets on my nerves. The tongue seems to have received a bit of a bad rap, which I find a shame. Sure, you shouldn't slobber all over somone and ram your tongue down their throat or anything, but I still like my kisses with a bit of oomph. And Zac had that down to a tee. His kisses were firm, he used his tongue enough to not get on my nerves, but he was still non-invasive about it. One of the best kissers I have had the pleasure to kiss.

Things did progress to some fondling that night, with his nimble fingers dipping into my pussy, and rubbed my juices over my clit, keeping me on the verge of orgasm for who knows how long. I did actually have a very minor climax, but the brunt of my lust was still raging away when he had to leave. Moments after he had left, I was lying on my bed, my fingers plunged into my pussy, wanking to a glorious screaming orgasm.

I guess another reason I'm remembering that night right now is because I needed the same thing that night as I do tonight: someone to share those long, generous kisses with. Sure, sex would be nice, but right now, it's all about the kisses for me. That, and being held by someone who cares about me. Zac was kind enough to provide that last time, though it leaves me glad that we didn't sleep together that night. Much as he is a good friend, he did a bit too good a job of holding me and kissing me as if he loved me. It served to distract me of how I missed my beloved. The jury is still out on whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. But for now, I'm really wanting to kiss my beloved again, more than anything.

Stats

Orgasm count since last post: five, self-inflicted.

Other than that, I really have nothing interesting to say.

Don't ask to give if you're not willing to take.

Orgasm count since last entry: two, self-inflicted.

Internet dating sites are funny things. After a while, you do notice some prevailing patterns, I have found. The site that I have been trawling has a list of ticky boxes on your profile, where you can tick what sort of sexual activities, whether it be vanilla intercourse, oral sex, exhibitionism, softcore kinky stuff, or anal.

A thing that has always struck me is that the vast majority of the men on that site have the "anal - giving" box ticked. I have yet to find a man on that site who says he is willing to receive it. Now, I'm sure there are some good reasons for this: the female population of that site is only a fraction of the male one, and I often see a disclaimer on male profiles saying, "No, I'm not gay, so men, please stop propositioning me." I suppose professing a willingness to receive anal would imply an opening for the homosexual community on that site, pardon the pun. So I do understand why a man would not want to admit a willingness to take it up the arse, even if he might, in fact, be willing. That, and I suspect that a lot of men find the concept of receiving anal sex somewhat emasculating. A friend of mine, when I asked him about that, also pointed out that men are more programmed to stick their penises into things, rather than having one stuck into them.

So I do feel a certain amount of empathy there. But I can't help but think, you shouldn't profess an interest to sticking it in someone's arse if you're not willing to take it. It just seems a tiny bit rude. Which is why I tick neither box. Sure, I occasionally enjoy donning a strap-on and pegging a willing recipient, and I have no problem with being anally penetrated, so long as the phallus isn't absolutely enormous. But I suppose I don't want potential sex partners immediately asking me for anal, either. It's a strange sort of etiquette in my mind, I suppose. Maybe one day anal will be less of a touchy subject, and people will be more readily willing to do it, even with casual encounters, but I don't think today is that day. And perhaps anal will always belong into the category of things you do with someone you trust, rather than someone you have dirty sex on the washing machine with, and then never talk to again. I don't know, are there any people out there who would readily have anal sex in a casual encounter? Double points if it's receiving.

How to seduce a Nice Guy.

Today, whilst talking to a few friends, they mentioned a mutual friend of ours who had been lamenting her lack of boyfriend during her high school years, or rather, her lack of obviously interested men. A male friend had turned around and said, "I can think of at least five guys who wanted you as their girlfriend at the time!"

This sparked a conversation about how the very attractive breed of woman rarely gets hit on, for fear of rejection, and it's in fact girls with a low self-esteem who get propositioned all the time. Not really a new concept, but when a similar thing came up in Todger Talk, I felt compelled to share one such experience of my own.

I met Derek a bit over a year ago, and quite by accident. I had wandered into a social gathering where a few of my more vague acquaintances happened to be. I found myself sitting next to Derek, and deciding that, given the opportunity, I'd fuck him. As the evening wore on, this escalated to me deciding to create such an opportunity.

The thing was, it was surprisingly difficult to gauge whether he reciprocated my attraction. Over a few weeks, I'd occasionally run into him, and while I generally got the feeling that he was interested, he seemed to actively avoid touching me, and move away when I tried to casually and flirtaciously touch him. Odd, I thought, but the signs were just encouraging enough for me not to be deterred. When he invited me to a party he was hosting, I considered this my opportunity to properly seduce him. It was all a fairly sedate affair, though it lasted deep into the night. I had craftily maneuvred it so that we'd be sitting on the same couch, and curled up in a way that made it impossible not to be in some sort of physical contact with him.

Eventually, the rest of the people present either left, or found somewhere to crash, leaving us alone in the living room. We tried to crash too, me on the couch, him in a recliner, but we ended up talking sleepily instead, wrapped in our blankets as we were. Before long, dawn was approaching, so we hauled ourselves and our blankets out onto the patio, figuring we might as well watch the sun rise. We sat down in the deck chairs, him still seeming to avoid physical contact a little. I can't remember how I ended up with his feet in my lap, but I guess he must have finally decided it was safe. I wasn't going to waste the opportunity, first resting my hand on his bare ankle, then stroking his leg a little with my thumb, which slowly led to our fingers intertwining, and me moving closer to him.

Everything up to that point had been that tentative mating dance. Always testing the waters, venturing further ever so slowly. But once we kissed, that changed. I found myself suddenly yanked out of my deck chair, and pulled into his lap, where frenzied kisses were quickly followed by him fondling my breasts, and then lifting my shirt to lick my nipples. Surprised? I certainly was, considering it had taken four weeks for us to even touch for longer than ten seconds.

Still, I didn't feel like having my breasts exposed for all to see, so after enjoying my initial taste of is affections (no pun intended), I pulled my shirt back down. After all, the windows of the house were large, and if anyone who happened to get up cared to look, they would have found my breasts on proud display. A thing I'd rather avoid, as this was a crowd I didn't consider deserving of that privilege. So we settled for some talking, with the occasional kiss, until our fellow partygoers eventually got up and filed out. One of them had claimed Derek's bed for the night, so when she left, we made sure to claim it back. It kind of impresses me that despite our sleep deprivation, things still got quite heated. We were naked within moments, with him going down on me with great gusto, and taking my advice on the fine art of Getting Queenie Off, so that I came pretty quickly. Due to my being fluid bonded to my beloved, I couldn't return the favour, and the lack of condoms that we trusted (we both had one which was too old for comfort), we couldn't fuck, so I was left with the hand job. The objective was reached, and we fell into an exhausted sleep shortly afterwards, but it still bothered me a little. I was glad that on our next encounter, I could rectify the discrepancy somewhat with my pussy.

In any case, my point is, it took quite a bit of effort on my part to get into his pants. And the impression I got was that he refused to believed that I actually was attracted to him. I practically had to slither into his lap before he believed it! So it makes me wonder just how much the Nice Guys are getting discouraged, to the point of becoming rather difficult to bed. But they are well worth it, trust me.

I've left my body to science, but I'm afraid they've turned it down.

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.

Today, in the name of science, I called one of the local places seeking human guinea pigs.

Me: Hello, my name is Queenie. I was wondering whether you have any studies at the moment requiring a young healthy female with no surgical oddities.
Phonegirl: (laughs) Yes, I think we do. One second... how about testing a cervical cancer vaccine?
Me: Sure, why not. Come to think of it, I must be due for a pap smear!
Phonegirl: Alright, let me take you through the questionnaire.
Me: Okay, cool. Ah, a chance to show off with my good habits and even better health.
Phonegirl: Now, some of these questions are personal.
Me: That's fine. Oh, she's about to ask me about my sex life.
Phonegirl: How many sexual partners have you had?
Me: (gives answer... no, I'm not telling you. ;-)) One double take coming up...
Phonegirl: Oh. Well, that knocks you out of that one.
Me: Really? Damn. I wonder if I can take it back.
Phonegirl: Yeah, for this particular study, we can't accept people who have had more than four sex partners.
Me: Wow. Nope. Shit, good luck finding participants.
Phonegirl: (laughs) Yeah, it's pretty hard to find young women in their twenties who match that criteria.
Me: I can imagine! Damn, that really would be hard!
Phonegirl: So anyway, there's another study on...

The rest is irrelevant. But I couldn't help but chuckle at having basically been told that I'm too much of a slut. And it's not the first time, let me assure you. The bloodbank will not accept my blood, mostly because it's rare for me to go a whole three months without acquiring a new sex partner. Also, apparently there is some weird objection to having someone ejaculating in your mouth, even if the ejaculator is definitely approved to be clean. Something to do with the squirting of the cum, and possible mucus membrane damage. No, I don't get it either. I wonder if it's wordlwide, or just regional.

Oh well. I'm not a big fan of huge needles, anyway.

Be still, my thrashing lover!

I know I have mentioned before that I dislike having to keep quiet during orgasm, especially when it's with a partner, rather than just my hand. But I fucking hate it when I have to stay completely silent. It pisses me off that sex and pleasure are so un-PC that even I am too embarrassed to wank loudly when my flatmate's boyfriend happens to be in the next room. At times like this, I don't even allow myself to gasp, which is a major problem, as I get less of a supply of oxygen from the shallow, quiet breaths I take, so my body says, "Nope, I'm not gonna orgasm, not enough oxygen." Of course, I manage to convince it, which means that yes, I do come, but I can feel how the lid is on my orgasm, and my body is starved for oxygen because I can't even take the bloody gasping breaths needed.

No wonder sex is a reasonably common cause of death for old people.

Seriously though, anonymity makes loud monkey sex so much easier. I mean, it's not like I've never been heard mid-noisy-orgasm by an acquaintance, but there is that one group of acquaintances, I find, whom you really, really don't want to be heard by. To the point of resorting to starving your poor innocent body of oxygen. Bravo, society, your conditioning has truly enriched my life!

Feminism, Lolita, and Valentine's Day

Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted. I guess you can sort of tell that I'm sick of my hands, considering my average wank per day count has dropped considerably.

I was going to write a great big rant about men's unfair advantage in the workplace vs the female prerogative, but I don't think I have the drive right now, nor the adequately collected thoughts. That being said though, at the risk of betraying the sisterhood here, I spent a lot of today feeling like a vast proportion of my fellow women is full of shit. Then again, that's a fairly normal state of affairs for me.

More frivolously, I got mistaken for a teenager again today. It's always an ego-boost when that happens. Though frankly, I don't think people look that closely at your face or anything when they guess. Rather, they tend to look at your clothes and your surroundings. A girl in pigtails and tie dye at the candy shop is going to appear younger than a girl with slicked-back hair in a suit at the reception desk of some company. Two totally different personas, even if they are both the same person.

In any case, it is now time for be to take dirty pictures for my beloved. While I find myself profoundly indifferent for the commercialised monster that is Valentine's day, it's as good a time as any to do something nice for your beloved. Especially when you can give all those commercial cunts the finger by doing something that's completely free.

Endorphin low

Yesterday's orgasm count: zero. ::sigh::

I have found my black hotpants, which had gone missing. Very glad about that. Shows what tidying up can do for you.

A shamedfaced admission.

Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted.

Usually, I don't like to write entries that point to my home country, but I have to admit something here: The Biggest Loser has become something of a guilty pleasure for me. No, it has nothing to do with the hideously commercialised ways of bullying fat people into facing their demons in public and humiliating ways. It has everything to do with the sexy bitch that is Shannan Ponton, one of the trainers. Even though, if given the opportunity, I probably wouldn't screw him silly, I still purr and tingle every time I see him. He's my porn, at the moment, except that there's nothing overtly sexual about him on TBL. Not only do I drool over his obviously gorgeous physique -- he has the muscle balance just right -- but I also love his demeanor and range of facial expressions. Of course, he has that firecracker energy of a physically fit person -- always a very attractive thing to me -- but I also giggle girlishly whenever he gets tough and forces his fat trainees through vigorous work-outs. And, this is probably a very girlish thing for me to say... he has a beautiful smile.

But what really got me all atwitter today was that he took his shirt off on today's show. Oh, someone revive me! I do lament it when he wears something that covers his shoulders, and rejoice when he's in a singlet, but when he takes the thing clear off, I'm in Heaven. Oh, baby. Of course, there was plenty of lovely footage of his muscles rippling over that magnificent torso of his, but his nipples were also pronounced as all hell! They were sticking out like bullets, to steal The Girls's pet phrase, almost as if they were taunting me. When nipples like that are in my presence, they're just begging to be licked, fondled, pinched, and stroked. Oh, Shannan. It has made me a very happy woman tonight.

Shannan, if you ever happen to read this, I am sorry. I do not mean to objectify or embarrass you, and I love you for more than just your body. Own the fact that many a woman you will never meet has probably masturbated whilst thinking of your delightful nipples.

And now, I shall go assure my beloved that I still think he is the sexiest thing alive. :-) Sorry, Shannan, you've been usurped!

Puttanesca

I had pasta alla puttanesca tonight. It was extremely tasty. But I found myself thinking of the little comment written with the recipe: the name of the pasta was inspired by women with "loose morals".

Is there even any point in me bitching about how "female morals" were equated with chastity, as if sex were immoral? ARGH!

That is all I have to say, really. Good night.

Talk to me

Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted.

Suddenly, people are paying attention to me again. Last night, I found myself in profound conversation and vague flirtation with Oliver, the fellow I met up with, canoodled in the car with, and then got ignored by. Apparently there had been some social engagements keeping him from talking to me. Riight. Well, if I get to shag him, then that's nice, but I'm not going to waste my time angsting over him.

I also found myself talking to my other hot prospect today, after a week-long silence. And after some idle banter, and me explaining that yes, my beloved does know about my antics, he revealed that not only does he have a girlfriend, she also has no idea about him talking to me, and probably wouldn't be impressed. Well, good to know. I explained that in that case, I won't be able to misbehave with him, as it's one of my personal rules not to shag a taken man without his woman's knowledge and permisssion. The only exception to that rule is if the couple have an agreement to continue seeing others, but not telling each other about it. It does exist, though it's not for me, personally. He agreed, and it turned out that he had never "cheated", as it were. Apparently he converses with attractive women for the sake of fantasy fodder. Huh.

In any case, I ended up explaining to him the can of worms that polyamory can be. His reaction was fairly generic: he didn't believe that he'd be able to live that way, because jealousy is just too much of an issue. I suppose society's conditioning is alive and well.

Dilemma

Yesterday's orgasm count: one. ::sigh:: And yes, self-inflicted

I'm getting sick of my hands. Actually, I'm getting sick of anything that tries to simulate the real thing. I want a cock, damn it! But at the same time, I really don't feel like dealing with the bullshit that tends to go hand in hand with picking up.

I'll be so fucking glad when my beloved returns.

Checking in

Orgasm count for the last two days: seven, all self-inflicted.

I haven't really felt like blogging these last few days. Perhaps my libido is calming down a little at the moment, but mostly, I don't feel like playing the manipulative games so commonly needed to get laid, evidently even for a woman. It does kind of baffle me though when someone chooses not to do me, when given the opportunity. I guess it shows that no matter how hot you are, there certainly are other aspects to take into consideration when it comes to such things.

I suppose I'm also getting increasingly fixated on my beloved again, as we will be together again soon.

Also, on a bit of a tangent, my amorous Indian friend has hinted that he will be sending me two gifts soon. I am both curious and mildly disturbed. I suspect he might be trying to weasel his way around the fact that I have no sexual interest in him.

Apathy and dirty pictures

Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted. I suppose the fact that I was feeling a bit crabby yesterday didn't really help matters.

As for today: well, I have finally heard from my fellow from the other day. He tried to start a conversation over MSN while I was away, and by the time I noticed it, had logged off. Oh well. Suppose we'll get to talk again sometime. But after the long wait, my attention for him has kind of run out, so I'm less fussed about it now. Though it does show that I have a short attention span, as it's only been two days.

Well, for now, there is time to be wasted online, and elsewhere. Speaking of which, I have received my first random mail from a stranger with slightly kinky photos. Mildly perplexing, but I can't help but think of it as positive, somehow.

Double standard

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted, the last one epic and intense. I'm not counting the two tiny peaks I had getting fondled in the car.

Speaking of which, I suspect I have chased off my hot prospect. Unintentionally, of course. At least, he has been silent for an uncharacteristically long time, so I choose to jump to this conclusion. And that irritates me, because I get the feeling that it has something to do with my quick willingness when I'm actually attracted to someone.

It has me wondering whether a perpetually horny woman is the female version of the "nice guy", in the sense that she gets ignored because she will probably hang around for the possibility of sex, so meanwhile, a man can focus on chasing the "hard to get" girl, and then get the perpetually horny girl while he's having a drought. I suppose at the end of the day, the "nice guy" and the "horny girl" are the straight-forward, upfront ones, while the "hard to get girl" and the "bad boy" are the ones who play the stupid games.

Frankly, what pisses me off is the prospect of having to possibly emulate that kind of crap if I want to get laid more reliably. But at least it does explain why I attract nice guys, and why I tend to prefer them, maybe.

Well, I probably am jumping the gun here, and I suspect I might be made slightly bitter by having Bridget Jones's Diary playing in the background.

Semi-success

I met up with my hot prospect tonight. Neither of us had ever been in the pub where we chose to meet, and immediately upon finding each other, decided not to stay there. Instead, we ended up walking through the nearby parklands for no less than three hours, just walking and talking. It was very pleasant. He then drove me back to my place, and once he had coasted to a stop, I requested to kiss him. So kiss we did, for the better part of half an hour, and I became increasingly aware of my arousal, which was practically turning into an ache. We ended up fondling each other too before the mood was killed by my housemate turning on the outside light. So we said our goodbyes, and he took his leave.

Fuck, I'm horny now.

My favourite penises

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.

I've been meaning to try out a little dress-up combination of mine for a while now: I own various interesting black rubber and or vinyl garments, you see, and one of my more recent acquisitions, a black lace-up vinyl bra, goes with a lot of things. Today, my pair of vinyl hotpants came to mind, so I decided to go in search of them. Alas, no dice! They seem to have mysteriously disappeared. It's really quite annoying how some of my toys do that, and take months to resurface again. It did happen to my black vinyl halterneck corset, which has thankfully resurfaced. My copy of The Mistress Manual, however, seems to have disappeared as well. How vexing!

Well, one thing has chosen to resurface today though: my medium-sized black vibrator/dildo! I am so very pleased, it had been missing for months! I had already given up on finding it. How it got to the back of my shelf, I don't know, because the last time I remember seeing it, it was standing proud beside my bed. Maybe I grabbed it and hastily threw it to the back of the shelf when someone who didn't need to see it came into my room.... I suppose that's possible. But it does make me realise that I now own several phallic toys. Apart from my red giant and my black all-rounder, there's also my tiny blue travel-sized dolphin, and my Mould Your Man kit, which I will need to make use of sometime soon. There is a beautiful cock just begging to be immortalised.

Well, I do hope my hotpants and my book turn up.

Eat me

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.

I notice that I'm lubricating very easily these days, which is nice. I do wonder what the cause of it is though. Perhaps it's increasing fitness... I went for a run in the park today. What saddens me is that I got an endorphin high out of a relatively short run. I'm obviously out of shape.

As a bit of a non-sequiter, I've really been missing receiving oral sex lately. I mean, generally I'm not that big on it... don't get me wrong, I like it well enough, but a lot of girls seem to prefer oral to intercourse, which I certainly don't. I guess I haven't really encountered any pussy worshippers lately... a lot of men just seem to get down there out of politeness, or because they want a headjob in return. How disappointing. Every now and again, it is nice to have a man enthusiastically dive between your legs and hungrily eat you out, humming in delight and telling you how delicious you taste.

I think I need a pussy-eating slave. ;-)

Frustration

Yesterday's orgasm count: four, self-inflicted.

Nothing of great interest to report. I've been flirting online with my hot prospect, Oliver. I confess to having gotten a bit hot and bothered about it.

I've also been receiving some mildly flirtacious attention from Gabe again. I wonder.

Fuck, I'm tired.

Thrill of the hunt

I have a date of sorts with one of my two hot prospects (the cheeky smiling one). Nothing big, just catching up over a drink after work, but I'm still quite pleased about it. He actually seems very nice, that is, somewhat less depraved than me. But it's becoming increasingly more normal, I find, for men ten years my senior and more to be less experienced than me. That's a bit of a shame, really, because that would imply that I am unusual.

Me vengo, me vengo!

Yesterday's orgasm count: seven, all self-inflicted. Horny day.

I actually reckon I am getting closer to my goal of ejaculation, which is pleasing. And this morning I came to the conclusion that there is no doubt about it, I do know where my G-spot is. I felt it expand this morning and increase in sensitivity as I approached orgasm, and post-orgasm, felt it sort of recede again. I actually think mine is a little deeper inside me than most, if the various instructions on how to find your G-spot are to be believed.

Maybe I should have breakfast and have a shower, instead of sitting in front of my computer in the nude.

Past throbs: a flashback

He turned off the last of the lights, and slipped his arms around me. We kissed for a while, me standing bare-foorted on the carpet in my expensive dress. He was already naked, having peeled out of his uncharacteristic tux only moments after we had entered the room. He was certainly more familiar to me this way, nude and aroused, rather than bundled into some expensive tailored suit because people expected him to.

His hands went over my body in the dark, trying to find the zipper of my dress. I unzipped it for him, and as I slipped the straps off my shoulders, it fell away from me in a perfect imitation of any cliche movie scene. He sighed with pleasure in the darkness at the rustling sound that my dress had given. "I didn't see that, but I could imagine it," he said, and pulled me close again. We continued to kiss, and I lost my G-string somewhere along the way.

We made that slow, stumbling dance of two people not wanting to stop kissing towards the bed. Once we had reached it, he lowered me onto it, and kissed his way down my torso. He gave a growl of approval as his mouth drew level with pussy, and began to lick me with gusto. He was a real pussy worshipper, that one, and he didn't give a damn about the fact that my being fluid-bonded to my partner meant that I wasn't going to return the favour. He would head down there whenever he could, and gleefully eat me out. This time, he seemed to be teasing me deliberately, bringing me close to orgasm several times, only to ease up. After the third or fourth time, he resurfaced, and drew back up so our faces were level again.

"Yummy," he remarked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I kissed him, tasting my own juices on his tongue, and reached for his cock. He was still mostly soft, and I cautiously squeezed him. He had told me on a previous occasion not to be shy about touching him firmly. He growled approvingly as I tried it. His cock twitched in my hand. I got a little more confident, and continued to squeeze him, feeling his cock harden in my hand. "Yes, squeeze it nice and hard," he whispered encouragingly. I complied, and he reached full hardness in my hands, gasping quietly.

Suddenly, he replaced my hand with his in a very business-like way. "I'm putting that inside you," he informed me, and quickly donned a condom before slinging my legs over his shoulders and entering me. I looked up at him as he started to thrust, my eyes now having adjusted to the darkness. He continued to growl and exclaim approvingly as we moved together, though I soon drowned him out, crying out with each thrust. As I felt him building up towards climax, I started rubbing my clit, feeling my pussy tighten around him as I did so. He came to a shuddering climax, with me moments behind him. He collapsed next to me, still twitching and shuddering. We both laughed breathlessly as we curled up together.

"You know we have to be up in four hours?" he asked after looking at his watch.

I laughed. "Shit."

We went to sleep shortly afterwards.

January's orgasm tally

Total orgasms for January: 127.

Self-inflicted: 100.
Assisted: 27.

I suppose I should work out percentages for the hell of it, but not right now. What I'm impressed about though is that I have wanked to exactly 100 orgasms in that month. Talk about a fluke!

Past throbs

Yesterday's orgasm count: three, two of them self-inflicted.

After an already relatively busy day yesterday, I made my way to the beach, where Luke and I had agreed to meet up. I was twenty minutes early, so I sat down on a bench, enjoyed the sunshine, and watched a few children playing by the fountain in the square. I eventually caught sight of Luke sitting some distance away from me, keeping an eye out for me. Because he kept scanning around, I was able to sneak up from him from the front, and he only saw me when I was maybe four paces away from him. I had to grin at his exaggerated double-take. When he snapped off his sunglasses and grinned at me, I found myself thinking, "Damn, he's still one hell of an attractive man". We greeted with an enthusiastic hug and a peck on the cheek, and then headed for the actual beach.

Whenever I actually catch up with Luke, I am reminded of how much I had missed him. Last time we caught up would have been in September last year or so... our lives are just so very seperate, and it takes a bit of effort to make sure we actually see each other. Even when we were "lovers", we only saw each other maybe once a month. I consider Luke to be proof that meeting people over the internet has its merits. We never, ever would have met without it, as we are from completely different social groups. Apart from being fifteen years my senior, Luke never went to university, goes to completely different events, and we seem to have no mutual acquaintances whatsoever, which is a relatively unusual thing around here. But despite appearing so different, we get on like a house on fire, and I am really really glad to have him in my life, even if it is sort of sporadic.

We took our shoes off and walked along the beach, talking about everything that had happened since the last time we saw each other. He's heading off on a big Europe trip in a few weeks, so he told me in great detail where he was going to go. At one point, when we saw a huge flock of seagulls hanging around on the beach, we ran at them and chased them up, barking like dogs.

We eventually sought out dinner, and ended up eating at the same place where we had eaten on our first outing, two and a half years ago. We watched a flock of preening teenage boys nearby, comically shaking our heads at today's youth. It's particularly amusing, considering that it's not been that long since I was a teenybopper myself. Luke has told me on more than one occasion that I am a rarity, in being so young, and still being someone he enjoys spending time with. He reiterated it then, saying that apart from me, there is only one other person below the age of 25 whose company he enjoys. We shared some fish and prawns and chips for dinner, and I found myself increasingly needing my willpower to keep my hands off him. While I do not conciously smell his pheromones, something about him attracts me like crazy. I suppose it's partly that our dynamic has not changed, except that we no longer stop for the occasional kiss, and things like that. Though at one point, with his explicit permission, I found myself playing with his short whiskery beard. When we first met, he was clean-shaven, but since then, he has cultivated that little beard of his, and I actually really like it. But then, I have a thing for stubble. For some reason, I think it's sexy as hell.

After dinner, we moved on for some coffee and gelati, taking in the pretty sunset as we went. Over our gelati, he showed me some photos of his girlfriend on his phone... she's a real cutie! I was actually surprised, because something about her reminded me of myself, though I'm not quite sure what. I guess Luke does have a type he prefers. I suppose I hadn't expected her to be so youthful, though come to think about it, that seems silly now. Luke is a very youthful man himself, very few people peg him to be in his late thirties. In fact, I can completely understand why some people would guess him to be in his late twenties, early thirties. He is in very good shape, and I have certainly met plenty of men his age who seem a lot older than him.

After our gelati, we went for another walk, happily chatting away. Our conversations had been slowly moving more and more towards sex. It did actually get to the point where we both admitted that it was taking some effort to behave ourselves. For a moment, we both put our hands in our pockets and whistled innocently before laughing and continuing to walk and talk. I was amazed, actually, at how happy and at ease I felt. I hadn't really felt this happy since I last was with my beloved.

Eventually, we had to head back, and he gave me a lift home. We're hoping to catch up before he leaves on his trip, and, if it's doable, have me meet his girlfriend. She does sound very nice, I now find myself not in the least bit put out that I had to give up the sexual aspect of my relationship with Luke for her. I think it is an impressive thing when a man who has experienced the kind of variety that Luke has will happily settle for a basically monogamous relationship. And I must admit I am really curious about seeing this girl in person.

We parted with another hug and a peck on the cheek, and I wanked myself into oblivion before going to sleep. I suppose it didn't help that we had briefly reminisced about the last time we had shagged. Well, that had been a very fun night, and a great way to go out with a bang, so to speak.

I am also very pleased because he has promised to burn me a copy of Shortbus, which I have been meaning to see ever since I read about it in The Girl's blog.

It's really such a pity that Luke leaves before my beloved arrives here. I'd really be interested to see what the four-way dynamic is like...

The results of a reunion

The trouble about meeting erstwhile lovers under strictly platonic conditions is that the forbidden fruit is likely to arouse you like crazy. I shall go to bed now, and wank myself silly. My account of tonight can wait until tomorrow.

Fuck, I'm horny.

Impromptu sex therapy

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