I've never been fisted and, unless and until I have a child, I never will. I'd rather stay 'honeymoon fresh' down there and as long as I can come with a pencil, which I can thanks, then I will.
I love fisting married women though, it's the best and they're so grateful. Women whose husbands haven't looked at them since little Megan or Caithlynn was born have so much to offer. Just as girls who've had a baby are often better athletes afterwards, so a woman's capacity for sex increases. Her body might not be as tight anymore but it's twice as ready for action.
Jane was my first and my favourite. She had two lovely daughters, as bright and fun loving as her, and was as uninhibited as they come. She'd had her first child while still at university and must be the hippest mother in the world. She played to lose during strip poker and would be topless before the bowl of crisps needed replacing. We got on like a house on fire and it was only a matter of time before we started to mess around.
She'd had the usual lesbian until graduation experiments but I was her first girl for a while. I grabbed her bum in the kitchen one time when she was making tea, she turned and kissed me and that was it. After a couple of nights snogging on the sofa we repaired upstairs for a bit of a session. She had the usual housewife's shaved landing strip and small, slightly sagging breasts while I was polished like the roof of a volkswagon Beetle. We sixty nined for a while and then I laid her down and got serious.
She had plenty of KY on hand, of course, and soon two fingers turned to three. I worked my hand slowly into her, crushing my hand together and giving myself more pain than I was giving her. She was transfixed, her virginity being taken once again. She bucked up and relaxed, my hands opening her legs like the hairdresser moving your head when you're a child, and with firm, gentle, constant pressure, my greased hand slipped inside. She gasped and started to come almost immediately, going into spasm and almost breaking my hand as she came.
My hand was trapped inside her like a doberman's knot and I bit my lip as she writhed and groaned, floating up out of her body to return to it seconds later, slightly changed.
We must have done it thirty times, we tried a bit of most things, but every time the 'climax' was fisting her. All roads led to my hand inside her and every time she came like Mount Vesuvious. She fingered me of course, but it wasn't the same, so I would beg for a good spanking with her brown leather belt. She got off on that too, taking out on me all the pain and pleasure I had in store for her.
I haven't seen her for a couple of years, she got divorced and is with a new guy now. I hope she thinks of me and my hands cupped round her breasts in the kitchen. If I'd been a man I'd have married her. My friend Jane.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Cock
I love girls, I've only ever fallen in love with a girl, it's only girls I check out in summer, it's only the girls at the World Athletics Championships whose midriffs hold my attention and yet I need cock. Ideally I'd love to be dog mounted a couple of times a week with my one session of the week with a lovely guy on Sunday. Up the bum natch.
There's something very honest about an erect penis, certainly not beautiful, not even attractive but compelling like a glock automatic or a black mamba. A dog's cock is just that bit more of a cock than a man's, naked and pink and red instead of covered with skin, a pint of come instead of a teaspoon, huge knot to punish you. I guess that's why I need a guy up my bum, it's too risky with a dog but vaginal sex with a guy is too boring.
Am I greedy? Three times a week would be enough for me. Maybe a spanking.
I'm a bitch.
There's something very honest about an erect penis, certainly not beautiful, not even attractive but compelling like a glock automatic or a black mamba. A dog's cock is just that bit more of a cock than a man's, naked and pink and red instead of covered with skin, a pint of come instead of a teaspoon, huge knot to punish you. I guess that's why I need a guy up my bum, it's too risky with a dog but vaginal sex with a guy is too boring.
Am I greedy? Three times a week would be enough for me. Maybe a spanking.
I'm a bitch.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
10 things I've never done
1. Sucked a cock, any cock, nor will I. Sorry boys.
2. Been paid for sex, financially.
3. Not paid for sex, emotionally.
4. Had a threesome with two guys and now I'm past sixteen, it's not likely to happen either.
5. Got married (I have had sex with a bridesmaid though, which is why I mention it. I'm sleazy like that)
6. Dressed up in rubber. I mean, what is the fasciation.
7. Done anything with blood or poo or piss, beyond an enema. Disgusting. Anything that marks you permanently makes you out as an idiot, yes that's you honey with your tribal tattoo and your nose ring.
8. Gone more than a fortnight without masturbating since I turned twelve. I was in Australia, doing some conservation work. I gave it to myself as a test. I passed but never again.
9. Asked every girl out that I wanted to. A girl I knew called Amanda simply asked any girl she fancied if she wanted to have sex. She got her face slapped quite a bit but saw more action than Douglas Bader.
10. Not got turned on watching modern rhythmic gymnastics.
2. Been paid for sex, financially.
3. Not paid for sex, emotionally.
4. Had a threesome with two guys and now I'm past sixteen, it's not likely to happen either.
5. Got married (I have had sex with a bridesmaid though, which is why I mention it. I'm sleazy like that)
6. Dressed up in rubber. I mean, what is the fasciation.
7. Done anything with blood or poo or piss, beyond an enema. Disgusting. Anything that marks you permanently makes you out as an idiot, yes that's you honey with your tribal tattoo and your nose ring.
8. Gone more than a fortnight without masturbating since I turned twelve. I was in Australia, doing some conservation work. I gave it to myself as a test. I passed but never again.
9. Asked every girl out that I wanted to. A girl I knew called Amanda simply asked any girl she fancied if she wanted to have sex. She got her face slapped quite a bit but saw more action than Douglas Bader.
10. Not got turned on watching modern rhythmic gymnastics.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Hands and Knees
Hands and Knees
On my hands and knees with my shoulders on the floor to be fucked up the ass with a girl with a strap on or a boy who knows what he's doing for once.
On my hands and knees to mounted by a dog and fucked and tied like the horny bitch I am sometimes when I need it really down and dirty.
On my hands and knees to lick out a girl who's lying blissed out on the floor with the film we got half way through still playing in the background.
On my hands and knees with a plug tail up my bum as the furry girl, with tiger ears, prepares to mate with me.
On my hands and knees to offer my rump for the spanking I so deserve and crave. Some quick little hand taps to warm me up then the leather belt I love so much.
On my hands and knees, my black strap on dildo snug in its holster, as I take my turn to mount my purring tiger girl.
On my hands and knees to lose my virginity, it's the best and most natural way.
On my hands and knees to take the enema nozzle and feel the water filling me up till I cramp like the San Andreas Fault inside.
Hands and knees wins hands down.
On my hands and knees with my shoulders on the floor to be fucked up the ass with a girl with a strap on or a boy who knows what he's doing for once.
On my hands and knees to mounted by a dog and fucked and tied like the horny bitch I am sometimes when I need it really down and dirty.
On my hands and knees to lick out a girl who's lying blissed out on the floor with the film we got half way through still playing in the background.
On my hands and knees with a plug tail up my bum as the furry girl, with tiger ears, prepares to mate with me.
On my hands and knees to offer my rump for the spanking I so deserve and crave. Some quick little hand taps to warm me up then the leather belt I love so much.
On my hands and knees, my black strap on dildo snug in its holster, as I take my turn to mount my purring tiger girl.
On my hands and knees to lose my virginity, it's the best and most natural way.
On my hands and knees to take the enema nozzle and feel the water filling me up till I cramp like the San Andreas Fault inside.
Hands and knees wins hands down.
A Girl's Best Friend
A lot of things which were once taboo are now socially acceptable, even desirable. Female masturbation and college lesbianism were once beyond the pale, now they're pretty much compulsory. Anal sex for women was a freakish ordeal in the past, now it's always on the menu but somehow I think dog sex is going to stay on the wrong side of the tracks.
Which is why I like it.
I don't understand why it's so out there. Nobody gets hurt, you can't catch any diseases or get pregnant and the dog likes it even more than you do. I wonder if it's rather more common than anybody admits. How many girls haven't had a friendly lick from the family lab while they were playing with themselves as a lonely teen?
Penetration is another matter, that's more hard core. I know it's the fantasy of a lot of men to see their partners fucked by a dog, and that women can go along with it just to please them, but that would be a one off or a birthday treat for him. The girl's I've talked to who are into it though are addicted to it for their own sake, it consumes them and they can't get enough.
It's the raw animal passion of it, the uninhibited fucking, being taken like a bitch. Great for librarians and politically correct Guardian reading social workers in particular I think. Dogs are the same as guys in many ways - they always want sex and prefer to fuck you than lick you - but they're build differently too. A dog starts coming almost straight away, he'll fuck you hard first - and his penis literally has a bone in it - then he'll want to "tie". Some girls do this and some don't, though it is the ultimate. The dog's penis has a "knot" which swells at the base of it, once it's inside you. That locks his cock into the vagina while he fills you with sperm. It fills you up while he lies on your back, or more likely turns right around so you're ass to ass. After ten or twenty minutes, if you're lucky, the knot subsides a little and he pulls out of you and the pints of semen, or so it feels, pour out.
Advanced girls can take the penis is their ass too, and even knot in their bums, but that's for the porn starts I think. I've seen it done but that's a bridge too far even for me.
Every girl starts with a labrador I think, and while German Shepherds are in all the porn pretty much any dog will do. The trick is to train them properly. Have a special room for it, special commands and chastise him sharply if he bothers you at any other time or circumstances.
If you haven't tried it, then I recommend it. Your boyfriend will love you forever for it and you'll have the ride of your life.
Which is why I like it.
I don't understand why it's so out there. Nobody gets hurt, you can't catch any diseases or get pregnant and the dog likes it even more than you do. I wonder if it's rather more common than anybody admits. How many girls haven't had a friendly lick from the family lab while they were playing with themselves as a lonely teen?
Penetration is another matter, that's more hard core. I know it's the fantasy of a lot of men to see their partners fucked by a dog, and that women can go along with it just to please them, but that would be a one off or a birthday treat for him. The girl's I've talked to who are into it though are addicted to it for their own sake, it consumes them and they can't get enough.
It's the raw animal passion of it, the uninhibited fucking, being taken like a bitch. Great for librarians and politically correct Guardian reading social workers in particular I think. Dogs are the same as guys in many ways - they always want sex and prefer to fuck you than lick you - but they're build differently too. A dog starts coming almost straight away, he'll fuck you hard first - and his penis literally has a bone in it - then he'll want to "tie". Some girls do this and some don't, though it is the ultimate. The dog's penis has a "knot" which swells at the base of it, once it's inside you. That locks his cock into the vagina while he fills you with sperm. It fills you up while he lies on your back, or more likely turns right around so you're ass to ass. After ten or twenty minutes, if you're lucky, the knot subsides a little and he pulls out of you and the pints of semen, or so it feels, pour out.
Advanced girls can take the penis is their ass too, and even knot in their bums, but that's for the porn starts I think. I've seen it done but that's a bridge too far even for me.
Every girl starts with a labrador I think, and while German Shepherds are in all the porn pretty much any dog will do. The trick is to train them properly. Have a special room for it, special commands and chastise him sharply if he bothers you at any other time or circumstances.
If you haven't tried it, then I recommend it. Your boyfriend will love you forever for it and you'll have the ride of your life.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Twenty five things that turn me on
Driving around Iceland in an old Land Rover Defender with a wild girl with an unsayable name.
Sharing an ice cream cornet with a girl you've just met and giggling because you just know....
A stormy walk on the cliff tops with a rug warmed by a roaring fire waiting at home.
Kissing girls in public places.
Kissing girls in private places.
Going down on a girl while she's on the phone to her mom.
Getting fucked in the ass by someone who knows what they're doing.
Spanking a girl hard.
Natalie Wood in "Splendour in the Grass" or "Love with the Proper Stranger" or "This Property is Condemned".
Being spanked harder.
Flying a falcon to the lure.
Paul Newman.
Riding a horse with duo balls inside you.
A horse crop on a girl's bedside table.
Geneviève Bujold.
The girl you loved, but never told, in school.
Skinny dipping and seeing all the girls like being waxed down there as much as you.
Fisting a married woman and having her nearly break your hand when she comes. Yes, I'm talking about you Jane.
Bob Dylan's voice on "Blonde on Blonde".
The wind in the trees when you've someone to cuddle.
Masturbating to the Cocteau Twins.
Catholic Schoolgirls.
Emily Remler.
Japanese rope bondage.
Masturbating before I have sex, it's like a freebie!
Sharing an ice cream cornet with a girl you've just met and giggling because you just know....
A stormy walk on the cliff tops with a rug warmed by a roaring fire waiting at home.
Kissing girls in public places.
Kissing girls in private places.
Going down on a girl while she's on the phone to her mom.
Getting fucked in the ass by someone who knows what they're doing.
Spanking a girl hard.
Natalie Wood in "Splendour in the Grass" or "Love with the Proper Stranger" or "This Property is Condemned".
Being spanked harder.
Flying a falcon to the lure.
Paul Newman.
Riding a horse with duo balls inside you.
A horse crop on a girl's bedside table.
Geneviève Bujold.
The girl you loved, but never told, in school.
Skinny dipping and seeing all the girls like being waxed down there as much as you.
Fisting a married woman and having her nearly break your hand when she comes. Yes, I'm talking about you Jane.
Bob Dylan's voice on "Blonde on Blonde".
The wind in the trees when you've someone to cuddle.
Masturbating to the Cocteau Twins.
Catholic Schoolgirls.
Emily Remler.
Japanese rope bondage.
Masturbating before I have sex, it's like a freebie!
Shooting the puppy
Doing the unthinkable. Thinking the undoable. Shooting the puppy.
Betraying your new wife with a bridesmaid?
Watching your daughter masturbate through her keyhole with her ipod headphones drowning out your heavy breathing?
Sleeping with some girl (or boy) just one time "just to see what it's like"?
Pretending to be someone else and swapping dirty e mails?
Paying for sex in a Bangkok brothel?
Spending all weekend on Tiava.com when you should be comforting your dying mother?
Shooting the puppy.
Of course I wouldn't shoot it, I'd fuck it.
Betraying your new wife with a bridesmaid?
Watching your daughter masturbate through her keyhole with her ipod headphones drowning out your heavy breathing?
Sleeping with some girl (or boy) just one time "just to see what it's like"?
Pretending to be someone else and swapping dirty e mails?
Paying for sex in a Bangkok brothel?
Spending all weekend on Tiava.com when you should be comforting your dying mother?
Shooting the puppy.
Of course I wouldn't shoot it, I'd fuck it.
Smirting
The crazed drive to outlaw smoking has made it more visible than ever. Where once harried office workers would grab a quick fag in the smoking room or at their desk with the windows wide, they're now driven out into the street so that every passing five year old can see dozens of people smoking at all times and accept it as perfectly normal, nay desirable behaviour.
This has created the new phenomenon of 'smirting' - flirting while smoking. Smoking is cool, we all know that. The cool kids at school were the smokers. The cool guys at the office are smokers. The cool girls want to stay skinny so they're smokers. That's why anyone seeking some fun companionship is going to be out there, in the wind and the rain, with the smokers.
Even if they don't smoke, like me.
So I'm a smirter. I flirt with smokers, all the time hiding my terrible non smoking secret like a social disease or worse, late teenage virginity. Hanging out with the smokers my hair and clothes smell of smoke and I'm accepted into the cool tribe without any risk of lung cancer. It's ideal. It should be marketed as a perfume so you can smell cool with a spritz at a fraction of the cost and with none of the coughing. By the time they find out I'm not a smoker we're lying in bed in post coital bliss and we've already got something bigger to lie about.
Smirting. You know you want to. Smirt with someone sexy today.
This has created the new phenomenon of 'smirting' - flirting while smoking. Smoking is cool, we all know that. The cool kids at school were the smokers. The cool guys at the office are smokers. The cool girls want to stay skinny so they're smokers. That's why anyone seeking some fun companionship is going to be out there, in the wind and the rain, with the smokers.
Even if they don't smoke, like me.
So I'm a smirter. I flirt with smokers, all the time hiding my terrible non smoking secret like a social disease or worse, late teenage virginity. Hanging out with the smokers my hair and clothes smell of smoke and I'm accepted into the cool tribe without any risk of lung cancer. It's ideal. It should be marketed as a perfume so you can smell cool with a spritz at a fraction of the cost and with none of the coughing. By the time they find out I'm not a smoker we're lying in bed in post coital bliss and we've already got something bigger to lie about.
Smirting. You know you want to. Smirt with someone sexy today.
Feeding the Rat
The rat.
The rat that gnaws and scratches and hungers inside our breasts and our hearts and our bellies
We feed it by climbing mountains and jumping off bridges and driving fast cars. We appease it with wine and fast food and pizza and DVDs.
We wake cursing it, sick with remorse but stirring still with hunger.
The rat.
I don't feed my rat olives or let her sip at vodka. I don't let her smoke weed and she doesn't take pills. My rat hungers only for the touch of another. To know the rat which scuttles about inside of someone else. My rat is a horny little bitch that wants only to fuck you and taste you and cuddle you and cry as you sleep then move on.
My rat will be the death of me.
I'm so lucky I've got a nice beaver.
The rat that gnaws and scratches and hungers inside our breasts and our hearts and our bellies
We feed it by climbing mountains and jumping off bridges and driving fast cars. We appease it with wine and fast food and pizza and DVDs.
We wake cursing it, sick with remorse but stirring still with hunger.
The rat.
I don't feed my rat olives or let her sip at vodka. I don't let her smoke weed and she doesn't take pills. My rat hungers only for the touch of another. To know the rat which scuttles about inside of someone else. My rat is a horny little bitch that wants only to fuck you and taste you and cuddle you and cry as you sleep then move on.
My rat will be the death of me.
I'm so lucky I've got a nice beaver.
Everyone's a liar
If you ask any guy how many girls he's slept with, he'll always say at least 8 and probably 17. If you ask any girl how many men she's slept with, she'll say 4. Somebody isn't telling the truth here. The guy's slept with half the number of girls he claims and the girl's slept with twice as many guys.
This double standard merely reflects evolutionary biology. The man's physical investment in reproduction is five minutes of grunting and a tea spoon of sticky. The woman's investment is nine months of pregnancy, a year of breast feeding and eighteen years of care. It's in the male interest to sleep with as many women as possible, to spread his genes around, and in the woman's to get one mate who'll stay around long enough to provide for her and her offspring.
This is why women can have sex at any time of the month, it keeps the men from wandering - partly because they have to guard their woman against other men, partly because they can always get sex at home which is easier than going out to rape and plunder for it. It's also the reason women have hidden menstrual cycles instead of our bums turning bright pink, if we keep the guys guessing we keep the guys around.
So the fact that men and women alike lie about their sexual pasts speaks to a greater truth. We're apes with eight million years of evolution in our bones with a thin veneer of eight thousand years of culture smeared like the merest film of grime on top. How many guys have I slept with? 4 of course.
Mind you I've slept with 17 girls.
This double standard merely reflects evolutionary biology. The man's physical investment in reproduction is five minutes of grunting and a tea spoon of sticky. The woman's investment is nine months of pregnancy, a year of breast feeding and eighteen years of care. It's in the male interest to sleep with as many women as possible, to spread his genes around, and in the woman's to get one mate who'll stay around long enough to provide for her and her offspring.
This is why women can have sex at any time of the month, it keeps the men from wandering - partly because they have to guard their woman against other men, partly because they can always get sex at home which is easier than going out to rape and plunder for it. It's also the reason women have hidden menstrual cycles instead of our bums turning bright pink, if we keep the guys guessing we keep the guys around.
So the fact that men and women alike lie about their sexual pasts speaks to a greater truth. We're apes with eight million years of evolution in our bones with a thin veneer of eight thousand years of culture smeared like the merest film of grime on top. How many guys have I slept with? 4 of course.
Mind you I've slept with 17 girls.
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Truth
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl, in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a spanking.
For me it's too mild for punishment, I have a riding crop for that. A spanking is for maintenance, a friendly greeting, like dogs wagging their tales at each other or the way guys punch each other on the arm. I'd take you over my knee sometimes but more likely roll you over between going down on you. Some light quick taps on your sweet white derriere to get the blood pumping and spike your interest, a hard slap while we're kissing to make you grind your pubis harder into mine or a single slam to leave a livid red hand print on your butt to mark you for the whole evening we're out as a reminder of the night to come.
Men, of course, can't do it. They're too kind. They don't know how far to push us, too scared of hurting us, forgetting we bear their children and their hygiene and their jokes without complaint. Once in a while I will spank you till you cry, most likely when you came home sad for no reason. I would take you to the bedroom and place a pillow on the stripped bed and slip off your skirt and panties and you would understand. You would lie there, presenting yourself over the pillow without hope or resentment, and I would warm you up as usual then spank harder and harder, a steady, remorseless rhythm till your whole body sang. I might slip away for the hairbrush for stinging variation then, when you were already crying, I'd turn you over and spread your legs and give you six between your legs.
All your anger, all your nameless pain would be spent in exhaustion and sated and whole again you would collapse into my loving arms. I hold you like a drowned girl until you breathe again and we lay together, hand in hand, breast on breast, all night and fall in love. Only a girl who loves another can spank her properly. Only a girl, only a girl.
For me it's too mild for punishment, I have a riding crop for that. A spanking is for maintenance, a friendly greeting, like dogs wagging their tales at each other or the way guys punch each other on the arm. I'd take you over my knee sometimes but more likely roll you over between going down on you. Some light quick taps on your sweet white derriere to get the blood pumping and spike your interest, a hard slap while we're kissing to make you grind your pubis harder into mine or a single slam to leave a livid red hand print on your butt to mark you for the whole evening we're out as a reminder of the night to come.
Men, of course, can't do it. They're too kind. They don't know how far to push us, too scared of hurting us, forgetting we bear their children and their hygiene and their jokes without complaint. Once in a while I will spank you till you cry, most likely when you came home sad for no reason. I would take you to the bedroom and place a pillow on the stripped bed and slip off your skirt and panties and you would understand. You would lie there, presenting yourself over the pillow without hope or resentment, and I would warm you up as usual then spank harder and harder, a steady, remorseless rhythm till your whole body sang. I might slip away for the hairbrush for stinging variation then, when you were already crying, I'd turn you over and spread your legs and give you six between your legs.
All your anger, all your nameless pain would be spent in exhaustion and sated and whole again you would collapse into my loving arms. I hold you like a drowned girl until you breathe again and we lay together, hand in hand, breast on breast, all night and fall in love. Only a girl who loves another can spank her properly. Only a girl, only a girl.
Seventies Bush
When I was a girl I didn't realise that women had pubic hair. I'd seen a lot of nude girls but they'd all been in improving gallery paintings and pubic hair in classical art is as rare as a clitoris in Sudan. I read that John Ruskin laboured under a similar misapprehension and was so shocked by his wife's rich jungle of hair on his wedding night that he swore himself to celibacy. Did artists simply not paint the hair they saw? Michaelangelos's 'women' are middle weight boxers with breasts so anything is possible to the blind male eye. Were the models prostitutes who shaved themselves to rid themselves of pubic lice? Or did women in the past shave as we shave and wax now. Sexual intercourse did not begin in 1963 whatever we pretend to think now. Madonna was not the first woman to have a baby. One would have thought that prudery would have dictated an ample bush, rather than its removal. An unshaven girl is a blank, her flower mysterious, her fruit hidden in the darkest of thorny thickets. A waxed or shaven girl has a clitoris like John Holmes.
Porn from the past is so revealing, be it chubby flappers frozen in the nineteen twenties or 70's Farrah Fawcett lookalikes, all teeth and big hair, posing in the Hotel California sun. The fads and fashions date us like carbon 14 and our lack of pubic hair will make us as girls of the noughties long after mobile phones and ipods are forgotten. Frankly I'm glad pubic hair has become socially unacceptable. Quite how anybody got born before 1998 is a complete mystery to me. Bearded clams are not my style, although possibly marginally preferable to designer stubble.
We're always told that town centres are indistinguishable now, and there is truth in that, but a big change over time, from even five years ago, is the proliferation of 'bikini waxers' now. New professions proliferate as old ones day, the stage coach driver, the cooper and the trades union official are gone, the girl who does your Brazilian has a job for life now. How unthinkable this would be to our mother's generation, that you would bare yourself to the raw pain and humiliation of the wax strip except just before childbirth must amaze and appall them and yet here we are. How does this happen? How can 'we'll wax your twat here' signs now be socially acceptable but cigarettes are surrounded by broken glass and barbed wire. It can only be the influence of the internet. As soon as every man, and let's be honest every woman, sated themselves with internet porn - where pubic hair is as rare as a Chinese river dolphin - then the humble pube's days in real life were numbered.
I love being waxed. I love the ritual of it. I, like everyone, have my favourite as this is not a task to offer strangers. Anyone can cut my hair or flip my burger, but only one girl can wax my glistening cunt. I spurn the g string of course, I can't stand the pretend modesty of some woman staring everywhere except what's right in front of her. I lie naked on the table and I don't care she knows how turned on I am. I'd have it all lasered, so it never grew back, but for missing this pleasure of semi public pain.
I like a girl with a landing strip, but her labia must be smooth as a baby's. It's not infantalising her, anything but. A shaven girl shows her labia and her clitoris in its full glory. It is the girl with pubic hair who advertises her solitude, her modesty, while the waxed girl proudly proclaims her preparation for her lover.
Every girl is different there of course, as different as faces and not all are beautiful. The trend for 'labiaplasty' is as hateful as any cosmetic surgery, but I want to see what you've got down there honey. I want to lick it and kiss it and love it, I want to 'Aussie kiss' you and I'll do it all night, so the least you can do down there is shave it.
Porn from the past is so revealing, be it chubby flappers frozen in the nineteen twenties or 70's Farrah Fawcett lookalikes, all teeth and big hair, posing in the Hotel California sun. The fads and fashions date us like carbon 14 and our lack of pubic hair will make us as girls of the noughties long after mobile phones and ipods are forgotten. Frankly I'm glad pubic hair has become socially unacceptable. Quite how anybody got born before 1998 is a complete mystery to me. Bearded clams are not my style, although possibly marginally preferable to designer stubble.
We're always told that town centres are indistinguishable now, and there is truth in that, but a big change over time, from even five years ago, is the proliferation of 'bikini waxers' now. New professions proliferate as old ones day, the stage coach driver, the cooper and the trades union official are gone, the girl who does your Brazilian has a job for life now. How unthinkable this would be to our mother's generation, that you would bare yourself to the raw pain and humiliation of the wax strip except just before childbirth must amaze and appall them and yet here we are. How does this happen? How can 'we'll wax your twat here' signs now be socially acceptable but cigarettes are surrounded by broken glass and barbed wire. It can only be the influence of the internet. As soon as every man, and let's be honest every woman, sated themselves with internet porn - where pubic hair is as rare as a Chinese river dolphin - then the humble pube's days in real life were numbered.
I love being waxed. I love the ritual of it. I, like everyone, have my favourite as this is not a task to offer strangers. Anyone can cut my hair or flip my burger, but only one girl can wax my glistening cunt. I spurn the g string of course, I can't stand the pretend modesty of some woman staring everywhere except what's right in front of her. I lie naked on the table and I don't care she knows how turned on I am. I'd have it all lasered, so it never grew back, but for missing this pleasure of semi public pain.
I like a girl with a landing strip, but her labia must be smooth as a baby's. It's not infantalising her, anything but. A shaven girl shows her labia and her clitoris in its full glory. It is the girl with pubic hair who advertises her solitude, her modesty, while the waxed girl proudly proclaims her preparation for her lover.
Every girl is different there of course, as different as faces and not all are beautiful. The trend for 'labiaplasty' is as hateful as any cosmetic surgery, but I want to see what you've got down there honey. I want to lick it and kiss it and love it, I want to 'Aussie kiss' you and I'll do it all night, so the least you can do down there is shave it.
I love my bum
Every girl, so they say, tries anal sex twice. Once just to do it and once because she can't believe it hurt so much the first time. You can't remember pain, that's the only reason women can have more than one baby.
Anal sex was once the preserve of gay men of course, and nobody wants to think about that, but I think it was AIDS which intrigued the rest of the population. If so many men were willing, almost eager, to risk death for this pleasure it must be something worth trying. Now it would be more embarrassing for a girl to admit to being an anal virgin than to confessing she got fucked there more often than his birthday, and hers.
It used to be called 'the Irish way', to avoid pregnancy in that priest ridden land and even today it's rumoured Italian girls offer their plump, ripe rumps to their boyfriends to save their hymen for their wedding day. In England the reverse is true of course, and girls (pretend to) save their brown cherry for their wedding night. Anything to spice up the evening's proceedings when the grim slow death of marriage is all that awaits them now.
Most girls don't really like it, but only because they've been spoiled by men. Men ramming it home without lubrication, fingering or preparation. Something so special should be carefully prepared for, long evenings of gentle exploration integrated into the night's love making. A good tip is to slip a little finger in just as she's about to come, so she begins to associate anal penetration with orgasm. The entry can be earlier and earlier, first one then two clear jelly slathered fingers, opening her anus, opening her heart.
To be fucked by a girl wearing a strap on is an experience, to be anally taken by her is divine. Training her to wear a plug is fun, she should wear a short skirt without underwear so the plug can be checked at any time, at home, in the club, in the shopping centre. Her anus must never be spoiled, if it's stretched too much it defeats the object. Each penetration should be the loss of a new virginity, like the eagle tearing up the liver of Prometheus only for it to grow again ever night.
If you love a girl, you will love her ass. But you will never complain if she is dirty just one time, she cannot help that and you must not embarrass her. You must offer your own to her, with the dildo, because she must never suffer what you will not take yourself. She must see that you are stronger than her, and you can only enjoy her pain and pleasure if you know exactly what she is feeling and more.
I love my bum, and you should too. Treat it gently, and kindly, as you should treat me. Hurt me there and I know you will brutalise my better feelings and I will leave you before you get a chance to tire of me.
Anal sex was once the preserve of gay men of course, and nobody wants to think about that, but I think it was AIDS which intrigued the rest of the population. If so many men were willing, almost eager, to risk death for this pleasure it must be something worth trying. Now it would be more embarrassing for a girl to admit to being an anal virgin than to confessing she got fucked there more often than his birthday, and hers.
It used to be called 'the Irish way', to avoid pregnancy in that priest ridden land and even today it's rumoured Italian girls offer their plump, ripe rumps to their boyfriends to save their hymen for their wedding day. In England the reverse is true of course, and girls (pretend to) save their brown cherry for their wedding night. Anything to spice up the evening's proceedings when the grim slow death of marriage is all that awaits them now.
Most girls don't really like it, but only because they've been spoiled by men. Men ramming it home without lubrication, fingering or preparation. Something so special should be carefully prepared for, long evenings of gentle exploration integrated into the night's love making. A good tip is to slip a little finger in just as she's about to come, so she begins to associate anal penetration with orgasm. The entry can be earlier and earlier, first one then two clear jelly slathered fingers, opening her anus, opening her heart.
To be fucked by a girl wearing a strap on is an experience, to be anally taken by her is divine. Training her to wear a plug is fun, she should wear a short skirt without underwear so the plug can be checked at any time, at home, in the club, in the shopping centre. Her anus must never be spoiled, if it's stretched too much it defeats the object. Each penetration should be the loss of a new virginity, like the eagle tearing up the liver of Prometheus only for it to grow again ever night.
If you love a girl, you will love her ass. But you will never complain if she is dirty just one time, she cannot help that and you must not embarrass her. You must offer your own to her, with the dildo, because she must never suffer what you will not take yourself. She must see that you are stronger than her, and you can only enjoy her pain and pleasure if you know exactly what she is feeling and more.
I love my bum, and you should too. Treat it gently, and kindly, as you should treat me. Hurt me there and I know you will brutalise my better feelings and I will leave you before you get a chance to tire of me.
Clothes Pegs
Once upon a time when a woman 'pegged out' it meant hanging out the family's knickers and shirts in the back yard under steely, smoky, northern skies. You hardly ever see that anymore, I've no idea why, yet clothes pegs are on sale in every supermarket so sales still must be high and I understand that exactly.
You don't need dungeons and whips, thousand dollar sex machines and chains and electricity. All you need for an unforgettable night of discipline and excitement, poise and pain, is a packet of ordinary clothes pegs, bought with the change you pick up from the pavement on your way down to the shop. Just as Blackadder had his pencil to show Baldrick all the horrors of hell, I have my drawer full of clothes pegs.
I'm uncertain about them only in that I don't know if I like to use them or be used by them more. I've applied them to another girl more than I've taken them myself, but I've taken more than any girl I've ever been with. Their eroticism comes from their ordinariness, the inversion of the drabbest items of domestic servitude reborn as instruments of pleasure, punishment and tantalising pain.
Although plastic ones can have their uses, I'm an old traditionalist at heart and love the honest old wooden ones. My drawer is full of them, more loved than any vibrator or dildo. A favourite few will have been stretched, or used so often their bite is toothless now, and be reserved for a girl's initiation while a new packet of bright pine pegs glints on the bedside table like the naughtiness in my eyes.
Pegs teach you poise, grace under pressure. A girl should take them without fear or complaint, perhaps a gasp as it first nips her like the asp at Cleopatra's breast. One on each nipple is enough at first, applied after long minutes of kissing and sucking, to keep the nipple erect as her clitoris first feels your fingers. Later, another night, for nothing is to be hurried, her labia can be clamped and pulled open for a minute to allow her budding clitoris to flower at your tongue.
Spanking for punishment of course, but for some transgressions only the pegs will do, they teach stillness and contemplation. The girl need not ask or count as she would under a cropping, but she must arch up her hips and offer her labia to the pegs and take them sweetly.
I used to ask for pegs when I still slept with boys, anything to give the act the spice, the edge it lacked in essence. I'd peg my own nipples while I rode him, never suffering under his clumsy, hesitant fingers, and close my eyes and let the pain season the pleasure. I'd clamp my own labia and pull them apart while I lay on my back as he fucked me.
If a girl will let your peg her, she really loves you, or has spirit which is even more rare. If a girl will peg you properly she is worth her weight in gold. The trick is to remember that a girl can always take one more peg than you think, but always for a minute less than you want. You must release her before the blood flow stops and the pain fades. This is an escape from the drabness and insensibility of life, not its re-enaction.
If you were in my bed you would not be tied. You must submit to this willingly or not at all. Through your courage you find strength in yourself and trust in me. Later you will be tied, stretched, splayed and pegged without mercy but later still, I will turn you into a work of art. I will peg a halo around each breast, your labia will be a nest of vipers, and I will peg your livid swollen clitoris and photograph you for my wall. You will become a goddess, at least in my eyes.
All these pleasures and possibilities in a simple packet of clothes pegs. Wood and wire and two hearts that beat as one.
You don't need dungeons and whips, thousand dollar sex machines and chains and electricity. All you need for an unforgettable night of discipline and excitement, poise and pain, is a packet of ordinary clothes pegs, bought with the change you pick up from the pavement on your way down to the shop. Just as Blackadder had his pencil to show Baldrick all the horrors of hell, I have my drawer full of clothes pegs.
I'm uncertain about them only in that I don't know if I like to use them or be used by them more. I've applied them to another girl more than I've taken them myself, but I've taken more than any girl I've ever been with. Their eroticism comes from their ordinariness, the inversion of the drabbest items of domestic servitude reborn as instruments of pleasure, punishment and tantalising pain.
Although plastic ones can have their uses, I'm an old traditionalist at heart and love the honest old wooden ones. My drawer is full of them, more loved than any vibrator or dildo. A favourite few will have been stretched, or used so often their bite is toothless now, and be reserved for a girl's initiation while a new packet of bright pine pegs glints on the bedside table like the naughtiness in my eyes.
Pegs teach you poise, grace under pressure. A girl should take them without fear or complaint, perhaps a gasp as it first nips her like the asp at Cleopatra's breast. One on each nipple is enough at first, applied after long minutes of kissing and sucking, to keep the nipple erect as her clitoris first feels your fingers. Later, another night, for nothing is to be hurried, her labia can be clamped and pulled open for a minute to allow her budding clitoris to flower at your tongue.
Spanking for punishment of course, but for some transgressions only the pegs will do, they teach stillness and contemplation. The girl need not ask or count as she would under a cropping, but she must arch up her hips and offer her labia to the pegs and take them sweetly.
I used to ask for pegs when I still slept with boys, anything to give the act the spice, the edge it lacked in essence. I'd peg my own nipples while I rode him, never suffering under his clumsy, hesitant fingers, and close my eyes and let the pain season the pleasure. I'd clamp my own labia and pull them apart while I lay on my back as he fucked me.
If a girl will let your peg her, she really loves you, or has spirit which is even more rare. If a girl will peg you properly she is worth her weight in gold. The trick is to remember that a girl can always take one more peg than you think, but always for a minute less than you want. You must release her before the blood flow stops and the pain fades. This is an escape from the drabness and insensibility of life, not its re-enaction.
If you were in my bed you would not be tied. You must submit to this willingly or not at all. Through your courage you find strength in yourself and trust in me. Later you will be tied, stretched, splayed and pegged without mercy but later still, I will turn you into a work of art. I will peg a halo around each breast, your labia will be a nest of vipers, and I will peg your livid swollen clitoris and photograph you for my wall. You will become a goddess, at least in my eyes.
All these pleasures and possibilities in a simple packet of clothes pegs. Wood and wire and two hearts that beat as one.
Hi
So this is my diary, my box of mementos, all the things in my life and my head I could never tell me family, my lovers, my friends. Everything here is true, or true enough, I don't care if you read it, because you'll never know who I really am. I wonder if writing these things will free me from them, or cement them in my heart. Either way I'll be better off.
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