Like a werewolf during a full moon, I have a certain period during each month where I become a sex-craving maniac searching for a drop of white liquid gold (You know…). It usually lasts for just a few hours in a span of 3 days, randomly. I’m not saying that I never think about sex for the remaining days of the month but it becomes a more consuming thought. I have different levels of “hunger”: one level is where I’m watching TV, see a hottie and imagine in about 30 secs what I would do to him then the lust goes away as quickly as it came. Another level is when it’s a constant thought until I take care of myself or just find something to entertain/distract me then I don’t care anymore. But when the “blue phase” (that’s what I call it) starts there’s nothing I can do to contain the beast within. It’s as if I become a different person, my thoughts are just flashes of hot intertwined bodies seeking sexual relief. And nothing can distract me until the “blue phase” ends. Also I get really vivid, steamy sex dreams when the “blue phase” occurs. My most recent one was me being passed around with Ianto, Jack, and the Doctor from Doctor Who and Torchwood; and then there was the one of me and Mike Rowe as next door neighbors who were very friendly. I just passed the blue phase without letting some random trucker have his way with me in a restroom. I survived the month…this time. >:)
My recurring dreams look a lot like this during the “blue phase”:
I honestly believe that when God was making humans, he put our body parts together and said; “if these two souls should ever meet, their passion and addiction for each other will be deadly.”
The infatuation I have with your body and the things you do to mine is out of control.
I feel like it’s a test; that if something can be this good, then what the hell am I doing distancing myself from it?
What exactly am I doing?
Why are the roles reversed?
Why am I always the one to turn around and say there’s trouble on the horizon?
Why do I have this terror inside me when I spot any sign of a need for commitement?
What am I running from?
Who am I running to?
You stagger me at every step, but there are so many steps to the top that I think I would rather turn around and go back down again.
Your effect of me is astounding and continuing the climb is just as daunting as giving up and taking the risk that no one will ever make me feel this way again.
Some Flickr photographers who models are definitely alive, definitely nude and definitely girls…
Only Flickr members with safe search OFF will see all of the photos in this post. Join Flickr free.
NomSuayMah. Here’s one of his sets demonstrating his skill (and his model’s beauty). And another.
Sea Tree Images. His Red and Black sets are wonderful.
perthroproductions2. His set Fetish/Kink is a little snapshotish but cute…
Inposure. This magnificent Flickr collection is bursting with fourteen set of Chinese beauties in the buff!
3-Disc Set. What could be better than being deep in the heart – and other body parts – of the drop dead gorgeous Alexis Texas? How about being inside of her and controlling her every move? That`s exactly what you`ll be able to do, as you lead the XXX Superstar through your own personal, sexual fantasy. You get to select her lingerie, choose the dirty deed (anal, BJ, etc.), and pick the position that you`ll use to poke her perfect pussy. Three Discs of non-stop, dick-hardening action that`s guaranteed to get any cowgirl wet and every cowboy hard! Forget the Alamo… Remember Interactive Sex with Alexis Texas!
I have a super high sex drive and I just CAN’T. Get. No. Sat-is-faction.
Though I try, and I try, and I try!
My parents say I’m crazy. My friends say I’m slutty. My therapists (I’ve had about a dozen of them) say I’m mentally ill. And my boyfriend says I’m reckless.
But Margaret Atwood says war is the result of misdirected sexual energy.
I’m Adrienne. Yes, I was named after Adrienne Barbeau. Normally online, I go with a cool, quirky or sinister pseudonym, but this time around I decided to go with my Mother given name. I’ll save the the aliases for family, friends, co-workers, etc.
I’m 35 years old. I live in Baltimore. I chose to move here 2 years ago in March without so much as a visit to this city. That right there should tell you how unbalanced I am. I work a regular 9 to 5. I don’t hate my job and I don’t love it either, but it does pay the bills I want to pay and I don’t have to work outside.
I have a wonderful family and an ok life as far as I can tell. Oh and I’m also dating a woman almost a decade my junior. The latter is what most of this blog is going to be about. My relationship with a woman I will simply refer to as M. I am about to make a huge weird step in my life that involves M. Not as crazy as me moving to one of the deadliest cities in the United states, sight unseen, but it’s up there.
On the other hand, this could be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I don’t know. I guess in the upcoming weeks and months we will find out.
I dag er det jo søndag, våknet etter tre timers søvn og kom på gårsdagens hendelser… Alle mennesker har behov, men hvor går grensen? Er det blitt sosialtakseptert å ha en venn kun for gøy, en man kan møte hvis man vil ha noe ekstra? Jeg trodde selv ikke at jeg var typen, det startet vel med usikkerhet fra min side og vips her er vi. Jeg vet ikke hva jeg vil, enkelt og greit. Jeg trodde jeg var ute etter noe stabilt og trygt, et forhold. Allikevel sitter jeg her og har ikke noe mer å vise til enn en kompis som kan gi meg alt bortsett fra trofasthet og alt annet som hører med i et forhold. Ingen forpliktelser, bare gøy!
Men hvor lenge kan et sånt forhold vare før det blir usunt? Det er i utgangspunktet jeg som kanskje kunne få følelser, men vi har begge snakket om at dette kun er det det er, ikke noe mer. Altså er det jeg som styrer det, men klarer jeg selv å oppdage når jeg må gi meg? Får jeg følelser må jeg jo avslutte det hele, er ikke verdt å miste en god kompis for litt sex… Havet er ikke så lite, ikke enda hvertfall, det er noe jeg i såfall kan revurdere i en alder av 30+.
For denne gang tar jeg kvelden, og nyter euforien fra nattens opplevelser… Søndager kan være herlige!
A senior US senator and defense expert has said that he believes the American military presence in Japan “can be modified.”
Senator Jim Webb’s remark comes as the row between Tokyo and Washington over the US airbase in Okinawa remains unresolved.
Senator Webb insisted that the US armed forces in Japan remain concentrated on the southern Okinawa Island to maintain stability in the East Asian region.
Washington says a previously agreed deal to relocate the Futenma base to a coastal region of Okinawa must go ahead but the government of Japanese Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama is resisting the accord.
Washington has about 47,000 troops based in Japan, more than half of which are on Okinawa.
Local residents have been angered by crimes committed by US service personnel.
In 1995, the rape of a 12-year old Japanese schoolgirl by three US servicemen infuriated Okinawa residents.
U.S. Navy Seaman Marcus Gill and U.S. Marines Rodrico Harp and Kendrick Ledet abducted the 12-year-old 6th-grade Japanese girl. They beat her, duct-taped her eyes and mouth shut, and bound her hands. Gill and Harp then proceeded to rape her, while Ledet claims he only pretended to do so out of fear of Gill. The three men served prison terms in Japanese prisons and were released in 2003 and then given dishonorable discharges from the military. After release, Rodrico Harp decried prison conditions in Japan and said that the electronics assembly prison labor he was forced to do amounted to slave labor. Ledet, who had claimed he did not rape the girl, died in 2006 in an apparent murder-suicide in the United States. He was found in the third-floor apartment of Lauren Cooper, a junior Kennesaw State University student and acquaintance whom he had apparently sexually assaulted and then murdered (by strangulation). It appears that he then took his own life by slashing his wrists.
Also, in January a piece of a US Navy jet fell off in midflight, causing minor damage to a residential home.
The base is also unpopular because of aircraft noise and the risk of accidents. Demands to close the base on safety grounds grew in 2004, when a US helicopter crashed in the grounds of a local university. The base is due to be moved from the urban area to a coastal one by 2014.
Tokyo and Washington have been at loggerheads over the presence of US military forces in the country since the new Japanese government took office in September.
The agreement was signed between Washington and the previous administration in Tokyo but now, Hatoyama wants US forces to leave Okinawa or even Japan altogether.
Imagine it is 1955. You are a housewife somewhere in the Chicagoland area. You have an ordinary life, a husband and a child. But you are unsure, about so many things. Life is not entirely satisfying to you. You’re an inneffienct homemaker. You have peculiar notions. And then there is your husband….
He is a good husband, in a way. But there are things you find difficult about him. There are things he needs that you are not sure you can satisfy. You want to, because you love him, and you want him to love you. But he asks a lot and does not always give back in kind.
Your husband wants to spank you. He wants you to pretend to be his little girl. His desires are exacting and detailed. You do it. Maybe you get some pleasure from the activities themselves. Maybe you don’t. In the end, it is not about you, it is about him. And this is 1955, so you are alone. There are women in the pictures your husband collects. But if these women exist in your town, on your street, you have never met one. The only person you can talk to is your husband, and he is hardly always helpful.
In the end, the spanking isn’t enough. Your submission is not enough. He will be cruel. He will look at other women, your sister; you will be jealous. In the end, you will feel neither of you have gotten much out of life.
This is the story I see in The Fetishist, a collection of found pictures, clippings and letters concerning a mid-century spanking fetishist and his wife.It is an incomplete story, but the pieces seem to me unbearably sad.
“Homophobia is literally and figuratively killing our youngsters — especially young, straight boys whose lives, relationships and aspirations are cut short as they strive to be seen as ‘real men’.” So writes John Amaechi in today’s Times of London.
In school, for a boy, being clever and interested in academia is gay; being kind and thoughtful is gay; being respectful to a parent, authority figure or woman is gay. For a man, being sexually considerate — that is, not sleeping with every female that moves — is gay. Having non-sexual friendships with women is gay. Being nurturing and considerate is gay. Talking your way out of a fight is gay. Choosing not to drink until you puke is gay. Having a friend who is gay is gay. To be a “real man” you must be the opposite of anything even remotely considered feminine. We wonder why our boys run away from academic pursuits in school. Why violence against women is rising. Why the Government is having to spend £2 million on this new advertising campaign to combat the psychological and physical abuse all too regularly occurring in teenage relationships.
Mr Amaechi, who enjoys the distinction, according to Wikipedia of being “the first openly gay NBA player after coming out in his memoir Man In The Middle” and is now a writer and broadcaster in Britain, has a point, but it is not quite the point he thinks he has. He should ask himself, if these mixed-up and “homophobic” youths are deluded into thinking this is what it means “to be a ‘real man’,” what does it mean to be a real man? Is there, in other words, any such thing as a real man unprovided with those saving quotation marks? The trouble with Mr Amaechi’s take on the subject — and what those quotation marks tell us — is that he doesn’t believe there is any such a thing as being a real man. These kids do. That is simply a fact. And it is a fact that has applied to young men throughout history. Culturally, manhood has never been simply a given; it has always been something to be proved.
So how are they to prove it today? To that, Mr Amaechi has no answer. He simply wants to wish away such non-progressive, anachronistic ideas of manhood. By his own reckoning, to telling them that they are naughty boys for believing in them, he only makes these ideas the more attractive. Offering nothing to put in their place, he leaves the boys free to adopt the crudest and most savage ideas of manhood on offer, a lot of which correspond to his list as given above. If the official culture gives them no guidance as to any proper definition of manhood, of the sort which used to be the function of our now defunct honor culture, if it simply pretends there is no such thing as distinct from personhood, they will default to the sort of feral honor culture that we see in gang culture and the posturings of rappers and other pop-cultural heroes.
A hundred years ago, when the Western honor culture still existed, it was well-recognized that part of what it meant to be a real man was to respect women and to be ashamed to pick on those weaker than or different from oneself. It also meant being able — in a now almost forgotten phrase — “to hold one’s liquor” and, where the honor culture was at its strongest, it also meant being good at one’s studies. There may never have been a very large number of those who could be described as “a gentleman and a scholar,” but there were few who didn’t recognize that having such a description applied to oneself was one of the highest of compliments. That idea of manhood had evolved over centuries from a much more primitive one resembling that which Mr Amaechi complains of, and if we had not shed ourselves of our honor culture it would doubtless have continued further to evolve in the direction of tolerance towards homosexuals. But without any honor culture and with nothing but moral preachments to offer them, I don’t see these youths ever becoming what he wants them to be.
Perhaps he would agree with Dana Jennings who writes in today’s New York Times and in a completely different context that “True manhood is about love and kindness. It’s about responsibility and honor, about working hard and raising your children the best way you know how, with love, respect and discipline.” That sounds good. But true manhood must be about more than this — for instance, about guts and daring and fighting prowess — or else it loses what makes it distinctively manly and, with that, any appeal to kids eager to prove their manhood. Love, kindness, responsibility and honor, which can now mean anything you want it to mean, working hard and raising your children are equally important for true womanhood. Meanwhile, the boys will say that if there’s nothing extra the dominant culture has to offer that makes us men and not women, then we’ll find something outside that culture that does. It won’t be hard.
Why is it that presumably intelligent people so easily go for “the straw man,” when trying to make a case. Mr Amaechi grossly over-simplifies and probably exaggerates English men in order to paint a more favorable image of gay men. Not a good idea. Here are a few of the comments that readers left on Bowman’s page.
But to what extent are Amaechi’s assertions in the excerpt true? Is it possible that they amount to no more than a grotesque generalization about the young men of Britain?
Rough boys are nothing new, but Amaechi depicts these kids as virtual sociopaths. I don’t believe it.
The teenagers in my upstate New York town are surprisingly well-mannered and decent. Could their UK counterparts have really gone that far in the opposite direction?
Dan Feb 17, 2010 10:18 AM#2Well, occasional heavy drinking and especially being able to hold it are definitely associated with manliness in the English speaking world. Men who sip wine or drink martinis are considered effeminate by most men. At the other extreme, my not-so-scientific evaluation of AA leads me to believe most of the men in there are in there because they’re more like John Amaechi than John Wayne.
Womanizing is completely unmanly, and close to homosexuality. As for the inclination toward academic pursuits, it’s not likely that the men in any university department were previously candidates for the military or a sports team. The Daniel Dennetts of this world, for example, grow a beard, not only wishing to be taken for having the personal habits of a Walt Whitman, but to hide their effeminate faces. Boys are violent by nature and naturally rebel at attempts to turn them into John Amaechis or Daniel Dennetts. They do not as a rule treat girls disrespectfully, and in fact are in awe of them. Amaechi’s comments are a limp-wristed attempt to effeminize boys, who aren’t buying it no matter what the consequences.
Harris Tweed Feb 17, 2010 11:07 AM#3The New American Oxford Dictionary defines “homophobia” is as “an extreme and irrational aversion to homosexuality and homosexual people.” The definition implies that there is a rational aversion to homosexuals and homosexuality that is not “homophobia.”
So, the young gents who are averse to homosexuals and homosexuality are not necessarily “homophobic.”
In any case, “homophobia” is an “issue” invented entirely by Leftist homosexuals.
Duke of Sharon Feb 17, 2010 02:12 PM#4How biggoted, violent, closed-minded, and phobic can a society possibly be for a man to not only insult that society as this writer has, but to make one’s livlihood doing so? In Mr. Bowman’s fantasy “honor culture” of 2010, Mr. Amechi would not be attacked for being homosexual, but would be run out of town on a rail for being a professional scab picker.
All of these boys are doing things to my mind. I’m BEYOND confused with my life at the moment.
I have the whole sexual abuse case going on with the police. I am starting to feel like im liking almost a third of the guys in my P.E class. And im probably wayyyyyy off but i get the feeling that a few might like me too. And because i didnt feel like sharing this with LMS, i told her i was missing sam, which then created abouther problem for me because i look on his facebook page and there was a whole heap of people saying he liked this zoey chick, so now im jealous. And LMS and jayden are sorta back on… well the flirting insanely anyway. and the empty promises, so i get an earful of that all the time. She has PMS atm with just puts the icing on the cake too. Plus Food is pissed at me because i didnt tell her about the sexual abuse thing, which she still doesnt know about. and im so goddamn motherfucking tired its crazy. And i realised i actually dont like shaun.
From Moral standards will be eroded 22 Jan 1988 ST FOrum
By allowing condom advertisments instead of stressing the immorality of sex outside marriage, the ads could be misread in this way: If you feel like having any kind of sex (including adultery and premarital sex, homosexuality and lesbianism), go ahead. As long as you use condoms, it’s acceptable.
How can we allow sex outside marriage to be so powerfully promoted? We must, therefore, replace the harmful books, tapes and films and good and clean ones.
For the sake of this nation, please restore the ban on condom ads.
Ed: First, condoms don’t apply to lesbianism. Second, banning the ads won’t stop kids from reading harmful books, tapes and films in which condoms and safe sex are hardly promoted.
Not because I’m some old, bitter hag – no. I hate it because the day, itself, has absolutely nothing to do with real love at all.
Somewhere there is some high maintenance twenty-something girl who is expecting her man to come through with copious amounts of overpriced wares that either A)die in a week or B)end up collecting dust.
I hate it because men are forced through guilt to participate. I hate it because anything given on this day is not given with love or genuine affection – it’s because he “has to” or ends up in the dog house.
Is that love? Is it?
No. No it’s not.
So, ladies, think about that as you’re biatching and whining about this day and having nothing given to you on it. In the grand scheme of things, this doesn’t matter.
Love should be expressed every day and in every possible way.
When I think of You
I sometimes blush
Because I feel unworthy of Your love
I sometimes flush
Because I feel my blood flow in ways never before
I dream
Because in my dreams we have our Someday
I fantasize
Because You have freed me to be myself and no longer feel dirty for my desires and wants
When I think of You
My eyes often leak
Because You overwhelm me with emotion
My heart breaks
Because distance sucks
I count
Because hours drag and then rush by
I long
Because You are not here
When I think of You
I am happy
Happy Valentine’s Day!
My Love
My Heart
My Capital Letter
My True Companion
So, this is the ocean, I thought. The poets call it everything but what it is, poison from here to the horizon. My girlfriends in their candy colored bikinis ran ahead to the pier. They knew better than to be around me. How does it take rain and make it bitter, and why are we not angry, I asked the little crab who burrowed back into the wet sand as often as I unearthed him. Which is it, crab? Do you panic in the sun, or do I interrupt something like pleasure for you when I pull you out? My girlfriends were back with their ice creams; worse, they’d met a boy—boys! The crab has gone too deep. I see only their bottoms from where I crouch, digging in up to my elbow. This one the boys will find irresistible. She’ll fight them off or let them play or pick the one she wants. This one will have to work for a living. This one just wants to be friends. The land at least grows crops and holds up buildings, whereas this soft sand gently yields and leads us on, until we’re in over our heads and the sea can suck us down. The boardwalk is all the sand can support, a porch to play on, a lure for the young, its underside lapped by the spray. Of course they’ve picked out one for me. This is how it begins: build or bury, sink or swim, choose what’s offered. I frighten him. I ask his name and he says something. I force his hand into my pants. This is mine, I tell him. Do you understand? He does. He says he does, but nobody does. We’re all thirsty, the water sparkles, and most of the world is salt.
This work by davidbdale is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at davidbdale.wordpress.com.
Did you know that the vibrator was the fifth household appliance to be electrified. It was invented in the 1880’s, to treat a medical condition, known either as “congestion of the genitalia” or “Female Hysteria”
From Wikipedia. “For centuries, doctors had been treating women for these illnesses by performing what we would now recognize as masturbation. However, not only did they regard the “vulvular stimulation” required as having nothing to do with sex, but reportedly found it time-consuming and hard work”
Those poor doctors!! I can just see it now.
“Another Doctor’s bill darling? Are you unwell, that’s the fourth time this week!”
“I know sweetheart, I am feeling a little poorly, but the Doctor works hard, and I do feel better after seeing him”
“Well what does he do to you?”
“Stimulates my vulva and genitals, until I feel a release of tension.”
“Rather him than me, poor hard-working bastard…”
Again, from Wikipedia: The home versions soon became extremely popular, with advertisements in periodicals such as Needlecraft, Woman’s Home Companion, Modern Priscilla, and the Sears, Roebuck catalog. These disappeared in the 1920s, apparently because their appearance in pornography made it no longer tenable for polite society to avoid the sexual connotations of the devices.
Awesome!! I laughed a lot during this article!!
There are links also to Wank Week. I think that this event is worthy of inclusion in the Olympics! Have a read, it is wonderful stuff!! Absolutely Gripping!!
Let me know if you are interested in participating in Wank Week, and we will see if can set something up.
Dear subbie arrived promptly. I had warned him that he would suffer Mistress’ wrath due to pressing me for a committed session evening and time. I confirmed dear subbie’s session evening and time…and that dear subbie needed to prepare himself properly and have Mistress’ cock-meat and balls all clean and shaved smooth…ready for a good “workout” so-to-speak.
I love to sit and watch as my subject matter strips naked in front of me…it is a most humbling experience for the subbie…I do love when the underwear come off and the cock jumps up at attention…next, I had dear subbie stand in front of me while I inspected my property…I love to run my hands around the erect cock and cup the balls…feeling the smooth shave…dear subbie’s nipples were nice and erect…hard little marbles…
I then placed dear subbie across my lap, his cock-meat between my upper thighs and proceeded to paddle dear subbie on the bare ass cheeks. I used a firm hand…not to much, umph behind my swats…first one cheek, then the other…back and forth, slowly but firmly…warming each cheek with an even tempo. dear subbie protested that his paddling was hurting…I was just getting started!!
I laughed at dear subbie, I don’t think he realized how quickly a steady paddling would turn to a painful event…I continued to paddle his bottom…his ass cheeks turning a nice pink…dear subbie looked like his arms were bothering him so I had him get on all fours on my large wooden coffee table on the pink yoga mat I place there to prevent slippage…
I continued to work dear subbie’s ass cheeks to a nice warm glow…then I began to milk dear subbie’s cock and balls…I was having so much fun listening to dear subbie protest what I was doing to him…what a diabolical bitch!!! Yes, that would be this Mistress.
When I had dear subbie’s bottom a nice glowing red, I had him turn around and sit on the edge of the yoga mat on the coffee table. I think it surprised dear subbie on how sore his bottom was to be sitting on it…
I then placed the bondage hood over dear subbie’s head and placed the leather cuffs on dear subbie’s wrists and ankles…off to my bedroom for some more wicked fun…
I pushed dear subbie onto my bed and told him to crawl up there and lay over the TV pillow I had placed there. I took a bottle of lube and poured it down his ass crack…then with a steri-gloved hand I began to finger dear subbie’s man-pussy.
I then climbed up on the bed behind dear subbie and calling him all manners of names, I pressed the top of my thighs into his bottom…telling him how I was going to fuck his man-pussy good and make him the girlie-bitch that he really wanted to be…I was so turned on, my pussy was so hot and wet, I could hardly stand myself!!
I then took my long, slender Feeldo, covered it with a condom and teased dear subbie’s man-pussy with the head of it before I pushed it into his puffing man-pussy…dear subbie began to protest again…I continued to pump the rubber cock in and out of dear subbie’s man-pussy telling him what a good little whore he was being and that when Mistress tired of fucking his man-pussy, that’s when I would stop…I reached around and stroked dear subbie’s nipples while I pressed the dildo into his man-pussy while pressing my thighs against his ass to hold the rubber cock in place…
dear subbie continued to whine and protest…his arms were chained to my bed, holding him down so I could fuck his man-pussy and do as I pleased with him…after I tired of fucking his man-pussy, I decided to turn him over and chain him spread-eagle on his back…dear subbie’s cock-meat was still at full attention…I could hardly wait till I could straddle and ride that hard cock, I was so turned on!!!
I placed my hot, wet pussy over one of dear subbie’s hands and told him to touch my pussy, finger it…see how hot Mistress was and dear subbie fingered my pussy and begged Mistress to let him lick my hot, wet honey-hole…not yet, my dear, not year…
I then placed my tit and nipple in dear subbie’s mouth and commanded him to suck my tit…which he did, which only made me hotter…it wasn’t long before I pulled the bondage hood off of dear subbie and straddled his face with my pussy…I commanded dear subbie to lick his Mistress, lick my pussy like I like it!!! and lick my pussy, dear subbie did!!!
I fucked dear subbie’s face with my pussy…I was so sopping wet I was hesitant that dear subbie might drown…what a way to go, huh? So, I would take dear subbie’s cock in my mouth every now and then and suckle it while dear subbie licked and tongued my pussy…I was getting so close to cumming…I tried to hold back as long as I could…but I was so in need of a good orgasm…I decided to cum on dear subbie’s face and cum I did…the waves of my ecstasy washed over me…I stayed on dear subbie’s mouth as long as I could stand it and then moved to lay beside dear subbie until the little electrical jolts began to subside. I decided it was time to fuck dear subbie and take what I wanted from him…so, I undid the chains on dear subbie’s wrists and ankles and then proceeded to climb up on dear subbie’s hard cock and ride that wonderful piece of man-meat.
It didn’t take me long to start cumming again…I could feel my pussy juices running down out of my pussy and onto dear subbie’s cock and balls…I was so hot…and then orgasm number two was zipping through me, causing my pussy to massage and grip dear subbie’s cock deep inside of me…it didn’t take dear subbie’ long to start begging to be allowed to cum…permission granted, cum dear subbie, cum!!
And dear subbie let go and gave in to his own orgasm!! I was delighted to climb off of dear subbie and see him laying there, totally drained but a nice little smile playing on his lips.
Yes, a good paddling and fucking is just what dear subbie needed…not to mention, what Mistress was needing as well!
His penis grew thick with excitement, and it started to rub hard on the fabric of his pants. Slightly irritated by his quick erection, he slid his hand into the crtoch of his pants and began to rub softly on his hard mass. The girl sat silent as she watched him play with himself, fearing immensely at the thought of his sliding hands easing through the zipper of his pants, letting free his hard member. She felt dazed and light headed, her large brown eyes seeking refuge from the room, but falling short of seeing anything that might help.
Her heart quickly froze. She could see the faint creases in his face stretch, a ghost of a smile dancing lightly across his face. His black eyes, a haze of dullness, soon picked up shine as he looked closely at her. He studied the layers of her straight brown hair, the liquid brown eyes that cried fear and shock, and he let his gaze drop, mounting the curves of her firm breasts, as they sat smugly in her shirt, and the tight little waist followed by light graceful hips.
He pulled down on his zipper, and offered her a glimpse of his hardness. She cried against the fabric in her mouth, her eyes drowning in frightened tears. He moved towards her, and started toying with her hair, his fingers slipping silently through the soft strands. He let his hanging penis stoke her face, drawing wet patterns on her soft pale skin. Minutes later, as he no longer could contain his excitement, he unbuckled his pants, and reached out to her mouth, quickly pulling on the piece of cloth binding it shut.
She burst out a cry, gulping in air and sniffling in fear. His face broke into a smile as he grabbed her jaw tight and forced open her mouth, shoving his hard penis in her quivering mouth. His hands soon clasped on the back of her head, pushing forth and back, letting her soft mouth straddle his erection. He dropped back his head and sighed in elation, smiling deeply as he thought, ‘what else shall we play?’, his penis deep in her mouth, his knife nestled tight in his pocket.
The snow was pretty this time around because it didn’t stick, it all melted away. Then the sky cleared and it turned bitter cold…well, not as cold as it has been over the last couple of months, not down into the single digits, but below freezing. Made me want to come back in and go straight to bed after taking the little dogs out for their first morning pee.
Instead of going back to bed, I sitting here trying to wake-up, having my first cup of coffee and trying to decide what to wear to work. I don’t like being cold so I’ll probably pick something that I know will keep me nice and warm.
I’ve had a rash of my male friends wanting to take me out on a date. This strikes me as strange since I’ve made it clear I’m not interested in “dating” these guys. They come to me for a specific reason and purpose, yet they send me e-mails full of scenarios they want to “treat” me to…last night’s e-mail left me quite vexed. The friend is a married man, though his wife lives in another state, his idea of a good time is to meet some of his buddies at a local bar, shoot pool and drink. He wants me to dress up “slutty-sexy” and shoot pool with him. I’m not to wear any panties and a low cut top so I show lots of cleavage. This will all be apparent when I have to lean over the pool table and take a shot, my bare ass or tits are supposed to be all exposed for him. This will make him feel like the luckiest guy in the bar to be with this slutty-sexy, classy woman.
He asked me what I thought of his “date” scenario…I told him I didn’t think much of it but if he was willing to devote the time and added benefit for the time we spend together, I would consider doing what he requested. I told him I enjoy a little role-playing now and then, as this was something that I don’t do on a “normal” social basis.
I do have a life, I do have friends, guys that I see on a boyfriend basis. Not very often because I simply don’t want to devote the time and energy to those relationships and I really enjoy entertaining those few special friends. I have family that I can visit and that come and visit me…I don’t sit around waiting for one of the special friends to want to come over for an hour or two of sexual fun.
I don’t want to be “shown off” for buddies or friends…I don’t want to hang out in bars, I don’t shoot pool, simply isn’t something I’ve ever really been interested in doing. I can shoot pool, I choose to NOT shoot pool.
I’ve got another married guy that I see as an extreme BDSM submissive. He wants to take me out to dinner when in a couple of weeks when his significant other is out of town. He’s hard of hearing and I don’t want to be his “date” for dinner. I don’t want to be seen out in at one of the finer restaraunts with him, nor do I want to take the time and patience to sit through a meal and listen to him and then get out in the parking lot so he can cop-a-feel of my ass or try to touch my pussy…just doesn’t sound like an experience I want to be indulging in…in fact, I thought of how nice it would be to just session the hellout of him and send him home with a sore cock and nipples…
So, my impression of this barrage of special friends wanting to take me out on dates is ridiculous. If I wanted to spend more time with any of these guys on a “date” basis, you can bet I would say so…but then, that’s why they come to me, they come to me because they can’t get what they’re wanting at home…they want a gal that will go out with them and shoot pool, have fun smokin’ and jokin’…oh they want sex, too, but what they really want is a woman to pay attention to them, listen to them talk…not just in the bedroom, but in a “fun” setting.
Anyway, I’m NOT in a dating mood. Simply isn’t something I want to be doing with most of these guys. I guess that makes me one of those cold, heartless bitches. Such is life.
Gosh, my boobs are hard and down there is tingling just thinking on this. I feel terrible for actually thinking about this and I know that if the conditions and circumstances work (the stars align and the moon is in the seventh house)! I will follow through with being mean to a guy I don’t really know. Well maybe it’s not really that mean, it might be that I feel mean for doing it. Eventhough I might have made the same choices even if he was not going to be involved.
I will be mean to a guy that I obviously have the upper hand on. Oh no, I won’t be outwardly mean or anything like that. I will wear shoes that I know turn him on. Good grief, why do I want to do this? I don’t know I’m not a mean person per se, however I am a girl. You all know how mean girls can be. Don’t shake your head no, you know good and well girls can be catty and so do I; I am one
Ok, here is the deal I have a friend that I’m going to hang out with for a few hours, actually go to see a production. Hmmm get some culture I guess, actually I love to see performers in their element; singing, dancing, comedy, or theater. Well, this guy is supposed to meet us and hang out for cocktails afterward. Eventhough I probably would have worn this outfit anway it is a turn on to think it may turn him on too!
I know this guy has a shoe fetish for loafers, heck who knows maybe stockings or pantyhose turn him on too. Lately I’ve been reading about guys that pantyhose and stockings turn them on and it sure makes me hot to think it about it too. Well, I’m planning on wearing black stockings, penny loafers, a short black skirt (not too short) a partially low cut top, and a vest. Actually, the outfit is perfect for the ambience and hopefully will make our guest want or possibly go home and jack off thinking about the shoes! I wonder if he will have a hard on while we are having a cocktail.
I truly don’t think he will be masturbating and thinking of me, but I’m sure he will be thinking of the shoes.
For some reason, that is a huge turn on to me. However, I know it is mean too. O well, you can’t win them all.
3 weeks later, I can’t stop thinking about it all. You would think that would give me some clarity – but its all going round and round in my head and getting more and more confusing. My head wants to explode and I wouldn’t mind if it did.
Yesterday, he gave me the “other” photos. There are 15 “models” in total, all photographed in erotic poses. Suddenly, I am questioning my own self esteem. I’m 43 years old and in great condition for my age – but even I can’t compare to these twenty-something models with their breast implants and firm skin. Am I destined to spend the rest of my life feeling like I just can’t compare and I’m not exciting enough?
And despite all of this – he’s shouting at me because he doesn’t like the way I’m interrogating him! I’m so sorry, but where is the script for how I’m supposed to behave?
Today I feel more than any other day that I won’t be able to live with this.
Released 2/5/10. Starring Bobbi Starr, Gitta Blond, Alysa, Eloa Lombard and David Perry.
European sex cinema master Christoph Clark probes the angelic facade of unattainable beauty to expose the lust hidden inside. And the most penetrating view into these gorgeous sluts comes through their widely gaping assholes. Don’t miss Alysa, “the future anal queen of Russia,” succumbing to black cock with American superstar Bobbi Starr.
I have got my “healing” (yep, the Marving Gaye’s styled kind of).
I have snowboarded like crazy to download the shitty feeling about it.
I have tried to rationalize.
Kobe: the only one who tried again.
I probably did rationalized it… but still I ma so pissed off it’s unreal.
I am playing on the iPod during the snowboarding traits all songs out from heavy trancey records and lots of Queens Of The Stone Age. It works generally.
But no way.
Lakers blowout against the evil Thuggets, the game where all of my worst nightmares just got vivified, has left me so bitter I can’t cope still with ANY of it.
Evil Chauncey.
I predicted you as my nemesis… but you didn’t have to fulfill that, *sigh*!!!
Look at the way they buried us (Adam, after the first quarter you did stop to applaude, ain’t it honey? Who was your guest at your side, that you kept talking with all along?):
How it hurts…
I expressed my view in the Lakers Blog and finally again also in chat about this game. What makes me worry is not our current play, which is a matter of shape; it’s that we lost home advantage to Denver, which scares me way more than the Cavemen lead by inflated LeBronze.
But I have such a bitter, bitter taste in my mouth.
Tonight we play again against the punks by definition, the Portland Trail Blazers.
Divine Adam smiling at the game. I guess this was the first half, right?
At their home.
Oh, my… itchy.
I just have two good things to enlighten about the game past: the way the immense Kobe proved once again is not human, but is a sort of alien hero, a super entity, somebody totally out of reach (playing the way he did when all of other players IN THE WORLD would have been out for injuries multiplied? It’s not human. Really. It’s NOT); and then the Divine Sightseeing, once again.
And there it ENDS.
Nothing more to remember out of this game if not the burning humiliation.
To understand how Paul Pickthorne got cross-wise with Montgomery County’s land-use regulations, you’ll need a glossary:
“R-60″ is a zoning classification for subdivisions of single-family houses where commercial activity generally isn’t permitted. The 6300 block of Tone Drive in Bethesda is such a place, a tidy street of mostly 1950s brick ranchers just across River Road from Walt Whitman High School.
“BDSM” is short for “bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.” Velvet whips, leather hoods, six-inch stiletto heels, that kind of thing. If you were into the BDSM scene and periodically threw BDSM parties in your home — as Pickthorne, a burly, jovial Briton, does in the castlelike 3,600-square-foot McMansion he rents at 6304 Tone Dr. — you’d attract quite a crowd.
“Section 59-C-1.31″ is the zoning code provision you’d be violating by having said parties in an R-60 zone if the guests pay to get in, as they do (or used to) at Pickthorne’s nocturnal get-togethers. His events draw dozens of people. The cost: $20 for a basic ticket, $50 for VIP treatment.
“Kinky people” is the accepted term for folks who derive erotic pleasure from BDSM. “An amazing cross-section of humanity,” says Pickthorne’s friend Susan Wright, founder of the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom. “Men, women, transgender, heterosexuals, gays, bisexuals. Every ethnicity. White-collar and blue-collar. It’s really very, very diverse — though we do have an unusually high percentage of lawyers. I don’t know why.”
Anyway, you can imagine what Pickthorne’s non-kinky neighbors think of all this. Fed up, they convened a meeting in someone’s living room last week, then fired off indignant e-mails to County Council member Roger Berliner (D), whose district includes their Merrimack Park subdivision.
“I share your sense of outrage that a sex club is operating in your lovely neighborhood,” Berliner wrote back. “I want you to know that my office has been advised that our County has moved aggressively to put an end to this blight on your community.”
The county moved, all right. Pickthorne received a written warning from a zoning inspector Monday. But hold on. Suppose Pickthorne stops charging admission, as he says he might? Suppose he complies with the regulations and holds all BDSM gatherings as strictly noncommercial functions in accordance with Section 59-C-1.31? What then?
“Well,” Berliner says on the phone, hesitating. “Certainly one has to respect everyone’s constitutional rights.”
In other words, if no money changes hands, and the kinky people don’t cause a noise or traffic nuisance, the First Amendment would ring clear: Party on!
Who goes there?
Knock on the front door of 6304 Tone Dr. If nobody answers right away, knock some more.
It’s a hulking million-dollar stone edifice built in 2007, dwarfing the modest half-century-old houses lining the rest of the block. The door is rock-hard wood that hurts your knuckles. A Union Jack hangs from a pole on the balcony overhead, flapping in the winter breeze. There’s a foot-square spy hatch in the middle of the arched door, protected by ornate wrought-iron bars.
Keep knocking. Eventually the hatch swings open, and this big, round, jowly, grinning face appears, topped by a thatch of unruly orange hair.
“Hel-looo there!” Pickthorne says. He won’t let you in. But soon you’re driving south on River Road with him, headed to a Starbucks. “Vanilla latte’s my usual poison, mate. Forgot my wallet, though.” Over coffee, and chatting again the next afternoon, he fills you in on “the scene.”
It’s adult playtime, is all it is,” he says. He’s 38, an information technology specialist currently at liberty job-wise. He says he began practicing BDSM as a teenager in Britain. “Role-playing,” he says. “It’s naughty schoolgirls and headmasters; it’s cops and robbers; it’s interrogators and prisoners. . . . It’s harmless fun for kinksters who want to escape the everyday.”
The lifestyle: There’s no simple way to sum it up, his friend, Wright, 46, says. Some kinksters enjoy being punished; others want to wield the cat-o’-nine-tails. Some like costuming as micro-skirted nurses in thigh-high boots and tickling their patients with ostrich feathers; others prefer to be gagged and suspended from the ceiling in fur-lined manacles. On the margins of the subculture are folks who crave true, excruciating pain, Wright says. But most kinksters don’t.
“What it’s about is an intense sensation,” she explains. “Some people like rock climbing or jumping out of airplanes or bungee jumping. You’d never catch me doing that. But if you’re talking about a good spanking, then yes, absolutely.”
Pickthorne says he had been active in the Washington area BDSM scene for years before the big stone house came on the rental market last summer.
“A friend of mine was like: ‘You’ve got to come see this place, dude! It’s sweet!’ And it’s funny, being British, and being in the American scene for so long, people love the British thing, my accent, you know? So when my friend saw the castle, he was like: ‘You got to live in a castle, dude!’ “
He and four roommates, all kinksters, moved in and equipped the house with an array of dungeon apparatus, he says. He says he has thrown four or five parties since then, most recently two weeks ago. His guests park their cars in a Unitarian church lot nearby. The guests have included the owner of the house.
Pickthorne’s published rules go on and on: “Street clothing only outside the house. . . . You are welcome to drink but not become drunk. . . . Please have your IDs out when you arrive. . . . No illegal drugs. . . . Do not touch anyone in any way without express permission. . . . Please be conscious of noise levels. . . . No single-tails. The dungeon is too crowded and the cracks sound like gunfire to the neighbors who may call 911.”
As for selling tickets, he says: “It’s so I don’t have to dig into my own pocket personally to buy everything. Whatever’s left, if there is anything left, I just donate to the NCFS,” meaning Wright’s sexual freedom group. She confirmed the contributions.
Back at the house now, at the curb.
“Thanks for coming,” he says.
So any chance of getting a peek inside?
“Oh, no. Sorry.”
Pleeease?
“Afraid not, mate.”
Vice squad visits
Try finding some angry Tone Drive residents willing to voice their gripes publicly. It’s not easy. Tom Adams, a conservation lobbyist who lives with his wife and two children on Marjory Lane, right behind the castle, says neighbors thought Berliner’s office would keep the situation out of the news.
“There are an awful lot of people who are ticked that this got leaked,” says Adams, 46. “The desire was to resolve it quietly and not draw attention. . . . Clearly, anyone thinking about buying a house in the neighborhood will think twice about it now, knowing this is going on.”
Frank De Lange of the Department of Permitting Services and two police officers from the vice squad showed up at Pickthorne’s door last Friday.
“The gentleman just essentially explained that it was consenting adults coming into these parties,” De Lange says. After 31 years as a zoning inspector, he says, he has many “wild stories” to tell about unorthodox land use — but none this strange. “When I asked what he was charging, he said something about asking for donations, and there was some kind of cause that advocated for people’s sexual freedoms or whatever it is.”
The vice officers wanted to take a walk through the house, but Pickthorne said no. (“Just because I’m British doesn’t mean I don’t understand the Fourth Amendment,” he says.) After politely instructing him on prostitution and pandering laws, the officers left, and so did De Lange. “At this point there’s no discernable evidence of any criminal violation,” says Capt. Paul Starks, a county police spokesman. “It appears to be consensual activity between adults.”
After the visit, De Lange says, he looked carefully at Pickthorne’s Web site, which has since been taken down. “I noticed how he put ‘tickets’ in there, that you had to purchase tickets. To me, that was enough to hang my hat on and issue him a notice of violation, Section 59-C-1.31, which I did subsequently on Monday.” The notice is a warning. “I have to follow up and make sure he complies.” If he doesn’t, he could get a citation, which carries a fine.
Follow up how? “We don’t elaborate on investigative procedures,” De Lang says.
“I can assure you,” Berliner says, “our county will be exploring every legal means available to ensure that the activity taking place at this particular residence does not have an adverse impact on the community.”
He says, “I have spoken with the police commander personally with respect to this matter.”
Meanwhile, Pickthorne has a few more weeks to figure out how to abide by Section 59-C-1.31 without going broke.
His next party is later this month. Its theme: “Dark Odyssey Winter Fire.”
The first time my virginity was called into question, I was no older than 12. I had taken my younger sisters to play on the school playground, very close to home, and we were hanging about doing those flips and somersaults that girls like to do on monkey bars (when I think of it now I am amazed by the flexibility my body once had!). Some slightly older boys had appeared on their bikes and interrupted our play by starting a conversation. They didn’t seem at all threatening, just curious and a bit annoying. Even in retrospect, I don’t think they meant anything dangerous.
They had a lot of questions, most of them quite boring, until one asked me if I was a virgin. I confidently said no. He asked if I knew what it meant, but although the meaning was a bit hazy to me, I was too proud to admit any doubt. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what it meant either. In any case, the word virgin was not entirely unfamiliar to me – I had at least come across it as “vergine” in my mother tongue, Italian, and I thought I had a fair idea of its meaning. A virgin, I thought, was a young woman, older than me, with breasts and a woman’s body. I had a very firm concept of myself as still a child, and I reasoned that I was not old enough to be a virgin. If I really thought about it I might even have said that a virgin was a woman old enough to have sex. And that, surely, was not me! Those boys left shortly thereafter and I never saw them again.
A couple of years later I started attending a catholic school and quickly learned what virgin really meant. As the years passed I began to understand the problems associated with the concept of virginity. First of all, virginity was different for males and females. Girls were supposed to stay virgins as long as possible, for strict catholics even until marriage. However it was a truth universally acknowledged that for boys, the opposite was the case, catholic or not. There was some lip service paid by teachers and priests to the notion of boys restraining their desires until marriage, but no-one really believed it. The fact was that for boys virginity was an embarrassing weight to be got rid of at the earliest possible opportunity. Girls who lost theirs too early were clearly sluts, but eventually even us catholic girls knew it was pretty uncool to wait until marriage to have sex and we’d snigger at the homilies and lectures given on the matter by the teachers and priests. But when exactly was the right time to lose your virginity? Most of us had a vague idea that we’d wait until we were at uni or had finished school. We thought we could plan it.
I was a shy, sheltered girl, so securing my virginity until I was at uni was not exactly difficult. I figured that my time would come and for a long time I did not worry about it. One by one my friends all started having sex. Some were more public about it than others. One old schoolfriend I’d not seen in months raced to catch me between classes to announce with studied casualness that she and her long-time boyfriend had “done it” the previous night (I was surprised, having assumed they’d been having sex all along). Others were more discreet, but they all started on a series of mostly monogamous relationships while I waited patiently. The embarrassment of advanced virginity crept up on me slowly, until I realised painfully that I was now the odd one out. What had once been desirable was now something to be hidden at all costs. I had missed the “right time” to lose my virginity! Had I met those boys from the playground I would have lied to them again, knowingly this time, and accompanied by a deep sense of shame.
I eventually did have sex but if the guy involved guessed he was my first, he thankfully never let on. What really struck me afterwards was that I was exactly the same person I’d been before. I experienced the sense of relief I imagine school boys feel when they lose their “cherry”, but other than that, I was still just me. I could not see why there had to be a word to describe the person I was before having sex. Nothing had changed. And if I was a virgin before, what was I now? Just a young woman. A person. Just me. And it strikes me now that losing one’s virginity is one of those life events which seems huge in anticipation but as time leaves it behind it becomes quite small and of comparatively little significance.
When I heard last week that Tony Abbott had said that girls’ virginity was “the greatest gift that you can give someone”, I was reminded of those priests and nuns from high school that we all ended up sniggering at. Mr Abbott has been much criticised for his remarks, made in an interview with The Women’s Weekly in response to a question on pre-marital sex. (“Pre-marital sex”: isn’t that a funny little expression too – why do we need a description for the kind of sex that happens before marriage? We don’t start calling it “marital sex” after marriage.) Abbott has his defenders too. They say that he was just being a caring father, that his answer was aimed only at his daughters, and only if they asked, not at all Australian women. That’s what Andrew Bolt says anyway. I would argue that when the leader of the Opposition is interviewed, he knows his comments will be published and he is therefore speaking to the public.
As for being a caring father to his daughters, I don’t have any daughters, but our friends who do sometimes joke about locking them away until they’re 21 (or even older). I never hear such jokes about their sons. The jokes invariably come from the fathers. I suspect many fathers feel a sense of empathy for Mr Abbott. What should he have said to his teenage girls instead? asks Mr Bolt.
So here is what I think a father should advise his teenage daughters, and what all parents and sex-ed teachers should advise teenagers: virginity is meaningless. It is not a gift to give somebody else, nor is it something to feel triumphant about if someone else “gives” it to you. If someone puts their trust in you, that is something to treat with care. It doesn’t matter when you “lose” your virginity, because it won’t change you: you will be the same person after that you were before. What does change you are other things, some of which will come up at the time you first have sex. But mostly they will come up gradually, sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes painfully. Embrace them and learn from them. These things are (this is neither an ordered nor an exhaustive list): intimacy with another human being, fear of the unknown, regret for mistakes you’ve made, trust in another, desire, power, pleasure, embarrassment, curiosity, boredom, surprise, rejection, elation, disappointment, excitement, loneliness, joy and wonder. And we should always remind our children that sex brings along with it a raft of responsibilities, foremost being protection from disease ranging from minor to life-threatening and from the possibility of pregnancy.
In my opinion, that is what Tony Abbott should have said in his interview with The Women’s Weekly. But I do wonder how they would have edited it down for convenience, and how it would have been re-reported by the media.
Douglas Hines CREATED a prostitute named Roxxxy. She’s a sex robot that costs $7000 to ‘use’. This artificial intellignece creation creation cannot move on her own but her body parts can be molded into any position…
So far 40,000 people have placed orders for Roxxxy. The male companion, Rocky, is in development. Will we legalize marriage to robots in the future??
In newsagents in Hong Kong condoms are sold in front of the counter in bright Durex packets of every colour, flavour and variety – a cornucopia of contraception, if you will.
This baffles me as I come from the UK, where that shelf space is usually reserved for chocolate bars; prophylactics (ahem), if they are sold at all, are shunted into some dusty corner with other embarrassing items like tampons and preparation H.
This upfront attitude to sex is kind of
refreshing, and of course it does fulfill some of
the same roles as a bar of chocolate. Literally,
of course, in the famous case of Marianne
Faithful. Advertising agencies in the UK would
have us believe that chocolate is an acceptable
replacement for sex – in chocolate adverts models
are at it all the time with confectionary, sucking on Flakes, undressing – sorry, unwrapping, silky
bars of Galaxy Caramel, not to mention the fairly
sinister man breaking into a woman’s flat to leave a box of what the lady loves (what better play on
a rape fantasy is there?)
Chocolate is like an edible euphemism for us Brits (who love a euphemism), whereas here ‘top shelf’
is on the middle shelf, and behind the counter is
right up front. I do wonder if this cuts out the
voracious chocolate eating among office workers
who just cut straight to the chase with no
innuendo.
Where in the UK you might get someone offering to
buy their office crush a little something extra
on the chocolate run, while here instead of Mars
bars, there’s group sex as that ‘little boost’ to
get through the afternoon. Is seven 11 a one-size
-fits-all advert for these by-the-checkout
goodies? It brings a new meaning to Twix fits
certainly.
But maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick (ooh er) here? It’s easy to forget sometimes that Hong Kong is a part of China and this eye-catching
display of French letters might be a ploy to
promote the one-child policy? The chocolate-bar-
placement in British shops is famously good at
attracting the kids (good old ‘pester power’), so
perhaps these displays get them used to the idea
of using contraception?
Or is it a way of stopping child obesity? In fact
- good thinking Hong Kong…Maybe if the UK
swapped the chocolate for condoms we’d have less
fat children having children of their own? having children of their own.
Actually I worked for this man and like two other guys at the same time, I was like their assistant or secretary. Mind you this was in the early to mid 80’s, I was like 22-24 years old I cannot remember exactly. I thought I knew it all, or just about it all. Of course I didn’t.
Ok, this guy was really cute, he was probably ten years older than me. I really don’t know why he would talk about such things right in front of me but he did. I think they thought I was having an affair with a girl in the office and I sort of was, so that made me fair game to discuss sex right in the office? With all the lights on? Ahahahah Plus it was like several other people in the office were screwing around and it was quite a peyton place. Even the big boss had his girlfriend and we all knew it. We also knew to giver the boss’s girlfriend anything she wanted. It was a hoot.
Anyway, he has this big split between his teeth which is/is not a turn on to some people. Now, I can think of several people, friends that have this genetic trait. I can also think of famous people with this trait, personally I think it’s a nice trait. A different trait, something God gave them that he doesn’t spread around. Think about Lee Remick, Demi Lovato (Disney), it really ticks me off Disney has filled in or made her fill in her teeth because the split that was once there is gone. I liked it, it set her apart. She had an unusual trait and was very beautiful and someone got her to fill it in, either by making her feel self conscious or maybe because she wanted to. Doesn’t matter, just thought I’d throw that in. I can’t think of anymore right off the top of my head, if you think of someone tell me. Oh! I know, didn’t Omar Sharef have that famous split?
Ok, from time to time I remember him telling stories and referencing the split between his teeth and sex, so you can imagine what that was all about! Ha Ha
The meat of the post is coming, he used to talk about, now get this, extensively talk about fucking girls with their panties on. This was his fetish or kinkyness. On numerous occassions he told me about a red pair of panties with a hole in them where he shoved his cock through and into his girlfriend or wife or whatever. His biggest turn on of the panties was to be fucking the girl and reach down and feel her panties still on. He loved fucking her and feeling those panties still on her sides.
Now, thats kinda cool. I’ve often thought of him and his preference, or kinkyness, or fetish; I don’t know what you would call it but it is a total turn on to me now. Like I said, these thoughts have crossed my mind many times through the years, so I guess I’ll go get a pair to try out with my husband.
Now and then I like to have a look at Googles ‘Hot Search’ facility to see what is currently proving popular in the USA
Imagine it is 1955. You are a housewife somewhere in the Chicagoland area. You have an ordinary life, a husband and a child. But you are unsure, about so many things. Life is not entirely satisfying to you. You’re an inneffienct homemaker. You have peculiar notions. And then there is your husband….
I hate Valentine’s Day.
Released 2/5/10. Starring Bobbi Starr, Gitta Blond, Alysa, Eloa Lombard and David Perry.
The male companion, Rocky, is in development. Will we legalize marriage to robots in the future??