I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me.
To be where little cable cars
Climb halfway to the stars!
The morning fog may chill the air
I don’t care!
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco,
Your golden sun will shine for me!
As I wrote in a recent post, I visited San Francisco in the mid nineties. The city is unique. The bay. The Golden Gate Bridge (and the Bay Bridge). The TransAmerica building. Cable cars: those ultimate icons of the city. I fell in love.
And the ladies are quite presentable as well. Visions proudly offers you now the thirty-fifth Magic of Women gallery, the women of:
SAN FRANCISCO
Anyone can see the gallery – only Flickr members with safe search off can see the photos below. Join Flickr Free!
Shots too hip for the gallery: Alamo Square, Anza Vista, Castro, Chinatown, Cow Hollow, Dogpatch, Eureka Valley, and Haight Ashbury
It’s not the slightest bit Christmassy, but this just can’t wait. Its urgency is palpable. (go on, palpate it)
Spork, a humble re-edit of Zachary Quinto’s audio track from the recent Star Trek movie is nothing more than the greatest iteration of fan fiction in the Kirk/Spock slash canon, including the hitherto-untouchable Closer music video.
stolen from Movieline
His lower lip swollen, Spock looked up at him. It was difficult to tell, but it was possible that he was pleased.
Spock wasn’t finished. Abruptly he stood up. “Gngngfnferrrrnrrfgggg!” Kirk was more than slightly confused. “What?” Spock was forced to swallow.
Go on, read the whole thing. You know you want to.
The shoots I’ve scheduled the last two days have been cancelled. Yesterday because I started to feel under the weather, today, because the model did. I spend the evening quietly working through the enormous backlog I have a of photos, thinking about the people I’ve shot with, the shoots , all the things that have happened over the last year. I can see the work I did with models after meeting them, but not really knowing them and the difference that a year of becoming familiar has made.
So I’ll sit here today, drink hot cider and flip though the year in photographs. Pretty creatures, dirty moments, great adventures. Today will be my year in review, which in my case (and to your good fortune) included pretty women, so I’ll be posting moments from the year here nearly daily for you to enjoy…
In the depths of Montreal’s dark alleys and small communities lies a world that is just begging to be explored…a very perverted world that is.
She was young and talented, smart and sexy – the perfect lady to spend a rainy Wednesday night with. I found her on one of those free ads site. Her ad stated : “Ex-ballerina for a great massage”, that pretty much sealed the deal because after all I figured ballerina = wearing tights and you’ll figure out by reading this blog that tights and pantyhose are very much on my top list of things I like. Anyways, we settled for an evening massage and I met her at her loft that was only a few steps away from my own place.
She greeted me with a sweet smile and I caught sipping away at a beer while folding her laundry. Somehow catching her as such just made things a lot more realistic and sexy.
As I removed my clothes and got comfortable on the table, she watched over me, making me blushing just a bit. Once laid down, her hands made their way on every single muscle of my body. Up and down, soft and hard. She eventually removed everything she was wearing and that’s when I asked: “Would you mind slipping into something special?” She agreed. I pointed out that I had brought a pair of sheer pantyhose and she would find them in my coat pocket. She proceeded to putting the pantyhose on and although I couldn’t see much without my glasses, I could her slipping into the sheer hosiery, thus causing me to get even harder.
As the massage continued, I eventually slipped over and she got back on the table, letting her breasts slide along my chest, bringing her head next to mine, letting me smell her hair, feel her warm breath. I couldn’t have asked for a more relaxing moment…the feel of her warm body, the slippery hose closely touching my twitching cock…oh good times !
Eventually her hands slipped onto my cock. Lubed up, she started stroking me, slowly and softy- building up and tightening her grip around my penis, my hips moved with the rhythm of the strokes, my moans getting louder, my breath getting deeper…but nothing was happening…
It wasn’t her, really. Everything was there, believe me. I just have a hard time cumming sometimes…It’s practical but not so much when you’re being timed. And so I suggested a different way of ending; I got up beside the massage table, had her lie down, exposing me her beautiful arched hosed feet. Now, I’m not much of a foot person but I occasionally a nice clean pair of feet encased in nylon – and so under her watchful regard, I masturbated away holding her feet in one hand, stroking with the other.
Not long after I spunked my creamy white cum all over her feet, almost collapsing myself.
We joked a bit – i cleaned myself off, she removed the pantyhose and we parted.
It is an enchanted, perverted, topsy-turvy world, in which Monsieur le Capital and Madame la Terre do their ghost-walking as social characters and at the same time directly as mere things. (Economic Manuscripts of 1861-4, vol. 5)
Capitalist production first develops the conditions of the labour process on a large scale … but developing them as powers which dominate the individual worker and are alien to him. Thus capital becomes a very mysterious being. (Capital. vol 3)
PS. Revision of chapter 5 of In the Vale of Tears now done, from which these quotes come, as well as revision of chapter 6 of Criticism of Theology complete. Three to go and a ten year project will be done. Wonder if I’ll celebrate.
The early twentieth century writer and wiseass Dorothy Parker said, “men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.” But what did she know? She dead. Of course she also said, “women and elephants never forget,” which seems nearer the mark.
Contrary to Ms. Parker’s supposed wisdom, I find girls in eyewear sexy. If you do too, then put on your specs and get an eyeful:
Wear trousers, get fucked. A simple equation, but it worked for Emily.
Jeans were a possible, as long as they were tight-fitting. Her baggy cords were a probably not, unless he hadn’t seen her for a while. But the black trousers were a near-certainty.
There was nothing amazingly ‘fuck me’ about them, they were just plain black, close-fitting polyester trousers, but Emily knew how much they turned Jamie on. If she wore them, and he saw her wearing them, he simply couldn’t keep his hands off her.
When she asked him why, Jamie said it was simple. Jeans or cords were an obstacle. With trousers made of cotton or polyester, the material was thin, so when he sidled up behind her he could grab hold of her bum and feel the outline of her knickers beneath. A short, flimsy skirt was even better, he said, but not always practical.
Emily’s perception of the trousers changed completely once he told her this. Before, she’d thought of them as just semi-smart office clothes. Now if she wore them to work, she found herself walking around with a secret confidence. She became conscious of the thin, sheer fabric clinging tightly to her legs; imagined his eyes on her wherever she went.
Even better, Jamie left home each morning before she was dressed, so Emily could put the trousers on without him knowing about it. If she feared the day at work was going to be dull, she could fetch out some of her sexy underwear, slip on the black trousers, and counterbalance the boredom with anticipation.
A little knot of secret excitement would form in the pit of her stomach as soon as Emily put the trousers on, and the fact Jamie was oblivious only served to intensify that feeling. Her expectation would build through the day.
Sometimes it would get too much, and Emily would find herself sneaking off to the toilets mid-afternoon. Locking herself into a cubicle, she’d slowly unhook the fastener and slide the zipper of her trousers open. Imagining it was Jamie’s hands rather than her own, she’d reach inside her panties, seek out her pussy with her fingers, and rub her clit hard against her pubic bone for the few fast strokes it would take to make her come.
The last couple of hours at the desk were thus rendered more tolerable, and if she timed it right, by the time she’d get home her anticipation would have built to the brink again.
That particular evening Emily was in the kitchen, ostensibly preparing dinner. She made sure she was standing at the worktop, facing the wall. With her back to the hallway, she knew that when Jamie walked in the first thing he’d look at was her arse. Once he did that, he’d see what she was wearing and, well, dinner would have to wait.
After a few minutes, Emily heard the front door being unlocked. She heard the sound of it being closed again, of keys being put on the table. Then nothing. Emily waited. She became vaguely aware that Jamie was now in the kitchen with her, but she refused to turn around.
Suddenly she felt him there, behind her.
“You’re a bad girl, Em,” he said quietly. “You know what happens to you when you wear those trousers.”
As his body pressed against hers, Emily thrilled to discover he was hard already. She smiled in anticipation.
“I know what happens to you when I wear these trousers,” she retorted.
Sliding his hands around Emily’s waist and under the hem of her top, Jamie didn’t waste a moment. Searching for the clasp of the trousers he begin to unfasten them, kissing the back of her neck as he did so. A surge of pleasure coursed down her spine and through her crotch.
Easing down the zip, Jamie let her trousers fall open. She felt him slide his hands inside, over the firmness of her belly. From the top of Emily’s thighs, either side of her knickers, he pushed his fingers round, forcing the trousers down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor.
Kneeling behind her, Jamie ran his fingers up Emily’s bare legs until they encountered the start of her panties. With his right hand he lifted them, holding the material to one side to kiss her bum, pressing his mouth against her naked flesh, pushing his face into the curves of her arse. His day’s growth of stubble grazed across the smoothness of her bum and the friction sent another shiver through her.
Carefully, almost respectfully, Jamie freed Emily’s feet from the crumpled heap of her trousers. Then he pushed her legs apart slightly, enabling him to twist below her and raise his head up to between her thighs. Forcing her knickers aside, he began to go down on her, further moistening her already slippery cunt, searching out her clit with his tongue as his fingers ran up inside her knickers to explore her arse.
Emily felt her pussy getting wetter, and readied herself, sure that Jamie wouldn’t make her wait much longer. Almost immediately, he reached round and up to take hold of her panties, dragging them down to her knees. Returning his mouth to her cunt, Jamie continued savouring her, lubricating her, and then he quickly unbuckled his trousers and wrestled them off along with his boxers. Emily watched as he slipped out from beneath her. Wearing only his shirt, Jamie moved to stand behind her.
With his hands on her waist, Jamie manouevred his rigid cock into the crack of Emily’s arse. She exhaled as he pressed himself hard against her, and again as he began kissing her neck, his hands forcing their way up under her top to find her tits. Pushing his hands inside her bra, Jamie groped Emily’s breasts, as he slowly ground his dick between her ass cheeks.
Still exploring her tits with one hand, Jamie began snaking the other back down Emily’s stomach. She shivered at the feeling of his fingertips gently brushing against her skin, moving down over her ribs, her belly, and finally the start of her pussy. Then he veered away, returning his attention to her hips instead. She felt him grab at her ass, then wrap his fingers around his manhood and guide it down between her buttocks. Emily adjusted her feet slightly, spreading her legs in anticipation.
Jamie stepped backwards briefly, and Emily listened with a mixture of desire and frustration as he began playing with himself. As he increased his tempo, she could feel hers building too. Emily closed her eyes as Jamie’s unoccupied hand moved down across her arse and between her legs, insinuating his fingertips along the slit of her pussy, searching out her rock-hard clit.
She opened herself to him again, demanding him, and in one move, Jamie pushed forward and slid his shaft between her pussy lips. His fingers dipped down to stroke her clit.
“Oh God,” Emily gasped as he drove himself into her, “Oh Jamie!”
Harder and harder he fucked her, deeper and deeper. Pushed up onto tiptoes by the force of his thrusting, Emily tried to stop herself, to hold on just a little longer till the point that Jamie exploded between her legs, but it was impossible. Her orgasm overwhelmed her.
“Fuck,” Emily whimpered as she started to come, softly to begin with, then suddenly intensifying. “Oh fuck, Jamie! Come inside me! Please, Jamie!”
Burying his cock into her cunt, Jamie held onto Emily as she twisted and writhed. Her pussy wall tensed and shivered around his shaft, and finally, as she reached the peak of her climax, Emily got what she wanted. With a stifled moan, pushing her even more forcefully against the worktop, lifting her off her feet, Jamie erupted inside her, his spunk spurting furiously up into her deliciously wet pussy.
Emily trembled, lost to the sensation of Jamie emptying his load into her. She loved it that he came so hard for so long, loved that she could make him lose control just by wearing those trousers. His heart was pounding as though it might burst. Perhaps the black trousers should come with a health warning, she smiled to herself.
Gradually his convulsions slowed, and he relaxed his hold on her. Her feet touched the floor once more, and she felt his cock begin to soften. As his warm, sticky cum started seeping down her leg, Emily felt the trousers on the floor next to her foot. She quickly kicked them away across the kitchen floor.
“What are you doing?” Jamie whispered.
“Saving you from yourself,” she replied.
Given what they did to Jamie, it was probable her black trousers would end up spattered in his cum one day soon, but Emily wanted to keep them pristine for as long as she could. She’d not found a suitably flimsy skirt yet…
The other day, I received a message from a very polite fellow on okcupid worrying about his recently developed cuckold fetish. Here is an excerpt from his message:
“Somehow, it seems I’ve developed the cuckold fantasy, or some variant thereof [...] And I can’t tell whether it’s the intense attraction to a strong woman, to a conquering woman or to a woman whose sexuality it just plain old uninhibited (isn’t this the fantasy of many guys?), but it’s become real enough that I wonder what the heck is going on. It’s also become so real that when dating women, I kind of drop mild hints about it. […] And I think of it less and less as a fetish and more and more as something I just want in a relationship. Could I be wrong? Could I be really wrong and missing something? Is it an eroticized fear? I don’t know, but it’s something that’s been on my mind for a while, and I’m beginning to wonder what’s up, and how it’s become such a dominant theme.”
So first off, let’s attempt to clarify what a cuckold fetish (which I’ll abbreviate as CF) is. As it happens, I’ve examined CFes a fair bit because my husband myrlyn kept claiming he doesn’t have one (I think he’s right). Classic CF goes like this: man (usually married) wants his female partner (wife) to go fuck other men and Dom him. In real life, this tends to include things like sucking another man’s come out of the wife (“clean-up”), being told that the other man has a bigger cock, and engaging in foreplay with her before she goes to have sex with another man. On fetlife, nearly 3,000 people list themselves as “into” or “curious” about cuckoldry.
I want to be really, really clear here: classic CF is not inherently polyamorous. It is neither poly nor mono, it is primarily submissive. People who occasionally indulge a CF are quite likely to be poly, since they’re already in a context that readily allows for it. CF lifestylers (that is, married couples where only the wife sleeps with other people and doms her husband in the process), on the other hand, I think less likely to be poly, since the CF mindset is more oriented towards monogamy.
Now because my querent implicitly brought it up, (“And I can’t tell whether it’s the intense attraction to a strong woman, to a conquering woman or to a woman whose sexuality it just plain old uninhibited”) I’m going to attempt the nearly-impossible and probably somewhat pointless task of disambiguating cuckold fetishists from what I call slut fetishists. In my opinion, slut fetishists are the polyamorous version of cuckold fetishists, but since a large number of cuckold fetishists on fetlife (who are almost certainly not a representative sample) identify as poly, I might be wrong. Slut fetishists get off on having partners who are sluts. This can include watching/listening to/and/or hearing about their partner having sex with other partners, getting gang-banged and/or participate in orgies. In my opinion, slut fetishes are more polyamorous than cuckold fetishes, but many slut fetishists may also be swingers.
Keep in mind that the most powerful sexual organ is the mind, and what is, by all appearances, the same sexual act and experience can change drastically depending on the context in which it is enacted. Consider a man going down on a woman: is he dominant or submissive in this act? The answer, of course, is that it depends on how he does it. Slut fetishes and cuckold fetishes may look identical from the outside, but the emphasis in the former is sexual pleasure and even possibly the woman’s submission to it, and the emphasis in the latter is the man’s submission and humiliation. They are not really mutually exclusive: in a single memorable evening, my husband and I managed to pull off both. He sent me off in grand slut fetishist style by stripping off my clothes and instructing me to inform my (now-ex) boyfriend in the guest room that “I sent you like that.” Then he received me back in cuckold fetishist style by having me sit on his face. It’s all about how you do it.
And now to directly answer some of my querent’s concerns: is there anything “wrong” with CF? No, not any more or less than women having rape fetishes. Desire is culturally constructed and culturally constrained, and the same cultural norms that have traditionally given men ownership of women have also produced men who eroticize the transgression of those norms. Indulging in CF also gives plenty of women the satisfaction of appearing to conform to ladylike norms of monogamy while actually getting plenty of cock—a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets, as it were. Is CF an “eroticized fear”? I’d say for men it’s more an eroticized inferiority complex, but essentially, my answer is yes. Is that a problem? I don’t think so. Especially since there are plenty of gals out there who would just love to fuck your ass with a strap-on because your dick isn’t big enough for them and they’d rather their boyfriend did them… hmm… that sounds pretty hot to me, actually
As for my personal two cents, I tend to be suspicious of most “lifestyle” arrangements. I totally respect people’s right to them, but I don’t really understand how a 24/7 power imbalance “works” for people in primary or monogamous relationships. On the other hand, I don’t really “get” monogamy either, so I know I’m a weirdo. I personally would be happy to be part of lifestyle cuckold arrangement with a secondary partner, but that’s almost inimical to the fantasy, which focuses more on transgressing marriage norms.
But I do have a few cautions. First, if it’s a lifestyle arrangement you want, you would probably be better off recruiting potential partners from fetish conventions and websites than pursuing regular dating venues and just hoping for the best. Second, spend a lot of time considering the kind of lifestyle you really want. For example, would you be upset if your wife wanted an emotional relationship with men she was fucking? If the answer is “no,” then you can marry a poly woman, if the answer is “yes,” then you’d better not. Finally, keep in mind that even cuckold fetishists can get jealous. Because so much of CF is about D/s dynamics, you can accomplish a great deal through some really dirty talking that can remove some of the actual complications of your wife actually having sex with another men. For example, how would you feel if she became pregnant and you weren’t sure who the father was? Don’t pretend like that can’t happen, and don’t embark on a lifestyle arrangement without addressing issues of birth control and STI protection first.
If it’s safe, sane, and consensual between two or more adults, I say go for it. And good luck.
The thing about writing a blog is that there’s a written account of things I meant to do….or things I wish I had never done….but most often of things that make me look a fool. It’s not a talent, mind you, I am just naturally foolish. Foolish and not very shy. Case in point, my ambitious rule of the PTA bulletin board at Gavin’s school. Have I busted out my brilliance on a bulletin board display to date? No. Have I displayed my Christmas wish list in the hopes that PTA members will buy gifts for me? I haven’t, but there’s still time. I haven’t even emailed committees about their stupid upcoming events. Nope. I wait until the PTA Head Mistress emails them and copies me on it. And then I respond by telling her what a good idea that was. I’m probably really letting down that group of dads calling themselves W.A.T.C.H Dogs, but I don’t need a random collection of dads watching my kid or promoting themselves as “good” role models. Puh-lease bitches, y’all need to be watching the street out front and keeping rude parents from stopping IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET to pick up their kids.
I’ve also written about my vibrator a ridiculous number of times. In fact, it’s one of the most used tags on my blog. Douche, humping, nipples, porn, ass, and balls are the other big ones. Obviously, I need to vary my vocabulary but nothing else seems to have the power to convey my true feelings about a douche quite like the word “douche” does. But I’m open to suggestions. Sadly, Shakira, My Little Pony, and Ice Road Truckers are the terms that generate the most hits on my blog. To be honest, I’m a little concerned about the My Little Pony fetish that seems to be happening.
And just when I think I’ve shared enough embarrassing stories about my life with you, my memory and inability to filter my writing in a more appropriate manner prevail! I wish I could stop myself RIGHT NOW but that’s not going to happen. Instead, I’m going to tell you about the time when Tom and I were dating and we were invited to a holiday party. It was early in our relationship and though we had known each other for years, I hadn’t met most of the people at this party. And if you didn’t know before, I have a slight issue with control. Issue as in Janet Jackson is constantly singing about it in my head, complete with synthesized percussion. Yeah, that’s right, I made an obscure 80’s reference…that includes a Jackson. Suck it, bitches.
And so in wanting to know everything that might possibly happen at this party, I asked Tom what kind of party it was going to be. He was like, “What do mean? It’s just a party.” Clearly, that wasn’t a thorough answer. So, I asked, “Are there going to be any girls kissing?” WHAT?! I know, I can’t believe that was the question I thought would give me the best indication of what to expect at a party. Not, “Should we stop and get a bottle of wine?” or “Is this see-through shirt appropriate?” No. I basically wanted to know if I was going to get drunk enough to go Katy Perry for the night. But I JUST wanted to be prepared. New groups make me nervous!
Long long ago in a deep darkly wooded forrest, a young rabbit girl was on a journey to find some poison berries. This was of course, when the rabbit and wolf peoples of the earth where dominant species. On her way to a particular stretch of wood where the rare poison berries grew abundantly at that time of year, the rabbitress was spotted by a fiercely strapping and viscously cunning wolf boy, now waking from a short spell of hibernation and achingly hungry. Quiet and cautiously he stalked her on her path, drawing near and nearer to her as she trod hopingly along the forrest floor. As he stalked closer and closer he became more and more enchanted with the quirks of her merry bunny way, singing to herself quietly and jumping merrily with her fluffy bunny bottom shaking adorably behind her as she went. He prowled and stalked, closer and closer until anti-climactically he howled out rather shyly, “pardon me miss, do you know the time of day per chance?” In a sudden move to make small talk as apposed to devouring her. She looked up at the sun to check the time, confused and rather taken aback by his sudden emergence from the wood, but as she looked back to him she became entranced by the handsome lack of ferociousness in the charming look he gave her. Forgetting his question she respond timidly, “excuse me”, he then burst forth with some meaningless small talk about the great abundance and variety of mushrooms abound in the forrest that year. Before the two of them knew what had happened they had fallen madly in love, and tried desperately to conceive a child together out of the immense adoration that without warning had befallen them, being only slightly saddened by the lack of conception. Their love for each other was so grand and profound that soon all the other bunny and wolf peoples got wind of their great and epic love for each other, and began more commonly seeking out such previously unthinkable relations. Specialty establishments began popping up all over the forest, catering specifically to this new niche of singles night life. Eventually it seemed, the trend grew so common for bunny and wolf peoples to mate, despite the obvious lack of offspring, that to see a bunny with a bunny or a wolf with a wolf, was considered ultra passe and unfashionable, and as the years went by a general decline in the genetic diversity required to continue each species as such occurred, so they slowly devolved into what we now know as the common bunny and wolf. Though every now and then in the declining forests, one will see a bunny and a wolf getting on rather oddly well, and those in the know smile at the remembrance of the old wives tale about the great love between the bunny girl and the wolf boy.
This 3 part blog entry regarding the true “costs” of raw eating has not been easy to write.
Are you spilling over with appreciation for my offerings? I hope so.
Please post a comment. Even if it’s just to say “get over yourself blog-face,” or “please stop.”
For me the issue raised in part 1 is settled: Raw food doesn’t have to cost any more than maintaining your beer gut on the Standard American Diet (SAD) does.
Dealing with food cravings/addictions can be an epic struggle (see part 2). I don’t know what to tell you about that except that I agree with Scott Peck…”Life is difficult. So what?”
I also feel you regarding the social ramifications. No one wants to be known as the perpetual party-pooper who puts the nut back in health nut. That’s why, ultimately, only you can decide just how much raw you can handle.
But before you do, let’s talk payback…
Part 3
WHAT IN THE WORLD DO I HAVE TO GAIN FROM EATING THIS WAY?
Energy
Sun Power!
Serious, power a small city, build bigger pyramids, apply for the “HELP WANTED: SUPERHERO” position advertised on craigslist, kind of energy. I have never felt lighter or freer…EVER!
You’ve heard raw food zealots talk about it, try it for yourself and see why so many athletes are turning to a diet high in raw foods to give them a competitive edge. ULTRA-MARATHONERS are eating this way! When was the last time you ran 100 miles?
Mental Clarity
I don’t know that I can convey how clear my thinking becomes eating this way. There’s a precision and depth to my thoughts that I DO NOT experience when eating cooked foods. Some might even refer to it as
Whose more "in the moment"? Kids or dogs...
spiritual. I’ll skip that label and just say raw foods are very expansive…
Addicted No More
Three weeks ago I was addicted to food, alcohol, and caffeine. No other way to call it. I was. I don’t necessarily mean in the “I better get to a 12-step meeting” kind of way. I mean how most of us are addicted to these things that should enhance our lives but for many don’t.
Having a couple beers with your friends is nice. Sitting alone and spending your insomniacal hours working on a case of beer isn’t.
A glass of wine with your pasta dinner can be a beautiful thing. Eating whole pizzas because your bored and drinking 50, 75, 100, or more drinks per WEEK…not so pretty.
The simplest, fastest, most effective way to break your food/booze/caffeine cravings is to go 100% raw with a focus on green foods. Doesn’t have to be forever, but give your body the break it deserves. You will be surprised by how effective green foods are at combating your addictions.
Transcendence
It feels kinda cool to transcend food. Best analogy I can think of is the totally in-control bartender who doesn’t drink himself…
So much of modern life can feel out of our control. And it sucks to feel like you are always letting yourself down and breaking your own promises. I gotta admit that I feel a sense of power being able to go to work in an Italian resaturant and bar and only eat tangerines on my shift while everyone else is eating pizza and getting drunk.
One man–a diabetic–comes in every night and drinks two or three bourbons while chowing down on minestrone, a caesar salad, a basket of garlic bread, a heaping plate of chicken alfredo, and some cheesecake. All while lamenting how cursed he is to have diabetes! It feels good not to be that guy.
Healthier Every Day
I remember literally feeling like every day I woke up my health was deteriorating markedly. It really blows to be only 36 years old and huffing and puffing up a flight of stairs.
So many of the ailments people “come down with”, “contract”, or “suffer from”, are 100% avoidable. Please don’t take me as some kind of jerk who is going to insist that all sickness is self-made. I don’t think that at all. But most of the everyday “conditions” we live with are. The guy I mentioned who comes into my bar every night…he CHOOSES to be a diabetic. One month eating raw and he’d be a different person and he would NOT be a diabetic.
Another example of the health benefits of eating raw is how totally it covers all the bases. I was in the health food store the other day waiting for my fresh watermelon juice to be made. So I decided to walk around and look at the shelves. Two thirds of the stores shelves contain vitamins, powders, supplements, tonics, etc. TWO THIRDS! I had a funny reaction–literally–and started laughing out loud. It all seemed so ridiculous. None of those pills are going to fix anything. Total waste of time and money. Let alone pharmaceuticals…
Natural Weight Control
Oprah and Ricky can talk all they want about the need for heavy people to accept themselves and the evils of a society obsessed with being thin…it doesn’t change the fact that none of us want to be fat!
If you read my Fat Kid Suit story you know I grew up being a fat kid in a fat family. It sucked! You know why I think people dislike being fat the most? Because all those layers are proof that you are hiding shit and that your thoughts aren’t your own.
Have you watched the Biggest Loser? Ever see people cry that much? Even for reality TV these “losers” are shedding more tears than I thought humanly possible.
Being fat is not congruent with any kind of personal authenticity. When I’m fat I start avoiding eye contact. It’s a terrible terrible way to be and while I’m all empathy about how hard it is to make up your mind to change it, it’s 100% on you. Eating raw has helped me quickly realize that, and I no longer want to abdicate my responsibility to and for myself.
If you haven’t tried eating 100% (or at least mostly) raw yet, you may not believe me when I tell you that eating raw is NOT a diet. And I hope you know that I don’t mean that in some cheese-ball marketing sense. It simply isn’t a diet. I’ve lost a lot of weight already, and I have NEVER ONCE thought about a calorie, a carb, or wondered how many fat grams I was eating. NEVER EVER do I tell myself I shouldn’t have seconds or thirds of anything.
I pour the olive oil on THICK! I eat a whole avocado as a snack. I lick honey off of spoons. The other day I got a massive pineapple and ate the whole thing for lunch. You know those a-holes who say that drinking fruit juice is the same as drinking soda? I drank a quart of fresh pressed seasonal apples juiced into a cloudy lover of a concoction that zinged in my mouth and sweetened my soul like no other…yeah it was that good. My body SOAKED it all up into my cells which collectively broke out in song. And guess what? It wasn’t the Coke song.
Sex
Oh, NOW you’re paying attention! Yeah sex. That thing you try and squeeze in between cocktail dreardoms and buffet bellyaches. Only a very small group of fetishists find belching and food induced comas to be a turn on.
You know what’s really sexy? FRUIT! Farmer’s markets are the new sex shops. I don’t mean you have to use the fruit that way, just eat it. And then let all that stored solar stuff of life bump up against some other radiant beings overflow. In other words, sex is better the more raw foods you eat.
NO idea who this guy is, but HE'S got the right idea!
Having that youthful raw foods “glow” and lightness of being make you FEEL sexy at any age. That kind of confidence and feeling of self-worth is the only real aphrodisiac…
The Environment & Animals Everywhere Will Thank You
This one is obvious to most people. I’m not going to get all science right now. There are tons of great resources out there regarding the undeniable connection between what we eat and the environment. If anything, I’m sick of the words “green,” “sustainable,” “vegan,” and “carbon footprint.” These are becoming marketing buzz words, overused, and to me they are often elitist terms with very little real world application for the majority of the worlds population.
I wasn’t attracted to raw foods for ethical reasons. If anything I’m a borderline Nihilist who is completely A-political. But, what we do most of the time makes the largest impact in our personal lives and on the human family as a whole. Eating less meat and dairy has a far greater impact than driving a Prius does…
I’m not an “animal lover,” but the more raw foods I eat the more empathy I feel for animals, other people, and myself. Having apparently turned my hatred toward plants, I’m now regularly butchering papayas the size of infant children and braining coconuts to get at their sweet innards. You can’t please every species all of the time I guess. Besides, the other day when I drove by a small farm, the chickens waved.
My Conclusions
I’m sure there are heaps more benefits that I don’t even know about yet. I’m only just beginning with all of this. Three weeks in I’m loving the results and wanting more.
Can I do this 100% of the time? Probably not. And I don’t think that’s what matters anyways. But I can see myself mostly raw from here forward.
Your Input
What are some benefits to eating raw that you have experienced and that I failed to mention? What percentage (roughly) of your diet comes from raw foods? What do you like/dislike about the raw food movement?
PLEASE comment and join in on the discussion!
P.S.
Tomorrow I weigh myself and will post the result of week three’s weight loss. All while NOT dieting. So please check back for that and more!
Pretty red lipstick, and finger nails. Your face is all made up, with a blonde wig. Now get that mini skirt, those thigh highs, that red bra and panties and those stilettos on, so I can pimp you out my pretty little slut. I have big plans for you.
I am taking you down to the basement where I have your party planned. Your cumming out party. It’s for us to pop your cherry!! Open up slut boy,there cumming in your little man pussy and your mouth. Go get your phone so we can start your party!
My kitchen was raided today. One of my mates brought his film crew round to shoot a scene in my kitchen for thier Bolex film. After the highs and lows of my production [check back for a full story] it was nice to see another group get into the swing of it and help out here and there. I don’t know much but the story is about a guy with a fetish over hair and we see him live through his everyday life, collecting hair and being “odd”.
They had to film a dinner scene involving 3 characters and the main, 2 played by friends of the crew and Josh pictured above enjoying dinner whilst the main sat and drunk his milk. It was very surreal but good fun watching pasta fly all over the place and trying to remember how much milk was in the glass.
I hope everything works out for the group, it sucks having everything just go wrong in front of you, so wouldn’t want them to go through what I am at the moment. But check back and ill hopefully keep everyone informed of their progress and see the final film!
My ex-wife was crazy wet for black guys. I know she was because I over heard her talking with her friends. They were all drunk and talking loudly. She thought I was asleep upstairs. She told them about a black guy who fucked her, and how it was the best feeling, and how huge his cock was.
The next time we had sex, I asked her if she liked black guys, or had been with one, or dreamed about it. She said, “No. No. No.” I was so disappointed. I wish she’d been honest. I’m sure she cheated with a young black stud she worked with. I wish she’d have shared the details with me.
I love the luck on this woman’s face in the picture. My fantasy is that she’s my girlfriend, she sucks him off too, and she’s desperate to hook up with him and feel his cock inside her.
Any women out there who have had that experience or fantasy? Please, please, please share.
oh, at least going online again! really missed my webcamchats, so looking forwards it right now tonight … so what about some latex tonight? and high heels of course, though you have to admit, it is not that easy to choose! the real reason for beeing spoilt for choice is, that I do not have enough shoes I think. to make it easier for me I decided it would be one pair of the first high heel shelf you see here… or may be a pair from the second one… or one pair of the third
As I’ve mentioned previously, we’ve recently plugged the TV back into the feeding tubes. It’s definitely had me thinking about the entertainments I blow time on, and a post earlier today by Warren Ellis - regarding the BBC show Top Gear - reminded me of a thought I wanted to follow through.
First though, Ellis’ statement:
Does it not bother anyone that the most beautifully and ambitiously shot (and soundtracked) programme on BBC television is in fact TOP GEAR? – more
He later adds that he’s a fan of the show, and I should mention that I am as well, but I shouldn’t be. I’m not a big car guy – sure, cars are a neat technology that I appreciate for getting me places, but I couldn’t identify 95% of the cars I pass on the road, nor do I spend Friday nights watching Cannonball Run. Still, if I pass an episode of Top Gear while flipping through the guide, I can’t help but stop.
Why?
First a sample to demonstrate:
It’s a four wheeled box, but how can you not take on Jeremy Clarkson’s enthusiasm?
More importantly though: the huge industrial set (watch for the wrecked truck in the background), the kinetic camera movement and editing, the soundtrack, and of course the ridiculously expensive, high speed appliances – everything on the show feels crafted to the hilt – it’s design fetishism, top to bottom. On its greatest days, Top Gear is entirely made up of the slick fluidity that emanates from the machines it demonstrates.
It’s been an annoying few days on the captivated man front. The day before our wedding anniversary I discovered that the side of my left testicle was becoming chaffed. It’s just a small area that’s rubbing on something, but it is painful. I think that what is happening is that the CB 6000 is both squeezing the “boys” outwards and also tending to drag things down. The result is that the edge of one of the “chaps” is chaffing on the fabric of my trousers.
Normally, I like to wear fairly loose fitting underpants but this, I think, is contributing to the problem as the package is pretty free moving. I suspect the solution is to hold everything under much tighter control with a jockstrap arrangement.
I had a rummage through the underwear drawer and unearthed a ridiculous “posing pouch” that had been given to me as a joke present by a friend years ago. Testing this out, it certainly seems to work well and hold everything more firmly up and tighter in to the body. It would do the trick but for the fact that it is bright, day-glow orange. It makes me look like my genitals have been tangoed. Anyway, I’m in the market for some new undergarments.
Unfortunately, the chaffed area is still there so I have, reluctantly and with C’s agreement, had to refrain from wearing the CB until it heals up.
We had a splendid anniversary: a delicious meal and, with the youngling at his friends, a very pleasant, grown-up evening. C accepted the key so she is now officially the keyholder even if I am on temporary medical reprieve. I would have rather liked it if she could have worn it around her neck as a reminder to me (and she may occasionally do this) but her job makes it impossible on a full-time basis.
The zenith of the day was release for me after ten days of denial. I honestly don’t think I have ever had an orgasm like it. Usually an orgasm, for me, is a rhythmic affair, a pulsatile pleasure. This was more like firing a semen bullet, an intense ejaculation that was like a spike of pure ecstasy shooting up my spine. I was inside C when I came but, had I been “free” I suspect it would have shot across the room and knocked the table lamp over. The next time a hand job is in the offing I think I’m going to have to warn her to wear goggles or risk losing an eye.
Jane takes off her shoe, places it on my face and makes me kiss and smell the insides of her shoe. She presses it with her foot. “Inhale! Inhale hard! Smell my shoe!” She commands. So I inhale and smell as I go crazy with the smell of her shoe. Then she pushs the shoe away and puts her soles in front of my face. “Do you like that?” She asks. “Yes Jane, you know I do.” I tell her as she giggles. She rubs her sole on my cheeks, face and then teases me. She puts her instep on my face and says, “Kiss it. Hold my foot and keep on kissin it!”
“Yes Jane.”
“Miss Jane!” She reminds me.
After a few seconds, she takes her foot away and tells me, “Come on! Kiss it some more, you stupid dirty old man!” I try to kiss it, but she has her other shoe on my chest. I can’t reach it, so she and Ana giggle at my predicament. Then Jane suddenly puts her foot on my nose and presses against it. She takes it away again and teases me by swaying her foot over my face and laughing. Then she suddenly puts her toes on my nose and presses them down. With a commanding voice she says, “Smell them!” I smell for all I am worth. “Do you like the smell of my feet?” “Yes Miss Jane.” “Well here! Smell both of my feet!” She then takes off her other shoe and places both of her feet on my face, pressing down while I inhale the sweet fragrance of her feet that had just come from her high heeled shoes.
I cum in no time. After resting for 20 minutes, it is now Ana’s turn to do the same things as Jane is the one to jerk me off. Ana, who is 23, makes me kneel first on the floor while she sits on my bed and makes me kiss and smell her shoes. All the while she teases me and tells me to jerk myself off. “Like the smell of my shoe?” “Yes Miss Ana.” “Lick the shoe, too!” “Yes Miss Ana” Then she slowly holds my hair and removes part of her shoe while making me smell her foot which is still inside of her shoe. I almost cum again. As I mentioned, it is the smell of the shoe, sock and feet that turn me on the most. “Smell little puppy,” she tells me as she forces my face inside of her shoe. “Yes Miss Ana.” As I get aroused, Ana lets go and commands, “Lie here on the bed!” As soon as I lay on my back, Jane jerks me off while Ana does her thing with her feet.
That’s the way my scenario goes with these pretty masseuses. I have 6 masseuses to choose from. Sometimes I get one. Sometimes two. This has been going on for 2 years now. I hope you like my story.
I’m ashamed to say that I was a bit of a brat last night.
Within the BDSM community the term “brat” is usually used to denote a submissive who is acting up or causing trouble to gain attention. This sort of behaviour is frowned upon as it is one manifestation of topping from the bottom.
Topping from the bottom, if I understand it correctly, is the situation that arises when the submissive partner in a D/s relationship attempts to manipulate the behaviour of the dominant. For example a bound submissive might tell the dominant partner that “It would be a really good idea if you whipped me now”. An experienced dom would ignore the submissive and carry on with what he/she had planned but someone less experienced might go along with the suggestion. The submissive is now controlling the scene, presumably to the detriment of both parties.
Last night, I’m sorry to say I whined at C that I wanted her to tease me.
At the moment we seem to be running on a 7 day period of denial, then an earth-shattering release (for me) and back to 7 days of denial. Compared to some guys, 7 days seems pretty modest but it works well for us at the moment (I’m sure C has plans to extend this period that she is not sharing with me just yet).
I have noticed that for a couple of days after an orgasm I am pretty relaxed about the whole chastity thing. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t really think about it. By day 3 I am starting to get horny and this feeling just grows and grows until, by day 7, I’m a slavering puppy. The problem, for me, is that denial really means denial. There isn’t really a tease element. Occasionally, C will have me go down on her (which I love) but my cock is pretty much left alone. Later into the period of denial I don’t really mind this as I’m looking forward to release and I don’t want to jeopardise the possibility that this will happen. Around the day 3/4 mark it’s a long time to the expected release date and the todger wants some attention.
I have dropped hints to C that this is something I want her to do but, so far, it’s been very rare that any teasing happens. In all fairness, C works hard and has recently been promoted, which has increased her responsibilities, so she is tired when she gets home.
I know, I really do know that it’s C’s decision and I should just shut up and let her decide how things pan out. Unfortunately, last night was day 3 and I whined.
C was on it pretty quickly and told me to be quiet and that it was up to her what she did with her property but I could tell she was fed up that I had moaned. She went to bed early last night and was asleep when I eventually went up. This morning she was fine but I feel like an idiot. I need to remind myself that I asked C to do this and, while she seems to enjoy it, it is more work for her, not less.
I think an apology and a bit of pampering is in order tonight.
It had been two weeks since I had come to my senses and broken free.
I don’t know what had gotten into me, but I had been talking to an older man online for a few months. I can’t even remember how it started, but somehow our conversations ended up focusing on bdsm. I knew the term, but mostly as a reference to scary horrible things that only freaks and bad people were into. I didn’t want to offend him or look uncool, or accidentally show my real age when he mentioned it (yes, it was stupid, but I had lied about my age), so I said I was really into it when he mentioned an interest. He told me a girl like me was the dream for bdsm, and that girls like me and guys that got them were one in a million. I felt a stupid grin spread on my face; I felt so special. I thought I better look it up some more to understand what he was saying.
I started looking at photos and videos, and was shocked and embarrassed to find out that my pussy was getting so wet. The guy and I spoke more frequently, he told me of his dark and dirty desires, and I told him mine; I played up to the role of the online slut, finding it came naturally to me. I got so caught up in it, so mesmerized by him that I thought I wanted everything we spoke about. I found myself stepping way out of character and agreeing to meet him.
We set it all up, and I was getting butterflies whenever I thought about what was coming up. I gave him my number so he could call me to confirm.
Hello? Hello slut.
[My heart skipped a beat.]
Hello Sir.
We make small talk for a few minutes, and I feel my insides melting at the sound of his voice; I felt my pussy get wet when he spoke to me, commanding me and being totally in control. I felt myself go weak, wanting to submit.
Now, you are going to come to me this Friday, aren’t you slut? You are going to be my little fucktoy slave, aren’t you slut?
I gulp. My mouth has gone dry. I come to my senses. What the fuck am I doing??? I whisper:
I can’t do this! What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? I can’t! I lied! I’m a virgin, I’m not a slut at all! I’m 14. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. We shouldn’t talk anymore. Fuck! Please, I’m sorry, don’t call me again! I’m sorry for wasting your time!
I hung up the phone.
The way he sneered down the phone sent shivers up my spine. What had I gotten myself into? He had told me so many dark fantasies, I knew in my heart he wasn’t a “normal guy”, he wasn’t someone I should’ve ever spoken to. And the way he sneered… He scared me.
I was understandably relieved when he respected my wishes. I had blocked him on my msn just to be sure, but I knew he didn’t try to contact me anyway. I couldn’t believe the stuff I had said to him! My face burned whenever I thought about it. At night though, I found myself missing our conversations, thinking about all the things we had said and planned. I felt my face burn again as I realised how wet I got every time I thought about him, about being his slut. I would make myself cum, thinking about the last few months.
But, every time I got myself off I felt so bad immediately afterwards, I scolded myself, reminding myself that I was not that type of girl and that he was just a bad, sick man. I convinced myself he was just a predator, he probably does this to hundreds of girls. I just hoped I hadn’t pissed him off too bad.
Saturday afternoon, I went to Domina Dea’s First Annual Second Circle Open House. Second Circle is her dungeon and what a wonderful use of space it is.
The walls are lined with whips, paddles, leather masks and accessories, all types of cuffs, rubber outfits, HUGE wooden pegs, a big colorful jar of clothespins, chains and more. The walls are mirrored. A St. Andrews cross is in one corner, a cage on wheels is in another, a leather table with metal rings around it, an adjustable metal stand that encases cocks, and an overhead suspension hook that goes up and down with the push of a button.
I just had to touch a single tail she got from CharlyB. It was beautiful. She said I could touch it when she saw my face. At the first throw, she said, “Don’t hit yourself. Let me show you how I do it.” Hahahahaha! It seemed I was a little enthusiastic bu really I was trying to be inconspicuous and tried to throw in a small space. sigh It’s times like these that can test a switch’s resolve.
Radiantly Immortal , aka, Peter Belvin, had his beautiful art photography on display. They were imaginative, sensual without being overtly explicit. Well, explicit is a matter of interpretation. If you find photos of exquisity ‘cookies’ explicit, then they were. There was a fabulous shot of needle branches poking through delicate, pale breasts. All of these pieces were for sale. You can see some of his photos on his profile at fetlife. His professional website is Peter Belvin Photography.
I’m looking forward to attending some upcoming events that Domina Dea is hosting the rest of this year. Keep your eyes on her events page. In case some of you are’t aware, she, Lady Hotchkiss, and I are presenting classes at DomCon. Hope to see you there.
Passeando pelos sites de algumas revistas, encontramos no site da Revista Nova um montão de dicas de looks com Melissas. Tem Melissa de tudo o que é jeito: flocada, alta, baixa, preta, colorida…
Confira TODOS esses looks e em quais ocasiões eles podem ser usados.
Look para usar e abusar das cores no dia-a-dia:
Melissa Flower + Isabela Capeto
Look para comemorar a formatura:
Melissa Vinyl + J. Maskrey
Look com peças brilhantes:
Melissa Ashanti
Look vermelhão para ressaltar suas curvas:
Melissa Ashia
Look minissaia, meia-calça e bolsa:
Melissa Fetish
Look para arrasar numa festa de casamento:
Melissa Hello
E você, tem alguma sugestão de look pra alguma ocasião?
Manda pra gente: plasticfantasticmelissa@gmail.com
I am teaching The Business of Professional Domination at Dungeon Servitius in downtown San Diego Saturday September 19th at 6:00 PM. A party follows. It’s just ten bucks to get so come.
This is one of my favorite workshops. I love to teach business, whip out my graphs, stats, and show off my way too many years of experience in this industry.
Also, I’m working on a book of this same topic so I have a lot of information to cover. If you want to know how to make a little extra money as a prodommes or you want to make a career out of this gig – come to this workshop!
It’s good for clients too. I’m wicked excited so I hope I see you there!
Visit http://www.dungeonservitus.com for details and to rsvp.
We checked into a very nice hotel suite in The Wynn in Las Vegas, Nevada. I put on my new red latex catsuit and high heels. We had bought some very cool institutional leather bondage gear from Medical Toys and I tested them out on my wrists and ankles … But the one big item we bought, that I was a little bit nervous about, was the sensory deprivation leather hood. There is a small hole over the mouth to allow me to breathe but it is still very intense because I could not see at all and hearing was very limited due to the heavy padded ears. Master laced this white leather hood onto my head and with each lacing I felt like my mind was slipping away … when he placed his hands on me I felt his touch a million times stronger. I was in his hands now, at his mercy.
I am posting all of these photos from that afternoon on my kinky Alterpic website on Friday 18, Sept. My birthday is on the 19th. Wonder what kind of games will happen on Saturday …
Kisses from Slavegirl Anna Rose
Anna Rose wearing a latex catsuit getting ready to put on a sensory deprivation hood.
Do you have employees? I do. And guess what? They’re dysfunctional as a crackhouse. Let me explain.
Luke, I'm your father. Trust me, I don't always dress in leather and freaky costumes. Only when I'm horny. So Luke, join me on the darkside.
Sick calls. I hate fucking sick calls. They’re excuses to avoid working, plain and simple. Unless it involves children being sick or someone dying, then guess what, S.D. is fucking sympathetic.
Me, too. My thoughts are with you, but bear with me, I have a short term memory.
My sick call today went as follows:
Employee: I pooped my pants. I won’t be in ’til later.
Had you came to work, motherfucker, I would've made you wear this, just for shitting yourself silly.
I get a lot of sick calls about cramps. I’m bleeding, I can’t come to work today! Bitch, you work at a fucking hospital! If I need to break out the crash cart and haul you to the ER, then fuck it, get your ass to work!
Someone's definitely wishing they got their period in here...
Bottom line. If you’re going to call in sick to work, make it sound fucking halfway plausible. “I pooped my pants” just sounds like a fetish. Forty-year-olds do not shit their pants and call into work. They just don’t. It’s wonder termination follows close behind the actions.
Sabina is a fashion model from Duisburg, Germany, specializing in portrait, fashion, sports, swimwear, hair/make-up, parts modeling, art, lingerie, glamour, erotic/fetish, fine art nude, nude, pin-up, body painting, fetish and vintage.
Über Model Sabina
Sabina kommt aus Duisburg, ist bereits auf mehreren Modeschauen gelaufen und hat es bei der Miss NRW 2008-Wahl bis ins Finale geschafft. Besonders interessiert ist sie an Paarshootings (Boy/Girl), Bodypainting sowie Bademoden- und Katalogshootings. Gerne würde sie sich einmal in einer Werkstatt, einem Whirlpool oder einer Bahnhofshalle ablichten lassen.
It’s quite refreshing to see a maid cafe with chunkier servers, especially in Japan, a country swamped with stick-thin Japanese women. I remember asking a salesgirl how she managed to stay so thin, and she replied nonchalantly, “I don’t eat.” Right. Still, despite the overwhelming preference for skinny gals, there are those that want more junk in the trunk. Enter the Tokyo-based Pomeranian Maid Cafe, fully equipped with a minimum weight requirement for its wait staff. Ichigo, the woman and brains behind this cafe, used to work at a regular maid cafe and felt inferior because of her weight. She then decided to turn the heft to her advantage, and thus Pomeranian was born. I’m just a little disturbed that they used my dog Peanut’s breed as the name of the cafe.
Click here for in depth interviews with the flabulous gals.
Individuals and couples all have something that they find turns them sometimes it can be obvious things. From individuals liking obvious things like Feet and Panties to not at all obvious like Ballons or Watersports. Then couples liking sex outdoors to being watch through to Medical play or chastity play. However when the sex cannot take place without these kinks it becomes a Fetish, but thats for another post.
Sometimes people search out these kinks without even noticing sometimes, and find they turn you on, and sometimes they search you out.
Over the last few years we have succumb to having one such not so obvious one searching us out. It all started when we rented the movie Blade a few years ago we were enjoying it and must have got about half way through it. We suddenly found ourselves getting really turned on then before the movie got anywhere near the final credits we ended up having the hottest riskiest sex we have ever. It was risky because it was in the front room of Kittie’s house whilst family members were sleeping upstairs. We had never taken this risk and had always said the thought of maybe being caught by family members a real turn off.
So afterwards we were kinda shell shocked not only just how hot it was but also the risks involved. We definitely put it down to the movie but just couldnt work out why and how. The next time this happened was with blade 2 same things same results so we started coming round to the fact that this was down to Dark Comic book films. Strange thing is it’s not a case of oh lets watch Batman and have sex, it just kinda happens without thinking about it or making a conscious decision.
So last Saturday, whilst watching The Dark Knight, it ended in hot raunchy noisy dont care who hears sex! So now this has been added to the long list of other Dark Comic Book Movies that got us hot and bothered. Dark Knight 1 & 2, Sin Cities, Hell Boy and Blade Runner. So this has kinda found us its a nice surprise but also strangely odd as it really does just happen we dont even sit down watching thinking or knowing it’s going to result in sex.
So what are your things either personal things that get you going as an individual or get you going as a couple that have surprised you and come out the blue? Feel free to share below in the comments box.
Burlesque
Annette Betty
Cecilia Bravo
Chaz Royal
Chrys Columbine
Dangerous Dolly
Desmond O’Connor
Miss Dolly Blowup
Femme Ferale
Frivolitease
Gypsy Hotel
Mademoiselle Katarina
Marianne Cheesecake
Miss Lalla Morte
Missy Macabre
Pustra & Vile-een
Romany Diva of Magic
Miss Scarlet Daggers
Sienna Sinclaire
Siren Stiletto
Stella Plumes
Stranger than Paradise
Trixie Sparkle
The London Burlesque Festival
Violet Crumble
Warren Speed
I live alone in the philippine as my kids live with my ex wife, so at least once a week, one or 2 girls come over. i call them my angels. they are students who need money so i pay them to come to my place. 2 of my favorites are Ana and Jane. They both do as I tell them, to make me kiss and smell their feet and tease me with their feet like I was their slave. A typical scenario is that I lie in bed naked as Jane, who has one of the sexisest feet I’ve even seen (size 6), first puts her shoe or sandal on my face and makes me kiss and smell it. Then slowly, she takes off her shoe and makes me kiss and smell her heel as she goes all the way up asking, “How does it smell?” I tell her, “It smells so good.” Jane then says, “Good. Smell it some more!” She tells me, “You like it” while Ana jerks me off at the same time. Jane then takes off her shoe, places it on my face and makes me kiss and smell the insides of her shoe. She presses it with her foot. “Inhale! Inhale hard! Smell my shoe!” She commands. So I inhale and smell as I go crazy with the smell of her shoe. Then she pushs the shoe away and puts her soles in front of my face. “Do you like that?” She asks. “Yes Jane, you know I do.” I tell her as she giggles. She rubs her sole on my cheeks, face and then teases me. She puts her instep on my face and says, “Kiss it. Hold my foot and keep on kissin it!” “Yes Jane.” “Miss Jane!” She reminds me. After a few seconds, she takes her foot away and tells me, “Come on! Kiss it some more, you stupid dirty old man!” I try to kiss it, but she has her other shoe on my chest. I can’t reach it, so she and Ana giggle at my predicament. Then Jane suddenly puts her foot on my nose and presses against it. She takes it away again and teases me by swaying her foot over my face and laughing. Then she suddenly puts her toes on my nose and presses them down. With a commanding voice she says, “Smell them!” I smell for all I am worth. “Do you like the smell of my feet?” “Yes Miss Jane.” “Well here! Smell both of my feet!” She then takes off her other shoe and places both of her feet on my face, pressing down while I inhale the sweet fragrance of her feet that had just come from her high heeled shoes. I cum in no time. After resting for 20 minutes, it is now Ana’s turn to do the same things as Jane is the one to jerk me off. Ana, who is 23, makes me kneel first on the floor while she sits on my bed and makes me kiss and smell her shoes. All the while she teases me and tells me to jerk myself off. “Like the smell of my shoe?” “Yes Miss Ana.” “Lick the shoe, too!” “Yes Miss Ana” Then she slowly holds my hair and removes part of her shoe while making me smell her foot which is still inside of her shoe. I almost cum again. As I mentioned, it is the smell of the shoe, sock and feet that turn me on the most. “Smell little puppy,” she tells me as she forces my face inside of her shoe. “Yes Miss Ana.” As I get aroused, Ana lets go and commands, “Lie here on the bed!” As soon as I lay on my back, Jane jerks me off while Ana does her thing with her feet. That’s the way my scenario goes with these pretty masseuses. I have 6 masseuses to choose from. Sometimes I get one. Sometimes two. This has been going on for 2 years now. I hope you like my story.
I was forced to read Laura Mulvey’s ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ do develop a discourse for a thesis of study.
I am fascinated by her concepts of ‘Male Gaze’ as developed by her: classifying the ‘gazed upon,’ as a scopifilia, a voyeur’s gaze, and the gaze for the fetish.
Both gazes are inherently male centered but according to Mulvey, the voyeur’s gaze is based on sexual instinct, where as, the gaze of fetish is based on the ego’s libidinal acquired. For both of the gazes, she attributes the male symptom of Freudian discipleship—‘castration anxiety’.
The voyeur’s gaze, for Laura Mulvey , gives the power of possession to the male subject as gazing& power, akin to sadism, where the male can control the gaze as a dichotomous split of the repressed and the transgressed and enjoy the spectacle, if he is a viewer, or create the spectacle ( in assumed innocence) if he is the director/auteur. Mulvey assumes that even if a (she) is watching, she is excluded or marginalized, or explored and possessed visually as an analogy.
The gaze for the fetish on the other hand, capitalizes the feminine body to state of acceptance, where non-transgression modes of acceptance of the feminine body as the wonder- adored, nature’s pin-up of divinity- nude, fascinated –worshiped, emerge as stunning modes psychic identification. In this model of Mulvey’s discourse, she does not want to acknowledge the desire of the gazed upon to be desires and gazed upon. For example, she is not sure why a Madonna wants to be a Madonna, or a Magdeline wants to be a Magdeline, or a street girl wants to rise from rags to riches as Ms. World; she Ms. Mulvey is sure that it is male’s gaze of the fetish.
And for these modes of male –discourse, Mulvey argues for the concept of ‘radical destruction of pleasure.’ Well, the models for averting/subverting the gaze are not prescribed by her.
I would like to argue with her theoretical assumptions on the following grounds:
a) The male gaze is not a symptom of ‘castration anxiety’. It is a reservoir of ‘gap’ (gap is a term used by Lacan to show an area where the ‘discourse of the other’ can displace one signifier with another) created within the ‘circumcised male’ who is forced to paternalize instincts as behavior, culture and norm with a father complex and reject maternlized given bonding which are acquired during the mirror stage. The male gaze of the voyeur transgresses the paternal created as the ‘in the name of the father as a signifier’ and relives the illusion of fixated bonding within the spectacle of the Cinema.
b) ‘Castration’ is a misconception of Freud who tried to create two pseudo entities of the Oedipus complex, a castrated male and penis envying female. The male nor the female was castrated but circumcised to accept paternal and maternal codes of accepted norm to live within the discourse of culture.
c) ‘Circumcision complex’ is both male and female role- oriented and binary divides their roles as distinctive genders. Levels of the circumcision complex would vary from person to person. Its non acceptance as a zone of the same/neutral gender, makes the orientation towards gender as preference, a differAnce.
d) Gaze of the fetish takes place when the fixated complex within the circumcision complex is role reversed, as the accepted fulfillment of feminine role. The gaze of the fetish lasts within the mainstream of world culture and its complexes producing awesome worship, admiration, and also sadness of departure for characters/actors of this role like Princess Diana.
e) The biggest flaw of the Freudian Phallic centre is: both genders become of conscious of their sexual difference through identification of their body with biological cognition. This happens cognitively rather than psychically as interactive process of literacy, and identification of the body as the zone of gender difference.
Isn’t he adorable? Those nice fleece pajamas and the giant stuffed animals? And is one of those stuffed creatures Tommy from Rug Rats? I think so!