Masturbation at 30.

So I'm meant to be continuing on the Mr Sporty saga but seeing as very few people probably read this blog right now I don't think anyone will mind waiting. 

I should be marketing the bejesus out of this thing but I'm still kind of slowly plodding along and I'm finding it hard to get everything done in the day even when I have oodles of time to spare.

So I fancied talking about masturbation today instead.

Masturbation...what a mouthful - what other words can we find for it and with regards to a woman?

Google will provide you with many such as:

flickin' the bean

a night in with the girls

clam bake for one

tickling the taco

petting the pussy

flit your clit

And trust me there are many more I just enjoyed these ones in particular.

Unlike some girls who discovered the joys of this fun activity by accident (shower head anyone?!) I read about it in detail at the age of fourteen when I stole one of my father's sex books How to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed by Graham Masterton and Liz Coldwell. 

I remember locking my door and lying on my cabin bed to read the whole book - and boy was it insightful. It suggested ideas to me that I had never before imagined and provided me with lessons on what definitely NOT to do (science test tubes and champagne bottles are a bad idea ladies...think about it).

I felt rather guilty exploring myself afterwards. I vaguely recall using a makeup mirror to see down there and the first time half-way through I just felt too shameful and stopped. What if someone knocked on the door?!

Slowly I came round to the idea and I'll admit even took advantage of my nearby flute stand to aid me in the process! I remember asking my girlfriends about whether they did it one New Year and everyone just looked at me blankly, some mortified and all were quick to say 'no.'

Only when more booze had been drunk did a few approach me secretly and begrudgingly admit their secrets. Why were we all so ashamed?

Compared to boys who will happily declare it and boast, girls tend to be more shy and coy about it. Why is this? (some research needs to be done here I think...)

So anyway, throughout my life masturbation has been okay and at times it has served a purpose when I've been feeling frustrated but I have shied away from it somewhat. The only time I ever bought a vibrator was when I was in a serious relationship and we wanted to spice things up. Now the thing lies dormant and decaying in an old suitcase under heaps of clothes. It was one of those rampant bunny ones except now the rotary mechanism has given up the ghost. I should seriously consider investing in a new one.

But it is funny...vibrators. I remember my friend who had TONS of them taking to hiding them in the boot of her car for fear her parents would find them, only to one day absent minded-ly give her father the keys to go fetch something out of it.

Did he see ALL of them? She panicked 

Good God, I hope not! Who knows what he would think!

And I remember my mother stumbling across my sister's vibrator in the garage as we sorted things out for a car boot sale.

'Could we sell this?' she asked.

I looked at her wide-eyed in disbelief.

'No.'

'Yes but ----- said she's never used it.'

'Mum,'

'Yes?'

'She was lying.'

'Oh.'

'No, we cannot sell it at the car boot fair.'

You have to laugh. But these days I'm more happy to talk about the topic and maybe it is because I am single, maybe it is because I'm in my sexual prime or maybe it is because I'm more relaxed and content with my body but I'm definitely doing it more.

The blog Sexual Feelings provides great material for the job too and so handy with smart phones. When I have a spare ten minutes or so and I have nothing better to do - why not? I might not be getting all the sex I desire but I can certainly still have the orgasms I want.

So at 30, I'd say I've had a new lease of life when it comes to flickin' the clit. I wonder if I am alone in this process or if there are other women out there experiencing similar things? Hey, I might go away and find out for you and come back with a follow up....

(Though feel free to leave comments and help me out too!)

So...I was saying about Self-Respect...

...and more so self-discipline...

It isn't easy to put the theory into practise! I have the right mentality but never underestimate LUST (or I prefer the term: DESIRE).* 

This is why it was decreed a cardinal sin...it is a powerful force to be reckoned with.

So just to give you a little update on my ongoing love soap opera...

As you know, I called things off with Mr Sporty. I went to Madrid and I didn't throw myself into the arms of my Spanish friend, namely because I didn't think it was a good idea nor did I want to, but I could have been selfish and reckless and followed the manta:

'the best way to get over someone is to get under some one.'

But I'm beyond this way of thinking these days and I don't necessarily agree with it. I just slowly accepted that I was back to being Miss Solo again. It isn't the end of the world.

Then came the night at the creperia when I had my first slip up. I embraced Mr Sporty to say goodbye, after a group of us had gone there to watch some live music, and there was some awkward Spanish-style-two-kisses-on-the-cheek malarky and then I wandered down the hill drunk lamenting to the universe, arms dramatically held aloft and doing what I often do when drunk and impetuous (ah who gives a f&ck!)....texting.

'You know it takes some effort to stop myself from wanting you sometimes...'

Followed by

'And I'll regret sending that message in ten minutes...'

Eek! Not ideal behaviour whatsoever. I then crawled into bed and promptly passed out.

I woke up to his reply in the morning:

'Had to draw back earlier too...'

Okay...a little stroke to the ego and not so bad. I didn't beat myself up and I just left it. I'm only human, I'm allowed some hiccups.

But then the Christmas party came on Friday... (to be continued)

* Lust / Desire plays a big role in this story and requires further analysis at some point.

Some Great Sex Memories

I was on a train for seven and a half hours...what's a girl to do in that time but daydream? :)

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I was 21 and at University. He was dark, intense and delicious with deep chocolate brown eyes. I was mildly obsessed and had foolishly left my three year boyfriend to be with him. I don't remember all the details but we'd been smoking weed and got rather frisky as a result. I remember him doing me doggy style; it was a pleasing view. Then he withdrew and came all over my back. We looked at each other and there was a pause and then we burst into hysterics for no real reason besides the ludicrousness of all his wet cum everywhere and me, lying helplessly waiting for him to clean it up.

We're good friends now. Sometimes we remember this together. Clearly it resonates in both of us as an image. Him: awkwardly mopping from my viewpoint, and me: ridiculously messy and comically vulnerable.

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Another dark, intense creature. I was on the verge of falling in love (notice a repeated pattern here?!) but he was dangerous and it was never going to end well. When he embraced me the coarse fibres of his beard tore at my face. I always came away looking mauled and sore. Red raw cheeks like I had acne. It felt very animalistic. He used to press down on my abdomen as he fucked me which seemed to increase the pleasure. When he came his breathing would become short and raspy, like he was being restricted of air. It really turned me on. This one time everything he did felt so perfect that afterwards my legs spasmed incontrollably and I almost wept over the intensity that shook my body. I've never experienced a thing quite like it. Maybe I felt this way because I knew it was never going to last...

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He was a sensual lover. Caresses and strokes, doing all that he could to please me, complimenting my hips and delicate piano hands (not that I ever fulfilled that ambition). He never took the chance to go down on me but I remember him kissing my inner thighs very gently and sweetly after sex like a form of 'thank you' and it totally endeared me to him. I told him we had a great chemistry not to be overlooked. He said that I brought out this side in him. One time we kissed and for some minutes our lips traced each others carefully and repeatedly - just the lips, no tongue, lingering...

I still think about it now. I hope I don't forget that.

__________________________________________________________________________

Annoyingly I don't remember a specific time anymore from my long-term ex. There are moments but they are vague - most blur into one another. I remember fucking in a field whilst the jack-russel looked on and a herd of cows wandered over to observe and interrupt. I remember straddling him in the back of some stranger's pick-up truck at the Full Moon party in Thailand, metres from the beach or him tipping my head back, off the bed, to force me to cum harder. Or the intensity I felt for him on MDMA at a rave and how I had to find him and be with him -nothing else mattered. Or laughing as he tried to fuck me on his rowing machine rather unsuccessfully. The videos...the photos, all the ways we explored.

Do you have any fond sex memories that stick out? I have some negative ones too...maybe for another post!

Emotional v Rational: Self-Respect

One of the reasons I began this blog was because I wanted to talk and explore at times the topic of self-respect. In the past, this element was highly lacking in much of the way I conducted myself in and out of my relationships, although I didn't realise it. I learnt the hard way through experience. 

Today when I look around and listen to other women's stories, I often find I'm not the only one with this problem. As I continue to write this blog, I hope to explore the topic in great depth but today it we'll just touch upon it a little.

RS: So you - we - should be really proud of ourselves.

ES: Hmm...Nope, I feel glum...Glum, Glum, GLUM!

RS: Well, you were never a great one at letting go...but you've done it before, you can do it again.

ES: Yeah but it sucks. He was the closest thing to perfect in ages.

RS: I know, I know and whilst you can't deny or suppress these sad feelings, you know they will play out of your system eventually. Just keep them behind closed doors as much as possible, ok? Don't keep sharing them with any one who's around to listen -that's also a big flaw of yours.

ES: Yeah I know...

RS: Listen. You did the right thing by calling it off with Mr Sporty and taking a step back. If you'd carried on - sure, you would have been happier for a little while but the doubt would have kept nagging. You would have been living in a dream world and the longer you'd stayed in it, the harder the fall would have been later. Not only did you protect yourself but you did the most positive thing you could have done because you gave him space to work out how he feels in his own time without pressure or coercion. 

ES: I suppose...

RS: No, I am right. If he comes back to you now then it is because he has decided he wants you - not simply because he's going through the obligatory functions and playing out the role expected, all the while thinking about how to break it to you gently. 

ES: I really don't think he's going to come back though...

RS: Well then...he wasn't right for you and never was. I know it hurts but it is best to know this now. And anyway, if he doesn't come back? Well, you've handled it really well and he's still being cool with you so you've saved face and you might still have a great friendship. Plus he does fancy you. You know he does - there is no disputing that. It is just that he's very settled in his ways. He probably still wants you even now but he can't and that's just tough luck I'm afraid. He can't have his cake and eat it. If you're going to get glum behind closed doors...let him get sexually frustrated. 

ES: I guess I can take some comfort in that.

RS: Do, but then move on.

ES: I will try my hardest. Your logic helps to soothe the blow...but sometimes I let it all build up and I get sad again - you know those times - when you're alone or walking -times when you get stuck inside your head. Plus I can't help it. I do wait to see what will happen next.

RS: I know, but just keep those thoughts inside and take pleasure in the here and now. Go walk by the sea if you have to. As for waiting to see what happens - sure, watch if you can't help it, but also start looking at other avenues. Don't become obsessional. Don't chase after more grief.

ES: When you put it that way it does sound like solid advice.

RS: It is. You deserve to be treated well and adored and you deserve to be happy - so do all you can to make that your obsession if necessary.

ES: Thanks...

RS: And I'll always be here to listen and talk it though.

Kinky Tikki: Down the Rabbit Hole Part 2

SFF was on a mission. A mission to get someone to tie me up. I tried to tell him that watching was more than enough for me, but he wasn’t having any of it. He seemed to consider it part of his hosting duties to get me some. I figured the only way out of the belly of the beast was by going through the other end, so I swallowed my nerves and accepted the situation. K was the ultimate target, SFF explained, but he was a busy man with many girls to tie up. But he, SFF, would not let me down.

In the midst of the sexual silliness, the second-in-command of the bar – we’ll call him Speccy – came over and had a bit of a flirt with me. He called me 'baby' and I only slightly objected because I figured I’d cut him some slack due to the language barrier. He was cute, not as cute as K and a bit younger, but cute all the same. He introduced himself saying: 'My name is Speccy and I am very small.' 

I still don’t know what part or parts of himself he was referring to.  We chatted, he tried to get me to take some tequila shots, I refused, he wandered away. All drinks in this bar were free, all night (wow!), once you were inside, but I wanted to stay sober enough to a) make clever decisions and b) remember making them.

A little while later SFF announced that Speccy would tie me, and I should take off my bra. I went to the toilet, looked at my reflection in the mirror and said to myself 'Well… goodbye comfort zone.' then took a deep breath and returned to the club. SFF told me that he had passed on my preference to keep my pants on, and also asked Speccy to whip me a bit. There was a glint in his eye. Thanks a lot, SFF. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a topless onstage whipping, I suppose.

Speccy was Japanesely formal in his politeness at the beginning. He requested that I take off my top, bowed to me, kneeling face-to-face on the stage, then positioned me with my back to him, facing the audience. His first touch was soft, gentle, a sensuous trailing of fingers down my naked shoulders. 'Relax,' he breathed in my ear. His hands were sure, subtle, across my shoulders and down my arms. I sank into the sensation of it, closing my eyes. I felt the brush of the rope against my back, easing down my spine, and then dragged slowly across my chest, the fibres of the hemp scuffing lightly against my skin. He let the rope uncoil in front of me, let it catch on my nipples, let me feel every inch of it, pulled it back across me towards himself. And he was there, warm and present behind me, I was nestled between his knees, his arms about me, his breath in my ear. He took my arms and folded them behind my back, and then he began to tie me. 

I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened or when; I slipped into a half-hypnotised, meditative state where I was only very dimly aware of anything other than him and the rope. I was pulled back into him, my head against his shoulder, our cheeks pressed together, our breath mingling, the ropes slowly binding me, squeezing me tightly, securely, helpless but so relaxed. Rope time is special – it seems like eternity, but it’s always over too soon. I remember blended fragments: the soft growls in his throat as he bound me tighter, pulling me into him, the sparks of sensation as he dragged the rope across my nipples, the press of his body against mine, his hand in my hair, squeezing, pulling my head back, enjoying my vulnerability. It was sexy as hell. 

I responded with all of myself, dropping into rope space, leaning into him, utterly relinquishing control, except for once succumbing to the desire to run my hands, bound at the wrists, across the part that was pressing into me, as he pulled me backwards. Then my weight was lifted as he tied the ropes into a ring in the ceiling. I wriggled into him as he pulled me by the hips and murmered 'Doggy style please,' before tying me so that my knees were still on the floor but most of my weight was taken by the ropes, and I was face forward, parallel to the floor, hands bound behind my back, ready for phase two.

Now, I’d seen the whips he had laid out on the stage, and they weren’t friendly – he’d chosen a couple of large, heavy, club-ended single tail whips of braided leather. I assumed that he’d warm into it though, and I trusted that he knew what he was doing and that SFF was looking on in case anything got too edgy.

[Educational aside: when I say 'warm into it', I’m referring to the common practice with impact play, or 'stuff where you get hit by stuff for fun', to start with lighter impact, and build into the stronger, heavier stuff. This serves the triple purposes of letting the submissive acclimatise, avoiding peaking too early (I mean, when you’re at a theme park, you go on the smaller rides first, so you can enjoy their effect, and save the biggest for last, because to do it the other way round makes the rest of the day a bit of an anticlimax, right?), and physiologically building up a cushion of swelling, which protects your flesh from being damaged too deeply as you progress to the heavier stuff. Not everyone does this, but I’d say it’s generally considered to be sensible.]

Well, he patted me on the bum, and I relaxed, thinking he was going to spank me a bit, but then the next thing I knew he’d taken a few steps back, and thrown a first thud of the whip. Oh wow, that hurt. He was hitting me on the part between my hips and my lower back, a part less cushioned by fat, and I was excruciatingly aware of it. I tried to wriggle into a slightly different position, so he’d hit me on a softer part, but it was impossible, I was trussed up like a chicken. He hit me again, again, not quickly, lazily, with a smile on his face, and every blow felt like it was sinking into my bones. I cried out. I NEVER cry out, at least not loudly and involuntarily. Now I was making noises I didn’t know I could make. It was almost too much, I wasn’t sure I could take it anymore. 

I realised we hadn’t agreed a safeword (I’m going to assume that, thanks to that god-awful tome which I refuse to name, most of you know what a safeword is). Stupid. A couple more blows landed and I was really reaching the end of my tether, convulsing and yelling into the floor. I looked back at him in desperation, wanting to say something, but still not wanting to humiliate him by shouting 'stop' onstage. He must have seen the look in my eye because he stopped. He came over, stroked my trembling buttocks, and brought a magic wand into the equation, first rubbing it against me, then strapping it in place with more ropes. This was a nice thought, but I’m more specific in my orgasmic needs than some, and the wand just wasn’t placed quite right, so actually it was vaguely annoying. And then he stepped back again, and picked up the whip... 

Having had a chance to breathe, I thought I could take it for a while longer. The endorphins were no doubt flowing. Soon I was back into hurt animal mode, knowing nothing but the pain, not caring what noise I made. Letting the thud of the whip reverberate through me and explode out of my lungs somehow reduced the agony. He was a little gentler this time, I think, but not much. Occasionally he whipped the magic wand instead, making it jerk against me. I don’t know how long I would have stood out, but suddenly it was over and they were untying me. K was onstage helping Speccy to get me down. In fact, it was all a little perfunctory and rushed. Something was up. SFF wandered over to me, leaned in close with a little smile, and said 

'Ze Yakuza ‘ave just told us zat ze Police are ‘ere, so we must take you down now.' 

Oh god. So there I was, bound up onstage, waiting for the police to come in. That’s a vulnerable moment. High on endorphins, I decided there was nothing to be done – struggling would only make it more difficult to untie me, and make me look like an idiot to boot. Pride gets me through – not to mention into – a lot of situations. So I waited patiently for Speccy to untie me, and smiled at the ridiculousness of my life. I fully expected them to rush in and deport me at any moment. But low and behold, my luck held, the police didn’t come in, and soon I was free and clothed, and being thanked by Speccy for the experience. 

'You are really sexy. That was great. You are a sexy dynamite blonde. Take my card. Send me your contact.'

And so the night wound down. I went to sit, floating and grinning, on the edge of the stage, get checked over and grounded by SFF and his lady, and make conversation with my new fans from the 'audience'. SFF was leaving and I elected to go with him to his crash pad rather than stay at the club alone with no language skills and no knowledge of the way back to the station. I levitated along behind him, noting with an internal giggle the cherry-on-the-cake surreality of his comment as we walked down a narrow alleyway: 

'Zere are many leetle toads in zis alley. Try not to squeesh zem.' 

Back at his we were treated to champagne and cakes, and his lady got drunk instantly, broke her stony reserve, and demanded that he teach her how to compliment my breasts in English. The hilarity of a Frenchman trying to teach a hammered Japanese girl the phrase 'nice tits' still makes me smile to this day. The only thing that from then on, in fact, that DIDN’T make me smile was the sight of my arse in the mirror. I had known it was a bit painful to sit on, but jesus christ. 

Let's face it: it isn't going to work

I should be feeling great this morning after cooking a kick-ass Christmas feast for 12 people in someone  else's kitchen but I feel quite sad.

Maybe it is a hangover or lack of sleep...I could blame these things. However, I think it is the realisation that as much as I'd like things to work out with Mr Sporty...I feel in my heart of hearts they are not going to.

Let's look at the positives first. We have a great chemistry and we really fancy each other. Good start eh? Conversation comes easily and we're both nice people (he's not a dickhead) who work in the same industry and we both appreciate each other right down to the little things. We're different but that is okay. The sex is really good, he's very sensual and he's a great kisser. He ticks a lot of boxes.

But then there are some major boxes he doesn't tick. He has been single for a long time. He likes his space and his freedom and he's not sure that it will be easy for him to change though he wants to try. His moods fluctuate. One minute he's with me and he feels so present and so there and then the next he's as far away as he can possibly be.

A challenge is one thing but I think this is going to be some awful hard work and whilst I can try to be patient and easy-going there is not a lot else I can do. We've talked about it and he has said that there will come a point soon where he'll know if he can or can't commit. And if he can't...it won't be me. It will simply be him not being ready or willing. He tells me this so I don't get attached and so I can protect myself and not get hurt.

It has been three weeks of seeing this guy and he's telling me this late last night as we head back to mine. We then get into bed and it is fantastic for ten or so hours. We talk and play with each other all night and it feels so good and we're both happy. In these moments he says that he cannot imagine walking away but we know that this is only in these moments. The morning will come, the day will develop and then he'll slip away again. Which he does...like someone flipped a switch around 11am.

And it makes me feel really sad because its just another hope I pinned on someone that will probably never come to light. It was all the promise and potential that I can now see slipping through my fingers once again. I haven't liked someone like this in some while and now I know I will have to draw in a breath, take a step back, push through the pain and watch it all unfold and play out.

I would like to be wrong. I could be wrong and pessimistic but so many other past experiences have told me not to kid myself. Still, I'll hold on and see...and then I'll deal with it and keep moving on.