Saturday, 27 October 2007

Out: Discussing Sexuality

Originally posted on British Parent Bloggers.



Getting on for ten years ago, the kids were eating breakfast in the dining room, prior to school, and I was emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen when I caught the tail end of a piece on the radio. Could I possibly have heard it correctly? Were they really announcing that Stephen Gateley had come out? Stephen Gateley, the love of my eight-year-old daughter’s life, was publicly admitting that he was gay.

The walls of her room were covered in Boyzone posters but Stephen was her favourite. If she found out Boyzone were performing on any of the kids’ music shows, she would be watching, avidly drinking in his every move. She was going to be very upset because people would be saying things about Stephen that were obviously not very nice but that she didn’t understand.

But I didn’t have time to consider all the ramifications and repercussions of this News right then. It was gone 8.35 and time for the daily ritual of shouting and running around after them like a sheepdog to ensure that everything that should be in their schoolbags was! I don’t know how many times we had left the house and got halfway to school only to discover that one of the lunches that I had put by the front door so they wouldn’t forget to pack them into their rucksacks had remained in situ.

We walked the mile to school every day, much to my children’s chagrin. How often had I heard them whinge: ‘Why can’t we go by car like everyone else?’, especially on days when the heavens were throwing stair rods as well as cats and dogs at us. But parking at our school was a nightmare and I am one of those mums with a massive 4×4. If I’m honest, it wouldn’t have made any difference if Id had a mini, I couldn’t park one of those either!

I have always loved to walk. The pregnancy pounds fell off me as a result of the four miles a day I walked with my son in the pram, taking my daughter to and from school. When he went to nursery school, this became six miles a day and I relished it. There was never a need to go to keepfit classes because I had my aerobic exercise every day and it gave me so much time to think. And my children were also fit and healthy as a result of this daily exercise.

On this particular morning, having dropped them off just about on time, I had plenty to think about. How on earth was I going to deal with this one? I knew I had just a few hours to come up with a suitable explanation because there was no doubt in my mind that my daughter would be advised of the Stephen Gateley news virtually as soon as she set foot in the playground. Most of her friends were the oldest child in their family so would be protected from revelations like this, but there were still a fair number of classmates with older siblings who would be discussing this event. Through them, this information and a lot of misinformation would, in turn, be disseminating its way down to my daughter. I had to have some answers to counterbalance the views that would have been expressed about Stephen Gateley himself and about homosexuality in general.

It was a tricky subject. We hadn’t really even dealt with the whole birds and the bees thing in anything other than the vaguest terms. I always believed, when they were that age, that you should tell them about controversial stuff when they ask or when it becomes apparent from their conversation that they are about to ask and in terms that they can relate to - not necessarily chapter and verse which they won’t understand. I can remember my own mother telling me the full facts at about my daughter’s age and having this picture in my head that they would lie next to each other in bed and my father’s willy would somehow stretch like a hosepipe around to go inside my mother whilst she was asleep! And, some time later, a baby would fall out of her.

Now, they are into their teenage years, I still use that basic rule but, as my son gets older and is a little less direct about such matters than my daughter, I also throw out things that I think he should know about but I try to do it in a way that shows that sex is a perfectly natural function that it is ok to ask questions about. My golden rule has always been to never be embarrassed or nonplussed and always give an honest answer. So, we don’t sit down and discuss sex per se but if something comes up in a conversation when we’re out in the car or watching something on the TV, then we talk about it as it comes up.

Still, how to deal with ‘gayness’ when straightness hasn’t even been part of a conversation?

When I picked A up that afternoon, at first she said nothing. But, after we had got home and had a drink and a biscuit, she cornered me in the kitchen. ‘Mum, ** says that Stephen is gay. What exactly does that mean?’ To be honest, I couldn’t have asked for a better question. If she had been on the receiving end of any misinformation, she was discounting it with a view to getting the full facts from me.

‘Well, honey. Basically, it means that Stephen prefers to be with other boys, rather than girls. It doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with him or that you should stop liking him. But you do need to understand that, no matter how much you like him, he is never going to want to marry you or any other girl.’

Just that basic information seemed to be enough for her mind at that time. Later, she had her talk in y10 about the differences physically between boys and girls and about menstruating and the like but there was never any discussion about hetero- or homo-sexuality at that stage. They seemed to become aware in about y11 that being gay meant you liked having ’sex’ with people of the same gender but again their understanding of specifics was very vague.

It was several years later when my son started in y8 and I asked him what they had talked about in their PHSE lesson that I found out how they learned about being gay in terms of sexuality. He told me that they had been discussing condoms and ’same sex sex’. ‘But, mum,’ he asked. ‘How does that work?’ After establishing that he was clear what sex between a man and a woman entailed, I answered his question. His face when I told him it involved penises and bottoms was a picture. ‘Well, I’m certainly never doing that!’ he announced emphatically.

I did take the opportunity to talk about condoms and learning how to put them on and also to reassure him that he could ask me absolutely anything and I would answer his questions as best I could. I went on to say that he could also tell me anything and I would never be judgemental because he would always be my little boy that I loved very much. Even if, at some point in the future, he did decide that he wanted to have ’same sex sex’.

‘You think I’m gay?’

‘Well, no, I’m just saying that you can tell me anything.’

‘I’m not gay, I’m not!’

I’m not sure whether I handled that bit quite as well as I might…





I was taken to task by someone over on British Parent Bloggers for the phrase 'Even if, at some point in the future, he did decide he wanted to have 'same sex sex' and I now realise that this does indeed sound as if that course of action is something that might be frowned upon. I repeat it here purely in the interests of the truthful recounting of the anecdote and I intend to look very carefully at my phrasing in the future.

Thursday, 25 October 2007

HNT - Half Naked Thighs

As reminded by the cheeky Waynecoff (who is indulging in a wank-free few weeks and so should not torment himself by reading on), it was National Stocking Day on Friday. So, to celebrate that fact, I prepared for my trip to visit Ruf by donning a pair of lacy-topped hold-ups and completed the outfit with a nice basque. Hidden under a denim skirt and a zip-up cardigan but flashing a nice bit of stockinged calf in my little suede boots, I was aware of the admiring glances in the Service Station half way into the drive.

It has taken Ruf an inordinate amount of time to finally get me to accept that I do not have fat thighs. He has pointed out on numerous occasions that he loves the lacy tops of hold-ups but particularly when they're on me as I have no muffin-top swelling out over the top and 'spoiling the line'.

When I said I wanted a 'stocking photo' for my blog, he spent nearly an hour trying to find a pose that showed off my pins in all their slender glory but which would also meet with my satisfaction.

So many poses were adopted, photographed and then rejected. One leg fatter than the other, looking deformed, knock-kneed or just generally too fat. I can picture him now, sat on the floor of his bedroom as I ummed and ahhed in front of the Magic Mirror, completely naked apart from his patient smile as he snapped away and had his labours sniffed at and decried. Bearing in mind that he hadn't even had a chance to sample the goods, he was remarkably good natured about the proceedings.

Until, finally, he lost patience and pushed me back onto the chair to have his way with me, stopping short of throwing the camera onto the bed in disgust as he looked down at me and took this last one...

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket


Cue one much happier Cake because, even with the squidging of sitting down, he has made my thighs look passable.

What I love about this man is his ability to normalise everything. To help me to see myself through his eyes and not look askance at me as I make demands that to most men would seem quite ridiculous. The way he can take all the bodily functions that we have been exposed to over the last few weeks and make them immaterial. Stopping me from squirming with embarrassment at my body's errant timing. After all, what's one more bodily secretion?

We started with vanilla and we grew through chocolate and raspberry ripple, rapidly progressing towards tutti frutti.

Fascinated and totally unperturbed by the imperfections that time and childbearing have wrought upon my skin, he has introduced me to a type of uninhibited coupledom that I have never before experienced. Complete understanding and acceptance that my body works in mysterious ways but none of which will phase him or stop him from wanting to possess it.

This man truly loves me...

...and I want to shout it from the rooftops :)

Wednesday, 24 October 2007

A D D

I have Attention Deficit Disorder. I admit it. I just can't get enough. I am totally addicted to it.

I'm an attention whore, a testosterone tease, an admirationaholic, a virtual spunk junky. I soak it up like a sponge. Should I blame the anorexia or just come clean and accept that I need you to notice me to prove the value of my own existence. Without that acknowledgement, I fade away into the cold miasma of household chores and maternal duties.

In an emotional vacuum, I sought any form of approval, any nugget of approbation. I needed you to pay me some regard, be you man, woman or child. I required you to feed my habit, my addiction. I wore the badge of your admiration as some kind of external confirmation for what was missing inside.

Simultaneously revelling in and abhorring the quest for recognition, terrified to put all my eggs into the one basket for fear its capacity would eventually prove inadequate.

And so the coldblooded reptile of my insecurity deep within senses a fresh interest. It turns its face towards his warmth and basks in the sunlight of his gaze, absorbing like a sponge prior to squeezing him dry. Someone should warn him to be careful what he wishes for. Not to try to touch me; that I am wild to hold although I may seem tame.

For the paradox is this: Whilst I crave your declaration of ownership and yearn for you to express your never-ending love, if you want to keep me, you can never let me think that I have you. You must always withhold some part of yourself, retain the tiniest aura of unattainability. Never allow me to lose the hunter's mindset in pursuit of my quarry or you will, in turn, obliterate my desire for you. Driving me onwards into the next fantasy: chasing after another conquest and a further validation.

Sugasm #102

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #103? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
She Told Me
“She told me she had a headache.”

Fantasy: If you can’t stand the heat…
“You set the ice cube down and force my legs apart.”

Sugarbutch Star: Bad Bad Girl
“I brought my lips down on hers hard, crushing, devouring, insistent.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Upskirt Video from V Magazine
Editor’s Choice
Blog Action Day: Sexual Activism or Lightning Doesn’t Strike Twice

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 22 October 2007

The Sugar Daddy

The Sugar Daddy was 38 when we became involved. As a friend of my father's, he had been in my universe for several years and watched me grow up. I had always thought him very attractive, I guess because he bore a strong resemblance to William Shatner... Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise.

When I first started to work in Town as an 18 year old, I used to meet my father and his friends after work in a pub. I have fantastically clear memories of the pungent smell of draught beer emanating from the open doorway and wafting up the street as I turned the corner, the taste of corned beef sandwiches made from thick slabs of crusty bread, with pickle or mayonnaise if I hadn't had time for lunch, the noise of the music and the laughter. We would travel home on the train and again the smell of beer, cigarettes and newspaper print assails my nostrils even 30 years distant.

I can't remember how it first happened but, every evening, I would be sitting next to the Sugar Daddy helping with the crossword and he would hold my hand under the outspread newspaper, right under the nose of my seemingly unnoticing parent.

And then, one day, he called me at work. I don't recall how he got my number but he wanted to know if I would go for lunch. I was a little nervous, but I accepted. The Cherry Picker was away at Uni and I was being a good, faithful girlfriend but a drink with one of my father's married friends could surely not constitute a threat to my fidelity?

And so began the first of a number of visits to establishments in what, I think, may have been Soho. I recall that I got the tube to Oxford Circus and I can remember Libertys. It is all a blur. Maybe I was always a little drunk and giddy with the alchohol and the excitement, maybe it is something that I don't feel particularly proud of and so I try to forget... but I certainly enjoyed it in a strange way at the time. I think there may have been naked women dancing elsewhere in the club but he was respectful enough to keep me well away from them.

This went on at least once a week for a couple of months. I felt a little guilty about the Cherry Picker, but his letters from Uni were becoming few and far between and, whilst this man would put his arm around me and enjoyed having me lie with my head in his lap when I'd had too much to drink, he never took advantage.

Until one evening, he asked me to go to a different pub from the one where we met everyone else. This is all such a blur so you'll have to excuse me if it's disjointed. I just remember having some drinks and letting the alcohol take me. Then he asked if he could put his hand on my breast.

I have always had fabulous breasts. Too big for my small frame and yet so pert and upwardly mobile. I am not ashamed to say that, with the arrogance and impunity of my youth, I used them to full effect in the workplace. Sometimes I would wear diaphanous blouses without a bra to show them off, sometimes just a little boob tube to keep them in check without detracting from their swelling splendour.

On this day, I was wearing a pale blue summery cotton dress. Totally covered up, but the material was so soft to the touch, so sensual and clung to every curve, accentuating its fulsome promise. I nodded my head in a cautious agreement to his request. He turned us so that my back was to the wall and his body blocked me out from the rest of the punters. Very very gently, he placed his palm on the swell of my breast under the silky soft material. I caught my breath with excitement, feeling the reaction of my nipple as it hardened against the pressure of his fingers... but I couldn't meet his gaze. I was scared. Afraid of where this was going. He was so much older than me, so much more experienced, so married... Every instinct within me told me to look him in the eye and challenge him, meet his desire head-on but I was too shy to lift my head and draw his gaze. I think he mistook the shiver of excited confusion that ran through me for real fear and he withdrew his hand. We finished our drinks as if nothing had happened and made our way to the train station and home. We continued to see each other for drinks but he never made any further advances.

Also at that time, I would go out for lunch with another male friend who knew both The Cherry Picker and The Sugar Daddy and suspected my relationship with both. From my less than subtle encouragements, he would regale me with stories from The Sugar Daddy's social circle. With tales of minor indiscretions, major affairs and mental infidelities... some of which related to the Sugar Daddy's wife. I don't know if these goings-on had any bearing on the commencement of the Sugar Daddy's interest in me. Maybe the thought of a young girl to boost his virility as he stared his wife's dissatisfaction and his own middle age in the face?

Our strange relationship lasted for several months but when he heard that I had started seeing The Future Mr Cake, his calls stopped and he found an excuse to catch an earlier train which negated the need for the stop in the pub beforehand. He was ever the perfect gentleman.

I saw him again at a function some 20 years later. We did not speak, merely gave the acknowledgement of eye contact from across the room. His resemblance to William Shatner had only increased as they had both got older. It was such a shame. His lean, hard body turned to a beer bellied paunch. His eyes squashed into his puffy face with the skin stretched shiny tight and rosy over his cheeks.

I was now 40, two years older than he had been when our lives had brushed against each other. It was the year of my transition. The year I started to realise that I was beautiful and began to emerge from the cocoon. I had actually been taken to a party and I had made an effort so I was dressed in a skimpy little black dress that clung to my fit body in all the right places.

As usual my Husband had replied to my plea for approval with his usual response of 'You look fine' but I knew from the way the Sugar Daddy was watching me appraisingly that I looked far better than 'fine' and I revelled in it.

Thursday, 18 October 2007

Ruf > cake < Smooth

I wake up lying on my stomach. It's too hot and I'm very squashed. My body hurts... it aches in places I didn't know I had places.

I reach out my hand and feel the reassuring crackle of Ruf's chest hair under my fingers but I am conscious of the heat surrounding me. I cautiously move my left hand and the realisation starts to dawn as it encounters the soft skin of another chest at my other side and I become aware of the pressure of a second hand on my back. I can feel the red flush rise in my face as the memories start to flood back...

We had invited him to our hotel room. Someone I've known for a while virtually. I knew he wanted me. He had made no secret of that. And who else would I choose for this adventure? It had to be someone that lusted after me but that I knew and trusted. He intrigued me and, since the day Ruf and I first discussed this subject, the day when I promised him that I would 'munch carpet' (as he so eloquently describes it) for him because he wanted it so. I would do it because he is my Master and I want to please him. But my proviso was that I would only do it if he would play out my fantasy first. I'm sure that deep down inside, part of me was calling his bluff, willing him to say that he would never agree to such a thing, never entertain the idea of watching someone else play with me, and yet that uncontrollable other part was deeply excited at the prospect of two men worshipping me, touching me, filling me...

From that time, this man had been the one that I subconsciously desired, the name that fit the frame in my secret thoughts, even though I had no idea what he really looked like. It's so strange how your mind can depict a man with whom you have conversed on a computer screen but never actually seen for real. So I had cultivated him, groomed him, prepared him for this day, the only way he could have me for real... unless he could prove himself indispensible. Finally coming face to face with him was something of a shock but I need not have worried. A part of me, deep inside the recesses of my mind, recognised him and made me feel comfortable with him.

Ruf is unsure about all this. At the final hurdle, he doesn't know if he wants to share me but he is aware that if he wants to fulfil his own desire for a FFM, then this has to happen. Is it mean to admit that I want him to be jealous? I want him to feel pain at seeing another man touch my secret places and watch and listen to him take me to a climax because I know that anguish is how I will feel if and when I let some other woman share him. I shake my head and lock away the secret fear that we are both doing something that could irrevocably destroy the perfection that we have forever. This is just another experiment, another step of discovery on a long journey of mutual sexual exploration. Yet I am still uncomfortably aware of my hands trembling at my sides.

Ruf inclines his head to the other man in acknowledgement. Neither is sure whether a handshake of introduction is the correct etiquette for this situation. So a reciprocated nod has to suffice and then Ruf grabs hold of me and kisses me deeply, claiming his prior ownership, before letting me go, pulling at the belt of my robe so that it falls open. I shrug it off so that I'm left standing in the black basque and holdups that I know they both love. Stood there between them, my Ruf, all squat, solid and smiling dimples in his jeans and tshirt and his antithesis, slightly anxious, tall and almost willowy in his shirt and trousers. Such a contrast. Ruf and Smooth. The perfect combination.

I turn to Ruf and kiss him gently before pulling off his tshirt and caressing his shoulders and chest, whispering to remind him how much I love him. Running my fingertips over the muscles and the tattoos that I know so well. His hands are on the lace covering my nipples, squeezing them through the fabric until they are pointed and protruding. Pressing my lips back to his, I undo his fly and run my hand across his groin through his jeans. My cock presses back at me, knowing me, wanting me, even with a stranger in the room and I smile and push him away, turning my body to face Smooth.

He drinks me in as I stand there. My face is turned towards Ruf, the lace of the basque is pushed down so my breasts are exposed. Two soft globes begging for attention. The pale skin starting to flush pink with arousal, tiny goosebumps of anticipation raising the skin. The nipples taut and pert, ready to be sucked. The stiff, ribboned lace covering my firm, tight belly. My thighs encased in their black stockings with the lace toppings contrasting with the stark whiteness of the exposed slender flesh. The soft hair of my pussy curling damply. I slide my fingers between my legs and part the lips, dipping my fingers into my liquid excitement and sucking the juice off. I love the taste of my desire. I reach up my hand and rub those fingers across his mouth. He can smell me. Inhale my lust... and he shivers.

I have to stand on tiptoe to reach his lips and he bends slightly to assist. The feel of his mouth on mine is electric. His cock is pressing against me through his trousers. I have teased and tormented him for months. He can hardly wait and as my fingers slowly undo each button of the shirt, caressing the skin of his chest, his breath is ragged with desire. He has wanted me to touch him for so long. His arms are on my hips as his tongue devours my mouth and he lifts me up, pressing into me so that my legs have to go around his waist. He lifts me as if I am a feather, hands cupping my pert bottom and pulling me in. My pointed nipples rub against his chest and my soaking pussy against the skin of his belly makes him moan. I push the shirt from his shoulders and reach behind me to undo his fly before he lets me back down to the floor.

He watches as I kneel before Ruf and remove his jeans and boxers, catching his cock expertly in my mouth as I set it free. Licking and sucking and stroking his balls as I untangle his feet from the restraints of his clothing. His hands are on the back of my head as I deepthroat him with alacrity and he laughs with delight before pushing me to Smooth, who trembles as my hands draw his trousers and boxers down his thighs. My mouth is level with the tip of his cock. He can feel my hot breath and I slip my tongue out and caress the very end. He jumps as if I have burned him and, as I open wide, he buries his member deep inside my mouth. Letting me flick at the captured shaft with my tongue as my lips slide backwards and forwards along it. Freeing his feet, I return my hands to his buttocks, caressing the soft skin and pull him tight into me, taking as much as I can. The reward of the goosebumps erupting beneath my fingers and the shudder that runs through him pushing me to new efforts.

But Ruf has other plans and drags me by my hair to the bed, pushes me down and thrusts two fingers into me. I am soaking. I had no idea how exciting this would be. Showing off how well he knows my body, he expertly brings me quickly to a climax, delighting at my moans and then gestures to Smooth to stand at the side of the bed whilst he remains at the end. He lifts me by my hair back to all fours so that I am diagonally on the bed with my arse in the air and penetrates my sopping hole with his cock. As I gasp in surprise, Smooth shoves his cock into my mouth and there I am, spitroasted for the first time. Trying so hard to focus on pleasuring the cock in my mouth and still enjoy the cock thrusting into in my cunt.

Smooth can feel how wet my mouth is from my excitement. He slides in and out on the wave of saliva, using my hair as handles. The friction builds and builds until he is deep within my throat feeling it constrict and contract as I start to gag and then recover squeezing it so tightly that he can't help but come. Inwardly I'm smiling as I hear him shouting his joy and his gratitude. His semen shooting inside me and as he tries to withdraw, it leaves a trail all over my face. At the same time Ruf pulls out and spurts his load to join it. He knows I liked to watch the bukake girls. It's in my mouth, my hair, blurring my eyes, dripping off my dangly earrings and running down my throat and neck. Ruf rubs his hand in it and pushes it into my mouth as I lick hungrily and then forces my face onto Smooth's cock again to take care of the aftershocks. Licking and sucking as his body contracts from the ejaculation, the most sensitive time for the head of the penis, he is almost beside himself, shaking and shuddering at my attentions with Ruf laughing because he knows that exquisite sensation, the fine line between pleasure and pain. He is hard again and back inside me. His hands pulling at the lace of the basque to find my nipples and pinching hard as he thrusts into me harder and harder, making it so difficult to maintain the gentleness of my cocksucking until Smooth has to pull away. My drool mixing with the tendrils of the remnants of his come leaving a sticky trail connecting my mouth and his cock.

And he watches me. Watches the flush rise from my chest, blotching my neck and filling my face. Our eyes are locked as he spectates. Hearing my screams for real, watching my face and body contort as I climb the mountain secure in Ruf's hands and shrieking and collapsing onto the bed as he pushes me over the edge of my climax. Giving me only seconds to recover, Ruf drags me onto my back and throws the tulip onto the bed beside me, 'Wank for him, bitch'. Like I ever needed any encouragement. This was such a huge turn on. A proper audience. Both of them sitting on either side of the bed, their eyes intent on me and my cunt, their hands busy massaging their wood. I come almost immediately, short sharp spasms racking my body and, as I close my eyes and wait for the next one to build, Ruf tosses Smooth the dildo and holds out his hand as if to say 'Be my guest'.

They can both see how wet I am, my slit slick, red and engorged, the lips of my cunt fluttering as the muscles recover from the ferocity of my orgasm, the come dribbling out of me, but Smooth lubes up the dildo anyway. He's new to this and wants to get comfortable first. Lying there with my legs wide open inviting him, he has no choice but to bury his face in my musky, messy muff, drinking the juice of my previous orgasm. Feeling it soak into his skin, he inserts two fingers. When I open my eyes at the intrusion, he smiles up at me and works his way up my body, stopping to nuzzle and suck at my erect nipples on the way to kiss me. Gently and then more passionately. I can taste myself on his lips and his tongue, smell my longing in the stubble of his cheeks. He whispers in my ear about how excited he is. What all this is doing to him and how much he wants to make me come. His fingers feel so good inside me. He has found my gspot and he laughs delightedly as the orgasm rips through me, the muscles tightening around his fingers, making me pull my knees up and try to curl into a ball as I moan into his chest. Removing his fingers, he inserts the dildo. Sliding it in and out, twisting and turning, exiting and penetrating. My nerve endings beside themselves with pleasure before licking his two fingers, wet and sticky with my come, and pushing them into my bottom. He's never experienced anything like it as I twist and curl and stretch and scream, bearing down onto his fingers. I'm trying to talk to him but my mouth can't make the words. I close my eyes and it takes all my focus to finally whisper the words he has been desperate to hear: 'Fuck me, please fuck me'.

His cock is like a baby's arm, he's so excited but he knows how I like it best and he flips me over onto all fours and penetrates my warm, wet, tight cunt from behind. The vibration of the tulip tightening everything around him. My face is in Ruf's lap and I'm spitroasted again with two fingers up my arse and my own hand operating the tulip on my clit. It feels like I'm going to burst, the pressure inside my head is so immense. My muscles are contracting and expanding with yet another orgasm and I can hear Smooth yelling behind me as he's coming closer and closer to expelling his load into me but Ruf isn't going to let that happen... not yet. He has one more fantasy of his own to fulfil.

He slides out from underneath me and stands behind me by the side of the bed; Smooth instantly understands his plan and replaces him, lying on his back with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed and his feet touching the floor, lifting me astride him. As the tulip takes me to yet another peak, he pushes into me again from below, making me buck and ride him from the moment of entry. My tits bouncing and jiggling with the force. The feel of his cock inside me at this angle is so good and, as the orgasm subsides, he drags my head forward to kiss him leaving my arse in the air. Ruf is lubed up and ready and slips slowly into the backdoor, inch by glorious inch. They regulate their thrusting so it's gentle to give me time to adjust. I am so tiny and tight, they can feel each other's cocks moving with just the tiniest piece of skin between them. One wrong move and they could split me but if they take it slow, it could be the best sex any of us has ever had.

Smooth has one nipple and Ruf has the other, both twisting and grinding at them, taking me even higher. They're both telling me how good it is and how beautiful I am, encouraging me as they twist and pump and grind and the tulip wreaks its havoc on my clit. The pressure in my head building and building as I scream and scream until I explode over both of them. Dripping my excitement and elation from every orifice. The muscles contracting so forcefully that neither of them can stop themselves and two sets of semen squirt inside me, pooling and mingling with all the other fluid, as we collapse into a sweaty, exhausted, intertwined heap.

I am vaguely aware of Ruf sliding out of me and falling onto the bed beside me and Smooth dragging me up the bed and pulling the covers over us, my cheek resting on his chest. I am so out of it. All I want to do is sleep in the damp puddle of our communal passion.

I dare not even think about the consequences.

Sugasm #101

Mischa courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.


The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #102? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks



Animal sex

“As he brings me there, his hands and mouth on me are rougher and rougher.”


Romeo and Juliet: A Different Perspective

“Catherine!” Elizabeth gasped between her thighs. “You are like heaven’s own scent.”


Summer of Content

“Under the cover of my long skirt, my legs are spread for him, and I’m dripping over his fingers.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

How to Hide Your Porn


Editor’s Choice

Tease


More Sugasm



Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

The Cherry Picker

I knew the Cherry Picker for several of my teenage years as just a good friend. We had often discussed our sex lives and my sad, juvenile encounters paled into insignificance beside his tales of his own expertise. He had always promised me that, if I ever wanted some help in that area, he would be willing to help me out! Which, of course, always made me laugh... and run away.

He was what seems to be my 'type'. Average height, dark hair, chunky and strong. At the age of 18, he was quite the Adonis with his chiselled cheek bones and cute bottom and at a disco not long after my 18th birthday, somehow or other we ended up smooching and kissing and starting a relationship.

He knew that, despite my large number of admirers, I was still, technically, a virgin. I think, in many ways, this was part of my appeal. Popular amongst his friends, yet unconquered by any of them. Well that, combined with my possession of a fabulous arse and a pair of wonderfully pert breasts that could stand up on their own without the aid of a bra - a fact which I was keen to demonstrate under diaphanous blouses on a regular basis. He certainly enjoyed the eventual kudos.

The first time he touched me sexually was a revelation. Bearing in mind that my previous intimacies had all been with very inexperienced boys who clearly had absolutely no idea what they were meant to be achieving with their fumbling fingers, you can imagine my elation when I discovered that the Cherry Picker really did know what he was doing. He had spoken the truth about his experience and abilities. We were upstairs at my house in the spare room with the TV that was used by us kids to entertain our mates.

He was sitting on a chair and I was standing between his legs. Having kissed me into a state of glorious abandon, his hands were up my skirt before you could say... well anything really! Caressing and tickling at my thighs to arouse my latent urges. Playing with my clit and then sliding his fingers inside me. All the way inside me. None of this poking around at the entrance wondering what it was all about. He went straight to my gspot and started rubbing it. To say that I yelled with a curious shocked pleasure would be an understatement. In fact, over the next few weeks, I had to learn to tone it down considerably since my father was invariably downstairs watching the TV. The Cherry Picker seemed to take great pleasure in the length and volume of the screams I had to stifle. Yes, he really was that good :)

I believe there may have been some mutual wanking but you'll have to excuse me if my memories all focus on his extremely successful attempts to introduce me to the joys of finger stimulation.

One day he told me that his friend was having a 'house party'. I had never heard of such a thing. This guy lived with his parents in a big house in the posh part of town. His parents were going away and he was inviting a selected group of friends to party and then an even more carefully chosen few to stay the night. We had been allocated one of the bedrooms...

So, this was it! The night I was finally going to get rid of my cherry. As I recall, we didn't actually wait for the party to end before retiring to our room. It was very pretty. Possibly Laura Ashley but all cream and flowery with matching pillowcases and bedlinen. The sheets were cool and crisp beneath our naked skin as he built up my desire with his fingers and eventually deflowered me with alacrity.

Did the earth move for me? I don't really recall. I know it was a very pleasurable experience and one which I was very keen to repeat again with shockingly indecent haste that same evening. For the next few months of that summer, we continued to be a couple, sharing a double bed at the houses of various friends for 'house parties'. He introduced me to fellatio and cunnilingus, both of which I enjoyed immensely, although I do seem to recall that I wasn't particularly taken with the taste of semen. However, being a dutiful and grateful girlfriend, I invariably swallowed to please him. For someone so relatively young, his lovemaking seemed excellent and, happily, I came often, although mostly it was through his fingers rather than his cock.

Come the September, he went away to University oop North. I wrote religiously every week until his replies became more sporadic and I knew the inevitable had happened and there was someone else. Not that I hadn't had other distractions myself in the form of a Sugar Daddy, but nothing physical.

At our final parting I was very sad to lose such a good lover and we remained good friends. Indeed, I was having a drink with him in the January just before he went back to Uni for the Spring term when I was introduced to the man who would become my Husband.

Monday, 15 October 2007

Green sex blogging

Bloggers Unite - Blog Action Day


Encouraged by Rups to make a post for the Blog Action Day about the environment with a sexblog slant, I watched a programme on Thursday about the toxicity of our makeup and cleansing products. It was really quite scary to discover the high levels of triclosan, parabens, phthalates and other manmade chemicals in the urine/blood of the people tested for the programme.

Phthalates make plastic bendy and give that supersmooth feel to make up, but there is a body of research that believes they could be linked to the early onset of puberty in girls and birth defects in boys. There are three phthalates that are banned in products for kids under three years old because they could affect our children's sexual development.

This was not mentioned on the programme but, as per Rups's directive, I should point out that a lot of your plastic-based sex toys could contain phthalates and you would be wise to consider the phthalate-free version in any future purchases as who knows what repeated use of such an item could do in terms of the leeching of these toxins into our bodies through the soft, absorbent surface of the vagina/anus. Some on-line sex emporia actually specify when a product does not contain them.

The reason why I draw this to your attention is because what was scariest of all was the effect that this cocktail of manmade additives can have on any children you plan to have in the future since these chemicals can remain in your body for years. Some of them have been linked to birth deformities in children, particularly hypospadias, a problem where the genetic message about the baby's sex becomes confused. All babies start off as girls and at a certain stage, signals are sent through to boy children to develop the genitals into a penis. In hypospadias the urethra (the wee opening) does not develop at the top of the penis, but in varying positions down the shaft and sometimes as low as the testicles. It is believed that manmade chemicals could be responsible for interrupting the signal resulting in a child being born part girl and part boy with the urethra in the wrong place. It is operable but, in the worst cases, the deformity is so severe that further tests have to be done to ascertain whether the baby is meant to be a boy or a girl and which operation to do.

These toxins also affect your breastmilk so, whilst you may be thinking that breast is best, if you analyse the content of the milk you are producing, you discover that you are actually feeding your baby a delightful cocktail of different manmade chemicals with all their possible side effects.

It was alarming to learn that the term 'simple' or 'natural' does not necessarily mean what you think in relation to a product's content. The programme explained that the term 'simple' has no legal definition and that one of the products which bore that title did in fact contain 23 manmade chemicals, one of which was used to clean the oil out of car engines. 'Natural' or 'pure' did not mean that these were the only constituent parts and most also contained a form of the manmade chemical parabens, which is the subject of a lot of debate in the scientific world as it is believed that this can mess with your hormones and some studies have suggested could also be linked to breast cancer. Some of the worst offenders were products aimed specifically at young children - babywipes purporting to be just like cotton wool and water; baby shampoos/washes for cleansing their delicate skin - with so many containing manmade chemicals like formaldehyde, another that is used in antifreeze and limonene, which is used as a pesticide and flea control agent.

The guinea pigs on the programme were 'detoxed' for a week with products that contained none of these suspect ingredients. On the whole, they felt that the natural alternatives did not always perform as well as their toxic sisters but that the general improvement to their overall wellbeing was worth the perceived drop in performance. One of the products the testers did highly recommend was the PitRok deoderant, which contains no parabens and was actually successful in controlling their underarm odour. I shall be giving this one a go next time I go shopping - for both myself and my teenage daughter.


For the sake of the sexual health of future generations of bloggers, it would seem that we should all be looking at what we ingest... through any of our orifices.



Beauty Addicts: How Toxic are you? Thursday C4 8pm
This week's programme is dealing with the toxicity of our teenagers' diet.

Sunday, 14 October 2007

Cavewoman Mentality

I have previously mentioned my overwhelming lust for the very large, but incredibly cute, rugby player Joe Worsley but I have to admit to another fantasy, much deeper and darker which, quite frankly, I find rather puzzling.

I have this peculiar attraction to some of the sporting world's bad guys. Vast, hulking, brooding, dangerous men with fire in their eyes and evil on their minds. Despite my determined attempts to obliterate the pictures in my head, I can't help but imagine what it would be like to be the object of their desire: tiny, naked and exposed before the brutal, unstoppable force of their unrestrained, almost neanderthal lust.

I was reminded of some of my less salubrious mental aberrations during the nail-bitingly exciting, if rather messy (in terms of good rugby), England semi-final with France yesterday: my inexplicable fascination with the huge, hairy French backrow forward, Sebastien Chabal, 'affectionately' nicknamed 'Caveman' by some.

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I don't know why, I can't explain it. He's not exactly the prettiest specimen of manhood I've ever seen but there is just something about him. Something that appeals to my baser instincts. Seeing him here on youtube, you can see he is a violent man. Passionate about what he believes in and willing to fight to the death to achieve it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uh_aWqm2I0

He is, quite obviously, a very frightening prospect, who must provoke gut wrenching terror in the opposing team's players towards whom he is running, intent on prohibiting their progress. Depicted on French Spitting Image in a Hannibal Lector-type mask to enable Bernard Laporte, the national coach to control his inherent animal urges and then facing down the New Zealand Haka last weekend with that confrontational, provocative disdain which imbued itself to the rest of his team mates as they nullified the effects of the traditional Maori intimidatory salute, I am not alone in recognising that this man is a force to be reckoned with.

And yet, I have the strongest desire to be the recipient of the most primal of his lusts and let him do with me what he will. There's something about all that naked testosterone, simmering on the brink of explosion, teetering precariously between glory or self-destruction. The flowing hair and the huge beard. A great black bear of a man wrapping himself protectively and dominantly around my tiny white person.

Could it be that, at their most basic level, my instincts are looking for some form of protector? Am I naturally programmed to gravitate to the most dangerous man in the pack, the one who will save me from any other aggressor and yet be a savage master himself? Or is it that, subconsciously, I would like to be the one to tame him?

Curious.

Friday, 12 October 2007

Thursday, 11 October 2007

Someone else's wife

'I hate feeling that I'm nagging you, girlfriends aren't supposed to nag'

'But you're not my girlfriend, you're someone else's wife'

Ouch!

Oh yes, you tried to cover it up by continuing '... and someone's mother and...' a list of other things that I can't remember because my whole body had gone numb that you could still say it that way after we'd been through so much together.

Part of me wanted to slam the phone down, part of me wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself because I certainly wouldn't be driving 200 miles to share the bed of someone who clearly has so little regard for me. Reducing me to the status of non girlfriend and reintroducing the same old circular argument that I thought we were getting past. I know we were both tired and frustrated by other stuff but still...

And then it came to me, if a fuck buddy is what you want, then a fuck buddy is what you shall have...

Walking through the door, shoving you up against the wall to kiss you. I'm so annoyed with you. Angry that you feel my loving you just isn't enough and enraged because I still love you too much. You can sense it in the ferocity of my kiss. Feel the pain and the fear but it's never going to be enough to stop the lust.

Pushing me back and round against the wall, you're trying to kiss me but I'm twisting my face from side to side avoiding your lips. In my world, fuck buddies don't kiss with passion. Struggling as you grip my wrists above my head with one hand, hold my chin to keep me still and make me kiss you but I won't give up willingly, jamming my mouth tightly shut.

Kicking with my legs so you have to immobilise my lower body with the pressure of your hips and knees. Pressed tight against me, feeling the softness of my body against yours. And then with one hand, you rip my tshirt from top to bottom exposing my breasts and bend to kiss them. Sucking at the soft flesh and trying to free them from the bra with your tongue. Suddenly, grunting with pain as I deadleg your outer thigh with my knee and push myself away from you.

Ducking under your arm and trying to run as you grab me by the hair and force my face against the wall, pushing your hand between my legs from behind. Rubbing at me through the denim, knowing how much I've always loved you to do that and feeling the heat of my excitement against your palm. Treacherous, treacherous body! Elbowing and scratching and trying to bite you, I won't let you just take me, not this time. I won't just melt and lay down and give myself, you will have to fight for it.

Picking me up as I try to kick you and claw at you; throwing me onto the bed and half-jumping on me but I'm too quick, rolling away and round to get back on top of you. Gripping you with my thighs and trying to hit you when all my body really wants to do is push my tits into your face. You grab hold of my fists, hold them in one hand and rip at the lace of my bra, wrenching it away from the underwires, exposing those glorious breasts. Reaching up to try to lick at the nipples as I frantically try to knee you in your exposed ribs.

Shoving me backwards and dragging my jeans down round my ankles roughly, hobbling me and then licking the material of my thong; tearing it apart at its seams as I pull your hair and your ear to drag you off me, twisting and squirming until I'm back on top. Frenziedly hitting out as you try to control me, pummelling, grappling, pinching, clawing, biting, ripping at your flesh. Trying to make you hurt as badly as your thoughtless words did me. My breath coming in ragged gasps, the blood pounding in my ears, hating you with every fibre of my being, fighting and struggling...


... until all the distrust and the hurt could be expunged, feeling it dissipate and fade away to leave only the passion, the love, the way I ache for you when I'm not with you, the way my body cries out for you when we make love - be it virtually or in reality.

And suddenly, completely motionless in your grip; all the hate gone out of me. Evaporated because I'm with this man who makes me feel so amazing, fills me with the deepest emotions I have ever experienced and I don't care if it doesn't go on forever, I just want to live in the now and accept whatever it is that he wants to give me. Whispering: 'Stop stop, I want you to watch', and reaching my released fingers towards the box of delights.

Kicking off the last of my jeans and slipping out of the remnants of the thong so I can crouch over you with the tulip on my clit, pushing my legs apart as wide as possible. Soft, pink, oozing folds of flesh vibrating with pleasure inches from your nose as you try to touch them with your tongue. Watching my hole quivering with longing as my fingers penetrate. Squelching and sliding, in and out and in and out, probing and withdrawing, making me catch my breath.

And then, smiling, as I lube the clear dildo and push it oh so gently inside me, inch by blissful inch. Mouth open and panting as it hits my g spot and then languorously withdrawing again. Pulling it right out so I can lick myself off it and then re-inserting, slowly, slowly all the way in, prolonging its journey to provide maximum enjoyment and then reversing at the same speed, watching each centimeter emerge, covered in my slick juice.

The tulip going faster on my clit, riding it as I sit on your stomach leaning back against your raised thighs, legs wide apart giving you the best view in the house as the dildo carefully penetrates all the way to the hilt and just as unhurriedly egresses. Again and again it disappears inside me, taking away the last vestiges of my control with its dilatory progression and then the sudden shrieking climax as finally I leave it pressing my gspot and the tulip sandwiches it from the other side.

The sweat is like a soft sheen on my skin and I'm completely slippery as you slide your hand over my breasts and down my belly to grasp the sticky hilt. Starting to work it for yourself, pushing me over onto my knees so that you can do it from behind whilst my mouth envelopes your cock as slowly as you're sliding the silicon substitute into me. Matching the rhythms up and down and hold and up, out and in and hold and out. Licking and sucking your beautiful member as you take me higher and higher. Until we're both almost there, shuddering and trembling and covered in goosebumps.

Finally sliding into me, whispering in my ear how much you love me and how none of the other stuff matters, just us. Only us and the way we can make each other feel. Wrapping me in your arms, enfolding me in your love, giving me everything I ever wanted until there is nothing but the pulse throbbing in my head, pumping and rushing in time with your gentle thrusts as the friction builds, setting off tiny explosions inside me. Expanding and contracting around you until neither of us truly knows where either begins and ends. Arching into you, giving myself to you totally, completely. My arms around you pulling you tighter against me, our hearts almost exploding with the intensity of the effort. Two voices moaning with the enormity of the emotion and the pleasure, culminating in a sigh of satisfaction as the orgasms reach their peak and take us over the edge into the blackness, gripping onto each other.

But no matter how much I burst with wanting to tell you, I keep my lips resolutely pressed together. I will not say those three little words to you again

In a tit for tat world, we are now both fuck buddies...

... and the prospect breaks my heart...


There has to be a term that truly describes what we are to each other.

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

Houston, we may have lift off...

Middy Alert!!!


I have informed Ruf that I will be punching him very hard at the weekend - probably in the knackers. It seems only fair that he should share the discomfort...

Arriving at the Family Planning Clinic with period cramps plus that delightful griping sensation where you're clenching your butt cheeks because you think the world is about to fall out of your bottom since your nerves are in overdrive. You all know that feeling? Damn, only me again then...

They took some notes and told me to go sit in the waiting area. If you don't count the clinic I was in a few weeks ago where I wasn't really in a fit state to acknowledge my surroundings so closely, it is 30 years since I was last in a proper Family Planning Clinic with all the literature and safe sex warnings. Things haven't changed that much, although I think it was a lot more relaxed being in a dedicated centre, rather than one day a week at the local clinic where, at 16, you were always terrified that you would see someone that you knew. Or, worse still, the parent of someone you knew. These days, safe sex isn't solely focussed on unwanted pregnancy and gonorrhoea. Today's biggest problems are chlamydia and HIV. Infections that have no obvious symptoms. A sobering thought.

The television was on and at that time of the morning it was Jeremy Kyle. The headline was something about '8 possible dads - Have I been bonding with a baby that isn't mine?' There was a lot of shouting and people getting upset and then a DNA test result. No, he hadn't. It was his. Jeremy gave him a rocket and sent him off with a minder. It all seemed rather appropriate and yet surreal.

Having spent 30 minutes reading the wall in front of me, I have to tell you I was very taken with the Mates advertising campaign for the fact that they make condoms for all shapes and sizes. There were several coloured posters - one had a selection of about 30 different types of cockerel; the next had a similarly varied amount of door knobs; a third had a selection of hammers, screwdrivers and spanners, etc.; another had an array of head wear, mostly helmets and the last one was a collection of a type of shell all in different shapes and sizes but clearly of the same genus. I got the basic theme for the ad campaign - different names that we use for the penis: knobs, tools, helmets, cocks. But the shells really confused me. I sat wondering about it the entire time I was there, going through all the different types of shellfish/crustacean I could think of, even as the procedure was underway.

I saw a nurse, who took my history and was very keen that I should consider the Mirena coil - the one with the hormones - but my mother is very keen that I do not starting putting hormones into my body since she had a very distressing decade of allergies as a result of her exposure to one of the first generations of HRT that came on the market for menopause. She went on to run a helpline to assist women to deal with that part of their life without resorting to hormones. I know I don't have to tell her but at some point it might slip out, so best I don't go there if I don't have to.

There was another long wait to actually see the consultant for the procedure. He has been doing this for many years and indeed was the consultant responsible for the births of my teenagers so it was quite weird to meet up with him again so many years later. There were several cases ahead of me with ladies who had had similar installation problems - hence the wait.

One of them, around my age, actually struck up a conversation with me. It was quite bizarre because all around us there were young women avoiding eye contact under any circumstances and there we were gassing away. This lady had had a normal IUD (like the one I wanted to have fitted) previously. When it had reached the end of its life, she had been persuaded to try the Mirena and reassured that it would not make her put on weight. Her feeling was that it was responsible for a weight gain from a size 10 to a 12 in a very short period of time due to the fact that the Mirena stops you from having periods, although she still got the bloating, mood swings and sore boobs consistent with a period being due. She was quite convinced that, without her period, the bloating remained in her body adding to her weight. I would love to hear from people who have the Mirena (I think Vi is one) whether this is consistent with or contrary to their own experience. This lady was there to have the old style IUD fitted again.

For me, as a recovering anorexic, anything that could even possibly make me gain weight is not an option. So, when the consultant tried to push me down that road, even the prospect of the copper type giving me heavier periods could not sway me from my decision that, this time, the Mirena was not for me. He selected the smallest IUD that he had - the Flexi T and I got up on the couch. Just looking at the device in its packaging made me feel quite sick. I always said I would never be brave enough to have one of these inserted and yet here I was.

I guess I'm just getting used to the discomfort or he was particularly skilful (or maybe the Ibuprofen I had had three hours earlier was working) because the insertion of the speculum and him jiggling about down there didn't seem too bad. Even when he had to remove it and try again because it hadn't gone in far enough or possibly not in the right place the first time. I asked where else it could have gone? He said it is always possible for it to perforate the uterus and the bowel. Gulps. 'But Id have felt that wouldn't I?' 'Probably, but you seem to have quite a high pain threshold, especially since you were able to tolerate an abortion without any drugs.' He seemed particularly amazed by that fact and mentioned it a couple of times during the consultation. He had another go, using the dilator this time, and managed to get the device inserted to his satisfaction, although he was still a little uncertain as to whether it would stay put.

I have been told to use condoms for the next two weeks and to check the strings regularly to make sure it has not fallen out or disappeared into my pelvic cavity somewhere. You can probably understand if I'm looking a little worried at this point! I have been given my supply of free condoms and an appointment for a check up in six weeks.

I feel a bit numb down there from all the interference and my period cramps are a bit worse than they were before the visit. I've had some paracetamol and will not go to work this afternoon to give things a chance to settle.

Finally, when I left, I had to ask at Reception about those Mates ads and what on earth those shells were meant to signify...

I should have known, coming from Essex, where this particular shellfish is a delicacy.

The poster showed a selection of different sizes of winkle!!!!

Naturally, I left chuckling to myself.

Sugasm #100

What can I say...? A big big thank you to everyone who voted for me x

And kudos to Juno who, I believe, has had 25 picks out of the 100 Sugasms and three in a row that I do know of! Well Done Mrs!


The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
Note: Usually I only post the top chunk of the Sugasm to save on space. Since this is the 100th issue I’m posting the whole thing.


This Week’s Picks

Do you want me…?

“The shiver that runs through you tells me everything I need to know.”

Love that ass (his perspective)

“But as long as we are in here, she submits to my command; to my every whim.”

Hubb and Spoeker

“He was good for show and good in bed, but an asshole in the real world.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

125 Magazine, Alternet and Enviromentally Friendly Porn

Editor’s Choice

The very best of Sugasm…. so far

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Being Stuck Outside

Dominance, Submission, Humiliation, Control

Miscarriage and Feminine Identity

The next colonel sanders or orville redenbacher

No more pen and sexSex on the first date???

What Is Mary Hiding?

Why “Sugasm” Matters

Sex Work

Do you like phone sex?

La Petite Mort

Sex Work And Religion: The Sex Crazed Pagan Cult Fantasy

NSFW Pics & Videos

I could watch her do laundry all day!

Just Teen Site Releases All New Nude Videos

Red RoseToday’s Special Offer: Fresh Hamburgers


Sex News & Reviews

Belated Happy 2nd Blogiversary to My Bottom Smarts!

Fetish Film - How to Use Sounds (Urethral Sounds)

First Purity Balls, Now Integrity Balls

It’s HERE!!!! Miss Francy’s “Spanking the Male Mind”!

Team Up with the 6th Annual Blogger Boobie-Thon


BDSM & Fetish

Back To School

Catalina loves Chat

Dancing with the Devil, a D/s Relationship

The Dungeon: Sex Camp, Night One

Fuck of a Lifetime

Harder….

Heat

I Got Your Number

Manhandled

Mira

My Wife is a Skank! pt1

A Nawty Story: Diane Phones Home

Objets d’obsession: neck corsets

Our game

Piss Slut

Who is Elise Sutton and why does it matter?


Erotic Writing and Experiences

100 Sexy

An Affair with the Wind

Corseting Mrs. Russian

Burlesque: Home Coming

Gamahuche

I Succumb to Jefferson’s Dastardly Lesbian Plot!

More Than A Breast-Fondle

The Morning RolloverParty Blowjob - Part 3


Kis Lee helps us celebrate the 100th Sugasm.

Monday, 8 October 2007

The Big Day

Well, my period finally arrived and with a vengeance... which I suppose is understandable for the first one after that sort of procedure.

So I rang my doctors this morning to make the appointment for the IUD fitting. There I was thinking it would be easy enough to sort out. In the end, there was actually only one available appointment in the required time frame - 2.45 today. This meant that I could not go to work so will not get paid :(

However, I was not really in any position to argue since the option to wait until next month was not very appealling and there was no guarantee that making an appointment to fit in with my shifts, my cycle and their booking schedule will be any easier. So let's get it over with. It didn't help that I saw a friend who was telling me how her new Mirena coil had been fitted under general anaesthetic because the gynaecologist had said it would be too painful to do whilst she was awake as she hadn't had children. Mind you, she was there for medical reasons other than just plain contraception so maybe there were other factors.

Whatever, I went for the appointment full of trepidation and got on the couch. The speculum went in fine and I lay there for about 15 minutes whilst she prodded about and I experienced discomfort ranging from mild to pregnancy panting scale but she couldn't get my cervix to open to admit the dilator. This is a fairly common problem in women who have not given birth naturally. She was hoping that the fact that I had dilated to 7cms in my first pregnancy before my emergency caesarean would be enough but they only have one size of dilator in the surgery and it was too big to insert into the aperture being provided.

Fortunately I have managed to secure an appointment tomorrow morning at the local Family Planning clinic where they have several different sizes of dilator so they can start with the smallest and work up. As you can imagine, I am viewing the prospect with a great deal of enthusiasm... NOT!

If I didn't like sex so much...

Saturday, 6 October 2007

Size Matters

In the light of today's exhilarating win for England over Australia to reach the semi-final of the Rugby World Cup, a topical post... with a twist.


I've always been a rugby girl - that's Union not League because I never liked their silly short shorts. I was pretty much brought up in a Rugby Club from the time I had big enough boobs to serve beer from behind the bar. Consequently, I have always liked muscular, athletic men who exude testosterone but still have the requisite amount of intelligence to challenge me mentally.

I have a crush, a huge crush... in the form of Joe Worsley. He plays rugby in the back row for Wasps and England. He is 6'5" tall, with over 17 stone of rippling abs and other muscle, and rejoices in the nickname Melonhead.

I saw him doing a stint of punditing for the Beeb recently when he was injured so unable to play. Despite the Melonhead tag, he really isn't a knucklehead like some of the other players who have made the transition from the field to the microphone a la Brian Moore/Eddie Butler. He was surprisingly erudite, with the ability to string together coherent sentences of more than ten words. For me it was a blissfully satisfying ten minutes... particularly as everyone else was out and I could properly enjoy the experience.

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I know it is a totally impractical infatuation but that doesn't matter. I've always had this thing about back row forwards - that's numbers 6, 7 and 8 to the less initiated. It started with Nick Jeavons of Moseley and England, who was probably the first man I really fantasised about properly - imagining the more intimate sexual acts as opposed to simply snogging and snuggling.

I love the whole idea of all that power - the strength and size towering over me and lifting me about like a feather. Particularly the thought of me riding cowgirl. Mmmmmm.

As a very small person of just over 5' and under 8 stone, you have no idea how important size is. I would say that my best sexual experiences have been with guys of about 5'8. Ruf, Bear and The Cherry Picker are all around about that size. Shorter, stockier guys who can put their arms around me, kiss me and fuck me - face to face.

With my Husband, who is just a smidgeon under 6' at 5'11" and a bit, that never seemed to be possible in the missionary position. I always seemed to spend the encounter with my head wedged under his armpit as he fought to pound me. That, and my penchant for the doggy position, probably constituted one of the main reasons why we stopped kissing.

The term 'size matters' for me was never a question of penis dimensions. To be honest, I think all the men who have made love to me have had very similar members in terms of length and girth, probably 6-7" long and of an average circumference/diameter. Despite what you may think, I haven't actually seen that many erect cocks close up and personal and I hesitate to compare them to some of the ginormous whoppers proferred in the various porn clips I have seen.

The dicks I have experienced personally could all make me come to a degree (well, except Bear as he only ever penetrated me with his fingers so I can't actually say for sure) but Ruf is the one who has had the most success. He says it's important to be pushing slightly upwards when in the missionary - especially with me - rather than purely horizontally in order to hit that gspot and he certainly knows how to find mine without any trouble. I also think he has the additional benefit of a slight curve which seems to make hitting the target pretty much a certainty.

I have to say that the whole idea of 8" or more of wide phallus, as per those porn clips, fills me with horror. I'm tiny. It would burst me. I have friends who have tales of their cunts bleeding after intercourse because the guy was too big. Now how can that be fun? Obviously, I appreciate that if you've had children naturally, things may have got a bit stretched down there so the more well-endowed gentleman will receive a more receptive welcome.

My front entrance, however, is still pristine, having failed miserably to give birth naturally due to pelvic improportion. Loosely translated that means fanny too small to permit the passage of a baby's head. Here, too, size is also a major consideration. Legend has it that your baby's birthweight and headsize will always be equivalent to what you can push out - it's the way the human body works they say.

Well, my cervix took nearly 24 hours to dilate to 7 of the 10cms required and then refused to go any further, despite the drugs they pumped into me to 'assist' in my labours. Things were definitely not helped by my first child's decision to present with her back to my back and her head pushing at an angle out of the small of my back rather than downwards towards the Exit sign. At which point the quantity of drugs injected decided to give me some kind of allergic reaction, resulting in a lovely itchy rash (that took six weeks to dissipate) and a distressed baby. Cue an emergency caesarean under general anaesthetic.

With my second child, there was talk of letting me have a 'trial of scar' until I told them very politely that they could 'fuck right off'. At which point they agreed that I should have an elective caesarean with a spinal block so that I could actually be awake to see my baby's birth. This turned out to be a very good call as my second baby also presented with his back to my back, as I could see for myself when they lifted him out, screaming like mad due to the interruption to his gestation since it was less than 39 weeks and he just wasn't ready to come out yet, despite having to fit into the surgeon's calendar.

But I digress.

Moving back to the original premise and extrapolating further, the thought of having 8" of wide cock up my arse? Forget it! I struggle enough with my glass dildo to ever envisage such a scenario.

Of course, now I'm wondering whether these big guys are actually in proportion because it could totally ruin my fantasies.

Does big feet really equate to massive penis?

Friday, 5 October 2007

Contraception Choices

So, the Contraception Poll came in at:

IUD 8

Pill 9

Sterilisation 11

Condom 2





Decisions had to be made and mainly they were based on speed and convenience.

The doctor suggested that sterilisation at my age, with my available fertile time being only 5-6 more years, would be akin to using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. There are also issues with regard to its effectiveness as my previous two caesareans will have left me with a certain amount of scar tissue which could make the keyhole procedure more difficult and so less likely to have the optimum outcome. Apparently there is still a 1 in 200 chance of getting pregnant even if you have had your tubes tied. As a result, she felt it better for me to consider non-surgical options such as an IUD, where the failure rate is about 2 in 100.

Both options have the increased risk of having an ectopic pregnancy so if there is a missed period I have to do a test straightaway. No waiting because it might just be my age.

I was concerned because I had read that IUDs could mean heavier, more painful periods but I definitely didn't want to have the Mirena type of IUD which has hormones in it to counteract that. This woman isn't having anything extracted from horse wee pumping around in her body - that is where synthesised progesterone comes from. And if I wanted to do the hormone route, I might as well use the Pill.

So, we were left with the Nova T - a copper based device that could be inserted at the surgery as soon as my next period starts. If this proves not to be comfortable for me, she can remove it the same day in the surgery (which is just up the road) in which case we can then go down the route to sterilisation which will take about three months to organise on the NHS.

So I've had my swabs done to check for any infection and chlamydia. This is particularly important in my case because of having the termination recently. They need to check to make sure that everything in my vagina is healthy as pushing the device through my cervix will take anything untoward into my uterus with it and could cause problems in the future. The results came back normal today so I just have to wait for my body to decide to have a period.

On the first day, I can call the surgery to make an appointment outside normal surgery hours for the 5th-7th day of my period when the cervix will still be open and have the device inserted. I have to take Nurofen an hour or so beforehand to help with the pain/discomfort as they do not use anaesthetic because you need to be able to feel if it has been comfortably positioned. There are some strings that hang outside the cervix which are cut to size. These are to aid future removal and also to alert you that the IUD is still in situ and you have to check that you can feel the strings every month. The IUD will be checked after a couple of months and then annually for the five or six years that my fertility is still viable. You are officially deemed no longer fertile when you haven't had a period for two years if you are under 50 and for one year if you are older.



I do still have some questions because of my very active lifestyle - I get punched and kicked in the belly on a regular basis and obviously I am a little concerned. Some of the more experienced sex bloggers who already have IUDs fitted have been kind enough to reassure me that my rather errr... vigorous sexual practices shouldn't cause any problems so I can't see that punching and kicking is going to be that much different.


Unless anyone else has anything they would like to share... either by commenting or by email.


Nearly five weeks on, my body is still getting back to normal from the termination in the same way that a woman's body normally recovers from a successful pregnancy by shedding the lining of the uterus. This sort of faint bleeding, especially after any exertion, can go on for as long as six weeks. But I'm very irritable and emotional today, which would suggest that my hormone levels could be getting ready for my first period.


It would be nice to have something in place for next weekend... and also rather scary. Again, if anyone has anything they want to share about their first time with an IUD, I would be most grateful.



Following the comment by Lady in Red about safe sex, I just wanted to stress the following:

Condoms are the only way to stop the passage of sexually transmitted diseases, especially the HIV virus. The only reason I am not looking to use these is that I am in a committed monogamous relationship with a man who waited three months (it takes this long for the antibodies to appear in your blood) after his last sexual encounter and had all the tests to prove to me that he was clean before we ever slept together nearly two years ago.

Wednesday, 3 October 2007

Do you want me...?

Sugasm #100


I pick you up, as we arranged, at 12. As you slide into the car, I can see that you are as nervous and worried about this as I am, but we agreed that we need to be face to face to truly sort this out. We can't go on like this, pretending that we don't care - it's just such a hard habit to break. But there are two marriages and the futures of several children hanging in the balance.

Touching the back of your hand with my fingers, you smile and squeeze my hand. On the drive to the hotel, about 20 minutes away, neither of us can really speak, there's so much to say and so much that we can't say. After registering and getting the key, we go upstairs and into the room.

Closing the door, throwing my bag down on the floor and turning around to face you. We're standing about six feet apart, just staring into each other's eyes. My mouth is so dry and I'm so scared because a few weeks ago, this moment would have been the culmination of our dreams and now everything is so uncertain and so unsure. But I know that I have to be strong for both of us because this is the only thing that will give us both closure and ease this pain.

'Do you want me?' You swallow hard and say 'No'. I take a step towards you and undo a button on my blouse. You can see the pale pink of my bra strap and you know what I'm wearing under there. The images of that outfit are etched in your brain.

'Do you want me?' I undo another button. You can see my nipples straining against the material, calling you. Your teeth are clenched together and your hands are gripped in fists by your sides. You close your eyes and whisper 'No' but I can see the lie growing in your jeans and I take another step towards you and run my finger tip down your arm. The shiver that runs through you tells me everything I need to know.

'Tell me you don't want me...'

Your breath is like a sob catching at the back of your throat and in one step, you've swept me against you and shoved me back against the wall so hard it hurts. I catch my breath and then your mouth is on mine and your tongue is inside. Your hands are just ripping the blouse off, running all over the fabric underneath and then undoing my belt and my jeans and dragging them down and off so I'm standing there in my basque and thong and black stiletto boots.

You're on your knees with your face pressed against my thighs, loosening the boots and sliding them off one after another. Your hands run up the inside of my legs, grab the edge of the lace to drag the thong down and, as I kick it off, you do what we've both dreamed of and lick me in one long glorious stroke from hole to clit. I can't help but moan. I want to touch you and hold your head against me but you won't let me. You knock my hands away and stand up, pressing yourself against me, forcing me back against the wall.

I hate the way you're looking at me. You're trying to make yourself hate me because of how I make you feel, so guilty, confused, but so horny and I can't bear to have you take me like that so I try to push you away, struggling under your weight, hitting your chest with my fists, twisting my face away as you try to kiss me again. You take my wrists and hold them above my head with one hand whilst you unbutton your fly and my totem is there, so close but I can't hold him. Your hand is between my legs and my body betrays me, so wet with longing, that your fingers just slide inside me. I hear you gasp and I know how much you want me and how much this is killing you.

I wrap my legs around your waist as you thrust yourself into me so hard I wince. But I know it has to be this way, you can't love me, you won't let yourself. This is something that has to be done. It's all about rough, violent sex, our lust, a slaking of a thirst, a quenching of a need, satisfaction of a desire, the consummation of so many months of yearning and I want it as badly as you do. I press myself against you, feeling you inside me filling me so completely, touching the deepest part of me and I whisper 'Just fuck me, let it out and fuck me...' Your mouth is on mine again and you're slamming into me harder and harder. It's excruciating and ecstasy at the same time.

I'm gasping with it. Panting and moaning and you're shouting my name. I can feel all the sensations rising in me, the way only you can make them and I know that it doesn't matter how rough this is, my body belongs to yours, it responds to you, it knows what you need and what you want and it meets yours and overlaps yours. It isn't love, it's just primal but it has to be satisfied. It's as if we've known each other for eternity and loved each other in so many past lives but in this one, there is only this.

You let go of my wrists and pull my bottom towards you you. My arms go around your neck and I'm mouthing your name breathlessly because the emotion and the feeling is so strong I can't speak. And then I'm rigid against you as it hits me, arching into you, tightening round you, riding the wave of everything we feel for each other as you release into me, shuddering and shaking. We're both crying and I'm trying to support us with my back against the wall because your legs are trembling so much.

We just stand there like that for what seems like forever until you realise that I can't stop shivering. So summoning up your last reserve of strength, you carry me over to the bed, kick off your shoes, step out of your jeans and cuddle up to me under the covers, holding each other, trying to warm ourselves up. Everything is drained out of us.

And then I remember how short the time we have together is and I pull off your tshirt. Your skin is so soft under my fingers and my lips. My tongue caresses your nipple, whilst my hands stroke the ripples of the muscles you worked so hard on for me.

Kissing my way down your stomach, licking your navel, torturing myself that this is the only time this will ever happen and knowing I must enjoy every second of it. Touching your scar hidden amongst the hair on your lower belly - I feel as if I know your body like my own and there he is, the thing that torments my dreams, pushing towards my mouth, knowing what I want and what you want. Licking the frenulum and feeling him pulsate against my tongue. Encircling the shaft with my hands and caressing and stroking and enveloping him with my mouth. The tip of my tongue still against the sort of W, which is all that remains of your foreskin, and the head pressed against the roof of my mouth, sucking and licking and tickling your balls with my fingers. I never knew I could feel so turned on and want someone so much. Your hands are pulling my hair and pressing my head closer against you and I've taken as much inside my mouth as I can, pulling it back and forth, sucking and licking and tickling. Your balls are harder and harder and I know I have to be careful but I love this so much and I don't want to stop until the last possible second. I can feel you thrusting against me and I'm having to fight to control your passage with my hands. I can hear you groaning and whispering my name, the way I've heard you over the phone and at the last second, I move my mouth away and it spurts all over my chest.

Finally, pulling off the basque, pushing me onto my back and kissing me as you use the sheet to clean me up. Before long, you're kissing me all over, my face, my nipples, my shoulders, my belly and my whole body is on fire with wanting you... and I can't believe you're hard again. Kneeling over me whilst sucking and blowing on my nipples, I can feel you against my hip and then all I can think of is your tongue as it licks between my legs, the way you promised it would. Your fingers pushing from the inside, sandwiching all my nerve endings and taking me up there again, arching against your face and your hand, loving you and hating you at the same time for the power you have over me... so hot and so wet, aching for you, tightening round your fingers and melting over you as my body ripples with pleasure from the shockwaves running through it.

You sit up and I lift my legs up and press my painted toe into your mouth in time to the rhythm of your fingers and then run my foot down your chest to where he's waiting to be captured between my two feet and caressed. I hear you whisper, 'where is it?' And I smile and reach out my hand to drag my bag over, unzip it and take out the toothbrush. I press it against my clit, giggling as I press the switch and all the glorious sensations start.

Knowing you're finally watching me just heightens everything and I want to remember the look on your face forever as you take it in, both of us feeling so wanted and desired and unselfconscious.

My other hand tweaking and tickling my nipple and our eyes locked together, just enjoying the effect we have on each other. Then, I have to close my eyes because I'm trying to concentrate on keeping my feet moving and I feel you trying to push something into me. Something hard and familiar, you saw it on the open top of my bag and you cant help yourself. Holding the pink ears back as you insert it into me, pushing it higher and higher and then switching to the first level on both sides, smiling as you see the goosebumps starting and switch to the second level, laughing as my nipples become rigid with pleasure. The third level starts you quivering as you watch the shivers running the length of my body, the fourth speed as I start to moan with pleasure and finally to maximum, watching the vibrations take hold of me. My clit being stimulated with the toothbrush and the ears and by the rabbit from the inside.

You start to push the rabbit in and out of me and then you put my feet, one by one, onto your shoulders. You so want to see me the way you always imagined this. You want to see me coming the way I described it to you. To see, to hear and to feel. My mouth is open and I'm pushing against you as you push it into me, grinding and twisting, my hand pressing the toothbrush harder against me - exquisite sensations and I'm gasping and panting and calling to you because I can't take much more. I start to move the toothbrush away but you snatch it from me and press it back on, remembering what I always said about not being able to experience and manipulate to that final bit.

I scream and throw my arms out, pressing my hips upwards against the vibrations, opening my legs wide and arching my back, pushing my nipples up and up. My skin is glistening, my hands are gripping the sheets and I'm laughing and crying as you thrust it in and out of me harder and harder. Watching me, so vulnerable and so trusting until, finally, you see what you've only ever heard; panting and screaming as the most complete orgasm hits, tremors rip through me and my insides explode soaking the rabbit and your hand.

Suddenly I'm really crying and you put the toothbrush down, switch the rabbit off, lie down beside me and just hold me, shaking and trembling until it passes, leaving me limp and breathless in your arms.

Then, when I'm calm and warm and safe, you make love to me. Carefully, quietly, with no fireworks, no tricks. Just acknowledging the way we have come to feel about each other. Accepting that it happened and that by doing this and not fighting it, we can come to terms with it and learn to live with only our friendship. This time we both climb the mountain together and go off the edge and it's not earth shattering and there's no screaming, just a feeling of completeness as if the part of us that we exchanged has been returned and the ache of all those dreams is satisfied. We stay locked together our arms wrapped around each other for as long as we can, just wanting to hold onto that feeling until time catches up with us.

We help each other to get dressed, still touching and caressing and smiling, but no longer nervous or afraid. You carry my bag and hold my hand as we walk back to the car and that hand is on my knee the whole drive back. That's when that damned record by Keane comes on 'This is the last time' and we start to laugh.

I stop the car to let you out and you reach over to kiss me properly one last time; looking into my eyes and smiling. We both want to speak, but there is no more to say. What we have can't survive out here in the real world. It exists inside us. There will be no more tears. It is done.

So you squeeze my hand and close the door and watch me drive away.
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