Friday, 31 October 2008

UnderRated: The Costume Drama

I'm a sucker for them. The really well done period piece. Where the attention to detail in terms of clothes and acting or sometimes just one of those golden moments of televisual history can even overcome my irritation at some of the bigger historical inaccuracies or just total literary fabrications. Andrew Davies and Michael Hurst have been responsible for a fair few of these. But, in doing so, they have brought literature and history to the masses in a way that some of the drier, more factual incarnations never could have. As a result, our finest thespians are queueing up to take part in their adaptations.

The famous BBC production of 'Pride and Prejudice' was castigated for the superfluous pond-dipping by Mr Darcy but was beloved by the nation's women purely for Colin Firth's reappearance in his wet shirt and breeches. Ably supported by a cast of some of our theatre's finest character actors, his sheer broody arrogance held us entranced for weeks on end until Jennifer Ehle's clipped Elizabeth Bennett finally got her man.

The Shakhur Kapur film 'Elizabeth' in 1998 had several glaring historical faux pas and yet it was totally redeemed by the incredibly erotic and turbulent relationship forged at a time of total terror by two prisoners in the Tower of London. Cate Blanchett's Elizabeth and Robert Dudley, played by Joseph Fiennes have an amazing screen chemistry but, at the end of the day, she loved her country more and married England.

But then, it's hardly surprising really that she wasn't prepared to cede her will and her independence to any man after what happened to her Mother, Anne Boleyn, at the hands of her father, King Henry VIII.

Being an aficionado of the period, the current Season 2 of Showtime's 'The Tudors' should have had me spitting feathers of inarticulate rage at some of the bigger liberties taken over dates and personnel but I found it impossible not to be completely overwhelmed by the sheer gorgeousness of the sets and wardrobes and the passion spilling out all over my living room carpet. The story of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn is well documented but has so many twists and turns that may or may not be true, depending on which historian you speak to, because of the depth of feeling that their relationship evoked not only at the time but for decades afterwards. So I forgave Michael Hurst his worst calumnies and allowed myself to be sucked in and enthralled. Fantastic stuff!


Thursday, 30 October 2008

HNT - Osbasso's Mystery Guest

I'm writing this in advance as Ruf and I are spending a few days together and, hopefully, taking some future HNT pictures.

In the meantime, here's one that you might not have seen if you didn't visit Os's site in July... It's the lingerie that will be greeting Ruf on my arrival. Whether or not it will still be in one piece by the time you read this is anybody's guess...


Tuesday, 28 October 2008


They both felt me stirring as I lay there pressed between their hot bodies but Smooth was the first to act. Pushing me onto my back, he did what he had promised and went down on me.

Opening my legs wide and sliding his tongue inside, lapping up the mixture of our two juices before sliding further down into the pool where two became three with its added sweetness from Ruf's pineapple base. He seemed completely unperturbed at eating another man's spunk, focussed purely on licking at me, trying to make me lose those inhibitions that this act still inspires. All my old fears and insecurities rise bubbling to the top with a new man, hampering my instincts, curtailing the possibility of my pleasure.

Letting him watch me masturbate, with my toys for protection, I could obscure and conceal but now it is just me, completely naked and defenceless. At the mercy of my own misery as it tries to destroy any feelgood factor; attempting to push him away. But he wont have it. And nor will Ruf, who takes my wrists and holds them tight above my head as he kisses me.

Slowly, they fight the demons away, distracting me with their tongues and forcing the negativity out of me until I can relax and soften against their lips. My mouth is becoming as wet as my cunt as I start to enjoy. The excitement starts to rise. A mouth on my mouth, tongue deep inside, searching and probing and below, lips against my lips and a tongue searching and flicking and sucking and probing until I'm twitching against that 'almost too much' sensation.

And then Ruf is whispering those words in my ear. Words that he knows are guaranteed to make me putty in his hands: 'He's going to finger fuck you now. Finger...'. Probing deep inside me, finding that soft spongy target, curling, beckoning. My breath coming in faster and faster gasps but I can't cry out. There is only a stunted, muffled moaning as Ruf's semi-flaccid cock is filling my mouth, growing steadily with excitement as he moves in and out on the breath of my orgasm.

Erection achieved, he pulls away and turns me over onto my knees. Smooth moves with him, never once removing his mouth or his fingers from my groin as he rolls onto his back with me kneeling astride his face. I can feel the next one building inside me. Gone now any inhibitions, any concerns about this stranger with his face between my legs.

My fears are about what is coming next and then it hits... Ruf's palm striking my exposed buttocks, forcing my elbows to buckle slightly, pushing me down harder onto the fingers. Straightening my elbows to lift me back up only to be forced forwards again by the next one. He is spanking me harder than he ever has before, punishing me for enjoying the man's attentions but I know it will be worse if I try to make them stop. I started this and now I have to endure, whatever the consequences, and I love it. Two men wanting me, taking me further up the highest mountain I have ever climbed. The air is so thin and I'm gasping through each wave of pleasure as it is intensified by another slap. I have never been so high without battery assistance.

Smooth's tongue. Licking and flicking and probing and teasing. Pressing and pushing and pulsing until all I can do is scream to be fucked. But still he won't stop and it is Ruf who penetrates me, exploding my world with the multitude of sensations. Tongue and fingers, cock and palm forcing me to the summit and over the edge. My arms and legs trembling and shaking as they try to support me. Smooth's face is awash as I gush over him, his hands steadying me, knowing that I am on the verge of collapse, and still Ruf ploughs his personal furrow.

Taking me back from this interloper.

Reclaiming me.

Monday, 27 October 2008

Saturday, 25 October 2008

Use it or Lose it

It applies to so many things.

It was brought home to me forcefully when a close relative began to suffer from premature dementia. The slower she became at doing things, the more her partner tried to help her by doing those things for her. The less she did them, the slower she became. Cause and effect. I'm not saying this was the reason for her eventual decline into full-blown Alzheimer's but it definitely didn't help.

Stroke victims are encouraged to try to regain the physical skills that they have lost through their attack. Particularly women because, unlike men, they use lots of different parts of their brains to perform a specific function. Strokes tend to affect one side of the body and so women can retrain one of the parts on the healthy side to take over the entire task.

If you practice a foreign language regularly, you become more fluent. Refrain from using it and the skills begin to decline. Your knowledge of the vocabulary is depleted, the speed with which the words come to your mind diminishes.

According to the final episode of The Sex Education Show, it's the same with sex, only more so because it's all in the mind. The more you have it, the more you want it. If the pleasure centres are activated frequently, they remain stimulated and you feel the compulsive urge to do it again. If they are not, you lose the desire to repeat the exercise and your libido drops accordingly. Once that happens, your partnership can start to hit a brick wall because you begin to lose the intimacy and from there it can be a downward spiral. Couples need to find ways to spice up their sex lives to make them interesting, to maintain the excitement and levels of lust for their partner and their physical relationship.

In some media articles that I have been reading recently, menopausal women are advised to masturbate or indulge in full sex regularly to maintain the elasticity and lubrication of their vaginas. Those who abstain are likely to discover shrinkage and dryness as a result. Rabbits, tulips, dildos, toys generally will all stimulate the required areas and so should be embraced.

I can't help wondering if the sudden increase in libido after a woman hits 40 is one of Nature's ways to encourage us to use it rather than lose it?

Sex Toys

Thursday, 23 October 2008

HNT - Time

Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
Fandalism Free MP3 Hosting

I love wrapping my legs around his thigh and rubbing wet pussy against him. Turning our bodies into some bizarre three-legged Jake The Peg conglomerate as I gyrate my hips and smear my arousal across his skin.

But, sometimes, I only want, in the words of the song, to lie here and just forget the world..

If I could count up the number of hours we have done that over the past two years, it would run into weeks.

Just skin on skin, curled around each other, limbs entangled or sometimes on opposite sides of the bed with only our feet touching. Half-awake, half-asleep. The soft light and muted sounds of the outside world filtering through the closed curtains as we lie enshrined in this sanctuary with the certain knowledge that, no matter what happens in the future, these memories can never be eradicated or spoilt.

A time when it isn't just about sex but an amazing intimacy that grows between long-term but long-distance lovers who learn to appreciate every minute that can be spent together. Where we come to long for the enveloping haven of this naked embrace as much as the physical manifestation of our desire.

Those three little words are spoken often enough but they cannot begin to compare to the affirmation of these golden moments of refraction in the soft afterglow of our passion. Kerrang on the radio and this song playing every two hours or so.

Pure bliss.

It shouldn't work... but it does.

So let's waste time, chasing cars, around our heads.

It was four years ago today that we first set eyes on each other and Hallowe'en will mark three years since we began fanning the flames into a passion that threatens to consume us. With a lyric like this, I'm pretty sure that, in time, this song will also become a favourite.

What is love but the strangest of feelings?
A sin you swallow for the rest of your life?
You've been looking for someone to believe in
To love you, until your eyes run dry


Tuesday, 21 October 2008


The current debate over euthanasia or assisted suicide is just heartbreaking.

I felt very strongly about it when it came back into the news a couple of weeks ago with the case of Debbie Purdy.

It seems unconscionable that this incredibly brave woman, who is now confined to a wheelchair because of her MS, should not be allowed to end her life at a time of her choosing and run the risk that her husband might be held accountable for assisting her.

However, as Baroness Warnock said in The Times “It would seem to me to be a blatant abuse to say we are going to allow for assisted suicide abroad but not in our own backyard.”

Lady Warnock, 84, who recently provoked an outcry when she said that people suffering from dementia should be allowed to end their lives for the greater good, said that unless the ban on assisted suicides was also lifted in Britain, such a move would lead to a “two-tier death service”.

I have a close family member with Alzheimer's. The ravages of this disease have turned a beautiful lady into a skeletal animal whose physical attacks on members of staff and her own family are only controlled by large doses of sedatives so that she sleeps most of the day. She is not the woman that any of us knew and no longer recognises any family member but, even though she previously expressed the wish to die, we are powerless to help her because her religion precludes suicide. What is worse is that, when she catches any illnesses that, in days gone by, would have carried her off this mortal coil, she is kept alive with doses of antibiotics.

And then we come to Dan James, the most recent entry in this sad ethical quandary. A healthy young athlete cut down in his prime by a random sports injury that paralysed him from the chest down. The proposed laws would not apply to him for his was not a terminal illness and yet, to him, it was a death sentence. The inability to move for himself, to be forced to rely on others to carry out his every need. The indignity and the horrendous loss of his freedom made him try to take his own life on at least one occasion. Until, finally, his parents took it on themselves to help their child to carry out his final wish, with the help of Dignitas. I cannot even begin to imagine how horrendous such a decision could have been. To have to bury your own child is, surely, the most unnatural thing in the world.

There were reports in the paper from other people who have been similarly injured explaining that they too went through the suicidal stage but, in time, came out the other side to a better life that is fulfilling enough for them to want to continue living.

Perhaps we should have a law that starts with an Expression of Intent but which can only be carried through after a period of a year...?

I don't know the answers. I only know that it seems wrong to force someone to live as a shadow of their former self when they no longer want to. And just as wrong to prosecute a relative for assisting them to carry out their desire.

Monday, 20 October 2008

Friday, 17 October 2008

OverRated: Being the Bit on the Side

"When I was with William, I thought 'This isn't perfect, it's a compromise... but it is my choice'. I even thought I was in control. And for 20 years I let that idea and that man dictate who I was.

When I finally realised that I was just filling in a gap in someone else's relationship, it was too late and I could not leave. It is better if you figure this out now. Use this opportunity to find someone that is yours."

Holly Harper, Season 2 'Brothers and Sisters'

Being a singleton shoring up another couple's marriage cannot be easy.

Mostly, we always consider the 'bit on the side' to be a female, waiting out her life at the beck and call of a lover who is running two women and forever hoping that he will choose to be with her full-time.

However, in some cases, it's actually a man.

Ruf will tell you that he does not enjoy being the Other Man in my life. He hates not being able to tell people about the true nature of our relationship because he will have to admit that the woman he cares about is married to someone else. And he will never ask me to come and be with him full-time because he has always insisted that he doesn't want to be a homewrecker.

I suppose, in some small way, it is at least easier for him in that he knows that we are in a monogamous sexual relationship. I have not had physical relations with the father of my children since well before Ruf came on the scene. So, he doesn't have to deal with any jealousy on that score. That thought did make me start wondering if such a decision was a peculiarly feminine trait or were there also men out there who lived the double life but only had sex with their mistress?

Ruf still has to share my time, has to fit in with the slots that are allotted to him in my busy schedule. He feels restricted that he is precluded from telephoning me whenever he wants to - although I have never enforced such an embargo. I know he is troubled that he cannot just come and visit me on a whim. For him, our life together is a flimsy structure comprising a few days of intense physical pleasure interrupted by gaping weeks of painful absence.

If I were the woman in this situation, would I remain? I'm sure that, just like Ruf's friends, I would be encouraging anyone else to move on and find someone of their own.

I can only hope that he will wait for me...


Thursday, 16 October 2008

HNT - Shaking that Arse

Doggie fashion, taking it from behind, rear entry...

It's a position that is very dear to my heart.

The preamble where I go down on all fours and shake my booty at him prior to his taking hold of my hips or my shoulders, gaining entry and thrusting...

The best part is that it allows me to use my tulip whilst Ruf penetrates me and the angle of his trajectory from that position is such that I can partake of some fabulous orgasms.

I watched the film 'Secretary' recently. It was rather different to what I was expecting. I mean, are there many women who haven't imagined being pushed over a desk and taken by a dominant boss? And what man has not envisaged availing himself of such an opportunity with a flirtatious colleague?

However, there is something so vulnerable about Maggie Gyllenhaal's body language here, with her hands flat on the desktop; her exposed bottom almost supplicant, rather than inviting, and James Spader's initial reluctance before his hand thrashes her with increasing enthusiasm. In this scene, his involvement was limited to spanking, but I have to admit to very much enjoying being paddled and poked simultaneously whilst in this position, which requires a certain amount of syncopated rhythm on Ruf's part.

Maggie's character has just come out of a mental hospital because she has been persistently cutting herself since childhood. The spanking becomes almost a substitute for the self-mutilation. I could not help but draw a parallel between my new-found enthusiasm for sex and my current victory over my own anorexia. However, having spent 30 years hating my bum, I have to say that it's not such a bad swap. I certainly intend to celebrate my fabulous posterior, as well as my increased libido, from now on.

As an aside, it was most distressing to note that no less than five women were listed as 'Maggie Gyllenhaal's stand-ins'. So I find myself asking the question: Is that actually her butt?


Wednesday, 15 October 2008

Blog Action Day 2008 - Poverty

Wow! So, what to write? What can one person do to help to eradicate poverty? And how can a little blog like mine raise awareness of this problem? The main site advises us to stay on topic. After all, any blog's audience visits because of the usual subject matter. But I can't exactly tell you to recycle your sextoys or sponsor yourselves to have sex in order to promote the cause.

In these days of the Credit Crunch, I think that the majority of the population have some inkling of what it's like to be tightening our belts because of the vicissitudes of our own particular financial situations. Not for many of us the prospect of a golden hello or goodbye no matter how good or bad a job we've done and certainly not the safety net of a Government bail out if we really mess up. Our paycheques don't normally extend into six figures over a year. And yet most of us use part of our income to support various charities close to our hearts which help the less fortunate children in the world. Even if it is only in the form of an annual contribution to a telethon such as Sport/Comic Relief or Children in Need.

We can also buy products that are labelled Fairtrade. Helping local farmers to get the proper price for their produce and encouraging them to farm organically. There is even a way to shop in a good cause.

Financially, there isn't a huge amount that mere mortals like us can do to alleviate world poverty. That job belongs to those with political clout and billionaire bank accounts. I cannot help but find it obscene that anyone can have such a monetary security blanket and not go out of their way to try to help those in desperate need. But so often it seems only to be used to grease the wheels that will enable these wealthy people to make even more money. In this 'me me me' society, where materialism is King, the poor just get poorer and the rich are continually feeding their 'I want it all' habit, whilst the social niceties of life are being lost forever.

Watching Jamie Oliver's Ministry of Food programme on Channel 4 last night really brought this home. There were five-year-old children who had never eaten a home-cooked meal and whose learning tools were to remember which food came out of which colour/shaped polystyrene package. Jamie's 'Pass It On' recipe idea could be instrumental in revolutionising the way we eat today and yet of the 20 or so local companies who originally took part, only four have provided the oven and facilities that were required to keep the challenge running. Jamie has tried so hard to change our horrible fixation with processed and pre-prepared meals by showing us how to cook simply and cheaply from scratch. Stir fries are so simple and quick to cook, the ingredients so easy to source, and the health benefits so huge that I cannot believe that more people do not cook them. Jamie took us to the local hospital in Rotherham where he was shown one of the new 'king-size' beds and hoists that are being brought in to cope with our overweight population. These facilities cost several thousand pounds per week to lease, all money taken from the Government pot that has to fund our health care and any social benefits that might be used to combat our own national poverty problem. But, despite this, the number of obese people in our society is still growing, along with the extent of that personal obesity, and lack of funds to buy healthy food is often given as the reason behind this trend.

They always say that providing food and shelter for those who are in need is only the start of the problem, but if you can provide a poor man with the means to fish or farm and feed his family in the future, then you have made a real difference. Jamie is trying, in his own way, to do this but no-one really seems to care when they can eat with far less effort via a meal from one of the multi-national chains. One cannot help but wonder if this apathy in the face of the advance of big business is prevalent elsewhere also and this is why the gap between those that have and those that have not is growing ever wider.

Still, I guess, like the big vote in Congress recently, sometimes us little people do need to rattle our sabres just so the big cheeses know that we are watching.

For other ways in which you can help fight poverty, check out the Resources page.

Tuesday, 14 October 2008


Lester is one of the group of young children belonging to Ruf's neighbours.

He's very fond of Ruf, regularly knocking on his door to have a chat.

He has also taken quite a shine to me. If he sees my car pull up, he comes running out of his house to engage me in conversation.

It's very sweet and he always brings a smile to my face.

However, one particular day, he was getting a bit of a bee in his bonnet about us being couped up in the flat for hours on end and took to knocking on the door at various intervals, whilst shouting through the letterbox to ask me what I was doing.

Notwithstanding the fact that it's very rude to talk with your mouth full, the reply of 'Fellating your neighbour', whilst truthful, seemed a bit of an overshare for a four-year-old.

I decided it was probably best not to respond.

Monday, 13 October 2008

Sunday, 12 October 2008

Sugasm #150

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 #151? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Stolen Time “The sigh of a kiss that has been too long waiting is a wicked rush.”

Keeping things hot when everything hurts “While it’s not as fun for him, what I love about those times is how sexy he makes me feel at a time when I probably feel the most worthless as a lover.”

Like lovers do… “As soon as I got that groove, he felt it. His body started to tense up and tremble.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice At What Point Have You Crossed The Line?

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

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

Saturday, 11 October 2008

Essex Girl

I have often described myself as an Essex Girl. But, when Lazy Phil posted this link from the Urban Dictionary I started to wonder if that was actually a very good idea. I mean who wants a soubriquet that gets these listings as a definition:

blonde, dumb, easy, sleeps around, drunk every night, is known for being a slut, stupid, cheap, hair tight to head etc

Errr... no!

A (young) woman from the England county of Essex. In popular mythology an Essex girl is supposedly stupid and obsessed with sex.

Errr... not that either!

a "common" (or very common) girl, not very bright, both overdressed (in cheap jewellery and tacky fashion) and underdressed (displaying her assets), always materialistic (loves shopping), likes drinking heavily (alcopops will do), and fucks indiscriminately and like a bunny, preferably with guys with a bit of money and claahhhss, but after a few drinks ... well, has to ask her best mate "Who WAS that guy I was with last night, 'Chelle?"

Well, I do enjoy shopping occasionally...

some of the most beautiful girls in the world come from essex

essex girl: "I think i've got concussion."
paramedic: "How many fingers have i got up?"
essex girl: "oh! don't say i'm paralysed too."

Now that one did make me laugh!

. Another name for a rudegirl or chavette. Orange face. Gold hoops. Burberry bag. Tracksuit. Men's hoodie. You get the idea.

Nope, none of the above

cheap, easy, loud and dumb

Well, that's up to my Reader to decide.

Personally I think I'm more of a PEG - a Posh Essex Girl. And, no, not one of the Essex Wives.

Apart from a couple of fumbling teenage moments, I have had one boyfriend who took my virginity, one husband, a virtual fling, two minor transgressions and one lover in the 29 years since I was 18 - and none was with a Diamond Geezer (although our paths have occasionally crossed). My face is resolutely white. I have nothing in Burberry and a man's hoodie would trip me up.

Just as I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of penises with which I have been in contact, the same applies to my sessions with either a manicurist or pedicurist. I have never been near a Botox party or considered having my lips plumped up with collagen. My wrinkles and my body are all my own and I intend to grow old disgracefully without resorting to surgeons and artificial injections.

Yes, I do have a potty mouth which takes people totally by surprise - not because I swear a lot but through my ability to inject smut into almost any subject matter.

I must also confess to having, at one point, been the owner of a pair of white stilettos and also to pronouncing girl as gel with a hard 'g' but are either of those really enough to convict me?

So, why did I describe myself as an Essex girl in the first place? Because I live there and I dye bits of my hair blonde... and people automatically seem to make the assumption that the two things equate.

Yes, I think I prefer to be a PEG and was about to write a post accordingly... but then the Lazy Philosopher sent me to this.

Perhaps if I really must have a label, I should stick with 'Life Blogger'...

Thursday, 9 October 2008

HNT : Cake and Cream

I'm not really much of a one for dairy produce - a hangover from the anorexic, low-fat diets of my past - butter, clotted cream and the like are now too sickly for me. I much prefer my cakes and patisserie to be made with vegan ingredients and served naked.

However, my antipathy to cream itself does not extend to other areas of my life.

There is a lingerie set which I absolutely adore. Delicate and expensive with a cute little bow made from the leopard print trim at the back of the panties.

Ruf doesn't even remember taking this picture. We'd been on a night out and were full of curry and beer, leaving us a little the worse for wear.

But I do vividly recall the first time I wore it. Ruf was rampant. Desperate for me. It had been several weeks since we had last been together. After the long drive, full of anticipation, the panties lived up to the title of this post with more than their apparent colour.

In his haste, he ripped and tore at the thong to get at me. Shredding the fine lace with his fingers.

It was a glorious moment... which I paid for later with a good hour of careful darning as I tried to repair the damage his lust had caused.