Sunday, 30 November 2008

Sugasm #153

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 #154? 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

For tonight, we’ll forget who and what we are. “I want to play with you all night.”

Please, please don’t “It will hurt, but it will be fine”

Rough “I want you on top of me.”

Sugasm Editor Radical Vixen

Editor’s Choice Sometimes You Find You Get What You Need

More Sugasm

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

Friday, 28 November 2008

UnderRated: That Friday Feeling

There is nothing quite like that Friday feeling.

Although, truth to tell, I'm more of a Wispa girl!

After a hard week pounding the pavement, when I finally remove my uniform and flip off my shoes to settle myself with a nice cup of tea and a shortbread biscuit in front of Countdown. Giving my flaccid brain a nice little pre-weekend tone-up courtesy of Carol Vorderman.

After that, there is a choice of two scenarios. It's either providing a cordon bleu equivalent (in my dreams) slap up dinner at which my children will turn up their noses and demand funds to purchase Red Bull and crisps from the local Tesco Metro and the requisite teenager versus parent altercation, followed by a glass of wine and an evening on the computer.

Or, far better, having a quick shower, grabbing my already-packed suitcase and legging it sharpish along 200 miles of Britain's favourite motorways to have my itch scratched by the ever so generous Ruf.

So, hopefully, by the time you read this, that's where I'll be.

Ah, yes, that Friday feeling :)

What makes your Friday?

Thursday, 27 November 2008

HNT: Parson's Nose

I believe our American cousins will be eating the breast and legs of turkey over the next few days. Over here, some people consider the parson's nose to be the real delicacy, although, it never really appeals to me, as it is the arse-end of the bird.

However, in honour of those who do enjoy it, and in response to Fruit Taster's plaintive request for a better perspective of my petite derriere in Antique, I give you my own parson's nose and a bit of leg to go with it, the dark meat of the thigh being my own personal favourite cut.

I hope the picture gives the general idea and I'd like to think that it is a view that would entice any red-blooded male to push me over the table and...

Well, I think I can probably leave that little fantasy with you, along with the knowledge that in about 36 hours, after a four week hiatus, Ruf will be taking matters in hand.

Needless to say, I too shall be giving thanks this weekend!


Tuesday, 25 November 2008


How does that feel?

Possessing the power to make a woman disintegrate like that?

Have her desperate and almost childlike for the fulfilment of her need.

To watch her lose control of every faculty in the face of her desire?

So that your lightest touch can ignite her.

Skin erupting in a profusion of goosebumps.

Every hair on her forearm standing on end in anticipation.

Nipples at attention in entreaty.

Cunt awash with arousal, dripping with lust.

Listen to her beg you to take her to your bed?

And melt around you when you do.

To be engulfed by her?

Really, how does that feel?

Monday, 24 November 2008

Saturday, 22 November 2008

Compartmentalise me

It made me so sad.

I could not understand this behaviour...

And yet I can - now the male concept of compartmentalisation has been explained to me.

Although that didn't make it hurt any less.

I guess that if the woman you love is with her family, then you throw yourself into other things to try to forget the pain that causes. To contact me now is to remind yourself of what you cannot have so better to put me carefully into a box and bring me out again when I am only a few days away, rather than several weeks.

I know now that you resented my absence and subsconsciously punished me for not being able to be with you.

Women are different. I think about you all the time. I miss you. I spend my days wishing the hours past so I can be with you again. I hold onto that when the shit is hitting the fan all around me. Someone tells me something or I see a programme that makes me laugh and I instantly think to text you to tell you. Even if it's only to wish you goodnight. That's why I found it so hard when there were days and days of silence in the space between my visits.

Sometimes, part of me wished that we were back at the beginning again where you were so driven to contact me all the time.

Another part of me worried that the lack of communication was the beginning of the end. That you had become complacent about the strength of my love for you.

I decided that perhaps it should be over.

Was 43 hours from making it so when you pulled us back from the brink.

And now we both understand compartmentalisation and have tried to replaced it with honesty.

After completing this post but, prior to publishing, I discovered that Lazy Phil had explained this phenomenon from the male perspective.

Thursday, 20 November 2008

HNT: Cheshire Cat

The orgasms hit one after another.

The effect of your cock as it slowly makes its inward progress, pressing my G spot and then my A spot. Little spasms of pleasure coursing through me as the tempo increases and the gap between the pulses shortens. Running into each other and becoming one long glorious uncontrollable wave that screams its way into the ether.

For a moment I open my eyes and your face fills my view. It is one huge satisfied grin as you look down at me. White teeth beaming like a Cheshire Cat within the frame of that piratical black beard. Triumphant recognition that you have this incredible power.

It is impossible not to smile back...

... and then you start pumping all over again x


Wednesday, 19 November 2008

Mute Monday Extension...

What can I say? I knew there was a reason that I loved Italian rugby. I give you the Bergamasco brothers!

Check out the rest of the advertising campaign at Dolce & Gabbana.

Tuesday, 18 November 2008


It was a first for her, but she had been given a dare.

The sleek leather of her skirt cool against the cheeks of her bottom.

The prickle of the lace-topped hold-ups against her softest parts every time she walked.

Producing the strangest but most liberating of sensations.

Half-naked and yet wholly covered.

Discreet whilst flauntingly obvious.

Getting out of the taxi without giving the driver an eyeful was the first obstacle. There is a world of a difference between freedom and flashing...

Standing six inches away from the instigator, she wondered if he would realise. But, having left him in ignorance as to whether she would take the challenge, she determined not to enlighten him. How much more exciting for him to watch and wonder. To imagine...

Supremely conscious of the miniscule skirt and the possibility of imminent revelation, her wanton side wanted to throw caution to the wind and bestride the worktop regardless. But the cautious, conservative partypooper felt constricted and constrained to decorum, standing pencil straight and avoiding the seating.

Each movement reminded her of the negligence of her dressing ritual, the weak link in her ensemble that left her vulnerable and yet strangely empowered.

As he leaned against the counter beside her, she could almost smell the soft scent of her arousal and it was impossible to be unaware of the delicate moistening of excitement.

Proximity caused her mind to wander unbidden to the consequences of his surprised discovery. To picture possibilities of an empty room away from the crowd. Envisage scenarios of furtive fumblings with the background noise of the party in full swing. Anticipate exploratory hands running down the smooth leather covering her bottom, pulling her against him before plundering those soft white thighs; the confirmation of their mutual attraction hard against her hip; questing fingers taking advantage of the ease of access whilst two sets of ragged breathing echoed the memory of a previous pleasure given and received.

It lay there between them unresolved. That one drunken night where those same digits had been responsible for her first infidelity and an orgasm that shattered the foundations of her repressed acceptance of that other life.

The physical history of their ongoing flirtation, with its secure safety net of sober reflection and family responsibility, left the hint of unfinished business hanging in the air.

For now, the gauntlet remained where it had been flung down. From time to time, one would feint as if towards it but neither of them was quite willing to risk the consequences of its retrieval.

Monday, 17 November 2008

Mute Monday: N is for... Naked

Whilst we're on the subject of Nakedness, I just want to remind everyone that Jackie Adshead will be displaying her fabulous queynte paintings at Erotica in London this weekend and hopes to meet as many bloggers as possible. Perhaps I'll see you there :)


Sunday, 16 November 2008

Sugasm #152

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 #153? 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

Sugarbutch Star: Maze - The Girl in the Red Dress “She’s the kind of girl who brings out the worst in me.”

treat or … fuck “He looked like I had just given him a car for Christmas and he gently took my hand and led me upstairs. ”

A Life Exposed and Amplified “We were breaking the rules and being dirty.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice I told him I loved him. He gave me a pen.

More Sugasm

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

Friday, 14 November 2008

OverRated: Not Making a Fuss

I went on a course recently that was basically about getting on with people in the workplace but everything that was being addressed applied equally to our day to day family and social lives as well. Accepting that everyone is different and trying to see things from another's perspective. One of the concepts mentioned was 'not making a fuss'.

We allow something that has upset us to go unchallenged at home or at work. Some ill-judged word, a dismissive tone of voice or an action that someone else thought was amusing but which made us feel uncomfortable. So many of us tend to just let it go for the quiet life and then, when it happens again, we wonder 'Did I allow this situation to recur because I said nothing the first time?'

The answer, of course, is 'Yes'.

If something that you don't like happens to you directly or to someone else in your sphere, you should speak up. Silence perpetuates the problem because it allows the perpetrator the green light to continue. And if it starts to repeat, resentment will ensue. Remaining quiet just ferments the irritation, bubbling under the surface until the point where it goes bang and erupts in a big messy argument.

Far better to deal with the issue when it is still small and fresh than the deluge of effluvia contained in a long-held grievance.

If only I had been given this piece of advice when I was younger, instead of being conditioned into putting up and shutting up. My Dad used to hate queueing and would always make a big fuss if he had to. It was totally embarrassing for both us and my mother. Her way was to remain silent and tolerate any inconvenience, both in public and in private. But it also meant that she didn't draw attention to my father's way of denigrating her as the butt of some of his jokes when she obviously felt very uncomfortable.

I grew up to repeat this behaviour after she left. If he behaved badly, I would eventually get upset over a specific incident rather than drawing his attention to the pattern of bullying, for that is effectively what it was. He would be mortified if he realised that and would never have done it intentionally but some people (even television funnymen) have a 'sense of humour' that feeds off the discomfort or physical shortfalls of others and unless it is drawn to their attention, they will never understand the unkindness of that type of comedy.

I also did not complain when my own Husband behaved in a similar fashion, laughing at me in front of friends and family and making me feel not good enough. I lived my life wearing a continual big smile to disguise the very repressed and angry person that was eating away at my insides until it built up to such a degree that there would have to be an emotional outburst far exceeding the scale of the triggering transgression. This, in turn, led my Husband to believe that I was prone to over-reacting and so he would ignore whatever I was moaning about because it would soon blow over.

In reality, the air was never cleared and the problem returned to fester in the depths of my soul. I told Ruf recently that I would never justify my presence in someone's life ever again. Never feel that I was somehow not good enough for them. If they didn't care enough to verbally, emotionally and physically demonstrate their pleasure that I was there, then I obviously shouldn't be. It is something that has been a bone of contention throughout my life and a major instigator of my bouts of anorexia so I am trying very hard to face up to it now to avoid any more repetition.

I have been in work situations where one person has said something to another that I know was uncalled for. The person running the course said that if it makes you ill at ease as an observer, then it most likely has the same effect on the recipient, who will be sitting there thinking 'Is it just me?'. If no one else says anything, then that person will believe that they are being thin-skinned and remain silent, so the bully gets away with it to come back another day. If other people voice their concerns in the victim's defence, then the aggressor might think twice about their words the next time.

We owe a duty to other people as well as to ourselves to speak out when something is not right.


Thursday, 13 November 2008

HNT : Antique

I love this picture.

I can actually see the profile of my beautiful bottom and laugh at my long-held belief that it was enormous!

The skirt itself is something of an antique at nearly 30 years old and I now realise that the thread which I pulled the other evening was securing the lining in place. It was given to me by a friend about 15 years ago because it had got too small for her.

When I was very skinny, because of my eating disorder, it was a comfortable fit but, last week, I could just get into it... so long as I omitted to wear any knickers.

Now, obviously, that's a bit of a salacious side comment but the real reason I mention it is that the label clearly indicates that it is a size 10. Bearing in mind that I have been buying clothes for a size 6, some of which hang on my waist or my hips, I can't help but ask the question - have the measurements for sizes changed in the last two decades?


Wednesday, 12 November 2008

Two Little Boys

Little Sis and I grew up loving Rolf Harris. We could never 'see what it was yet' but loved watching him paint in that bizarre abstract way with what looked like pots of housepaint. His programmes also introduced us to the didgereedoo and the wobble board and his famous signature records 'Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport', 'Jake the Peg', 'The Court of King Caractacus' and, of course, 'Two Little Boys'. The latter was our favourite and we often acted out the story it told of the two little boys on their wooden horses pretending heroics in childhood which would later be acted out on a real battlefield.

The song itself was written about the American Civil War but 'My Family at War' last night told the story of Rolf's father, Crom, and his bosom buddy and brother, Carl. They had emigrated from Wales to Australia but both signed up to join the ANZAC forces and returned to Europe to fight the Bosch. Carl was only 16 and this was discovered when they reached England so he was kept behind whilst his brother went off to the trenches of Northern France alone. They were separated for the first time.

One of the tales recounted in the programme was the battle for the village of Villers Bretonneux, which was recaptured from German hands by the ANZAC divisions with heavy losses in April 1918. Above the blackboards at the village school are written the words 'N'oublions jamais l'Australie', a sentiment echoed throughout the town. Never Forget Australia.

It was not until August 1918 that the brothers found themselves on the same battlefield at Le Hammel and both were injured. Crom received a gunshot wound and was taken off to a field station from where he returned home. Carl was not so lucky. The shrapnel wound in his knee caused complications and he died shortly afterwards aged only 19. Crom never spoke of his time in the trenches but he kept his helmet, complete with a large hole in the back, signifying how close he came to death earlier in the War. When Rolf became famous and began singing 'Two Little Boys', his Auntie Pixie would always turn it off because she couldn't bear to be reminded of the death of her brother.

The other story told in this episode was that of Kirsty Wark's Uncle John Alan Wark. This remarkable young man signed up a few weeks after Lord Kitchener's initial call and wrote the most beautiful letters home to his family. His War spanned the entire 1914-18 duration and in November 1918, he wrote to his mother telling her that he was on his way home. A few days later, travelling through Belgium, he started to feel unwell and was taken to hospital where his death was one of the 50 million in the pandemic of Spanish Flu that swept through Europe in 1918.

If you get an opportunity to watch any of the episodes in this moving series on BBC iPlayer, you will discover stories of amazing courage that bring the horror of that terrible time graphically to life.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

The Last Day of World War One

'... Although the Armistice was signed in a railway coach in the forest of Compiegne at 5.10am on 11 November 1918, the ceasefire was timed for 11am, in order to allow time for word that the war was finally over to reach all the troops.'

This was from a fascinating article by Michael Palin in the Radio Times promoting his Timewatch programme last weekend and which should be available to watch on BBC iPlayer. In those final six hours, several hundred soldiers died and thousands more were wounded needlessly, throwing themselves into attacks that were ordered to gain ground into which, in just a short time, they could have walked unchallenged.

The American commanders were amongst the worst culprits. General Pershing did not want the ceasefire. His very prophetic view was that the Allied armies should have continued all the way to Berlin and demanded an Unconditional Surrender or find themselves having to do this all over again at another time. The brass under him continued in their search for glory, ordering countless unnecessary attacks before the 11am deadline.

General Foch himself had an opportunity to end hostilities a few days earlier, whilst talks to agree terms were underway. It was requested by the German envoy but the General would not agree until the conditions were finalised.

When the uncoded wire came from German Headquarters in Berlin to agree to any terms and stop the fighting at all costs, the Armistice was declared and announced to the World. It was in all the newspapers but, whilst civilians in London celebrated, men on the Front were still fighting... and dying.

The last British battlefield casualty was Private George Ellison at 9.30am. French messenger, Augustin Trebuchon, was shot and killed at 10.45am as he tried to deliver his message that soup would be available after the ceasefire. George Price, a Canadian, was killed by a sniper at 10.58am and American, Private Henry Gunther lost his life charging German troops at 10.59am.

Of course, these were not the last men to die as a result of the Great War. Many succumbed to injuries sustained during the conflict for years afterwards. And there were also hundreds of hideously disfigured soldiers. The pictures from Queen Mary's Hospital in Sidcup of Private Thomas who lost half his face and underwent extensive reconstruction were quite horrendous.

Every year I try to get my own children to watch about twenty minutes of the Remembrance Day Service at around 11am on the second Sunday in November so they can be part of the two minute silence and witness the laying of the wreaths.

Ninety years on from that day in 1918, there are only three Great War British veterans still living and it is up to those of us who owe them and their comrades from the Second World War such a huge debt to carry the burden of remembrance.

They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

Monday, 10 November 2008

Saturday, 8 November 2008

Trouble in Paradise

One of the joys of my job is that I get to watch people. See them interacting and going about their daily business. The young couple, hand in hand, seemingly without a care in the world. Little families with their cute kids. Sometimes the parents are so obviously in love, whilst others are clearly in that cold, dark, confused place. Some kids with a different adult every day - one day it will be a grandparent, another with their female guardian, and sometimes with the male and the different dynamics that exist within those relationships because some of them are obviously not biologically related.

Bearing in mind my own situation, I often wonder about the nature of relationships. What is it that we want from them? If one that is working is different to those that have gone before, does that make this relationship wrong? Especially when previous more socially acceptable partnerships have not lasted the distance. Does being different to what you expect something to be, mean that it isn't going to end up being amazingly right? Because everything doesn't fall immediately into accepted boxes of standard behaviour, should you give up on it and look for something that will not invoke judgemental comments from acquaintances?

I can't help but think of all the different types of relationships that exist, besides the archetypal boy meets girl and falls in love. They certainly don't all fall into the stereotypical Garden of Eden creation with Adam and Eve being similar ages.

Younger man with older woman

You can just hear the gossips can't you. Often, after many years of apathy from a partner of her own age, she cannot understand what he can possibly see in her but, from the way he looks at her, he is quite smitten.

Older man with younger woman

Ditto the above and this one with accusations of 'Sugar Daddy' to add to the general Spring/Autumn suspicions.

Man with kids plus woman with kids

I know couples in this position and I really don't know how they cope. Suddenly having four children where once there were two and having to provide enough bedrooms.

Man with kids plus ex wife/partner and woman without kids

A couple of close friends come under this category. One friend continued to work full-time, even when they had children of their own, in order to be able to finance the man's older children although they did not live with him. Another friend has been a weekend and often full time mother to her husband's children since they were small. Their relationship with the ex is pretty good but, having to deal with the children in their teens, my friend is convinced that she doesn't want to have any babies of her own.

Single, unattached man and woman with kids and ex husband/partner

This was Ruf in his previous relationship. He loved having the kids around but acknowledges that it was hard to deal with a lot of life's ups and downs when there were two very hands-on male role models with differing approaches.

Single woman with older married man with kids

The mistress/other woman/homewrecker. Or the woman who falls in love with the man and will wait for him in the hope that he will eventually choose to be with her full-time.

And then, of course, there's Ruf and me - single man with older married woman with kids

For people in this situation there are several options - for the woman to leave her children, for the woman to take her kids and leave her husband or for them both to wait until the children are old enough to be so engrossed in their own lives that they will not be unduly affected by any divorce. So, five years of waiting before I can become Mrs Ruf or some approximation of it. The personification of the Proper Girlfriend. Five years before we can even do the things that lovers do to ascertain whether the amazing thing we have would actually survive in the real world.

And, of course, that's before you get to the various permutations of same sex partnerships, with or without kids; mixed gender and ethnicities, which perhaps should be included amongst the various headings above but bring their own cultural and religious problems.

I think what Im trying to say is that there is no accounting for the power of attraction. It happens between the strangest of people. And we should never try to stifle it so that it fits into the constraints of Society's mores.

Thursday, 6 November 2008

HNT: Tagged

I've been tagged by both Mr Nighttime and Miss Scarlet Blue

Here are the Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up

Six random things about myself...?

Well I think I'll start with the one that I have been reminded of today... I have extremely strong pelvic floor muscles. In the course of the last five years, I have discombobulated three rabbits and over the last six months expelled TWO IUDs. Now, Ruf has never complained as he's always viewed it as a good thing... until yesterday saw the demise of my second IUD and the reappearance of the whole contraception question.

I think everyone knows of my fascination with all things Star Trek and that Captain James Tiberius Kirk was my first true love. I have watched pretty much every episode in all its incarnations with my favourite being 'The City on the Edge of Forever' with Joan Collins and my favourite film version 'The Wrath of Khan'.

I am extremely tenacious and determined. I hate to be beaten by anything which is why I have persevered all morning trying to get the coding right for the image near the bottom of the page. Those of you with GoogleReader or Bloglines may well have seen glimpses of my abortive attempts when I pressed the return key instead of save.

I'm very much a people person: Making new acquaintances, continuing email correspondence with longer known friends. I like to think that I'm the sort of person with whom you might not have spoken for a while but if you contacted me, it would be as if you had never been away. I know life is like that and I don't take it personally.

I think that smiling can cure most ills and I am very rarely without one if I can help it... although I probably should add the proviso, with my oncoming menopause, that I cannot guarantee a permanent smile for the next couple of years. Being very good-natured, one thing that really gets my goat is being taken for granted. That is a time when, I'm afraid, my smile does fail me... a fact to which the people who live with me will probably attest. I'm one of those 'straw that broke the camel's back' disproportionate exploders over something very small due to the build-up of irritation over continuing misdemeanours.

And, finally, I like surprising people by doing the unexpected and not conforming to the normal perception of me, but also with gifts for which they have expressed a liking in the past so, as requested by Osbasso, a birthday HNT for BTExpress. Not that I've ever met him but he is celebrating his 60th birthday apparently and what's not to like about gatecrashing a party :)


Tuesday, 4 November 2008


She had been given a mission.

To discover if the chemistry between them was as extraordinary as they believed or just some commonplace lust that would peter out and die its own death in the unforgiving glare of the real world.

It was she who had posed the question first. The conundrum of their relationship and her confusion due to her own inexperience with men.

How could someone who had known fewer men than she had fingers on one hand truly assess the worth of her current paramour?

And when he had suggested that she should sleep with someone else but that he didn't want to know about it, she had been revolted at the thought of the betrayal.

But when he had raised it a second time and asked for her thoughts... her list of prospective future lovers who might validate the intensity of their affair...?

Her ongoing chess game was at the forefront of her mind and they had chosen the man who would provide the test together.

So, some weeks later, she took the battle to the next level and told her opponent what he wanted to hear.

Black Knight vs White Queen reversed.

The hunter became the hunted.

As he knelt before her, she had regained the upper hand in this battle of wills and she allowed him to seduce her. To dazzle her with the entire range of his expertise. And he was good, so very good. His hands, his mouth just as he had promised. Her body gave itself up to him, accepted his mastery and drowned in it as he took her again and again. Possessing her as he had always imagined it...

...except for that small ring-fenced corner of her mind which would only ever belong to someone else.

Leaving his dominance incomplete.

Each orgasm somehow not quite all-consuming.

She could not claim victory for, purely by submitting, she had given up total control of herself.

He had stolen a smidgeon of emotional commitment which would, assuredly, taint the future.

Something very precious had been irrevocably altered.

Monday, 3 November 2008

Mute Monday : L is for... Lego

And, of course... Lewis

With thanks to Osbasso: