Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Play with Gigi and Iris

I was going to post some soul-searching thesis on a dark subject that has resulted from my counselling sessions but, you know what? It's hot, the sun is shining, my children are being very well behaved and their father is away this week. Ok, so I'm making pocket money the reward for keeping their rooms tidy and helping me with washing up and dishwasher chores but, who cares if it actually works when someone else isn't undermining the whole affair.

As a result, I'm in a very contented frame of mind, which has so many beneficial side effects on my general wellbeing.

The combination of Iris and Gigi has become my favourite form of solo relaxation, especially when I'm feeling particularly horny.

Although I know I am now Menopausal, my hormones must be having a well-balanced time because my libido is rampant again with inventive thoughts of sex with Ruf and ideas for future blog fantasies running through my head at the most inopportune moments.

And today was one of those wonderful days where I don't have to go to work. I wake up, hot and horny, and luxuriate in the realisation that I don't have to get up yet. But I am not alone in the house so, whilst I can let my imagination run riot, I can only enjoy the resulting moistness between my legs without being able to do anything about it.

Later, when the chores are done and everyone has gone out, the day really does become my own. I have a definite time frame in which to relax and enjoy the hour on my own.

Quality time.

Lying on my back on my bed with an Xcite book to aid the process, I lubed up my clit with some of Durex Play's Feel (review to follow) and set to work with my Gigi.

The only problem with reading at the same time is that you start to run out of hands. Well you do if you're Joanna Cake who is determined to have her cake and eat it too in every area of her life! So, after a chapter, I was sufficiently in the mood to discard the book and get to grips with Iris. She has a slightly faster and heavier mode than Gigi's top programme and brings me up to the point where I want penetration.

Swapping them over again, I decreased Iris's vibrations to minimum and increased Gigi's to maximum. Placing Gigi on my clit and waiting for the optimum moment, I held Iris ready at the extreme entrance to my pussy, applying just the slightest of pressure on the closed muscles there.

The moment there is contact, I can feel the excitement start to build within my vagina. It is the most exquisite sensation as the muscles of the opening begin to quiver with anticipation and as I gradually introduce forward trajectory, the muscles of the internal walls start to contract around the incoming silicon shaft.

Becoming aware of the fluttering heat at my very core as the orgasm starts to build, sending tingles down my legs, pulling in all the muscles of the pelvic floor and sucking everything in tighter and tighter until that moment where both brain and pussy implode to permit a small puddle of appreciation to expel itself from the cunt, accompanied by an unstoppable verbal acknowledgement.

What better way to spend the hottest day of the year so far with the added frisson of anticipation that a visit to Ruf at the weekend brings...?

Monday, 29 June 2009

Mute Monday: 1961 - A Year in Pictures


Farthings stop being legal tender in the UK


JFK inauguration


Ham the Chimp in space


An infamous Nazi stands trial


The first man in space


A spot of trouble in Cuba


The world's greatest ballet dancer defects to the West


I couldn't find one of Lady Diana Spencer is a baby but she was born this year too.


The first Ken doll put in an appearance in this year.


Americans in space


They started building the Berlin Wall


The first performance of West Side Story


In 1961 John F. Kennedy begins his term as the 35th President of the United States. (TOS: "The Cage"). He later gives his famous "Decision to Go to the Moon" speech. (TOS: "The Cage" remastered). Dwight Eisenhower, John F. Kennedy's and Lyndon Johnson make the only contemporary presidential appearances in an original series episode, as images in the Talosian download of the ship's computer.


Sunday, 28 June 2009


'My bed smells of you. I'm trying to read but you keep interrupting.'

That text made me think about him.

Lying in his bed with the smell of my perfume emanating from a negligee that I had placed strategically beneath the pillow I had vacated only 15 hours before.

Despite my only fleeting visits, the room is still full of memories that enforce how big a part of his life I have become.

If he looks a little to his right and upwards, he can see the Queynte that Jackie Adshead painted for us, framed now and standing guard over him.

To his left, the set of drawers containing my favourite toys. The ones that survived the cull because they work for us.

Further over, the Magic Mirror into which I pause and look whenever I pass, particularly when I'm naked... which I so often am in his flat. He will smile at the memory and the knowledge of my improved body image as a result.

Diagonally opposite in the corner is the punchbag which I will attack in various states of undress.

That bed is our haven but, for him, also a continual reminder.

I am not in it.

Friday, 26 June 2009

OverRated: Wall to Wall Sunshine

Everyone I know loves it. The hotter the better. They moan continually about our inclement weather with its diagonal rain and polar gusts, spending a fortune going off to warmer climes to lie in the sun for weeks on end and fry.

Me...? I'm rather different.

Well, these days anyway. As a child I regularly took a layer of skin off my back and shoulders as I lay out on the grass taking in the rays. Trying to get my luminous white skin to turn a vague shade of brown.

As I got older, I learned to expose myself little and often if I was to achieve any form of colouration but then I started to notice the damage. Wrinkles had started to appear around my eyes and my neck was definitely taking on the consistency of chicken skin with pigment discolouration at the base where it met my chest. My hands were becoming dotted with little brown liver spots.

I began to observe the skin of those around me. The people who had spent the most time trying to get brown had the worst noticeable discolouration, particularly on their necks, decolletage and hands. Those areas that are most exposed and least often protected with high factor suncreams.

These days, I much prefer the gentler warmth of spring and autumn. Wearing a uniform that can become very sweaty and covers my entire body makes a 30 degree sizzler a chore and two or three such days in a row, extremely tiresome. I have, on occasion, been likened to a flasher because all that can be seen are my little white ankles in sandals poking out of the bottom. Naturally, I have not disavowed anyone of the thought that I just might be naked underneath :)

I have come to prefer the wonderful soft light, the breezes and the fantastic floral displays in the community gardens to the siren call of the beach at the height of summer and if I do find myself occupying a deckchair in the garden, it's normally under a parasol with lashings of factor 50. But I also remember to moisturise both my face, neck AND hands daily with a cream containing an SPF - whatever the weather. The chest and hand pictured are not mine.

But if I don't look after them, then they will be.


Thursday, 25 June 2009

HNT: Through the Keyhole

Mostly, I'm most definitely a sub.

But, sometimes, I also like to be on top.

I certainly wouldn't say dominant because there are very few people who could ever dominate the testosterone-fuelled Ruf. But it is always a pleasant alternative to experience the excruciating thigh muscle pain from squatting and thrusting up and down, before having my efforts rewarded with the sweetest of pleasures.

The Counsellor and I disagreed big time this week.

He feels that, when we finally tell the children, I should be completely honest about why I am leaving.

Yes, it is because my Husband is not affectionate or tactile and, through the example of his own attitude, has brought them up to view me and my opinions with a complete lack of respect.

But he says that they should also be made aware that their behaviour has been a contributory factor in my decision to leave.

This goes against every nurturing instinct in this maternal body. To deliberately give them guilt over their parents' separation but, worse, to apportion blame.

I'm really not comfortable with this at all.

Your thoughts?


Wednesday, 24 June 2009

Sugasm #168

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 #169? 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

Covet “My mouth waters at the sheer beauty.”

Lilly’s Turn - Part 3: Wherein Lust, Greed and Risk Intersect “She was biting her lip to prevent herself from making a sound.”

Oh Dirty Girl “It was at that moment that I knew I needed him to take me and take me dirty.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself Porn’s 2009 AIDs Outbreak

Sugasm Editor Review: Why Just Her

Editor’s ChoiceMy very first HNT!

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Made by God, Fucked Up by Parents

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

After posting Going Down, the first line of this poem kept popping into my head.

I would like to think that no parent deliberately sets out to damage their own offspring - although some of the tales in the newspapers recently have sorely tried that belief. I think you have to accept that, as in all walks of life, there are some people who are mentally unhinged and behave accordingly.

I can't and certainly don't blame my parents for my anorexia and my insecurities. I don't think I ever have. I just determined that I wouldn't do the same thing to my own children.

And, of course, that conceit was always going to trip me up and push me down. I suspect that the bizarre (in my view) behaviour of their Father is based upon his own upbringing and his determination not to perpetuate that relationship with his children either.

Unfortunately, by trying to be the opposite of our own parents, we still become monsters worthy of blame in the eyes of our children. That's how it works. Whatever we do, we cannot be seen as 'cool' parents by both our children and our peers.

And yet, I can't help wondering if our kids will they look back later and say 'I wish my parents had given me more boundaries, been more firm about what was right and wrong, taught me how to look after myself rather than waiting on me hand and foot and allowing me to watch what I liked on the television/computer/games console?' I firmly believe that there will be a backlash at some point against this 'ME, ME, ME' culture when the current generation experience the ever more strident demands of their own children.

Having come from a generation that spent its childhood doing as its parents ordered and its adulthood acceding to its children's demands, I sometimes feel as if I have spent my entire life waiting in the car whilst someone else enjoyed themselves inside. And, from talking to other parents, I know that I am not alone in this, but we just don't know how to break the cycle.

Because to do so means being disciplinarian - like our parents. And we don't want to become like them. So many parents today want to be friends with their children. They want to be admired by their children's friends as 'cool' parents, they want their kids to want to spend time with them. So they buy them everything they need without asking for anything in return... not even consideration in the form of good behaviour or help around the house. These parents just don't seem to understand that you cannot be friends with your children until you have taught them to be responsible adults, who can look after themselves and be good global citizens. Quite often, that cannot happen for many years. All they are doing by buying their affection is storing up problems for their future.

Far too many children from the 'seen but not heard' generation have over compensated for perceived injustices in their past to become the helicopter parents of today. Hovering carefully, ready to swoop in and satisfy all and any whim immediately. Disagreeing with teachers and other figures of authority who try to curtail their spirit and fostering a culture that has seen the ability to discipline of both school and society in general reduced to a shadow of its former power.

But, worse still, identifying those parents of their child's friends that they feel are too disciplined and colluding with those children in deceptions that permit them to circumvent some of the rules that hold them in check. To me, this is the ultimate conceit. The idea that your way of parenting is better than another's without knowing any of the facts and then working against those parents...?

And then there are those parents who are just too lazy to discipline or even entertain their children. They are the ones who allow the television or the games console to do the babysitting and the educating or who drop them off at a variety of after school clubs as a means of getting them out from under their own feet so they can get on with enjoying themselves. Obesity is often another side-effect as it is far easier to let them get fat as they overdose on crisps and chocolate than to argue with them and regulate the amount and quality of their food intake.

The most successful parents are those who are firm but fair. Who stick to their guns over respect and considerate behaviour and institute learning curves that involve achieving good results from small steps taken with guidance so that the big ones can be taken independently.

Our job is to make them ready to survive as adults in an unscrupulous and violent world and we cannot always be popular, whilst attempting to achieve this goal.

In retrospect, my parents did their best and, since I am still alive and vaguely sane, they must have succeeded in that regard.

The rest is just collateral damage that we all need to come to terms with and forget.

It's the hardest job in the world being a parent.

Originally posted by me on littlemummy.com

Monday, 22 June 2009

Mute Monday: Vision(s)

Courtesy of http://users.skynet.be/J.Beever/index.html

Courtesy of http://www.guidodaniele.com/

With many thanks to my good friend, Brian, for sending me all these.


Saturday, 20 June 2009

Big Boys Don't Cry

As soon as the Counsellor said those words, I could hear Frankie Valli in my head. I'm of that generation. I know it's really Big Girls but, hey, it's my mind and I'll sing if I want to!

I kept trying not to cry and he kept saying that it was ok and proffering the tissue box. Why don't I want to cry? Or, at least, not let myself in front of a stranger? But then I've always hidden my head in Ruf's chest when I've been telling him about life in my world and things have got too much for me. I can remember the first time I cried in front of him. Big fat tears that just sort of squeezed out of my eyes. I wasn't crying, just leaking... and desperately trying to retain and regain control.

When the Counsellor said that it is ok for big boys to cry, I instantly thought of Ruf, who will weep unashamedly at the sad points in a film, making me want to cuddle him and make much of him for not being afraid to show the softer side of his nature. The Counsellor went on to say that the ones that do cry are not wimps, but the ones who are the most confident in their masculinity. They're hurting but they don't feel that it is a reflection on their manhood to show the tears. They're secure in the knowledge that they can look after themselves if some idiot does point and laugh at this supposed sign of weakness.

He kept saying: 'It's a fallacy that Big Boys don't cry. It's not weak to do so.'

But, for me, it was more than that. It was a loss of control in a public arena. Something that I have been brought up to avoid at all costs. In private, alone and isolated, I can shed the tears, vent the frustration, humiliation, anguish... but not with an audience. I need to keep my composure and not show that I have been hurt.

In the emotional maelstrom that surrounds me, I need to be in control of at least something. In days gone by, it would have been my food intake.

Maybe I should be grateful that the focus this time is on my tears.

But sometimes it all just becomes too much and, despite my best efforts, even the presence of the Counsellor cannot stop my eyes from filling and a few drops overflowing.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

HNT: A Slice of Plum Cake

Control needs to be regained, reasserted. At that tender age, there isn't so much that can be regulated... except, perhaps, food.

Little Joanna is trapped inside me trying not to make a fuss, being good and polite, desperately pushing all the time for acceptance - whether it be retrospective: from her parents; or current: from her friends, colleagues or whichever man shares her bed.

Joanna Cake, HNT: Going Down

And Little Joanna is also still trying to ration my food intake.

I was always a very petite child, slight, slender and small boned. My father had a nickname for me that reflected this and, although it was not his fault, I believe that my subconscious came to consider being thin as synonymous with being loved.

As a teenager, I wasn't much different with the exception of the development of the curves of my breasts and my bottom. I don't believe I weighed much more than I do now. But the boy I had adored since my first day at senior school thought otherwise. His casual throw-away comment that I had 'a fat arse' and his subsequent relationship with a girl in the year above who was the archetypal beanpole with no curves whatsoever became the catalyst.

Bombarded by images of svelte, stick-like models in magazines and on the television, my perception of love and acceptance being linked with a specific body image became ingrained. And thus began my relationship with anorexia as a juvenile.

As a more mature sufferer, I still don't really do cakes, biscuits or chocolate. I have always 'blamed' it on my allergies. Which is partly true.

But it's also to do with the fact that I came to equate all food with rewards.

Even now, I notice myself thinking things like: "I will just finish these few household chores and then I will sit down with a cup of tea and some toast" - I think of even the most basic foodstuffs as a treat. And naughty foods don't even come into the equation.

When things got difficult as a teenager, I started to allow myself to eat only if I felt good about myself. Sadly, the turbulent events that unfolded during this period of my life meant that I stopped eating very much at all.

In the early days after my parents' separation, I would binge and then make myself vomit because I was so disgusted with my uncontrolled eating behaviour. I didn't like being sick so I moved swiftly on to laxatives. For years my digestive system was totally up shit creek (if you'll pardon the pun) due to this excessive habit and compounded by the various stresses of my working life.

In my early twenties, I worked as a personal assistant to someone who, from my perspective, used me as a whipping boy. If someone had done something wrong and he didn't think it would go down well to haul that person over the coals, he would call me in and sound off to me. He was just venting and, in retrospect, I don't think he was actually telling me off... but that's how it felt. Particularly as I was someone who was so desperate to please. I would leave his office feeling crushed by another person's inability to live up to my boss's high standards. My whole body tensed up by the encounter.

This went on for several years, until a point was reached where I couldn't actually empty my bowels at all. Everything had gone into spasm, my belly swelled up and, despite the fact that I was hardly eating, I got fat - looking back, it was really just bloating. My body held on to any food that I did eat and when something did make it into my stomach, it was agony because the normal digestive process was so spastic.

I changed my job, took away some of the travel-related stresses and the responsibility, but it took months to settle down and I was like the stick of my childhood all over again.

For the rest of my working life, my weight fluctuated with my mood. If I was happy at home and in the office, I would be eating normally and become the ideal weight for my size. This in itself was not a problem so long as it was not coupled with my continuing struggle to persuade my Husband to display tactile affection. If these two phenomena coincided, then I would become unhappy, focus on my 'elephantine' reflection and start 'dieting' again.

Over the years, chocolate bars were totally phased out to the point where I no longer even craved them. At some point, that also began to happen with food itself. So many years of strict control led to the negation of the 'hunger' instinct. I could go for a whole day without eating and not notice... or perhaps my brain just overrode and ignored those feelings to the point where I no longer recognised them. There were periods where my clothes just hung on me. I remember that now.

And yet, I still looked in the mirror and saw a fat person.

Now, I can finally see the image from the mirror that my eyes were transmitting to my brain and acknowledge it. But, at the time, all I saw was the 'bulge' of my stomach, my 'fat' arse and my 'leg of mutton' thighs.

Today, after seeing the counsellor, I bought a Wispa bar.

Because I felt like it.

My brain tried to say it was a reward for having allowed some of the shit to come away in the session. I deserved it.

Instead of nibbling at it and making it last half an hour as usual, savouring each little bite, I ate it in three mouthfuls and said 'Fuck you!'

And I repeated the process four hours later to reinforce the message.


Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Pleasurists #33

Pleasurists is your round-up of the adult product reviews that came out in the last seven days from bloggers all around the sex blogosphere.

Did you miss Pleasurists #32? Read it all here.

Do you have a review for Pleasurists #34? Submit it here before Sunday June 21st at 11:59pm PDT. Please re-post this list on your own blog if listed.

Want to win some free swag? All you’ve got to do is enter.

Njoy Pure Wand Giveaway! Deadline: Friday, June 19th at noon Eastern Standard Time.
Blowfish Swag Contest Giveaway #1 Deadline: June 22nd
Name That Sex Toy! Deadline: 11:59 PST June 26th

Madame Editrix Scarlet Lotus St. Syr

On to the reviews…

Editor’s Pick
Taffy Tickler Silicone Sweets by Epiphora
On the front of the package, a circle of orange spines say, “Try Me.” You feel them; they are glossy, pointy, somewhat pliable. They remind you of body jewelry, Hot Topic, the 90s. But this tactile experience does not prepare you for the sensation of the spines in your pussy.
Editor’s Note: It should be no secret that I love Epiphora’s reviews, and this is a particularly wonderful one. Often reviews of bad toys are better than raving reviews of wonderful toys that we reviewers can’t get enough of and this is one such review. The absolute horror of the toy is at once frightening and intriguing as Epiphora takes you through her attempts of trying to find any redeeming quality in it whatsoever.

Evolved Bottle Rocket Orion by Carrie Ann
Sublime by Epiphora
The Boss by Red
Vibratex Thundercloud by Betty Rocket
Mini Remote Control 7-Speed Egg by KamaSutronics
Cal Exotics Intimacy Massager by Miss KissThis
Review – The Hawaiian Vibrator by ms. YET
Evolved Diamond Lustre by the kitten pup
Betty Jo by Carrie Ann
We-Vibe by Exploring Intimacy
Climax Silicone Wavy G-shaft by Carrie Ann
Sublime by Epiphora
Natural Contours Petite by Domina Doll
Natural Contours Jolie by Domina Doll on Viviane’s Sex Carnival

Climax Silicone wavy shaft by Amorous Rocker
The Titan by Essin’ Em

Anal Toys
Anal Electrodes by KamaSutronics
Bootie by Beautiful Dreamer
Cyberskin Dream Cock by Eliot Bodem
Aluminum Mini 3″ and 4″ by Epiphora

Lube, Massage Oil, Bath Stuff, & etc.
Kama Sutra Mint Tree Luxury Bathing Gel by Ansley Agnello
Lover’s Choice Flower Balm For Her Pleasure by Thursday’s Child
Sliquid Organics Natural Gel by HotMoviesForHer Sex Toy Crew
Wet Naturals by Domina Doll

Door Jam Cuffs by The Master
Dr. Kaplan Nipple Pump System 2 by Thursday’s Child
Nexus iStim by Sleeping Dreamer
Fetish Fantasy Wooden Paddle by Eliot Bodem
Jennings Dental Mouth Gag by Domina Doll

Adult Books/Games
Lesbian Sex 101 by Ansley Agnello
Spin Me from JimmyJane by Sleeping Dreamer
The Clitourist by Ansley Agnello
Books by Anna Hooper by Red
Books By Tracey Cox by Red

Adult Movies/Porn
Big Ass Fixation 4 by Sommer Marsden
Amateur Angels 22 by The Porn Librarian
women in Cell Block 7 by FrzKey
Cynthia by J.D. Bauchery
No Swear Words by The Porn Librarian
Office Perverts by FrzKey
Dana Dearmond’s Role Modeling by Domina Doll on Viviane’s Sex Carnival

Kegel Exercisers
Pleasure Pearls by Baby Sinead
Kegel8 Tight and Tone by havingmycake
Smartballs by HotMoviesForHer Sex Toy Crew

Fantasy Swing by Ginger Leigh
Contour I by Sleeping Dreamer
The eXtreme Plow Fucking Machine by KamaSutronics
Crazy Girl Pheromone Diva Dust by Jessie M
Adult Toy Cleaner by Jezebelle
Liberator Fascinator Shag Throe by Epiphora

Tuesday, 16 June 2009


Most relationships seem so transitory
They're all good but not the permanent one
Who doesn't long for someone to hold
Who knows how to love you without being told

Natasha Bedingfield

The lyrics made me think back to that moment. Two years ago now. My blog was only a few weeks old and Ruf was intrigued by it.

I was lying in his bed... our bed... warm and soft in the glow of our earlier lovemaking. Ruf had got up to make tea and it had gone quiet so I knew he was on the computer. After about 10 minutes, I heard his footsteps and the door flew open.

He had that look on his face. The one that brooks no argument. The expression that says I'm about to get it big time.

He shrugged his dressing gown to the floor, flung back the duvet and climbed in, announcing: 'I'm going to fuck you'

And he did.

He gave me every part of himself, keeping nothing back as I held him and loved him in return. Revelling in his strength, his enthusiasm and his determination to take me to the peak of my pleasure.

It was the first time that I had exposed that part of our life to the world and been there when he'd read it.

Watched the effect of my words on a male psyche and been available to receive the benefits.

Finger Fucking Friday.

This is the man who has helped me get myself back. The adult that should have developed and grown if she had not become a stunted teenager through the rigours of modern life.

When I first met him, he promised that he would help my mind to 'sing' and, to achieve this, he has learned to play my body like the most accomplished of musicians, whilst making me feel so beautiful and sexy that I cannot help but love myself.

For what more could a woman ask?

It doesn't matter that he is totally different to any man that I have been with or imagined myself with. Completely out of sync with everything that my life has been in the past.

And yet, three years on, I still find him as compelling as I did that first day. Sure, we have our moments where we irritate the hell out of each other because of our differences but, mostly, we just want to rip each other's clothes off or snuggle up together, revelling in the touching of our naked skin.

Is he my soulmate? Is there really such a thing? That word conjures up images of people who agree about everything but could it be that opposites complement each other to make a whole.

Whatever happens in the future, I believe that our friendship will endure for a lifetime.

Monday, 15 June 2009

Mute Monday: (Skin) Texture

Courtesy of http://thebeautybrains.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/wrinkle.jpg

Courtesy of http://media.photobucket.com/image/wrinkles/krystina_038/wrinkles.jpg

Courtesy of http://macabrefitness.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/muscleman.jpg

Courtesy of http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1212/772243754_9383f3adf5.jpg

Courtesy of http://binbrain.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/elephant-skin.jpg

Courtesy of http://media.photobucket.com/image/stretch%20marks/tim4squidoo/stretchmarks.jpg

Courtesy of http://images.google.com/

Courtesy of http://www.crypticcomet.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/ferengi_highlight.jpg

Courtesy of http://www.duiops.net/seresvivos/galeria/cococaimanes/Nile%20Crocodile,%20Masai%20Mara,%20Kenya.jpg

Courtesy of http://www.startrek.com/imageuploads/200303/ds9-499-klingons-o-brien-and-w/320x240.jpg

Courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/38/Guldukat.jpg/200px-Guldukat.jpg

Blogger Pictures


Sunday, 14 June 2009

Violence Unsilenced

Jazz sent me the link to this site in her attempts to help it win the Blogluxe Most Inspiring Blog award.

The stories and the courage of the people featured at Violence Unsilenced defy description.

If you feel inspired, you can vote once each day until 6th JULY.

Sugasm #167

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 #168? 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

Every Time You Orgasm, An Angel Gets Its Wings “There is nothing that screams “fuck you” to the pain and the hurt in the world than screaming “fuck me” to the person in your bed.”

HNT: Spanked “I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. But tonight, I was sure.”

A Thousand Kisses “This wasn’t enough. I knew that I had to try something else.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself Congratulations, you’re invited!

Sugasm Editor Sex Work And Honesty: Religion

Editor’s Choice Food, fun and commitment

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

Friday, 12 June 2009

UnderRated: Green Porno

I was reminded of the email I received introducing me to this simple series by Isabella Rosellini when she appeared on the Graham Norton Show last week.

Ruf and I were fascinated by her interpretation and the sense of fun that underpinned what was basically a very factual piece recounting the physicality of the sex lives of various creatures, with Isabella playing all the parts herself.

This expose of the sado-masochistic snail is just one of many available on youtube or through the Sundance Channel. I had no idea that those simple animals who criss-cross my paths, demolishing my new green shoots and leaving their slimy trails were such complex sexual adventurers.

Watch and enjoy!


Picture Courtesy of http://www.treehugger.com/green-porno-short-film.jpg

Thursday, 11 June 2009

HNT: Going down...

I'm not sure this view would be particularly flattering for any woman.

It's gravity.

But, you know what, who cares? The performance of said act gives such pleasure to both parties that it doesn't really matter.

You just close your eyes, take a deep breath and get stuck in.

I have spent so much of my life not feeling good enough. In terms of physical attractiveness, mental ability and performance of life tasks.

I've dismissed so many of the amazing things that I have achieved. Played down areas that I have worked hard to develop, refusing to accept the kudos of congratulations on my improvement.

I have argued with my mentors over whether I am ready to take on the next level to the point where they have been offended at my lack of faith in their teaching skills.

The Counsellor said it's like I'm running a marathon which everyone else finished two weeks ago but I'm still running and wondering why no one is catching me up. In my world, there is no finish line, no end goal that says I am finally worthy because I have completed the task.

Little Joanna remembers her parents criticising her for the way she did something that she thought she had done well, but without offering an alternative so, in many ways, worse than Harry Enfield's creation 'You don't want to do it like that!' And then, on the occasions that she asked for help, telling her that 'She was a big girl now and should be able to sort it out for herself'.

She also recalls her mother's later apology that, when we misbehaved as children, she remonstrated with her older daughter 'because it was easier and more effective'.

It is certainly not fair to say that my parents were unkind or unloving. My father is generous to the extreme but, mentally, the cynical humour of his personality was tough on mine. In the same way that it was on my mother's, with a devastating effect on her own self-esteem. I love my father dearly but I don't think any of us quite understood how corrosive those two opposing styles can be when continually rubbed against each other. It's friction, pure and simple, and the softer material becomes damaged. Control needs to be regained, reasserted. At that tender age, there isn't so much that can be regulated... except, perhaps, food.

Little Joanna is trapped inside me trying not to make a fuss, being good and polite, desperately pushing all the time for acceptance - whether it be retrospective: from her parents; or current: from her friends, colleagues or whichever man shares her bed.

Grown up Joanna takes on everyone else's problems and tries to help them, even though she has more than enough of her own to deal with at the moment. The Counsellor says it is because she wants people to like her but it's more that, because of her exposure to the kindness of strangers in the past, she believes in karma. That good deeds are paid forward and the simple act of assisting someone else at a time of need means that succour will be provided from an unexpected source when adversity strikes. And, more than that, the idea of someone being upset when there was something that could have been done to help but everyone walked on by...

However, the situation is becoming akin to me running through the village with a handcart, whilst people are throwing on their problems and I'm saying 'It's fine, I can deal with this... I'll just throw out a few of my own things to make room'. As a result, I don't make time for me. I don't allow myself to tend to my own needs, to lick my wounds. Perhaps it's a way of avoiding dealing with my own angst?

If I am unhappy, I repress it. Push it deep down inside me with the excuse that I will deal with it when I have time. But there never is time for me because I'm always worrying about someone else and tending to their needs. So it just festers and grows, rather than being released. Not quite like a cancer, malevolent and rancorous, but destructive nonetheless. It tries to rise to the surface and I push it back down again time and again, letting it sit there - a ball of trapped energy in my chest.

I need to learn how to say 'Fuck off!' and mean it, rather than allowing people to dump their problems on me or just stomp on my opinions and ride rough-shod over my self-esteem in order to validate their own.

Or perhaps I just need to learn how to say 'No'.

Politely, but firmly.


Arrow courtesy of http://www.63xc.com/scotth/downarrow.jpg