Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Perfect Day

Perfect weekend really.

Ruf and I indulging our hobby with other enthusiasts.

Tea in the local pub, followed by the evening at my new flat with friends, who could stay over. One of them said they had never seen me looking so happy, which probably says it all really.

And the following day a long walk with the same friends along the prom in warm September sunshine, punctuated by ice cream and lunch.

Then, when everyone else had started their return journeys, the rest of the afternoon and evening in bed with my lover, sometimes fucking furiously, sometimes purely just loving each other, before watching Donnie Brasco starring Al Pacino and Johnny Depp.

I don't think I could have asked for anything more.

Sometimes, life can be incredibly sweet.

Monday, 28 September 2009

Mute Monday: The Eighties



Sunday, 27 September 2009

The Tudors: Series 3

I kept missing this due to other commitments but I managed, episodes 1, 6, 7 and 8.

Enough to see Joss Stone as Anne of Cleves.

It was a bizarre piece of casting in that the lady in question was described as a 'Flanders Mare', which tends to suggest she looked like a horse. I don't particularly like Joss Stone or her music, but she is quite a pretty girl and certainly doesn't have the pendulous breasts and big stomach of her historical counterpart.

Mind you, Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry is hardly true to reality either. At this stage of his life, Henry VIII was in his late forties, unable to exercise due to the boil on his leg and becoming very fat and spiteful. In the programme, they have tried to show this by giving him a moustache and goatie beard and making him slick back his hair... presumably to look more nasty.

Watching a scene where pus was drained from his boil, it was very hard to imagine that the King was close to death when he was exhibiting the most deliciously muscled and extremely healthy torso.

I guess the series just wouldn't look as gorgeous if any of the main characters were fat, old or ugly. This is Hollywood history of course.

In the script, Henry goes on about not liking his new wife because she smells bad and does not having her bits in the right place so he can't consummate the marriage. He cannot get it up for her but he is quite able to wank in the night and have wet dreams so it must be her fault.

I think Joss Stone actually does very well on the acting front, not that it is a particularly demanding role. But the scenes in the bedchamber where she is obviously terrified of a man's advances were well played and one could imagine Henry recoiling from her in the light of the sexual chemistry he had with his previous wives.

Once he is introduced to the charms of Katherine Howard, a young girl whose upbringing has resulted in her being very easy with her favours and totally confident in the power of her body, the sexless marriage to Anne of Cleves is most definitely over.

The series itself is, as ever, beautifully produced with the most fabulous settings and costumes and I shall try to avail myself of the missing episodes by rental through LoveFilm once it is released in December. Or maybe I will be lucky enough to get all three seasons in a boxset for Christmas.

I am looking forward to what must be the last season and the fates of Katherine Howard and Catherine Parr, Henry's final two wives. It remains to be seen whether the series will be commissioned to continue further with the reigns of Henry's three children.

Pic courtesy of: http://thetudorsnews.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/coming-tudorsx-large.jpg

Friday, 25 September 2009

Cutting It

I watched Meera Syal's documentary about self-harm recently.

It didn't particularly give me any clues as to how to deal with this alarming problem but it was very helpful as a resource into the thinking behind it and the knowledge that I was not the only mother whose child seemed to have been drawn into this inexplicable method of 'coping' with the stresses of their daily lives.

My daughter is a part of the statistic that says one in three teenage girls abuse themselves. I have known about this for some time. When I first became aware of her activities, I tried to ignore it, in the hope that it was 'just a phase' and she would 'snap out of it'. Several years on, I have to accept that this is not going to happen. However, just as with my own anorexia, if you ask the sufferer what causes it, why they feel the need, they are unable to articulate the reasoning behind it. If you try to push the issue, they become defensive and refuse to communicate on the subject. All you can do is monitor.

I think the most startling interview within Meera's programme was with a young woman in a unit addressing the issue. Initially, she had been removed from all instruments that could be used to break her skin. No knives, razor blades, glassware, sharp implements of any kind. Even cd boxes. So she resorted to ever more risky methods to achieve her goal. Ligatures made from pillowcases around her neck. Breaking light bulbs and swallowing the glass. The current stage of her rehabilitation was that cutting was permitted but that she had to fill out a detailed report stating and depicting how, when and where and then discuss the issue in 'circle' afterwards. It had not cured the problem, but it had decreased the frequency of the incidents.

One of the interesting things that my own daughter did say to me was that she learned about cutting at school in their PHSE lessons. Her feeling was that it was almost rammed down their throats but she came away with the impression that it was an expected, almost acceptable means of coping with the misery and depression in their lives.

So, when she felt one of the black depressions coming on, she followed the example she had been given at school, felt the release from the sight of her own blood and became addicted.

I wanted to cry when the programme explained that it was almost normal within their society to carry a razor blade in the battery compartment of your phone. And no-one batted an eyelid when their classmates' arms and legs were ripped to red stripes as a result.

However, I cannot blame the current education system totally for the rise in its popularity. There were older women on the programme, women of my age who had been cutting since they were teenagers back in the 70s and 80s, long before this habit became known and almost fashionable - Princess Diana being a prime example. And I do recall at school being part of a group who regularly scratched at their arms with pins and razor blades - normally the name of their current beau - but scarring our flesh nonetheless. Many of these girls also went on to have numerous body piercings (often self-administered) and tattoos which tends to suggest that there may be a progression in terms of more socially acceptable methods of coping.

It is thought that the problem may have increased because of the deterioration in family closeness over the intervening decades. Previously, the family was at the centre of all activities for a huge part of a growing child's life. Nowadays, our teenagers live almost separately in their rooms with their computers and family life is fractured. Their exposure to civilising, considerate living together is limited. They seem to have far more homework, far more exams than we ever did so the pressure upon them to perform rather than have fun is definitely increased. In their eyes, the needs of the one outweigh the benefit of being part of the group collective.

Looking at the scars on the arms of these women was horrendous. Each mark bore a story of an attempt to cope. In some cases, there was virtually no normal skin.

I fear for my child because, as with my anorexia, there is no external cure.

It has to come from within.

Pictures Courtesy of http://lancashirecare.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/self-harm.jpg and http://www.psychiatric-disorders.com/articles/images/imgWS-self-mutilation.jpg

Thursday, 24 September 2009

HNT: Affirmation

I kept trying to quote my affirming mantras throughout all the trials and tribulations of the previous few weeks.

When my Husband disrespected me at the most basic of levels in front of our children and still expected me to try to run his household smoothly without any standing in their eyes.

And, still, part of me tried to defend his actions. Found reasons and excuses for the most inexcusable behaviour and made allowances.

Someone told me recently that it is not until all hope is gone that you can reach the bottom and bounce back. Acceptance of the nadir is the springboard to the future.

Lying in Ruf's arms as he held a person who thought she was a nobody, he stroked me and gently shook my head to try to tap out all the frenzied thoughts teeming around my brain. Soothing me with soft words and butterfly kisses, drying my tears and calming my sobs.

But it wasn't until he held my face and looked into my eyes and said those words that I truly knew what it felt like to be the centre of someone's world.

"I'm in love with you and I want you to be my wife."

For the non-mousers, click here

Of course, I had to go and spoil it.


Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Sugasm #173

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 #174? 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
Dressing Room Voyeur
“I caught his gaze this time, on purpose.”

It’s Always the Quiet Ones…
“So grabbing her hips, I pulled her in for a kiss.”

Behind Closed Doors
“Others had watched, she beat me, brought me to tears, held me and then began to untie me.”

Sugasm Editor
The Mouse Drama

Editor’s Choice
Let the Rain Come

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Tuesday, 22 September 2009


"Do you think you're not pretty then?" he asked.

I was rather brought up short by that one. Obviously the impression I was giving my male companion, with my description of Ruf's previous women, implied that I didn't think I compared favourably.

Sure, I have enough male attention every day to be fairly confident that I don't need to put a bag over my head, but I certainly wouldn't class myself as a 'looker'.

I don't think I'm terribly photogenic - I'm one of those quick movers, full of facial expression and can sometimes appear to be gurning if caught at the wrong moment :)

I suspect it would be fair to say that I am not conventionally pretty but I do appear to be appealling to enough members of the opposite sex, who do not have guide dogs or dark glasses, to qualify as attractive.

Remembering that Michelle Pfeiffer once likened herself to a duck and other beautiful people who are also very insecure about their looks, I guess that there are not too many human beings who really do think they are gorgeous.

The important thing is, do the people you want to like you, like you?,

Well that's difficult, bearing in mind the attitude of both my Husband, whose failure to compliment has been spoken of here ad nauseum, and my first crush, for whom I carried a torch for six years and who told me I had a big arse before he went on to date and marry a beanpole. After those two formative experiences, I tended to think that probably I wasn't pretty enough for the people I wanted to like me, to do so.

However, Ruf has stopped suddenly, mid-sentence, to announce 'You know, you're really pretty' often enough that to state baldly that I'm not would be incredibly insulting to his taste and make me appear to be fishing for compliments.

Sometimes you just have to go with the general concensus :)

Monday, 21 September 2009

Mute Monday: Teenage Angst






Sunday, 20 September 2009

In Memoriam

It's been a sad few months for me.

Several of my childhood heroes have bitten the dust and two within the space of a few days.

Culminating most recently in the demise of Keith Floyd.

Cook extraordinare. He hated the term 'chef' and revolutionised tv cookery programmes in the UK. In his trademark bowtie, he and long-suffering director/producer, David Prichard, took this medium by the scruff of the neck and dragged it into a whole new era.

Floyd cooked outdoors everywhere. With a portable gas stove and the freshest of local ingredients and adapting the recipes of the countries he visited, he did Fish, he did France, he did Italy, India, the Far East. He cooked and directed, never being afraid to berate the cameraman for focussing on him and not the food. It was the cooking that was the star, not him, as far as he was concerned. And, of course, he always slurped as he cooked. The drinking, the bowtie and the copious amounts of garlic he threw into everything were his signature dishes.

His business ventures into restaurants always went belly up because he was the most convivial of hosts and trusted his financial advisers and staff far too much. His drinking and rumbustious habits took him through several wives and left him frail but unbowed.

On Monday, Channel 4 showed the programme 'Keith on Keith', where Keith Allen interviewed him. It was a strange programme where Floyd seemed to take charge of the direction of the filming and then announced that his estranged daughter was arriving for a reconciliation on camera. The other Keith refused to film the initial meeting but they all spent an evening together, ending with lots of drunking singing.

The following day, there was a large lunch in which the hung over Floyd behaved very badly. It is this type of behaviour which I remember so well from my own father's drinking days. I truly felt for Poppy.

Two days after the programme went out, 65-year-old Floyd was dead. He had returned to the UK from France for chemotherapy for bowel cancer but died of a heart attack a few hours after enjoying a final fabulous meal which included partridge and oysters, shrimp and champagne.

Floyd pic courtesy of: http://trueslant.com/scottyoung/files/2009/08/Keith-Floyd-Filming-Orkne-002.jpg

A few days earlier, the gorgeous Patrick Swayze succumbed to the pancreatic cancer he had been fighting for two years. He was 57.

I first remember him in North and South, an American series about the Civil War. Whilst everyone raves about his performance in Dirty Dancing and I love his song 'She's like the Wind', it was Ghost that really did it for me.

He was such a beautiful man that, whilst filming, Demi Moore was reduced to stuttering gobbledegook and was forever forgetting her lines because she was so in awe of him.

Patrick pic courtesy of: http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2008-03/06/xin_0220305060915203440931.jpg

And, finally, a few months ago, Farrah Fawcett Majors lost her long-running battle with cancer. Icon of my teenage years. We all wanted to be Farrah and I had my own bleached blonde highlighted mane with those curious flick ups.

I watched the film about her treatment and slow decline, the various surgeries, the love of her family, friends and long-term lover, Ryan O'Neal, with great sadness.

Farrah pic courtesy of: http://dakiniland.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/farah_fawcett_poster.jpg

May they all rest in peace.

Friday, 18 September 2009

OverRated/UnderRated: The Swingle Singers

These guys were a feature of my childhood and I was reminded of them whilst watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

They were the forerunner of the a capella groups and those curious people who can make noises into microphones that turn them into one-man drum machines.

What do you think? OverRated or UnderRated? I can't make up my mind.


Thursday, 17 September 2009

HNT: My favourite part

If it weren't for Ruf and this photograph, my 'favourite' body part would probably never have seen the light of day.

For three decades I hated my bottom. I lived with the daily displeasure of having it follow me around. No matter how much I dieted, it just wouldn't diminish. It was massive. It stuck out. It was disproportionate to my frame.

It was of no consequence to me that a lot of men said it was a fabulous arse, I didn't believe. I just remembered that one comment from so many years before by a boy who knew nothing of these things. His verdict was that it was huge. And that's all there was to it.

It was not until Ruf took this picture that I truly understood the full glory that I had hidden away for all those years. The strong back, with its deep concave curve leading into the soft fleshy globes of my bottom all silkily highlighted by the warm glow from the bedside lamp.

When I was looking for an avatar for this blog, it was the only image that would fit the bill. My bottom would appear every time I commented and be seen by anyone who looked at my profile or the blog itself. It would try to redress the balance for thirty years of neglect. The first step towards learning to love myself.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

For those who are unable to mouseover click here.


Top pic courtesy of: http://www.xprize.org/files/img/homepage/mckinsey_report_feature.png

Tuesday, 15 September 2009



At first he was kind. He made me climb onto the bottom step of a small ladder before cuffing me to the horizontal chin bar fixed in his door frame. Then he got a cotton belt and secured my other wrist. And another belt like a tie with a big Windsor knot around my neck.

As I looked at him curiously, awaiting the next development, he produced the plastic spatula with a flourish and a 'ta-da' which made me smile... with a certain amount of trepidation.

The 'thwack' as the flat part made contact with my bottom confirmed my suspicions that my first foray into bondage and pain might not be such a pleasurable experience.

After a short time inflicting discomfort upon my derriere, he flipped the tool over and inserted the handle inside me, all the time, flicking casually at my clit with his fingers.

Waiting for me to come, before kicking the step away and starting to flog me more determinedly. I hung there, defenceless, for some time, as he beat the soft butt cheeks until they were glowing pink. The belt around my neck was tightening but not dangerously so. My toes unable to reach the ground, the pressure on my shoulders from taking the whole weight of my body was becoming acutely uncomfortable and if I loosened my grip of the bar and relied on the cuffs to support me, they cut into my wrists. So I clung on stoically when he slid his fingers into me and fucked me with them.

After a while, I forgot the pain and submerged myself in the pleasure. My knees came up to accommodate the passage of his digits, whilst the tension grew inside me until I thought I would burst. My body throbbed and a curious weightlessness engulfed me. I was aware of enjoying the feeling of suspension as opposed to being grounded against the bed. Simultaneously slapping with the spatula and probing with his fingers, he broke the resistance within me and I had no choice but to melt all over his hand with a shuddering sigh.

When he had finished admiring his handiwork, he replaced the step beneath my feet and helped me down, before carefully washing and drying the implement and replacing it in the cutlery drawer.

It makes me smile when I see it there because I know, whatever happens in the future, whenever he sees that piece of equipment, he will think of me.

Monday, 14 September 2009

Mute Monday: Back to school








Saturday, 12 September 2009


I am indebted to Julia Roberts for making us natural forty-something mothers feel normal.

Surrounded by images of the toned bared midriffs of those who have succumbed to the surgeon's knife to perpetuate their youthful abs, rather than work tirelessly on diet and exercise to check the march of Old Father Time, it is most gratifying to see a celebrity mother who looks normal.

Once you reach your mid-forties, you start to notice the deterioration of your skin's natural elasticity. Suddenly you become aware of the crinkle and sag of your abdomen where the skin was stretched to accommodate your growing baby. In a lot of younger women, this area does apparently revert back to normal, although for those who have put on excess weight due to water retention, gestational diabetes, multiple foeti or just lots of pregnancies, the fluffy skin and stretchmarks never return to their pre-pregnancy appearance.

However, the onset of peri-menopause and the imbalancing of the hormones that control skin and muscle tone means that even those of us who have worked our butts off at the gym or consistently found ways to exercise throughout our working day start to become aware of a stretched quality to our skin that we certainly didn't have before. It doesn't even happen gradually. Just appears overnight. The first to go is the neck with the appearance of the waddle, much celebrated by Dyan Cannon, the object of Richard Fish's lust in Ally McBeal, and followed by just a general loss of skintone when you pull faces or just move generally. Then the creases at your elbows suddenly seem to be so much more apparent. Crinkly and fluffy where once there was smooth definition. And then the abdomen. The hard-earned six-pack of yesterday seems to become an unsupported blob of nothingness overnight.

No matter how much you frequent the gym, dose yourself up with collagen pills or starve yourself, it seems to be impossible to improve the elasticity of the covering that holds the body together.

All you can do is keep working the muscle underneath in an attempt to fill it out and hope for the best.

But, woe betide you if you falter because there are no day's grace before you look and feel flabby again and to expose such a sight in a bikini would be considered a public decency offence... pre-Julia.

In the face of such symptoms, the nipped and tucked freaks on our television screens will immediately resort to the surgeon's knife and and have any excess tucked into their bikini lines, making the rest of us feel even more inferior, when it should be them that we point at for being abnormal. The world has developed a very strange slant in terms of what is right and wrong.

Of course, the alternative is to start downing vast quantities of lager like our menfolk. Somehow, beer bellies seem to maintain their firmness and fill out the skin above. Perhaps on a smaller scale, we could emulate them and make the most of the positive qualities of the mini-pod?

Well, it's a thought...

Pictures Courtesy of http://img.thesun.co.uk/multimedia/archive/00798/Julia_280_798565a.jpg

Thursday, 10 September 2009

HNT: Sexy Girls Lingerie

The nice people at Sexy Girls Lingerie sent me this lovely outfit and asked me to help them to launch their new venture, which also specialises in vibrators and other sex paraphernalia.

Sexy Girls Lingerie


Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Sugasm #172

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 #173? 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
A Hot Fuck in a Parking Lot
“We got more daring and soon clothes were a hindrance to our insistent hands.”

I Think I’d Rather Misbehave
“I bet the secret thrill of this has your cock already climbing to attention.”

The Painter
“He says something, small talk, and I stutter something back, lost in the blue depths of his eyes.”

Sugasm Editor

Editor’s Choice
Yet Another Reason You Should Buy a Vibrator

More Sugasm
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Tuesday, 8 September 2009

The Return of the Tulip

There and back in 20 hours.

A quickie sandwiched between two three hour drives.

I hadn't seen him for three weeks and the intensity of our desire meant that we made love repeatedly in the short time available, culminating in a mind-altering fuck, which began when I reached into the toy drawer and my hand grasped the tulip.

A faithful old friend, who had been deserted since the advent of the Lelo experiment. Switching it on and placing it on my clit, I heard the familiar loud buzz, before the orgasm ripped through me within seconds. How could I have forgotten this little gem? Certainly, from it's increased motor volume, on the way out, but still very effective nevertheless. The Lelos bring about gradual arousal and climax, but this little beauty can take you from 0-60 in about ten seconds. It's far more powerful than the Gigi or Iris, although not quite as full-on as the Hitachi and is far more controllable than that behemoth.

As he waited for the next one, Ruf smiled and turned me onto my front. He never feels threatened, secure in the knowledge that I may get more intense clitoral orgasms from my toys than from his fingers, but I always require his penetration for the screamers. On all fours I pressed the device against my vulva and allowed myself to be taken. With each thrust and withdrawal, the moans became louder, passing through the normal decibel level, before entering alerting the neighbours territory.

And thus it came to pass that Joanna Cake totally lost control. The shrieks became louder and closer together as each orgasm hit and melded into the next. Even the knowledge that the gardeners were in the side passage, just one thin wall away failed to stop the high-pitched, blood curdling scream that signified the zenith of my pleasure.

Finally collapsing breathless and incapable of thought or speech as Ruf knelt behind me laughing softly.

With only a few moments to gather my thoughts before I had to retrieve from the floor and replace the garments that had been stripped from me unceremoniously only a few hours previously and then I was back in the car and on the motorway again.

As the speedo crept upwards, with my pupils still dilated from my earlier exertions and my mind a spaced-out blur of energy, it's not really surprising that I failed to register the warning beeps of my Garmin and the significance of the van on the bridge ahead.

Whether or not I had the presence of mind to slow down sufficiently or indeed in time remains to be seen but I suspect it probably should be illegal to be in charge of a motor vehicle whilst under the influence of an orgasm...

The Tulip and Orchid G seem to have been discontinued by a lot of the major suppliers. Bondara do one called the G Spot Pleasure Hunter. If you click on the link below and then select G Spot Vibrators, you'll find it about half way down the list. G Spot, my arse! This is a far more effective clit stimulator!!

Monday, 7 September 2009

Mute Monday: Babes in the Wood










For the Star Trek bit you'll have to provide your own wood...

Periodic Chart of Star Trek Babes

Number 1 - Majel Barrett

Mouseover Pic to see Character and Actress Names

Click Name to open page about them.

Jadzia Dax - Terry Farrell

Elizabeth Dehner - Sally Kellerman

Roberta Lincoln - Terri Garr

Andrea - Sherry Jackson

B.G. Robinson - Teri Hatcher

Seven of Nine - Jeri Ryan

Janice Rand - Grace Lee Whitney

Nancy Hedford - Elinor Donahue

Nona - Nancy Kovack

Vash - Jennifer Hetrick

Hoshi Sato - Linda Park

Helen Noel - Marianna Hill

Edith Keeler - Joan Collins

Miranda Jones - Diana Muldaur

Kamala - Famke Janssen

T'Pol - Jolene Blalock

Lt. Uhura - Nichelle Nichols

Orion Slave Girls - Star Trek - The Original Series

Counselor Deanna Troi - Marina Sirtis

Dr. Beverly Crusher - Gates McFadden

Orion Slave Girls - Star Trek - Enterprise