A Treat Between Courses

Day nine was the best orgasm so far. and the first one that wasn’t solo.

We sat in a secluded corner of our favourite Indian restaurant, my lover and I. The poppadums were served hot and crisp, the chutneys tangy and the Chardonnay was dry and oaky just as I like it.  A sensual feast for the mouth. The onion bhajis were, well,divine.

But there was more in store for him. He moved aside to let me out from behind the table so that I could go to the loo. I turned and beckoned to him to follow me. I pulled him into the cramped cubicle. I lifted my dress, pulled down my knickers and said

“Kneel.”

He did as he was told.

I sat down on the toilet, bursting for a wee after the wine and beer earlier at the pub. I had been saving it all for him. I took his head, pulled it in close to my crotch and pushed my cock into his eager mouth. I felt myself stiffen slightly but not enough to stop the strong hot flow down my urethra. He sucked and drank and struggled at the quick insistent flow that filled his mouth faster than he could swallow until he started to gag  and I withdrew to let the rest flow into the toilet bowl..

He looked up, smiling with happiness, and wiped a drop off his chin. Now I was getting hard.

“After wine, lassi” I said.

He didn’t need to be told what to do.  My lover gives me divine pleasure with his mouth. It is soft and warm, and he works me just right,  always enough to make me come, never too vigorous on my most sensitive parts. I  sat back, leant against the newly tiled wall and moaned louder and louder until I heard the door open.

“Keep going” I ordered in a fierce whisper.

I was hard but not quite ready to come. I took my cock out, quickly masturbated to completion before coming in his lovely  mouth in glugs of ecstasy. Whoever had been in, waiting impatiently, had gone so I let out a scream as the orgasm hit  me in waves.

Most days I would return the favour. But not today. There was no more time. The main courses were surely about to be served. He had his reward though, tucked greedily into nan breads that were liberally smeared with what the casual observer might have thought was butter.

And I am back there tomorrow with my lady lover, for a spicy dish with lady’s fingers

Body Love

In the first five days of #30DayOrgasmFun I have only managed two orgasms. This was not unexpected and does not make me the West Bromwich Albion of wanking.    As I wrote earlier, Citalopram is doing its thing on me, and , I know, a couple of other participants. Failing to come is, however, not failure. For each time, I have pleasured myself with the vibrator, wallowed in my fantasies, helped myself along with the odd visual aid, I have enjoyed my body and reconnected with it. And this is massively important.

There is a thing called body dysmorphia which many transgender people suffer from, or are diagnosed with (not quite the same thing)  and  the man/woman born in the wrong body is a common trope as much as that of little boys who knew at the age of 3 they were really girls and longed for pink dresses and dolls rather than the toy cars they were actually given. If this is the experience of some trans people it is not the experience of everyone. It is certainly not mine.

I really enjoyed being a boy, I loved the rough and tumble of the games I played. I loved climbing trees, I loved playing football at the recreation ground using jumpers as goal posts and I can bore for England about rush back goalkeepers. Oh and I had a pair of  ball of white Alan Ball football boots which were THE thing to have in 1971/ Neither do I believe I am trapped in the wrong body. I have a body. It is the one I was born with, it has performed reliably enough to get me to the age of 56 in good health, it responds well to my mad urge to run half marathons. It is the body with which I have had great sex with some lovely men and women, it is the body from which my lovers have derived great pleasure. It is not the wrong body. If I believed that I would either have to deny myself or embrace mind-body dualism and make more than a nod in the direction of gender essentialism. Emotionally and intellectually I cannot do any of these things.

It is true that I have a complex relationship with my body and there have been times when I have hated it more than I have loved it. But this is not an exclusively trans experience. I guess most people are unhappy with their bodies at various times in their lives and negative body image is particularly an issue for many women . We all need to learn to love our bodies. And masturbation, particularly slow extended session of self love are a great way to do this. I remember a few years ago BUPA ran a series on ads on television, focusing on a remarkable fact about the human body with the slogan “You are amazing”. Solo sex leads to the same conclusion and, unlike BUPA, it’s free.

I had planned to be a bit adventurous but all my sessions this week have actually been in bed. No matter. I began on Sunday with the scented bath and the lingerie and came to a filthy fantasy I will write about in a future post, suffice it to say it involved me being used as a sexual plaything.  On Monday even Marlene couldn’t’ help me and I fell asleep, vibrator in hand. Come Tuesday it was an old sex issue of DIVA that came to the rescue (why do they no longer do them?). Since then I have not come but have explored my body in new and enjoyable ways.

Of course I am looking to change my body. My tattoos are part of the feminisation .as is laser hair removal. Further changes lie ahead. But these are not a rejection of my body. For it is my body. The right body. The body I am learning to love.

Biting The Bullet

I sometimes eat out alone. There are times when I want an evening in a restaurant with nice food, a glass or two of wine and I don’t have anyone to go with.  So I take a book and my phone, resist any attempt to seat me in an inconspicuous and cramped corner as if I had a nasty disease, and enjoy my time. I don’t usually read or tweet much as I am too busy people watching, thinking, reflecting and gathering material for new stories. I am also enjoying the sensual experience of the food and the wine. I see no reason to forego these pleasures just because I am on my own and my friends are busy. In fact it is an essential part of self care, self love.

It is the same with masturbation. Although I have three and a bit regular sexual partners most of my sex is solo sex. This too is necessary and is good for my state of mind, my sometimes fragile mental health. Tomorrow I begin the month of April with the aim of having an orgasm a day. 30 days, 30 orgasms or as many as I can manage. .

In the masturbation month of April I intend to have solo sex in all the places I might have sex with a partner, in the loos, outdoor, a quickie in my car, at a swingers club, but also of course in bed. Tomorrow I will start off by making it special. I will have a bath, put on some sexy lingerie, apply a little fragrance, retire to my freshly made bed, light a scented candle, put on some mood music, take out my bullet vibrator, some of my favourite porn, and play with myself, slowly, gently, forcing nothing, aware that my anti depressants might make climaxing difficult, but being in the moment, enjoying my body and finding it beautiful. And if I don’t come I will not consider it a failure. I will practice self care. I will love myself.

I will post weekly about my adventures. For the final day I have something special planned but you will have to wait to read about that.

Loving Eroticon

Once something has passed it has gone for ever, and what happened in London just two weeks ago is seemingly as irretrievable as that day in 4004 BC when God created the world, at least according to Archbishop Ussher.  Yet irretrievable does  not mean lost. The past lives on in  us, seen through the often distorting prism of our memories in, but shaping us in ways we are often only dimly aware of. I carry five Eroticons inside me, each in some way better than the previous one, each bringing friendship, fun, inspiration, consolation and, not infrequently, hot fantasies to take back to my hotel room.

It is difficult to know where to begin my review this year. If 2018 was not life changing in the way that 2014 and 2015 were, it led, unlike 2017, to a couple of decisions. The first relates to the focus of this blog and I will say more about this in future posts. The second is to change my BDSM focus. I am about to rebrand myself as a pinup mistress, abandoning traditional fetish wear for 50s frocks of various kinds with pink and leopard print and hair flowers,,,and a couple more awesome tattoos. In this way I will link my win passion of kink and vintage and get to wear my awesome vintage wardrobe more often. And if anyone fancies joining me for a role play with a difference, do get in touch. You know where to find me.

Here are few random thoughts and impressions. In no particular order.

I was so disappointed to find out that I had missed Mia More. Shew was the first person at Eroticon to change my life and she probably doesn’t know it because I haven’t seen her since Bristol 2014. I so want to introduce myself and say “Thank You”  and buy her a drink…..gin maybe?

Which is a segue into funniest conversation of the weekend which, no surprise, was with Violet Fenn who told me the story of the aggressive driver who forced her over on the M40 sped past and, slewed across 3 lanes of traffic to hit the barrier.

“Karma” I suggested.

“Serves him right for driving a f**** Peugeot”

I loved Lori Smith’s talk on the history of the bra and loved the fact that the first ever sports bra was made from 2 jockstraps and was originally to have been marketed as the Jockbra  before being launched as the er Jogbra.

I loved meeting the other Eve who gave a talk on disability and sex work and loved her reflections on the event.

I loved the fantasy I had early on Sunday morning that broke a Citalopram induced dry spell orgasmwise. I have told Tabitha and a couple of other people about it but will keep the rest of you in suspense as it will form the basis of a blog post, probably in April for obvious reasons.

I loved talking sissification with a Dutch dominatrix in the pub on Saturday night..

I love that I have so many ideas for blog posts. I just need the time to write  them.

I love that Drew grew up in South Worcestershire and knows a lot of the places I do……Wyre Piddle we’re talking about you!  …….and I loved his incredible story….. .

I love Eye for showing us all that age is meaningless and we can all get sexier and hotter as we get older. I am 56  and find her an inspiration..

I love that Katy Swann  is into Joy Divisoion.

I love that I have friends who are too young to have heard of Joy Division…….Coffee and Kink remember? I also love you both for being awesome.

I love Confess Hannah and Livvy for beautiful words of support to me on my journey.

I love the vibrator I won.

I love the fact the Zoe King and I have a mutual acquaintance (a Head of House at Cambridge no less!)

I love Eroticon.

I love Sarah, Molly and Michael for making it happen and making it awesome.

And finally, after years of struggle, I am learning to love myself. Eroticon has helped me to find my truth, that precious jewel I will carry in me for ever. ..

 

 

War Paint

I don’t know why this song suddenly came to me as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in one of the big fluffy hotel towels. I sprayed on a little 4711 and settled down to wait for Steph.

“War paint war paint you don’t need war paint”

I knew that Steph would be made up immaculately, she always was, foundation, blush, mascara that picked out each lash individually, the glistening red of her lipstick countered perfectly against her lips. War paint war paint and it brought me to surrender every time.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I had chosen a biker jacket to go with jeans and boots. I had never quite dressed this was before but this was to be the last time. And the first. My husband had found out and I had made my choice. Steve was a great lover but I had never quite been able to see him as a long term partner. I was going to have to tell him.

I opened the door. She came inside. I could have dropped to my knees and worshipped her.

*

I looked at him. I told him the news. Then I added

‘It’s my poorly day….I’m sorry.’

I thought that would be that. The fact is that men are disgusted by women in their elemental messiness. And most men I had ever had sex with never wanted it during my days.

But I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking much. I wanted to see his bell end covered in my blood. I felt my clit swell and brush against my panties. I put a finger inside and felt how wet I was getting. I saw deep submissiveness in his eyes. He would deny me nothing.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Give me something to remember.”

*

 

Steph had shocked me when she told me she was finishing with me. But I wanted her and I knew I wanted to needed to fuck her one last time and I had for the first time that feeling that I craved her blood. She undressed and removed her panties which were stained red, and her tampon and placed them on the bedside table.

I pushed in. there was a certain resistance, Steph wasn’t as dilated as normal but the abrasion of my initial penetration gave way to the warm and softness as her vagina wrapped around my raw and exposed bellend. I felt further stiffening as I began to pump.

She moaned

“oh baby baby….give it to me.”

Six thrusts and a final deep violent push and she came with a scream as I felt my ejaculation pushing out into the wider waters. I remained there for a few moments before pulling gently out. My prick glistened with a mixture of come and menstrual blood which dripped onto the white sheets on which I would be sleeping later as Steph drove home through the night.

*

This was quick sex, but I was so horny I had no need for foreplay. I just wanted Steve’s cock inside me for the last time. I wanted him to be quick and brutal. He withdrew and rolled over, spent. We were both dripping onto the bedclothes, come, ejaculate and blood. I thought it looked beautiful.

I took my stained panties from the bedside table and pushed it into face, pressing hard to make him struggle for breath. I began to rub and grind. I ordered him to wank but he almost didn’t need to. I rubbed my fingers on the sheet and turned his face red as he came in creamy glugs. I took some of his come in my hand, rubbed it with the blood and thought.

“Wank again and come over my tits. “

He kneeled up and after a few brisk movements was squirting come over me before licjing my breasts. I was covered in come and Steve in my blood. I remembered a line from a poem

“Whatever dies was not mixed equally.”

We were bound together in our mixed fluids. It was smelly, it was dirty, it was beautiful. I wanted more.

*

“We are bound together in love, bound together in blood” shouted Steph. I had come once inside her, twice over her, and she wanted to be fucked again.  I picked up her boots.

“Put these on “

She pulled them on and pushed a sole into my face. I licked and licked feeling myself become hard before she slid down the bed to take me in her mouth, bringing me to the edge again before turning round so that I could take her from behind.

*

And that was it. I was sated. I was a mess. I stank of sex. I guess Steve was disappointed that I didn’t stay for a final shower with him but I had to enjoy this on the drive home. Besides my husband was out, so a shower could wait.

*

She left closing the door softly behind her. I looked at myself in the mirror. I took some more blood and painted two lines, one on each cheek. We may never see each other again but I was no longer ashamed of this.

I left the room and headed for the lift. I began to sing out loud

“War paint, war paint, you don’t need…..”

But I so did.