Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Marie Ekorre's Assets

40 years ago I found an issue of Penthouse in my father's drawer and there was a Swedish actress on the cover - and inside, uncovered. Named Marie Ekorre, she was smallish, almost boylike hips.

And as was happening at the time, the magazine was showing pubic hair more and more at that time. Certainly more than I had been used to in the Playboys I'd seen previously.

Her bush - and those of the women in the magazine, were dark, photographed straight on but with enough shadow and airbrushing to keep the mystery of the area tantalizing and a source of bottomless fascination to such a young male such as myself. I poured (figuratively and literally) over the photographs of Marie. I wonder if my dad every missed that issue. If he dared to ask - are you jerking off to my jerk-off material?

Marie Ekore had tan lines. The top of her thighs were flat soft expanses that only framed the pleasure she would offer you if you were to get close enough. She never smiled in the photos. And it was that ass that obsessed me.

She was the second woman I fell in love with in a magazine (see my write-up on Cheryl Rixon here (redhead, a little heavy and matronly, got it)). Marie Ekorre had that exotic look, pearls draped around her shoulders as her ass rested on that plush white-fur rug. I learned how to jerk off while looking at her pictures and came to her a dozen times.

I have been looking for an ass that perfect since.

Friday, April 10, 2015

Hot Words

I've been writing erotica for the last couple years.

No, not this stuff. This blog is more autobiographical. A diary. Perhaps it has made me more comfortable writing about sex, in a more fictionalized form.

I've always been a writer. The essay assignments and long-form answers never bothered me. I have written screenplays (with very little traction), short stories (a little more traction there), and a handful of novels. I may tell you what name you can find them under some time.

I also know that the word can be more powerful than the image. In part because the word hides its transgressive power in mere black and white. It must be received and processed to make clear how sharp they are.

Photos and videos are simple. They're out there for everyone, to be seen and don't need the actual processing to make people offended. Shocked. Or excited.

My main topic (my main topic?) is sex. How we negotiate it among each other and among ourselves. I like to introduce sexual situations into dramatic situations. When we become vulnerable, when we become naked, we reveal the most about ourselves.

That's good writing.

I've never written actual pornography - you know the kind. In which impossible housewives fuck impossible pizza guys. That kind of writing is not about people. It's about types. It's choreography rather than insightful.

In my humble opinion.

But when I add sex. When I have a guy suck off his best friend while "trading" his wife, I introduce not only a troublesome, possibly revealing plot twist. I also use rude pornographic imagery that prevents it from being seen in the best magazines.

I could write the wank material. I could be less literary and try to write erotic romances (a big field right now) and happily-ever-after fantasies.

But I'd rather have my characters, as complicated and not quite perfect as I like them to be, to find themselves fucking each other. For the right reasons, and more often for the wrong ones.

I love to jerk off to those porn-star naked women but I much more often love to jerk off to real people who have decided to make themselves vulnerable, naked and are showing me their truest, most complicated selves online. I get so hot knowing they have a backstory. Secrets.  A reason, maybe even they don't know.

When I write I get more excited when I figure out how real people are acting, in their otherwise boring course of the day.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Selfie culture

video 

I was going to write 500 words here about how the quickly-exploding selfie culture has empowered everyone to make themselves the subject of a public gaze.  That we all can be elevated to our own visual expression, a return to narcissism facilitated by technology for the visual pleasure of others.

But instead I'll just show you my selfie.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Feel Free To Express Yourself



videoIn a left turn from previous reports, Google has announced they will no longer shut down all blogs that appeared to use nudity or other sexually explicit content.


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

The End Is Nigh

Dear Blogger User,

We're writing to tell you about an upcoming change to the Blogger Content Policy that may affect your account.

In the coming weeks, we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity presented in artistic, educational, documentary, or scientific contexts, or where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking action on the content.

The new policy will go into effect on the 23rd of March 2015. After this policy goes into effect, Google will restrict access to any blog identified as being in violation of our revised policy. No content will be deleted, but only blog authors and those with whom they have expressly shared the blog will be able to see the content we've made private.

Our records indicate that your account may be affected by this policy change. Please refrain from creating new content that would violate this policy. Also, we ask that you make any necessary changes to your existing blog to comply as soon as possible, so that you won't experience any interruptions in service. You may also choose to create an archive of your content via Google Takeout (https://www.google.com/settings/takeout/custom/blogger).

For more information, please read here (https://support.google.com/blogger?p=policy_update).

Sincerely,
The Blogger Team

(c) 2015 Google Inc. 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043


* * *

I will, at least, have a back-up of the 6 1/2 years of material. If you see this before the 23rd, ask for an invite so you can still get in here.

Ryan

Monday, February 23, 2015

Skin In The Game


I waited in the lobby to meet her. Without guilt and without remorse.

My wife wasn't fucking me anymore anyway.

I was not looking for revenge. Her faded love for me had nothing to do with how big his dick was compared to mine, no compulsion for me to even the score. No comparisons between the gifts he bought for her she had to hide, and the gifts I bought that she wore for a week after mother's day or valentines then left in the bottom of the closet.

I wasn't jealous of her having gotten fucked by a stranger to me. She was no longer mine. He wasn't competition, he was a life event.

I had to get on with my life. I asked her to meet me simply because she wasn't my wife. I had no hold on her and she wanted none. She was only a receptacle for my lust. She knew I wouldn't call her in the morning.  I didn't know her last name. All I knew was I'd fuck her and forget about her.

My wife would never ask. I couldn't tell anyone because my hurt and my loss of my wife was secret, out of my control. I wondered if by finding this strange woman willing to meet me at the hotel I could repair myself. My ego. I was desirable too. I didn't have to wait forever for her to want me again.

While you left me then to go fuck your old friend, I didn't leave you to fuck her, now. Here.

When she finally came in we talked about getting a drink first but I saw in her eyes she wanted to see if this was going to work before spending too much time. So instead we went right upstairs to my room.  She looked out the window and asked if I could kiss her and she grabbed my cock and we fucked and the entire time I was thinking of how I looked as if someone were watching across the room, rather than how it was feeling. Now. Here.

I made her come with my mouth. She told me I was great and we should get together again. I watched her go an hour and a half later, barely a heartbeat and I was already forgetting the details as I checked out later.

I don't know why that woman who was not my wife let me fuck her, or what she got out of it. Or if she'd really do it again. I don't know if I would ever do it again. If I even liked it, still wanted it, if it made me feel better or shitty.

If I would remember the encounter with affection or regret.

One thing I sensed, how my wife might have felt the first moment she let her old friend slide his cock inside her even though she was married.  Like the thin paper sleeve on the toilet seat in some hotel room. To ensure it's ready for use.  But once slipped off can't be replaced without becoming wrinkled.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

You're My Porn

You don't want to know what I jerk off to, do you, baby?

Does it matter? When I'm fucking you it's completely different than watching porn. Porn is, like you know, fake.

Sure, I get hard watching porn. I jerk off and I cum to it.  But I get hard when I'm with you too. I cum as well. But I'm not thinking of something that can't ever happen (Camille Crimson or Mae Victoria (yeah, Mae Victoria)) ain't going to enter into my bedroom anytime ever. Never place their mouth on me.

I'm thinking of you.

This blog more than anything has made me extra aware of how and what I get hard for. Masturbating is really a personal interior moment, I'm getting in touch with my own sexuality and really sensitive to my own responses to my touch, the liquids, my hand, the sounds, what I'm watching and my (not so) secret fantasies.

The girls I'm looking at (or the guys) are not really here. It's only an illusion.

These anonymous performers are only suggestions for a state of mind, demonstrating sexual abandon and yeah, I get into the "mood" ...and my cock gets hard all right. The more I stroke it the better it feels and my mind gets addled, drunk on dopamine I guess, a self-feeding cycle.

If I don't keep a hand on the edge, I shoot.

But when I'm with you it's like the opposite response; I'm reading your responses. I love the interaction between us; I was never into the fuck-somebody-who-isn't-into-it or isn't even moving.
I love when you move under me, I love when you change position, kiss back, I love when you "try this with my hand here." Knowing I'm getting a response gets me hard, suddenly I have a hard-on and I want to fuck you. Not myself.

Only you say "Try to make it last as long as you can."

I'm not looking at porn to make myself hard. And looking at porn won't make me hard for you.

It isn't what I want (some bimbo getting fucked in the ass). I want to sit across from you. Smell you. Feel your lips. I know there's tension; part of me is still scared to death. Sometimes you won't even take off your camisole. I know you're insecure and all, but when I see you say fuck it - see your commitment - that you're all in, that you're vulnerable, that rewrites the moment.

No script, no mediation, no play-acting. It's funny that even with your pants off, you can still not be entirely "vulnerable".

The test still takes place the whole time. What if I cum too fast? What if I don't cum at all? What if she goes psycho on me? Is this going to "work" - I mean work here in person and the parting is sweet with kisses and a hug or will the phone ring? Will the thoughts crashing through me, still, excite or hinder?

I can't hit pause.

So fuck the problems that might occur, can we do this honest, intense, dirty, hot as fuck, terrible messy, and beautiful thing?

And survive. To know the vulnerability is "okay." That I share with you and get inside your head, you inside mine, inside your body, let you put your mouth on me, let go.  Hell, after a year and years, there's still more foreplay to do.

Foreplay is a question. To know that we fit, to know I love the way you taste, to know you were comfortable with me between your legs, sorry about the errant hair, we can drink together, laugh, sit naked, not be alone for a moment.

Those videos don't make me hard in the same way; they don't stroke me back.

You're my porn.

Friday, October 17, 2014

The Church of Cunt

I want you to be my day of rest. I want to kneel before you.

Belittle and smite my minor and petty concerns. Nothing is to distract me. Empty my head. Make me strip off my clothes. Drink your nectar and prepare me to receive the word that will set me free.

I want you to bow down and open yourself up in shameless generosity. Show me that nothing is as important as what is happening now. Feed my need. Show me the true way. Please let me drink of it.

Feed me. Nurse me. Let me into you.

I will give up my desire to you and give all without caution. No guilt and no remorse. I want to be delivered into the kingdom of your worship. Know now that I will confess all my sins and relive them for you. If that kind of thing gets you off.

I will worship you with my cock as you worship me
with your tight cunt. I will spill my sacrifice inside the sanctuary of your pink flower and onto your holy breasts and into your willing hands. I will give my life to you and never stray from the true glory of our physical and spiritual savior, the life-affirming communion of two bodies intertwined and sharing and exploding in heavenly bliss.

Ahhhh...maaaan....

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Last Night's Memory, Today's Promise

 Feeling horny today and want to get my exhibition on.

Last night I fucked my wife - she came but I didn't but she promised she'd fix that today. She's out for now but will be back in a couple hours.




Monday, July 7, 2014

Cameron Diaz's Pussy

What is it about Cameron Diaz? They keep making her think about her pussy and I'm getting tired of it.

Wait, back up, this seems weird to admit. Cameron used to be about the cutest starlet working, especially when she hit the scene in The Mask (1994) with Jim Carrey. Innocent and able to hold her own against what was a force of nature in movies, then moving to romantic comedies and a starring presence in films that wasn't too ball-busting or intimidating; sweet, she was the lithe blonde who starred against John Cusack, Ewan McGregor and Ben Stiller early in her career, America's new sweetheart.

But her career is penetrated every so often with sexy, almost randy, nearly pornographic teases that suggest she's comfortable with fucking, certainly comfortable with body fluids.

Example 1: The Sweetest Thing (2002) is about a trio of girls who were simply looking for cock, it created a certain small scandal when it was released but it bombed (it wasn't that it was too ahead of the Bridesmaids era - it's simply terrible).

There's Something About Mary (1998) is always going to be about cum in her hair.

In Bad Teacher (2011) she put her drunk whore on, and in The Counselor (2013) she actually fucks a windshield of a Ferrari. (What I wouldn't give to see the outtakes of the reverse angle.)

She was the hottest thing in Charlie's Angels, which is a trick because the competition was pretty fierce. I have the serious impression she's a freak, loves getting it on and getting it in - and is trying to become some kind of sex symbol by appearing every so often in films that verify her sexiness, sell her hot toned body, and...

...make us all think about her pussy.
It's almost working. She's not quite gone the Janet Jackson or Miley Cyrus route. But there are hundreds of promo pix of Cameron, emphasizing her thin body and her thigh gap.  She used to be heavier (maybe as much as 125) but now I wonder if she tops 110.

Look at the poster for Sex Tape, for example. She's in incredibly good shape for a 40-something woman, buff and perfectly air-brushed. Yet when you look at her next to Jason Segel you realize she's a stick. 

I know, it's all promotional legerdemain but there's something off-putting and unsexy about her now.

This seems weird to admit.  Look at her pussy (I defy you!).  The panties she has on have been smoothed to a blobish pink mystery, probably to get the poster approved for public display.  You don't want any cameltoe, any sense of space, crease or pubic mound on the local bus shelter now do you?

 So they've made her pussy a soft piece of couch fabric. Poster approved. And I can't help thinking about her pussy again.

Now I wonder if really she really has some flappy used-up Lohan clam instead of the flower I imagined back in 1994. I wonder if it's only a matter of time. An insecure hit-or-miss blonde Hollywood actress trying to remain relevant and get attention, not sure how to preach empowerment while agreeing to fuck a car for Ridley Scott. I think she doth protest too much.  



Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Sucker



I'm obsessed with the tentacles here that women can put inside them.

Women have all the fun. They have more toys, more textures, more sizes, more options. Where's my tentacle?  All I can do is fuck a piece of plastic that's a little hard to hide as a piece of sculpture.

The Icicle Tentacle #24 is a beautiful piece of glass you can display on your mantle.  Only the dirtiest minds (and you know who you are) will recognize its alternate purpose.

There are rubber ones and glass ones.  Big ones and little ones.  Wide and long; Bad-Dragon has a whole size chart for each dimension.

There's a whole huge subset of tentacle porn out of Japan; mostly anime/hentai, drawn with impossible girls, multiple penetration, liquids and pixelated genitals (like blurring the pussy crease makes the octopus tentacle rape acceptable for the whole family?

It's not as easy to find live-action tentacle dildo footage but there's a couple. Here's the best I could locate, featuring a cute goth-y girl with tattoos, a dyke haircut, thick sexy thighs and some enthusiasm.

She's got great lighting too (natural from a window) and changes positions every so often, always good for an extra star:

HERE: http://www.tube8.com/erotic/hot-chick-takes-tentacle-dildo-in-her-sloppy-cunt./17930912/

Which highlights what may be an important aspect of my obsession with these tentacle fuck toys right now. The kind of women who would fuck themselves with them. Feminist (?), genre-loving (hentai/Cthulu/sea creatures) women who are comfortable with their bodies.

Fuck you I weigh more than 110 lbs.  I'm putting calamari in my pussy.

video



Friday, June 20, 2014

Addicted to Love

You ever have to learn how to jerk off?

I mean actually show you what to do, how to move, what it feels like, hey, that this will feel good so try it?

Didn't think so.

But there's a subset of porn out there where a woman, usually beautiful, sometimes naked, talks to the camera telling you how.

Jerk-off instructions. Here or here.

The payoff seems solely to be that she makes the movement with her hand by her crotch.  You know that sexy pump movement. She talks down to you, "you jerkoff," "you can't help yourself can you?", etc. while stroking that invisible cock in front of her pussy - your cock in your dream. The cock you have and she'll never have and won't let you give her. 

There's a humiliation component to it. She even jerks heself off sometimes, but never do you see her take you in her mouth - she's teasing you, showing you her own pussy and it's all a trick...

...and it's fucking hot.

How is this a thing? I usually want the woman to be into me as much as I'm into her. If you know what I mean. I don't want her to talk down to me or belittle me.  Is there any better boner-killer?

I think it's just an excuse to have some woman talk dirty while making eye contact.

But this subset of porn does tap into the shame of jerking off. We all felt at one time - or maybe just were taught - it was horribly wrong. We might even have been told we were killing kittens and betraying god by putting hand onto cock.

To have a beautiful woman (or your sister, or mom!) go ahead and talk you through it, there's certain transgressive release in that. It's not the same as having her whisper in your ear "yes, more, fuck me" but at least in spite of her humiliating of my pitiful gooning -  she's with the program.

She gets it. You can't help yourself. The simple truth is we're all addicted to jerking off. It feels too good to stop; you're in complete control, you decide how long or how big (or how delayed) your orgasm is, it's not cheating and there's a peaceful zen feeling of getting in touch with your own bad hard self.

Maybe it's a way to remind us - "you fucking jerk off!" - that it has its place. Don't you jerk off when you have no better option?  I watch clips of girls masturbating more than anything else lately - maybe it's a feedback loop - masturbating to masturbating.

It's part educational ("oh, so that's how they do it"), part simple wank material, but also keeps my sexual antenna up.

It gets me horny. Fuels my sexual fantasies which run in my head day and night. Opens me up to possibilities. (No, not to banging impossible tattoo'd plastic babes on the deck; I mean, things like telling her to keep her socks on, or doing it with the window open. Turning her over this way.  Licking along those bumps from the back instead whitewashing the fence.)

I'm not jerking off instead of living a normal healthy sexual relationship with my wife and loved ones. The porn, the minutes or hours I'm in a sexually excited state, so I can fuck her different.

Watching the various and sundry kinks I'm attracted to is exercise.  Eat out more often (use it or lose it).  It kindles my desires and I fairly attack my wife as soon as the kids are in bed.

I don't need some internet bitch to tell me how to jerk off. The construction of these clips ultimately shame you, maybe make you feel better about cumming on yourself and keep you watching their damned clips.

The girls in these instruction videos say they're disgusted by my wanking?

I think she's using that as an excuse to show me her pussy.

* * *

See also: Step mommy's hairy bush jerk-off instruction