RPH

Sunset

2011-11-14T23:01:00.000-08:00

Via Anon.

A redhead in the sun as it sets, for you and for me. Always enjoyed sharing my love of redheads, my inner impulses and thoughts, letting you hear my early experiences, what shaped my sexuality, what turned me on, what will turn me on tomorrow.

Having you listen turned me on as well.

Time moves on, forward, and while the impulse to share continues, I've exhausted the potent, turbulent stories that I have related, the early fucks, the spontaneous gropings, the sudden attractions and unforseen and unfullfilled fantasies.

Words formed in long discourses seem like a luxury now. I am still on tumblr, posting pix instead of essays, and have taken to google+ for the moment to find like-minded exhibitionists who show in the virtual space, one-on-one yet public, a more social, interactive sphere that they're tracking even now. They know I have my cock out, a snapshot rather than a missive - perhaps it's less archival than a diary, a journal, a blog, which these 40 thousands words have been.

Not gone. Just taking a rest.

It's the Pants

2011-10-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

To Do List - One Item Down

2011-09-27T22:40:00.000-07:00

At Big Cum Squirts.

What I Jerked Off to Tonight

2011-09-25T23:58:00.000-07:00

At http://www.xhamster.com/movies/863583/teen_pussy_3.html

Regular followers will know I dig the webcam girls showing themselves to anonymous viewers. I was one tonight on this pre-record and the lighting on this, her underwear, and the deft but gentle touch of her fingers.... wish I were there.

Leisure Chair

2011-08-27T00:49:00.000-07:00

Zine

2011-08-20T23:20:00.000-07:00

This is not the post that says sorry for not posting lately. This is not the post that explains that I had to take a break, that I was burnt out on blogging, that I had to get back to my real life, reconnect with my wife, or change jobs.

After a couple years of therapeutic and liberating sexual confession, I felt the original purpose, to explore my response to naked people in my past and naked people on the internet, had about been addressed to my satisfaction. I found these themes, which of course were there in my psyche all along - I only had to go think about it, remember the wonderful past of experiences, let my fantasies go and pull out my cock.

It's been a cool ride and I've developed a new and perhaps refined set of fetishes as I discovered what works for me and what no longer does. The posts of videos, usually showing some hairy-pussied milf jerking herself off for the camera with a sly breathless look on her face, are easy.

I go to them often and watch. This might be described as my personal archive. I hope you've enjoyed the ability to access this curated collection.

In the last 6 months I've been at a loss to go deep and reveal, confess, exhibit my innermost memories. The times I lost my virginity, fucked while driving, pissed the bed, pissed the girl next to me, drove miles to buy pornography, sought and played with the neighbor, even though I knew (thought) I wouldn't go all the way, but how close could I go?

This blog was all a way to find my own self-expression. These things are hard to share, and in many ways are hardest to share with the person you're most intimate with. I wouldn't want to reveal, with the relish and nostalgia I feel when relaying them to you now, such deep and erotic memories to my wife.

We have our own, and I've only shared some of those with you here. Those remain in a closer, safer box, thought I won't judge how precious each is compared to the other.

The internet is the ultimate way to self-publish. Old models of authorship that must be vetted by experts are gone as anyone with an account can say what they want, and within certain (very loose) reason can post and copy and fantasize about any topic, from their satanic obsession to their most transgressive and embarrassing sexual ticks.

I used to type up a 'zine when such a thing was hip and I was in college, in the '80s or so, and the hand-made, homespun imperfection of those scarce and personal little pamphlets were like authentic slices of someone else's brain. Most of they made no sense, speaking a language that not even the author might recognize with the benefit of time and having gotten sober.

I miss holding someone's homemade 'zine in my hand, their intimate, passionate, doomed-to-fail mimeo'd paper-cut clarion dropped out into the world, mailed or slipped onto the shelf of Tower Records without permission, a drip in an ocean in which a strong and strident voice can be expressed, even quietly, barely seen, but present for a moment even if the audience is no more than a handful and does not always get reached.

Blogs, and this blog, is my personal 'zine, my hand-printed and tooled manifesto. It is fingered and loved, my passion for sex, memories, red-headed pussy and licking clit, round sloppy butts and a smile on your goddamn face, dripping off each post and each page.

This is what gets me hard. When you read it and I know you know more about me than sometimes I knew about myself, that gets me hard as well. Thanks for helping me get an erection and sharing, and I hope your erection - whether a cock or a clit - is making you feel good too.

I look forward to discovering your 'zine, by accident or because you send me a copy, and reading about your secret cum-soaked habits and accidental perversions, and what makes the straight respectable you into that sexy tiger lounge-naked you I know lives inside you.

Surveillance

2011-08-13T09:03:00.000-07:00

Generally, the hidden cam thing, surreptitiously spying on a woman, doesn't do it for me the way a straight-on webcam video does. (You've seen evidence all last year on this blog.)

I like eye contact. I like it when she turns the camera on her to engage, actively, with whomever's watching. The fact that she knows she's performing for someone adds an element of participation, if only in the fantasies of what's going through her mind.

But these two are effective, and in part because they are likely staged. The "solowife" site is full of ringers. Framing is too good to be true. But that's okay.

She knows how to put on a show.

Laundry

2011-06-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

(Here.)

Alone Again

2011-06-14T22:56:00.000-07:00

(here)

and

(here).

Documentary Footage

2011-06-10T23:44:00.000-07:00

Found here. 8 minutes of unmediated display, with an unmanned camera.

I love watching women when they're in their own personal space. But also - make it clear - want them to know they're being watched. That they've set the camera up and are performing for us voyeurs. Yet, if they are doing it solely for the camera rather than for themselves - if they are faking it it's a turn off.

I want to see them enjoy themselves too.

In addition to this being outdoors, the lack of camera movement (suggesting the subject set it up herself although the angle and composition gives it away - full body poses are not usually self-shot), the hairy pussy and insistence on a lack of eye contact suggests this is from Ifeelmyself.com. A pseudo-pro-am site.

(Continuing the "Aesthetics of Mediation" posts from last year.)

Pay As You Go

2011-05-19T23:15:00.000-07:00

Internet companies are attempting to erect paywalls between you and their content, in a scheme to get you to pay for the beautiful words and images it costs them to put up. This is a response to the fall of print, the end of journalism, and the rise of the cult of the amateur.

Everything is free on the Internet. Man, it ruins everything.

Information is free, and information is expensive. The trick is to either offer something that costs little to create (or is easily replenishable) or to monetize those eyeballs watching you.

News is the poster child for how it works - or doesn't. It costs money to collect and write up stories, quickly and daily, and many of them fall into the wet hole of "fact." Sports scores are sports scores, regardless of where you read them, and the package, accent, and body tone of the vessel in which they sit is where you have to get people's fleeting attention.

The trick is to differentiate. The New York Times is experimenting with various levels of access with letting you peek for some articles for free, offering a higher level of elite access if you are a long-time print fetishist. They also let you get into some of the good parts by way of social media links. (You can read 5 stories if you search via Google, but can open 20 links if you got there through Twitter. They like those access points - you are rewarded for being engaged and engaging with others. Play nice, I show you mine.)

Print journalism is getting all the attention, because the press who are covering it... work for print journalism. They have vested interests. But other sites go by other routes to capture some of that value they think they're otherwise giving away for free. Many porn sites give you trailers to get you hard and needy, hoping you'll pull out your wallet along with your cock. That cat's out of the bag as there are too many free sites streaming too much free content that looks too much like everything else anyone's offering.

It all looks too close enough to each other to be differentiated.

The sites that do differentiate, if subtly (in my experience) are the free cam sites. Indeed, and surprisingly, they are at the forefront of the art of pay-as-you-go. The most popular have various flavors of users and various levels of teases. Sites like cam4.com and myfreecams.com, while very similar, motivate you in different ways to stay on the site. To open your pants. And to open your wallet.

The secret is in the tipping strategy. You buy credits by which you can tip the girls and boys you see on your player as you browse through looking for someone that looks like they're having a good time, like your long lost love, and that is ready for action.

No bored staring into the webcam, please.

This trick, of collecting cash for ducats is the same trick that Chuck E. Cheese uses - pay for tokens and then the constant sound of dropping tin isn't so much your wages dribbling away as a background soundtrack to your wanking.

They also get a thin but constant percentage off the top, like digital pimps.

After signing onto Pornhubpersonals, which turns out to be a sister site of AdultFriendFinder and that has many more bored and homely women staring and typing than stripping or fingering (and many more men by a factor of 100 actually pulling out their erections for show), I moved to MyFreeCams and found a friendly collection of well-lit 20 - 50 somethings willing to show me their nakedness.

But the vast majority of them had tipping levels: 250 = top off; 600 = panties off; 1000 = cum show. Like that. Dozens of guys were logged on tipping 20 or 62 odd tokens and typing one-handedly pleading for their virtual whores to give visual samples before the threshold was reached.

And you could tell the professionals. Not only by their gear (hand-free microphones, fill-lights) but by their insistence on sticking to the managed escalation of any future fun and then sudden ducking into "private" when someone threw enough tokens her way (usually off-line in a PM).

Why give it away for free for 100s of wankers when you can knock them off one by one?

The spontaneous browsing payoff of MyFreeCams is the fact that there are the occasional amateurs on there who just want to exhibit for strangers. The interface is seamless, the searching is easy (I can find a hairy redhead with a minimum of keystrokes) and you can switch from model to model with nary a hiccup.

Maybe that's why there are so many day-laborers on there. (Pick up some money on the side while daddy's at work. They even have a wiki on how to become a model and stay getting paid.)

Once I considered re-upping my credit card to try to convince another pseudo-sorority girl that I wanted a specific act performed in public, but these girls are in one-way conversations with us. We watch them, they don't watch us.

At least they seem to enjoy it. And we often end up paying for what's in front of us when we want it, rather than taking the energy to look elsewhere it might be free. Time is money when the urge is boiling in our loins.

Another site that illustrates the tenuous relationship between sex, money, free content and the internet is cam4.com. Focused apparently more in the UK, cam4 is my new favorite for 2 reasons. I see more amateurs on there, and by that more girls with lower production value... which suggests they opened up their laptop and couldn't help themselves after a morning or evening of chatting dirty with their admirers... and that aren't asking for tips all the damn time.

The hierarcy between content providers and users is more flat. This is presumably what most people visiting free webcam sites want in the first place - actual people opening up their computers and their sex habits to view by others without friction. Amateurs opening up their legs is also the infinitely replicatable resource, costing much less to produce and to supply, which is the other leg that pay-as-you-go needs to rely upon. You always have takers.

Which brings me to the second reason - I can open my cam on cam4 easily and broadcast myself, even though the subject of my affection may not be looking at me, someone elsewhere might be. And I get some kind of impression that it is a two-way interaction after all, not entirely one-sided, not entirely personal, and not entirely based on tokens.

There's a virtual wall between us, but it's cheap to negotiate.

Sing in the Shower

2011-05-10T00:09:00.000-07:00

Found here . Anonymous and makes it feel like this is real. (Not that the bubble-boobed blonde with tattoos last night wasn't real either.)

Untitled

2011-04-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

Via gingercrush.

Deep Currents

2011-04-23T00:27:00.000-07:00

This journey through our lives, unplanned and random, develop our personas and our personalities through experiences, partners, and actions.

Every fuck and every fetish. Every decision and every mistake shapes us, every horny conquest and drunken flirtation. Each experience adds notches to our belts, builds our confidences and refines our ability.

Yet with every new sexual experience, it stands in relief and in contrast to the previous ones. I still remember the first time, in the backseat of the car at the drive-in. The sweaty urgent fumbling. That shaped every fuck I attempted since.

I remember the cheerleader dropout I lusted after and was never able to get close to. She ignored every comment, every word as I watched her at the pool. Her rejection broiled and obsessed me and still informs my approach when I'm interested...verbally or in writing, anywhere.

I remember the ones I wished didn't happen. And I remember the one that happened over and over, hotter and hotter every time - a volcano of sex, until the inevitable break with her about something else unrelated.

These experiences are no longer within my grasp. They happened and left without my letting go. My memory is caressed by the teenage girls I see, flat stomachs, still exploring in the afternoons how much to let me feel them once, beneath their silken elastic.

Now they let the young jocks feel up their titties, their budding pussies. Not for me anymore.

My desires are a continuum that shift and evolve. Layers of senses co-mingled upon previous urges. The stirrings inspired by the divorcee at the end of the block who flashed us, accidentally on purpose, the beginning of my erotic gravitation to milfs. Her tank tops loose and open, drooping to show no bra, her shorts a little crooked, low down on the crack of her ass. I now suspect she grew into her sexuality just as her husband split the scene, and she was left to look locally, desperately, for anyone to notice her. In that way.

That scenario still completely gets to me. I was once free to flirt and kiss anyone I fancied. I caressed, licked, and came upon the thin red pussy hair of my ex-wife, a visual dream space that satisfied and is still a primal sense memory - my continuing obsession / fantasy with the light thick amber hair between her tall thighs. A fetish for redheads - formed first by the previous images in magazines, furtive glances, and personas I encountered in my horny adolescence - flows deep in my sexual psyche.

Each woman I fucked was a redhead wanting to get out. These currents I can't escape - my closest fantasies not possible to again be possessed or attained. They boil under every caress, every glance of hanging tit, every rude or flirty gesture, every exhale of orgasm.

My wife is not a redhead, nor tall, nor as young as she used to be. But her other attributes are the fuel I fuck to get off on, and they fuel the kindling of my sex, layering over older memories of summer beaches and bikinis, back-of-car fumblings, and red-haired masturbation. Seasoning and complimenting the present with more innocent past, that was full of promise for a future that was undetermined and endless with opportunities.

Ginger

2011-04-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

via gingercarpet.

Mirrors

2011-04-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

At here.

Two-Way Mirror

2011-04-17T22:38:00.000-07:00

In a quest to find authenticity and inspiration in the bottomless offerings of online porn I encountered an increasingly interesting and engaging aesthetic in the “amateur” “self-shot” webcam videos proliferating. I put quotes around “amateur” and “self-shot” because often in spite of advertised promises those turn out not entirely to be the case.

You'd think that hardcore porn would be "authentic" enough with its endless "proof" of real-time real-people events. Yet the subtext around those uncheatable images are an art and an artifice to themselves.

I’ve talked a bit academically in my Aesthetics of Mediation posts (visible by searching the "mediation" tag along the right there*), trying to document and analyze the nuances of the form, for the most part I’m guessing unintentional but adopted as formulaic tropes by users/producers. Not through study or intent but through mimicry and positive feedback loop for what simply works.

I love watching the folks pointing the camera at themselves and performing for me – an anonymous future viewer. Me and unknown thousands more.

I focus more on the solo acts. Women looking into the camera or their webcam window on their computers. Looking at themselves and then pulling aside their sweatpants and panties and spreading their lips to show us how they play with themselves. Less interesting to me this month are the webcam or tripod-shot events in which someone fucks their girlfriend and then uploads it on xhamster. Or better, follows their wife around in a hotel room with a Panasonic while their wife gets fucked by a strange black man they met through Craigslist. Nor am I considering here the “hidden cam” genre, which is also voyeuristic but not a subset so much as an offshoot of disembodied male gaze theory. (Another academic treatise for another time.)

These have their own power, certainly, and in the right mood they get me there. Let us consider the webcam video in which the subject looks at you as they expose their …personal habits.

Unlike produced porn, which have some sort of set-up (whether or not it’s as simple as a gonzo “these women have big asses” shot in a living room in the valley, or a slightly more developed “pizza guy needs to get paid”), the true amateur webcam video looks out to the viewer. Rather than setting up a narrative in which we can “believe” a fantasy playing out, it simply depicts someone being sexual.

She (or he) jerks off. Slowly or with an object. They display themselves, legs open, in their kitchen or bedroom, making eye contact without presupposition that it is anything else than what it is. And the address – the eye contact – the open camera – the filming and posting – seals a new agreement between the subject and the viewer.

She is doing it for you.

Rather than being a closed narrative loop, with a beginning, middle and end, (in spite of what peaks, valleys and climaxes may be experienced) the webcam event invites and insists on the viewer, you, me, to participate. At least conceptually. The display, not artfully posed in narrative repose but intrusive and explicit, opens the diagetic space to a void of meaning in which the only requirement is that a viewer be watching. It is not a “hidden cam” in which the subject does not do what they do – masturbate – without knowledge of their act as performance. This is specifically one, but in true unmediated documentarian style, without director or crew. It breaks with aesthetic narrative tropes that construct closed and limited worldviews we only observe without feeling participatory, except perhaps through classical empathy. (“She was lonely so she blew the neighbor. Wish I was her neighbor.” “Nice ass.”)

Instead, these clips are “amateurs” who are not getting paid to display themselves (we don’t think. The more we believe this the more we are turned on by a sensed (I discuss the clues of authenticity in other posts) authenticity.) nor are they “creating“ content for paysites.

These are people masturbating. Masturbating in public. Documenting it for strangers they don’t know for a future period of time they have no control over.

In this context, these clips, stripped of narrative closure as they are, elicit our response primarily as privileged viewer. They turn the narrative mask of meaning back on us, exposing and playing out forbidden events while refusing to provide meaning through context, and therefore keeping open our unresolved narrative expectations so that our viewership becomes the reason for the event. She’s doing it for me to watch.

This forces us to engage, intellectually and emotionally, in a mode that exploits our cognitive discomfort and interrogates our participation in watching.

And we engage physically as well, and pull out our cocks, and masturbate right back.

- - - - - - - - -

* Some of the videos I'm discovering that were previously uploaded are "not currently available. Please try again later". Google/Blogger changed their video upload plug-in in 2009 to a more Youtube-centric design and these may need to be reupped.

Distraction at the Pool Party

2011-04-14T23:34:00.000-07:00

Cock, Hair, and Not Quite

2011-04-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've been playing, surfing and licking myself for hours. For weeks.

Those of you who have been following this journey I've been forging on this blog have noted - I started with memories of my sexual and fondly fading past, only to turn towards the present.

My sensual being (which includes but not exclusively sex) was formed in another time, in which pictures of naked people and descriptions of adult and naughty practices were more hidden. They were kept in certain bookstores, in certain hard-to-obtain magazines. There were no communities easily accessible to share, compare and leer at.

The opening up of Ryan includes not only reminiscing but feeling more comfortable doing so. The early posts, 2+ years ago, had a certain amount of confessional pain to them when I wrote, but to be out - anonymously but relieved - had a spiritual, erotic and healthy charge that motivated me to continue.

I've explored not only my own thoughts, hang-ups and desires, but other of you in the blogosphere as well. As blogs become in a way obsolete being taken over by the hit-and-run instant gratification of tumblr, I still reach out and get out-reached to people who seem to enjoy what I'm trying to get at.

Episodically, anecdotally.

Thanks for reading as I figure this out for myself - just as you all are, post by post, day by day, and partner by partner.

Celebrity Fetish

2011-04-08T23:38:00.000-07:00

Married Mother of 4

2011-01-16T11:17:00.000-08:00

This wife milf asked me if I would do it. And send it to her privately. I'm not the first one she's asked to do this for her.

Holiday Panties

2010-12-25T01:07:00.000-08:00

(And at http://www.xhamster.com/movies/9847/sitting_down.html)

La Difference

2010-12-21T02:39:00.000-08:00

Two clips, in contrast. The first, here:

--exhibits that "I Feel Myself" aesthetic of self-mediated art-film autobiography. The camera is static and deliberately, even aggressively objective. Although the camera angles shift occasionally, indicating some behind-the-scenes mediation, the subject proceeds to ignore the camera the entire clip in an attempt at anonymous objectivity. This youngish college age woman with glasses, slightly nerdy with smallish natural tits possesses a certain amount of frump is also a naturalist. She has a hairy pussy and isn't afraid to squirt and/or pee on the hardwood floors.

This is a tactile and earthy thrill in spite of its obvious intention as performance for and in front of us. Clearly "written." Clearly manufactured.

By contrast, this self-shot blur:

--has no art or avant-garde formal intention or pretension. The camera's set up so she can hornily proceed to rub her cunt in front of it. It is urgent and authentic - although the subject may be cosmetically closer to a porn star than the previous subject (whether amateur or no).

One is a display, the other a demonstration. They elicit two different responses in this viewer.

One appeals to the aesthetic eye. One appeals to the cock.

Spread

2010-12-20T16:19:00.000-08:00

courtesy Pornofokker.

The Afternoon of the Air Show

2010-12-18T23:57:00.000-08:00

Before

The accompanying video preports to document a night's dating activities.

After

Yet subtext and cinematagraphical evidence suggests this is ultimately a construction like most porn. While it's artfully and unassumingly under-mediated, its ultimate subtextural clues of the sublimation of its manufactured roots creates more narrative and erotic power.

Moreso than if it were truly a "real-time" recording of two strangers fucking.

A longer discussion is here on our sister site, "RPH Annex."

Performance - addendum

2010-12-05T11:07:00.000-08:00

at http://xhamster.com/movies/400898/wonder_ful_woman.html

Fidelity

2010-12-02T00:36:00.000-08:00

If you don't take off your panties, can I rub up against you?

You don't have to show me your pussy. I won't put my cock inside you. I won't finger your clit. Just lay down and just rub against you. Your ass looks so sexy.

You don't have to suck my cock. Let me just see your beautiful ass. You get me excited just laying there.

I'm gonna come. Rub against me. See - don't pull down your pants. Feel my spunk shoot.

All over you. Feel it? I won't even ask you to clean me off.

I'll lick it off your back by myself.

Does Your Husband Know We're Jerking Off To Your Naked Pussy?

2010-11-24T11:02:00.000-08:00

And that's why she turns the webcamera on herself.

Feeling horny, usually by herself and not in the company of her man, her husband, her boyfriend, her significant whoever - the burning flame of new passion having become quenched over the years - she downs her pants and exposes her self to strangers.

It's a legal, safe and anonymous version of stripping for the customers, of flashing the other students on Spring Break. On the anonynet no one has to go to school with you tomorrow. Your innocence (or lack thereof) is protected and discussed outside your own social group.

And when you reveal that stream, the comments begin to drop. Viewers from all over start to ping you back. "Nice pussy, baby." "Take off your top." "Will you ever be in Baltimore and come see me?"

The response from strangers is immediate, without strings, in completely appropriate context and overwhelmingly positive. They love watching your pussy. Even if you've gained some weight. Even if the house hasn't yet been picked up. They aren't asking you where's dinner, or why the clothes aren't folded, or to stop spending money on cat food.

You get to be sexual with a stranger, and hear the leering look in their words as they desire you and pull out their hard cocks. They don't even care if you're married - in fact it turns them on. You're so fucking horny you don't care who knows it. "Does your husband know we're all jerking off to your naked pussy?"

Responding for the masses.

Performances

2010-11-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

Edging

2010-11-16T16:14:00.000-08:00

The power of sex is the power of sharing it. The power you hold is the power of not sharing it with someone else as expected or normally.

The example here, makes me hard and I'm stroking as I write this - not only is she sucking the wrong cock (the title suggests there are 2 of the husband's friends, and not even him) but she's sucking more than one of them. Even if the title lies (which it probably does) her wedding ring suggest that there is still at least one too many cocks out in the room.

And does a third person really film? It looks like the 2nd cock has the camera pointed down at himself - it's a smaller party than advertised.
Is she really being filmed though by her husband? The dog. He loves his slut wife and wants to capture video evidence of her slutty ways, it's not enough to have it etched into his secret heart.

She loves cock, sucking it and having more than her share. This domestic scene shows shag carpet, reading glasses on the table in back. Not only did they invite their closest friend over, they invited him to pull out his cock for the wife to suck him in their own living room.

In Which the Wife is Filmed Fucking Over 15 Men

2010-10-10T23:53:00.000-07:00

The clip, here, shows the wife fucking a group of strangers, over 15 by loose count, who cum on and in her, over the course of 42 minutes.

Flashbulbs go off, documenting the event. And while the men only last a few minutes and then are replaced, she continues as the focus, the location of pleasure,of endless need, insatiable, to take them on by herself.

And therein lies her power.

Sun on Skin

2010-09-09T23:19:00.000-07:00

Just a post to remind you I'm still interested in the good things in life.

Fucking out of doors, naked redheads, and the sight of a beautiful woman (of any color) spreading her asscheeks to facilitate a cock entering into her hairy pussy.

Film At Eleven

2010-07-27T16:00:00.000-07:00

We set up the camera simply to film me licking her pussy. She took off her shirt and pulled off her panties and showed me her hairy pussy, and she spread her legs as she watched me lick her.

Waiting for Tech Support

2010-07-21T09:45:00.000-07:00

How Hairy Pussy Porn Differs From Other Porn

2010-07-11T11:56:00.000-07:00

Shooting porn with hairy pussies is about more than just hiring the right talent. The directorial vision, compositional requirements and mise en scene all have to be properly tended to.

First there must be the reveal:

Choosing the proper camera angles aids viewers' enjoyment.

The filmmaker should ensure hairy pussies are properly adored. An unlicked hairy pussy is a pussy lacking in proper attention.

Camera angles should accentuate the positive.

Oral is okay, if properly staged and posed.

Doggie-style is also okay, if properly staged and posed.

This is as close to missionary as you should attempt.

Ensure proper resolution to your narrative.

Provide visual evidence that a good time was had by all.

Daria Glower and George Uhl in I Love It Hairy #2

Public Broadcasting

2010-06-30T01:56:00.000-07:00

I looked at the women on pornhubpersonals - amateurs most of them, really - and saw them looking into their cams, their tops down, their legs open, seeking a connection. A thrill. Anonymous sexuality. Something that races.

I pulled down my pants and fingered my cock. I opened up my webcam.

I opened a video and while I watched a woman masturbate in her wet panties, 5 men watched me masterbate and cum on myself.

Untitled

2010-06-25T11:16:00.000-07:00

In Cars

2010-06-17T13:33:00.000-07:00

Another memory, driving long distances, usually through areas I'm not familiar with, with the landscape around me barren and uneventful and the radio fading in and out of range of stations that play the same second-tier hits from 10 years ago or unknown local artists, and bored-sounding local djs reading the news.

The wind and the sun sneaks past me through the open windows and as I hurl 80 miles per hour in this anonymous landscape I open my shirt and pull my pants down to my ankles and spread my legs, still driving, and slowly jerk off, my cock open-air erect and dribbling pre-cum on my lazy fingers.

Relax. Don't do it.

My mind wanders and I don't want to ejaculate, merely pass the time, moving fast as a flowing waterfall, a metal body hurling through space. A ton and a half of momentum, technologically mobile and disconnected.

Less is More

2010-06-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

Here.

Breath

2010-06-06T17:18:00.000-07:00

In the middle of adolescence I ran into the canyon, behind my house, climbing trees and feeling the wind as I played through the thigh-high grass at the bottom of the ravines. I paced through the creek, a thousand feet below the houses on the edge of the cliffs up there, alone and in the wide-open spaces.

At the cusp of puberty, I stripped off my clothes and layed on the ground, the wind breathing through my hair and across my young stiffening cock. The clouds and birds up above blew quietly by out of reach. No one could see me unless they really looked for me. They never did.

I explored my own nudity, feeling myself and getting hard in the sunny warm breath of summers. I looked down on the roads below cleaving through the canyon a hundred feet away, naked and spry on the crux of two branches in an oak tree, pants around my ankles. Invisible.

Computer Girls

2010-06-03T08:42:00.000-07:00

The conveyance by which we receive our pornographic images is as entwined with the experience as the actual content. Going to adult movie theatres in the '70s and '80s had a physical world that contextualized sitting in the dark watching a 40-foot projection of Seka's pussy with new meaning.

We were at the site of reception, and we had to go there to see that spectacle.

Nowadays there are petabytes of images of women opening up their legs to their cameras and streaming them online. They are alone, and they chat with us, allowing our good charm and anonymity to coax their panties down and their fingers in. The objective and unblinking eye of the webcam is complicit yet completely guileless in the capture and transmission of these forbidden and ubiquitous behaviors.

Anywhere. At play, relaxed, and wanting to connect. They are digital girls, fucking themselves in front of their computers, seemingly for us, but primarily and perhaps exclusively for their computers.

The visibility of the computer in the screen adds a narrative backstory to the spectacle. We see how it empowers the women to play. It becomes their partner. It is us by distant identification, yet it is not. It is that screen they're making love to. They don't even look at us or make eye contact.

In many ways the interaction with the computer/webcam has been placed as intentional mediation to create a fiction that motivates the expressive sexuality. A third-person interaction we are merely observing and not a participant in.

Ultimately the computer and the camera work keeps us comfortable that what we're seeing is real. The extra-textural traces of a moving camera, works spoken off-screen rather than to the screen, and editing devices remind us that the fantasy so carefully and deeply fabricated by the streaming images is only that - a created product.

This one-to-one interaction with a screen liberates us, for a moment, from that realization.

Watching, Stripping

2010-05-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

People are beautiful, especially when they reveal themselves. It's not just their skin, the soft texture of your flesh, it's how you move, your arms as you finger your clothes and let me see your ass. You know we're watching you.

We can't tell who - or what - she's looking at to the side, perhaps the door. The sunlight diffusing and lighting her room and herself makes her stripping that much more revealing.

Online Streaming

2010-05-14T10:53:00.000-07:00

All the porn sites online, the "tubes" not only allow production companies to put up trailers for their full-length films (free advertising), or for live-cam girls to show samples of their live streaming work (more free advertising), it's democratized the web and audio visual production and distribution.

Every laptop nowadays has a webcam installed and you can get a USB connected-one for less than $30. It's time to become a filmmaker. And now that you can upload it as easily as YouTube allows, you can share your work.

Cat videos are so 2009. People are pointing their cameras at themselves and displaying, for the first time and for the world, what they like to do in public. Who they are when no one's around to see who they are.

Point the camera at your pussy and jerk off to that vibrator. You don't have to show you face - you don't even have to take off your shirt.

Alone at home while your husband is at work? Show us how you jerk off before doing your chores, as the morning sun breaks through the venetian blinds.

You don't to copy the professionals (and semi-professionals). The fact that it's you, the fact that it's real, the fact that you are turning yourself on is a turn-on for us who will watch it. You don't need to set the stage. Sit on your kitchen floor and piss on yourself. Show us your floppy beautiful tits.

Usually no one's around to watch you mop up afterwards (with your wet panties). We wish we were.

http://www.xvideos.com/video320856/chubby_amateur_piss_her_pants

Nude

2010-05-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

http://redaddict.tumblr.com/

Wet Pussy

2010-04-17T20:42:00.000-07:00

Shave Tail

2010-04-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

During the `80s there was a wave of shaving videos. "ShaveTail," "Will You Shave My Pussy?" etc. This demonstration of personal hygiene had the status of forbidden spectacle, and was only at the beginning of the cusp of what would be a new aluminum age of hairless, bald (and to me uninteresting) pussies.

We had never seen such behavior before. Most mainstream porn was satisified with some missionary, a couple blow-jobs, a bout of cunnilingus, and the 3-way at the end for the big finish. These personalized and instructional videos were minimalist in their plot-lines (if there was plot). They were often shot on the new video cameras rather than film, and ran short. 65 minutes when that could be called a "feature" in the old days.

They skewed lesbian as well. That was the selling point ("I'll Shave Your Pussy and You Can Shave Mine") and they would eventually turn into a POV gonzo-style with every other perversion and spectacle included.

I'm not sure what the fetish over shaving really mean in the '80s. I'm guessing it was an excuse to show women playing with themselves, spreading and fingering with the thin pretension at innocent grooming, a voyeuristic, transgressive thrill that also mixed creaming, masturbation, and pre-adolescent suggestion to an otherwise rather explicit display of their attributes.

By the 1990s I think we'd seen about everything and our curiousity needed to be sated with more extreme, confounding and downright acrobatic stunts for the cameras.

Here's to a more innocent depiction of the female form.

And here's a retro look at a couple fucking, and she's not shaven. Her bush is hairy and natural, yet by no means out of control. Shot on film and edited that way as well - you can see the splices from the original edits go through. They used to film people in a different way, acting more naturally and any exposure was a happy accident.

This clip looks more like fucking than any porn I've seen in the last 15 years.

Ontology of The Webcam

2010-03-19T03:54:00.000-07:00

And they don't only have to be solos. Couples fuck in front of cameras... and the set up suggests that they are alone. Normal filmmaking presupposed the presense of the filmmaker, although they are invisible their effect is to signify our own gaze. An objective webcam camera aesthetic both foregrounds and sublimates that gaze, automatizes and challenges its primary power position.

Although the couple are doing it to each other, they are also, and by preplanning a documentation, really doing it for the document. For us.

http://www.xvideos.com/video256528/amateur_with_hot_body_riding_dick

The presense of the filmmaker is a given, an invisible signifier of our gaze. Here, our awareness through the image-making mise-en-scene - the handheld camera more than anything else - establishes that the gaze - our gaze - is dependant upon a participant, not just an unseeing camera.

Below, similar embedded visual cues are present, but also the appearance of a pony-tailed white guy at the beginning (while the camera is still (on a tripod?) before the black guy enters) establishes that the gaze is mediated and is passing through a previous interrogation. Indeed, the new narrative is as much who's filming this act as the act itself (inflected as it is with a clandestine aura of a hotel room, during the day, interracial and possibly mis-matched ages), impacting it with a strong filter and meaning that renders the spectacle forbidden.

This is intentional and material, not otherwise embedded in a straight un-manned video. The immediacy and spontaneity remains and is emphasized, a witness capturing not only something that is normally hidden, but hidden from an observer with a camera, which makes it timeless, repeatable, broadcastable, public and evidence.

http://www.xvideos.com/video286408/skinny_wife_fucks_black_as_husband_films_

Multi-Tasking

2010-03-10T11:32:00.000-08:00

Self-filming

2010-03-01T11:31:00.000-08:00

Found here.

You opened the porch door and pulled the curtain. You put the camera on the coffee table and took off your pants. You spread your legs by the window. You put your head back so your face wouldn't be visible... and you began to finger yourself. Your thighs and legs tightened as you got closer to orgasm. Your high-heeled feet stretched on the hard wooden floor. Your pussy moistened and you finally squirted onto your fingers and the hard wood.

Your convulsions and thick thighs make precum ooze from my erection. You captured this for yourself to see what you looked like, and then you shared it. An anonymous self-filmed handfuck. Unscripted and yet premeditated. Spontaneous and forever.

Quick and To The Point

2010-02-28T12:24:00.000-08:00

This hairy exhibitionist must point her open legs and hand playing (or is it working) her pussy at us.

No build up, no context. Except near the end something covers the camera for a moment and we wonder if someone's watching or has knocked some cloth over for a minute, caught up in the spectacle and not paying close attention to their role as invisible and anoymous viewer.

Nudity is the new Poetry

2010-02-22T13:54:00.000-08:00

Nudity is the new poetry. Rather than wax poesy online, why not take off your clothes and shoot yourself with your web cam.

Everyone can do it. At least, it seems everyone tries at some time or another.

It is very personal and allows you to explore feelings you don't share with just anyone.

It makes you feel good. If it's a good day, it can make you feel really good.

It's a way to express yourself when you're alone.

Not everyone should try it.

Often it seems, not a lot of people care.

Getting feedback from strangers is good positive reinforcement.

You can convince yourself it's only for you. In fact, it empowers you.

But you hope that's not really true.

We often feel embarassed by it later when it comes out.

You can get hooked on it.

You can do it first thing in the morning or late at night, whenever the mood strikes.

Although it's something that people do alone, you want to share deep feelings you can't otherwise.

Being drunk makes it easier.

The more you do it the better you get at the nuances.

In Praise of Stacey

2010-02-09T14:22:00.000-08:00

This shot of this ass brought me back 20 years. If it’s not Stacey (Stacy) Donovan, and it’s probably not, it’s as close to her perfect thighs and ass as it can be. This image reminded me, quite unprompted, of a previous time when I first saw porn, when I first saw naked women on the video screen.

The black&white only emphasizes the antique memory of me seeing her for the first (100) times via VHS videotape, in the mid ’80s, most still shot on film but not for long, and enjoying her open-legged svelte pussy thighs with the curves just so at the hips as she offered them to a hairy and appreciate male on the couch or in the gym, or to another svelte slightly more butch female (Joanna Storm?) who would lick, finger and fuck the hell out of her.

I erected and came often to Stacey’s ass, but more so, her guileless and knowing… yet simply innocent… moans of blonde orgasmic rapture, not goal-directed, simply in the moment, beautiful, inviting, trim and enthusiastic. Clean, no squirts, trim and sexual.

Here's also to the golden days of cinema, when there were attempts, however slight, at character and motivation, a sense of place and suspense as to who was interested, what might happen next besides the inevitable fuck, or would catch you, how long it had been, how long it would be... and something called matching reverse shots. To tell the story visually and classically.

from Tasty (Bud Lee, 1987) which is apparently about a radio station.

Your Ass and My Face

2010-02-04T12:03:00.000-08:00

Would make a perfect pair.

Beautiful Red

2010-01-28T10:22:00.000-08:00

Drinking at the Y

2010-01-21T11:11:00.000-08:00

The video series "Extreme Public Piss" follows the willing and beautiful women around town on the streets of Hungary, it looks like, as they flash, pull up their dresses or down their pants, and piss against walls, in the park, or on the streets.

It's amazing, that people walk by, seem to see what's going on and understand it but don't intervene... or participate.

How could they?

The series is in the 70s or 80s now, each at 90 minutes or so and increasingly bold and outrageous. The beginning numbers would set up a woman, usually a little long in the tooth, holding her crotch, unable to hold it in and - a common golden shower ruse - pee in desperation in a phone booth or apartment house stoop.

But by the tenth that artifice is abandoned. The women wantonly and hotly whip it out and don't seem so concerned about getting stopped or caught. This foreign non-narrative gonzo pornography is like nothing in the US. It's exhibitionistic, transgressive and naturalistic. It excites my exhibitionist attraction to public sex, sexually promiscuous and comfortable women, as well as real-looking women (usually over 30, with real boobs, and while their pussies are trimmed for the most part, these aren't all barbie-dolls).

Most of the locations are a bit abandoned, in alleys or near construction sites. It's an amazing thrill to see a woman, full of beer and probably drunk as shit, casually pull down her top or unbottom her jacket to reveal nothing underneath. The open air, the pedestrians, and the traffic go by, half paying attention. But to merely flash isn't enough, they eventually squat and pull aside their skirt and place their fingers on their labia and let a stream go. They piss onto the sidewalk, this forbidden spectacle, or against a tree. They don't stop prematurely.

They piss in public and you can see their pussies open to the world. They don't care.

If traffic goes by it's on a bridge and few people could realistically pull over and say "hey!" Imagine being a resident (or a tourist) and turning the corner, seeing one of these women pissing on the streets and train-stations all over Hungary. It's just another one of the exports, this unique series of how hot 30-something women express their sexuality. By pissing in full view out of doors.

Horse

2010-01-17T02:27:00.000-08:00

One of my good high school friends, I'll call him K, could always get girls a lot easier than most of us. Besides the fact perhaps that his parents were well off and he had his own bedroom with only one sister... in a room across the hallway... there was a rumor widely circulated that his cock was huge.

The girls nicknamed him "HP" for horse prick. I never saw it in real life (soft or hard) but it loomed large in his legend.

News like that spreads, especially among the appreciative, and especially among the perhaps under-experienced high school girl (or girls) who started the rumor. I heard it from an old girl friend of mine who had not gone out with him but had heard it from a girlfriend who had. She was talking about my friend's cock!

I tried to explain that the object in question always looks bigger when it is at attention, was her friend sure it was special? Would she like to have a comparative example (for example, mine)?

Part of me was envious that the girls weren't talking about the size of my cock. Part of me may have been envious. In my teens getting the girls' attention with my sexuality was of supreme importance. And my friend, K, was a ladykiller, not so much because he was a weasel or a cad or tried too hard or made himself unbearable. His reputation proceeded him, and he didn't have to work for it. He got whomever he wanted... eventually.

At least, captured their imaginations, including my girlfriend's.

At a certain point whether it's true or not doesn't matter. He was a blissful underachiever and cruised through school and jr. college. 20 years later he still hasn't made much of himself, arrogant, never returned phone calls, always too busy to meet for coffee or drinks. Married, kids and stuck in a mid-level job.

Him and his horse prick. It's a good problem to have, but I wonder.

Friday Morning

2010-01-14T02:02:00.000-08:00

My interest in a self-documenting mode of sexuality leads me to share this. The postings of the horny and exhibitionistic women (and men) on line that interrogate the meaning of interactive sex, alone yet public and anonymous, both drives me to distraction and excites me; I post my favorite and the most beautiful examples in the last months.

I wonder how the virtual thrill of doing it out in the open, for hundreds of partners, yet remaining alone and safe... or at least isolated... conflates and confounds my normal responses to them, and opens up a desire within my secret heart to do the same, a simple exhibitionistic and narcisistic display of cock and cum.

Of desire, of vulnerability.

Of lust and the public spectacle of that release. As a spiritual embracing of my thrill over you watching me. To know your eyes are there, yet not feel the judging gaze of the next few seconds afterwards, of the ticking clock, of the ringing doorbell. Of the mail that goes unanswered. Or the unwashed dish.

Aesthetics of Mediation - Home Display

2009-12-27T08:17:00.000-08:00

Simple and to the point, she has set herself up to have an orgasm and has documented the visual evidence.

Is an event specifically staged to be documented a truthful and unmediated event? Is the fact that it is performed to be documented and duplicated later part of the event itself, duplicating and reiterating itself? Is the meaning of the event therefore tied explicitly to the camera working.

If seh decides not to post it and jerk off again tomorrow for us, how does the nature of her orgasm change?

If we know she did it for this archival re-presentation, how does ours change, as we watch her and masturbate ourselves?

Sometimes Feel Like

2009-12-18T10:24:00.000-08:00

...going down.

Visuals

2009-12-17T00:30:00.000-08:00

The live- webcam racket online is a tough one to crack without dropping $20 or $30 a month, just to get access. It seems there are a lot more professional women out there wanting to charge you to let you watch them fuck with their pussies on their webcam - something they do every day anyway.

Aren't there hundreds, thousands of women out there booting up and opening up for an anonymous thrill? I've seen them all on xhamster and amateurica.com. Why won't the women answer my pages? Because they're not interested in meeting me, interested in chatting and getting to know me. Their motives are baser, more simple.

They want to masturbate for the camera and broadcast the shit online.

I get it. It's a voyeristic turn-on. And I found the pornhub personals site free and webcam friendly and a dangerous and sexy playground to show my spare-time hobbies a couple times a week as well. Those are real people on there. Whew. Good looking and not so. Messy bedrooms, bad lighting, camera angles a little too close. And it can be wonderful.

Yet, for every 50 women online there's about 600 to 800 guys camming. Serious imbalance. And while the women are staring into their cameras, not sure why they're there or whether or not they should expose the goods, the guys have the webcam between their legs and right up in their crotch.

Their tags say "ladies, look at this" and "no guys, looking for female fun" but the only ones looking at those hard dicks being beaten online are other guys. You may try to pose yourself with shadow and be coy as you pull out your growing erection and start to stroke it, but you're getting "Nice cock" pages from either 22-year-old single guys in Hollywood or 52-year-old married guys in Arizona.

The women aren't looking for the cock there. Yeah, you're in a virtual circle jerk, but at least you're alone and you don't have to look over at your neighbor's hand swinging or his hard cock dripping... if you don't want to. You know someone's watching out there and it's better to fantasize about what they're doing as they watch you. You don't want to enter into a conversation. You're beating off for crissakes and isn't it nice to be doing it for someone instead of just yourself?

Slowly, and enjoying every moment, not just for how it feels to you but to how it looks to the strangers out there. You like to be watched, be exhibitionistic, and hell, you might as well do it for a bunch of dudes, who at least, watch for more than 2 seconds, page you with a friendly "nice cock I'd suck that" and are probably pulling out their dicks themselves to do the same thing.

Where Your Mouth Is

2009-12-15T01:08:00.000-08:00

Sample clip of a redhead, loving the alien.

And another, loving another girl's roses.

Redheads are not just fine to look at, they want to fuck you right back.

Round Pound

2009-12-07T00:23:00.000-08:00

Some of the hottest fucking sex I had was when my wife was pregnant. Not sure why this would be until it happened.

It was chemistry, mostly. Her hormones went into overdrive, and she was horny as fuck for the last 4 months after she got over the initial sickness. And she ate more and enjoyed it in a sensual and sexual manner.

There was a carnality to her growing, glowing. Her body became different, firmer and rounder, her tits got bigger. A wisp of hair formed down her stomach and her pussy seemed, I swear, to be 5 degrees hotter.

Her pussy was wet, with a thick mucus that made it new and sticky to enter her. She wanted it so bad, and fucking into her was a new and unique bout of gymnastics. It took work, adjustment, and finding the right position, while she went sideways, legs up, or sticking her ass out. Tits dripping. Fertile. Heavy.

She was firmer. She wasn't shy. She couldn't be. She could feel me inside her differently.

And she tasted different when I licked her. Smelled different. It was the closest I could come to fucking another woman without cheating. And yet she was still the woman I loved.

I think I came up that pregnant hot vagina as many times as when we were on our honeymoon.

Ring On Your Fingers

2009-12-03T08:33:00.000-08:00

The housework is not done but my husband isn't here to get in the way.

The dishes will still be there. I'm horny and I can't get off this computer. I'm going to show you what I want you to do to me while my husband is not around. I'm going to show you what I do to myself in my bored late morning reveries.

After I cum I will return to the floors and the housework, the shopping and the bill-paying. But for the next 3 minutes my pussy is for all the world.

Decisions Made At The Time

2009-11-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

We're faced with decisions that are the right ones at the time, and only later do we wonder exactly why we made them. The passion of the moment, the circumstances and the details, some idealized or fool-hardy vision of how things will turn out.

All effects what we do, and more importantly, what we don't do.

There was this girl who came from a rich family that I had been messing with in my spare time. She had spare time to spare too and between the conferences and the family get-togethers most nights of the week I went out with her and saw movies, fucked her in the back seat, went to her house for lunch and met her mom and cousins, made dinner and drinks for her at my apartment and let her suck my cock on the couch as videos played ignored.

She got as wet when I was fingering her as I had ever encountered with anyone before. She loved to be licked and her pussy had a watery sea-salt taste of shampoo. This was a good thing. Never funky or smelly, her pussy juices were thick and viscous. I got so hard when I felt her up and my fingers came away dripping and warm.

This was down south. When I moved north I kept in touch, and didn't break it off, even as I met another girl, who would eventually become my wife. She wasn't from a rich family and she went to school rather than family functions on the weeknights. She was less experienced but willing to learn with me, and she let me fuck her in the car, would invite me over and we would fuck on the couch downstairs while her mother was upstairs. She'd come over and I'd make her dinner, and we'd end up balling on the living room floor under the Christmas tree.

She never sucked me off and she didn't get as wet as the other, but she made me hot because she had curves and a smile to die for and an ass that I could have crawled into and lived in for a week. I'm an ass man and I would caress that ass, kiss that ass, finger that ass and cum on that ass over and over. She loved the feel of the warm thick splash on her lower back, her ass sticking up for me that I would enter into (in her pussy, not the other). Sometimes we would look over at ourselves in the full-length mirror on the door to the bedroom.

The first woman, had she been in the same town as me, would have taken good care of me. She laughed at my jokes and paid for my drinks more often than I paid for hers. It was a casual and comfortable relationship, slowly moving towards something that was not to be when I moved. The second woman captured my sexual imagination and was more work to please, and I was able to make her cum.

It was the right decision at the time, and now as I remember that I didn't really make it so much as accept what was happening to my heart, that I gave up the financial comfort of one family's berth for the sexual storm cloud of a hell of an ass.

30 years ago

2009-11-24T12:57:00.000-08:00

Cheryl Rixon, Penthouse pet in the late '70s. Her ass up in the air, 30 years ago.

That'll never go out of fashion.

The front isn't too bad either.

Wet and Tangled

2009-11-21T23:12:00.000-08:00

There is a sexual and carnal sense in the neigh-borhood Laundromat. Even as it sits across from a strip mall, unattended and humming, and has dust bunnies and a dingy gray in every visible corner, there's a sterile and open promiscuity that festers there. It must have something to do with the fact that everyone is airing their dirty laundry in view of strangers, that your underwear hangs wet and sopping in your hand for the coed watching you across the paneled shelf above the washer rows. It's the smell of soap and a sterile and anonymous feeling of being in your t-shirt and last summer's shorts, probably not wearing any underwear under there, as you sit and vacantly watch the other people tumbling, dripping, hanging and spreading.

The laundromat is where you can get a cheap thrill watching her pull out her lace bras out of the dryer and untangling them. His jock strap peaks through the shorts he found at the bottom of his drawer. The people here live within one mile but you will never see them again. Some are older and may be homeless but most, at least here, are college age and talking on the phone as they fold. She isn't wearing a bra and her Go Team shirt is stretched at her neckline. I can look down her shirt and see her tits when she reaches for the last socks at the bottom of the laundry basket.

I sit with my partner and we talk. She isn't wearing any underwear under her sweatpants. There are 3 people on the other side of the middle row of washers, and when two of them leave she stands and pulls down her pants to show me her pussy. Behind her the wall-high window opens blindly to the street. Flashing in public, if only someone was looking in the right direction.

I'm hard. She waits for the girl over there to start folding her clothes, they're all white and are comprised of undershirts, towels and a sheet or two. I pull down my shorts and show her my married erect cock. The sun comes through and shines on my thighs. I'm open to the rest of the Laundromat and the white metal boxes that hum and tumble and beep. Coins drop and she snaps my picture with her cellphone.

I go to the dryer later and people give me sideways looks as I pull the series of women's underwear, camisoles, stockings and bras out and carefully and lovingly stack them in the open.

Authenticity

2009-11-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

(Here.)

This wife of someone (I see a ring?) sits in front of a camera and takes off her pants and masturbates with that object in full view of the camera. She keeps her face out of frame for the most part and isn't interested in fancy lighting or camera angles.

She is alone. The web-camera does not move. She is simply filming this actual event, without baroque mediation or a sense of story-telling intervention. She appears to have an orgasm and then stops. Her legs and pussy open and visible to us, but her motivations we can only guess at. The truthful nakedness of it asks as many questions as it presents, without flourish.

Unencumbered with subtext, it's only a text to be enjoyed and evaluated at our own leisure and for our pleasure.

The Politics of Blowjob

2009-11-17T12:59:00.000-08:00

You'd think that getting your dick sucked is just a blow-job. Loving the cock with the mouth. A simple gift from someone, a turn-on and empty-sex-headed exploration. But giving head can be a more complicated interpersonal relationship between two people.

It's a give and take kind of arrangement, in which the power is not specifically or exclusively with the man with the erection. The presumption that the cock is being jammed into the woman's throat in a patriarchal assertion of dominance is mitigated by the fact that the woman is ministrating all the attention, loving skill upon said erection in order to get a response. It can seems at first as a denial for whoever's doing the sucking. She is withdrawing from having cock (or fingers, or a tongue) in her own pussy, to take charge of that cock. She's (or he's) in a kneeling submission to the phallic aggression of your needy and impatient fuckhead. Such that the mouth, the woman, is forced to suck me off? The dick is the center of attention again.

The desired response, ultimately and spectactularly, would be an orgasm of cum squirting out of the slick erection, jerking and heaving into her mouth or over her receptive face. But the nuance of the entire process needs to be considered as well.

Sucking cock isn't solely for the final cum squirt. The woman is owning and putting a valuable body part into her teethed hungry mouth. She has the ability to coax, stroke, change flow or speed to ruin the sensual experience. Indeed her skill and ministrations of oral love - or her lack thereof - gives her the power to render the cock completely submissive. The cock in thrall, enclaved to the urge to enjoy the slower and more urgent focused attention.

Of lick, of moaning, of deep swallowing satisfaction.

At the expense of her pussy, and without your more complete carnal enjoyment of her soft curves or wet sliding ass crease, the sucked penis waits, perhaps patiently, perhaps for far longer than is bearable, for any final explosive conclusion. That may not come. And so, the process is the raison d'etre. The sucking and licking, stroking and slobbering becomes a drawn out and nuanced performance by the mouth and of the hands, the mind and the lusty heart of the sucker. Who honors and prays to your altar of cock.

The mouth engulfs the rod of love and loves it in a selfless and focused exploration of flesh into hole, hard into wet. Without distraction or a mutual masturbatory exploration, the mouth becomes a master of touches, licks, timing and pacing. Hair, sweat and breathing, of precum.

It's a narrative in which the journey can be as enjoyable and longer and without end. The cock is justified and obligated to let it happen. To not rush in or to rush out. To submit to the chore of head given to you. To resist grabbing yourself and jerking yourself onto her when you're close. To receive head is to submit to her process. She sucks it because she loves to feel it and wants to swallow the essence of your submissive mancock, dripping and growing in orgasmic anticipation.

She's in charge. Your submission is the power she has over you as she drinks of the firm wet fleshy enjoyment of her own withdrawal to being fucked in the mouth, the face, the full-frontal drinking. Sex as performance, as consumptive surrender to the moment.

Enthusiasm

2009-11-16T04:14:00.000-08:00

This webcam video demonstrates a woman clearly into getting herself off. She has cream, toys, a mirror and determination.

Her ardor is hot. Very hot. She wants you to cum, watching her. She's not shy about whether or not this is a good idea. She's not considering the mediated post-modern ramifications of spectatorship, anonymity, narcissism by proxy, or the gaze as subject.

I'm posting this for one thing so I can find it myself whenever I want to cum to her rubbing her pussy and jamming that lotion bottle in so hornily.

St. Louis

2009-11-14T22:23:00.000-08:00

I saw you walk out of that oyster bar

Across the empty parking lot into the dark night

In a purple haze of jeans and glasses

Stilling my heart and my hands

Under the arch that gazes blind down from above.

You caught my breath

Like a page that wouldn't turn, a print that wouldn't fix

A strap that wouldn't fall.

And as the endless last call sharpens my thirst

I drank and fell deeper into a drunken nighttime

And follow.

You relinquished your smile under the canopy glass-top

And the bed linen was like waxy candles

A sleepy sloppy daydream of no color or sound

Except the rumble of the freeway across the river

And then the bulldozer dawn gave hangover eyes to the blinded.

Red Head. Red Tail.

2009-11-10T15:10:00.000-08:00

Give Take

2009-11-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

Warm, wet, forbidden and hard.

You Can Keep Your Pants On

2009-11-07T09:16:00.000-08:00

Aesthetics of Mediation - On the Beach

2009-11-05T08:20:00.000-08:00

While this sex bout seems to have been staged specifically to be filmed, it still seems to be happening on a public beach. Out in the true open - this is not an abandoned or private alcove, and you can see observers dozens of feet away half-way through the clip who are observing, taking notice of the fucking couple.

They are as surprised as the participants are carried away in their fucking, and therefore the actual and urgent horniness of their fucking is made real, deliciously tangible. While this isn't a strict amateur self-made clip, like my other "aesthetics" posts, it is not professional tattooed porn either.

It is real people really fucking each other, not the camera.

It's out of control, it is not an attempt to be a performance - except for each other. Which is the real spectacle we are getting off on.

Naked, Stoned and Anonymous

2009-11-01T11:24:00.000-08:00

Connected and invisible.

Naked and anonymous.

Typing and cumming.

Down

2009-10-30T09:04:00.000-07:00

Up.

Sweat

2009-10-28T23:38:00.000-07:00

My wife worked out this morning and came home sweaty and smelly. The circles of sweat ran under her arms and across her chest, down her sternum and across her belly, into her waistband and down her ass and to her crack.

It was sexy as hell. I grabbed her and ran my fingers into her loose sweatpants and felt the slick film of dirt on her ass and lower back. I tasted the salt on her cheeks, on her neck below her chin.

Felt the wet hot damp under her breasts.

I pulled her sweat shorts off her and licked her sweaty funky pussy, spread her legs and drank of her smelly dank and natural skank. Rubbed my hands over her body spreading the uriney extrusion of her smell on her stomach, her face, onto my hands, and onto my body.

My thighs. I pulled my pants off and opened my shirt. Rubbed against her and entered her, already lubricated, and the friction/lubrication of her warm, worked-up sweaty body boiled my sexual responses. She felt like the forest, like the poison ivy canyon. Relaxed and open, an earthy funk.

Her hair matted on the sides of her face at her temples. I held her head close and I smelled the warm slime as I came deep inside her.

Stranger

2009-10-26T01:38:00.000-07:00

I touch you like I never did before. My caress is electric, my fingertips sensitive as coal-black velvet, a wet erotic tongue on my ballsack.

I smell the sweat in the nape of your hair, the thin stubble underneath your arms, the musky honey between your labia.

I've never touched you before. What I took for granted is now new and strange. Urgent and unknowable, the last time and the first, a tightrope walk both accidental and reckless.

The ass and cock I always knew like alien flesh. The bucking and spit, salty like no brine I had ever tasted. Your beautiful kisses down my hairy stomach, rock hard to my heaving cum-cock. Always waiting. Hard and ready to fit into you like 1000 times, now warped and crooked. Tight. Tasting of my own spunk.

Fuckall hot and hairy, hold back as whispers to make me pause. Hold the tit and the moment, poised, watching. Above and inside you, the spasm so subtle and stabbing.

The breeze comingles with the sticky drip across the silken sheets, forever blowing as it dries the cum. The stranger in the bed, lurking behind you in your memory silent. I fuck him as I imagine he does you, absent only in the moment when I quiet and wait. Listen to your absence.

Will this be the next time? This deep urge to emit the seed of wrath into your open love, sweating your asshole as the lick becomes an uncertain kiss.

Diversion

2009-10-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

Fucking my computer like it's my own personal cock.

POV

2009-10-21T00:26:00.000-07:00

Not only does a POV shot allow you to see what it is like to be inside and with the girl, right under, over or next to you, virtually ... it allows you to see the unique and beautiful forms, that occur naturally in nature.

POV exploits the shape of a finely curved ass, displays it bent over and rounded as it squats onto your cock - any cock - to receive it into the vagina. (Even if you don't have a cock. Your virtual presence only suggests it, not predicated on it. You can enjoy the look of that ass however you'd like to. You are there to see, to identify with the person touching, licking, fucking.)

While the personality of your partner is of extreme importance when making love to her, the blunt and immodest view of her ass sticking up at you - for you - is a powerful seducer.

The POV porn sites and DVDs understand and tease you with this straight-on confrontation - she's right there - in your face.

--This closeness to the way it would really be, if you were with her right now... And not wasting your time just watching.

It's purient and it's frustrating. It simultaneously objectifies her and you, yet places you squarely in interaction with her, not as passive observer. Which is what you are.

Upskirt teases

2009-10-17T09:14:00.000-07:00

Leaving something to the imagination is often sexier than seeing it all.

Webcam Wife

2009-10-11T15:58:00.000-07:00

While I haven't uploaded a masturbation webcam video in a while, this one caught my curiousity. It is, again like I insist, more powerful and sexy for the fact that it is just a single shot onto the woman's nether regions.

She films herself playing with her pussy with a vibrator, and there's no attempt to fancy it up. She has her legs open, we see her ring. Sunlight comes through a window nearby.

She moans. We fantasize what compels her to do this. There is no camera man. Her husband (or fiance') is not there, she is doing this to turn herself on. And then it gets posted, for hundreds - thousands of strangers to see.

She will protect her anonymity by not showing her face, but anyone who has seen her naked (like her husband) will recognize that round druid-like tattoo on her stomach....

Lest we think she is doing this to entertain her husband (and it accidentally got out) note that late in the video (around 6 1/2 minutes into 8+ minutes) she slows down, either having second thoughts or bored, and ends with "You know why I didn't cum? I'm just teasing you boys."

This display is for strangers. She's sharing something maybe even her husband has never seen her do in the light of day, for 8 minutes straight.

Women Showing Their Assholes

2009-10-07T16:09:00.000-07:00

Your most indelicate indiscretion

I obsess over without opening my mouth

Instead your hands and fingers caress the swine and pearl of your femininity

And I close my eyes and lick and sweat

And imagine the worsening tightness of your love.

Rude and willing. No more coy poses. As this is not usually an erogenous zone, when you are in the deep thrall of fucking, in the wet whirlpool of licking and biting, fingering and poking,

Any and every hole and crease, crevasse and smell turns me on. I'll bite off your farts and stick your toe into my ass, finger your crack and smell the sweet sweat as I force my spoiled ripped cock into your mouth again...

Lick the inside of your nose. Jerk off onto your hairy pussy and lick my thick ooze off you and let it drool out again with spit onto your nipples.

Never tell. Simply give to me your abandoned pride

Alone now and only for me, today

But I can't shake the gnawing fact

Who else has enjoyed such a spectacle

Impossible to touch and to keep

But forever drilling into the memory of my cock's wanton spasms.

Regard

2009-10-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

The powerful image of you. We look at each other, regarding how we compare. I see other men making love to women. Compare technique, cock size and display.

I hear stories, and I think of how I would be in their place. Would I do that? Could I do something different with a different person, in a different room, with less - or more - at stake?

I look at her, imagine what it would be like to lick her. Caress her. Be inside her. I compare what I have known and what I would like to know.

There is a dark want that is so sharp and delicious when it is unfulfilled. A mysterious and potent need that is forever killed by the culmination of desire.

So the experimentation has to be tentative. Would I be satisfied with a light touch of his cock? A kiss to see how hot we can get... without throwing caution and nuance away.

Can I learn anything from you, just by watching and dreaming and figuring out what I should be doing next, without actually doing it?

Is to look good enough ... a deep enough emotional experiment?

And while you look at me, do you also go inside yourself and wish I would join you? What do you think you'd learn from me, about yourself?

Only regarding one another. In you I see myself.

Modest

2009-10-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

But she'll be damned if she shows you her tits.

link

A Little Dinner and a Show

2009-09-28T09:27:00.000-07:00

We went out to get something to eat, it was a date only in the most loose terms. Not intended to be romantic, but rather, hey, we both have to eat so let's do it together.

The wine was fantastic but too expensive, so we each only had one glass. The talk was involved and we let our food get cold. I had never felt so comfortable and found myself revealing things - secrets - that weren't really that secret or dangerous. That's how you made me feel. I felt safe.

We went back to your place and the talking continued. You showed me the books on the case, the ones you had read and didn't want to give away, the ones that you hadn't and probably wouldn't. How were you, where did you find the time?

Time always seemed to get away from us. It was dark outside and I told you how unhappy and hard things were at home. You understood because your homelife was also rocky, in fact rockier than mine. You leaned over and kissed me, the way we had always imagined and fantasized about.

It felt good to be kissed. My hands reached around you and your skin, your back felt so firm and yet soft. I reached over and pulled up your shirt to feel your back, then your lower back.

You reached in and undid my pants and I let you. I pushed them off and you did the same for me. You took off your shirt and I kissed you again, this moment, this skin on skin endless pause before I would lean back and you would touch my tits and look down upon my pussy.

I spread my legs and let you see my inner slick crease of love and you were hard and you came closer and I let you enter me. You fucked me and it was so lovely and so quick and explosive and invisible to me because I didn't get a chance to feel it.

I didn't see it. Did you see it?

I hoped I would have another chance soon. But for now what of our late night parking?

A Breather

2009-09-24T09:32:00.000-07:00

Celebrity

2009-09-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

Another One

2009-09-18T08:27:00.000-07:00

I guess it was bound to happen, but one of us ended up sleeping with someone else.

My wife, who is normally no slouch in bed, and while not being too open to trying new positions besides the ones that always work, but open to any new times and circumstances to do same, and I had always had an understanding that we were never going to cheat on each other. Then, this year, she did.

It wasn't planned, but it was someone who she knew well. It wasn't involved enough to be an affair, but it was someone she cared about as a close friend for many years. They were closer than mere acquaintances and this wasn't a drunk oh-shit bachelorette party mere simple misstep.

They didn't just fuck. They made love.

Due to an inadvertent physical turmoil and a wave of confessional angst, I ended up finding out without having to do too much investigative behind-the-scenes. She admitted it and told me all she could - all I wanted or could, actually, stand to know.

She promised it wouldn't - couldn't happen again. It was a moment of weakness, the intersection where a healthy fantasy intruded into reality with opportunity and circumstances married with the perception that no harm would be done... and that after all there is always enough love to go around.

But, knowing someone else had indeed fucked my wife, and that she had fucked him back, has a corrosive effect on how I think of her. She's sexy, yes, still, but that aspect of her private life in which she fantasizes about other people - people that actually exist in our world (Angelina Jolie or Jon Stewart is a whole 'nother ball game) - opened up to me her deeper fuck-love cock-worship side that had less to do with my cock and kisses and whispers, and more with being away, being herself, get away with it, going for broke, opening her legs, fuck me, you feel so good, he'll never know, you feel different part of her.

A part she never really explored in her earlier life, or could once she was with me.

It's a part of her I knew was there. It's a part of all of us.

And as she talks to me, and we discuss who's unhappier, what let her go and do this, why, goddamn it, why, and what this manifests--

I get hard.

It's a fucking turn-on. Not because she fucked someone else - that will hurt for a long time. But because this has revealed something secret she holds dear. A hint into her private sexuality. She is being honest with me about this, sharing something I never heard from her mouth, until circumstances demanded it.

I loved being loved without conditions or rules. I want a connection. I don't want the mortgage/oatmeal/dirty dishes attention, but the out on Saturday, latest movie, flirting and surprise-me kind too.

In an urgent need to reassert my importance, to repossess what of her I still can (less than I thought), to make a stronger and more explosive connection, something deep and earth-moving, I fuck her like I've never done before.

I make love to her like I mean it, like it's the last time, like I will be the last one and she must compare me to him, to them, to all of them. I make her cum, with my mouth and my hands. I caress her body and bite her ass, knead her breasts and breathe into her neck. Prop her up above me and pump slowly and aggressively into her cunt and cum deeper and longer than I have in 6 months. This is my love for you, my connection, my surprise. This is me knowing who you are, knowing how to love you, with all my body and my heart and my cock.

You're no longer mine now. Something is forever lost and not retrievable. She cries, I sweat, we drink. And we do it again the next day.

And it's like the last fuck of the world again. So deep and slow and hot and needy and forever and like the edge of a sharp fucking knife cutting into my heart at the very moment I grab her ass and ejaculate deep into her lying two-timing pussy.

How Best To Serve The Wine

2009-09-16T15:34:00.000-07:00

Workout

2009-09-14T02:34:00.000-07:00

In another reality, Jillian Michaels will attack me, pull down her pants, and sit on my face.

Then she will lean down and suck me off and lick the cum off her fingers as it drips down her chin.

Then, for good measure, she'll stick two fingers up my asshole and get me hard again by massaging my prostate, and fuck me cowgirl.

She'll hold herself up with no arms, bouncing up and down and I'll cum again up inside her tight muscular ass.

Then, she'll stand over me and let the cum drip out onto my stomach and slick cock, then she'll kick me in the balls.

It will hurt so good.

And then she won't call me.

A Glimpse of Stocking

2009-09-10T10:14:00.000-07:00

A clear demonstration of the allure pantyhose has for some of us.

Sheer yet all-encompassing. Sexy tearable yet strangely chaste.

On The Air

2009-09-07T00:31:00.000-07:00

I've been talking with a couple readers online, and among other things, they've liked to watch me jerk off, the same way perhaps that I love to look at myself. There's a fascination and personal intense connection. It's all me.

And every so often I like to see other guys jerk themselves off - not for a gay thrill - but to see someone enjoying, to see the release, to see the hard and hot and straining spurt and squirt and ooze I know but have only imagined in other guys.

To watch, to be safe, to not have to ask, not have to say the words to him. Can I help?

And I've been exploring the video chat option of jerking off for this one reader, across the country, while he jerks off for me.

Well 2 weeks ago we did it. Late at night (later for him) we set up and pointed our webcams at ourselves. I sat with no pants, no shirt. I fingered and stroked my cock, and watched him do the same, 40 states away, and finger his balls.

He was less hairy than me, and already quite erect, as I quickly was. I saw his face a moment, then he moved the camera. You can see yourself. I imagined putting my mouth onto him, and was very hard.

I slowly jerked myself, licking my hand to lubricate. I had no sense of wanting to hurry. If I didn't cum, I wouldn't. This was much more spectacle than performance.

He loved himself. It was clean and safe. Quickly, we got into a rythym with each other.

I would go slower, and his hand would. He would reach down and cup his balls, so I would do the same with mine. He ringed his cock head and squeezed it, massaging his shaft with short strokes.

I did the same and was getting very excited, feeling the ripening boil in my balls. By taking my visual cues from him, I was having sex, although masturbating myself, with another person, different movements, suprising grasps and touchs.

His cock, purple and slick, flopped back and forth. His legs opened up as he clearly seemed to be going slowly faster, slowly building. I could feel his orgasmic spunk building in that stranger foreign Massachusetts cock. I jerked myself faster, knowing he was watching.

He saw me; my strokes were long, from the very base, in the hairy crevice slick with my spit and the sweat around my shaft, and up to the throbbing cockhead, the opening arrow point. My fingers squeezed from below, along the open vein of sperm roiling up the base.

Working it out, he was jerking with his fist, quicker. I was working mine out, and I shifted. Camera ready, I watched him.

And he spurted onto his stomach. High and ropey, I heard him sigh deeply. He beat the shit out of his hard purple cock, spitting it thick up onto himself.

So good. Mine was coming as well, and I kept my steady pace, because I was not going to hide it. I wanted to show it to him, show it to him now, show him the load he had coaxed out of me, the one that watching him had made me orgasm out. I pushed the top of my cock with my thumb, the bottom of the shaft with my forefinger, and my balls convulsed--

--I came, down my shaft, and forward. For the camera, for this 40-state-away stranger cock. Look, I came. Personal, looking at your cock cum, spunk all over your cock, your stomach, your hand.

He rubbed his cock, getting it slick as he watched. I let my flow bubble and subside, and I took the drops off my head and brought them to my mouth. Stayed a moment, legs open, cock dripping.

Thanks. That was the hottest orgasm I'd had in months. And it was on the air.

Shave-Tail

2009-09-04T23:12:00.000-07:00

Pussies were there right between her legs - at least, they used to be. Sharp, thick, smelly and hairy. To be hidden and to be sought out and fingered. Clearly the object of desire.

Now they seem to have disappeared. The wonderful space is there still, but the texture has been elided, as if the build-up is no longer important. The details ignored for the final punchline.

There's a fetish to self-groom - but the allure has been erased.

Update

2009-09-02T00:16:00.000-07:00

I'm still up dating the posts here from the previous site, which was at:

rphblog.blogspot.com.

That site is being deleted but in the process of migrating the old blog to here, many pictures disappeared and so I'm replacing them.

Yummy Pussy

2009-09-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

I've written before of the joys of licking and eating pussy.

Pussy is the center of her beauty. Her open flower of love and liquid. Flowing nerves designed to give life, to birth the wonder of humanhood and our race.

Pussy is the giver of orgasm. The exploding sucker of cum, that receptacle of sperm. Massaging crevice to take our manhood, make cock hard and spurt. Fill it up, slick and warm.

Pussy is cunt. Hairy and smelling of roses and soap, leather and piss. Earthy and fecund, a fountain of pleasure that quivers and shudders. Milks out my orgasmic shot and coats itself with honey-thick love.

Legs to pussy, crease of desire. Open air praying mantis, she offers herself and I fulfill her.

She takes me in and embraces my shaft, pulls me in and loves and swallows me up. Engulfs and enslaves, for an endless moment. Hot layover, out of mind and buried deep in her petals of need.

Bikini Shopping

2009-08-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

I love to look at bikinis. They come in as many styles as the women who wear them.

I'm not sure the Wicked Weasel designs are meant to be worn in public.

Although that would be nice.

When does a bikini stop being a bikini...

...and become a sexual aid?

Depends on how it's being worn.

Fucking The Alien

2009-08-28T23:34:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I've found myself in bed with someone I didn't really know. Sure, I knew her name, and the general specifics, but it wasn't like it was a long and intimate getting-to-know-you process. We ended up with our pants off and dicks in pussies.

We fuck before we think. At least we try to. But ultimately we have to be ourselves, be charming, try to impress and convey ourselves as solid, sane, responsible (I brought protection), and worth the trouble.

We're trying to get to know the other person as well as possible; at least, in a deep and physical manner not normally enjoyed in polite company.

Who the fuck is she? I don't care, I just want to get off, I think. I want to cum inside her.

Eventually, we find someone we spend lots of time with. It may be our significant other, we may marry them, and spend years fucking each other, doing the same thing over and over, doing new and experimental things to keep it interesting. Sharing those deep fetishes we always wanted to try, and we're finally comfortable enough with the other person to share, to try, to not freak them out.

You want me to dress as a nurse? You want me to sing what?

Often, though, we still don't know how she'll respond. Will she understand? Will she laugh in my face? If I'm vulnerable, will she reciprocate? Or will she look at me like I'm crazy? Like I'm from another planet?

Those star-crossed moments are fleeting and rare. The actual eye-to-eye "I get you" moments, in which it is magic, both of us are on the same wavelength, we're both in love, both laughing, both about to cry, both into it and getting off, one on top, the other underneath, rocking, humping...

More often, I'm doing what she wants or she's doing what I want. It's give and take and there are rules. The mindless roller-coaster sex is good when it happens but I get lost in the moment and forget to enjoy who I'm with - in the orgasmic explosion.

She doesn't know what I'm thinking.

It doesn't last long. If there's a hole that's wet and she's willing to show it and share it, I'm in. But she might as well be an alien to me, I don't know her and she doesn't know me. But fuck she feels good naked.

UK Road trip

2009-08-25T22:50:00.000-07:00

I don't travel like this. Not for want of trying.

The Ben Wa's

2009-08-22T20:58:00.000-07:00

I got them mail-order, because I am shy, and I wouldn't know where to get them in a store anyway. They were two metal balls, larger and heavier than I imagined, about the size of golf-balls, and slightly off-balance.

They were silver-beautiful and clicked quietly and contently when they were rocked together. And I could put them up my cunt and they wouldn't fall out. Because of their size, in spite of their weight they didn't roll or work out of my vagina, so when I sat down and squirmed a little, they rocked and clicked silently back and forth up in me.

The effect was subtle but intense. When I walked I could feel them inside me, and I quickly knew that inserting them before going to work was a deliciously naughty and sexual boiling under secret that lasted the entire day. They were up inside me and rolling bck and forth, off-center and bubbling together, clicking in my thick fluids, turning me on like fingers up my cunt… or a firm cock.

Not fucking me hard, not banging against me or stimulating my clit. It was more of a rolling and continuous tickle and reminder. I couldn't forget them for long, because when I would stand… or sit… I would get a twinge of fuck-sex up my pussy.

The effect was cumulative. Soon I found myself splashing on the edge of orgasm for minutes at a time, not quite arriving at a climax, but rolling ever so pleasantly on an erection of pleasure, feeling flushed but not exploding. Like that first swallow of the 2nd drink, right before the tequila starts to go to your head and begins to turn. That drifting flight of pre-orgasm that you hope lasts forever, but then he cum, or you cum, or the phone rings, or you get a cramp.

Alone, with the balls, I could control it and slow it down. There was no need to speed it up.
I wouldn't have wanted one of those vibrating butterflys that you wear on your clit. That would have been too intense, gone to quickly to cumming. I couldn't have kept a straight face, kept the smile off my face, the blush out of my cheeks, the stammer or the moans. I would have cum with that worn under my panties, quietly humming away.

With the balls up my pussy, I could slowly roll to a flowing and continuous orgasm all day long.