Aesthetics of Mediation - Home Display

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

...going down.

Visuals

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Where Your Mouth Is

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Round Pound

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

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

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

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

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

(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

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

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

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.

You Can Keep Your Pants On

Aesthetics of Mediation - On the Beach

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

Connected and invisible.

Naked and anonymous.

Typing and cumming.

Down

Up.

Sweat

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

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

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

POV

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

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

Webcam Wife

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

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

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

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



link

A Little Dinner and a Show

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

Celebrity

Another One

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

Workout

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

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



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