For times when you want to browse in stealth mode, for example, to plan surprises such as gifts or birthdays, Google Chrome offers the incognito browsing mode.

Like this is not going to be primarily used by dirty people getting their dose of smut from the web without their partner knowing about it... "surprises such as gifts or birthdays", right...

LOL. I have a tendency to reach way too often under my shirt to feel my breasts and caress my nipples. I don’t even do that for pleasure, I think this is merely self-reassurance. On occasion, I have had to check myself not to do this in front of others. I am lucky enough to have small breasts, I don’t know how that would feel if mine were big. I think at some point they would become like some strange appendix, disconnected from my body. I feel sorry for the poor girls with big breasts; I must admit I think they look a bit like cows. And whenever they start to run I have mixed feelings between stifling a giggle and looking away in a disgusted sneer. Quite frankly, in my own taste, the smaller breasts are, the better I like them. As long as I have a bit of a cleavage and I am not totally flat, that is OK. I wish my breasts would always have stayed in their budding stage. Not to mention small breasts last longer without sagging. OMG. The mere thought of sagging gets me all panicky *goes off to take a cold shower*

The pics are from http://fujijun.under.jp/gallery/g-top.htm. I love the greenish lip gloss. Some dresses and outfits he (she? I doubt it is a she) are ridiculously cool (or is that coolly ridiculous?). He must have some fucked up sex drive, but I kind'a like the products of his imagination (except the S&M and bondage theme, I don't think I will ever get into that).

OMG. Look at that clit. It is Chyna’s clit. It is huge… (yes, that remark is meant for the visually impaired) *impressed* Ah ah, I think it is cute, some kind of micro-penis. This is awesome.

That reminds me of a quote in a play by a French misogynist of the 17th century, Gillet de la Tessonerie. A character who says that even if some women could equal men in some areas, physical strength or intellect, those few women would turn out not to be real women. ``If closely examined, their genitals would come out to be abnormal and resembling those of men''…

Well, for once, he turned up to be kind’a right here. OK, huge clitoris != penis, AND this is most probably the result of an abuse of steroids. Male hormones. Poison. I don’t know if I could cope with THAT between my legs. No offence to the well-endowed among you, but well, I prefer my clit to be a bit more discreet, and come out only when gently asked.

I hope this picture doesn’t start a trend with emails advertising bigger clits… We already have enough to do with all that spam for bigger boobs.

There must have been some mix-up in my hormones during a long dinner I had yesterday.

My sexual preferences are usually quite clear cut. There are periods where I fantasize about penises and muscles and violently grabbing one guy’s cock and yes oh, see its surprised and/or indignant expression… but that is only a fantasy…. There are other periods where I can only dream of breasts and licking smelling looking exploring vaginas with my fingers, my tongue and yes, sometime a torch-light (no no, not as a dildo, just so as to better understand its configuration, always unique, always fascinating).

This time though my sexual preferences came into conflict in yet another amusing and deeply troubling manner, coloring the whole evening with the glow of a luminous translucent ambiguously sex-shaped object, part plump exposed beautiful breasts, part huge erected penis complete with a scrotum full of sperm -- penises look so much like pistols, always ready to sprout and shoot.

So, we were some colleagues and I, dining with some people we had been auditioning the whole day, in one quite small quite good restaurant. I was sitting next to one not very beautiful, not too clever big plump baby boy, a Venetian who was on some sort of traveling tour in the US. He had a feeble chin and looked very much like those profile portraits of the Medici’s, what with his greasy hair and thick curled lips. Anyway… here I was sitting next to him and my eyes were constantly being attracted to his zippers, and the big huge turgescent fascinating form that apparently was trying to knock onto his trousers doors to make a swift exit into a land of freedom.

It was very bothersome of course because it was difficult to have a conversation with him, listening about his travels around the US (Oh boy, what a bore, “On the Road”… again…), and at the same time fantasizing I was pulling his zipper down and innocently stroking his shaft under the table… oh boy, it was hard to stay into place and I must have looked very vacant at times… but then the dreamy look is on the rise… and I think he noticed my stares, which of course made him even more nervous… the poor boy was not very self-confident.

OK, so nothing special up to then, but there was also a waitress who chose to wear a rather tight outfit with her chest exposed. She had the most delicious medium breasts I saw for a long time, the shape I prefer most, their end round like a tennis ball, tightly pressed together yet very springy, moving up and down at every of her steps. Ohhhhhhh… She would take our orders, and address us, nervously asserting herself by raising her heels up, and then down, which induced one more of those unbearably charming jumps in the white plump jelly that were her breasts. She would bend down as she was serving us which exposed the whole of the top of her bosom, leaving me totally desperate for her name and her phone number… eeehhh…

Ohhhhhh… she also had such a cute face, white shaped oval, small heart shaped red purplish mauvish lips, and a sage, blond long hair haircut… she looked quite a novice in the job, which of course mixed with sex a quite inappropriate maternal feeling in me. I tried to make eye contact with her but all the while she was keeping her gaze down, so reserved and yet so provocative… argh.

So, me, caught between those two sexual fantasies, one time dreaming of sperm dribbling down on my hands, its surge patiently prepared, fantasy of power, the other moment dreaming of kissing that waitress on her lovely white cheeks and spending a night looking at each other silently worshipping our bodies, narcissistic fantasy, so me, me was oh uhm in a state of silent sexual desperation.

I was so happy to be so ambiguous in my preferences. This was an evening where the whole world became sexually colored, psychedelic flurry of sexual stimuli; totally unbearable pressure on my libido which finally sent me hurrying in the toilets so as to indulge in a quick masturbation session… but then I didn’t know what to masturbate to. As soon as I was getting climactic with one fantasy, the other would take precedence and the whole work would have to be done again. VERY FRUSTRATING!

Anyway, I pity those who attach sexual meaning only to one sex, one shape, or even one person, and live in a world devoid of light, color and orgiastic significance. I am so happy to have evolved into somebody who can see sex everywhere, and is not repelled by any fantasy. Yet, this night was quite unbearable, caught between two impossible fantasies, one with a man I was in a professional relation with, the other with an unknown random girl whom I had no way of getting in contact with. It would have been very improper to come talk to her afterwards; I didn’t want to approach her in a setting where she was the employee and me the employer… I hope I see her sometime in a more informal setting… even if she is not lesbian, just a little talk.

What are you doing for Valentine? I think I might be setting up bombs in restaurants or maybe stuffing chocolate with sedatives... hmmm... chocolate.

No, I wonder how many people took the option I took. I will be going out with a Valentine-less friend, in solidarity with the sentimentally deprived. I mean... OK, it is cheesy, but you want to take part in the celebration. I would never be caught outside alone on that day... the horror!

I think this will be fun... we will pretend to be totally infatuated with each other. That will be a special occasion for me to show out. "Love" excuses everything, especially bad taste... garish colors... breast exposed... over-pitched voice... ridiculous cooing... it is not often you can allow yourself to lapse into bathos and be so mawkish. (I would NEVER do so for real. I am not that kind of person).

I will make my heart drip onto the floor in an annoying trickle. We will make REAL Valentines wince when looking at us. We will play the super-Valentines. This will be sweet revenge.

In fact, now I wonder if not EVERYBODY will be doing the same thing as us on that day: faking it. I mean, the whole thing is such a gimcrack... I can't believe anybody would be doing this seriously. Or they do deserve to be sedated... with my chocolates. Hmmm... chocolate.

I had been a long time in trying to find a picture that would illustrate my favorite position for masturbation. Hips wide open, relaxed, giving the vagina its own rightful place, bringing it forward, making it the center, the front, getting it to protrude, pop out, like a little alien that was waiting inside, hidden, and finally sees the door open, the chance to talk. Really, it feels like I am not the one who is in control anymore. I am usually silent... but this is one of the few positions where I find myself moaning loudly with pleasure.

Yes. This is it. That picture is IT. I love it because this is as if I was looking at myself in the mirror, in fact I have the impression the painting was done from the perspective of the girl who is pictured, it is as if she painted herself masturbating. And I love looking at myself in the mirror when I do masturbate; I am my own porn show, the best because I experience it both on the inside and from the outside. I can follow all that is happening with a precision and a depth of understanding that no other spectacle could replicate. This is probably why I am so indifferent to porn. I am sometime exposed to it, but I never understood what its attraction was. It is so brutal, sketchy, grotesque. I am sure I do look grotesque when I pleasure myself, but that is for my own eyes and my own enjoyment. I wouldn't get a kick from showing myself that way to others... in fact I am rather paranoid about it, about people coming in my room while I am at it. I don't think it ever happened, but then I don't know if I would have noticed...

Masturbation is the reason I don't enjoy sex with a partner as much as a normal healthy woman is supposed to enjoy it and search for it. I do have periods where I purposefully look for a guy to fuck, or lament my solitude when none is at hand or ready to come with me, but those are the periods I consider as pathological, not the times when I am able to satisfy my sexual urges by myself. I really feel pathetic whenever I look for a relationship, to me it reveals a lack of personality, and an abdication of my better judgment. To me, every relationship always has been a tightly woven trouble basket, a basket of worry and dependence. I have become used to the never-ending cycle of excitement, building projects, not following on them, progressively losing interest, and then the dreadful time when one or the other can't stand it anymore. I look at all this process as if it was happening outside me; I sometime smile when I recognize, "oh, there, I think I already did that with him, or was is it him?".

The most amusing part is when they start telling me "you will die old and alone and without children" and "you can't commit, you don't realize, I am your chance, I am ready to save you" or "do you really want to become like (my aunt, my mother, your mother, that woman in the street), you will see, this is not the life you want", etc, etc. The truth is, I am ready to eschew the life of a couple and resulting progeny and family life in exchange for a long time of independence and work, even if I have to "pay" for it through regrets in my later life. Later life? What is the value of the life of an old person? She can always kill herself, and even if she doesn't, I do think an old person CAN still build relationship, contribute to society, not be alone. Not so different from what I am now... I sometime think of myself as a very old woman. In some ways, I am already very old indeed, I feel I have seen it all, and I wonder what surprises life reserves me. Only bad things I bet, because life has been good to me until now.



See, masturbation is important. It leads me into introspection, it is the time I build a link to myself, a time where I repair the bridges that separate my intellect from my body. It is a time for reconciliation. There is no objective in masturbation, I don’t try to get myself to orgasm or any of those ridiculous “goals” that sex is supposed to reach. It is just a time for myself, with some surprises along the way (yup, I found out some amazing things about my body that way, I can reach any part of my body just by stimulating my vagina). But is there an “end” to it? No way. It is a travel without a goal, just wandering about and looking at things, in my mind and in my body. It is a time for regression, to childhood and its long idle time which I would spend dreaming and observing things at length, living them both from the inside and the outside.

A bit of the same way as I write, I guess. Even though I do come back on what I write and try to organize it, and put some more explanations, etc, etc. I still do think my writing is a sort of public masturbation. My writing is my vagina shoved in your face, for you to read (read eat). That is very immodest of me indeed. Most people find the vagina disgusting, can’t stand its sight and don’t understand how it works. It is the same with what I write and how I react. I am the talking vagina, repellent and attractive, smelly, angry, fleshy and red red red and blue when it is cold or I strangle myself with rage...

Yes: Vagina kisses to all.

KILL ME.

Go for it people, I don’t want any cissy artsy pansy strokes and plum raves, I am no china doll, no ninny nanny, no sucker for a left, or a good swing to the right.

My neck is stuck out, I put it across the block, ready to be cut up, waiting for your axe to sever me in half. Or if you like, take your rifle, aim me down, take a shoot at the big fat sitting duck. I am ready to be blown up, full of myself, but don’t fear the sudden discharge of my fetid winds, it won’t torch you. Go for it, pull the trigger, pop me off, or if you like, take me to your workbench and drill me dry, fuck me up and leave me delighted, soaked in shit and blood.

What you waiting for? This is a free for all, won’t happen anytime soon again. You can even go back on some of my entries and tell me a few home truths. At no cost to your comment count. And I asked for it.



Sex innuendos in the above are meant as such: I got such a thorough ass-fucking yesterday I woke up with a burn on my right knee. Trusty Vaseline was quite handy waiting for me by the side of the bed. Next time we do it on the floor, or I try to balance myself a bit better. Hmmmiam. By the end of the night, my ass was all chocolate. Smelly yummy. Pumped me dry all right. I would’ve covered the bed with a plastic sheet, but a quote came to me that says it is the heights of the “bourgeoisie”. So that means some dirty linen, so what. (Yeah, OK, it stinks, but pampers stink too and you don’t go oohh! and ahhh! and yuurck!).

My theory is that in the same way as garbage people take up our undigested wastes every morning or during the night, some jobs could be created, I would call them the “ass-fuck pros” or “chief buggers”, they would go from house to house and remove the whole dirty sex-spirit that hides into our intestine and deep down into our vaginas. Males could benefit as well, I know more than one who really need to get their ass loosened. I would definitely volunteer to do that with my mighty ass-raper.

In an ideal world, we would be serviced about once every week, or more depending on needs (subject to an advance phone call and some additional charges). It would be mandatory for all, including little kids so they don’t develop some bad a-priori on sex (of course, size would be adapted to fit smaller assholes. We could also use some mechanical devices (a special chair?) to ease up the process and prevent undue accusations that we promote pedophilia. Beside, all this would be done in a very professional manner).

I think this would contribute to a better social atmosphere, there are too many people who are angry because they don’t get good sex. In the meantime, as I don’t see this happening in the near future, I recommend self-gratification, and not of the pornographic type, which only makes you angrier. No, you have to go physical and sweat it off for real. Fuck yourself, people. Or ask somebody to do it for you.

PS: i_dread, your sweet. Unrelated, don’t get the wrong idea, but one of his posts (he talked ‘bout me!!!)… that was too cute so I had to say it *small pouty peck on his left cheek* How can I diss you again now? Gee. Whiz. Fuck. Don’t worry though. I won’t need much prodding. I will always pop off viciously as befits the steady clockwork machine I am.

This nut kicking video is funny. It is arranged in a natural environment, the office, and is obviously staged for comical effect. I love the determined solemness with which each kick is applied. I can identify with this. This is much better than the sick voyeuristic video I was talking about.

Sadomasochism still is a concept I struggle with. I can’t get myself to understand the people who are into this, or enjoy scenes representing those acts. I know some people enjoy being hurt, I have met some. They had that desire for me to hurt them, they seemed to invite it, and my reaction always was to get away. Because I don’t like being pushed into violence.

So I am not even a good sadist… I don’t enjoy hurting others. When I hurt somebody, it is only because that person hurt me, it is a defense mechanism. But I can’t get myself to hurt somebody at its urging, or hurt somebody without cause. I don’t enjoy that. I will get angry, sure, and be unnecessarily hurtful. I am very reactive, and I know that in some conditions, I can be cruel, but I always feel bad doing it. There are times when I have been willingly obnoxious, but that was only to get somebody away from me, so that they wouldn’t regret leaving.

That is one of my limits. I wanted to post some sadomasochist video (a guy getting his balls kicked). To see if I could get myself to show that kind of thing. But it made me sick with myself. That video made me feel dirty. I don’t care much about my image, so it is not a reputation factor, in fact it would probably have raised it. To the too many peeps around here.

It was more like I would feel dirty for showing dirty things, like those kids in school who go in the playground’s faraway corners and show each other nude pictures. Showing, even when you don’t enjoy looking at what you show, still is participation in the behavior you disapprove of. It still is association with people whose reactions and tastes you don’t understand. Association with people, therefore, with whom you feel no link, no friendship. I don’t like associating with people.

That was interesting anyway. There are limits to what I can understand, represent, empathize with. I am a bit disappointed.

I like to touch myself at night, and I make strange dreams about my vagina. In that state between sleep and wake, my vagina takes strange forms and personalities. Every night different, every night representing my state of mind, my feelings, the mood I am in. Of course, my vagina, my physical vagina, is quite boring and everyday the same, but my ethereal vagina, oh that is another matter. It is an ever changing tightly packed knot of myself, me summarized, me revealed to myself, me reduced to a point in my body, its origin.

My vagina is my barometer. It is the center of my being. I like to look at it in my bath, as I imagine my body emerging from it like giant arms and branches. This is why my vagina dreams are so important to me, and I try to note down my vagina dream stories. They then inhabit my day, as I cherish the funny or gruesome stories my vagina went through during the night. They make me laugh sometime, or they seriously disturb me as I wonder how I came to imagine it that way or another.

This night, my vagina was an array of tubes, grey, green, yellow, red, an intricate network of flexible pipes, slightly greasy, into which my hand was plunging, going through its different levels, trying to make up a structure into that boggling mess.

Another night it was a volcano, a fresh scented conic mound, a baby bushy mountain, very sweet to the touch, long asleep, with at its top a long closed slit. I could feel as I was circling it with my fingers as the mound became instable, the ground more humid as if lava slowly was covering it. I could feel it as it was trying to hold itself down, until it came to a blow of lava and destruction.

My vagina can be a large smiling sharply toothed mouth, borne onto the body of a tiny fluffy beast. It is then a very active preying little cute animal, who can’t resist jumping up on people, circling their feet, trying to awaken their senses and get some love through their caresses. It is a very hungry, very tender animal, but with a fluctuating mood and it knows how to play hard to get.

There also are days when my vagina is a dirty bloody place; my hands get glued to it as I try to wash it down thoroughly. It secretes its own dejections, sick animal, and prurient wound, plagued with blister. Those are the night I get panicked; I can’t seem to take care of my vagina and don’t understand what it is going through. I am disgusted but also very worried, as I know I can’t live with a sick vagina. This makes for very awkward days as I try to conceal my little retching vagina, afraid people will discover how badly wounded my baby looks.

Most of the time though, my vagina is very well taken care off, very pretty and happy, carefully trimmed. The more I take care of it and give it the attention it deserves, the happier I am during the day. I love my vagina. It is my best companion. We tell each other everything, and I listen to its advice, follow its impulses, and take care of its wounds. I have great respect for my vagina. It is me to the power a gazillion, it is me concentrated into a point of intense energy.

Right now, my vagina is trying to hide, tightly closed into my body, very shy as it is exposed to the world. It is a little angry I am writing about it in such an open manner, but like me, it is a bit of an exhibitionist, and if you are kind, I am sure it will stop hiding and wave at you with a cheerful face.

Say hello and something sweet to my vagina. I know some of you may feel a bit awkward commenting here, but don’t be shy. Let’s hear the vaginas talk. Penises can introduce themselves too.

(cross-post to feminazis)

Pissing: "Urine al fresco. With all the things that divide the human race -- religions, sexual mores, income levels, and various other diversities of life experience -- it's useful to reflect on those things which we all have in common. And simply put, everybody pees. Oddly enough however, not everyone is completely clear on how we create pee nor on what exactly pee is."

I think everybody should drink its own pish at least once in its lifetime. Just so as to go over that stupid repugnance with bodily secretions. I did it. I did that to test my self-control. A tip: don't drink it hot, because of the smell. Store it in the fridge some while, it is less yuck cold.

Compared to that, menstrual blood tasting is a sissy's game. Blood actually tastes good. Meat is full of blood.

I know some guy who says urine is cleaner than blood. He says blood is full of unprocessed urine, so it is actually very bad for health. Or something. I am not into biology. I don't understand one bit about how food is processed.

I wonder how many people follow my advices. How about my butt-dildo post? Anybody tried ass-plugging since then?

Is it just me, or are some product packaging specifically designed to double as sex toys? I have been sort'a horny recently. Shopping has become quite an ordeal, what with products enticing me with their attractive shapes.

I wonder if marketing executives actually sat around a table and thought "Well, many people would never dare going into a sex shop and buy a dildo / butt plug / vibrator / whatever". It doesn't cost us anything to design our product around their sexual needs. While we cannot advertise our product along that line, people will certainly understand the unique advantage of our design, and we will be able to charge a premium. $ $ $ $."

OK. So, about butt plugs and other sex toys:

Womyn's Ware Inc's Sex Toy Guide: Butt Plugs

How to Have Anal Sex (Masturbation)

Sex Toys: A 30,000 Year Old History

Did I write yet about how you have to initiate your partner into the joys of anal sex? Specifically your male partner... I don't think I did. You need only know this: it gets them real hard. Big plus. Better than Viagra. No kidding.

You can also use your butt plug for your own benefit: IntimateSynergy Butt Plugs: butt plugs, anal toys: "For women, using butt plugs can also be very erotic as well; but butt plugs can add sensations for both partners during sex. Having a butt plug inserted during sex causes the back side of the vagina to be pressed forward allowing the women to feel more of her partner inside and butt plugs can create more sensation for the woman's partner as the vagina will feel tighter. As with men, women can also achieve amazing orgasms by only using a butt plug."

I think I am going to launch a web-site to take an inventory of all consumer products that can be recycled into sex toys or play a part into sex plays. With pictures and instructions, plus links to webstores selling them. Think of the savings you could make that way.

You will never shop the same way again.

Consumer Warning: Start small, go slow and use a lot of lubricant. If what you are doing hurts - stop. Using butt plugs should not hurt.

This is so cute. Right now I have to sleep at a friends’ place. He has only one, king-size bed so we sleep together.

He sleeps onto the bed in his duffel bag while I sleep under the cover. He told me this is because he is afraid that accidental contacts during the night would lead me to think he takes advantage of the situation.

That makes me laugh. I won’t make fun of him but… while he tells me he does that out of respect for me, I think he is actually not very comfortable having a girl sleep with him.

Prudish boys are so ridiculously sweet.

Certified. However, read this: Salon.com Sex | Wet is best: "The easy, elegant, economical, erotic answer to lubrication problems is a commercial lube. During masturbation, a few drops of lubricant can boost the pleasure of solo sex. Women's natural lubrication may not make it all the way up to the clitoris. On the penis and scrotum, lubricant adds an extra erotic dimension. A little lube can help when probing deep in the vagina for a woman's G spot. And for vaginal intercourse, it's a good idea to lubricate not only the vulva and vagina but anything that enters the woman."

Very good article dispelling myths about vaginal self-lubrication. I am serious here; it took me long enough to find out how lubricants made things so much easier. Dryness is not abnormal. And there is an easy solution for dryness. Lubricants may not taste good, but they sure are a big help. I may have been very naive, but I am sure some will thank me for the tip. (crossposted to feminazis)

"Audi-Oh™ is a patented revolutionary advance in personal stimulation devices. Unlike conventional vibrators, Audi-Oh uses sound to create a uniquely stimulating, infinitely variable vibration instead of a repetitive pattern, or continuous vibration.

How does your favorite song FEEL?
( Read more... )

"Sounds" perfect for me who used not to like music. I hear you can plug an i-pod to it.

I had a rather interesting conversation recently, a highly typical argument about the role of violence in sexual intercourses. My partner was arguing that violence in sex is sometime justified because people need it to get sexual satisfaction.

As usual, I was unable to get my point across: while it is true that some people like rough sex, you cannot term it as “violent” because the roughness is something they sometime enjoy and desire. As soon as it is not wanted, it becomes violence.

Violence is “an act of aggression (as one against a person who resists)”: you cannot therefore justify violence by saying the other person “agreed” to it since that person resists.. An obvious point, but he was unable to get it, probably thinking that the act defines violence, not the intention.

Basically, his reasoning was that if you exhibit masochistic tendencies, that means you enjoy violence. My point was that inflicting pain is not equivalent to violence: I may enjoy pain, but I will never enjoy violence, since violence goes against my will. He wasn’t able to understand the subtleties of masochism; a game of pretense, not reality. This is the problem: he wasn’t able to understand the difference between violence as fantasized in masochistic sex plays and real violence which IS NOT A PLAY.

People then wonder why people like me do not want anything to do with the violent gender…

Generally, I don’t find sex with another person very satisfying or enjoyable. I much prefer slow comfortable meditative self-screwing, spending hours lying on my bed fantasizing… not even fantasizing in fact, as I simply observe the reaction of my body to various sexual stimulations, titillating my nerves for hours in the search for those great moments of sexual joys, surfing the waves of sensual excitation. Imagining myself with somebody else is not even much of an help, it merely distracts me and breaks my concentration.

The only times I have had sex with somebody (and that is quite rarely indeed), this was only weakness on my part, yielding to the pressure of my partner. You sometime have to be nice to your partner. People are weak and believe you cannot be in a couple without having sex (a totally preposterous proposition).

I would much prefer never to have sex, but men, especially, cannot understand. They feel “rejected” when they can’t get their dick inside. I suspect they don’t even particularly enjoy it. They were taught that they cannot look at themselves in a mirror if they don’t perform sex on the woman they are with. It really is a matter of misguided self-esteem I think. You tell them they have to fuck a camel to be real men and they would do it. Eh, some men take pride in never masturbating. Why can’t they take pride in never having sex?

No, really, I will let myself be fucked only as some kind of present. A way of saying “OK, you can get my body to play with, but I will not participate in any of that”. I am extremely passive when it comes to sex, which sounds counter-intuitive given how aggressive I sometime appear to be. One guy was so infuriated with my behavior in bed that he asked me to take his dick in his hands and get him to ejaculate.

I was looking so bored with the task he simply told me to stop after a while and jerked himself off. Not that I was disgusted by holding his penis in my hands. Hmm… I guess the problem was that I wasn’t trying to get him to have sexual pleasure… I was more into playing with his penis for my own entertainment.

I saw "Hable con Ella" by Almodovar.

I loved the silent movie in the middle of the movie. It is about a “Shrinking Lover”. A man drinks a diet lotion manufactured by his scientist girlfriend but that makes him grow shorter and shorter until he is the size of a finger. They go in bed together. There is a hilarious scene where he is in front of her face talking to her, before she falls asleep. Total control. She can crush him or bite his head in a matter of seconds. As she is sleeping, he climbs onto her, onto her tits, and then sees, far away in the distance, her cunt. Fascinated, he walks there, going around her breasts, onto her belly, and then jumping between her thighs.

The vagina is very clean, clear-cut, with short copped hair, obviously made of plastic for the sake of filming. How much more amusing would it have been if they had taken a real, stinking, corpse like vagina, unwiped, with some blood clots hanging by the hairs. I can imagine him dressed like a WWI soldier, with his gas mask on. Oh boy! That would have been so fun! But no, nothing fancy like here. Just a clean slit, a baby’s vagina, nothing interesting, oh well…



BORING!

OK, so, the man takes off his shirt, takes a peek inside, and the woman moans with pleasure (no visible clitoris, but he seems to have found it. ‘cause he is too small to have any kind of other effect). He emerges back, looking a bit scared. He thinks a while, then takes off his slipper, and plunges into her. She bites her lip, turns around in her sleep, and the movie ends there.

I could not stop laughing at his face when he emerges back and takes the decision to go spend the rest of his life inside of her. I am sure there are deep psychological explanations, like the will to go back into his mother’s womb, but that was just hilarious. Reminded me too of that episode in Defoe’s Robinson where Robinson spends months into a soft white clay womb-shaped pit inside a mountain on his island.

About the main movie itself: I think I understand what fascinates Almodovar so much in the theme of the woman in a coma. To him, as to many men, this is the ideal of a woman: a totally passive doll you can take care off without her being able to say yes or no or even maybe. A beautiful body to admire, an evocation of memories together, but nothing that happens in actuality. The woman is reduced to her biological function. It is interesting how the male caretaker who rapes the comatose woman marvels at her breasts, shows them around, proud of his possession, discusses her periods while washing them out, and keeps humidifying her lips. Also, how he enjoys washing and massaging her. Very disturbing.

I like it so much that, unlike most animals, we can masturbate so efficiently and easily. I like experimenting. I mean, OK, some partners are inventive and sharing experiences did sometime give me ideas. Sure, a body to hold close to oneself is even better than… my teddy bear. But for what is of pure sex enjoyment, nothing beats masturbation.

I can spend hours (literally hours) exploring the depth of sexual physical sensations in my body. It is very interesting. I have a mind map of those sensations. It would be interesting to draw it out explicitly. Talk about vagina art!

I have many different little sex games, based on how to breathe, the rhythm, the position, or the type of stimulation or its exact timing. I will write a book one day with the method and its expected effect, organized in a flow chart fashion.

1. Do this
2. Two choices now, either a) or b)
3) If a) then do c) and you should get… If b) then keep on and go back to 2) Note: This should add the following effect to the straight routine.
4) Reach for (such or such instrument)
5) Assume xyz position (ref. to plates at end of book)
6) Think about this + this
7) If you feel this, then … If not, ref. p. 117 bla bla bla
8) …

Just like a program or a logical and very complex process. Not to mention the psychological and physical programming that must precede a good masturbation session. Oh, that would be the first part of my book. With lots of references to books about nutrition and flexibility exercises + explanations of breathing and relaxation exercises + explaining exactly the various body parts and how they play a role in the whole sexual sensations complex (oh, this is so complicated!)

I am lucky to have such an extraordinarily responsive little body. I like the compactness. It would be too bad to leave it only for others to play with.

Wow

My horse had a bigger one, but as far as humans go, this is rather impressive.

Rasputin

There lived a certain man in Russia long ago
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow
Most people looked at him with terror and with fear
But to Moscow chicks he was such a lovely dear
He could preach the bible like a preacher
Full of ecstacy and fire
But he also was the kind of teacher
Women would desire

RA RA RASPUTIN
Lover of the Russian queen
There was a cat that really was gone
RA RA RASPUTIN
Russia's greatest love machine
It was a shame how he carried on

He ruled the Russian land and never mind the czar
But the kasachok he danced really wunderbar
In all affairs of state he was the man to please
But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze
For the queen he was no wheeler dealer
Though she'd heard the things he'd done
She believed he was a holy healer
Who would heal her son

(Spoken:)
But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger
for power became known to more and more people,
the demands to do something about this outrageous
man became louder and louder.

"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies
But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"
No doubt this Rasputin had lots of hidden charms
Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms
Then one night some men of higher standing
Set a trap, they're not to blame
"Come to visit us" they kept demanding
And he really came

RA RA RASPUTIN
Lover of the Russian queen
They put some poison into his wine
RA RA RASPUTIN
Russia's greatest love machine
He drank it all and he said "I feel fine"

RA RA RASPUTIN
Lover of the Russian queen
They didn't quit, they wanted his head
RA RA RASPUTIN
Russia's greatest love machine
And so they shot him till he was dead"

Boney M., http://www.leoslyrics.com/listlyrics.php?id=66504