Tag Archives: cock

Quality or Quantity?

This morning was the start of something big It was a beautiful morning. Hubby had gone to work and as the sun burst through the curtains my clit burst into life. I was invigorated. Stroking furiously, at the ideas of what the day might bring. Today, the last day of February, felt like the first day of Spring. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter in my journey. Today, finally I was ready to take the plunge.

After ahem, cleaning up, I decided to join a well-known swinging website. I didn’t really know what to expect, or what it all entailed. My perception of swingers has always been a somewhat garish 1970’s sepia-toned view. Rather overweight couples cavorting on orange sofas. Moustaches- yes, lots and lots of moustaches. And to be frank, offensively hairy ball-sacks. So I was pleasantly surprised when I perused the fare openly on offer on this site. So many cocks to choose from of so many different varieties. Some rather shrivelled, sorry looking prunes (why advertise this, lads?) and some thick, bulging specimens which made my pussy tighten to imagine them filling me. I wrote my profile, pretty much explaining the purpose of my adventure and then sadly had to go out.

On my return I had 132 unread messages. 132! How on earth to tackle this? I will preserve dignity and anonymity of others but here are some examples…

HI I WOULD LOVE TO OWN YOU AND SHARE YOU MAKE U MY SLUT FOR LIFE WOULD LOVE YOU TO MOVE IN WITH ME AND START A LIFE XXX

No need to shout, lover 😉 He left his number. Honestly, I wondered whether to pass it onto the good folk of the local constabulary….

Then I had loads of people offering to ‘help’ with the blog – down, boys….all in good time!

So day 1 in the world of swinging and have my perceptions changed? Yes. It appears ‘swingers’ means mainly men who want to cheat on their wives. Now, I’ll not pass judgement on that, because essentially I’m no more scrupulous on that front. It’s just I expected variety, excitement. A range of fantasies to be fulfilled, passions to be unlocked. Instead it feels like a bus-queue of cocks waiting in line. Imagine a low-grade talent contest where one by one they trudge into a room, wearily pull their pants down and show Amanda Holden a shrunken penis. ‘Next!’ she cries. And from 132 hopefuls not one, not a single girl (although a handful of friendly couples)

But there’s another part of me that still feels like a kid in a sweetie shop. All this cock, for moi?! Do I choose this one, or that one? All of it, or none at all? I have a decision to make. Is it quality I’m after, or quantity? The only thing I know is that my pussy hasn’t stopped quivering all day at the thought of sex with a stranger.

That’s normally a good way to end things until next time, but I wanted to finish this post with a genuinely lovely message from one of the fabulous 132….

Holy shit, I’m sat at my desk in work and reading your blog. I’m only half way through and thoroughly enjoying myself.
You sound incredible! I can’t leave my desk since I’m having trouser issues.
Anyway, just wanted to say thanks for brightening a Friday!

Forget the sex bit for a minute. If I can do that for one person, then it makes it all totally worthwhile. Thankyou x

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Pornography and Me

It was all so sneaky. 1990 something. My friend James and I. Both 17, both full of raging hormones. We’d wait until his parents went out to the social club, we’d chat, listen to music and then onto the main event – we’d watch porn. On a clunky old computer. Mainly, from what I remember, off DVDs ripped and distributed by some guy who worked in the local Yoghurt factory. He’d scruffily scrawled vague descriptions on the front in marker pen. ‘Asian babes,’ ‘Fresh Meat.’ Often they didn’t actually correspond with the content we’d be about to watch, James and I. But it would be an awakening. For the first time in my life, it got me to thinking that pornography was no longer dusty old magazines on the top shelf of the corners shop, spanked over by fat, sweaty and lonely old men. For the first time in my life, porn was acceptable. It was fun. We watched til we ached, we masturbated together, then we fucked. With all the vigour you’d expect from late teenagers discovering, exploring.

This week I remembered those beginnings, because porn has almost become as regular a part of my daily routine as the morning coffee. For many men and increasingly women, pornography is ubiquitous. When exactly did it become so acceptable for women to enjoy porn, in fact so normal? I see it as a double-edged issue.

I strongly believe in feminist ideals. I consider myself a strong, independent woman. There was a time that many feminists used to mount compelling campaigns against the sex industry. It was exploitative and it was demeaning. For God’s sake, if Page 3 was an assault on gender equality (overseas friends can Google that reference!) then online porn was tantamount to prostitution. Made by pimps, drug dealers and possibly the Mafia. Pornography was an offshoot, a tentacle of organised crime. I used to go along with that, so the excitement of being turned on by it as a student was always tainted by the feeling that I was supporting an industry that was fundamentally wrong.

Is it just me or have we somehow forgotten these moral arguments about the sex industry? It is an equally valid argument as the one above, to say that it is liberating that we as women can objectify men, crave sex for sex’s sake and give ourselves functional orgasms because we just need to fuck. Almost every woman I know either has watched porn in the last year, or does it on a weekly basis. I personally love the amazing choice online. No scruffy old ‘Asian babes’ DVDs or contrived storylines these days. I dip into threesomes, lesbians encounters, amateurs fucking like they really mean it. Yet for all it gets me off, there is one concern, that still nags me. Despite a huge female audience for it, all porn seems ultimately aimed at male gratification.

Example: this weekend I settled down to a lesbian scene. Two gorgeous girls, with bodies I’d kill for (either to have a body like theirs or to make love to one like theirs) They kissed tenderly on the sofa, they caressed, they licked, ravished each other’s pussies. They writhed around while 69ing, they tribbed, they rubbed, they fucked each other with strapons. Yet after 35 minutes of this intense, hot lovemaking, what happened? The camera wobbles, a cock suddenly springs up into shot, obviously belonging to the guy doing the filming. Then he proceeds to wank into their faces before cumming in their hair. All well and good, but where was Mr Johnny-Cum-Lately during the previous half an hour?! The girls had done all the hard work, only for him to walk in and spunk all over it, as it were.

I never saw either of the girls cum, though I could tell they were close. Maybe that bit was even edited out? I’m going into the realms of conspiracy here, but perhaps? How often do you actually see girls REALLY cum in porn films? I don’t mean that irritating fake screaming ‘oh yah, oh yah!’ that you get so much. I mean an actual, earth-shaking orgasm. In the endless ocean of choice that is internet pornography, to me the one glaring omission is the recognition that women need to cum too. Maybe that is a future vocation for me, to fill a gap in the market. One can dream 😉 ….. But perhaps the original argument, that porn negatively impacts on the perception of women still holds? The trouble is, even independent women like myself like it too much, so we turn a blind eye and swerve round the moral pitfalls, lost in lust and the moment.

The lines have become blurred.

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