Tag Archives: lesbian

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…


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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Uncharted Territory

She had me ridiculously wet. Sadly I was alone. My legs as wide as they would go. One ankle draped onto the floor, the other leg stretched high across the back of the sofa. Extra leverage. Gently stroking my clit. My thighs quivering. Burning for sex. You know that feeling? Out of control. Animalistic. On heat. She’d got me that way.

The ‘she’ in this case, for once on my journey, wasn’t virtual. She was not sat masturbating behind a computer screen somewhere. She does not live thousands of miles away. She exists. My encounter with her came most unexpectedly and most exciting of all, I think she wants me too.

I have to be careful here not to give too much information away. In short, if my husband finds out about this blog, most likely my marriage is over – and I don’t want that. I met this woman who I will call Sara, in the playground. Generally speaking I hate the playground. It’s a very adversarial environment. The alpha female, pecking for scraps of gossip and strutting around like a flamboyant bird – the sole purpose nature invented for her it seems, is to be noticed. Catwalking over hopscotch squares before sharply turning and flicking out a leg, so everyone can see her new Hunter wellies. There are loads of them like that. Jesus, I struggle to get out of my pyjamas in the morning. That’s the way I roll, yummy Mummies. So I’ve recently built an alliance with Sara. Mother of my child’s friend. She turns up to school without makeup. But she’s hot. Naturally beautiful with huge almond-shaped eyes and a mouth to die for. I watch her mouth constantly when she talks. I love it when the shape of someone’s mouth is enough to make me daydream, imagining how they’d kiss.

This week Sara had invited me for coffee. We exchanged small talk, about the children, about schoolwork and about the teacher who’s clearly having an affair with a parent. Then the conversation took an unexpected twist. Sara confided in me.
“It’s just he doesn’t seem to want sex at all,” she said.
“Tell me about it!”
“Can I ask you a question? Do you think it’s possible to be faithful to one person?”
I thought carefully about the answer – “honestly? I think it’s hard. Sometimes I wonder if we’re made that way.”
Sara went a step further. “Only sometimes….I get these, well, urges, you know?”
I twitched, my pussy really twitched. Possibly not so much from what Sara said, than the fact she was staring so intently into my eyes as she spoke.
“Yeah, I know….” I sort of croaked it – my mouth had gone dry. At first I hoped she hadn’t noticed me squirm in my seat. Then I hoped she had.

The gloves were off. So for the next half hour or so we shared stories, talked about the things we wish we’d have done before we got hitched.
“I always wanted a threesome- well several actually!” Sara said.
“Hell yes! Two men or two women?”
“Erm…Either? Both?” She licked her lips with simply the dirtiest look I have seen for a very long time. Her eyes were full of fire, alive with filthy ideas. Fantasies unfulfilled. I gave a parting “yeah I’d love to have fucked a girl too,” with a wink. Plant that seed. But it was time for me to head home.

Later, when I had an hour to myself, my thoughts got wandering back to Sara. To how my underwear stuck to my skin as I squirmed throughout the conversation. I wanted her to ask me to take her to bed. I wanted to lick her like she’s never been licked, as she writhed on the bed, sweating and moaning under my touch. I wanted to feel the closeness of wrapping my legs in hers, our clits grinding as tongues explore each other’s mouths. I want it so much I ached.

This is new for me, uncharted territory. I have never been so close to ‘cheating’ on my husband. I certainly never thought it’d be with a woman. And the best bit? She’ll be in the playground on Monday 😉

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The World has changed

I want to get your knickers soaking
Well, that was an opening line to grab my attention. Today, for the first time, I enrolled myself onto a chat room, with the express intention of talking to a man. My husband had gone to work, as usual showing very little interest when openly offered sex this morning.
So there I was sat at the kitchen table. Bored, horny. Out of my mind horny.
I have never ‘cheated’ on my husband but recently have had a growing feeling, mainly in my knickers to be fair, that I just want some. It’s become an ache.

Today, a play would do me. So I logged on and immediately was bombarded with messages from strangers. So many I couldn’t really cope at first. The online world seems to be some kind of exaggerated version of the real one when it comes to ‘dating’ and especially sex. The shy and retiring men, who used to cling to the walls of nightclubs nursing their pint of lager – they now summon up the courage granted by internet anonymity to say ‘hi.’ But generally only ‘hi.’ How does a lady respond to that? I didn’t, I just ignored them. Then there’s the cock sure Alpha-type who opens with a ‘hey baby – you wanna see a real man?’ Well yes, I do, but I suspect you’re not one and besides, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

Then there’s HC1989 – someone a lot younger than me, I assume. Kind of a turn on for starters. Coming out with the ‘wet knicker’ line had me. Caught me off-guard. How the world has moved on since I was last looking.
Honestly, my pussy tingled. The exchange that followed had it full on twingeing. So I squirmed for a while as we chatted. Firstly on the kitchen stool. Then on the living room carpet. Imagining all the things that were (hypothetically) getting done to every inch of my body- all of it was licking. We hadn’t even got to the fucking.

Later I can fill you in with the details. But suffice to say I ended up sweaty and satisfied. The main way I’ve noticed sexual relations have changed is in the lack of social niceties. This was transactional. No-nonsense cyber oral sex. We’d got straight to the point. We hadn’t asked what we do, our hobbies, not ever our names. So imagine my surprise, when at the end of the conversation HC1989 says – ‘I should introduce myself! Hi, I’m Hannah.’
That probably made me throb harder than anything else she’d said before it….

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