Chloe Thurlow's Blog, page 17

How To Start Thinking For Yourself

Are you thinking for yourself? Are your ideas your own ideas? Or are your ideas a composite of everyone else’s ideas?

I live in Barcelona. On the Ramblas, I watch people walking pairs of pugs. I see girls with Chinese symbols inked on their arms. Grown men cry when Barcelona loses to Madrid in football.

The trends I observe in the city today, I observed in London before I stepped on the plane. In New York, Paris and Berlin, I would see similar pairs of pugs and girls with love and luck in pictograms on their arms and insteps.

Who walked the first pair of matching pugs down main street? What magnet drew millions more like baaing sheep to the pet shops to acquire pairs of pugs? Has Renée Zellweger got a new face? Will George Clooney become President? Will the Duchess of Cambridge (voted in Hello! the most inspirational woman in the world) give birth to a boy or a girl?

While we follow the same ‘news’ stories, carry the same smartphones and watch the same YouTube hits sent by friends from Facebook, we are as infants sucking at the silicone breast of popular culture.

The Pains of Thinking For Yourself

Our driving force when we ceased being infants was to be an individual, to stand out, be special. What made us stop thinking this way? Why, when we learned to sit up straight and use our knife and fork properly, did we abandon our drawing books, writing poetry, climbing trees, staring at the moon?

You lose your individuality and cease thinking for yourself when your head is filled with all the stuff streaming at us over the wires and waves; once you succumb to trending. Even the use of the word trending is a symptom of fitting in rather than standing out. We picture ourselves in our fantasies outside the herd, but feel more at ease hidden in the heart of the herd.

Once you turn off the trivia and start thinking for yourself, you are more inclined to ask why this politician has said that; why Renée Zellweger’s face is ‘trending;’ why girls thought they were being original when they went to the tattoo parlour, pointed at the Chinese symbols on the wall and said: ‘I’ll have that one.’

Once you start thinking for yourself, when you hear that Things Go Better With Coke, or are told: Just Do It, you will come to see that the slogans are hollow marketing ploys to make us believe that within these catchphrases there is an essential truth, which there is not. Things do not go better with Coke, they go better with friends and family; and you can’t Just Do It if you are unemployed, downtrodden, starving. Being able to Just Do It is a privilege, not a parable.

Thinking For Yourself To Find Yourself

It is not uncommon to suffer a fear that we are invisible to others. In order to feel that we are seen and accepted, we stay in touch with current fashions, tendencies and gossip. We join in. We express opinions without realising that our views and judgments are shaped for us over the hot wires and algorithms of popular culture.

Socrates said: To find yourself, think for yourself. The first step in thinking for yourself is to acknowledge that you are not thinking for yourself. In order to think more clearly, you must look at the world of mass media with fresh eyes unimpeded by fleeting trends and the accepted, collective opinion.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the pilot and author of The Little Prince, said if you want to see more clearly, you should change the direction of your gaze. If you want to rediscover your individuality and start thinking for yourself, your gaze should be turned towards your own reflection.

Take a long look in the mirror. Now think back to that time when you were an individual, when you expressed ideas and beliefs that came from you; when you wanted to be an astronaut or a ballet dancer. Ditch who you are pretending to be and climb into the skin of who you really are. Then climb a tree.

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Why Girls Are Wearing Foxtails

Foxtails, Fetishes & Foxy Girls

Foxtails are furry and fun to wear. I prefer seeing foxtails on foxes. Where they belong. But, once they are freed from the fox and fitted with a butt-plug, they take on all the charms of an aphrodisiac.

Girls who hang foxtails on their bags or belts reveal a hidden desire to be hunted through the woods and taken on a bed of leaves. Stripping off and inserting a foxtail feels as if you are obeying your natural instincts.

Men have always hunted foxes and always called women foxy. A total fox. A real vixen. Men don’t call women doggy. They call us a bitch, a cow, a snake. Foxy, on the other hand, is enigmatic, steeped in myth. Being foxy suggests that a girl is good in the sack. It is loosely flattering, but carries the subtext that a foxy girl is as quick as a fox, as sly as a fox, a shapeshifter.

Women are not likened to the orang-utang, zebra, elephant, tiger or horse. A pony-girl, of course, carries different connotations. Some men have enjoyed having lion tagged on to their name: Richard the Lionheart, Haile Selassie, Lion of Judah. Men relish being compared to eagles, raging bulls, sharks. Girls at one time were called birds. Never fish or dolphins, and whales would be pejorative.

Foxtails Through the Ages

Foxtails are becoming something of a fetish. They are virtually de rigueur at modern-day medieval fairs, but lacking now, I’m sure, is the jolly debauchery of Elizabethan times. Back then, young wenches at Renaissance Fairs would wear a foxtail so that it would attract fleas (I’m not kidding) – and ensure that their bodies were flea-free for their lovers. As Michael Starnes reports at New Myths.com: “You only sleep alone at the Renaissance Fair when you want to sleep alone.”

Foxtails came to represent sexual status. A woman wearing many tails was boasting how many lovers she had had, while a single tail worn as a stole made it clear she was looking for some creature comfort. Those neurotic Victorian ladies with foxtail collars were letting it be known that they were foxy, even if they didn’t realise it.

Rosemary Horrox in her study, The Black Death, quotes from a 1344 entry by John of Reading in his Chronica Johannis de Reading et Anonymi Cantuariensis, that ‘women were wearing clothes so tight that they wore a fox tail hanging down inside their skirts at the back to hide their arses.’ John of Reading equates this immodesty in dress with the sin of pride and complains that it will surely bring down ‘future misfortune.’ What a killjoy!

Foxtail Butt-Plugs

The Romans regarded foxes as fire demons, perhaps because of their reddish coats. In Christian mythology, the fox is associated with the devil. Japanese legends tell of fox spirits called kitsune that can turn themselves into people, a present-day Japanese cult followed across the world. American Indians, Eskimos and across Asia, the fox characterises sexual seductiveness. There are many folk talks of foxes turning into beautiful young women and beautiful young women turning foxy.

Louis Vuitton hangs foxtail tassels on his tote bags, a foxtail keying is considered lucky, and foxtail butt-plugs are available in a palette of designs, even from those masters of decorum at Amazon.

Contemporary butt-plugs are snug, hygienic and comfortable. Inserting a plug makes the vagina tighter by reducing the amount of space in the pelvis. This heightens the sensation on the vaginal walls by increasing pressure during intercourse and oral sex. Contractions around the plug are more intense and you know what intense contractions mean: more intense orgasms. Before anal sex, plugs awash in lube prepare the passage for penetration.

Why foxtails? Just as Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin by accident scraping mould from the dinner plates, those renaissance maidens plagued by fleas found that the butt-end of a foxtail inserted in their bums both heightened sexual pleasure and added a primal kink making love with a nice furry tail sliding about between them and their lovers.

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The post Why Girls Are Wearing Foxtails appeared first on Erotic romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

Why Straight Girls Have Sex with Gay Girls – by Ingrid Druslan

People chatted their way through the coffee shop while machines clattered and hissed behind them. Killing time before a class, I struggled through another page of James Joyce and cursed the professor who insisted I read it. Were it not for her long legs, I’d have told the prof to fuck off. Joyce can bite me. I sank lower in the big leather chair and turned the page.

Allison’s distinct babydoll-voice sang in the air behind me. “He doesn’t love you if he wants you to make out with girls. Gawd, Kenzie. I would never kiss a girl. That’s just so gross. Ssooh gross.”

 Allison, my pretty little liar.

I rose and stepped around the chairs between us, feigning surprise at seeing her. I moved into her personal space, my shoulder pushing Kenzie to the side. Allison backed up half a step. I curled my finger under her chin. “Allison. I haven’t seen you since winter break. I missed you so much.”

Over the cafe noise, even Kenzie could hear Allison swallow. When you make a woman cum every day for six weeks, you leave a chain tied around her insides that you can tug at will. I tugged. Her knees shook and her lips trembled.

I’m taller by a few inches. I lowered my face until my nose almost touched hers. Allison’s chest heaved: inhale, exhale, inhale, inhale, inhale… I moved my lips so close she could feel my heat and smell my scent. She remembered my soft caresses and melted. She lifted her gaze, and with it–like Pavlov’s dog–her lips.

I spun to Kenzie. “And who is your pretty friend?” I said. “Hi, I’m Ingrid; nice to meet you.”

Kenzie’s eyes were open so wide, I could see Allison reflected in them. She was having a heart attack and looking for the exit. The one secret she never wanted getting around campus had just introduced herself to a sorority sister.

I’m a chapstick lesbian, a little tomboy on weekends, girly on weekdays, and I look like a million bucks when I go dancing. This happened on a weekday. I’d just met with the dean and was still wearing a short skirt, silk blouse, pumps, and pearls.

Kenzie extended limp fingers and mumbled her name. I shook hands lightly, placed my forearm on Kenzie’s shoulder, and turned us both to face Allison.

“I heard the tail end of your conversation, Kenzie.” I filled my voice with mirth. “It’s a shame Allison thinks kissing a girl is gross, ‘cause I’d kiss her if I was ever going to kiss a girl. Wouldn’t you?”

Allison exhaled. Kenzie laughed with no idea what was funny. She knew only that the pressure and tension had dropped from deadly to menacing.

Gay Girls Kissing Straight Girls

Why do straight girls have lesbian flings? Why do boys want bisexual girlfriends? Why is girls-kissing-girls cool these days? Have women gone lesbian in droves? No. It’s Mother Nature. To ensure the species maximises propagation, she has male sex-drive peaking at age 18 while women peak at 30. She makes sure men have “morning wood” while women want dinner and a movie first. She wants one person in the relationship pulling the pants off his/her partner all day, all night, all decade. But civilization no longer requires so many children, they no longer die of whooping cough at age two.

We live with excess sexual pressure. That our sex schedules are so far off brings disappointing encounters to the fore. Some young women find comfort in older men. We joke about sugar daddies, but what young women find attractive is the older man’s patience and appreciation. Young men have little sexual knowledge because we don’t teach sex in sex ed. We teach biology. Boys push too hard and go too fast, because that’s what their loins demand, and no one tells them otherwise.

For women under thirty, straight sex is largely disappointing unless she brings a vibrator, essentially jerking off while he does his thing. Cumming with him holds a certain excitement for a woman. But what she really wants, a sensual and intellectual engagement (men, I’m talking about extensive foreplay and endless conversation), is not part of the heterosexual ritual.

That’s where I come in. I love straight girls. And they love me. At first, they think they’re toying with me. If men find you attractive, isn’t it all the more exciting if women are also attracted? Why? Partially because teasing is deeply ingrained in our female brains and partially because hetero girls have more unsatisfied nights than anyone wants to admit. A lonely, post-missionary session with a vibrator might be stimulating, but it’s devoid of the human adoration we crave even more than orgasms.

Girls like to kiss me at parties to impress their boyfriends. It’s all fun and games. I willingly participate, knowing full well that one day the boyfriend will disappoint her. Then she’s mine. She might shy away from me on the quad or in the meeting room after her playful public romp. But I treat them the same way I treated Allison. Eventually, the illicit allure, the tempting intrigue, and the raw curiosity mount until she can’t stand it anymore.

Allison came to my place after her drunken boyfriend arrived, ejaculated in her mouth, and passed out–in twelve minutes. She wanted a shoulder to cry on. I challenged her. “You didn’t come here for sympathy. You came here to discover if it really is a better life for gay girls. Is there such a thing as real sex? Deep, meaningful, intimate, rough, orgasmic sex.” I didn’t expect an answer. I held her in my arms and caressed her skin until dawn. We didn’t have sex until after we’d cuddled for thirty hours. (Guys, sorry, but you can’t compete with me. You would’ve creamed all over yourself after the first hour–Allison was fucking hot.)

Not everyone who has a homosexual experience is gay. Mother Nature’s demand that we reproduce is too strong for most people. No matter how good multiple orgasms are, society, family, tradition, and so many other factors cause people to favor a heterosexual relationship.

That was the case with Allison. Honestly, two thirds of my straight-girlfriends return to the hetero world. It’s easier. When winter break came that year, and we headed back to our families, I freed Allison. I told her to find a boyfriend.

Gay Girls Play

At the cafe, Kenzie laughed and leaned into my ear to whisper. “Shh, that’s him over there.”

Her boyfriend talked to three other boys by the door.

I grabbed Kenzie by the shoulders. In a voice loud enough for the boys to hear, I said, “My god, you’re beautiful.” And dipped her for a long, tongue-slathering kiss that ended with playful licks and nips on her lips, chin, and nose. It was not an I-want-to-fuck-you kiss, it was an I-want-to-play-with-you kiss.

When I pulled her upright, Kenzie inhaled, palm-on-chest, and laughed while beaming furtive glances at her boy. Bisexual women are desirable to men for the same reason as they care attractive to gay girls. Who among us doesn’t fantasize about being the center of sexual attention with multiple partners? Personally, I hate fantasy. I live what I desire. But that’s a story for another time.

Allison bit her lip. I said goodbye and she squeezed my hand, don’t go.

I never look back when I leave. Instead, I made the same prediction I always make in those situations: How long until she called me? When I stepped out of the cafe, I predicted: three days.

I was wrong. That night, in an icy drizzle, Allison knocked on my door. I made hot chocolate and we snuggled by the fire.

Ingrid Druslan is a writer living in New York. Visit her at FaceBook

The post Why Straight Girls Have Sex with Gay Girls – by Ingrid Druslan appeared first on Erotic romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

Yoga Spanking For The Perfect Orgasm

Yoga spanking is a tantric form of meditation developed to enhance sensuality and bring about a state of euphoria. The key to yoga spanking is developing the power of mind over body.

Voices in our heads remind us constantly of all the things we want to do and should be doing. Our thoughts churn over unending files crammed with regret, nostalgia, ambition.

Yoga spanking is a technique to still the mind in such a way that we enter a state of nothingness – no ego, no past, no future; a state where we are completely in the moment.

We find stillness, not in silence, but in sound: the intoning a mantra, in the pulsing beat of a drum, in the regular slap of a hand on bare buttocks. Yoga spanking differs from submission practises in that the adepts learn that pleasure is not heightened through pain, but that pleasure and pain are one.

To reach a state where all things are possible, absolute tranquillity, the perfect orgasm, the ‘drummer’ must warm the entire posterior with methodical slaps until a warm glow slips over the nerve endings connecting the surface of your bottom to your vagina until it rings the bell of your clitoris.

Yoga Spanking & the 5 Senses

To still the mind, the recipient of yoga spanking should let go of all thoughts, all worries, all anxieties…

Relax – take a deep breath through your nose
Relax – let all doubts drift away
Relax - squeeze and hold the muscles of your vagina
Relax – breathe out slowly through your lips as flesh meets flesh

Think of each breath as if it is your first breath. The breath you would take if diving from a high cliff into the sea. Breathe deeply through your nose, fill your lungs, and leisurely exhale as the hand comes down again. As you release your breath, the fleeting sting fades as fiery tingles spread up your back and down your legs.

By entrusting control to your partner, you attain a freedom that lets you concentrate on the 5 senses. You are naked, defenceless, a child of pleasure. When you submit totally, your body comes alive with new sensations. It blooms like a flower.

Sex often leaves women empty and dissatisfied. The fantasy of role play, dressing up, masks, sex toys and yoga spanking is about putting the untried and unexpected back into a relationship by going deeper into our unknown, often buried sexuality. To acquire this level of serenity, nothing is more important than breathing – pranayama; the breath of life.

Yoga is a Sanskrit word that means yoke: the joining of mind and body. On a basic level, yoga is a technique of breathing, stretching and exercise; a way to cut stress and keep fit.

At its deepest level, yoga devotees seek mental freedom, enlightenment, nirvana, through tantric yoga, or tantric sex. Tantra means weaving together – the joining of man and woman to the divine – the quest for ultimate bliss through sexual union.

In yoga spanking, partners with preparation and practise will dissolve into each other, reach beyond the purely physical into a spiritual dimension where sex peaks in a life-affirming multiple orgasm, ecstasy, elation, euphoria.

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Two Lesbians and My Lover – by Bliss Lost

I have slept with two gay women in my life. The first broke my heart. The second was a sublime encounter I was overjoyed to share with my lover. On that second occasion, when we first kissed, the woman pulled away from me and said: “I think you must have a vagina.”

I was so taken aback by this remark, I had to suppress a laugh. I wondered about how I must present myself, or indeed, if that is how a gay woman reasons after kissing a man and liking it. “Secretly he must have a vagina.”

Emma, as I shall call her, ended up in bed with me as a result of my lover’s desire to be watched as we fucked. I could say ‘make love,’ but on this particular night, she was so aroused by the thought, she required more control than usual. With my hand gripped firmly around her throat, I asked in a whisper as I pushed into her if that was what she really wanted. “Darling, yes. I want to watch you fuck someone, and be watched by her,” she said breathlessly.

My lover had attended Emma’s going away party. Emma had always been honest about her desire for my lover. My lover had always nurtured a desire to taste another woman, but Emma didn’t turn her on. However, this particular evening, while saying goodbye, they shared an intimate kiss.

I was so aroused by my lover’s desires, I came to an immediate decision. “Tell her she can have you, if she agrees to share you for a night. Let her watch us, and maybe I can fuck her, too?” Just the conversation made us both more aroused.

One morning over a flirty cup of coffee, it was still obvious Emma wanted my lover and agreed to our threesome, much to our surprise. It was that simple. My lover and I had made long slow love and both of us smiled and looked into Emma’s eyes as she squirmed naked on the bed beside us pushing her fingers deep inside her as she watched.

My lover had gone to the bathroom. That was when Emma had kissed me. By the time my lover had returned, my hand was pressed firmly on Emma’s pussy as I kissed her pert little nipples. Before Emma knew it, there was an extra pair of hands on her. Kissing Emma’s neck, my lover said: “Take him for me, darling, and I am all yours.”

My fingers were deep inside Emma now and, pushing her leg to one side, I moved up onto her. She turned her head; she was anxious, I reached up, gently turned her chin and smiled. I said: “Trust me, when I’m in you, decide how much you want.”

A Kiss From My Lover

Like all who have never enjoyed cock before, Emma was unsure of how she should move her hips. I asked her: “Ready for more?” She nodded as she grew more aroused. I moved my hand to her belly button and gently pushed her down to keep her back to the bed. Then, I pushed slowly all the way inside her and Emma cried out “Fuck,” as she gasped.

My lover kissed her, a long hard kiss. We stayed that way for a long time, until Emma and I became lost in our own moment, only to be taken from it as we both watched my lover cry out as she came simply by watching us, ‘spraying deeply’ as she did so. Pushing a little more into Emma, I leaned into her and said: “Let’s give her a show.” She nodded with a little tear in the corner of her eye. She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into her with the desire that I fuck her until she came too.

Later, as I lay at the end of the bed watching my lover moan with hunger as Emma tasted her, I looked into Emma’s glowing eyes and knew we would share each other again. She would wrestle with the confusion for a while, buy a larger vibrator, love her female partners, but somewhere, some night, I would get that knock on my door.

Bliss Lost is a writer. See his blog Connecting the Unknown Self to the Self on this site.

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Victor Noir Brings Sex To The Graveyard

If desire is destiny, a flower in the fallen hat of Victor Noir will be answered by a stroke of luck. I will explain.

Victor Noir was a journalist shot dead in a duel by Prince Pierre Bonaparte in 1870. The Prince, Napoleon’s nephew, had been offended by an article Noir had written about his family, and wanted to show that the Old Guard was still in charge. More than 100,000 people attended Noir’s funeral. Women wept and tore at their clothes. The mob cried for revolution and Victor Noir became a romantic hero.

When Napoleon’s Second Empire crumbled later that same year, the rebels exhumed Victor Noir and transferred his remains to Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Sculptor Jules Dalou was commissioned to cast a bronze effigy and depicted Noir life-size in the position in which he had fallen after being shot by the Prince, his face with full lips and refined features having the detailed quality of a death mask.

And there is something else. Something érotique.

A Flower For Victor Noir

The generous bulge Jules Dalou carved in Victor Noir’s trousers – most likely a message of contempt for the old order – captivated the stream of mourners and began to be seen, incongruously, as a token of both fertility and modernity.

The way customs become customs is usually a mystery, as is the case with Victor Noir’s effigy. But young women who dreamed of passion started to appear at the graveyard at the end of the day with a flower to drop in Noir’s top hat. They would wait until they were alone, then fondle Noir’s semi-erection in the belief that it would assure a blissful sex life and a husband within a year.

Some visitors today make traditional brass rubbings, but most women are drawn as if by some erotic force to kiss Noir’s sensuous lips and run their hands over his privates. In fact, so much French kissing and caressing has taken place over the past century that, while the statue has the greenish tinge of tarnished bronze, Noir’s lips and manly protrusion shine like medals on a uniform.

Pere Lachaise Cemetery also houses the remains of Oscar Wilde, Guillaume Apollinaire, Honoré de Balzac, Georges Bizet, Maria Callas, and some Doors fans become so emotional they throw themselves on the grave of Jim Morrison as if the heat of their young bodies will revive their stone cold hero.

Victor Noir Riot

In spite of being in such illustrious company, Victor Noir receives more than his fair share of visitors. So many, after 100 years of quasi-necrophilia, in 2004 the city council erected a fence around the bronze carving. Just as women wept and tore at their clothes when Victor Noir was first buried, the protests became a riot and the authorities, as if with some dormant memory of the revolutionary mob, took the fence down again. Prince Pierre Bonaparte is completely forgotten – but Victor Noir lives on.

Next time you visit the City of Lovers, take the line 2 metro to Philippe Auguste Station. Buy a bouquet at one of the street stalls, and meander along the Boulevard de Ménilmontant to Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Say hi to Oscar and Jim, hum a few bars of Bizet. When no one’s looking, drop a flower in the bronze hat and admire the swelling Jules Dalou shaped in Victor Noir’s trousers. Desire is destiny and whatever you long for is waiting to be found.

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3 Car Sex Tips and Cameron Diaz

In The Counselor, there is a scene where Cameron Diaz has the most astonishing car sex EVER. The Ridley Scott directed movie with Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Brad Pitt and Michael Fassbender is memorable for many reasons, but Cameron humping a Ferrari steals the show.

Car sex is a challenge. It’s like a struggle to overcome some unexpected difficulty, like saving a poodle from a burning house, or crossing a river in flood, and all the more rewarding when you make it to the other side. It’s oddly liberating twisting about so you can slip your knickers down your legs and, before the windows steam up, there’s always the delicious chance of being seen.

You may think of car sex as a teen activity. But the thrill of sex in the rear seat or blowjobs while driving floods back into the memory when you do it and you feel young again. Sex in a car is like being in a cave, a return to our primitive roots.

Car Sex Before Dinner

Car sex makes your pulse race and your heart beat faster. Even when there is no urgency, there is an apparent urgency, as if you are running the last half mile of a marathon. There is nothing seedy about auto-sex. It’s healthy, rebellious, life-confirming. Two people trapped in a bubble doing exactly what they are programmed to do.

A quickie in the car if you are going out to dinner makes your eyes sparkle and your conversation as bubbly as the ice cold champagne. Your creased dress and mussed hair will make the other girls envious (they’ll know) and, like an animal in heat, will make you strangely more attractive to the other men.

Back seat sex is like stolen love, illicit love, love borrowed knowing that it will never be returned. Car sex inevitably means stained clothes and those kind of stains never come out. They remain as reminders that you should do it again. Soon. Sex every day is good for you. Car sex is a bonus.

Car Sex Tips

 Here’s my 3 tips for better orgasms in the car:

Dressing – dress for sex in the car as you would for a visit to an erotic night club: black stockings and suspenders, a dress that needs another pair of hands to unzip, delicate underwear easily torn – and stilettos to rip the roof fabric.
Positions – 1) lay back with clothes awry like a queen and let him (or her) do all the manoeuvring and yoga postures; 2) let him lay back, straddle him like a prize-pony and ride all the way to the finishing line; 3) sit on his spread knees and cling on the front passenger seat; 4) go end to end and count up to sixty-nine.
Timing – car sex is made for 1) the twilight hour, the sun sliding off to sleep, the sky streaked in pink ribbons, the shadows stealing across the landscape; 2) alternatively, at three on the morning with the traffic silent and the stars pricking the black night sky; 3) at sunrise after sleeping the night in the car.

Back to The Counselor – the script by Cormac McCarthy is zany, the violence stylised and Cameron Diaz as Malkina with two-toned hair, shorts skirts and great legs creates a character that is so original it’s off the charts and shows that Ms Diaz is the First Lady of Hollywood. No Rival. No argument. See for yourself on YouTube.

Do you have a car sex story to share – pop it in the comments box below. Don’t hold back now.

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Why Are More Women Exploring BDSM?

R.M. Simone on the Joys of BDSM

BDSM is out of the closet and written in the stars. Bondage, discipline and spanking are entering the bedroom and more women are exploring their own secret universe of erotic pleasure.

Each age brings a new level of sexual awareness. In the 1960s it was free love and the hippy lifestyle. Women believed they were liberated and slid with eyes closed a decade later into the never-never land of swingers and wife-swapping. The 1980s brought us the shallow, showy world of the new romantics. The digital age has landed with sexting, nude-selfies, internet dating, wall-to-wall porn.

It will pass. Everything does. That is the nature of the cosmic dance of the planets and stars. At the end of 2012, Saturn began to journey through the sign of Scorpio, where it will remain until the end of 2015. This transit brings us to a time where people will feel an urge to take greater responsibility for their actions and pleasures. Women who tune into this astral influence will become truly, finally, liberated, open and eager to explore their deepest needs across the entire palette of sexual fetishes, including BDSM.

BDSM Pain & Pleasure

What is BDSM? It stands for bondage, domination sado-masochism. Why would a man or woman want to be tied up and dominated in order to provide sadistic pleasure for their partner? It’s all in the last word – masochism, according to the Merriam Webster Dictionary: a sexual perversion characterized by pleasure in being subjected to pain or humiliation especially by a love object.

The key words are pleasure and love. Sex between loving couples gets dull. BDSM with its role play, dressing up, masks, leather, latex and fantasy is about putting the untried and unexpected back into the relationship by going deeper into our unknown, often buried sexuality. The more you put into something the more you get out. Push a spring down, down, down – and when you let go, it doesn’t just jump up, it explodes.

Spanking – the most common and popular of all BDSM practises – warms the entire nervous system and reminds the clitoris that it’s alive and adores stimulation. Does spanking hurt? Yes, absolutely. But it’s nothing like the pain of childbirth and, the difference is, the fleeting sting and discomfort passes under the practiced hand into ultimate bliss: a rippling, breathtaking, life-affirming multiple orgasm.

Being tied up, bound to the bed, chained to a wall, wearing a ball-gag takes you out of the mundane daily grind of work and bills into a state of total submission: complete surrender to the will of your partner, the Dom, or dominant, but submission, too, to every woman’s latent potential to reach ecstasy, elation, euphoria.

BDSM is a marathon, not a sprint. Start slow and make sure you and your partner have decided on safe words and safe signs (in case your mouth is full) to STOP the activity if the ropes chaff, your throat’s constricted, the pain outweighs the pleasure. The world of BDSM is not vaster than we imagine but vaster, perhaps, than we can imagine. Research before you try and, remember, Saturn’s transit in Scorpio ends in 2015. If there was ever a moment to try BDSM it is NOW.

R.M. Simone’s latest book is GOTHIC GATES VENICE. Do read her acclaimed blog TWIN LOVE and visit her lively WEBSITE.

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Related PostsWhy Spanking Girls is the Pleasure of all Pleasures47 French philosopher Georges Bataille describes spanking girls as 'the illicit pleasure of all pleasures.' When a hand comes down again and again on your bottom, the sting is quickly followed by a prickling numbness. The pain vanishes and the heat generated from those slaps sends lines of electric fire through all the tissues and nerve…Tags: spanking, pleasure

The post Why Are More Women Exploring BDSM? appeared first on Erotic romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

Waking Bella

From The Secret Life of Girls

When I entered the woodshed, Mr Lawrence was preparing cuttings, trimming them with a knife with a worn shiny blade. He glanced up, nodded as he relit his roll-up, then continued whistling.

In the air was the tang of cut grass, wood polish and the moth ball smell of old Jake, the Labrador, sitting immobile like a black statue beside the bench. Tools with wooden handles hung from brackets with a sense of calm and order, and ranged along the shelves were jam jars full of nails and screws. Through the small windows the light moved in dusty sheets and I had a feeling I was in one of those old French films Daddy would often be watching late at night when I woke from a bad dream and couldn’t get back to sleep again.

My underarms were damp and perspiration rolled like glass beads over my skin. I watched absorbed as Mr Lawrence positioned the cuttings in the tray, his movements slow and steady as if he was enjoying the job and was in no hurry to get it done. He made a hole in the black earth with his thumb, selected another stem, and pressed the soil back in place. He had wide, strong fingers that fondled the fragile shoots with the same delicacy you need to sew on a button or write someone’s name on a birthday cake.

He took another puff on his cigarette then left it balanced on the side of a silver tin. There was a spray gun on the bench and when all the cuttings were standing in neat lines he misted the tray with several short, sharp tugs on the trigger. I had moved closer than I meant to and the spray was cool on my hot cheeks.

For as long as I could remember, Mr Lawrence had avoided looking in my direction but now his dark eyes made me flush as they met mine. There was a faint smile on his lips as he moistened my face, my neck, and he kept on jerking the trigger on the spray gun, soaking the top of my flimsy dress. My breasts had begun to tingle and my nipples like the green shoots in the seed tray seemed to burst into life and were trying to burst through the fabric.

Planting Bella

Mr Lawrence moved round the bench. He aimed a long jet of water down my spine before returning the container to the work top. He ran one hand slowly over the bumps of my back and cupped my bottom. With the fingers of his other hand, he rubbed the tips of my nipples in a circular motion that made the breath catch in my throat and warm dribbles began to run down my legs. The earth on his fingers stained the dress in two perfect circles around my breasts. He moved his fingers over my swollen lips and one by one I took them into my mouth.

I had forgotten to put on any knickers and his other hand was stroking the tense bare flesh of my bottom. His fingers slipped into the sticky pool between my legs and I often wonder what may have happened next, the next in this case being the door bursting open and Mother standing there with the light behind her like the monster that woke me from my dreams.

‘Bella. Bella. You. You…’

She crossed the shed in one long stride and hit Mr Lawrence across the face with such a hard slap it left four white stripes on his cheek.

‘You animal. You oaf. Get out this minute.’

Jake must have wondered what all the fuss was about and stood there with his pink tongue lolling from his mouth. Mr Lawrence stroked the dog’s head. He stared boldly back at Mother and the look they exchanged I would think about later that day.

Excerpt from THE SECRET LIFE OF GIRLS

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Why Men Love Blowjobs While Driving

Men love blowjobs more than life. I once had a boyfriend who would get an erection driving fast and would only slow down when the heat in his blue jeans was doused in the cooling waters of my mouth.

Unlike vaginal and anal sex, blowjobs have a calming effect. A guy engulfed in your mouth just lays back and lets all anxiety evaporate. He doesn’t have to worry about staying hard, and by removing that doubt, he stays hard anyway.

The vagina is a silky moist cavern. The well-lubed anus has the allure of the illicit. Your mouth, by comparison, is a circus tent equipped with a slippery wet tongue for licking and dipping, teeth for nibbling, gums like bellows that expand and contract. Your hands are free to squeeze and stroke his balls as well as giving your throat a rest.

Blowjobs and Health

Men love watching you giving them blowjobs and love it even more when you stare up at them. A BJ makes men feel dominant and provides girls with a cathartic sense of submission. With greater equality in the workplace and in relationships, yielding to gender stereotypes is liberating and, in truth, there is nothing more feminine than giving a guy head when he’s driving.

Researchers at Montreal’s Concordia University discovered that driving at high speed improves men’s health by pumping up their testosterone, and that’s good for the heart. They get more oomph driving a new car than a rattling old rust bucket. Their colour of choice is red. No surprise there.

According to Wikipedia, “limited studies” show that an average 3.4 mL ejaculation contains traces of vitamin B12, as well as nutrients such as zinc, calcium and potassium. Swallowing semen gives you a fleeting high from the mixture of estrone and oxytocin, and there’s other stuff that is believed to increase affection and encourage sleep – until you wake up eager for more.

While there’s no doubt that blowjobs are beneficial for men, they are healthy for girls, too. Male jizz is tastier than carrot juice and, as it comes in small quantities, the more head you give the better you feel. Think of his cock as a shiny red sports car he’s driving at 100 mph into the open road of your gaping mouth and remember, keep you palms gripped on the handbrake.

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