Chloe Thurlow's Blog, page 6
March 16, 2016
Bella Memoir a Work of Erotic Genius
Chloe Thurlow’s novel, The Secret Life of Girls, is a fictionalized memoir of Bella, an 18-year old who is sent to a finishing school on the English coast. Her father has passed away and her mother has remarried a man who is going to buy the manor house that was left in trust to Bella because her mother says she has no other means to pay off her father’s debts. The betrayal cuts Bella to the core – the house is a part of her. She has nothing left. Except for one thing: she is beautiful, bold and unafraid to use sex to get her way as well as for her own pleasure.
I was gripped by this Lolita-type protagonist who must find her way with no help from her aloof mother and lustful stepfather. The author beautifully captures the atmosphere of the English countryside and boarding schools run by nuns, and what it’s like to be a gorgeous girl, searching for her sexual identity, artistic success (she aspires to being a pop star), and ultimately, revenge on her mother and stepfather for their betrayals.
This was one of those amazing books that I did not want to end. Reading this novel was like being on a blissful beach vacation that I just wanted to keep going on and on. I have read another of Chloe’s books, A Girl’s Adventure, that bowled me over because of her exquisite prose. She is a virtuosic writer, her metaphors are startling and beautiful, and her details about fashion and culture are amusing and spot on. But that book fell short of Secret Life of Girls because of too many easy coincidences and a very surreal ending that was too over the top to my taste.
Cheeky Bella
No such problems in the Secret Life, this stunning and gripping novel. It is an erotic masterwork of the highest order, with delicious, cheeky and engaging characters, a strong plot driven by Bella’s desperation to produce a hit pop record at any cost, and blazingly hot scenes of sexual experimentation and kink.
This might be the best erotic novel I have ever read, and for me, it puts Chloe in the same category as the greatest writers of erotica such as Anais Nin, Pauline Reage and Emmanuelle Arsan. It is not mainstream erotic romance and not for the faint of heart – it gets quite kinky and perverse. Bella is not prone to much angst despite her youth, and she is too self-possessed and ambitious to swoon over an alpha male. She takes her sexual pleasure where she finds it (with both men and women), sometimes using seduction to get what she needs, and at other times indulging her own desires when she’s falling for someone, whether it’s the beautiful nun, Sister Nuria, or Troy, the “townie” from the village next to her school.
The Secret Life of Girls gets my highest recommendation.
I would give it more than five stars if I could… Read it!
KM Dylan
ONLY 99p at Amazon UK and $1.99 Amazon.com
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March 10, 2016
Female Parts and the Fashion Gap Mystery
Female parts have always been the first choice of advertisers and the axis around which the fashion industry spins. Legs, teeth, eyes, shoulder-blades and hipbones, feet, hair, lipstick, belly buttons, breasts. Whatever they are selling, female parts slide sharply into focus.
Fifty and more years ago, breasts were the lietmotiv of Hollywood leading ladies – Ursula Andress striding out of the sea in that bikini in Dr. No (1962); Elizabeth Taylor in cavernous décolleté in Cleopatra (1963); the primordial Raquel Welch in One Million Year BC (1966).
Brigitte Bardot and Marilyn Monroe pouted and proffered their mammary assets and sundry female parts across silver screens and gossip columns until the compass shifted in the late sixties from breasts to bones. Girls starved, burned their bras and adopted the gaunt, svelte look of fashion icons Jean Shrimpton, Twiggy, Grace Kelly, Catherine Deneuve.
Fat may be a feminist issue, but it has never been in fashion and super thin turned mainstream again a few years back with low slung hipsters revealing spirit level flat stomachs from breast bone to pubic bone and, I do recall seeing a few tendrils of pubic hair escaping from unshaved mounts as teens sashayed along the Kings Road during the half-term holidays. Only the young are daring.
Female Parts Refined
Most men are breast men, they suckle on them as babies. Others develop tastes for female parts that are more refined. I remember a boyfriend who liked the pale blue circles below my eyes from sleepless nights; another mesmerized by clavicles; and a third who said my feet were my best feature. He tried a retraction but, once spoken, words are like stone carvings in old cathedrals, ignored but not forgotten.
Pretty faces, younger every year, are hired to sell makeup, lipstick, shampoo, toothpaste showing naked rear views as the blue-eyed goddess looks up with surprised features from the mirror with teeth like pearls and a ring of confidence.
Spines are always a delight and some men play their fingers over the raised nodules of exposed backs as if you are a saxophone and he is a blues composer with a new piece he calls female parts. Bottoms appears on book covers, swimsuit ads, automobile commercials. Cars are big business and car sex is slyly encouraged by the manufacturers. Drive me and you can ride her!
The whole ensemble of female parts combine in the multi-billion dollar lingerie business: bras, knickers, garter belts, a chiffon cloud of undies so sheer and sexy you feel like a lady of the night from the moment you dress first thing in the morning to the moment you or your lover strips it all off in the amber-lit warmth of the bedroom.
Shapely girls studying for their A-levels in Victoria’s Secret and Agent Provocateur pose in geometric conundrums on giant hoardings to create an air of sensuality that makes us all vaguely dissatisfied and certain that there’s an orgy going on somewhere and you haven’t been invited.
Female parts are the advertising collage that makes up the female. Yet one part, the most precious, the most desirable, is ostentatiously omitted. Advertisers have yet to find a way to display the pudenda, the bush, the lips of the vagina, the pert clitoris, the silky wet labia, as if this the most important of all female parts must remain a mystery.
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March 8, 2016
Tristan and Isolde – Sex, Adultery and Betrayal
Tristan and Isolde is a mediaeval tale of sex, magic, adultery and betrayal retold throughout the Middle Ages and inspiring Richard Wagner’s celebrated opera, the Arthurian legends and Shakespeare.
As romances go, Tristan and Isolde has it all and carries the warning to every young man who falls in love to keep it to himself.
Tristan is an orphan. His father dies in battle, his mother in childbirth. From a noble family, the young prince becomes the favourite of his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall, and grows into a fine horseman and warrior.
He leads King Mark’s troops against Irish rebels and defeats Sir Morholt’s renegades in a battle that relieves the castle keep of the Irish King. When the victorious Prince meets Isolde, the king’s daughter, the wheels of the story start to gather pace. Isolde is young, full of life, a fair-skinned princess with fiery red hair and the most beautiful girl Tristan has ever seen.
They catch each other’s eyes across the dining table. They dance at a grand ball. They walk together in the castle grounds chaperoned by Isolde’s maid, and they share that strange emotion lovers feel and can’t be explained. Isolde gives Tristan a ring with a ruby stone to remember her by and he sets sail for Cornwall with his heart bursting with joy.
Tristan is so enamoured of Isolde, he makes the fatal error of telling King Mark that he has met the perfect princess, a girl who is open, generous, witty, as divine as any a goddess. Mark is so gripped by Tristan’s elegiac description of Isolde, he announces sight unseen that she is the girl he wants to marry. Loyal to King Mark, and reluctant to disclose his own feelings, Tristan returns to Ireland as Mark’s ambassador to petition for Isolde’s hand. Her father weighs the advantages of the alliance between the warring kingdoms and swiftly agrees to the offer.
Tristan and Isolde Magic
Tristan and Isolde set sail in a storm. They are unable to speak and find it hard to even look at each other knowing that they are to be parted.
Isolde’s maid knows that Tristan and Isolde are totally enamoured and secretly gives them a love potion that frees them from any sense of responsibility. They fall into each other’s arms and, that night, as the sea grows calm, Tristan and Isolde share the same bed.
Isolde still has to marry Mark, but now faces the problem that she is no longer a virgin. The romantic maid steps into the breach and, on the wedding night, veiled in white, she covertly consummates the marriage.
King Mark adores his young wife, but is tormented by dreams. He notices that Tristan and Isolde are only ever happy when they are in each other’s company and finally realises that Isolde is really in love with Tristan.
The same love triangle drives the plot of King Arthur’s discovery of Guinevere’s adultery with Sir Lancelot, but for Tristan and Isolde, with more tragic consequences. Although he respects, even loves, Tristan and Isolde, Mark is compelled to punish them: Tristan by hanging, Isolde by exiling her to a leper colony.
Before being led to the gallows, there is a service for Tristan in the chapel where he makes his escape. He climbs on to the roof and leaps to freedom. He steals a horse, races to the leper colony and rescues Isolde. They move deep into the forest of Morrois, where they live happily until their hiding place is discovered by the King.
Tristan and Isolde Tragic
Mark regrets the harsh punishment he has handed down to Tristan and Isolde and makes peace with them on the condition that Tristan goes into exile and Isolde returns to the palace.
They agree to the condition and Tristan travels to Brittany, where he meets another Isolde – Isolde of the White Hands, daughter of Hoel, the sister of Sir Kahedin. Tristan tries to put his Isolde out of his mind and courts Isolde of the White Hands.
They marry and, on the wedding night, as Tristan removes his shirt, he pulls off the ruby ring his first love had given him, a sign of their fidelity. He immediately regrets the marriage and never sleeps with his young wife.
Tristan remains in exile and joins Kahedin in his battles and exploits. One day, trying to rescue a young maiden from six rival knights, Tristan is wounded by a poisoned lance and sees in a vision that the only person who can save him is Isolde, his true love.
Before Kahedin leaves on his quest to find Isolde, Tristan tells him to sail back with white sails on his ship if he is bringing Isolde with him, and black sails if he is not. When Isolde learns that Tristan is mortally wounded, she defies King Mark and sets sail with with Kahedin.
As Tristan lay on his death bed, the white sails of the ship bearing Isolde appear dark in the setting sun and Isolde of the White Hands takes her revenge, telling Tristan the sails are black. Tristan dies of grief believing his first love has betrayed him. Isolde swoons over his corpse and dies of a broken heart – a death scene borrowed by Shakespeare for Romeo and Juliet.
They are buried beside each other and two trees grow from the graves, a hazel and honeysuckle, the branches tangling as one. King Mark has the branches cut away three times. Each time, they grow back and intertwine again, never to be parted.
Illustration shows a painting of Tristan and Isolde by August Spiess, 1881
The post Tristan and Isolde – Sex, Adultery and Betrayal appeared first on Romance writer Chloe Thurlow.
February 19, 2016
Morning Sex For a Longer Sexier Happier Life
Morning sex is rejuvenating in a real way – it makes you feel young again. Morning sex with a young lover makes you feel ageless.
You wake after a good night’s sleep from sex the night before filled with vitality and a hunger for more. Extended foreplay is, as every girl knows, a glimpse of paradise, but on weekdays when you haul yourself up to go to work, the sheer urgency of morning sex acquires an energy coupled with the resolve a new day brings.
As you find the rhythm, two rowers battling against the tide, that sense that your climax is just out of reach makes you grit your teeth, arch your spine and grab the mystic O like it’s a mirage on the horizon you want to pin down.
No time for coffee. Who needs caffeine after morning sex? Throw on some slap and you set out with fairy dust in your heels and that satiated grin women recognise as they pass with a knowing nod and the faintly envious expression that says, that’s just what I need, morning sex with a new man.
When you feel positive about yourself, good things always seem to happen. I have been struggling in Barcelona working 15 hours a week teaching English. In two days, I met two different people who want private conversation classes and doubled my income.
Morning Sex Optimism
Is it all down to morning sex? Absolutely. The human species was not made to sleep alone and my new mood of optimism began like a sunflower opening the day Ramon moved into my flat in Calle Diputacion, three rooms in a row with a fig tree in the garden below and a pair of yellow canaries that sing love songs at sunrise from the cage on my neighbour’s balcony.
Life is a continuous process of looking back and looking forward to try and set the stage for what you should be doing today. Morning sex with Ramon, at 23, seven years my junior, is like taking a gypsy potion that frees you from all conventions and compels you to live in the moment.
The best way to learn a language is on the pillow. Ramon only speaks Spanish in bed and that has become our lingua franca, refining my oral skills far more than the four hours a week over five years with Sister Nuria in Spanish class at school.
Morning sex makes your waistbands looser. After marching up the Ramblas to Diagonal, I meet my students in a café before class and scoff a high-cal breakfast that burns off without leaving you feeling hungry for anything other than getting back between the bedsheets.
Sex is a drug. Morning sex is your first fix. You become addicted. You stay out later, drink more, dance more, write more, feel more in touch with your primal self. You stop caring about how you look, the secret of looking your best.
Last year, just before my birthday, I published 30 Things To Do Before 30, which I will now have to edit, add morning sex with a younger man and retitle the blog 31 Things To Do Before 31.
How long will it last? The secret of a fling is to not think about it. Just enjoy it. How did it all begin?
READ – Better Sex With A Younger Man
Oh, yes, one more thing, if you haven’t read my novel
The Secret Life of Girls
Xcite Books have a half-price bargain week
The post Morning Sex For a Longer Sexier Happier Life appeared first on Romance writer Chloe Thurlow.
February 17, 2016
Songbird – Noir With An Erotic Twist
Songbird – by Rachel de Vine
In classic film noir, the gritty opening scenes find colour when the screen is graced by the femme fatale, a striking, flawed woman who psychologically challenges the status quo represented by a dominant, usually charismatic male.
This movie trope was borrowed from pulp fiction writers – Dashiell Hammett, Elmore Leonard, Raymond Chandler, and has been taken back by writers in various forms such as Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, where young professionals are seen as empty drones finding meaning beyond the cubicle walls of open offices by bare-knuckle brawls.
Rachel de Vine in “Songbird” provides an erotic twist to the genre with her vivid portrait of Harry, an adrenaline addicted mid-thirties alpha male with women he changes as often as his suits, a man with a taste for money, kink and domination. Harry’s world is turned upside-down when he sees and hears the new chanteuse at a night club run by his friend Jake. Pascale is the classic femme fatale, French, of course, a woman with secrets on the run from an abusive past, and a soft mesmerizing accent that penetrates Harry’s heart and soul.
Pascale’s onstage persona is at odds with the introverted woman Harry meets backstage, but there’s that frisson, that chemistry couples feel and can’t describe. They become lovers. Harry is drawn into Pascale’s world but can never find out what haunts her.
While Jake, in a desperate, unhappy marriage, has a fling with one of his staff, the two couples go through a period of bliss, the calm before the storm gathering about them as they enter the last act. Harry is away on business when Pascale’s past finally catches up with her and you’ll burn your fingers flicking through the pages of “Songbird” as the plot twists and turns in unexpected ways that leads to an ending you may have expected but not in the way you expected.
Rachel de Vine is a skilled writer who draws believable portraits of complex characters and allows them the freedom to unveil their mysteries and weave their own plots. This was 5***** pleasure read in two tasty chunks.
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February 16, 2016
Are Our Smart Devices Making Us Dumber?
Smart devices have become smarter than we are. We are growing dependent on the virtual reality of social media, slaves to the machines that watch us from inside our pockets and bags.
In the 1970s, the creators of the World Wide Web made an alliance with intellectuals who wanted to believe they were part of the zeitgeist and naively contributed with their books and articles to the cause of the corporations that own the web.
Evgeny Morozov, explains in The Net Delusion: The Dark Side of Internet Freedom, that there was a mistaken belief that the providers of the internet were freedom fighters, that we and they were a collective doing things in new ways to build a new, more open society.
How wrong we were. It has taken a long time to realise that when you take a closer look at those multi-billion dollar companies, Facebook, Google, Twitter, you don’t see a freer, smarter, more progressive society, but a mirror image of Wall Street, big oil, big pharma, the Pentagon and state of the art capitalism.
While our smart devices become smarter, we become dumber. The silver, sensual, silky finished tablets and laptops that we love and can no longer live without reflect the interests and financial imperatives of the companies that make them.
The reason why like Pavlov’s dog we go back time and time again to Facebook and Tinder is because the systems have been designed to create this dependency. It is a business model, a strategy. The more clicks we click, the more LIKES we collect, the more respected and appreciated we want to believe we are. We may know deep down that this is groundless, even damaging, like drink, drugs and pumping diesel fumes into the atmosphere, but still we go back for more.
How this translates into hard cash is the vaguely obscure side of the business model. But let us not forget that, according to Forbes, Facebook is now worth $45 billion; Google has $364 billion; Tinder, a start-up in 2013, is worth $5 billion; and Apple tops the charts with $598 billion. To put this into perspective, the gross national product of Belgium is $471 billion, and Nigeria, Africa’s most densely populated country with 173 million people has a GNP of $938 billion.
Smart Devices & Addiction
The leading web providers and manufacturers of smart devices are not benign, collaborative companies, but mega-corporations making mega bucks from our clicks, flicks, likes and personal data. Like fast food chains, online blackjack and porn, social media is addictive and all addictions have consequences: our irrational dependency and the replacement of ‘deep’ thought with the ‘shallow’ thought required for distraction and undemanding entertainment.
Being constantly plugged into social media makes us feel anxious about ourselves and our friends, our place in society. We invest our energy in constant updating, which affects how we feel about ourselves and the relationship we have with our real and virtual friends that, over time, glosses into one. Facebook updates your personal phone with private telephone numbers of Facebook ‘friends’ while depositing your private number on their smart devices.
I have personally had strangers call to ask me for temporary loans to overcome fleeting problems; others to meet for an ‘innocent’ chat over coffee. As really ‘bad’ rap has come to mean really ‘good’ music, an ‘innocent’ coffee obviously carries some Orwellian intention.
Smart Devices & Start-Ups
Our personal information hovers in digital space, easily plucked, a valuable asset we give away to giant companies that in turn sell it or use it to show us what we don’t have and must need. Start-ups in Silicone Valley create problems we didn’t know we had in order to sell us the tools to create solutions.
Data is a precious commodity: your insurance company needs information on the likelihood of you falling sick; banks want to know if you can afford the mortgage or car payments. Smart new algorithms can analyse the data on your smart devices to predict your needs and, like a virtual servant, will remind you of doctor appointments, friends’ birthdays, flight check-in times.
You don’t need to think when you have smart devices thinking for you. The machine in your pocket already knows exactly where you are. New programs can turn it off and on at will and take photos without you ever knowing. This is not science fiction, it is capitalism in its purist form. As Evgeny Morozov points out, without making a political point, it was Marx who said that capitalism would eventually destroy itself.
If we accept the commercialization of our data, we are one step away from allowing the air, commercially polluted, to be commercially cleansed and sold back to us. This has already happened with that other life essential: water, with corporations freed from government restraints setting up contracts to commercialize the rainfall, as occurred in the Bolivian city Cochabamba, leading to riots that led eventually to a U-turn, the events captured in the compelling 2010 film Even The Rain, directed by Iciar Bollain.
When Shell Oil destroyed the pristine coast of Ogoniland with arbitrary petroleum dumping, the Nigerian government supported the corporation by rounding up and executing Ogoni protestors including Ken Saro Wiwa, an acclaimed novelist. For Shell Oil and General Sani Abacha, the military dictator, profit was more important than people.
The same can be said for the companies that make our smart devices, design apps, provide the internet and entice us with the non-stop entertainment of social media.
What is the answer? Some questions have no answer. It is up to you, the individual, to decide who you are beyond the confines of digital space and what you want to reveal through your shiny smart devices to the corporations that are always watching. We must, more than ever, learn to think for ourselves.
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February 15, 2016
Rare Artist of Our Time
A well-written tale that’ll stay with you long after you read itRebekkah Ford on Girl Trade
I had no idea what to expect when I picked up this book. The first chapter gripped me in a whirlwind of feelings: interest, suspense, disgust, and anger. I have zero tolerance for someone forcing their will on others unless the other party gives her permission to do so. However, the main character in Girl Trade is surprised and a bit horrified to discover how sexually responsive her body is to the abuse of a heavy-handed Arab.
At the beginning of the tale, the main character has a great job in London and loads of friends. Now single, she decides to go on holiday to figure out what she wants out of life. While on the beach, sunning in the nude, on an impulse she swims to another island where she’s captured and forced by Arabs to do degrading things right there. What one of these men does to her is appalling, but the brilliance of Chloe’s writing and her crafty way of allowing us as readers to be inside the main character’s head dulled the hatred I felt toward this man.
Girl Trade is about self-discovery in a horrid situation. I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone because of the obscene, sadomasochistic scenes that play out in the story. However, the deep psychology that bleeds through each page is raw and unyielding, only a person with a deep insight into humanity can write such a tale.
The story is well-written, poetic, and stitched together by a rare artist of our time, who not only knows how to weave a compelling story but is insightful. A thinker, like Ralph Waldo Emerson. Her books should be mandatory to read in college—especially if you’re majoring in psychology or something along those lines. Students should have to write a report on it and group discussions should follow. Chloe is that good.
If you’re not a bubble-head, you’ll appreciate her style. You’ll get the metaphors, the underlining meanings, and the unapologetic truths regarding our human nature, to where you’ll be driven to read her other books and become a fan for life.
Visit Rebekkah Ford at her Home Page
Girl Trade is available from Amazon and all good bookshops
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February 11, 2016
Nymphomania and the New Sexual Revolution
This is the dawning of the Age of Nymphomania.
Nymphomania – Uncontrollable or excessive sexual desire in a woman – Oxford Dictionary
Nymphomania – Hypersexuality: female sex drive that is obsessively high. Considered a mental illness, colloquially meaning a horny girl – Urban Dictionary
After the long years of the Sexual Revolution, bra burning, feminism, post feminism, equal rights and sexual rights, those born in the smouldering ash of these struggles view the 21st century as a time of authentic sexual liberation, a freedom to choose, a freedom to say no and, more important, the freedom to say yes.
Women who have a healthy sex drive have always been labelled a nymphomaniac, the word used as a synonym of slut, slag, whore, hoe, hooker, tramp, bitch and a million more unforgiving words that ring out from men’s tongues like nails being hammered into a coffin. There are few words to describe a man who relishes long frequent bouts between the bedsheets – stud, hunk, beefcake, silkier words more flattering than derogatory.
The male equivalent of nymphomania is satyriasis, seldom used and lacking the whippy rhythms of the Greek nymphomania – nymph, meaning bride or young wife, those gorgeous female deities in mythology who can never be tamed, protectors of springs, mountains and rivers. Mania, of course, means mania: mental illness marked by periods of euphoria or excitement, delusions, and manic activity.
Nymphomania Punishments
Women who adore sex have always been seen as deviants living in a twilight world outside the social norms of gender expectation. In Victorian times, a woman judged by doctors, priests or husbands to ‘suffer’ nymphomania would be treated with ice cold baths, enforced bed rest, followed by leeching – placing leeches on the vagina – and, in extreme cases, a surgeon would remove a woman’s clitoris and ovaries.
From the day the apple ripened in Eden, man has found in scripture justifications to invent chastity belts, foot binding, witch hunts, ducking stools. Still now, in modern times, we have virginity tests, Purity Balls, female genital mutilation, burkas and the glass ceiling.
Genesis 3,1-16 describes Eve being seduced by the serpent before persuading Adam to eat the apple. They are scolded by the Almighty, who says to Eve: ‘I will multiply your pains in childbirth. You will long for your husband, but he will lord it over you.’
Suppressing women has been interpreted as a command from the lips of God. But did she really say that? Or did some scribe unable to satisfy his wife’s nymphomania slip it into the text as a penance? Books until recent times were only written by men and women writers have always been seen as sly, scheming and dangerous.
Nymphomania Pleasures
Finally, thousand of years of subjugation have come to an end – at least in some parts of the world. There is no longer a need for young women to feel objectified, that they are mere reflections of men’s desires and destinies. Nymphomania in the new sexual revolution is hip, honest, joyful and bringing about more equality than bra burning ever did.
In the past, sex was seen as something girls gave and men took. No longer. Girls are climbing on top and treating sex as something to be pursued and relished, preferably every day, with as many partners as possible, two at a time if it takes your fancy.
I remember an old joke: every man’s dream is to marry a nymphomaniac whose father owns a bar. Less funny now as I write it down than it was being told by some tubby bloke as a chat up line and whose name I can no longer recall. Men are drawn to the perception of nymphomania and, while they may dream of finding a nymphomaniac, they don’t want to find her inside their own girlfriend.
In the 1970s, nymphomania was termed hypersexuality by a group of ex-members of Alcoholics Anonymous who claimed to discover the same compulsive behaviours with sex as they did with alcohol. Self-help groups were set up to cure this new generation of sex addicts.
They believed that nymphomania was the same as addiction to drugs, alcohol, bitterness, envy, ambition – that a nymphomaniac never experiences the full pleasure of orgasm and, as with all addictions, it ends up destroying the addict.
All nonsense, of course, and in an unlikely stroke of common sense, plans in 2010 to add sexual addiction to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) was dropped after the American Psychiatric Association refused to support the proposal. A cause driven by men, it was hard for them to believe that a girl with nymphomania didn’t crave sex because she never reached orgasm, but the reverse: she always reaches orgasm.
I wrote in one of my books that every time a girl has an orgasm an angel comes to life. It certainly feels that way and the girl with nymphomania is just trying to populate the heavens with angels.
They say it’s sexy to share. Press a button and try xx Chloe
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February 8, 2016
Make Money Dating With The New Ohlala App
To make money dating is a dream come true for countless girls across the planet bogged down by high rents, low wages, boring boyfriends and dates that turn sour before the champagne’s even been opened.
All that could be a thing of the past with a provocatively-named new app called Ohlala that simplifies all those planning and preparation texts to create hook-ups where girls can make money dating guys who, in turn, are guaranteed a trip between the bedsheets at night’s end.
The only variable is money. But hasn’t that always been the case?
Described as the Uber for Escorts, Ohlala’s CEO and co-founder Pia Poppenreiter says people making dates through standard sites are never entirely sure of their expectations. Ohlala makes it blatantly clear.
On traditional sites, after scrolling through profiles of girls, when a match is made, most guys insist on paying when they go out for drinks and most girls expect to end up in the sack. To make money dating is a logical next step on the evolutionary staircase.
Before a night out with a stranger, girls spend hours bathing, creaming, perfuming, selecting lingerie as if they are on a highwire and life itself is in the balance. The way girls dress to be desired makes them a latent commodity. It requires only a small change in the mind-set to succumb to the allure of accepting money for sex, and the exchange itself can make the no strings transaction an even greater turn on for both parties.
Big Apple Make Money Dating
After a number of false starts, Ohlala was launched in Berlin in August 2015. After extending to numerous German cities, the app has finally been unveiled in New York where time is short, business rules, and an app where free-thinking girls can make money dating instantly raised $1.7 million in seed money from investors.
The app allows users to hook up with terms agreed by both parties. Guys verified by Ohlala request dates which alert girls in the area who have downloaded the app. Once girls accept a request, the guy can access her profile and message back with a financial incentive.
A central element of Ohlala is connecting users Uber-style in a maximum of 21 minutes, short enough for hot couples to stay hot by the time they meet. The app was designed with women in mind, stresses Pia Poppenreiter, and there are plans to extend the service to allow women to request dates, as well as creating functions for all sexual orientations.
Pia Poppenreiter insists that Ohlala is not an escort agency, but as girls do make money dating, it looks a lot like the app has simply taken the oldest profession off the streets and launched it into cyber space. One of the advantages of Ohlala is that girls, escorts or amateurs, who register, will gain from inbuilt protections such as verifying users through credit cards and IP addresses.
How guys are going to distinguish between professional escorts and gutsy girls with the chutzpah to make money dating is hard to say. But it is a fantasy in every girl’s mind that she will be mistaken for a prostitute, or paid like a prostitute, and it is this fantasy that could see Ohlala going viral.
I downloaded the app, for research purposes only, you understand, but I haven’t had any calls yet. Tempted? Visit Ohlala and decide.
What do you think? Comment and share on FaceBook.
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February 4, 2016
Virgin Orgasm and a Girl’s First Wet Dream
Your first virgin orgasm comes at puberty and strikes like an electric shock, buzzing, shimmering, unexpected. You have opposing feelings of shame and pride, a touch of fear and a tremor of joy. It is overwhelming, mysterious, magical.
Puberty is a metamorphosis. You get longer, thinner, shapelier. You bottom swells like bread in the oven. Breasts pop out from your chest and you wake with damp patches on the bedsheets from wet dreams.
Boys have always been those dull pimply noisy bothersome creatures barging about like dodgems at the funfair, like hornets beneath a grapevine. After your first virgin orgasm, you discover they are not so tiresome after all.
Virgin orgasm comes to girls when their hormones are exploding, that time when your mind is stimulated with so much sexual imagery it goads you into wandering like Alice into a Wonderland where everything is desirable, dreamy, sensual and forbidden.
Victoria’s Secret ads always made you giggle. Now, they make your armpits tingle. You yearn for an uplift bra, knickers the size of postage stamps, suspenders, corsets, masks, a black dress with bare shoulders. You still have an urge to climb trees like a boy but you want to go home, spray yourself in Jo Malone and shimmy like a girl.
Virgin Orgasm & BJs
Sadly, the same for many women as they grow older, a virgin orgasm can be mirage in the desert, a wet dream that turns arid on awakening. It is a force of nature that happens when it happens. If you try too hard or think to deeply about orgasm, like a ghost in daylight, it disappears.
Virgin orgasm like any orgasm must come through natural stimulus, by emptying your mind, relaxing and being open for whatever visions cross the screen of your imagination.
Wet dreams and virgin orgasm is something girls share and compare. A friend of mine told me she had her first virgin orgasm riding her pony. She liked it so much, she went riding every day and is now a champion show jumper. Another girl told me it happened kissing her boyfriend and she thought she’d wet herself.
How do you get a virgin orgasm if you have never dreamed the dream? Imagination and masturbation. Busy fingers can seek out the G-spot and ring the bell of the clitoris without breaking the hymen, a crescent-shaped membrane like the low E-string on a classic guitar, the last impediment between the girl and the woman.
Tongues are even better, wetter, more wily and effective. What girl doesn’t adore cunnilingus? Ask your boyfriend, or girlfriend. You have to give to get and a survey by US-based Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has revealed that two out of three teen girls now practise oral sex, guarding their virginity, while obeying their natural instincts.
One hundred years ago, female orgasm were seen as a form of hysteria and some unfortunates were unlocked away in asylums. We have come a long way. Orgasm is the essence of female pleasure and teens experiencing virgin orgasm are building the foundations of a long and healthy sexual life.
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