Exposition

Taking pictures of yourself with your clothes on is one thing. Start peeling away the layers and the meaning changes depending upon the layer. When you get down to your underwear, you still have something to 'hide' behind (even if it's sheer). But once you decide to go bare assed naked there is only so much you can do to turn a blind eye to what you really are. You can cover yourself up strategically, but who the hell are you kidding? Why take it off in the first place if you're just going to cover it up with something else?

My lover requested me to send topless pictures. A reasonable request I thought, and another opportunity for me to challenge myself and the way I thought about my body. And actually, I realized I didn't really think about my body - and if I did, it was in negative terms. What clothes I could fit into, which ones were too revealing, made me look old or fat. I noticed that in around my house there were no mirrors that showed my body from the chest down, with the exception of my bedroom closet doors - and I never dressed in front of them. Looking back, I realized I had stopped looking at my body from the shoulders down sometime around the time I turned 30. What happened, I wondered to myself ? At this moment I'm still not sure, but somehow I began to discount the importance of that part of my body. And, in retrospect, I realize now that this only contributed to my current dispostion of insecurity, only strengthening that societal notion of self-image I detest and criticize so much.


Now was the time to reverse that hypocrisy, that inherited gene I unconsciously refused to remedy. As I set the timer on my camera, I briefly considered not going through with it. The deed was not yet done, the possibility of anything negative resulting was not yet a possibility. My mind began to posture and justify all sides. I let my physical body continue along its natural path. I began to undress and put mind over matter, paying little mind to the awkwardness of my body and the endless cacophony of cautious and critical whispering in my head. Frame after frame I continued on, until my perception shifted from the consciousness of my body, to the quality of the pictures. I became a photographed object, considering the angle of the camera, the play of the light on the contours of my body, the positioning of my hands and lay of my hair on my shoulders.

This continued night after night, and with each shoot, I began to challenge myself on my comfort level, the familiarity of my hands on my body instead of my eyes, and the feel of the bedding and furry pillows on my thighs and belly. By the fourth night, I'm wet even before I start to set up the camera. My mind raced with thoughts of lust, anticipating the ways I would provide visual pleasure to my lover. Before I knew what was happening, I undressed completely and began to photograph myself. As I reviewed the images, I gasped when I flashed to one dsplaying my body in full view,no panties. I had never photographed my privates before, and only a handful of times actually looked at my pussy in a mirror. Curiously, I wasn't horrified or shocked at all. Maybe I was becoming 'used to' the idea of being 'naughty'. But the reality spoke a much greater truth: I was beginning to rediscover my sensuality openly and freely, without reservation, or analysis.
Another great step toward opening up the doors to my sexual side, the sensual side, the part having been hidden for so long, thus leaving me incomplete as a woman. But not anymore.

Sacredness

He is who he is, someone I hunger for and dare to comprehend. I have not yet spoken his name out loud, due to the effect the actual sound would have upon my being. But in my head and heart his name is like a magical bell sounding, and I am Pavlog's dog, lips wet with anticipation of his awaiting cock. He is like a God to me now, in posession of my body as I act out his instruction to worship it. My hands and fingers become that of my Lover's and the channelling takes place. And even though I am the one performing the actions, I feel true excitement and exhiliration as if I have no knowledge of what's coming. He is magnetic, and now my body feels the pull of his energy drawing me nearer and nearer to him. Eyes closed the fantasy takes over, he pleases me in ways no man has ever pleased me. Tracing down from my parted lips, down my neck, between my breasts down to my pleasure place. Fingers deep inside of me knowing exactly the countours of my pussy and where to stimulate me to climax. With his other hand he takes my ample breasts one at a time, gently pinching and rolling my nipples until they stand hard and erect like soldiers at attention. My hair spills around my face and shoulders, my body convulses in orgasm as I cum violently over and over in waves, my eyes wild with lust and abandon. As they lessen in intensity, the image of his face floats before me like a vision. The hypnotic color of his eyes are like a stormy lagoon soon to be peaceful again. I am spent like never before, my pussy dripping with wetness.

I Am Haunted

Today I could only think of my cyberspace lover. Somehow my mind and body has been abducted, my thoughts infiltrated with questions and scenarios born of my own imagination. I am split in two: part of me waits like a gloating know-it-all, expecting the worse possible consequence as a result of last night's indulgence - being lured into a trap or otherwise taken advantage of. The other part of me longs to bring the cyber world into reality and contemplating in angst the various ways to achieve it.

This personal civil war continued throught the day, and between trying to look busy and not bewildered by lust, I sat at my desk and thought of our cyber chat. What struck me the most is not being able to remember everything that was said, but remembering everything I felt. How my heart raced, my fingers trembled, and the chill that fluttered through my veins like a frozen butterfly. Crotch of my black panties soaked with my own ample moisture and light sweat, and the way my clit pulsed with ecstasy, rippling through to my thighs.

Sitting there at work in my cubicle, I felt like Eve displaced and exposed after eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

But I wanted to know more. I tried to imagine a litany of things. The sound of his voice, the cadence of his speech, his solid chest, the temperature of his erect penis and the feel of his hand in mine. And how it came to be that his existence would permeate so throughly into my consciousness and linger. I was arrested by the notion that somehow this man reached my tome of hidden thoughts, scribed long ago and stored - nearly forgotten wants I never dared ask a lover for. But this man knew. Without ever having met me.

to be continued...

Cybersex

Up until now I thought cybersex was something that other people did. Well there is a first time for everything, and now I have crossed that line between me and 'other people'. Now I am 'other people'. Not sure what to make of this. I'll need to do the math on this and meditate to figure this one out. On the one hand it's not as complicated as it seems. on the other hand, the one rooted in reality, being married complicates things for me. Technically one could say I've ventured into internet adultery. That concept seems a bit silly to me on first inspection. That would make fantasy suspect, whether or not it was a secret fantasy or not.

But aside from complications...
It was exhilirating. And interesting. Obviously I knew what to expect, but how it happened was entirely new and unexpected. My internet lover guided me through nuances of our chat, asking me questions and getting to know me by exploring my sexual needs and wants. I felt out of place and skeptical in the beginning, but I chalked it up to inexperience and stayed the course. Soon I transformed from an unsure and somewhat uncomfortable disposition to a natural one, relishing in the telling of my technique for orally arousing my lover. It felt good, but not like the way being 'bad' feels good. Like taking the photos of myself, this new experience challenged me in ways I'd never considered. I felt naughty, but validated. I'm a deep well of intimate secrets, some that I keep hidden from myself, most notable my sexual appetite. I'm in recovery from codependency, so it's been easy for me to justify a sex life fallen shy of my expectations. But over the last couple of years, I've gotten better, and come to terms with my sexual needs. So in secret, that is without my husband's knowledge for the most part, I've been exploring internet porn, women's erotica, erotic writings and fleshing out my own erotic fantasy in prose.

So this cyber experience...hmmm.

to be continued.

Pictures of me

So today I did something that I've NEVER ever done and didn't really consider. I photographed myself and sent the pictures to someone I met on the internet. GASP! right? That's what the mother in all of us (men included) initially say. But I stepped back and really thought about it just for a spell, just to take it for what it's worth, an experience really. An entry on my secret 'bucket list'. Something that my inner Anais Nin has always wanted to do.

They weren't nasty, in my opinion. Just a little cleavage - enough for me to feel like I'd taken a bit of a risk just enough to be controversial enough for myself. I considered the recipient, what the action meant and if I really was going to do it so much so that I could hardly sleep last night. It penetrated my thoughts and wouldn't leave me be to rest. The entire prospect was exciting, sexually. And even though I had taken measure to alleviate my disposition in the cover of darkness, the next morning before, after and during my mini-photo shoot, the crotch of my panties, were drenched. Even through my jeans. That's never happened to me before. Through all my considerations the previous day, I had no idea the effect photographing my own body, or even thinking about its intentioned purpose would have this kind of effect upon me. It was dangerous and exhilirating, like the first time I rode a motorcycle. Felt forbidden, but triumphal.

Throughout the whole day, I felt beautiful, alive and wildly primal in that 'just been fucked' kind of way. I wondered whether people noticed me, if they could smell my sex underneath the perfume I wore. Could anyone tell how wet I was? I looked at other drivers and people on the street as I drove around on an errand wondering why people don't consider their own beauty for what it really is. We're taught that somehow, and as you go through the milestones age brings along, like puberty, adulthood, marriage, the meaning of self changes as beauty turns perverse with age. It becomes sexy - but only for a while, then it becomes sleazy if perpetuated. Fuck that.

So cross that one off my secret bucket list. I think Anais would be proud.

First Post

Writing erotica came to me rather naturally. I started when I was about 15, before I even knew about the genre. Back then it was an outlet, and I thought nothing of materializing my fantasies to prose. They were dreams, projections and possibly future goals of the kind of life I wanted. Promises of what could be -well maybe not promises...

So the name of this blog... My sun is in Pisces and my rising sign is Aries. Which means I'm a dreamer, lover of all things needy, and the best and worst of all the zodiac signs - I've heard it referred to as "the dust bin of the zodiac". But on the outside, I act like an Aries. I want to be first, to conquer and make the world right. I'm adventurous, compassionate and insanely jealous to a fault....until another muse comes along to lift my crushed spirit. Like a small child on a playground - that's me.

So this blog is my playground. I hope you have fun. :-)