First Blowjob

Still waiting for the go-ahead on a big new project, feeling fidgety, finding things to do.

Flicking through the porn site and its millions of near-identical videos, searching for the unexpected. Turning to an old standby, the casting interview. A small room with a desk and a woman sitting on a black sofa, the interviewer explaining, do as I say, I’m the male model for the day, we’ll film it, I’ll send off the video, if the producers like it you’ll be paid between one and five thousand a day.

The woman, smartly dressed, brunette, blushing, agreeing. The interviewer asking, so, how old were you when you gave your first blowjob? The woman responding, actually I never have. The interviewer proceeding with the next question, stopping, pausing, hey, let’s rewind a bit here, did you say you’d never given a blowjob, I can’t believe it. The woman embarrassed, sorry, it’s true, it just never came up.

The interviewer rearranging things on his desk, gathering his thoughts. Well, listen, you’re going to have to get used to it, it’s part of the adult industry, it’s standard. You okay with that? The woman still blushing slightly, nodding. Okay, let’s get started.

The interviewer removing his clothes, pointing his cock at the woman, okay, I want you to lick the tip until I go hard and then put it in your mouth. The woman’s hand reaching out tentatively, taking the cock, hesitating, deciding, touching it with her lips, then with her tongue, then letting it into her mouth.

The interviewer handing her the camera, telling her, I want you to film yourself doing that, you can see what you’re videoing on the screen over there. The camera handed over, the picture moving haphazardly, then settling on her face, the woman looking at the screen to get the right angle. Taking the cock back in her mouth, studying herself on the screen, her eyes widening slightly as if surprised.

A slight smile appearing, self-conscious but interested. The interviewer saying, you’re turned on by doing it on camera, aren’t you? The woman nodding, smiling more, becoming less embarrassed. Her hand working the cock, occasionally taking it out of her mouth, licking it, taking it back in, all the while studying herself on the screen. On her face, a sense of growing acceptance, recognition of alluring she looks.

The man’s breathing becoming tighter in the background, oh yes baby, just like that. The woman continuing, mesmerized by the picture of herself. A sudden stillness, the woman’s eyes losing focus, her face stiffening, the man groaning, the camera shaking. Hold it still, baby, hold it still.

The picture steadying on the woman’s face. The cock withdrawing, white juices dribbling. The woman gulping. Looking upward at the man, smiling, ooh well, I guess I’ve just given my first blowjob.

Genuine Nymphomaniac

Three men and a woman sitting around a table having lunch, strong French sun shining through open patio doors, wine bottles and glasses and a meal's detritus all around.

One of the men talking, okay, I’ll do as you asked, explain about my girlfriend right here in front of her, she’s a genuine nymphomaniac, isn’t that right cherie. The woman slightly bashful, nodding, reaching for his hand, clasping it.

The man continuing, like I told you, it sounds good and it is for a while but I can’t satisfy her, ten minutes after sex she needs it again, and then again, so eventually I said I’d bring some friends to help.

The other two men only peripherally in shot, shuffling, embarrassed. The first man continuing, also, I’ve set up a video camera, it’s running now, I want to film the action, my girlfriend wants to watch it afterwards. Silence. Then, okay, let’s stop talking and get started.

The two visitors making their way to a sitting room hesitantly, the woman leading them on. The videocamera unsteadily following. One man kissing her fully on the mouth. Her body undergoing an instantaneous transformation, folding into him, surrendering, his touch sufficient to conquer her.

The second visitor stroking her thighs, unbuttoning her shorts. Soft groans from her at each new contact with her skin. All clothes removed. Her mouth reaching hungrily for lips or cocks. Her body compliant to every suggestion, bending itself to instruction, orifices yielding to tongue or fingers or cock’s penetration. The videocamera changing angles, recording fresh intimacies, new facial responses.

One of the guests walking away to fetch a drink. The other settling into steady sexual grinding. The woman with unbelievable quickness stiffening, squirming, quivering, face in a rictus, voice in a soft scream. Pulling suddenly away from the penetration, turning, hugging the man’s torso. Her boyfriend making a joke. Everyone laughing, the woman’s face lighting up.

The other guest returning, sitting on a sofa. The woman going to his side, stroking his cock, climbing astride him, guiding him into her. Her body quickly stiffening again, the same pattern, a wrenching orgasm.

Watching on my computer, one of millions of free videos. Her orgasms far different from standard pornstar simulation. Erotic in many ways, utterly authentic, but something strange, yes, that’s it, she’s a slave to this, captured by her own body.

Thinking, well we’re all slaves to our bodies, we all do what we can.

Woman’s Authentic Orgasm

The scene, a railway station in France, a train pulling in noisily. Stepping along the platform, a businesswoman holding an umbrella against the rain. A second woman approaching her, words exchanged, smiles of affirmation, cheeks kissed in greeting, the two walking together toward the camera.

Climbing into a car, chatting. The second woman’s voice soft and encouraging. The businesswoman’s initial slight tenseness beginning to relax. No, she hasn’t done anything like this before. Why’s she doing it, she’s not sure, just needs a little excitement. Yes, it’s fine to film. A shy defiant smile.

The women walking into an apartment, down some stairs, into a basement. Three men standing against a wall, naked bar white towels around their waists. The businesswoman’s clothes removed by the second woman, folded, stacked on a chair. The businesswoman’s hands covering her breasts and pubis.

The second woman taking her by the hands, her body now fully revealed. The body of a woman you’d meet every day, not excessively athletic or sculpted or skinny, or anything like a pornstar.

The woman being led to a metal table, padded on top, equipped with straps. The businesswoman lying on her back, submitting her hands and legs. The straps being tied. Her legs raised behind her, ankles near her ears. Her head leaning backward, immobile in a padded clamp. Her hips just protruding over the table’s edge. Adjustments made, wider to spread her. The camera lingering on her exposed privacy.

The men discarding their towels, approaching the table, stroking the woman’s body. One placing his cock against her lips. Her tongue licking it, her mouth opening, the cock going deeper. Another kneeling between her legs, licking.

The woman’s hips starting to move in ancient sexual rhythm. Momentum gathering. Her mouth releasing the cock, her body becoming absorbed into the cunnilingus. Her eyes closing, eyelids fluttering. Her lips and forehead clenching slightly. A low moan issuing. Her hips moving faster. The man’s face between her legs looking up at her face. The other men stepping aside, enjoying the moment, hands caressing the woman’s breasts.

The woman’s body stiffening. Her face softening, withdrawing into itself. Her hips lifting and holding. The low moan becoming more of a pant. Her eyes widening, staring at the nothingness of the ceiling. A sudden stillness, then her face breaking into a shy smile.

The men caressing her, positioning for penetration on the screen before me. My finger however clicking the stop button. An glimpse of a woman’s authentic orgasm, it doesn’t get any better than that, rather just enjoy the moment.

Porn, Reliable Standby

Another day dawning and still out of sorts, Carol in my mind like a virus that won’t shift. Sexual restlessness compounding the malaise.

Turning to porn, reliable standby, mood lightened by its refreshing shallowness. My preferred website reassuringly familiar. Over the last month, a few thousand new porn postings, each with preview photos, all free, just click, settle back, enjoy.

Checking some out. Tons of bimbos with false boobs and choreographed ecstasy. Quickly paging past them, in search of authenticity or imagination.

Finally, finding something. French, often the best porn. A woman collected from a Metro. Smartly dressed. Seemingly excited but not overawed. Friendly chat. The interviewer checking that she knows what’s planned, a session of debauchery, a young stud waiting in the apartment. Her shoulders in a Gallic shrug, sure, as we arranged on the telephone.

In the apartment, the woman sitting on a sofa, facing forward towards the camera, discussing her sexual situation and preferences. Her eyes distracted leftwards, widening, looking back, smiling, continuing to talk. A man entering the scene, naked, standing next to her. Her hand reaching out, stroking his flank, moving to his cock, taking it in her hand, still talking.

The man pressing toward her face. The woman turning, pushing out her tongue to touch his cock. Her eyes looking sideways, seeing herself on a television playback of the scene. Taking the cock deeper in her mouth, still looking at the scene. The man silent and passive, nothing more than a prop, provider of an erection.

The woman standing, removing her clothes. The man turning her round, bending her over, separating her buttocks, spreading her pussy’s lips, licking her clitoris. The woman arching her back down for a wider spread, shoulders low. The camera panning to her face. Her eyes checking the playback, studying it, skin flushed in excitement.

The camera moving back. The man’s hands on her buttocks stretching her sphincter, ramming his tongue deep inside. Her eyes shutting, her mouth slightly gasping. Her hand moving between her legs, stroking her clitoris, rocking her hips.

The scene continuing. Me, watching, hand on cock. The woman opening her eyes, looking at the camera, straight at me. Suddenly, the excitement exploding, tension leaving my body like the spark of static. Quiet for a moment. Then wiping with a tissue, closing down the site, collecting myself, feeling better.

Like A Child Unwrapping Presents

No response from Carol, understandable enough, no point in saying it’s over and then exchanging endless emails.

My mood listless and disengaged. My body’s hormones continuing their own restless dynamic, pressing for relief. Pornography providing some distraction, but the pressures quickly rebuilding. A familiar pattern, learned of old, only one cure, the touch of a woman’s skin.

Ringing Jenny, no answer, maybe she’s left London, maybe she’s in Budapest to see her children. Maybe she’s with a client, never mind, I know that but prefer not to think too closely about it. Ringing later, still no answer.

Opening up the escort website, logging in, clicking a search already configured for my preferences. Female escort, no bareback, too much risk to her and hence to me, and in addition, unattractively stupid. Likes oral without condom, likes anal play, not necessarily things I actually want to do, just don’t like being too conscious of no-go areas. Maximum distance ten miles.

The search results filling the screen. One hundred and twenty four escorts, each with a photograph, click it and the profile loads up. Sitting at my desk, surveying the choices, enjoying the moment. So many new women since I was last on the site, I suddenly feel like a child unwrapping presents.

LouLou24, pretty, curvy, English. I came down from Birmingham to stay with a friend and she was earning money as an escort so I thought I’d try it, discovered I like it, especially if you’re a clean and gentle man. Specialist in blowjobs. Play with my body, then give me your load in my mouth, I love the taste. This week, only fifty pounds for half an hour. Ring my number below, do it now darling.

SexyGirlNZ, 30, staying in London for a year, left my boyfriend back home in New Zealand, looking for men to look after my needs. Love sex in all three holes, anal an extra thirty pounds, only if you’re not too big. We can try it and if I decide it’s too tight you can have your money back. Like doggy but also happy with any other position. Sixty pounds for thirty minutes.

Whiling away a happy hour with these and other profiles, half-tempted to arrange a visit, but not yet feeling quite ready for that, maybe I’ll let the sense of Carol subside a bit more first.

Amateur, Anal, Blowjob, Group

Delving through the porn videos, finding nothing erotic so far.

Contemplating the site’s logistics. Each video advertising itself with a photo, scroll over it and it flashes photos like a carousel, snippets of the action. Enough to get a sense of whether it’s what you might be after. Click on one, try it, get drawn into it or move on.

Nearly all of them, rotation through rote positions. The actors, plastic. Sufficient for po-faced critics denounce the form, a logic that would pick up a book, find it to be pulp fiction, therefore denounce literature. You want to tell them, lighten up dammit, it’s not the dross that matters it’s the good stuff. But it’s the finding of the good stuff that’s difficult.

Forty videos on a page, most recent postings first. Quick arithmetic, three hundred posted every day. And all for free. And all for me.

Down the left, filters to let you find what you want. Amateur, Anal, Blowjob, Group, so on. About fifty categories. I wonder how much they’re used. Me, I prefer not to be prescriptive, I like surfing them all, looking to be surprised.

Flicking through the pages, alighting on one, looks interesting. The photos showing a woman with spectacles, smiling at the camera, slightly shy.

Clicking the video, finding myself being drawn in. That distinctive mental click, a switch turning on, a slight breathlessness, The video showing normal people, the woman different from the usual silicone pornstar masquerading as amateur. Unsure what to do, taking directions from the more experienced among them. Excited by the presence of the camera. Slightly breathless, like me, and prone to giggling.

The woman removing her top, sliding out of jeans. The men doing similar. Clothes discarded in piles, kicked out of the camera’s vision. One man kneeling between her legs, licking her, the woman gasping. The other man taking a second camera, filming from a different angle, turning to film the first camera, turns out it’s being operated by a woman. My screen showing both films edited into a video.

The dynamic developing, all four taking turns filming the others. Their individualities developing through the action, their secret sexual urges enacted. One man unable to hold back, exploding, the woman’s face round his cock widening its eyes, smiling, pulling back, the sperm dribbling on to her cheek. The other couple laughing, clapping. The video ending. Exciting, enticing porn.

Everything Utterly Different

A business deadline looming and a lot of work to do, a decade ago it would have taken weeks and required endless travel, today it’s just a question of staying organized, using the internet. Comments on a document here, an email there, a spreadsheet here, and it all comes together.

Reaching a breakpoint, making a cup of tea, spring sunshine filling the kitchen. Checking my secret email account, seeing one from Carol.

Hi R, just to say thanks for a fun morning, thought I’d try the email address you gave me, I’ve just set up a secret one for myself, good idea, protects against curious eyes and ears, much better than a cellphone. Also, just wanted to let you know, forgot to mention it, I was too engrossed in our conversation, I’m actually away in Mexico for ten days or so, helping out with an archeological dig, maybe it’d be okay to contact you when I get back. Please reply – I want to be sure my new email address is working. Carol xxx.

Emailing her, hi Carol, got your email, have a great time in Mexico, sounds exciting, yes, email me when you get back, R xxx.

Sipping my tea, enjoying the kitchen’s sunshine warmth. Pondering the joys of technology. Carol will probably pick up my email somewhere in Mexico. Jane will email some time, let me know how things are going in Australia. Different secret worlds, each in its separate domain, kept effortlessly separate. A few years ago, a world of landline phones, no emails, no internet, and the secret worlds would have collided. Today, everything utterly different.

Firing up the escort website, just for the devil of it. The screen filling with profiles and photos, vistas of blowjobs and anal ecstasy and pussy delights. A rumbustious and unashamed purveyance of pleasure. Proved in my own experience to be highly effective in delivery. A few years ago, no such thing existed, if you wanted any of this you’d have to wade first through streetcorner sleaze and predatory pimps.

Switching to a porn website, again, just for the devil of it. Surveying the thousands of new videos, thinking of clicking one, not in the mood, maybe later.

Thinking, if all this didn’t exist, the pressures would just build and build, eventually explode, like my first marriage. Interesting, maybe I’d still be with her if I could have done what I can do now. I wonder how many marriages all this technology is saving today.

La Fellation, la Sodomie

Three men joking and chatting in French, the windows and furniture giving the room a Mediterranean feel. A knock on the door, one of them getting up to open it, giving a warm welcome, bringing a woman inside.

All the men standing, kissing her cheeks, enquiring about her journey. The woman smiling, occasionally laughing, a bit too readily, as if released from a nervousness about how pleased the men would be to see her. Sitting on the sofa, accepting the offer of a glass of water. Looking at the camera occasionally, giving it a special smile, acknowledging its presence.

The scene unfolding on the screen before me. Its sexuality, distinctively French. The sense of fierce rectitude, happily coexisting with utter debauchery. In the culture, also in the head of one person, as with her.

The woman neatly and demurely dressed, soft hair curls, spectacles of perfect proportion. The men asking her questions about sex, not in prurient interrogation, more in the way of trying to understand. The woman thinking, blushing, answering. The men sympathetic, encouraging. No sense of intimidation from them, or of fabrication from her.

What’s your husband think of you coming here? How often do you give him la fellation. Do you enjoy it? Do you like la sodomie? The questions flowing, the woman thinking, answering, laughing. The humor in her face containing an edge of defiance, as if saying, well, if I’m going to be here, might as well not hold back.

One of the men taking her hand, helping her out of the sofa, turning her round, lifting her skirt, showing the camera her bottom. Pulling aside her thong, pulling her cheeks apart, showing a neat pussy and delicate sphincter. The camera panning to the woman’s face, the woman acknowledging with a smile.

The three men and the woman stripping off their clothes. The woman lying on the sofa, one man kneeling between her legs, licking her. The woman’s whole body flushing, her breathing becoming shallower, words when uttered coming out in a mumble. A sense of being continuously on the edge of climax. A combination of intense intimacy and erotic charge.

A man’s condomed cock entering her. Her hand holding another cock. The third man holding his cock near her face, her mouth drawing to it without thought, her lips caressing its tip. The scene continuing, lovers making love, talking, smiling, the men showing small gallantries. Changing position, making love again.

After a while, too much for one of the men, his body stiffening into her, releasing. The woman looking up at him, smiling, strong in this affirmation of her power.

Unremarkable Everyday Event

Walking into the room, a student pad, two young men, chatting. Satchels discarded on the floor. A kettle being filled and turned on. One of the men taking a book out of a satchel, putting on spectacles, opening the book, pointing to something inside, reading it, making some point. His friend, slightly older, more savvy somehow, responding. The kettle starting to boil.

The door opening again, a woman coming in. The man in spectacles being introduced. A smile from the woman, oh, this is the friend you were telling me about, the lonely one. Taking his hand, leading him to the sofa, kissing his cheek. Clattering in the background of tea being made.

The angle of view unchanging, from a fixed camera mounting. Acoustics just about okay. The effect on my computer screen being that of witnessing an unremarkable everyday event, one however normally kept private, the sharing of it containing an edge of excitement.

The woman still holding the man’s hand, stroking it. Let me read your palm, honey, yes, it’s telling me what I could see when I walked into the room, and what your friend told me, you need some stress relief, honey. Patting her thigh. Come lie down here honey.

The man hesitant. Come on honey. Pulling him gently down. His legs now outstretched on the sofa, his head using her thigh as a pillow. The woman’s fingers stroking his hair, rubbing his temples gently, touching his ears, kneading his neck and shoulders. The man’s body relaxing.

Her hands moving over his chest, massaging his thighs. A small murmur of pleasure from him. Undoing his belt, unbuttoning the trousers, unzipping the fly. Her hand feeling inside, a gasp of mock astonishment at the object found within. Pulling out his cock, another mock gasp at its magnificence.

The man’s eyes half-closed in pleasure. She looking at him fondly, one hand stoking his hair, the other working his cock. Her smiling sexual detachment, her matter-of-fact acceptance of male need, containing an intense erotic charge for the man, and for me.

His body starting to stiffen slightly. Her face turning to watch his cock. Her hand continuing its steady motion. A slow mounting groan from him, his legs straightening into rigidity. His body convulsing. His cock spewing its white fluid, the woman watching expertly.

The woman leaning down, giving him a kiss on the forehead, sliding out from under his head, passing him a cushion, going to the kitchen for a paper towel to wipe up. The man’s body untightening, his head sinking back in peace.

True Sexual Character

The woman on the screen removing her teeshirt, peeling off her jeans, folding them, setting them aside on the arm of the sofa in a neat pile, efficiently, like a mother. Unhooking her bra, putting it on the pile. Now completely naked.

The interviewer instructing, stand up baby. The woman doing so. Turn around. Bend down over the sofa, yes that’s right, okay, put your hands on your cheeks, pull them apart. Hey what a pretty little pussy. Pull your ass apart baby, yes that’s right, the boys are going to love that. Okay turn around, lie back, relax, now I want you to play with yourself.

The woman lying back, opening her legs, stroking herself with her hands, a practiced and unembarrassed motion.

The interviewer asking, how often do you masturbate baby? Oh, most days. When did you start doing that, how old were you? The questions continuing, the woman answering.

The situation, the woman, her veracity, exceeding the capacity of the conventional porno form, transcending it. Differing completely from its usual fraudulent stereotype, every woman a nymphomaniac. . Here on the screen before me, a rare treasure, the sense of a woman’s true sexual character, alive, breathing, uncontrived.

Two naked men walking into the room, sitting next to the woman, kissing her. The porn moving into autopilot. Sucking, entering, a rotation through various positions. The unique sexual woman reduced to merchandise.

But her confidences still leaving an imprint, an enduring erotic tingle. Always the most deeply sexual thing, when a woman allows her public face to fall away. A face carefully cultivated from girlhood to shield against boys in the playground, retained in adulthood as guard against imputation of cheapness. Only set aside for lovers, and not always then. Or as here, rarely, on the screen.

Watching her, naked with the men, penetrated. Thinking, the nakedness and penetration when she shared her secrets, they were the more profound, they had the sharper erotic electricity.

Imagining It’s Their Cock

A woman invited into a small office, asked to sit on a black sofa. The camera panning her face, shoulders, clothes, legs, back to face. The man’s voice asking, do you know why you’re here. The woman smiling, yes, sure. Why are you here? To have sex. What kind of sex? Oh, I don’t know, any kind, I’m broadminded.

This porn video, a favorite format, the interview. Her words clearly unscripted, thus showing something of herself, thus separating her from silicon bimbosity. A real, warm human being filling the screen before me.

Have you had sex on camera before? No. Why do you want to do it now? Mmmm, I guess, it’s something I always secretly wanted to do, now the chance came up. Why have you always secretly wanted to do it? Um, um, I like the thought of men watching me on the screen, masturbating, imagining it’s their cock inside me.

The woman smiling at the camera, slightly abashed, but undaunted.

How many men have you had sex with? Oh, about, let me think, twenty, maybe thirty. Have you ever done it for money? No, well, actually, yes, once. When was that, what did you do? It’s a long story. Never mind, go ahead.

Um, it was years and years ago, I was about eighteen, working at a bar, around midnight we were closing, the boss came to me, said he was letting a few businessmen have some more drinks, would I stay to help. I said okay. Then he said they might pay if I treated them well.

Another half-embarrassed smile at the camera.

Anyway, there were four of them, and um, I seemed to know exactly what to do, like it was natural, I stroked their crotches, got their cocks out, started sucking. When I was finished I’d made more money in thirty minutes than I had for working my normal eight hour shift.

Did you enjoy doing that? Yes, I did, I think I’m a natural slut. Did you just suck them, or did you take off your clothes? No, my clothes stayed on, but they reached down my teeshirt, fondled my nipples. Also while I was squatting down, sucking, one of the men lay underneath so I was sitting on his face, and he pulled my panties aside.

Did you enjoy that? Yes. How did it finish? Each man had an orgasm. How? Um, let me try to remember. I think the first came in my mouth, yes, that's right. The second one, um, yes, he sprayed all over my face. The third one went to get a condom from the mensroom, entered me from behind, I was bent over a table, he came within about ten seconds. Then the fourth decided to do the same. By this time my boss was horny too, so I sucked him off, he came in my mouth.

Okay baby, that’s good, that’s enough talking, let’s see your body.

On the screen before me, the woman starting to peel off her teeshirt.

Raw Sexual Subculture

Walking through the local park, thinking about Jane’s email. Strange how she’s picking on the same thing preoccupying me, our culture’s crass mishandling of sexual matters. Everything divided into false pigeonholes. Neatly labeled. Sowing wild oats. Settling down. In love. Wedding. Happily married. Midlife crisis. Divorce. Remarry. Get old. Die.

All harmless enough, if vacuous. The trouble is, as Jane says, life imitates. Even if you yourself shy away from the fatuities, others won’t, the false cultural construct still shapes their minds, forms their expectations. So you either conform, living a lie. Or you rebel and explain, causing incomprehension and pain. Or you rebel and lie.

In the park, a mother and grandmother chatting, smiling, a doll in a pushchair, the child pushing. A sacred triangular relationship. No such wrenching disjunction between life and culture there, they’re behaving with sweet naturalness, and exactly in line with their assigned roles.

Maybe it’s in the nature of sex, it’s just too feral, it can’t be culturally captured, domesticated. As Jane says, Dionysian abandon versus Apollonian order, with cultural mendacities inclining toward Apollo. Culture thereby spinning to oblivion. Thereby leaving a vacuum.

There’s the rub, the deep pulsing heart of sex won’t go away, it pushes through the falsehoods, filling the vacuum. A new raw sexual subculture. Thousands of new porn videos a day, free for all to see on the internet. Oral sex, anal sex, orgies. French sex, German sex, Russian sex. Outdoor, lesbian, cartoon. Each watched hundreds of thousands or millions of times.

Forget novels, plays, journals. Watch a porn movie instead. Or lay out the cost of a theatre ticket and try a multi-sensory immersive participative experience, half an hour with an escort, no longueurs.

Fine for men, I wonder what women do. Most seem to find porn boring, the number of escorts offering services to women is insignificant. Maybe they’re like those people I saw, grandmother, mother, child, maybe sex isn’t important to them. Could that be right? Those people certainly made a very picture of unsexual familial happiness so beloved of, what was Jane’s expression, social mores.

Maybe for some, but that doesn’t apply to Jane. She can’t be the only one. You sense a great ocean of female sexual unhappiness corresponding to men’s. Well, women’s problems, not for me to solve, I wouldn’t be that presumptuous. And vice versa, hopefully.

Walking under the trees, feeling connected with Jane, kindred hearts thousands of miles apart. I hope she finds a way forward, maybe finds a lover like she plans, that would be wonderful.

Sexy Hot Midwinter Sunshine

Wintry London weather outside. On my screen, a hot summer day. A film crew trekking along a Mediterranean coastal path, sunlight filling the air. Their route taking them through sandy patches and sparse vegetation, chalk cliffs behind falling into dark blue sea.

The videocamera tracking a woman in skimpy denim shorts, bikini top, sandals. A man occasionally walking with her, taking her hand, chatting, consulting, turning back to join the main group.

A suitable spot found and picnic rug spread. The woman lying on it, waiting. The crew getting on with tasks, unpacking tripods, cameras, reflective umbrellas. All this taking place in the background, the videocamera staying on the woman, now removing her top. Lying on her back, legs in air, undoing her shorts, pulling them down, only a bikini thong underneath.

Catching sight of the videocamera, smiling, adopting a burlesque, legs deliciously straight, brought up, kissing the tops of her feet, hands peeling off the shorts and thong. Her pussy and sphincter pointing straight at the videocamera and the sunshine. The position held for long moments, soaking up the sun’s rays, luxuriating in its warmth.

Throwing aside the shorts. Taking her feet in her hands, pulling them wide apart, a yoga stretch. Running her hands down her legs. Reaching the hollows each side of her pussy, pulling at them, separating her lips. Bending her knees, lifting her hips slightly, stretching her pussy wider.

Breaking the spell suddenly, looking sideways at the videocamera, checking it’s still running. Smiling, resuming the burlesque. Turning, stretching, catlike, on her stomach, lifting her bottom in the air, separating her knees, arching her back inwards. Her pussy and sphincter again on display, basking in sunshine. Her fingers reaching for her clitoris, stroking. An immediate exaggerated orgasm, porn style. Looking again at the videocamera, laughing, sticking out her tongue. Resuming a normal pose, sitting on the blanket, videocamera antics forgotten, back to being a regular woman.

The camera crew’s preparations complete, the woman now surrounded by make-up artists, lightmeter readers, wardrobe assistants. Fashion shoot commencing. The videocamera stopping.

A Mediterranean scene to put sexy hot sunshine in my wintery London day. The woman’s humour shining through, an exact parody, skewering porn whilst somehow transcending it, a blast of sexual intensity coming from nowhere, just as sometimes happens in everyday life, if you’re lucky.

Authentic Porn

A slim, smiling woman opening the door to an athletic youngster coming to see about lodging in a spare room. The woman explaining that the house has been empty for six months since her husband passed away.

The two sitting around a kitchen table, she pouring tea. Telling him about rent, and what is included. Suddenly shy. Saying, there are some extra things that are included if you want. What sort of things? Well, I haven’t had a man for two years, that’s when my husband got sick, I wouldn’t mind it if you want to get me started again.

The camera switching from her face to his. I guess I’d better have a test run, see what I’m getting. The woman standing, the man’s hand stroking her thigh. The woman gasping slightly, the sound of surrender after long denial. The man gently sliding down her panties, leaning her forward slightly, pulling her cheeks apart, spreading her pussy and sphincter.

The woman’s hands reaching back to help, pulling her cheeks wider, freeing the man’s hands to stroke her. Gently massaging her clitoris, moving to her opening, inserting his fingertip, smiling, my, you’re very wet. Both laughing, the wetness like an erection conferring shared intimate knowledge.

The camera panning to her face. Eyes closed, lost in the physical moment. Breathing with shallow irregular gasps, as if on the edge of implosion. The camera sweeping over her tight white skin, moles, breasts, nipples, curve of her buttock. Moving behind, her spread cheeks filling the screen. The man tonguing her sphincter, stroking her pussy.

Changing positions, the woman pulling down the man’s jeans. His cock full but not yet hard. She contemplating it slowly, reacquainting with something cherished and familiar but long absent. Taking it into her mouth. The cock gradually stiffening. The woman removing it from her mouth, oh my, I’ve got a good one here, sucking it again.

The scene playing on my screen, and too much for me. A tracer arc of sperm, my whole body in a vortex, a groan of relief. Collapsing into a chair, momentarily comatose.

Regathering. Okay, quick clean up. Stop the video, save it to favorites, I can finish it some other time, but probably won’t, you can’t normally recover that first sharp excitement of encountering a new sexual personality. Sanitize the computer. Okay, the day can start now.

Changing Sexual Times

A cycle ride to Greenwich, a teenage haunt, and on to Blackheath. Keeping on watch for a particular corner shop, one visited many times. There it is, but look, it’s changed, it’s now a hairdresser.

Well, that’s not it was when I was a teenager. In those days, sweets and newspapers adorned its shelves. On the top row, very interesting magazines. Every few weeks, summoning courage, entering the shop with studied nonchalance, noticing with hammy unexpectedness something that looks interesting, pulling down a magazine, studying it as if with detached amusement, replacing it, selecting another.

Doing this for as long as I could get away with. A complex calculation, if the shop was uncrowded you’d get the shopkeeper’s attention, if it was crowded there were too many people who could see what you were doing.

Eventually, buying one. To add to my collection, each one lovingly thumbed, each one with favorite women in favorite poses, each one fuel for countless masturbatory adventures. But each one also posing a problem, where to keep it. My hidey-hole, under an attic floorboard, hard to find and just about possible to disown.

Cute, innocent times. Now, no need for anyone to see you when you buy, in fact, no need to buy, it’s free. Three clicks of the mouse and you’re in your preferred site, and in your preferred niche in it. As much time as you want, no need to worry about a shopkeeper’s raised eyebrow. No limitation to five or six titles, the choice is never-ending. Videos rather than photos, No reining back to please prying censors.

Afterwards, run a free program downloaded for the purpose, to sanitize your computer. All records, browsing history, files, obliterated. The invisible files left behind by the computer's operating system, nuked, you can choose the same security setting as that used by the Pentagon. After a while, the sanitization an automatic habit. Saves embarrassing discoveries and allows everyone to sustain the fiction that you’re one of those mythical men that never watch porn.

Oh look, ten miles gone by without noticing, well, interesting thoughts, the world’s moved on.

Sexual Surrender

A stunning woman walking onto the screen, looking shyly at the other people in the room. Requested to sit on the sofa. Doing so with unaffected balletic grace. The camera panning in to her face. Flawless skin, delicate nose, cupid lips, luxuriant dark curls.

The interviewer welcoming her, his words translated by a female assistant. Asking introductory questions. Normal job, dance trainer. Does your boyfriend know you’re here? Yes. Why are you here? To do a photoshoot. Do you know what sort of photos? Shrug of shoulders.

The woman invited to inspect a magazine, that’s the sort of photo we do. The woman picking up the magazine, flicking through it, stiffening in surprise, almost dropping it, pushing it awkwardly aside. Sorry, been some kind of mistake, that’s not what I want. Recovering her composure with impressive quickness. Politely saying goodbye. Leaving.

The scene spiraling away, transitioning to another, same sofa, same woman, different clothes, different season’s light in the air. Her beauty still radiant. The interviewer’s voice, hello, you’re back. Embarrassed smile from her. So now you want to have those photos taken? Prolonged exchange between translator and the woman, two sympathetic women’s voices. Then the translator, she says she’s thought about it and wants to do it, she needs the money. Okay, ask her to take her clothes off.

The woman standing, unzipping her dress from behind, lowering it, stepping out of it, folding it, putting it aside. Quickly removing her underclothes, putting them neatly on the dress.

The scene shifting to the bedroom. The naked woman on the bed. The interviewer, also naked, kissing her nipples. The tiniest quiver rippling through her body. The man moving down, gently parting her legs, lifting her knees, licking her. A soft gasping sound, intaken breath. Her back arching slightly in whole-body surprise. Settling.

Changing position. He on his back, she sucking him. Sitting astride, guiding him inside. The camera panning to her face, an expression of lover’s oblivion. Her sexual beauty timeless. She moving to all-fours, entered from behind. Soon too much for the man, his explosion clearly premature for the normal porn script. Flopping down beside her, pulling her to him for a hug, in love with her.

As am I. A sensational porn movie.

Swinging Scene

A spacious room in a suburban home, conventional furnishings, wardrobes, large bed. On the bed, three women, sitting with pillows at their backs. One, clearly dominant, taking hold of another, kissing her, both tongues showing. A long passionate embrace. The third one pulled in. Clothes gradually discarded.

The camera panning out, showing three men. Beers in hand, naked, watching, laughing, offering encouragement.

The women’s breasts pulled out above their bras, petticoats wrapped around bellies to disguise excess weight, otherwise naked. The dominant woman lying on her back, spreading her legs. The second one settling in to lick her pussy, the third one kissing her nipples.

Some background clattering, a fourth couple coming in. The camera tracking their progress. Smiles of recognition and greeting. Their clothes stripped off. The new woman kissing one of the earlier men, sitting on the bed, taking his cock in her mouth. Another man walking over, rubbing himself into hardness behind a kneeling woman, then entering her.

Clearly a well-established scene, swingers swapping spouses. Only slightly bashful, as if still in surprise at actually having gone ahead. Having done it before, doing it again now. A slight edge of unspoken defiance, we’ll do whatever we please, to hell with the world, here’s even a video to prove it.

Yet, pondering this offering on the porn website today, I wonder. From where these couples are now, no return. Their friends all know, plus, it’s on video, nobody will be given a chance to forget. Those tired old sexual conventions well, these swingers may be free of the shackles, but the world retains them still.

Remember once, someone taking me aside at work, you see that guy over there, the one with the bald head and glasses, well, he and his wife are in an open marriage, sage nod, you know, big in the swinging world. Never found out anything else about him. But that, still a clear memory. And it’ll be that which everybody will fall over themselves to inform on.

Better to be like most people, do what you want, but keep it a secret.

Second Escort Visit

Feeling great again today.

Earlier, tense. Porno seeming stale and uninspiring, even with a choice of hundreds of new postings, couldn’t find anything exciting, probably my mood rather than their deficiency. Porn excites only one sense, proper sex excites them all.

General disgruntlement mounting. Browsing the escort website, my Hot List. Picking out my top five. A sudden switch going in the brain, let’s do it. Ringing one. Recorded message. Next one, same. Third one, Foxy Lady, answering.

Familiar after last time with the arrangements. Making my way to Manchester Road as directed, phoning to say I’ve arrived. Final details given. Pressing the apartment number, the front door buzzing open. Up four flights of stairs, Foxy Lady answering the door.

Very attractive but less thin than in her photos, pale smooth skin, foxy features. A smile and some introductory chat. Showing me to a bedroom. Taking the sixty pounds, closing the door behind her as she puts it elsewhere, safe from any male temptation to snatch it on the way out.

Returning. Removing her clothes, clearly expecting me to do the same. Then that exciting first moment as lovers, trying to guess who wants what, what excites and what repels. Foxy Lady hesitant and passive, but willing and compliant. Showing a small jolt of pleasure when understanding what I want, eagerly obliging.

Prolonged sixty-nine, she on top. My skin tingling. Brain filling with infusion of her smells and tastes. The gentle traction of fingertips on her smooth white skin. The delicate coloration of her pussy and sphincter.

After a while, changing position, condom, entering her. But the spell of the sixty-nine somehow evaporated, maybe it was too powerful to last. Foxy Lady sensing the reduced intensity. Exiting her, lying together sideways, relaxing. She stroking my penis, removing the condom, taking me in her mouth, assisting with her hand, patiently persisting until completion.

And now, walking away from Foxy Lady’s apartment, feels like heaven.

Sexual Ringfence

Sitting at my laptop, minding my own business, studying three couples in a sex party game, suddenly, the door opens and in strolls my wife.

Playing it cool as best I can, closing the window, typing something into the address bar, trying not to look flustered, meanwhile probably looking furtive and guilty like a schoolboy. My wife however either not noticing or choosing to let it pass.

An awkward moment. One which by temperament I would rather have been quite open about, okay, I’ve been watching a rather good porn movie, would you like to watch it with me. You’re welcome. Otherwise, leave me alone.

Doing such a thing being impossible, however, the response being knowable in advance, namely, she’d be upset at the suggestion, and upset at the invasion of her household by an ugly and unwelcome infestation.

In fact, thinking about it, the snag for her isn’t the pornography, she isn’t a fool, she knows that it exists, probably knows too that most men watch it. The snag is that she doesn’t want to be confronted with it. She’d rather have her life organized in such a way that pornography is ringfenced out. A perfectly understandable preference.

Well, she can run her life her way, I’ll run my life mine. It seems like that’s how it is with things sexual, there’s a clear but unspoken boundary. Do what you like but don’t foist it on me.

Maybe that’s how all marriages turn out. Well, maybe not the ones where husband and wife are always and unwaveringly in tune sexually, for what, thirty, forty, fifty years. How many of those will there be? A small minority if that.

Sounds like a mature and considered conclusion. Let’s be grateful for what we have, let’s coexist happily. Meanwhile, In the awkward, chaotic, crazy part of ourselves that we call sex, you do your thing, I’ll do mine, let’s not rub each other’s noses in it,

Maybe my wife has arrived at the same conclusion, that’s why she didn’t get involved in my online perturbation.

Sex Party Games

Today, a superior porn movie. Three couples having a dinner party, deciding to play a sex game, the video camera passing to whoever isn’t currently involved.

Production quality amateur but satisfactory, an increasingly common occurrence. Plunging technology prices plus rising exhibitionism, a situation of high promise for porn connossieurs.

Common format for sex games, two packs of cards. The first pack, Question Cards. When did you lose your virginity? Tell us about your first taste of sperm. Have you had sex with someone of the same sex? When did you last masturbate? Have you had anal? Tell us your best sexual fantasy. Have you tried bondage?

One woman, a blonde, asked, have you had more than two in a bed? Hesitant smile, hand covering her mouth. The others smiling at her, teasing her to answer. She starting to say something, stopping, laughing. The others counting to ten in a rising chorus. After ten, no answer. Rules of the game, she has to take a card from the other pack.

Penalty Cards, pink for women, blue for men. The blonde taking a pink one, reading it out. Take the hand of the man on your right and guide it to your nipple. After playing for half a minute, the man can kiss and suck the nipple for another half a minute. Laughter all round. The blonde hesitating. The man on her right offering his hand. The blonde flushing but conceding. The others watching, excited.

The game continuing. Slowly accumulating details of sexual pasts. Present sexual personalities shining through. The bashful blonde. The boastful jock. The brassy red-haired. The shy man. All becoming more aroused. As am I.

Gradually, more and more clothes discarded. Sexual penalties becoming stronger. One wife having to choose which man to be entered by. A blindfolded man having his cock sucked, having to identify the woman doing it. A woman choosing which men and which holes to be double-penetrated by.

Throughout, the camera rolling, refusing to edit the transitions. After two hours, feels like I’ve been at the party myself.