The Clitoris is not a Button, it is an Iceberg

By Julie Balsiger

“How is it possible that we landed on the moon before we figured out the anatomy of the clitoris?”

It’s not surprising that most men haven’t a clue about the female sexual organ—the clitoris…most women don’t either. Today the word vagina is used for that general region of our lady bits, but as Sophia Wallace states,

“‘Vagina’—the single-most misused word in the English language. This is one of the laws of Cliteracy. It’s intentionally hyperbolic. ‘Vagina’ is a Latin word. It means ‘sword holder’. Vagina, medically, technically, only includes the opening. This term is used almost universally in doctor’s offices. It’s also used in feminism to sort of advocate. But it’s a term that ignores the clitoris, which is the female sexual organ.”

I don’t remember having “the talk” growing up, other than the often-heard, “don’t get pregnant!” shame-filled accusation thrown at me before every school dance. In school, we had a few vague conversations about periods, but mostly these talks centered around what not to do on your period. The female body was only discussed when we talked about where babies come from and never about female pleasure. I babysat for a young couple who had an interesting library of books and that’s where I first read The Joy of Sex, and then that other classic, Our Bodies, Ourselves. This book introduced me to all sorts of new worlds and I still have my vintage copy.

What we’re taught about our bodies extends to equality in the world.

“In sex education, it is taught that boys are both sexual and reproductive, boys have erections, boys have wet dreams, boys ejaculate, and then the semen fertilizes the egg. Girls, we’re taught, have reproductive organs, they menstruate, menstruation is painful. Girls should not get pregnant if they don’t mean to. Girls should not get sexually transmitted diseases. We never learn about the clitoris. We never learn that girls have a desire, that this is natural, that girls have sexual dreams, that girls have fantasies.”

Clearly, some better sex education is needed for teens but also for everyone. There’s no real excuse to not know more about our bodies. Like…about the clitoris, did you know that inside that “iceberg” it is actually shaped almost like a penis? That only what we see on the outside is the “tip of that iceberg.” I didn’t, but so much makes sense now.

Check out this image, it’s basically a hidden droopy penis with balls (not the actual medical term):

Mind. Blown. Life makes a bit more sense, no? I’ve known so many powerful women “with balls” and now it’s true. Science! And maybe if we start to know more about our powerful bodies, we’ll stop using female anatomy references as a way to put down men? We should be rising up, erect and powerful, and showing the world that we are not just “empty voids” for male pleasure.

Sexual organs, of women at least, are still steeped in mystery. Case in point, I live as an expat in Turkey and the first nine years here, I was living in a rather small village where patriarchy was (and still is) the way of the land. It is not uncommon in rural areas to have men and women completely separated in daily life. After being annoyed one day about needing to move my seat on the bus because an older man didn’t want me (a woman not his wife, daughter, or sister) in the aisle seat across from him…yes there was an aisle separating us…one good, a local friend of mine (male, university educated, mid-30s) explained the logic like this, “Women have special powers downstairs. Men are unable to resist these powers and so the woman needs to move otherwise the man cannot be blamed for his actions.” Yeah…some Deuteronomy-style rape logic but it made a lot of sense of how things were arranged as a society. After he said that (and basically agreed with that way of thinking), a good friend of mine (also an expat) and I would make jokes about our special “hooha laser beams” that shoot out as we make “pew, pew” noises with hands shaped like pistols whenever a guy annoyed us. I might just need to send that illustration to a few guys there now, or at least to their wives.

“All bodies are entitled to experience the pleasure that they are capable of. This is a core pillar of cliteracy. In making this work, I had to say that the clitoris, first, as an organ, has a right to being and that this right is not just about not being cut off. Sadly, to this day, over 140 million women have had their external clitorises cut off. This doesn’t make it into the news very often, and this doesn’t come up in foreign policy discussion. So number one, the clitoris has a right to exist, free of harm, like any other organ.”

No, I Do Not Have Proof.

I do not have proof.

But, I know it happened. I know because I remember. I know because I was there. 

I was six going on seven. I remember what time of year it was—summer—and I remember it was at a party or maybe it was a picnic. I remember it happened in my own backyard behind my house.

It happened with people laughing and talking and drinking in the distance—not watching, but right under their noses. It happened in the woods, in broad daylight.

I remember it was quick. I remember his mouth coming down on mine, how he grabbed and squeezed my little girl face. I remember being pinned against a large rock. I remember his hand, how he put my small hand beneath his big one and worked himself over. How he shoved his big fingers up inside me and told me I would like what we were doing a lot more when I was older.

I remember running away and hiding in my bedroom. I remember that I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t get enough air, and I wanted to vomit, so I did, right in my mouth—the taste sharp and sour when I swallowed it back down.

I remember how terrified I felt. I remember being mute, unable to speak, holding my words hostage inside my belly, a belly filled with bile. I remember I had no idea what the f*ck just happened to me. Or why it happened.

Because I was six.

I remember the pain between my legs—but no, I don’t remember his name. I’m sorry I don’t remember his name. I’m sorry I don’t have the proof you are looking for, but does it count—is my story “credible”—if I tell you about the blood? Because I remember the blood. I’m sorry I didn’t save my underwear. And I’m sorry I don’t remember what time it was, but I remember his bad breath and his curled, wet lips.

Does it count if I remember this? Will you believe it happened if I told you exactly what he said? How he snarled and told me he would kill me if I said anything to anyone? How he called me a f*cking brat as I ran away from him? Does any of that count as proof?

I’m sorry I didn’t talk about it. To anyone. What I told my mother that day was I had a stomachache. That I didn’t feel good. I didn’t talk about it that day or at all until I was 45 years old. I still don’t talk about it.

Tell me, was I supposed to keep my underwear locked in a box, tucked away like a keepsake so I could pull it out in the future to prosecute my attacker, someone I knew, someone who would deny my story, call it crazy, call me crazy, and tell everyone I was lying?

Was I supposed to ask someone how to spell his name so I could write it down on a piece of paper? A piece of paper I could put inside the box, pinned to my underwear? Tell me, what was the best way for a six-year-old to handle the situation?

I can tell you how I suppressed it, though. How I buried the memory. How I held it down, muffled it so that it wouldn’t kill me. How it tried to kill me for years and years, and how I fought with it—my demon memory. How I carried it around inside my body. How I ate and ate and tried to stuff it down in order to control it.

And how it just kept coming back up again. How it still does.

If a branch fell on a woman walking alone in the woods, and she told you about it 32 years later, would you believe her? Maybe you would because she could point to a scar on her arm if she had one. If she had a scar, one that you could see, she could call it proof.

7.6 billion people inhabit the planet. Roughly half are women. One in four women and girls have been or will be sexually assaulted, which is close to one billion women. 

When will one billion women be enough proof?

We don’t carry proof around in our purses waiting for just the right moment to “ruin” our attacker’s life. We carry it in our hearts and in our heads.

Our assaults come along for the ride in every relationship we ever have. We carry them on our hips and in our bellies when we turn to food to cope. We carry them in pill containers and wine bottles. They sit next to us in AA meetings. They’re tucked into the folds of our divorce papers.

We carry them like rocks in a sock and we wield them as weapons with our sudden bursts of pent up anger and unexplained rage.

We are labeled moody and troubled and bitchy and unpredictable. We put our proof in a bag and we drag it to our therapy sessions where it sits on the floor, heavy, next to our feet. We pass it down to our children, our daughters—like toxic heirlooms.

Our dysfunction, our depression, our damage are the gifts that keep on giving.

Don’t talk to me or any other survivor of sexual assault about proof. The proof is often invisible, but we are not. We are right under your noses.

A proof is in the moment that haunts us forever, the thing we cannot forget.

We do not “have” proof, we are the proof. Because we were there one billion times over.

~ AUTHOR: KIMBERLY VALZANIA

Most Women Fake Orgasms Because Most Men Fake Foreplay

~by Bella Bliss via Elephant Journal

I don’t remember ever having faked an orgasm in my life, honestly. For many years I just didn’t have orgasms with lovers, but somehow it never occurred to me to fake it. However, I am realizing lately how common it is for women to fake orgasms.

Quite a few of my female clients tell me they fake it because they feel so dissatisfied sexually and just want to get it over with. This happens for many different reasons related to lack of contact with their sexual energy, low libido, insecurity, lack of connection to the body, relationship issues and not enough foreplay.

Considering our global average for total sexual intercourse time of roughly four minutes, it’s safe to say that most couples don’t spend much time on foreplay. This can be an issue since, according to Tantric principles, a woman’s body needs much more time to fully awaken and reach states of ecstasy and true orgasm. I usually recommend at least 30 minutes of foreplay, preferably more.

If you don’t believe that women fake orgasms, or that there’s a remote possibility you’ve ever been with a woman who faked an orgasm, see the video clip below for Meg Ryan’s spectacular and convincing fake orgasm. Ahem, so that’s settled then.

Even when they are having orgasms, many female clients I meet only experience short, superficial clitoral orgasms, leaving them feeling exhausted and depleted afterward. Very few women experience deeper internal orgasms or the feeling of dissolving into orgasmic bliss or expanding into an ecstasy that is actually part of every woman’s sexual potential.

A friend of mine was taught in high school sex education that 90% of women cannot have internal orgasms, so she didn’t bother even trying to have anything but clitoral orgasms. My own sex education in Australia in the 90s basically consisted of putting a condom on a banana. This kind of disempowering, bogus “sex education” makes me annoyed.

Why not teach women that their body can be a wonderland of ecstatic bliss if they’ll only devote the time and energy to discovering its secrets? Why not teach men that they can have whole body non-ejaculatory orgasms? Why not teach all teenagers that sex can be sacred, profound, loving and deeply transforming when done consciously?

Most of us are never taught that there are more than 50 different kinds of female orgasm. The clitoris is just one tiny, little aspect of female sexuality. The real gold lies buried deeper in the Yoniverse (vagina)—the G-spot, the A-spot, and the cervix are all important places to get to know better.

Then there’s also whole body energetic orgasm, orgasm from nipple stimulation, vaginal canal orgasms, orgasms that come from your lover kissing your labia, the list goes on. Women usually need long, slow foreplay to experience these kinds of orgasms. Men need long foreplay too, to build the sexual energy gradually so they can last longer, connect deeper to their partner and develop higher sensitivity.

It’s not about chasing orgasms though, the idea is to become orgasmic. We want to feel the orgasmic energy flowing through our bodies for hours on end, interspersed with more intense orgasms, rather than just short peak experiences where we feel exhausted afterward.

During prolonged states of profound pleasure and orgasm, we let go of the mind, any stress and tensions, and relax into the fullness of who we are. The more often we can experience these states with awareness, the easier it is to release limiting ego patterns, become more conscious and connected to ourselves and our loved ones and feel our blissful nature in all areas of life. Sex becomes a deep spiritual practice.

So without further ado, here are my seven essential elements of Tantric foreplay:

1. Make sure you’re in a good mood and feeling connected,

Contrary to popular belief, foreplay doesn’t begin in the bedroom. It starts with making sure you’re in a good mood and feeling connected to yourself, then and only then can you truly connect with your lover. Do whatever you need to do before to feel relaxed, peaceful and present in your body: move around, dance, do yoga, meditate, run, have a bath. Just don’t go straight from work or being on the computer to play time! Take time to prepare yourself so you feel fresh and clean and wear something you feel good in.

2. Create an inspiring space,

Dirty dishes, piles of washing or paperwork, kids toys and clutter are just not a turn-on, ever. Take a little time to create an inspiring sacred space for your lovemaking. Some people say that the difference between Tantric sex and regular sex is incense and candles. That’s not exactly true, but I do really love lighting a few candles to set the mood and transform a mundane space into something more beautiful and magical. I strongly recommend banning all overhead lighting from your intimate experiences. Think soft, gentle lamp light and mood lighting. Throwing fabric over unseemly clutter works wonders too.

3. Connect in the heart first.

Take a few minutes to just sit together and tune in to your partner and let go of any distractions from your day. Simply hold hands, breath, close your eyes and feel the connection between you. Visualise love flowing between your hearts. Set the intention to be fully present, give your best to each other and have a beautiful experience together.

4. Let go of the idea of a goal.

In Tantric foreplay, we’re not just trying to get things wet enough to go on to the main event of penetration. We focus on being conscious in every moment, taking time to really feel, going slowly, developing a more refined sensitivity instead of going for more sensation. A slow warm-up is essential and makes for more ecstatic bliss later for everyone.

Men, don’t skip straight to the breasts or genitals, but take time to caress her whole body – there are many erogenous zones to discover! Keep the foreplay going for at least half an hour, no matter how much she begs for you to come inside. Just try it. Trust me. Also, for a change, don’t end in ejaculation and feel the difference in your energy level afterward.

5. Explore orally.

Traditionally, Tantric foreplay involves the man being more active, as his body generally doesn’t need as much time to warm up. I heard a joke once: For a man, there are basically only two types of foreplay: The first is waiting to have his penis touched, and the second is having his penis touched.

So, men, it is generally better to kiss her down there first and let her warm up deliciously slowly. Take time to get to know her intimately, don’t focus on the clitoris too much. Experiment with different tongue strokes. Realise how beautiful and sacred this part of her body is. Honor every inch of her.

6. Be intuitive, follow the flow, be spontaneous.

Most articles I’ve read about Tantric foreplay say things like, “Take a bath together, touch each other in this specific way, lick her toes one by one.” In reality, there is no set formula and it can be a danger to follow those kinds of specific instructions because everyone is different. It’s just about tuning in to your partner and feeling what connects you deeper and makes you more present together.

7. Above all else, strive to be present.

Keep your eyes open and the lights on most of the time. Stay present together. There is nothing sexier than someone fully present in their body, someone so conscious they can feel even the most subtle orgasmic energy and let it fill their whole body completely.

If you’re totally stuck in your mind, you can’t feel connected to your lover, and you definitely can’t dissolve into ecstatic orgasmic bliss! To become more present, just focus on the breath and the physical sensations in the body. If your mind wanders away, gently bring it back again and again to the present moment. Embrace the sensory experience fully.

Oh, and don’t forget to enjoy the journey!

Do you have any juicy foreplay tips I’ve missed?
I’d love to hear them, feel free to tell me in the comments below.

What’s That Again?

At the first kiss I felt something melt inside me that hurt in an exquisite way. All my longings, all my dreams and sweet anguish, all the secrets that slept deep within me came awake, everything was transformed and enchanted, everything made sense.

— Hermann Hesse

Garbage Bin

This somehow reminds me of a blog post I wrote a while back. A true to life tale I called  A Valentine Story.

I don’t know about intimacy, but we knew how to fuck. So, we hardly ever talked afterward. I cracked a few jokes, did some small talk, and she responded with laughter and nods. Then she got dressed, kissed my forehead, and left.

This went on for months. I didn’t know how she got that scar on her thighs, but I knew she liked it when I touched there. She didn’t know why I’ve so many acne on my back, but she was always careful not to scratch them, even by chance.

On some days, she cried. For at least 20 minutes. I never asked why, and she never bothered to tell from ahead. But I would hold her as she sobbed – stroking her hair, caressing her earlobe.

Her name was Anamika. We met through an online dating app, and she straight ahead told me she’s just looking for sex. “I don’t care about your issues, and you shouldn’t care about mine,” she said, right after we slept together for the first time.

Anamika had a tattoo of a garbage bin on her lower back. Sometimes, when she was asleep – snoring lightly – I touched it and wondered why she got inked.

Every once in a while, she had bruises on her neck, her chest, even her back (right above the tattoo, sometimes.) But I wasn’t allowed to ask her about it. That was our deal.

So, we quietly wept with each other. Two strangers seeking refuge in loud moans, hoping to drown everything else.

One day, she didn’t turn up. And then the next week too. Then an entire month. Her phone was unavailable, and I had no other way to get in touch with her. For all I know, Anamika wasn’t even her real name.

I still don’t know what happened to her. Maybe, she got bored. Maybe, she moved towns. Maybe, she died. I can’t say.

But I’ll remember her, and the little bin on her lower back. I don’t know anything about love. But Anamika and I knew how to fuck.

~Hardik Nagar The Honest Musing via Facebook

If You Want Me Come And Get Me

“If a man wants you, he will come and get you.” ~ Unknown

This time something feels different.

The storyline began long ago—but we both have a history of not finishing what we started.

This time—I’m hoping you’ll take the chance to run your fingertips over every one of my soft pages, reading every single word—even those said in between the sweet subtext of refuge.

Because this time, for you, I am an open book.

So baby, if you want me—come and get me. 

Come and surge through my door—because this time you know I’m ready for you.

Not just for the kisses that intoxicate us like the taste of electrifying absinth, but for the way you feel when we are together.

And while I may not know all the answers, something tells me, I inspire something different in you.

I am not professing to know the intricacies of your mind or heart—for one thing I’ve learned is, when you do want me to know something, I will.

And this time, I have no desire to rush you, or the endless amounts of time we could spend passionately working through the various endings to a love story, that we didn’t think we were ever going to read again.

I trust you enough to lead me.

Because however farfetched or unlikely it seems, I need to be lead at times and, for some reason, you take the reins like no one else.

That’s why this time, I’m leaving it up to you.

I think you know where I stand, and though I don’t have any conclusions about how this story will end, I do know the questions that I want to ask this time.

So, even though I want you, I’m not going to chase you.

If and when you decide that you want me, truly see what can grow in the most unlikely of places, then I trust you enough to choose the timing.

Although I can be a force to be reckoned with, I am more than that when I am with you.

And at one point I quaked in that role and fought against it, but now, it’s the pleasure of my simple undoing.

It is because of my strength that I need someone—yes, I said need—it is another thing I’ve learned this go around.

I do need someone.

I need a man, at times, to put me in my sweet place—not because I need to be told what to do, but because I need a man who is strong enough to know that I don’t really want to be so formidable.

I have lost my desire to lead.

Not that I will ever take a supporting role in my own life, but I also know that I don’t need to be in the starring role to make a difference in this world.

Because one thing I’ve learned is that I shine just as bright when I am quiet, with tears streaming paths down my soft cheeks. I don’t need to be the loudest, I can simply be myself and that is enough.

And though that may change on a daily basis—some days I may still roar, on most occasions I will simply just purr.

So, baby if you want me—come and get me.

Because I am a ripe peach, waiting for your teeth to sink into me, letting the sweet juices flow down your chin.

I am softness and understanding, just within your reach.

My eyes will tell you every sweet and bitter honesty—even if you don’t always wish to hear it.

Because this time, I’m not trying to be someone who I think you would want—I’m simply being myself.

While I may be filled with an endless array of contradictions, this is who I really am.

And I know myself well enough to know that anyone who truly wants me will come and get me.

And it won’t matter if a man knows all the answers, I am a question he can’t stop trying to figure out.

What may stand in the way or how ridiculous it may all seem, won’t matter to him.

If a man truly wants me, he won’t let anything stand in the way.

And, maybe you don’t really want me—maybe this could be all a game, one that I simply didn’t learn my lesson from before.

Maybe it is all about sex.

But, maybe it’s not—I wish to be judged for who I am now and not the crazy, train wreck of a woman who couldn’t look herself in the mirror, then I have to trust in the man you have become too.

I have no choice but to trust your words and the language of your eyes and hands.

So this time, baby, if you do want me—all you have to do is come and get me.

~Relephant Via Kate Rose

My Top 3 Sex Related Problems As A Woman

Let me start this out by making a couple wild generalizations about sex.

First, we’re all having it.

Of course, that’s not actually true; some of us haven’t had it yet, others are going through a drought and some choose not to have it at all. But in general, it’s a widespread phenomenon. Which is good, since it’s what leads to the propagation of the species.

Second, while it’s an extremely common experience, we don’t really talk about it.

We don’t talk about it with each other (as in, the actual people we’re having sex with), and we don’t talk about it with others, even those we’re close to. Again, yes, there are exceptions to this, but generally, not so much.

I humbly submit that this is a major issue. Because it’s easy for things that are kept hidden or secret (whether accidentally or on purpose) to lead to feelings of shame, confusion, and hopelessness. Plus, what we don’t talk about, we can’t get support with. And we need support in this area; sex and sexuality are fundamental to who we are as human beings.

So in the spirit of more openness, I present my top three sex problems, as a heterosexual woman:

1) Men being too rough with their hands.

I’m a pretty experienced sex-er. I’ve had a lot of it, with a wide variety of men. But I can count with just a few fingers the number of men who were good with theirs.

That’s right, I’m talking about fingering.

Even the word sounds kind of… violent. It presupposes that the “goal” or “point” of the activity is penetrative—for you to jam your finger up my hoo-ha, often in a simulated version of intercourse.

Okay! Just a few problems with this. First, most of the time when I play with myself, I don’t get all up in the inside. I don’t use a dildo, I use a baby bullet, which is just a very small vibrator that actually never goes inside me.

I stick with stimulating the clit, which is way above the vulva (the opening of the vagina).

Second, even if a man does get that The Clit Is It, he often applies so much direct pressure to it that it hurts. I feel bruised and notice that my clitoris gets numb; it loses sensitivity because it’s been so overstimulated. Again, when I play with myself, I do so gently, especially at first. The clitoris has 8,000 nerve endings; no wonder it’s so sensitive!

Before I get admonished for not speaking up about the issue at the moment, I want to say that I do say something a lot of the time. If he starts out so rough that it hurts, I often say, “Gentle gentle gentle!” Or even as it’s starting (before the pain), “Listen just so you know, the lighter the touch, the more I feel.” But I find that a lot of the time this only works for a few minutes, and then it’s back to the jabbing.

Part of the reason this is such a problem for me is that I find myself distracted. I’m trying to protect my body while also accommodating the person I’m with (not shaming him about what’s not working). So not only am I not turned on, I’m actually anxious. I feel my stomach twist into knots when a man starts putting his hands down there because my body is so trained to expect pain.

As I write that, I sense just how sad it is. I also find myself curious as to whether other women have a similar experience.

2) Initiating.

Honestly, I prefer for a man to initiate sex with me. And I don’t think that’s necessarily a problem. We all have preferences, and that’s mine.

But I feel like I’m not good at initiating… ever. And that feels like a problem.

What holds me back? In a word, fear.

Fear I’ll be seen as wanting too much.

Fear I’ll be seen as slutty.

Fear of rejection.

And one more that’s a little harder to describe, but perhaps the most true: fear of “making him” feel obligated.

I intellectually grasp that any man I’m with would probably love for me to initiate. But when it comes to actually doing it, I hesitate. I don’t want me initiating to have him feel like he has to have sex with me. I want him to be inspired to do the dirty with me, not do it because he should.

Realistically, this says far more about me than about men. It says that my psyche often interprets someone asking something of me as not requesting, but demanding. So I think my own request for sex will be interpreted as a demand—and I don’t want that. Since I don’t trust that my partner will “be able” to give me an honest no, it feels safer to just wait for him to ask me.

Do I feel obligated when it comes to a man initiating with me? If I’m very, very honest, yeah, I kind of do. I don’t always allow that feeling of obligation to “win”; if I really don’t want to have sex at the moment, I speak up. But most of the time, if my partner wants sex, I’m probably going to say yes, and not always because I’m totally in the mood and really want it.

Again, I’m curious as to whether other women have a similar experience.

3) Finding men who are both cocky and heart-y.

I don’t mean cocky as in arrogant. I mean literally cock-y: men who have a strong relationship with their cock (their sexuality). These are men I feel would be able to truly take me. They’d push me up against a wall and mean it. They’d pull my hair without asking for permission. They’re comfortable with what I call “fuck energy”—the desire to just fuck someone.

Listen, I’m a strong woman. I can get shit done. But while I have a lot of masculine energy (I can do, create, make things happen), when it comes to sex, I want to be in my feminine. For me, that requires a man who can be dominant in the bedroom. I’m not into hardcore BDSM, but I do want to feel like I’m not in charge; instead of having to lead, I get to be ravished.

At the same time, I want to be able to feel a man’s heart and know that he can feel mine. I’m not talking about needing him to be a therapist or something; I just mean feeling connected on both a sexual and emotional level (even if it’s just for one night).

In other words, I don’t want an insensitive bro who’s solely fucking me so he can check another Tinder swipe off his list, and I equally don’t want a sensitive new age guy who can talk about feelings but has disowned his “fuck energy.”

I find I end up attracting either one or the other, and that’s a problem.

The fact is, most of us learn about sex in bits and pieces as we grow up, either in hushed conversations with siblings or friends or from pornography. It’s not the easiest thing to communicate about, so it’s easy to just not. But that’s a disservice to both ourselves and others.

I think having the sex we really want (in or out of committed relationships) starts with getting real about what doesn’t work for us—what we struggle with.

So I’m curious:

What are the top 3 problems you have when it comes to sex? What blocks you from pleasure, keeps you from enjoying your body and/or the body of your partner?

I wonder if more of us share the same problems than we think. I wonder whether men and women share the same problems.

And how much better would the world be if, on a regular basis, we all got to have stimulating, sensual, spirited, soulful, scintillating, satisfying sex?

Author: Melanie Curtin

Domesticated

He shoved her roughly onto the kitchen table, causing dishes to crash to the floor and condiments to dig into her arched back. He mounted her just as roughly, his body crushing hers until his arms found a place on either side of her head and a knee wedged itself between her thighs.

Effectively, she was trapped in by a wall of such strong masculinity. In one strong pull; he ripped her blouse open, the buttons stinging her face like rubber bullets. With a few more tugs, the bright silk garment lay crumpled and torn, discarded on the floor.

His movements were harsh and spastic as he roamed around her body. Hard hands bruising tender flesh. She struggled involuntarily under the crushing weight of his body.

Impatience causes him to grab a nearby knife to cut off any and all remaining articles of clothing. Her lacy black bra fell first, followed shortly by her cotton skirt. Her nylons proved to be a challenge. He nicked her half a dozen times before finally getting them off.

After what seemed like ages but was, in reality, a couple of minutes, she was completely exposed. By now his desire was threatening to rip his front open and she could feel the terrible pressure and heat on her thigh.

Three seconds and his garment were undone. Another three seconds and he was inside… An outcry of pain escaped her lips as he quickened the pace even further. His grin was wicked, the fear left her eyes. Her cries were that of pleasure now.

They climaxed soon after and he dismounted her abruptly. She went upstairs, her head held high to get dressed and freshen up before heading back to work.

Leaving her unemployed husband home to clean up his mess.

---

I found this excerpt in my old documents. I don’t remember writing it and I have no idea how it gets there. I received tons of materials from friends and acquaintances I long lost track of their origins. They are from a file labeled “strangers” I don’t know what that means. Anyway, I find that it fits the prompt quite well. Literally.

Alphabet

Found this while walking along the promenade in Spain and I thought: What was the intention behind this work? Is there a plausible reason why they put it there? 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Alphabet 

Serially Yours (Part One)

There was this gorgeous natural pool between two mountains with cute, small waterfall descending from one side and a river with reasonable fast current down on the other side with a picturesque bamboo bridge across.

I like the place because it was kind of private, peaceful and the fauna and flora were simply breath-taking. I was stripped down from the waist up and ready to hit the water when I saw her.

She didn’t see me at first; she was deep in thoughts concentrating on negotiating the narrow, steep path leading down to the pool. She was wearing a blue bikini with green and yellow flower pattern with a matching pareo tied around her hips. She was so beautiful! The sight of her almost took my breath away.

When she was almost at the bottom of the steps, she saw me. A strange mixture of surprise and fear (?) registered on her face. But that was only for a fraction of a second, she quickly pivoted on her heels and run!

But I was quick. I only wanted to stop her and talk, thinking this maybe my only chance to catch her alone, I simply cannot let her go away.

 I caught up with her easily. This is my terrain, my playground; I know this place better than anyone, I grew up here, negotiating treacherous surfaces is a second nature to me. She on the other hand is a city girl, I know. Too bad for her.

When I reached her something I never planned happened. What I did was___ grabbed her, turned her towards me, pulled her closer and kissed her passionately. It happened so fast she didn’t get the chance to react. Why she must tasted so sweet and so soft to hold I right away lost control of myself?

I pulled her even closer against me, she let a moan, she said: “Oh, Michael.” And went limp in my arms.  My knees buckled, my legs turned to Jell-O, my mind went blank, and suddenly the world had stop from turning. I heard thunder and lightning everywhere and I was stiff as a pole.

When I carried and laid her on the grass, she did not resist. It was starting to get dark. When I lay next to her; she closed her eyes and bit her lips. We kissed hungrily for a while, touching, exploring. I was only beginning to discover where everything is. I never realized that a kiss could taste like heaven I didn’t want to stop.

The moment I removed her bikini top, she gave me a look I never seen before anywhere or from anyone in my life. Not even on her. All I know was what the look did to my blood ‒ boil!

When I pulled the rest of the bikini all the way down, she clung to me passionately, we’re like two people drowning; very fast and there was no tomorrow. When I entered her, I thought I was going to pass out from ecstasy. It was good. No, better than good, better than anything I have ever experience so far, it was worth dying twice over.

When I murmured in her ear that I have no idea it would be like this, she said: “You don’t see nothing yet.” And she showed me. Not one, not twice, but six times over!

We laid side by side afterwards looking at the moon.

Then she said: “Now, what?”

images: 4ever.eu & pinterest

Simplicity

I prefer animals attitude towards sex. They love simplicity and honest approach. People devised cruelty and perverseness in order not to be bored.

Daily Prompt: Twenty-Five