Tuesday, 28 September 2010

Sadly There Is No Such Thing As A Safe Adventure

I'm thinking about the contradiction between my desire for novelty, adventures and growth and my fear of losing Virgil and being lonely and sad. Risk versus safety. There's nothing original in here and it's not particularly clever either, but I am talking through my own hat and not someone else's.

Take extreme sport: occasionally someone gets unlucky but nobody expects to die white water rafting. Would you knowingly risk your life to bounce at the end of a rubber band over a car park? I never have, but not because of the perceived risk. Actually, take TOURISM. Tourists like to feel as though they're having a lovely adventure, exploring and doing exciting things - like going on a trek and exploring exotic locales - but most so-called independent travellers don't want to be in real danger. Off the beaten track? Only with a guide and someone to carry their bags.

I have never asked Virgil whether he needs security. I don't know what his answer would be. I believe he is fearless in that regard, or at least philosophical. He has always described falling in love as a risk one takes. I have had moments of insecurity in this relationship and at times I question whether our relationship will last. Maybe we will pull in different directions and not be able to be happy together. It is more likely to be that than a lack of love.

There is no beaten track to stick to in a relationship, just the certain knowledge that by not taking a few risks you have only a stultifying, claustrophobic deadlock to look forward to. Who wants that?

The truth is that I really love the idea of spending the rest of my life with Virgil (or A.N. individual). As long as we were happy what could be nicer? I love being in love. My first love was unrequited and sad. It took 20 years to properly fall in love again. How many true loves can a person have in their life?

My parents loved each other. I don't think there was ever a question of them splitting up and, if my dad had not died I believe with certainty that they would be together now. My mum did tell me once that there were occasions when she thought she'd made an awful mistake. Then she said that all relationships go through times when you could split up. The relationships that endure do so because the people in them have committed to sorting out their differences.

I'm not advocating people staying together in misery, mutual incomprehension and dissatisfaction. It just bothers me in a really childish way that so many relationships - probably most of the people I know - seem to end after a few years.
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Saturday, 25 September 2010

I Don't Believe In The Gaze (neither does the Office For National Statistics)

I'm really enjoying Quiet Riot Girl's blog but I wish she'd tone down some of the academicism (is that a word?). Well, to be honest, she makes me feel ignorant and lazy. Her blog is immeasurably better than mine.

Part of me wishes I'd stayed on at college after my first (cultural studies) degree. Maybe then, like QRG, I would be able to bandy around words like hyper-objectification and post lengthy deconstructions of Armani adverts . Where does she find time to write such tracts?

The other part of me finds academics who write about sex boring and annoying. I object to the application of academic or specialist words to something that we should be able to talk or write about in everyday language. What you end up with are a few essentially like-minded academics quibbling over definitions and nuances, while everyone else goes about their business hooking up and getting off (or not).

I have to remind myself that there are probably vast tracts of knowledge of which QRG knows nothing. She probably couldn't even point with a finger to where her ascending colon is.

I'm also struggling with the result of research by the ONS which says that only 1.5% of the population is gay, lesbian or bisexual (or willing to identify themselves as such in their survey). It seems unbelievably low, even if they did ask 238,000 people. They only talk about gays, lesbians and bisexuals, mind. I don't know if they've included anyone who's ever had a brush with the same sex or all those straight political girls who like to call themselves queer.

Statistics...
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Friday, 24 September 2010

Sleeping alone

I am sleeping alone tonight between newly washed sheets. The window is wide open the way I like it.

My body is hotter than Virgil's. I say it is because I move around more in the day. I am mammalian; he is a reptile. He cuddles me to get warm in the night and we argue about windows and covers. Soon it will be time to disagree about central heating.

I am tired but unwilling to sleep. Virgil is often annoyed at how easily I move between awake and asleep. He says he suffers many hours of insomnia while I snore and mumble away beside him. However, I think I must rely on him to actually get me into bed and to turn off the light. I just cannot do it tonight.
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Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Self-Induced Inner Turmoil

When I do something it's ok. When someone else does the same thing it is not ok. The problem is that while I understand my own motivations entirely, I don't understand the motivations of others. Instead I assign to them passions and agendas of my own concoction.

Feeling in need of something pretty to wear, I went shopping for a dress today but instead bought a bottle-green scarf for Beatrix whose birthday it is. I am thinking about Beatrix's request to see me without Virgil. I owe her a letter but haven't had the chance to really think it through. Virgil and I discussed it last night and with that conversation I gleaned a few more details of what had previously passed between them.

I sit in a coffee shop with my laptop to think and write about it. It's the first shop of its kind on our street. A couple in the corner smile at me and in my misery I give them a blank look back. Twenty minutes later I realise that I know them from somewhere but it's too late.

Yes I would like to see Beatrix alone. More specifically, I would like to have sex with her, just the two of us. The obvious consequence of this is that if I see Beatrix alone then so can Virgil. He hasn't expressed much of a desire to do so although they often do things on weekends when I'm at work. He told Beatrix recently that it would be better if we saw her together from now on. The next day she asked me to go for a drink. I am thinking: maybe we could see her together and both see her alone at times when circumstance made that desirable or necessary.

I feel slightly tearful when I think of Virgil and Beatrix going to a hotel, whenever that one time was, to have sex. It doesn't matter that they had to do this because Beatrix lives in a tiny room filled with clothes and antiques and has only a single bed to lie down in at night. The need for a hotel on Virgil's part was due to the preference I had expressed to not know when and whether he slept with other people and for him not to bring them home. He'd rather tell me what he was doing. He'd have no problem with me seeing Beatrix alone.

Beatrix says she's mostly interested in girls. Apart from Virgil, she only played with other women at our sex party on Saturday. I find the idea of beautiful, feminine Beatrix, who is a dancer, being gay or at least mostly gay wildly appealing in a way that has nothing to do with Virgil. She also has dandruff and dirty fingernails, by the way. I wonder at the significance of my buying her a woolly scarf. It seems it is possible to feel simultaneously intrigued, attracted, protective and suspicious of someone.

Virgil comes into the shop looking for me. He thinks I am upset because he wouldn't come outside when I told him how nice the weather was. Today feels like the last day of summer. I tell him that I came out to drink coffee and write because I needed some space. We start to talk it through and then we walk out into the sunshine, discussing as we go, and take our open relationship to the park.
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Friday, 17 September 2010

Busy

Our party is tomorrow!

We are rushing around buying last-minute items: flowers for the toilet; sock suspenders for Virgil; fairylights; a hosepipe. It's all in a big pile on the living room floor.

I went for a drink with Beatrix a few days ago. We drank red wine and talked a mixture of chat and telling each other about ourselves. It's been a long time since I've been so physically attracted to another woman. I find myself having random thoughts about the beauty of her cunt. I think I get a bit more of an idea of her now. She is attracted to us as individuals but also as a couple. Beatrix could be perfect, or dangerous.
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Saturday, 11 September 2010

Rio's 2

As I said, years passed. I knew about Rio's. I met the occasional person who went there. I even met Suzanne Portnoy.

Then at a sex party organising committee meeting we were thinking of sociable things we could do between parties and a trip to Rio's was suggested - a Fleshmob!

There were twenty of us. We filed into and filled completely the small entrance hall, where we paid at a glass-fronted kiosk and were handed scratchy, grey towels. Some last-minute confusion as random people paired up for the benefit of the men. As a single woman B paid £5. As a couple T and I had to pay £10 each.

In the women's changing rooms we put on our outfits. Amused glances from other patrons. In the spirit of the kind of hen nights I don't get invited to, and for ease of identification between those who didn't know each other, we had decided to distinguish ourselves as a group by wearing water-themed accessories. Swimsuits were optional. My own attire: a captain's hat and a parrot perched on my wrist. Beatrix wore a sailor hat. Towels.

After some nervous hanging around in the corridor, a lot of giggling and Virgil being sent back to take off the underpants that he had kept on underneath his raffia Hawaiian skirt (he also wore a lei and a flower hairclip), we passed through the beige and brown lounge area. People in towels were watching a football match on widescreen TV and eating chicken and chips. At the beige bar we deposited our bottles of cheap cava with a Tahitian-looking woman in a sarong.

Rio's isn't large. As a group we were taking up a lot of space at the bar and attracting attention from the regulars. I clocked some women around, and a few couples, but there were a lot of single men scoping us with interest. We moved, en masse, to the largest of the jacuzzis, only to find we had acquired some new followers.

The pool was waist deep and full of bubbles. Jets of bubbles against the skin felt tingly and numb at the same time. At times it was had to tell whether bubbles or arms and legs were brushing past. We were crowded by the new friends who wanted to hang out with us. The foaming water hid what was underneath, but fixed facial expressions and twitching biceps made it clear. I started to think about zombies.

Beatrix, Virgil and I hung together. Virgil was mortified to have a hard on and we teased him about it. I told him how lucky he was to have two women with him. The pool got too full and began to flood so we moved again, sampling in turn the sauna, the steam room and the small jacuzzi, in which we made the acquaintance of Arnold. Arnold is an elderly gentleman with a spinal problem. He walks with difficulty on crutches. He has been coming to the spa for many years for relaxation and illustrates perfectly the varieties of use people make of its facilities.

We decided to check out the private rooms.  We drank toxic cava out of plastic cups and compared notes. Then we took turns. With Virgil's fingers inside me, Beatrix's tongue felt warm and rough. Her saliva ran down my buttock onto the tan leatherette. Occasionally some rude person would knock on the door. It was against the rules posted on the wall and we ignored them. Virgil went down on Beatrix while I stroked her body, then I sucked his cock and she licked his balls.

Tube lighting, foam pads, brown paintwork and a panic button make private room number one at Rio's without doubt the least sexy place I have ever played in. We didn't linger - but it had to be done.
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Trust And The Other Woman

An update on my post 'Fucking Awful':

My iPhone recovered.

I didn't get thrush.

The someone Virgil was having dinner with was Beatrix, with whom we have recently been enjoying threesomes and sauna sex. Virgil also had sex with her once before. It was early this year I think. He only told me because I asked him about it after we had had the threesome.

I already knew that Virgil and Beatrix had been lovers at some point. I had asked them just as we had all started to kiss and talk of leaving the club we were in. I was not surprised. I had suspected but had preferred not to ask. However, as we were all about to go to bed together it seemed better to be open. I did once have a threesome with a couple, having illicitly fucked the man first, and I would not do so again.

There had been some slight hesitation in Virgil's voice or expression whenever he referred to Beatrix for as long as I can remember. I remember a bus ride the three of us took home from an evening out (it was the first time Beatrix and I met) and being aware of an atmosphere.

I hadn't realised it was while he and I were living together.

Virgil told me that sex with Beatrix had been disappointing. He said he had ended the evening feeling sad and wishing he was with me. He had not intended to repeat the experience, except that we all ended up in bed together and that really was good. They do see each other socially as friends but Virgil is slightly ambivalent about Beatrix's charms. She is a complex creature when you get to know her, he says. Winsome and needful of friends who will pay court to her, which is not his style at all.

When he told me about the dinner invitation, I couldn't resist asking him whether he was planning to have sex. He said no, but he shaved, cleaned his teeth and put on aftershave anyway. I could smell it when I came home to the flat he had already left. But he came back too early to have fucked Beatrix, and his erection in bed suggested the same. We didn't talk about her or what had or had not happened, and the next day Beatrix texted to ask me out so next week I have a date with her. Virgil laughed when I told him and wondered aloud what she is up to.
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Thursday, 9 September 2010

Rio's Naturist Spa

I satisfied a long-held curiosity about this place last week.

Rio's was on two major bus routes I used to take as a teenager. I passed it often. The windows filled with cut outs of palm trees shut out the world but hinted at exoticism and - somehow - long-haul travel. Its perspex facade showed tropical palms and setting suns. Red brush-font lettering read: Relaxation Spa - jacuzzi, sauna, steam, plunge pool. It didn't look like a health or beauty spa. What could be so secret and so fun?

My mad friend Prem in our early twenties told me: it was full of dirty old men and you could have sex but (for women) if you went during the day it was free. You could take in food and use all the facilities. Prem visited regularly. I don't know if she had sex there. She said not but I have my doubts.

The next time I thought about Rio's was when I picked up Suzanne Portnoy's first book, The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker, a memoir of how she became a swinger. It begins with a lengthy description of Rio's frontage and, more interestingly, what the author got up to therein. I read the whole book in a day and learned about the etiquette of the place, the best times to go to hook up, and the private rooms in the back with locks on the doors and wipe-clean leatherette mats.

Years passed.
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Wednesday, 8 September 2010

Fucking Awful

Having expended a year's worth of anger in the past four days, I am handling the situation with unnatural calm.

1. My iPhone got wet in my pocket when I got caught in a heavy rainstorm earlier and now the screen is dim and flickery (I have no insurance)
2. I think I am getting thrush (again)
3. Virgil is having dinner with someone (in inverted commas)

There is no solution. I must simply find a way of painlessly passing the next few hours until things become clearer or better.

Deadwood.

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Anger Is Like A Bubble

This misty morning the mummies and daddies have stayed away from the lido. It is lovely and quiet. I bump into an old acquaintance as I go in. With a few words spoken the anger bubble I have inhabited for the last week bursts and I am on the outside of it again. It seems disproportionate. I welcome the boredom of swimming. I do my lengths and go home to apologise to Virgil, who I was nasty to again this morning (I slept badly on the sofa). After the anger I feel like a rag doll, light and passive.
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What I Dislike About Sex Parties

1. Feeling that you have to play with someone out of courtesy or because it would be awkward not to
2. Zombies who move inexorably in without having asked. Do they think that by advancing slowly enough they circumvent the need to do so? Surely unless you are positively invited 'in' you should not impose?
3. The weird attractiveness/coolness hierarchy by which some people do not bother to talk to other people
4. Heteronormacy
5. Girl-on-girl
6. Stubble
7. Shaved men
8. Outrageous commutes

Why do I do this?

The sex parties I help to organise are considerably lighter on the above, but right now I can't really answer my own question.
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Tuesday, 7 September 2010

This Week Has Been Hell

I think there's something wrong with my hormones. I am hot and cross. My premenstrual tension this month was unreal and even though my period started today I still feel outrageously dark and nasty. Tonight I am sleeping on the sofa, having called Virgil a wanker and stormed out. Yesterday I lost my temper with him at least half a dozen times.

Now the white noise of the electronics we keep in the living room is keeping me awake and I am thinking evil thoughts, too cross to sleep.

Almost as a gesture I want to leave the flat and skulk through the dark streets. I want to scream and shout. Fucker! I will stay up late on my own and fume and stew.

We are working together on a sex party. The closer it comes, the more there is to do and the more Virgil and I find to disagree about. It is a constant battle. He says I am shit at collaborating and offensive. This could be true. The thing is that I would really like to be able to work together with Virgil but I don't seem to be able to. His ideas and schemes are often so impractical-sounding to me that they make me panic or feel exhausted from the effort I imagine they will require. On the other hand, he seems quite unnecessarily picky and critical about my ideas.

I hate being on the sofa, but when I went to him in bed when he had turned off the light and we lay, silent, as far away as we could be, and tried to make up, he just said that I was welcome to apologise any time I liked. At that point I called him a name and took my leave, slamming the door for the second night running. I won't go back.
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Monday, 6 September 2010

eLust Issue 19

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #20? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
The Rules - She squirmed in her chair as if impaled there by my finger slowly pushing in and out. “But I can tell you that on our third date, I want something a lot bigger than your finger in me.”
Consensual Nonconsent - He told me he was going to do whatever he wanted to me, and he wanted me to not give consent. He wanted to take it from me. He wanted me to say no, and the less l liked something the harder it would make him.
Love and light - So I move on, not as a submissive, but as the smart mature strong woman that I know that I am.  I will credit him with changing me.  Changing the way I see myself.
~ e[lust] Editress ~
Confessional: Annual Reminder - In the dark, in the car, in the parking lot of a somewhat posh store, he got a fantastic blowjob as uptight conservatives drove past us.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

What's Been Eating Emmy - A yearly test is good for most, but if you find you are playing with a larger than usual number of people, go get retested.  Put yourself and your future partners mind at ease.

See also: Pleasurists #92 and #93 for all your sex toy review needs.



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Friday, 3 September 2010

Settler Stories

Recently Virgil and I have had:

One sex party
One foursome
One threesome in a naturist sauna

Of course this means that I have been too busy to write about it.
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