Don’t say I didn’t share.
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This is my fantasy. I’ll do this one day.
Wait for me while I find my guts (and a decent size towel).
It’s a brand new era with a whole new lot of expectations. When I see a couple together, I assumed they have had sex – be it just 3 months of dating or even a week.
I no longer believe in stories like, “They have been together for x years but they are still virgins. They are waiting for marriage.” I mean, how is it possible to constantly kiss and hug and yet not venture further?
When people say that marriage is the grave to romance, that’s because back in the olden days, people do not have sex before marriage. When sex is bad and in times of quarrel, there really isn’t a way for people to kiss, make out and then make up. Do you seriously want that to happen? (Psst: angry sex can be hot. The aggression – oohlala!) It’s 2012. I think the right mindset today should be: bad sex after marriage is the grave to romance.
It’s like heading to the mall to shop. I never like the idea of “once broken, considered sold”. I prefer it when there are free trials, so that I know what I am getting into. After all, sex is a huge component of a relationship, or even marriage. In fact, aim for more sex during the relationship. We know that sex will get worse (in both quantity and quality) the longer we date a person. So it’s mathematical. Start with a large number (say everyday), then when it eventually cuts down, it won’t get too low.
Happy New Year. If 21st December 2012 is supposedly to be the end of the world, you wouldn’t want to die a virgin, would you?
I met him for a quick lunch near my place.
As he walked me home along a quiet street, I found myself asking him unbashfully, “hey, how about a quickie at my place?”
He didn’t say no. I probably had him prepared when I deliberately caused his hand brush across my breasts as we were buying drinks. Clearly, there wasn’t a bra under the sweatshirt that I was wearing.
We wasted no time as he had to get back to work. We started making out barely a metre from my house door. I’m not sure if you agree, but there’s something really sexy about a man in working pants.
I hastily cleared the area in front of my full length mirror, where we stood right in front of it. I bent forward, watching my breasts bounced up and down as he took me from the back. I loved how my juices were making me proud by throroughly wetting his balls so effortlessly.
“You are a porn star. Look.” I drew him into my fantasy. Or maybe it was his. With him then seated on a chair, I started grinding my hips while his tongue teased my erected nipples. The chair was a perfect height for us – when it was my turn to sit, he fucked me with my legs hung high up in the air, and every single thrust (I’m not kidding you) hit my aching G-spot.
I came hard. So did he. So this is it: dessert after lunch. Or maybe this was the main course. I’m not too sure about that. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.
It was a splendid holiday. I lost count of the time we made out.
The beach was mesmerizing and the whole villa we lived at was sex inducing. There was an outdoor roof-top spa/jacuzzi area where we blatantly stood fucking, regardless of the people viewing in the distance. I remember moaning as loud as I could, not because I wanted to be seen and brought to jail, but because I was totally immersed in the moment of having no inhibition (for at least, no one knows us here, yet). I love how you tried to lick my pussy dry (to no avail), as I winked at the passers-by and taking in nature as it should be: the sun, sand, sea as well as the connection of our physical bodies.
The beautiful blue sea was clearly meant for skinny dipping. The warmth exuded by the sun was equally welcoming as a handful of beautiful ladies were tanning naked. As if all these weren’t enough, the masseuse who were supposed to attend to us hastily ran out of the massage room when she realised we were making full use of the sauna to get all hot and steamy. (To be fair, we thought there was no one else in the room.) If you have known the exhibitionist side of me, you would know that the scene sent juices trickling down my thighs (there, I’m now wet again just by thinking about it). I had a problem keeping the fluid in me when her hands were later on working on my ass, but yet in a strange way, I wasn’t embarrassed. I was loving every minute of it, though I did secretly make a wish, hoping that my masseuse was a man.
Then there was this time when we finally (and reluctantly) moved into the bedroom to fuck the way that social norms dictate us to. My eyes caught our reflection in the mirror as I rode and appreciated the beauty of your hard member entering me. The camera was lying near and the natural cheeky instinct in me led my fingers to the gadget and started snapping away.
There you go. I know you have been waiting.
It’s kinda funny to stare at a toy that tries to be a “realistic vagina”.
You realise we are in a world whereby there are fake products for almost everything. Fake bags, fake shoes, fake phones and now, a fake vagina that comes along with a fake asshole.
Someone once said that vagina is the most powerful object in the world. Well, for the few minutes that I was feeling up the fake sexual organ, I was very certain that it did not grant me any strength to even think about being bisexual. In fact, it made me a little self conscious because I knew clearly that my skin can never be as smooth as the toy. The ass-hole was hilarious. I made a mental note that if this toy fails my guy, I could use it as a flower vase, at home, of course.
He said this was better than the Air Cushion cup (I wrote about it here). Apparently there’s something wonderful about the ribbed interior of the vagina and how small the ‘hole’ is. He literally had to squeeze his dick in and I guessed, that gave a really tight grip. The negatives, as he mentioned, were the lack of lubricant as well as the very plastic smell. Well, I mean, what can you expect? It is a FAKE. I have never come across a toy that gets wetter the harder you pump. Perhaps the toy manufacturers should start thinking along this line.
I started to wonder if women can be replaced by all these sex toys. Then I pondered even harder only to realise…
Wait, hasn’t that been the case for women so far? I mean, we had our fair share of fun time replacing men with dildos, vibrators and rabbits. Sex toys have long existed for women in varying shape and sizes of the penis. As if it is not enough, we made these penises vibrate, outrightly humilating men for their shortcomings (pun intended) and lack of flexibility and varying speed. If there’s a letter that men hate, it should be the letter, ‘G’. After all, they can spend all their time learning and yet still have trouble hitting the spot. (Repeat after me, G marks the spot.)
Anyway, so if I assume that the prevalence of sexual toys for women was mainly because women were not able to hunt for sexual pleasure as easily as men did in the past, then what is happening now?
With all these male masturbation sleeves and fake vaginas/ass holes, does this mean that it is harder for men to get women these days, or that… *gasp* women are simply becoming more replaceable? Are we getting lousy with our blowjobs and lazy with our horse-riding classes?
Or maybe, just maybe, the reason is clear and simple. Probably men would rather deal with fake vaginas than with women faking orgasms. After all, a toy would proudly and gladly resign to its fate as a cum-bucket.