Monthly Archives: February 2006

Cock Obsessed

Wouldn’t life be dull if we did the same thing day after day? No creativity, no evolution, not being open to new ideas.

Apart from the mediocre pay and the general attitude at the office being, “If the s**t just hit the fan it must be a problem for Alex to clear up”, I do enjoy my job as it allows me to express my creative and inventive side.

It’s the same with my home life and yes, you knew were I was going didn’t you, with our sex life. I’m not talking about dressing up or role play, but something more subtle and intimate. The way in which we fuck is ever changing. It’s about responding to each other and reacting to the other’s needs.

It happens on what you might call a “micro” scale each time we make love. Touching, licking, biting, screwing, tuning each of these to the other’s responses. That’s what real love making is about, two bodies, two beings becoming as one. Bodies and consciousnesses entwining until we become a unified sexual being.

It’s the sort of subtlety that can only come about if you are each comfortable with the other and have the time to explore and understand each other. It’s the exact opposite of the one night stand, the copulation for instant gratification. It’s the sort of minutely delicate interplay that comes with familiarity with your partner and can only be attained through lots of practice. Hardly an onerous duty and one which we both find infinitely satisfying.

Then there are changes on the “macro” level, which is what moved me to write this. When we first met Suze was not the biggest fan of giving oral sex. Not averse to it but it was a small part of our sex lives. She never deliberately gagged and certainly never swallowed.

Over the years oral sex, given and received by us both, has become increasingly important to us as part of our sexual play. This has been a gradual evolution, natural, comfortable. Ok, yes there have been some landmarks, such as the first time I came in Suzanne’s mouth, the first time we rimmed each other, but we seemed to have reached these milestones gradually, naturally.

Recently I noticed a paradigm shift in Suzanne’s preferences. If you read my poetry of a few days ago you’ll know what I mean. She has suddenly started sucking my cock at every possible opportunity. And when she’s down there it’s difficult to get her off it. Not to say that she’s gone off the idea of penetration, her enthusiasm for that is as strong as ever.

So what is it with the sudden predilection for cock worship? What has happened to make her change? This is revolution not evolution.

Take last night. We kissed briefly, then Suze began to make her inexorable way southwards. She paused at my nipples, licking, biting and sucking them. Her lithe, wet tongue making me groan.

Her hand was already at work on my groin. Stroking my inner thighs, massaging my perineum with the skill of an adept. Her mouth descended. The digital and oral stimulation had me hard as steel.

Her tongue is wonderful, ceaseless in its movement, sensual in its caresses. She has me tingling in seconds and holds me there for minutes, tens of minutes. Pre-cum dribbles from my glans, she drinks from me greedily. My body convulses as she continues to torture me with this pleasure.

If her hand is not stroking my sack it’s holding it firmly, almost too firmly. But she knows, she can feel the pain as I strain at the cage created by her fingers. Occasionally she’ll squeeze, playfully, but with such conviction that I feel that I want to submit to her control.

Funny never thought of myself seriously as a sub until now, maybe it’s just in this situation. And that’s the thing, does she want me to come in her mouth, fuck her throat until I spray semen into her waiting maw? Or does she want me to save my load and pump her ferociously, take her without mercy and make her pussy raw from the assault of my phallus?

As you can tell this is not a complaint, just a question, both to you out there and to Suzanne. What’s the draw of my cock?

A Change in the Curriculum

I fervently believe that schools ought to teach underwear as a subject. To both boys and girls.

Why? Well consider these facts.

Boys don’t get near any girl’s underwear until long after they have developed an interest in it and its occupant. They therefore have some very peculiar misconceptions about what constitutes pretty, alluring, sexy and slutty. All of these things have their place in a relationship, but getting them confused is not desirable.

For many guys the following equivalences apply for women’s underwear.

Pretty = Something pink with flowers on
Alluring = Nekkid
Sexy = Something black, preferably with stockings
Slutty = Something black and crotchless

Alright that might be an exaggeration and wild generalisation, but you know what I mean.

As for men’s underwear, a word of advice. Posing pouches with elephant’s ears are funny to your partner, briefly, about 300 milliseconds to be exact. In no way are they sexy.

But guys don’t despair, if you want to find great sexy underwear Suze did a really great article about it a few months ago that I’ve asked her to update. So stay tuned.

So what about girls. If you’re after adolescent boys, underwear is easy, they’re so busy trying to get it off they’ll not notice it. You could wear threadbare “Brigitte Jones” knickers and they wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

However when in a relationship you must teach them one thing; If they insist on buying you underwear for every birthday, Valentine’s and Christmas, MAKE SURE THEY KEEP THE RECEIPT.

For any guys out there here’s why. You will probably get the wrong size, it will probably be uncomfortable and it may restrict your lady’s blood circulation so much that they risk loosing a limb.

If your man’s trainable then great but if they can only remember one thing, get them to remember the receipt.

Anyway, that was supposed to be a quick introduction to the piece I was going to write which was …

Is it just me or is there nothing like the satisfaction you get from being able to deftly unhook a woman’s bra with one hand whilst your other hand is on her thigh and your tongue’s down her throat?

It’s the surprise she expresses if you do it skilfully I think. Very rewarding. Fumbling about with two hands is sweet when you’re a kid, but the feeling of a sudden loosening of the straps and a pair of breasts spilling forth, unleashed so to speak does take some beating.

A Little Bit Of Hanky Panky

It’s amazing, no matter how long you are on this earth there is always something new to learn in the world of sex. I was watching a television program the other night. Yes, it was on one of those naughty channels. You do know me well don’t you.

Back to the story. Yes, there was a program that featured the “gay hanky code”. This was news to me, I had never heard of a hanky code. Some years ago I was informed that which ear you wore your earring in indicated your sexuality. But I have no idea now which way round they should be. So for all I know there could be lots of ladies thinking I’m lesbian. Come to think of it how good would that be? Note to self: check out which side I should be wearing my earring to attract the ladies. Whoops, there I go again.

You’re probably all shouting at me now, that you already were aware of this. In which case I’m sorry it took me a while to catch up but bear with me. I particularly like the Lime Green code, perhaps coupled with the Grey Flannel code. Check out this site and study your hanky code now .

These codes were apparently adopted for use in noisy bars and clubs. The idea being that you can visualise a person’s preference with no margin for error. Verbal communication in such an environment could possibly lead to all sorts of mix-ups.

It does rather simplify the whole pick up procedure. You don’t need to ask those embarrassing questions of your partner, the answers are there for all to see. Perhaps the heterosexual world could take a leaf out of this book. The only problem I can foresee with this method of sexual preference communication is not having enough pockets to contain your hankies. LOL.

You may have 20 different hankies and only 2 pockets. Ahhh, what a dilemma. I can just see it now. Me standing there pulling hanky after hanky out of my pocket, just like a magician. A naughty thought just occurred to me. How about having a little fun, instead of giving your uncle Sam a boring white monogrammed hanky next birthday…

Roll Camera, Action

What’s the best time I’ve had with Suze with out actually having sex?

Well first of all there’s meeting her for the first time. The day my life changed forever.

Then there’s the time we moved into our first flat together. Then when we bought our first house.

However, on the “slap and tickle” side of things I’d have to say it was the first film we ever went to see. The film’s irrelevant, but it was also our first date. We’d met a couple of weeks earlier at two parties on consecutive weeks and become an item. But this was our first actual date.

We held hands, sweet huh? Caressing each other’s fingers, palms, wrists. We kissed occasionally. I got hard just from the thought of what I wanted to do to her and I’m sure she got pretty moist too. I had to have a wank when I got home, I’ll let her tell you what she had to do some other time.

The simple sensory pleasure of the touch of my new lover without even the slightest whiff of a bonk was hugely exciting. The newness of the relationship, the implicit limitations of a public place, all added to the experience.

We saw the film a few years later when it was released on TV and kept saying, “I don’t remember that bit”. Not because we were chewing each other’s faces off the whole time, we kissed very little. It was because our whole being was focused on the tactile sensations of two people holding hands.

The next film we went to was a little different. We’d been in each other’s pants in the intervening weeks. Carnal contact had been established. So when we sat down in a film, which promised to be hot and steamy we didn’t really mind that it wasn’t. About two minutes after the lights had gone down we had unzipped each other’s jeans, slid down in the seats and spent the next 90 minutes frigging each other senseless.

Luckily it was a late night screening, there were only about eight or ten other people in the auditorium, nice and thinly spread. But I’m sure some enterprising security guard has put the footage from the low-light cameras on the net so look out for it people.

Getting Your Priorities Right

Youth is wasted on the young. Never were truer words spoken.

I spent my youth ignoring the beauty around me. Being intensely interested in the achievement of goals without stopping to wonder at this planet’s riches.

I can tell you why the sun shines, no really, I can tell you exactly why and how the sun shines. But it’s only as I have matured that I have begun to appreciate the simple pleasure of feeling the sun kiss my face in the morning.

This is in no small part due to Suzanne. She saw what was in me and has helped me to realise that potential. Not academically, or professionally, that’s just hard work and dedication, the easy stuff. No, she showed me how to step back from the modern world and enjoy what really matters.

There’s nothing I want more at this moment than to be sat on a balcony, overlooking the ocean in the Mediterranean, fresh orange juice in hand.

The air is still cool from the previous night, but the sun is already warming the ground. It’s quiet, but an occasional voice can be heard, not English voices. It could be French, Spanish, Portuguese, Greek, but not English voices. I don’t want to hear any English for a whole week.

Closer to the equator the quality of light is so different. The air is refreshing, why? Maybe because I know I’m so far from the job, the pressure, the banality of it all. And I’m here with her. No interruptions, no telephones, no emails, just us.

To be there with my lover, knowing that we can if we wish spend the whole day in bed, or at the beach or … well anywhere we want. That’s it isn’t it, choice, liberation, freedom.

Look at the sea, hear the sea, smell it, taste it. The waves lapping against skin, sensual, sexual. I’ve never craved it as I do now. But I don’t think it’s the sea that calls me but what all this represents. Being alone with her, able to explore each other.

Making love on strange sheets. Eating at odd hours, sleeping when we choose, watching the sunset and sunrise, everyone, everything else fitting in around us and our desire for each other.

I now understand what mariners see in boats. Not just the challenge of sailing, but the solitude and the freedom to go where your heart desires. The gentle swell (of the ocean, stop it people, behave) the creak of the rigging, the sun beating down on the deck.

I’ve never fucked on a boat, it just got added to my to-do list. So now I’m thinking about how to work that into our next holiday. This is getting expensive. But I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

Hell, I just thought of another to-do. Making love to Suze on every continent of the world. Luckily my common sense stopped me from adding “every country in the world” to the to-do list. That would be impractical.

I so need a holiday.

Guess Who’s Back…

Well, what a weekend (Oh, I forgot the fucking in that statement). My period has finished, gone. And hooray to that. Thanks to everyone for their concern for my comfort and some dirty people for their sympathy at my not being 100% fuckable.

Not that I don’t fuck when I have my period. On the contrary, you all know me by now. It takes something really bad to happen or Alex and I not to be together for me to abstain. I certainly wouldn’t be found abstaining by choice. LOL.

The only problem I find apart from the stomach cramps (I know you guys out there don’t want to hear this, so I’ll make it short) and sometimes sensitivity (both emotionally and physically) is the inability to be spontaneous.

I flourish best sexually when it is spontaneous. Lets face it nobody plans out exactly what they are going to do together. Do they? I don’t find myself thinking, Oh, I’ll bite his nipples and then work down his body kissing and licking, then take his cock in my mouth and make him hard and then sit on him “cowgirl” style, then I’ll. Ok, enough already. I think you all know what I mean.

Now the planning basically comes down to “fuck towel” © availability. Yes, we have a large bath towel especially for this occasion. Providing we can reach it when ready to start fucking, it can be placed underneath us. You may be asking why. Now if you are a little squeamish skip the rest of this paragraph. Fucking when you are on your period can create blood splattering. A little like something out of Crime Files. Or even, if you are a little arty, like a Pollock. A towel will absorb the fuck spray and can then be easily washed. Aren’t I a practical girl?

Right you squeamish bunch you can tune in again now.

The first fuck following my period is ecstasy. Every thing feels great and there is not too much lubrication (Ok, I wont elaborate). Although it usually results in me cuming rather a lot and between thrusts Alex sometimes has to wipe my cum off his cock. He has been known to slide out of me when I get too wet and skid across my ass cheek. So you have to be especially careful not to have a cock related injury as a direct result of over cuming. Can you over cum? Uhm…

The glorious moment arrived on Saturday night. I went to the toilet to change and found that my period had stopped. Quickly I jumped in to the shower to freshen up and changed in to my Valentines outfit. Which had been awaiting it’s Christening since Tuesday. Alex was in the lounge watching Men And Motors on the television.

I walked in to the lounge and he looked up with a smile. He knows me so well. As I walked across the room to him he started to undo his trousers and slide them to the floor. In just his boxers and a t-shirt he stood before me. He knew exactly what this girl wanted.

Alex pulled the snuggle blanket we share when watching television on the sofa to the floor. We both sat down on it in the middle of the room. I was now feeling very horny and in no mood to delay the event. I wanted cock, deep hard and thrusting cock.

I lay down on my side and Alex mirrored me. Reaching in to his flies I managed to home in on my prize. I released it and could feel the power starting to rise between his legs. This was no good I wanted to be able to see my quarry. Quickly I flipped myself round. Alex and I were now in the Soixante Neuf position on the floor.

He was now quirt hard and I took a firm hold of him with my hand. Gently I worked my hand up and down his ever hardening shaft. I felt a hand pull my panties to one side, it was now rubbing my clit. When I could see the opalescent pearl of pre cum on the tip of his cock I knew it was time to give him some oral attention.

Licked and flicked the nub of his erection with my tongue, at the same time retrieving that tasty drop of love juice. Alex was now working my clit with his moist finger and my pussy was swollen and pulsing with the increased blood flow. My cherry was so firm that I could feel him rolling it around making my nerve endings jangle.

Enough of the gentle stuff I needed to get his hard meat in to my mouth. I opened wide and thrust my head down on to his hardness. Just in time to stifle my loud moans (I find it impossible not to cry out loudly when making love), I now had my mouth full and as my orgasm loomed my toes began the tell tale tingling. Alex’s cock acting as a cock gag.

I pushed my tongue forward in my mouth and clamped my lips tight around his pulsing cock. It’s kind of difficult to breathe like this but I find it gives Alex the best feedback. I can run my tongue along his hard terrain as I pump him with my mouth. His ministrations were now bearing fruit and my pussy and thighs were slimy. His face and forelocks must have been glistening with my pussy juice as he bore down on me with his tongue.

His finger now took position on my swollen clit as he went for the home run. It gripped me just like an electric shock. My orgasm raised my hips off the floor and pushed my shoulders down in to the carpet. I needed to cry out to the world that I was cuming but I had his shaft deep in my mouth. I almost forgot as the need to bite something took me over (I usually have to bite down on a pillow, sometimes my arm when I cum.) This orgasm seemed to go on for an age, I seemed to keep on peaking and coming down in turn for what seemed like five minutes or more.

I was a good girl and kept his knob in my mouth. As I came down from my final orgasm I became aware of Alex groaning and thrusting deep in to my throat. His hips had a life of their own as he pushed himself repeatedly down my throat. I gagged a little with his thrusts. Alex didn’t seem to notice and picked up tempo. He was now banging my throat quite hard and it became a little difficult for me to keep up. But this rough treatment seemed to be turning me on even more than usual. I wanted him to be rough with me, to fuck my throat until it was sore. In fact at that very moment in time I wanted him to fuck me until it bled. Crazy I know but that’s how good sex gets me, it’s like a drug.

With a final groan Alex released the contents of his very full bollocks straight down my throat. It came out so hard and fast that I gagged again as it tickled my throat. I soon regained control and swallowed his ejaculate down greedily like a nourishing drink.

Alex fell back against the carpet his legs spread wide and I took up position, laying my head on his heaving chest. As I smiled to myself I felt a tightness around my mouth and chin. Oohps, I must have missed some of his cum.

The Worst Idea In The World?

Is “Dildonics” the worst idea in the world? I heard the phrase coined a decade ago by dot-com types desperate to find a niche in the blossoming web world and even more desperate to get up close and personal with a real female.

If you’re not familiar with the concept, “Dildonics” is the idea that with various electromechanical devices and an Internet connection you could have sex remotely. The idea, quite frankly, at best amuses me and at worst make me a little queezy.

We’re not talking about virtual sex and total immersion in an artificial world, a la “The Matrix”. This would involve buying, er, appliances from somewhere. Strapping them on to yourself, and your partner doing the same. Then either by mind control (of a type only vaguely alluded to by these naïve blue-sky thinkers), or by keyboard and mouse, you would stimulate each other with the ultimate goal being intercourse by proxy.

I for one am not attracted to the idea of popping down to my local electrical retailer to consult the spotty little street urchin with a name badge proudly proclaiming his status as “Trainee”. Asking his advice on which groinal attachment would be best for my meat and two veg to sit in conjures up some bizarre images.

What happens if a fault develops? Would the manufacturer’s insurance indemnify against me being “Bobbitised”?

And how faithfully could an electromechanical device every reproduce the gentle caress of a hand, tongue or mouth? Well, it couldn’t now could it.

OK, so the Heath Robinson solution doesn’t work. How about total immersion in an artificial world? If you can stand the slight green tinge of the Matrix I for one would most definitely give it a try with Monica Bellucci. However, as Mouse said in the original Matrix, “How did the machines know what chicken tasted like?”.

How indeed. The only form on human/machine erotic/sexual interaction that I have found to be rewarding is when two or more human beings use the medium to communicate. The human mind is the largest sexual organ and that is all you need.

When plastics where first invented the chemical companies tried to push them as the ideal material for everything. As the material sciences surrounding plastics was immature this led to plastic being associated with cheap, shoddy goods. How often do you refer to something as being “plastic”, inferring low quality, undesirable and fundamentally ersatz? And yet plastics now form part of the fundamental structure of our society, both metaphorically and literally.

I suppose what I’m saying is that the Internet is the most powerful tool ever invented for bringing people together, and letting them communicate ideas. Our brains on the other hand are what makes us human.

Feet First, Walking In Michael’s Shoes

Our regular readers will have read my first article relating to foot fetishism. This entry was supported by a fellow blogger Feetman78, who published an article relating to the subject on his site.

I also approached Pied Michael and asked him if he would like to make a contribution and he came to the fore. He has emailed me this wonderful story which he wrote and used to masturbate to.

Here is what he said:

“This story, based on a real person at work, never failed to make me come, and probably gets closest to the sort of fantasy that I will use while masturbating. As you will be aware, fantasies always have to get better, with more detail pushing the boundaries further, if they are to remain fresh and work as fantasies. So many years ago, my fantasies would have been much simpler. I remember early on, just thinking about a pretty girl and the shoes she was wearing would be enough to turn me on. This then developed through fantasies where I would be caught by a girl walking in unexpectedly whilst I was licking her shoe, or later, masturbating with her shoe to my face. Other fantasies would be, ostensibly unknown to myself, of being watched masturbating by a girl as I held her shoe.

So without further a do, here is Michael’s story. When you have read this perhaps you would like to go over to his site and show your appreciation.

Angela came to the meeting. She has wonderful legs, and they looked very attractive this morning in the black tights that she wears. I looked at her shoes, and they were gorgeous, made of black, matt leather. The front is squarish on top of a low platform, the heel is probably two and a half inches high, neither chunky nor narrow, perhaps an inch and a quarter wide. From above, looking down the length of her leg, her foot enters the shoe attractively, with the round part of the front and the sides of the shoe encasing it comfortably. Parts of the edge of the shoe show whiter against the black leather and her black tights. Because of the height of the heel, they plunge quite steeply down to the front, where the low platform sole holds a black front that covers her toes. Her instep is accentuated by the shape of the shoe, and I imagined her sitting there, after the meeting, with her feet placed squarely on the floor while she instructed me to pour some clear water out of a jug into the instep of her shoe.

Keep pouring, Chris, there’s not much in there yet – I want to feel the water between my toes. It’s only run along the bottom so far. That’s better; I can feel it cold between my toes now. Just slow down a bit’.

I poured more slowly, watching the water run into the space between the black tights covering her instep and the edge of the shoe running steeply from her ankle to where it turned over the top of her toes. The light now caught a glint of where the water had risen up to the level of the edge of her shoe, and I could imagine that Angela’s toes were now completely submerged in the water inside her shoe. I stopped pouring.

I think your shoe is full now’ I said.

Angela said Yes, I think so. Let’s see if I can wriggle my toes’. She did so, and the front of her shoe moved slightly, and the water came up higher against the edge of her shoe, but did not run over. It feels funny between my toes – cold compared to how warm my toes were before, but it’s warming up. Shall I see if I can run the water to the back of my shoe?’

I nodded, and Angela slowly lifted the front of her shoe whilst keeping the heel on the floor, and as she did this, very slowly, I could see the water move inside her shoe up the inside towards her heel. Again non spilled out, until she had the toe of her shoe about three inches off the ground, when her foot was then about horizontal, and the water was resting from her heel to the front fleshy part of her foot. She slowly dropped the front of her shoe down and the water ran back to her toes.

It’s completely warmed up now’ she said, I can’t feel that it is any colder this time, although I can tell it’s running around my toes again. What do you want to do now, Chris?’ she asked.

Can I drink it?’ I said.

Do you want me to take the shoe off or do you want to try and drink it from the shoe with my foot still in it?’

Let’s try that’ I said.

Can you get down as low as you can, and I’ll try and bring my foot up to your mouth’ she said.

I knelt on the floor by the table and Angela stood and lifted her foot carefully onto the low table first, and then pulled a chair behind her so that she could sit on the arm. Placing her hand on my shoulder to steady herself, she lifted her foot and brought her instep towards my mouth. She rested the edge of the shoe below her instep against my lips to initially steady herself, and then tipped her foot slightly towards me. My mouth was open over the edge of the shoe, with my bottom lip resting against the black leather of the shoe, and my top lip pressed against the black material of her tights over her foot, which felt taught yet soft. A little water from her shoe came into my mouth, and I pressed my mouth a little closer and sucked in the water, which was now body-heat warm from her foot, and tasted a little of that typical tights taste, and a little of salt. She turned her foot over slightly more, so that more of the front of her shoe appeared an inch before my eyes and more of the warm foot-scented liquid came into my mouth.

How is it?’ she asked, Does it taste nice?’

It’s wonderful’ I replied. It’s warm and it tastes wonderful’.

It’s warm because it’s been between my toes. I can feel it running through them, on its way into your mouth. Is that a nice thought, Chris? This water has run between my toes and look, if I wriggle them (she wriggles her toes and a small surge of water came into my mouth), it cleans out all the bits in between, for you to take into your mouth and taste, and swallow. Do you like the idea of having the taste of my feet and my toes inside you?’

I nodded. Angela straightened up her foot, and pulled away from my mouth. I don’t think we can get any more out that way. I’m going to take my shoe off for you to drink the rest straight from it.’ She put her foot back on the floor and held the heel of it with her hand. Slowly she took her foot from the shoe, her toes in their black tights appearing wet from inside the shoe. She rested this foot on her other shoe, keeping her toes off the ground. We’ll come back to my foot in a minute’ she said. She picked up her shoe and got hold of the front, bringing the heel round towards my face. She rested the top of the heel against my lower lip, and started to tip the shoe up so that the water left in it started to run from the toe end to the heel. I could see her eyes glancing at the shoe and looking into mine as she did this. The water ran with a last few rivulets into the heel, about one third of a glass full. She continued lifting the shoe until it ran over into my mouth and I drank it greedily. Again it was warm and tasted of her foot and tights. She watched me as I drank one mouthful and then another, and as she was draining the last mouthful into my mouth she said What can you taste of my foot in it?’ I swallowed the last drops and said that I could taste the salt of her foot and toes, and the tights taste, and a slightly edgy taste that must also have come from her sweat.

She said I want you to lick my toes clean. Tell me if these tastes are any different’. She put her shoe down, and lifted her foot up until her toes were just in front of my mouth. I opened my lips and she pushed her big toe and next two into my mouth, across the top of my tongue. I could feel the seam of her tights across my tongue, and also the pressure of her three toes, the big toe far larger than the other two. I closed my lips around her toes and sucked in the dampness from her tights. Her toes shifted very slightly as I did this, and I extracted some moisture into my mouth from her tights. This tasted similar to that from her shoe except that it had a slightly more tights taste. She tugged slightly so that I opened my mouth and she removed her toes. Did that taste different?’ she asked. I told her it tasted slightly more of tights.

I’m just going to take off my tights’ she said. Look over there’. I did so, and when she asked me to turn back, she had her tights only on one leg, and her damp foot was bare. Now try sucking my toes without tights’ she said. Her toes were beautiful, the big toe slightly longer than the rest, but all pretty, delicate and pink. I brought my mouth towards her, and she again pushed the first three toes into my mouth. I sucked on them but this time I could push my tongue between her toes, and mop up the remaining dampness from between them. This tasted far more strongly of her foot, with no tights taste, and as I pushed between her smaller toes the taste increased. More salty, with more subtle flavours as in a good cheese, made this exploration very exciting. I shifted my mouth along her toes, dropping the big one out at one side and taking in her three smallest toes. A push was needed to get my tongue between her smallest toe and the next, and I could feel the edge of her toenail running along my tongue as it crept between them. The little explosion of taste, what had before been hinted at, was here in all its glory – salty and subtle yet strong. I licked the spaces between her toes clean, while she responded, perhaps because my tongue was tickling her, by moving them slightly, squeezing my tongue or moving over it.

Does that tickle?’ I asked. Yes, but it’s a nice feeling. I could have that for an hour; she said. How does that taste?’

I told her my impressions and she said If you enjoyed that, what about this?’ and she put her bare foot on the floor, held the heel of her other shoe, and took it off her other foot, and then took of the rest of her tights which were on her calf. She immediately put this foot in front of my mouth. This foot had not been in the water, nothing had been washed off it, and it was straight from her shoe – warm, and in its natural state. I could actually feel the warmth of it reflected against my face, and as it was naturally damp from its recent liberation from her constricting footwear, a warm, damp, and heady aroma came to my nostrils half an inch away. I breathed in slowly and deeply, resting my nose slowly on the cleavage of her toes, and enjoyed this rare aroma of freshly released toes. I opened my mouth, closed my eyes, and gently encircled the three middle toes with my lips, resting my tongue momentarily in the under-cave below her toes. Her toes felt damp on my lips – I could feel the sweat drying cold on my lips, and the fresh aroma was in my nose – as I ran a tentative tongue along the underside of her toes. These toes had been encased in that shoe for some hours, had basked in the tights and had dampened with her sweat as they had moved about as she walked and they had warmed up. They were as warm, slightly warmer, than the inside of my mouth, and as I licked the dampness from them, and the taste – stronger than anything I had tasted yet – they made my tongue tingle with the flavours, and as I pushed up between her toes where dampness turned to a slippery wetness, I could have almost come on the spot. This wetness I greedily licked and sucked up, taking the sweat from Angela’s body, the glistening tastes from between her toes, onto my tongue where I could savour it, and swallowing it into my body. And as I tasted these intimate areas of her foot, I was aware of my lips encircling her toes, of my nose less than an inch above the cleavage of her foot, and of her leg stretching into the distance, where Angela’s eyes were watching me suck the juices from between her toes, a soft smile on her lips. You’re enjoying that!’ she said.

Toothing. The Truth is Out There. I Think …

You are now aware of dogging if you have been reading here for a while. If not see the this article. Well the UK brought yet another to the fore called Toothing, last year. It is the practice of using your Bluetooth mobile phone to solicit sex with a stranger within the vicinity.

The Bluetooth wireless networking conduits your message to other mobiles or PDA’s within the immediate area. Making targeting of people on trains, busses and meetings possible. The toother sends a message and waits for a response from a fellow participator. This action ultimately leading to the couple meeting up for sex.

It was reported that it is challenging trying to figure out who in a crowded train or room possess a Bluetooth phone. Also the gender of the person, the only clue being the name of the phone originating the message. Toothing requires the participant to be totally aware of their surroundings and anyone using a phone, for they could be the person you are communicating with. This is a long shot as most people these days play with their phones constantly. Which could lead to some rather embarrassing moments.

Forums and Bulletin boards began to spring up for interested parties to solicit. The original idea came from the duo Stu Curran (then editor of Edge magazine) and ex-journalist Simon Byron. They set up a hoax forum about Toothing and asked for people to contribute ficticious accounts. Shortly after they launched the craze by sending an article to a gadget magazine. From that theme grew.

The press widely reported the craze and potential participants were sending in their requests to the numerous worldwide forums. Both TV and magazines wanted were interested and reported on this new phenomenon, including our very own BBC. They had successfully managed to dupe the press and public alike.

This couple of guys got people all over the world requesting interviews and even offering them a stand at the next sex convention. The original site was closed down by the service provider but you will note that there are still people out there talking buzzing about this. So, could it just be possible that there is a small community out there who are delving in to this or is it pure fiction?

I for one would have liked for this to have been a real social practice. Perhaps not always resulting in a shag but certainly a date for the shy amongst us.

Here Comes the Sun

While walking across the office car park at lunch yesterday I wondered why, after ten days of feeling so utterly dejected I suddenly felt my spirits rise.

It was the sun. Yes we do have sun in England. At this time of year in particular it’s of a weak insipid variety. But the light does have a certain quality to it that you find nowhere else in the world. It may be the “Diet Coke” of sunlight, but it’s good British sunlight. A welcome relief from the actual and metaphorical grey bleakness of recent days.

So, with what I’ve decided is the first breath of spring, heralded by Apollo’s rather understated arrival, I wandered off for a walk around the landscaped area of the business district where I work. Don’t get too excited, we are not talking “Capability” Brown here, just lots of birch, blackthorn and willow planted along the side of a stream that runs for about two kilometres at the edge of the business park. Hidden from the road and rarely used.

In fact very rarely used as I discovered as I walked along the path. The track quickly turned from a beaten earth walkway surrounded by lush vegetation to a muddy, overgrown, treacherous path, hiding tree roots and a multitude of low growing sharp and stinging plant life.

At this point a lesser man, or some might say more intelligent man would have turned back. That man was not me. I was enjoying the solitude and the sunlight streaming through the bare branches.
Only the occasional muffled passage of a car reminded me that I was close to civilisation. But I find total solitude inviting when I’m in a pastoral setting, so I pressed deeper down the path.

The undergrowth in front of me stirred. Blackbird? Rabbit? The top of a furry head was visible briefly, topped with two bumps that might one day be horns. It disappeared below the level of the vegetation. I followed as stealthily as I could, watching for the telltale disturbances.

CRACK. So intent was I on my quarry that my head collided with a branch. Dazed and quite literally seeing stars I shook my head to clear it. Bad mistake. I cursed as the pain intensified, things started to get colourful, my vision distorted and I leant against the offending tree for support, rubbing my forehead.

“Are you alright”, said a quiet, but rich voice.

Startled, I dropped my hand and opened my eyes to be greeted by the sight of a dark haired girl, around 25 with warm brown eyes. And a nice pair of legs.

“I’m fine”, I replied, “Just clumsy, I was following something. Small furry, two little horns, you haven’t seen it ha…”. I stopped realising she was smiling at me, humouring me? “I must have hit that branch harder than I thought”. Beautiful full lips.

“It was probably a satyr, they are a nuisance at this time of year.”

“Pardon? A satyr?”, I asked, thinking I’d misheard her. That cleavage looks inviting.

“Satyr, companions of Pan …”, she said. The aroma of spring flowers and spring sex seemed to be emanating from her.

“I know what satyrs are, they aren’t real.”, I said petulantly, the pain in my head making me wince. Her sandals displayed her suckable toes beautifully.

“I think he’d disagree.”, she said nodding to my left shoulder. I felt a sharp pain as needle-like teeth pierced cartilage. “Aaargh!”

I grabbed the impish little creature and threw it across to the other side of the stream. It squealed and glared at me. I would have felt sorry for the child-like wood spirit, were it not for the blood that coloured its lips. My Blood.

A warm sticky sensation on my neck prompted me to raise my hand to my ear. She got there first, her delicate fingers caressing my wound. Her other hand slid around the back of my neck. I don’t know if she was doing something miraculous to my ear or I was distracted by the gentle touch of her fingers at the base of my skull, but the pain disappeared as she worked on me.

She moved closer and, standing on tiptoe, she brought her lips close to mine. Not touching yet, but close enough so that I could feel the heat of her body. Her succulent lips parted, ever so slightly. I pulled her to me. Through her white dress, light as gossamer I could feel her fresh, firm form. I could taste her, smell her, like I was part of her. She was at once both newborn and yet far from naïve.

My hands stroked her back and pulled her too me, lifting her from the floor. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her hands worked quickly, deftly on my trousers. They fell to the floor exposing my obvious desire.

She raised herself up, pulling her dress to one side and lowering herself down onto my shaft. As I slid between her virginal lips she threw her head back and drew in a slow breath, only stopping when she had settled fully onto my sex.

With my help she began to move on me, tossing her dark hair from side to side. The sensation was overpowering, how I did not loose my balance I will never know. Every nerve ending was firing adding to the tsunami of tactile pleasure. Waves of colour washed over me, colours for which I don’t even have a name.

We looked into each other’s eyes, feeling the rising climax. Too soon? No, I couldn’t stand this intensity of pleasure for much longer. As she impaled herself on me for the final stroke I buried my face into her soft bossom and held her tight, growling with the intensity of the orgasm.

I looked up at her, still inside her. “What’s your name?”


“Don’t you have six sisters?”


“Are they all as generous as you?”

She kissed my forehead and I slumped against the tree. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them the throbbing in my temple had returned. But Maia had gone.