Patricia's Payments
Patricia was a professional in her mid 30s. She had gone to graduate school in mental health and had a job at one of the city's major hospitals. She drove an expensive car, wore well-made clothes, and lived in a vintage Bungalow in a hip part of town. Living alone, though, she often had more house maintenance than she could do, or wanted to do, herself. There was always something--raking leaves, cleaning gutters, fixing the sidewalk where a tree root had cracked the cement. She'd hire someone to do the job for her, usually some younger guy in his 20s, though not always. Sometimes it was whoever she could get for the skill she needed. Usually she could get young studs for the hard labor, but plumbing and electric, those tended to be middle-aged men, usually married with kids. Those were the easiest.
She'd let them do the work, then when it was time to pay them, she'd pour a glass of wine, and tell them she didn't have the money and maybe there was something she could do in lieu of payment.
She often wore tight skirts, or nice low cut dresses that revealed her cleavage. She saw the men check out her chest, and once they did, she knew she had them. She was trained in psychology, so she felt like it was a game, a little practical challenge to get them to agree. Of course, with the married guys it was a snap. The younger guys would hesitate a second if they had girlfriends and if they were already getting it every day. That was part of the thrill and challenge for Patricia.
She had the money to pay them, but it was a nice victory to have a $600 plumbing bill voided. She could treat herself to new shoes or a weekend at the coast. She would always think of it as a challenge of her mind over their weak will. It made her feel powerful and smart. She would never admit that it also made her feel, just for a moment, younger, as if she could stop time. That was power.
She'd let them do the work, then when it was time to pay them, she'd pour a glass of wine, and tell them she didn't have the money and maybe there was something she could do in lieu of payment.
She often wore tight skirts, or nice low cut dresses that revealed her cleavage. She saw the men check out her chest, and once they did, she knew she had them. She was trained in psychology, so she felt like it was a game, a little practical challenge to get them to agree. Of course, with the married guys it was a snap. The younger guys would hesitate a second if they had girlfriends and if they were already getting it every day. That was part of the thrill and challenge for Patricia.
She had the money to pay them, but it was a nice victory to have a $600 plumbing bill voided. She could treat herself to new shoes or a weekend at the coast. She would always think of it as a challenge of her mind over their weak will. It made her feel powerful and smart. She would never admit that it also made her feel, just for a moment, younger, as if she could stop time. That was power.
What would Smokey Do?
As a girl, she'd grown up hiking in the woods, backpacking, hiking. She'd been told over and over again from Smokey Bear: "Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires."
We'd had a campfire, and let it burn all the way down. I took a stick and stirred the ashes. Still, it smoldered. We were backpacking out in the dry country, where the trees aren't Doug Fir, but Ponderosa pine. Water sources were few and far between and we needed to save our water for drinking. It'd get hot in the day and we ran a real risk of dehydration.
So what's a good backcountry girl to do, but pull down her pants do her part to put the campfire all the way out.
I was both shocked and impressed. Bears pee in the woods all the time. So I guess it's exactly what Smokey would do.
We'd had a campfire, and let it burn all the way down. I took a stick and stirred the ashes. Still, it smoldered. We were backpacking out in the dry country, where the trees aren't Doug Fir, but Ponderosa pine. Water sources were few and far between and we needed to save our water for drinking. It'd get hot in the day and we ran a real risk of dehydration.
So what's a good backcountry girl to do, but pull down her pants do her part to put the campfire all the way out.
I was both shocked and impressed. Bears pee in the woods all the time. So I guess it's exactly what Smokey would do.
Ski Bear!
Many a lusty teenager had a famous poster for Bear Valley ski resort (at least in Northern California). It showed an attractive woman (incidentally, the wife of the then-general manager), nude, from the rear, on skis, with a tree branch conveniently covering her derrière.
Ski Bear...get it.... was a quintissential 70s poster, representing the wonderful naive iconoclasm of the age. How lovely. Too bad we don't see posters like this anymore.
Ski Bear...get it.... was a quintissential 70s poster, representing the wonderful naive iconoclasm of the age. How lovely. Too bad we don't see posters like this anymore.
Small but Sexy
This image is small but sexy. She made it with her camera phone, at night, and the light wasn't great, and the camera light on the cel phone wasn't very good, but she wanted to take a sexy photo. Really sexy. And naughty. She had been looking at porn on her computer, bored, lonely, and drinking white wine. She was getting hot and bothered and getting up the courage to post a picture of herself online.
She was worried one of her friends, of worse, a teacher, would see her image. So she wrapped a scarf around her like a bandit.
This was as sexy as she could come up with. Sometimes good things come in little packages.
She was worried one of her friends, of worse, a teacher, would see her image. So she wrapped a scarf around her like a bandit.
This was as sexy as she could come up with. Sometimes good things come in little packages.
Coy Caroline
Caroline was never my girlfriend, though I always wanted her to be. I can't even remember how we met, but it was when I first moved back to Portland. I was renting the upstairs of an old bungalow owned by a burned-out hippie. Upstairs I entertained my artistic friends, filmmakers, painters, indie musicians. Caroline was from Canada on a student Visa, and seemed to have lots of time to hang out, paint, do crafts, and just listen to old records from the thrift stores. She had a boyfriend, who was nice enough, but didn't seem particularly artistic. I was Caroline's "art" friend, part actual friend, and probably just as much, a creative outlet.
I was always flirting with her. And when we went swimming in the summer, I was always checking her out in her bikini. She was pretty as a model, with long, straight red hair, light freckles and a devilish smile. She always kept her mouth closed when she smiled, like the Mona Lisa, because she had one slightly crooked tooth. I thought she was stunning.
No matter how much we'd go swimming, or how many cocktails we'd have, she wasn't going to leave her boyfriend and have the passionate affair with me that I felt we both so deserved.
Finally, I realized that she loved photography and that I could at least appeal to that. I showed her some arty nudes I'd taken of a former girlfriend and she loved them. I casually suggested that she'd made a great model. She grinned coyly, and considered it with saying anything for a while as she flipped through the images. I could tell she was really giving it some thought. Even her forehead was crumpled up. And her lips were trembling a little. It was very cute. As hot as she was, she was also just a really nice girl. Not spoiled or stuck up. She was nice to everyone. Smart, but shy. Pretty and liked being pretty, but never conceited. The kind of girl in high school that was in sports, but also in the French club, and talked exactly the same to the popular kids as the unpopular.
She loved photography, art. She wanted to be part of that world. She had grown up looking at images of models and movie stars. Of course she projected herself into those images. She also wanted to be a rebel, a little, because she'd always been the A student. But she also was scared and shy about herself, and didn't want to admit that as much as she intellectually accepted her A-cup breasts, she really wouldn't have minded being at least a B cup. She wanted to feel and look beautiful and sexy. And, if she was really honest, she actually loved attention.
"Ok," she said. And smiled her closed smile. "Let's do it."
Double Date
They went on a double date out for drinks and then dancing. Their girlfriends seemed to be getting along really well, and when they got back, things took an unexpected and interesting turn. The guys, encouraged by the flirting and teasing on the dance floor, dared the girls to kiss. They did. They dared them to take off their tops, and they did. They dared them to go farther, and they did. By this point, the girls did their own thing, and all the guys could do was stand back and watch. They grabbed their phones to get a picture because no one would ever believe them.
Sarah and Sona
Sarah was in my grad program, so was Sona. Sona had a boyfriend back in Saint Louis. Sarah was from San Francisco and had broken up with her last girlfriend before coming to school and so was single, and into ether boys or girls. Sona was into boys, and specifically her boyfriend, who she planned to marry, but with enough alcohol, she was into whatever felt good at the moment. Sarah liked to invite Sona or me over to her apartment, play records and ply us with cocktails. It worked.
A Nice Relaxing Bath
She suggested taking a bath to unwind after a crazy day. She suggested she'd help him relax.
The Touch
She told her friend that the one thing she'd always wanted to do is feel another woman's nipples touch her own. She imagined it would be the softest, most erotic sensation ever.
On Vacation
The two things she wanted to do on her vacation was to go without clothes and without shaving. Her tan lines began to disappear and her stubble return.
Roomies
She and her Freshman roommate got along well. Really well.
When it's time
A lovely image. Such a tight fit, and when it's time, there's no time to take off the panties.
Wedding Photog
As a professional wedding photographer, Holly had seen a lot of things. Unfortunately, mostly she saw brides breaking down and throwing tantrums, or puking at receptions from too much to drink. And there was always always always one of the groomsmen hooking up with one of the bridesmaids.
Holly hadn't started as a wedding photographer because she loved weddings. She loved documentary photography. But the fact was, weddings paid. A lot.
She was hired to shoot for an entire day, or late into the night. With powerful memory cards, her DSLR could literally shoot 1000s of images. She captured it all. Often without people even noticing. With long lens and a trained eye and hand, she could snap a telling moment in a split second. That's what they paid her for.
Even when she captured a groomsman feeling up a bridesmaid, somehow it still had the look and feel of her other wedding images, the same as cutting the cake, or exchanging rings. She realized, though very quickly, to never show the client what actually happened at their wedding, but only what they want to remember happening. Weddings are a story we tell ourselves, and we never want the truth to get in the way.
First Time
There's a first time for everything.
Devine 69
When I first began to explore sexuality with R____, we soon discovered the joy of mutual and simultaneous oral sex. It seemed so beautiful that to call it simply "69" was an insult. Somehow we decided to call it "the position of the gods." Our logic, if you could call it that, was that in Greek mythology the gods were both male and female and all equally powerful. Therefore, we figured that the gods must love a position where the man and woman are equally powerful, influencing and being influenced by the other, just as in all the stories we'd read.
Of course I loved it when our love making became passionate and she'd straddle me, press her wet pussy onto my mouth as she took me, hard, in hers. But I especially liked the slow days, when we'd have no where to go and nothing to do but lay naked together. Sometimes we'd roll toward each other, head to foot, and slowly, gently taste each other. It was so passionate, so intimate. We explored almost everything sexual together. Years have passed and we're no longer together. But I still remember R with love and those slow, tender times sharing together "the position of the gods."
Audrey's Secret
I remember being so surprised when Audrey told me. We had just begun to get to know each other. We'd been on a couple dates. It was at that point in the relationship where you've gone out together, but but you might not yet say, "We're together."
We were at one of the coffeehouses near campus. A chill place that also served beer. And in the afternoons, when most people were in class, it was a nice time to have a drink and talk. The talk soon turned to sex. Perhaps because we hadn't had any together, and there was that real excitement and anticipation because it seemed we were headed that way.
Not having sex together, we talked about masturbation. Asking each other about having sex alone, was not just flirty verbal foreplay, but a coded way to gage if either of us were really single, or playing the field, or pent up and desperate.
Audrey said that, like college boys, she probably masturbated twice a day. She said she did it in bed, like when she woke up, or before ending her day. Sometimes in the shower before classes, if she wasn't too rushed. And sometimes "just around," she said.
"What do you mean, just around," I asked.
"Oh you know," she said. "Like if I'm in my car and stuck in traffic, instead of getting all pissed off, I just touch myself."
I nodded. "Where else," I asked, curious.
"Well, once I did it on a plane coming home from school. It was pretty late, and I had one of those blankets in my lap, and the movie wasn't that good, so I slipped my hand under the blanket."
I was feeling myself get hard as I tried to imagine Audrey in an airplane flying home from college, rubbing herself in her seat.
"Oh, and in the library, sometimes I need a little study break, you know? My eyes get all blurry, and start reading the same sentence like a hundred times. and I don't want to walk back halfway across campus to the dorms. So I just do it right there."
"What do you mean right there?"
"Well, you know, it's a big library, and the tables are big, and there not very many people there, and I just slip my hand down."
"And no one sees you?"
"I don't think so. I mean really, you know how it always feels like everyone is watching everything you do? It's not really true. Everyone's always in their own world. I've done it with someone studying at the same table. They never had a clue."
I was totally turned on, now picturing her at one of the large oak tables in the library, secretly touching herself underneath it, while her textbooks were open in front of her.
"That's hard to believe they didn't catch on," I said. "I mean, people aren't stupid."
"No," said Audrey. "Not stupid, just usually too much in their own thoughts to really look or care what's going on next to them. Like now."
"Like now what?"
"Like as we've been talking, I've been touching myself."
That was the most shocking thing a woman had ever, and has ever, said to me. I looked at Audrey across the table for some sign. Her faces was calm, same as always. She smiled. She wore a striped dress, and all I could see was her top. I couldn't see her hands, in her lap or what they were doing. There was a student in the booth behind us, but he'd been working on his laptop and I don't think had tuned into our conversation.
"I don't believe you," I said.
"See for yourself," said Audrey and slid back in the booth chair. I glanced under the booth and saw that she did in fact have both hands inside her tights and panties. She was clearly rubbing herself. Now she had her eyes closed and she looked like she was quietly sleeping or just concentrating. I could see her fingers moving faster against the fabric, but she didn't moan or sigh, just sat back in the booth, rubbing herself. I snapped a quick shot with my celphone, trying to capture the moment. I think I got the scene: the table, my beer, the dude behind us. But it's hard to capture just how real and powerful it was to be sitting just inches from Audrey as she rubbed herself. She was fully clothed and if anyone walked by, she could simply close her legs and smooth her dress down. No one would ever know what was going on, unless, like me, they could watch and focus on the small quiver of her lips and how she squeezed her eyes when her orgasm came.
1950s Housewife
Breaking rules is so much more fun than following them. It's no surprise that the height of cocktail culture was during Prohibition. Modern pornography (as in photographs and films depicting sexual acts) was born in the prudishVictorian Era, and wife swapping and nudism entered the American vernacular in the repressed 1950s.
As Senator McCarthy was trying to call out communists, and as TV and magazines depicted perfect nuclear families, with father knowing best and mom pulling a hot ham from the oven, and the two kids studying at school and playing sports, there was just as much sexual libido as any other generation. Perhaps suppressing it only made it that much more exciting.
As any reader of this blog knows, I'm a huge fan of the flower power hippies and back to earth kids of the late 60s and 70s. Those skinny dippers at Woodstock and beyond really knew how to be natural out in nature, and are all the sexier for it. And while I completely advocate for an open and honest acceptance of human nudity in nature (see my other blog Naked Outdoors), I have to admit that a world without censorship and prudes would be a little dull. Some of the fun of stripping off clothes is the thrill of it being a little "inappropriate."
That's why I find this image so erotically charged. Just her nude body could belong to any era, but with the hairdo and cat-eye glasses, this is clearly the 1950s. She's maybe late 20s, early 30s? For the time period, she's probably a housewife somewhere in a new American suburb. Her husband has a steady 9-5, and in this post-war boom, they own a home. A nice white one-story ranch. And the home has a front yard with a driveway for their new chromed Chevrolet, and a big backyard.
Perhaps when her husband is at work and she's finished the dishes and laundry because she owns new washers and dryers and housework is done by modern machines and not by hand, she has more time for herself and relaxation. Perhaps she takes a towel and paperback novel into her big backyard, and in the sun, lays out, buck naked. It's something neither her mother or her husband would approve of, but that makes it all the more empowering.
The Position
After some effort and a few failed attempts, they found the perfect position. If she lay on her back, she could raise her legs all the way up and back to her ears. Being flexible was no problem, but it was hard to keep her leg up and keep her back arched up. Then they realized all he had to do was straddle her legs. Sitting on them held them back, and also put his cock right above her face. She loved this, because it pinned her to the bed, and made it impossible to move--it was basically a light form of bondage and restraint, but without messing with ropes and chains. Sometimes she loved being in control, but she really loved being taken. The other advantage was that it exposed and opened her backside for easiest entry by their friend. As he lowered himself down to enter her, her husband was afforded a perfect view. He loved to watch his wife being penetrated in the ass. She loved feeling bent in half and getting in the ass--it was deep, but a smooth straight shot, so there was no pain. Being bent over so far meant that the entering penis hit her spot inside. If they timed it all perfectly, she'd cum just as he'd shoot his load in her butt, causing her to cum harder, causing her husband to let go of his load into her open, waiting mouth. Triple satisfaction.
Before Work
Girlfriend in New York, just before leaving for work in morning.
The Retreat
In college we went on a retreat out to the desert. Some of the girls decided it would be a good idea to get up in the mornings and greet the sun with yoga. Naked.
It was a beautiful sight. We all had a relaxing week in the desert, hiking and eating and hanging out. It was so hot that once we stripped off our clothes, we really had no reason to put them back on. The sun felt great on our skin. The girls were comfortable in their nudity. No one shaved. Everyone was natural and free to be themselves. It really was a perfect week.
Adventurous College Girlfriend
She found that college was a great time to experiment.
The Groomsmen's Gift
According to Anglo-Saxon history, the groom kidnapped his bride in order to get married. The original best man, or the groom's warrior friend, helped the groom fight off other men while "bridesmen" or "bridesknights" made sure the bride arrived safely to the ceremony.
Today, there is still a charged sexual tension between the bride and the close-knit pack of guys. Often, the groom and best man met her at the same time, like at a bar or party in college. In addition to being the best friend and right hand of the groom, the best man gives a toast during the reception, organizes the bachelor party, holds the bride's wedding ring, and witnesses the signing of the marriage certificate. Groomsmen generally serve as ushers, act as chauffeurs for out-of-town guests and help with last minute tasks before and on the wedding day. They are all excited to see their friend get hitched, especially to a hot girl. All of them, at some point, think of how how she looks in her dress, and now how "off the market," she is.
It's traditional for the groom to give a gift to his groomsmen. So as one final hurrah, his new bride stepped in to help. A handjob for every groomsmen. A very Anglo-Saxon wedding.
Today, there is still a charged sexual tension between the bride and the close-knit pack of guys. Often, the groom and best man met her at the same time, like at a bar or party in college. In addition to being the best friend and right hand of the groom, the best man gives a toast during the reception, organizes the bachelor party, holds the bride's wedding ring, and witnesses the signing of the marriage certificate. Groomsmen generally serve as ushers, act as chauffeurs for out-of-town guests and help with last minute tasks before and on the wedding day. They are all excited to see their friend get hitched, especially to a hot girl. All of them, at some point, think of how how she looks in her dress, and now how "off the market," she is.
It's traditional for the groom to give a gift to his groomsmen. So as one final hurrah, his new bride stepped in to help. A handjob for every groomsmen. A very Anglo-Saxon wedding.
The Workshop
If the truest sense of documentary is to transport the viewer to a particular time and place beyond where they'd normally go in their ordinary lives, and introduce them to people they otherwise wouldn't meet, and capture on film the unfolding of life and human experience, then The Workshop is a success. Yes, it is about a 10-day New Age retreat in Northern California. And yes, it had nudity. Yes, it discusses adult situations--monogamy, marriage, and sexuality. These issues, deeply rooted in our culture and Christianity, cause many viewers to flag this film as offensive, morally corrupt, and self-absorbed. And, to a point, that is part of the beauty of this film.
In The Workshop, individuals who feel lost in their current lives and are seeking some form of guidance turn to silver-haired British guru Paul Lowe. Some viewers may pity them, but filmmaker Jamie Morgan does not. He presents a candid "behind the scenes" to the retreat of which he is both observer and participant. At times he turns the camera on himself (a la Ross McElwee in Sherman's March) but mostly he allows the camera to be a voyeuristic eye, meeting many of the participants of the retreat and following their emotional journey as they attempt to break down their preconceptions, social conditioning, and self-defeating attitudes.
There are both humorous and tender moments. There is self-conscious performance for the camera and also genuine candid human interaction, including jealously, anger, and affection.
Despite the low-rez digital camera, the shots of a couple nude in a swimming pool at night are some of the loveliest in any film since the 1934 classic Tarzan and His Mate.
Do the participants of the workshop find happiness and joy and all the answers they sought--no, not exactly. What they do find is a better appreciation of themselves, and others, for all their beauty and flaws. Taken in the same spirit, this documentary, with its flaws and its truly beautiful moments, is something special.
Her Time
Saturday mornings, she gets to sleep in. No alarm to snap her out of dreams. No dressing in the dark. The morning light spills in. She's kicked the sheets off, and lays naked on her bed. Her fingers remember her dream and the sensations she felt. Her eyes closed, her fingers know the way.
Last Call
Riding home on the MAX on Friday night, just after the clubs had all closed. Girls out dancing, dressed in their "I'm hot and feeling sexy" outfits. I was going home from working late. The girl was sitting in the seat opposite me. We were the only ones on the train. She swayed to her seat and flopped down, obviously tipsy. Her skirt fell open and she just laughed. She looked at me, not embarrassed in anyway. She was either very drunk, or just really loved attention. I asked if I could take her picture with my cel phone (this is why so small) and she raised her skirt a bit more to not only show more skin but that she wasn't wearing any underwear, and then smiled.
Unfortunately my stop was before hers. I went back home to my wife and she went home to...pass out? A boyfriend? A toy? It was enough to fuel my imagination that night.
Unfortunately my stop was before hers. I went back home to my wife and she went home to...pass out? A boyfriend? A toy? It was enough to fuel my imagination that night.
Boob in Face
What could possibly be hotter than seeing your girlfriend with a boob pushed up in her face?
Hot Betty (Part 3)
So the endless debate: in Gilligan's Island, Ginger vs. Mary Ann, and in the Flintstones, Wilma vs. Betty. In both, I take the not as obviously hot, girl-next-door. The brunette over the fiery redhead. The shy one over the flirt.
Wilma might have been the center of attention, but behind closed doors, Betty has a hidden side just waiting to come out.
Wilma might have been the center of attention, but behind closed doors, Betty has a hidden side just waiting to come out.
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| Betty was a hottie. She loved her mail-order lingereie from Fredricks of Hollyrock. |
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| Betty had a thing for Fred ever since she met him at Bedrock High |
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| Betty wanted to show Fred a few tricks she'd read about. |
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| Betty loved Fred's "bone" and she was very skilled at giving "bone jobs." |
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| Fred's bone was too large for her bum, but she tried anyway. |
Rough Rider
We hadn't been together for a year. She'd moved to LA. I'd stayed. We'd broken up, but not really formally or officially, just weren't together. When she came back for a visit, she stayed with me and we were soon in bed. We made love fast, and then rested and made love slow. And we made love in the kitchen, and on the couch. And then, when I thought I had been completely drained, she straddled me, her butt to my face, and began to stir my limp penis back to hardness.
All the sex had made my body thicker than usual and my cock large and throbbing. When she held it, she grasped it tightly. The harder she tugged, the better it felt. I wanted it hard. Really hard. She held my balls in her hand and tugged. I bucked my hips up. She knew if she was going to get me to cum again, she'd need to do it hard. So hard. As hard as she could. I didn't hurt, but felt really good. Somehow it was perfect for the mood. She'd never done it this hard before, but it felt exactly right. Her grip was hard and strong. And she talked dirty to me about wanting to squeeze the last load of cum from my balls and how she wanted to watch it. I reached up and tugged on her breast, just before I exploded.
College Party
College usually involves a lot of studying, hard work, trying new things, and beer. Not always in that order.
The Quickie
Their Playroom
At their first apartment they had two bedrooms. One they used as their bedroom, the other as their play room. It was empty except for an old bed and a closet. Under the bed, they kept a box. It held the collection of gifts they'd exchanged to each other on anniversaries and Valentine's Days: wrist and ankle straps, ropes, nipple clamps, anal beads, vibrators and dildos of various shapes and sizes.
They didn't use or go into the room for anything other than sex. So going in was an extra charge for both of them. It was their playroom, filed with their toys. Sure, they had sex in their own bed, and in the shower, and even in the living room. But when they were going into the playroom, it was for one purpose only: really good kinky sex.
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