Beautiful, depraved

Intimacy. Debauchery. Irreverence.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Spirituality vs. I'm a great big slut

This comment came in a as a response to my “To Do List” post. I think the questions are totally valid, so I’m going to publish my response here.

I'm English, therefore sexual repression is probably in my genes as well as coming from my upbringing and the relatively conservative society that we live in here in Blighty, but I can't seem to equate being feminine, spiritual and sexy with these kind of sexual fantasies. Even as I write this though I question myself. I was about to ask this question: how can you be really spiritual and still crave all this raucous sexual activity? But then I thought to myself to deny the fantasy would be repression and therefore destructive. Hmmm....

Why though, do you want to have sex with all these men? Do you think it is a healthy thing? Don't you think you would be demeaned by the experience? It doesn't seem like there is anything particularly deep about your relationships with these men. Wouldn't it be a case of mere genital rubbing? I'm confused because I can see from your blog that you also relate to David Deida's work, which I have recently become so inspired by. He has helped change my view of relationships, myself and helped me understand what I am looking for in a man. You seem like a very open, courageous, feminine explorer, but at the same time I can't relate to the side of you that is sexually voracious. But then, I don't even know you! Maybe I am a little jealous. I feel like I am dried up. I need some new ideas. Some sexual food. I know you must get so many replies each day, so I totally understand if you can't reply, but if you could I would be so grateful. Or even if you could point me in the direction of some good sites? I don't mind if you print this post on your site. Thanks. xox

A lady in the streets and a freak between the sheets? Don’t we all want that? I certainly want a man like that.

Beautiful, intelligent, charming woman. I have an excellent eye for art, fashion and presentation (although I'm becoming quite partial to "cheap hooker" look. It seems to really work for me). I’m warm-hearted and spiritual – I volunteer within my community on a number of different levels. I have a decent intellect but prefer the languages of the heart and the body. I practice yoga and have been devoted to my spiritual path for 13 years. I teach a satsang class where I live.

And I like to get fucked.

A lot.

There are certainly a number of themes we can toss about here.

1) Women who openly admit to a “voracious” sexual appetite are usually labeled sluts. Men who do the same are revered.

I will venture to say that I am not that different from many women out there in having a desire to be very sexual – only that I acknowledge it to myself and to other people. The ‘slut’ word doesn’t scare me anymore. :)

2) From a very young age, after having lots of great sex, I still thought: “there has to be something more to sex.” I knew instinctively that it was some kind of portal, but it wasn’t until I found Tantra that I had a framework to express that concept within. Tantric and Taoist study both consider sexual energy to be extremely potent – the most powerful energy on the planet – and that CONSCIOUSLY channeled, it can be used for amazing things like:

a) revitalizing physical health – ancient Taoist physicians would prescribe different sexual positions to cure different ailments – by directing the energy to certain organs, etc. The best acupressure treatment going.
b) using sexual energy as a catalyst to reach higher spiritual/cosmic states
c) and, a very modern application and one that I play with a lot has to do with all the taboos and repression (you said it) that sex carries these days. People carry and hold a lot of energy in their repressed desires. When that stuff is explored consciously, very powerful things happen.

When I first went into fantasy play (and still), amazing things have taken place. There is something about taking these scenarios that I carry around with me, that are usually my secret, masturbatory fantasies and letting them loose that actually changes the nature of my reality. My inner world starts to mesh with my outer and vice versa and I feel extremely empowered. Our fantasies, our deepest sexual desires are often a source of shame. My experiences in acting these out in safe, sane and consensual environments has brought me more into a sense of my true self and given me incredible freedom to be all of who I am.

I play in the BDSM realm. I have a Master. I am his slave.

Or, as he once described it, the dominant becomes the mind and the submissive, the body.

BDSM really isn’t about pain or whips and chains or any other stereotypes most people conjure up. (Not entirely, anyway. ;) It has been an incredible vehicle for me to act out many of my fantasies. Would I really go into a gas station and fuck 10 random strangers? Probably not. (But who knows? ;) Instead, my Master might set up some similar scenario amongst seasoned players. Because I trust him implicitly, I can completely let go into the experience that he will orchestrate and through it I will experience some kind of transformation.

Is it mere genital rubbing? My primary connection is with myself and with him. I’m basically ‘using’ the other participants and they are ‘using’ me to create this. Even the voyeurs are participating since I want an audience. To me, any experience approached consciously has value.

I probably ought to add that my Master is a very conscious being. He is a Master martial artist, and a true shaman in that he can fearlessly move through many worlds and guide me into new/old places within myself. Neither of us uses drugs or alcohol.

On not being able to equate the sexy with the spiritual and feminine. In the past month, since my Master has taken me on again, I already notice so many changes within myself:

I walk around wanting to spread my legs for every man I see. I see a man look at me hungrily, with sex in his eyes and my instinct is to open my legs, my mouth a little wider.

I am smiling at people more, connecting with them, seeing how lots of people actually genuinely smile at me. I’m taking the first step in initiating contact and conversation with people.

I feel more capable of love and intimacy and more open to the world around me, as though the openness of my cunt is related to how I interact in the world. My own self-acceptance makes me accept other people more. I feel happier.

Men stare at me, mouths open, eyes hungry. Left, right and center. They can just sense this openness in me. And I’m energetically telling them they can have it. I love it. Especially middle-aged, slovenly kinds of men. I pass them an energetic fuck and squeeze them with my thighs and smile invitingly as I walk past them.

“I don’t mind if you print this post on your site.”

I bet you don’t! ;) I’m happy to assist you with a little bit of exposure. As for where to point you, I’d say just follow your nose (or rather, your pussy). It knows. One thing I embark upon tends to lead to another. David Deida has his strong points. Anyone who uses the words “cock” and “pussy” and then says something intelligent is all right in my books. Body Electric does some very good workshops. Osho’s Multiversity in Pune or Humaniversity in the Netherlands will shake you up. Or spend a weekend with me.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Dress you up in my trash

My Master parks the car, we get out and I follow him down the street. I have no idea where we are going. We come up to a pretty boutique. I start veering instinctually toward it.

He keeps walking.

Another pretty boutique.

Uh unh. He keeps walking. I know what’s at the end of the street. I’m starting to clue in that this may be where we are headed.

We are. The Salvation Army thrift store.

He starts giving me instructions. “I want you to look for really small, sleazy kinds of things, like plastic skirts and little tops. Look for bright colors like red... show me what you find.”

We are heading to a play party next weekend. I recently told him how I was put off by someone’s “cheap hooker” look. So here we are, shopping for new outfits.

He’s even at the children’s section, looking for really tiny, tiny tight t-shirts. He pulls things out, holds them up to me and says, “Will this fit you?” I look at the neck hole. If my head looks like it will fit through, I say yes.

I take a stack of things into the dressing room. I take off my pretty dress, put down my designer sunglasses and bag and dump the pile of clothes onto the floor.

I’m trying on little denim shorts and mini-skirts, tight t-shirts, some leopard print thing. I open the door to show him each outfit and he nods yes or no. His eyes light up when I put on a little black t-shirt with a bull on it.

I also told him about a man who asked me out on a civilian date. I describe the guy, there’s some attraction there for me, but it’s not really strong. My Master tells me to accept the date. My date, let’s call him J, wants to pick me up on his motorcycle and take me out of the city for a serious hike up a mountain. Maybe dinner afterwards.

We take this stack of stuff up to the counter. Grand total: $14.95-.

We go back to his place and he wants me to try everything on again. I put on a little fashion show. He tells me to go look in the mirror after every outfit change.

“How do you feel?”

“Like trailer trash.”

“Good,” he smiles. “This is what you are wearing on your date.”

I’m half laughing, half horrified. I can’t imagine going out in public in this stuff, never mind a date.

“Do you have a belt, something cheap looking?” he asks. I have a glittery sequined belt to go with the very, very short denim mini skirt (no panties), the black bull t-shirt (no bra) and, um, running shoes. “Fantastic,” he says. “I’m giving you a break, eh? I’ll let you take the price tags off. But don’t wash these things.” He picks up a t-shirt and smells it and shakes his head. He looks at me and laughs.

Fast forward to date morning. I have to meet some friends before I head out to meet J. I decide to wear the outfit – it will save me changing again. Plus, it’s kind of growing on me.

A friend: “WHAT are you wearing? Where did you get that… outfit?”

Me: “What do you mean? Is there something wrong with it?”

Friend, looking stumped: “Well, where did you get it?”

I meet a few other friends on the way. All are staring at the bull. I’m really enjoying this now.

I meet up with J. The outfit doesn’t seem to faze him. At all. Aww. I guess he likes me just the way I am. How sweet.

So I climb onto the bike; I’m pretty sure it’s clear I’m not wearing panties. Still not fazed. I’m straddling him on the drive out, sometimes leaning forward to push my breasts against his back.

There’s a bit of tension, of crackle. We hike to the summit, me hopping over logs, jumping off rocks; I come alive in the forest, nymph that I am.

He’s packed a picnic lunch for us, and we actually manage to find a ledge that is completely secluded and shaded by a rogue tree on this rock face. I’m waiting for him to make his move. Here it comes. He picks up my hand and starts very deliberately massaging my fingers, in between my fingers even. It feels good. I let myself succumb for a little while until I feel my breath catching a bit, then I bring my attention back to my solar plexus. My pussy is fired up, I’m sitting with my legs open and he is lightly trailing my thighs, ever so close but not quite touching my swollen pussy.

I lean up higher against the rock wall, stopping the interaction. I’m in a heightened, sensuous space as we descend.

We stop at a cold, rushing creek. I want to swim so I strip down naked and plunge in. J keeps his shorts on. Another couple is there and the man looks at me and I look at him. This other man takes off his shorts and jumps in as well. I keep staring at him, his beautiful 60 year old body and bold spirit.

This is the moment when everything changes. I lay on a rock, letting the sun dry me. I open my legs so I can feel the sun on my pussy. (Ancient Taoist energy reviving technique). J. is trying to lie directly across from me, putting his leg between my legs somewhat. I get up and move to another rock to lie down, still naked, my breasts full and luminous in the sun, my pussy so happy to feel the heat and me just languorously, softly naked. After some time, I dress and climb past the rock J. is on. He pulls me to him for a hug, pressing me tight. He kisses me but I extract myself and we head out.

Excuse the obvious metaphors to follow, but it’s pretty much downhill from there. We get back to the bike and he’s actually left the keys in the ignition and the battery’s dead.

Later as I’m telling my Master about the day, he says: “I knew if you were in your truth, you would not have sex with him. He lost his power and you stayed in yours.” It’s this dynamic that I’m beginning to understand more and more. How I can still feel and connect with the other person, but stay in my own center, even if someone is trying to pull me off it.

P.S. The aforementioned outfit has since become my favorite.

Monday, June 26, 2006

To do list

- Falling in love with a woman I’m hot for. Maybe a boy-girl – FTM. Very boyish looking tomboy girls – fit, crew cuts, bulging biceps and wife-beaters - girls with strong boy arms and bodies.
- Fucking a room full of men – many variations on this theme:
- I’ve had my car repaired at a seedy garage. I’ve “forgotten my wallet.” I’m suggesting another way to pay. I unbutton my blouse. The manager calls in the other attendants. He locks the door behind them. They take turns fucking me, some of them filming me. They keep me there all night. Until every one of them is absolutely, totally satisfied.
- I go in for an interview as a secretary. I suggest many ways I could perform duties in the office, such as staying late and working LOTS of overtime. My potential boss calls in other associates who line up to be serviced. It takes all night to fuck them. Several times.
- A slave auction. I’m on stage, tied up, my arms above my head. I am naked. People are openly, lustfully staring at my pussy, my breasts. A very crowded room is bidding pathetic amounts for my company for 2 full days and nights. I am finally auctioned off to some sleazy pot-bellied men who drag me out with them. Driving off, they are already groping me and making me suck their cocks and fuck them in the car before we even arrive at some shithole. For two days I am their sex slave; I hardly sleep. I am made to service them constantly. They bring over more friends who I am made to fuck and please around the clock as the rest of them watch.

Writing this and imagining it all is making me so excited, so wet.

Friday, June 23, 2006

I would love to kiss you

I would love to kiss you
The price of kissing is your life

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it

- Rumi, Open Secret

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Instigators and Demigods of Sexual Pursuit: #2

O - Story of O

Truly one of my all time favorite heroines. She starts her journey as a pretty, successful girl, has a charming lover. All is well until he throws her to the dogs, subjecting her to all number of debasements, humiliation, pain and chastisement. Slowly, as she is broken down, a beautiful chrysalis occurs. With nothing left to hold onto of her former self, she emerges totally free. There is no taboo, there is no ‘bad’ since she has experienced it all, faced it all in herself and now there is nothing left to fear.

I had a lover (well, still have) like this. He throws me into wild situations – anything that I am attached to or have any ‘preciousness’ about, he destroys. I was afraid of gaining weight. He made me gain 15 pounds. I was attached to my pretty girl hair. He shaved it off. I was intimidated by one of his other lovers. He made me eat her pussy and I fell in love with her within minutes. I have fantasies of pure exhibitionism – he puts me in rooms full of people with my cunt on display for all to view. I love group sex. He brought me 6 gorgeous, sexy people for my birthday. And so on. Although I have been apart from him for several years, I sought him out again recently. I needed a catapult into the next dimension and I knew he could help me.

What are our relationships - especially the sexual ones – if they are not catalytic in some way? I really need them to be - the arena where I can play the wildest.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Instigators and Demigods of Sexual Pursuit: #1

I'd like to start a sexual heroes series - a tribute to people who have paved the way to a more erotically open existence. Renegades and pioneers who have made it easier for the rest of us to be the XXX we all really are.

Lalla's Naked Song

There is tell of a mystical Sufi poet named Lalla. She was known for wandering naked, singing, through the 14th century streets of Kashmir. She gave up garments altogether - her body seemed clothing enough. One day she was off to the village well to fetch water. She danced gracefully on the way home, the jar of water balanced on her head. Her husband, seething with envy, tired of her impervious, wanton displays, threw a rock at the jar. It shattered; sending pieces of glass everywhere, but the water remained intact on the top of her head. And Lalla kept singing.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Twenty moments of seduction: Moment #3

"It's the only defense I have."

When I would ask D. how he could be so vulnerable with me, always flattering me, telling me how big he saw me, that's what he would say. Something along the lines of: If you know your weaknesses then you're not weak anymore. His openness disarmed me. By acknowledging his vulnerability and speaking his truth, he was replacing fear with love. And in so doing, the whole world changes.

I tried it with someone recently, someone who totally blows me away. Let myself fumble through my vulnerability and express how I really felt. I was scared shitless (I took that as a good sign). After doing it, I could let go of any attachment to the outcome, because I had done the best I could, there was nothing left to say - nothing less than the truth.

And in so doing, the whole world changed.