Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 29

Have you ever (or would you ever) tried role play? What roles are you drawn to?

Role play is not something that comes to mind when I think of things I would like to try. The idea of dressing in a specific way that is dictated by someone else and pretending to be a specific character has never applied to me. As much as I enjoy the atmosphere of theatre I have never had the desire to be on a stage.

And then I started pole dance. 

On my first visit to a swingers club I watched a woman dance for her husband and lover on a pole. I remember thinking I would never be confident enough to do that. Somewhere the scales tipped. After the first time I climbed that stage and put my hand on that brass I was hooked. The power of looking a man or woman in the eye as I present my arse to them. Or as I give them a flash of my pussy is addictive. 

I have amazing boobs. There is no denying it. In appropriate environments I love getting them out for the world to see. From strippers and great boobs my ultimate role play fantasy was born. To work as a stripper / topless waitress for a room of selected people. Lap dances are available, touching is allowed. 

I just need someone who is willing to fork out for the ultimate accessory for the event, the shoes.

Every Damn Day in June

You Never Walk Alone

Regular Twitter followers are familiar with #commutecleavage. Sneaky shots taken while sitting at traffic lights on my morning commute. My tween last Friday featured my brand new Trademutt shirt.

Trademutt is an Australian workwear company established by two guys who met working on a building site, two tradies. One of them lost his best mate, another tradie, to suicide. It is a great tragedy that men who work in traditional “masculine” environments frequently suffer mental health problems in silence and spiral silently to a place where the only way out is to take their lives.

The founders of Trademutt took it upon themselves to build a company that gave tradies and other blue collar workers the opportunity to start conversations about mental health. The bright colours of the shirts draw attention. Each shirt has the words “This is a conversation starter” clearly visible across the back. A prompt for anyone to come up and start a conversation with the wearer. Each shirt has the letters YNWA on the breast pocket. A reminder to co-workers that they are not alone. That their mates at work have their back.

A portion of the profits of Trademutt go to support charities that provide mental health support and counselling to people who may not normally have the finances to access professional services. So I wear my shirts proudly and I use it as a way to show my students, tradies of the future, that their mental health matters.

Boob Day
Every Damn Day in June

Just a Peek

We had the opportunity on the weekend just gone to spend some time with a couple we have just met. The weather was amazing for the first time in a while and we took the opportunity to enjoy the sunshine with minimal clothing. The lady of the other couple is not as confident with being nude around other boats as myself and so she started out with just a little peek.

Boob Day
Sinful Sunday

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 25

I am determined to finish this series. It has been over a year!! If you want to catch up on the questions so far my Thirty Dirty Questions page has all the links.

How often do you masturbate and what works best for you?

I was raised a Catholic and sex was not talked about in our house at all. Other than the cautionary “don’t do it”. In addition my mother was very critical of mine, and almost everyone else’s body. She frequently judged people about their weight. It made me very self conscious and private about my own body. I lived quite a long way from town and had very few friends that I could share any thoughts or ideas about sex, bodies, growing up etc. Even when I went to boarding school I struggled to make friends and certainly never talked about sex with anyone. In those days the internet and smart phones were a thing of the future. Learning about sex without a social network or a parent who was willing to talk to you was almost impossible. 

I did overhear conversations between other girls and gained snippets from magazines when I was allowed to buy them and so I did learn to masturbate. I had really very little idea about exactly what I was doing but I did know that I enjoyed it. I remember at one stage I got a bit of a sleep association happening and struggled to fall asleep at night without an orgasm. Not really a good situation when you are sharing a dormitory with six or seven other girls. 

As an adult I didn’t invest in a vibrator or any other sex toy until I was given one by a boyfriend. For some reason I never really took to toys. I just didn’t feel comfortable. Probably because I didn’t really feel comfortable with my body or sexuality in general. This awkward feeling about toys also extended to masturbating. I felt that when I was in a relationship I should be getting sexual gratification from having sex with my partner. Masturbating was admitting that we were getting it wrong. Consequently it was infrequent.

Fast forward to now. I still don’t masturbate frequently. I guess a lifetime of habit and ingrained negativity is still having an impact. I do feel more confident these days but I still find it hard to get alone time to enjoy this activity. Mutual masturbation is not something that is part of my regular couple sex diet. 

So what happens when I am alone? Well I do have a go-to toy. A glass dildo that Mr Jones bought me as a valentines gift a few years ago. There is something about the weight and rigidity that works for me. I still use a finger to stimulate my clitoris and use the toy to penetrate and press against my g-spot. In line with lifelong habit masturbating is usually a means to an end for me. I don’t take time to enjoy or edge. Get the job done, enjoy the warmth and relax for a while. Sometimes even enjoy a short nap. 

Boring I know. 

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 12

Time for another episode of Thirty Dirty Questions. If you are loving this then you can catch up on my other responses here. You can also check out some other participants over at Rebel’s Notes and Marriage Sex and More

Is there anything about sex that embarrasses you, causes shame or fear of makes you nervous?

I am a squirter. I have quite openly discussed this a few times in this blog. It is an ability that I had to work on to make happen. At the time when I started squirting it was a bit of a novelty. A lot of partners, including Mr. Jones enjoyed the sensation and obvious pleasure it gave me. Over time I became more ‘adept’ and have been known to produce liters of liquid during some sessions.

I am self-conscious about the mess it creates. Although most men like the IDEA I think the reality can be confronting. Also the reactions about getting my juice in their face while they are licking me are often mixed. For a while I didn’t advertise my ‘abilities’ with new partners because I felt that they would sometimes become fixated about it and that was the only thing they wanted. After a while I realised that while I was achieving what I wanted in that regard I was sometimes missing out on oral sex.

Once a man realised that licking me was probably going to get that result he would have one of two reactions. He would love it and try to drink me up. This reaction works well for me. I felt desired and got to enjoy an activity that gives me great pleasure. The second reaction was not so good. He would politely withdraw and oral sex on me would be stopped for the rest of our time together. I would get a hand job and a fucking. Not the desired outcome.

So I changed tack. I tell people now, if you don’t like me squirting in your face then I am not sure this is going to work. It hasn’t been successful. Men lie. If there is a chance they are going to get sex they will tell a woman whatever they think she wants to hear. They will say yes to an activity and then give it a cursory glance before moving on to the thing THEY want.

As a side note I am working on toning down the squirting thing. The amount of laundry it generates is ridiculous. Just as I trained myself to respond in this way I can train myself to respond in other ways. My recent experiences with The Second Mate has led me to start exploring toys and I am finding I respond a little differently to vibration. I like it. It is giving me more power over my orgasms and it is making me more confident in asking for / taking what I want.

No it isn’t Straight

Mr Jones is particular about getting things straight. Hanging pictures, placing furniture, planting trees. It has to be straight and symmetrical. Sometimes his obsession is a little frustration.

The screen on the camera we use for our outdoor photos is sometimes difficult to see when framing shots so we take a bit of a scatter gun approach. Take lots and delete the really bad ones. When we took this image on the top of a magnificent yellow/ orange sand dune with the sun reflecting off the water below it was a case of point and shoot and hope for the best. When I showed him what I had chosen for this week’s Sinful Sunday he asked “Can you straighten it?”

No Jake Jones I cannot. I like it like this.

Sinful Sunday

Dead White Man’s Clothes

The Unicorn and I have a philosophy relating to our crafting / textile / sewing obsession. We call it “out of the closet”. Essentially it is about looking in the cupboard for what is already there. Often when starting a project or working on an idea it is tempting to head for the nearest fabric / craft superstore and purchase everything you need (want really) to make the creation in your head. The reality is that most crafters have a mountain of supplies already squirrelled away that they often don’t ever access. So we make ourselves look in the closet and pull out the fabric we have sitting there to make that dress or use the beads we already own to make new jewelry.

When I saw this prompt for Wicked Wednesday I wanted to write about the minimalism I have been living on the yacht for the last few months. I even prepared a whole post then I saw this news story on a Facebook group I am part of.

The whole story made me feel sick. I have spent the last five months living on the ocean. There have been times when I have collected armfuls of plastic waste that has washed up on beaches. It makes me so sad to see this and know it is a result of our excessive consumption and obsession with convenience.

I read somewhere once that the best way to diet is to cook all of your food from scratch. If you had to go through the ridiculously long process of making the perfect fries you would rarely eat them. Believe me, making fries at home is HARD. Making pizza at home is delicious and worth the effort but it is time consuming. The same applies to textiles. That chunky knit that is so chic? If you had to take the twenty or so hours to create it from a ball of yarn yourself you would wear it more than a few times. That is not taking into consideration the time it would take to spin the yarn from the fleece. There are people who do that.

I have a few garments I have made myself that I wear to work. I always get complimented on them. Because they are different from what you buy in the fashion stores, because they fit me well and because people know I made them. Were they easy and did they come together in the same time it would take to impulse buy something from the sale rack? No way. Do I have more respect for them because they are from my hand? One hundred percent. Will I wear them until they are no longer wearable? Most likely.

The Unicorn modelling a dress I made for her. I have another one made from the same fabric in a different style.

I made a statement to Mr Jones recently that I believe that if we stopped manufacturing textiles tomorrow there would be enough clothing already in existence to keep the world population covered for decades. If every crafter emptied their stash and used what they had they would have enough projects to keep them going until they die.

We

Need

to

STOP

Buying

STUFF!

A couple of years ago a group of friends and I went on a ‘fashion diet’. The diet was essentially a ban from shopping at mainstream and on-line shops. The only acceptable ways to obtain clothing were as follows;

  1. Op shops or second hand shopping
  2. Independent, market stall shops
  3. Swaps with friends
  4. Make it yourself

Underwear and socks were not included in the rules. I think at one stage we bent them slightly to get shoes exempted. I won’t say I succeeded with flying colours but it did make me think every time I looked at clothing “Do I need this? Is there something I already have that I could wear instead?” So even though I didn’t follow the rules all the time it worked. After writing this post I am resolving to implement these rules more into my every day life. It won’t be easy but I think it is necessary.

Wicked Wednesday

Travelling Boob Blooper

I have posted before about travellingboob. As our voyage as progressed Mr Jones has been as keen to keep up the content as myself. Often he suggests doing a “boob photo” and likes to hold the camera. I think he is starting to get the idea of angles and placement. I am getting better at explaining what is in my mind.

While the images appearing on Twitter look great (in my opinion) there are those that don’t make the cut. Usually because they show a bit of belly. Something I am incredibly self conscious about. Today we went to the beach and took some shots. After explaining my idea to Mr Jones and testing some angles we took some shots. I chose the one I liked the best and tweeted it. As I was reading the Sinful Sunday roundup for this week I was struck by several posts that featured imperfect bodies as they are. I am on a long journey towards accepting my body as it is and then believing people who tell me it is beautiful. I am getting there but I have a way to go.

Inspired by these posts I saw my image today and didn’t cringe completely. That is progress right?

Wanna see who else is sinning this week? Click the lips below

Sinful Sunday

Attack of the Fifty Foot Women

The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday was to write a post that started from a comment on your blog. In response to a recent Sinful Sunday post No Pants Endurance commented; “The way the photo is set gives me the illusion of the fifty foot woman”. And so here is the attack of the Fifty Foot Women.

“Hello I am Hank,” he had to almost shout over the noise of the club

“My name is Glenda,” she reached out to shake his hand.

“Can I get you a drink?” Inside he kicked himself for sounding so lame but really he didn’t know what else to say. Plus, he felt weird standing there in front of the lounge where she sat with her friends.

Glenda leaned towards the woman sitting next to her. They whispered for a moment before she turned to face him.

“As long as you get one for my friend Wanda,” The two women looked at him with a glitter in their eye that made Hank nervous. Despite his trepidation he shook off the feeling and made his way to the bar.

An hour later the shot glasses were piled all around. A warm feeling filled Hank as he sat wedged between Glenda and Wanda with their other friends Amelia, Maya and Jenna all laughing at everything Hank said. He didn’t know what had happened. Normally women shunned him, laughing at his height, his haircut, pretty much everything about him. This was so out of the ordinary that Hank kept waiting to wake up from the dream.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more intimate,” Glenda gathered her purse.

All the other women followed suit. As they stood up Hank felt his jaw drop. He felt as if he was a warthog surrounded by a herd of giraffes. These women were enormous. He knew when he stood up that he would barely reach their armpit, or rather their breasts. Glenda was an inch or two taller than the others. A mental image of standing in front of her with her crotch at his eye level filled his head. He stayed sitting on the couch, unsure of what to do next.

“Are you coming?” Glenda beckoned to him. Again, there was that strange glitter in her eye. For a second Hank considered running away but Maya reached out her hand,

“We won’t eat you,” she smiled gently.

Courage, or at least Dutch courage, filled Hank and he stood to his full height of five feet. As he suspected he came up to the armpit of Maya, the shortest one, and his eyeline was just above Glenda’s navel.

“You are so cute,” Jenna cooed. “I love little guys, they are so fun to play with,”

“Behave Jenna,” Glenda chided fondly. “We don’t want to scare our new friend,” She reached out to take Hank’s hand, “Don’t listen to her, she is just being weird.”

Hank nodded and trotted along beside her still feeling like a warthog amongst giraffes.

Twenty minutes later Hank found himself at the apartment that Glenda shared with Wanda. The girls obviously spent a lot of time here, they kicked off their shoes and dropped their purses on the counter. Glenda, Wanda, and Jenna disappeared into bedrooms while Maya and Amelia busied themselves making drinks and choosing music to play on the big screen. Hank stood awkwardly in the middle of the lounge area unsure of what to do or what to expect.

After a short while the three girls re-emerged wearing short silky nightwear. They smiled at Hank as they walked towards him. Glenda took his hand and led him towards the couch that dominated the room. She pulled him down beside her and kissed him on the lips. Hank melted into her embrace, fumbling around her breasts. Without a word she took one of his hands and slid it inside the top of her pyjamas. From behind him Hank felt another hand sliding into his pants to reach around and grip his cock. Jenna’s voice breathed in his ear,

“Well, hello there. I am so glad you have come to play with us.” Her perfume was intoxicating as she kissed the side of his neck. Hank watched mesmerised as Glenda and Jenna kissed before they turned their attentions to him. First one kissed him then the other. Jenna’s hand slid slowly up and down Hank’s shaft and Glenda massaged his hand over her breast encouraging him to pinch her firm nipples.

A third set of hands moved over his torso caressing his own nipples tweaking them gently.

“I think we need to relieve Hank of some of his clothes,” Wanda’s voice was soft in his other ear. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, and he felt a cool rush of air over his naked skin. Glenda trailed kisses down the side of his neck as she helped Wanda remove his shirt. Wanda’s lips mirrored Glenda’s as each woman’s lips made their way to Hank’s nipples. Lips teased his nipples and teeth grazed over the sensitive buds as Hank’s hands were pushed against breasts before Wanda shoved his hand into her pyjama pants.

As Hank slid his fingers into Wanda’s slick wet pussy, he felt his pants being unzipped and his cock eased out of his underwear. Glenda took Hank’s other hand and shoved it against her pussy as she kissed Wanda above Hank. Wet lips slid down over his throbbing cock. Hank let out a strangled moan as his fingers dipped in and out of two pussies. Glenda moved so that she was kneeling over his face. Her pussy was like a vision as it lowered towards his lips.

Obediently reached his tongue upwards and stroked her pussy. She tasted amazing, clean, and salty. Like a man who has been starving he gulped at her as she ground down on his tongue. Wet lips moved up and down his cock and he was aware of women pressing their bodies against him. It felt as if he were covered in them, smothered by their scent, their breasts, their mouths, and their desire.

Somehow, he found himself on the thick rug covered by five giant women. His tiny body seemed to disappear into them. Each woman pleasured him in her own way. All of them partook of each other. Their height meant nothing. Lying down they all were the same height.

One thing Hank knew for certain. He would forever have a thing for tall women.

Wicked Wednesday