Provocative opinions aired on the clothes line of life.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

Running With Scissors

Over the course of an average day my mind is besieged by a torrent of wild and kinky sexual fantasies. They particularly occur during the obligatory mundane period of my day (at work) and are mostly to do with the fact that I am incredibly frustrated in that department at present. With my desires bubbling over so frantically that I’m managing to knock off three or sometimes four orgasms when I get home through a combination of my lurid imagination and online visual treats in the form of low-budget pornography. This always takes place under my bed covers (to the point where I almost have a seizure), which allows me to really indulge in the immediate self-loathing that comes on immediately after those few seconds of euphoric contentment.

My affair with pornography has never strayed too far out of the confines of vanilla sex. I’m a simple girl who knows what she likes and likes what she knows – no muss no fuss. And a common fixture among my illicit favourites has always been lesbian encounters. No other type of porn leaves me as erotically charged as watching two attractive women enjoying each other. This is mainly because they look and sound as though they’re doing it for the sexual benefit rather than the fiscal one. (And partly because women are so much prettier naked than men).

And as life so often imitates art, my fantasies have replaced the alluring strangers who linger on my screen with people who are more familiar. Women who I know and are acquainted with in everyday life have now taken up guest starring roles in vividly explicit scenes: ones that tantalisingly meander their way through convoluted plot lines of innocent beginnings, to the inevitable crescendo of us ripping each other’s clothes off.

The more I fantasise the more personal they become, and it’s dawned on me that this isn’t just an idle musing. I would like to experience having sex with another woman in a scenario that isn’t limited to the pictures in my head. While this may not be a particularly shocking or daring sexual act to some people, it most certainly is to me. 

Admitting a once obliviously repressed desire is really very cathartic. And as soon as I grew comfortable with the notion, I began dissecting exactly what was so gratifying to me about the thought of having sex with another woman.

For me the answer lies with my new found chastity. As a steadfastly single twenty four year old who has been having sex for seven years, I’ve had a veritable array of encounters. However over the course of the last few months I’ve become disillusioned with the concept of casual sexual. Of course herein lies a paradox. I’m at an age where I want to open myself up to new opportunities, but presently I’m unable to be turned on by men who I’m not emotionally attracted to. But a lesbian tryst would tie in perfectly, fulfilling my needs sexually while at the same time not exposing my vulnerable heart.

With another woman I could feel wanted and desired but I wouldn’t feel that romantic yearning which I crave with men. While I would need to establish a connection with the women I have sex with in order for it to be fulfilling, a profound meaning wouldn’t be at all applicable. Because for me a woman just couldn’t provide the security and protective role which I yearn for in a man. Certainly, the virtue of monogamy is something I envision only with a man. Experiencing encounters with women through this flirtatious phase wouldn’t expose my jealous streak either, because fidelity and commitment would not be required.

And by disentangling myself from the complexities of becoming emotionally attached to another person, I could finally achieve the benefits of a fulfilling sexual relationship: which isn’t robotic or lacking in passion, like so many of my one-night stands. Ultimately what I crave is sex with disposable intimacy as opposed to sex with no intimacy whatsoever.

There’s just something so starkly different to the way I imagine a woman’s skin will feel on my fingertips as opposed to a man’s, and indeed the intense sensuality of being touched by another woman in turn. Women have such subtle nuances of coquettishness. Their lust filled eyes, long hair cascading gently across the sensitive areas of their necks, breathy moans and lip quivering: all instilling frissons of intense excitement, so unlike that of a man. Not to mention the playful build up of accidental brushings of touch, the shy exchange of glances and the wry smiles which serve as very satisfying foreplay.

It’s a kink in me which I definitely want to explore and it will probably get ironed out in the future. Still a bi-curious nature is never something I thought I would discover about myself. The theme of the month here is Anything But Vanilla – but vanilla compared to whom? This is certainly the most lurid confession I’ve ever made and somehow I don’t think it’s going to stop there.

The image used was originally located here