Knkstriped

Watching him

He’s not fucking you, he’s using you to fuck himself. Look at his tightly-closed eyes, his thrown-back head.

He’s not fucking you, he’s using you to fuck himself. Look at his tightly-closed eyes, his thrown-back head. You can study him at your leisure; right now you’re so far over his horizon, he can’t even see you in his mind’s eye. Look at how his pursed mouth sharpens his cheekbones and squares his jaw. Isn’t he beautiful, isn’t he delicious? You’re almost tempted to clench your cunt muscles around him to see the expression you love so much; of astounded, almost-pained intensity but you don’t want to draw attention to your attention just now; there’s too much perverted pleasure in your non-participation. Don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle fuckdoll, your task is to lie passive and silent while he masturbates furiously using your cunt as an accessory.

Incel

The phrase “involuntarily celibate” has great resonance for me. For a while in my life, I was celibate, and not by choice

“Incel stands for ‘involuntarily celibate’ which basically means “someone who isn’t getting laid because other people are denying them’ with the implication that those people shouldn’t be allowed to refuse. The idea that there should be equal distribution of sexual activity between all people seems very ‘Brave New World’ to me; and not in a good way but setting the entitlement issues aside; the phrase “involuntarily celibate” has great resonance for me. For a while in my life, I was celibate, and not by choice. I was in a long-term relationship with a man I loved very much. He was kind, intelligent, funny, handsome, independent, quirky and a completely fucking awesome cook. He adored me and showed it in many many ways. Except the one I wanted most.

Handsfree

I was feeling pretty terrible, my mind playing tricks and my body protesting against the sudden withdrawal of my head meds, so I went back to bed in the middle of the daytime, fully intended to sleep off the symptoms.

As I snuggled into my pillow-piled nest, I realised I wasn’t sleepy. Perhaps a little solo play session would help me feel better. I explored the idea behind closed eyelids; would it? Contemplating the possibilities of my toy collection, a spark of arousal began to glow – I realised that already I felt less sick, less headachy, less despondent. Worth a try then.

B&W picture of my rear view in hotel room mirror

Solo Hotel Room Romps

You’ve done a lot of wanking in hotel rooms. Those one-night trips away for work, from the same anonymous chain hotels transplanted across the cities of England to the occasional quirkily unique independent hostelry; upon entering your chamber, the first thing you look for is masturbation possibilities. Full-length mirrors? Underfloor bathroom heating? A tiny slice of viewpoint within which a glimpse could be caught from the outside world? Perhaps a comfortable chair on which to sprawl, loose-limbed and wanton; imagining hands, eyes, tongues upon you?