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A Piece of My Mind.
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Thursday, August 13, 2009

I have a severe case of penis envy at the moment. I love a man’s penis when it is fully erect, the way it accelerates like a Ferrari from flaccid to erect, in seconds.  I love its silky hardness, its tensile strength and its solid weight.  I love its aerodynamic shape which glides through vaginal tissue like a hot knife through butter.  I love the way it twitches and pulses on ejaculation.

It's a beautifully-engineered piece of equipment.  There is nothing in the world quite like it.  A dildo, no matter how realistic, just does not come close.  One could argue that a dildo is always erect, therefore always ready for action, but where is the fun in that?  It is the fact that erections are not a permanent state of affairs that make them so special.

If I had a penis I would take regular breaks while at the office to nip to the gents and stroke it into hardness.  I would knit it woolly covers to keep it warm in the winter and let it hang out my fly to catch a tan in the summer.  I would hang weights off it to strengthen it, and then do penis stands when it was strong enough to support my body weight.

I wish I had a penis…but not if it meant giving up my clit.  Nothing is worth
that sacrifice.
13 aug 09 @ 4:46 pm          Comments

Monday, August 10, 2009

I belong to the group of women who treat their men mean to keep them keen, but occasionally I like to make my man feel like he’s a king.

Greeting him at the door in sexy lingerie after he’s had a hard day at work wouldn’t do the trick.  He’s a telecoms engineer and spends a lot of time outdoors, so the first thing on his mind when he gets home is a shower.  If I’m in a really good mood I will scrub his back and wash his hair for him.  The next thing is his stomach.  He loves home cooking, which is a bit of a problem as I’m not a good cook.  Thankfully, he loves to cook, one of the reasons I chose him to be my man, so it’s all good.  But if I want a night of passion, I don’t want him slaving over a hot stove, so I order his favourite West Indian food and have it delivered by the time he gets out of the shower.

If I’m pampering him on the weekend the routine is slightly different.  I love to share a bath with him, but he’s not one for lying in a hot bath as he doesn’t like his balls overheating.  Occasionally I insist.  Well, demand really.  More often we have a shower together and end up having hazardous sex in the cubicle—him lifting me although we are both wet and slippery, rather than me bending over and having both feet safely on the ground.  Afterwards, I give him a nice firm, total body massage.

Some of my friends say that they would not play around their men’s feet even if they paid them, but I have no problem cutting my man’s toenails.  He has some tough, macho toenails that require toenail clippers.  Truthfully, I’d rather cut them than have them cut me.

I don’t mind treating him like a king occasionally because when he treats me like a queen it usually costs him a lot more: a day at Sanctuary, flowers, Thorntons chocolate, my favourite Shiraz and lingerie—well, that’s for his benefit, so it doesn’t count.  For my last birthday he even wore a pair of leopard print man-thongs, which he hates, just because I love the way his buns look in them.

It’s good to treat him good because he treats me better.
10 aug 09 @ 3:55 pm          Comments

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