Voyeurism

Black and white photographs are filtered through gossamer and accompanied by words of desire which leave me wanting.

“Dreaming of you inside; tearing at me.” 

She stares into the camera with dishevelled hair and looks like desire and fucking.

“Come back and fuck me.” 

Beautiful flowers inked in black cover her back and I image full breasts with nipples hard — she invites me to reach around.

“I want you to feel me; take me to bed and feel me deeply”

Covered in shadows, I can make out long legs and black panties accented by fishnet stockings — I want to see her more clearly but cannot. I am frustrated by it and I stir.

“Fuck me hard. I want to whisper in your ear.” 

I scroll through her feed and let her images and words seduce me. I wonder what she tastes like and imagine sliding my hand between her legs.

“Touch me all over and don’t stop — ever.”

I watch from a distance — the beauty of her words and images have captivated me.

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Inspired by postedlovenotes

A moment of voyeurism

Occasionally I enjoy a martini in this comfortable little bar I know and work out potential topics to write about — gin, dry, with three olives. It’s a nice place to stoke the imagination, massage creativity, and engage in interesting conversation.

It’s early and there are only a few people that have settled in with friends. I’m enjoying my martini and watch the women that, through happenstance, come into view. I write at the back of the bar and have full view of those who come in or decide to stay out on the patio — a beautiful blonde looking for a drink and a quiet place to read has just asked for a seat. I smile as I ask myself if I’d fuck her.

She likes gin she says — there is something about her voice that has me decide I’d fuck her; I image how she sounds when she cums.

Two women at the front have decided to settle the bill and come to the bar. They intensely review the bill and pay; one of them loves the bar so much she takes a picture and shows her friend as they leave. They are pretty but I decide I wouldn’t really want to fuck either of them.

A couple on the other side of the bar are seducing each other in conversation — sometimes they are loud enough to hear over the quiet music from the ceiling speakers, but more often their whispers are lost to my imagination. I imagine her sucking his cock later and then fucking him until they both cum.

The blonde is now intently reading her book — a black bra strap has fallen from her shoulder and I imagine firm breasts and nipples quietly waiting.

 I think of you for a moment; then go back to my writing.

The whispering couple is leaving — as I watch them go, I decide she probably doesn’t like to suck his cock. She will fuck him later out of a sense of obligation and most likely think of something else as she does.

The owner is now behind the bar talking to the bartender; a sure sign it’s about to get busier. Her dark hair is up in a ponytail and I think she has new glasses — I will ask when I get the chance. I go back to writing as I imagine what she tastes like. Gingerly I skewer the last olive in the glass, put it in my mouth and bite into it; I decide it’s time to find my way. I motion for the bill and am greeted with a smile.

I would definitely fuck her, even more so than the blonde who has also just asked for the check.

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Buying sex toys

I was trying to explain why she was taking all the fun out of buying sex toys by simply going on-line instead going to a sex shop; I was also quick to point out not all sex shops were the same and knew of a place. I enthusiastically went on about the importance of quality sex toys, which like lingerie, I’m discriminating about and a bit snobby about liking what I like. My enthusiasm attracted some interest and she put her phone down but insisted on dinner out as part of the adventure.

As with most places that turn out to be the best in the city, it could be easily missed if you didn’t know what you were looking for. It was one of many shops that over the years had established itself in a turn of the century row house. There was a small sign in the window and hours of operations on the original door that indicated that on some days only women and transgenders are invited in. The original footprint had been repurposed — upstairs for seminars and workshops and the main floor was set-up for literature and paintings, as well as a vast selection of dildos, vibrators, leather goods, butt plugs and a small selection of eclectic clothing for those with very specific tastes. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, and the original hardwood flooring creaks slightly as you walk around.

We were greeted with a smile by the man behind the counter, and as is normally the case, there were only a few people there. It was just us and another couple at the far end of the store talking to a woman who, based on her body language and what she was saying, worked in the shop. There is an odd intimacy that occurs surrounded by items designed to explore sexuality in the company of strangers — you are invited, if only for a moment, into their bedroom. As we made our way through the literature and the lubes and the dildos, we found ourselves passive observers of a couple who seemed intent on buying a strap-on.

They were an attractive couple in their fifties; both tall and well dressed — her short wavy hair was striking; his stylish glasses and greying hair offered an air of a hipster who still had it. She was matter of fact with her questions about harnesses and dildo size and was very attentive as the young woman demonstrated how everything fit together. It was obvious the couple wasn’t upgrading but trying something for the first time. They would talk but it seemed he was deferring to her; not in a submissive way but rather as an observer. As we got involved in our own discussions about neon vibrators, we never saw them leave and not sure if they got what they came for. 

Later over martinis, as we waited for dinner, the discussion turned to speculation over our afternoon’s voyeurism. We wondered if they were an actual couple and if she wanted to peg him or maybe it was his idea. Maybe she was bi-curious and it was the first stage of a threesome fantasy and they would search out a unicorn as the idea bloomed — or maybe it was a professional arrangement and she was paying by the hour. I was quick to weave a story about her fucking a stranger they met at a party as her husband was getting his cock sucked; they all came together as a matter of course. Another story involved her lubing up her neon dildo and fucking her husband until he exploded with moans of pleasure. Maybe it was an outing to buy a birthday gift for a friend and she dragged her best guy friend along. We will never know.

As dinner came, our conversation moved to other topics and we enjoyed the evening fuelled by the sex life of someone else. I was a little surprised she never asked.

 W

Museum Erotica

I remember being asked what I was doing with my free day before I had to fly out; mentioned I was going to spend some time at the Museum Erotica. I don’t remember how I found out Copenhagen had a sex museum and the memories of the visit have faded with time. I do remember it was late fall because Tivoli Gardens was closed; I saw it briefly from the taxi on my way to the museum and remember saying to myself I must come back in the summer. 

The museum itself was on Copenhagen’s main shopping street and easy to find because of the bold sign over the archway announcing its presence — Museum Erotica. As you enter, you are greeted by a large gold cock standing at attention, which like everything in the museum, had some sort of historical significance. The museum was curated and set up as a historical journey of human sexuality from past to present — historical images and artifacts on human sexuality through the ages. I spend a few hours wandering the halls, admiring the art, questioning the barbarism behind chastity belts and enjoying the explosion of pornography with the invention of photography. But unlike the Picasso Erotique exhibit I would see later that year, there was no sexual excitement from the experience. I left with an academic perspective on mankind’s sexual journey and a very nice poster featuring a circa 1854 photograph of a naked woman on a chaise lounge looking over her shoulder. By the time the taxi dropped me off at the hotel it was dark, and with my poster in hand, I went directly to the hotel restaurant for a light meal before I packed for an early flight the next day. The restaurant was empty and as I ate my thoughts turned to what I needed to get done before I went to bed. The wake-up call and the obligatory back-up alarm would come soon enough. I love Denmark but it was time to go home.

As I drifted, the distinct sound of a woman moaning came from the next room and I found myself awake and staining to hear — the rhythmic sound of a bed and the moans of pleasure were soft but distinct. I listened to the sound of her pleasure and its interruption by muffled conversation and soft laughter. Before any disappointment could set in, they would return to the sounds of pleasure. I could not help but think of you. 

I watch your cunt slide over the shaft my cock as your lips spread leaving the mark of your excitement; a gentle moan escapes and fills the room. You shift and with your hand, take my cock deep inside, leaning into me as you grind your cunt hard into my pubis. You look at me, smile and lose yourself in the rhythm and fill the room with the sound of your growing pleasure. You hold my cock tightly, shaping it with your contractions as we both build — sound fills the room. You shift to ride the cock you have shaped, and with your hands pressed into my chest, you throw your head back. I watch your pleasure and listen to the sounds fill the room. 

The rhythmic moans end with a final shriek of pleasure and the room is silent. You kiss me one last time as muffled sounds from the other room creep into the silence.

 W