Sand, surf and sex

I hadn’t noticed the discrete amateur photoshoot happening under the shade of a tree until Simone had pointed it out. I’d been transfixed on the waves, the hot sun and Simone’s gentle caresses on my arm. It took me a moment but once I saw her posing for the camera, I couldn’t look away. 

If she moves her hand away, would it reveal a perfectly trimmed pussy with lips slightly open, wet, and waiting for my cock? Shifting her other hand, and letting her arm fall to the side, would it show nipples that are erect and hard? A hand intertwined in her raven hair; pulling her head back exposing her neck to hungry kisses — would her inviting smile surrender to the moans of desire as her green eyes widen with my cock deep inside her?

We both stared until the man with the camera made her laugh one last time and then handed her a brightly coloured sarong. Once covered, she gathered up random articles on the sand and put them in a beach bag — he made her laugh once more and with bag and camera in hand, they made their way down the beach as if they were one. 

I settled back into the waves and the sun, and Simone resumed her gentle caresses — I soon lay back onto the warm sand and closed my eyes. I heard Simone do the same and she shifted into me to get comfortable. We listened to the surf until her whisper broke the trance.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? I don’t hold it against you; part of me wanted to fuck her too”

I knew she wasn’t looking for a response and had more to say so I made a sound to acknowledge I was listening, rather than acknowledge I wanting to fuck the woman with the raven hair.

“You would be very disappointed based on what I saw. Those breasts of hers aren’t real, and even if they are, they aren’t as wonderful as mine which you know all too well are very real. That lovely pussy you saw is not nearly as wet as you image, and if you were to fuck her my love, she wouldn’t squirt over that cock of yours the way I do. And one last thought to consider.”

We both waited.

“When her boyfriend fucks her, she is quiet. Oh, she probably offers a moan or two but she’s by no means is a screamer — and I know how much you like me to scream your name as I take that cock of yours. Yes, you would definitely be disappointed.”

She fell silent, sat up and announced we should go swimming and then slapped me on the stomach. As I was shocked back into the bright sun she smiled and motioned me to follow her into the surf.

As I got to my feet all I could say to myself was,“What an ass. I can’t wait to listen to her scream my name”

 W

Sex Shows

It may have been the radio or something in a local urban newspaper that took me to my first Sex Show; it was such a long time ago I just don’t remember. And when I say sex show, I’m not talking about people fucking on stage or the intimate corners of an exclusive club but rather a trade show where vendors of all sorts come together to sell their goods and services. It’s something like the auto-show but with neon-coloured dildos.

 I find myself going alone most of the time, sometimes by choice but sometimes not — as I like to say, I go to see if there is anything new when it comes to sex. As you can imagine, there never is. What it can offer though is a perspective on what is “trending”. At the last show kink had found its stride with its own section and workshops on tying knots and I was a little surprised that swinger home parties had become a viable service. There is something comfortably ordinary about a Sex Show as you watch ordinary people wandering around doing ordinary things like picking up silicon dildos as if they were avocados in a grocery store. I am sure there are some like me who are there for the voyeurism, but I suspect most are looking to be a little provocative or naughty with thoughts of wearing latex or buying a butt plug.  

As I pointed out, I go to Sex Shows to get a feel for shifts in mainstream appetites and simply watch, but I also go for the artists and the art they create. They are always in the minority, and sometimes hard to find on the floor map, but well worth searching out.

My erotic art collection is humble and began at a sex show — erotic artists don’t always find their way to a Sex Show which is one of those trends I referred to but when they do, you can find some of the most beautiful interpretations of the human body, sexuality, and most importantly, sensuality. A photograph of a beautifully laced corset ending in big bow covering her bottom, a wooden panel with carvings of the Kama Sutra, water colours of fishnet stockings that look like a photograph and a complex-coloured glass dildo that is more about art than function — all part of my collection. I suppose my erotic literature collection is an extension of this, it’s also humble but is curated with a desire to understand the human experience. Sex Shows, erotic art shows, sex workshops, erotic art and erotic literature have always captured my interest from the moment I purchased my first erotic novel — the story of a man and a woman having a conversation over the phone and sharing their personal experiences; not overly sexual but intimate.  

Sex in crass mechanical terms involves cocks or mouths or cunts or asses in a multitude of combinations but sensuality is intimate, and it’s this intimacy that is the attraction for me — the sharing of desire, the vulnerability of surrender and the conversations that only happen between lovers. The art and the literature are simply expressions of these intimacies, and because I am particularly tactile, it gives me an opportunity to touch and hold and feel the sensuality of others.

 W

Photo: Pixabay

harder; softer; slower; faster

Eventually the curiosity got the better of her and she asked what was in the paper bag. She had resisted the temptation for a while but we both know she likes my gifts. I reached down and lifted the bag by its handles and set it on the table; reaching inside, I pulled out a box wrapped with a red paper and accented with a white bow. I moved the bag off the table and placed the gift beside the bottle of wine we had opened earlier.The light from the small candle reflected off the paper as she reached for it; she silently mouthed thank you. I encouraged her to open it as I reached for my wine and sat back to watch.

Disregarding my encouragement she studied the bow, the tight corners of the wrapping and the seams; her eyes tightened ever so slightly with curiosity. I watched her bring her glass to her lips, hesitate for a moment, and then take a sip. Setting the glass back down and leaving another soft lipstick impression, she reached for the package. She methodically removed the bow and with great concentration removed the tape without ripping the paper; there was a grace in her methodical approach. With the paper carefully folded on the table, she opened the box and pulled out an hourglass with black sand. She inspected it carefully with bright eyes and waited for an explanation.

“It’s for a game we can play. It’s called harder, softer, slower, faster. The game starts when you flip the hourglass.”

 Her eyes shifted from the hourglass, and as she started to smile, she whispered, “Go on.”

“Well; you would be in a very comfortable position with only your favourite panties on surrounded and propped up with all those pillows you seem to like; you can even have a glass of wine in hand. You can only say four words until the sands run out; harder; softer; slower; faster”. 

 There was a hint of anxiousness as she raised the glass to her mouth and whispered, “Please continue.”

“For my part, I would start with a simple kiss on your lips and then slowly and methodically make my way over your breasts, your stomach and would part your legs every so gently until my tongue gently caressed your pussy through the fabric of your panties. I would slowly make my way around your panties and eventually remove them until there was nothing between my tongue and your clit. With only those words to guide me and a desire to pleasure you, I would have my way”. 

 When I looked at her, she was staring at me with glass in hand and said, “That’s a fucking great game; we should try out my new hourglass” 

She stood up, picked up the hourglass and moved to the bedroom motioning me to follow. As I stood, I realized there was also a symbolism in the hourglass; I knew it was soon time for her to find her way, and sadly, knew her way would not include me.

Until that day, I would enjoy savouring her taste with hopes she remembers me with fondness.

 W

A white rose

Simone hadn’t been on a date with a guy in a very long time.

She was excited at the thought and dressed provocatively, she picked out a lacy bustier which boosted her large breasts, she chose matching underwear she had not warn since she had swapped them with a female friend.  It had been late, they had been drinking and had gently started touching and exploring each other through their underwear in the corner of a dark room at a party, they were both so aroused and wet, they had the idea of secretly swapping their panties.

As she waited for her date, heart racing with nerves and excitement, playing with her drink, she sat back, opened her legs a little, her skirt and clothes were tight against her curves.  She was also getting admiring glances from a guy at the small Hotel bar, could he tell how aroused she was?  Looking down at her cocktail all she could think about was her girlfriend gently moving the wet gusset of her underwear with her finger to expose her clitoris and her tongue pushing hungrily against it and the absolute pleasure as a male guest had watched.

Her date was now late and the guy at the bar was watching her intently, hesmiled, she looked down again. She imagined him kissing the back of her neck, running his hands up and down her curves, gently rolling her skirt up, bending her across the table, his hands discovering the soaking wet panties she had shared.

Her date arrived, she stood up, guilty in her thoughts, they embraced what seemed for a long time, he smelled amazing, she could feel his hard body pushing against her, she looked over and smiled back at the guy at the bar and hoped he was the guest who had watched them.

 S

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