It's March, a brand new month, and I would like to make it a point to post everyday. And if possible, maybe even more than once a day. It's always nice to go through the archives and see that each month is packed with entries.

    Well this is the second post of the day, and I would like to share with you two of my favourite pieces from my retro paper porn collection. The image on the right is from a now-defunct (I think) Euro hardcore magazine called Ero. When it comes to hardcore pornography, these fuckin Europeans really mean business. Some might find the images a little too hard for their taste, but I totally dig the aesthetic, if only because retro Europorn is one of those rare times when pornography was at its very best.

    However, the strange thing is that, the most erotic aspect of this image is not the cunt itself but the genuine smile on the indigenous-looking girl's face. She looks like she's really enjoying herself.

    The text that accompanied the images consists of some ethnocentric rant that gloats over the sexual superiority of the white, European man. Such fun they had! And such disease they spread! Well, this is not a political blog, and politics make me sick, so there. An image of a brown-skinned girl smiling as she spreads another girl's cunt.

    Next up, something even harder, also from Ero. In fact, it's so crude and lewd that it's a little scary. I think it's great when a sexually explicit image evokes feelings of fear (but not too much).

    

   The image itself pretty much speaks for itself. Need I direct your attention to that vulgar expression on her face as she spreads apart her hairy, lewdly-pierced cunt, displaying her squishy meat for all the world to see? Or her clothes that are in disarray; exposed breasts, erect nipples, the pearl necklace that hangs in between, or her whorish gloves and fishnet stockings? Looking at this image is enough to make me want to stab her gaping hole with my turgid cock. Aggression often provokes aggression, does it not? It is during times like these that I'm most grateful for the properly-socialised (and CUNT-LOVING) member of society that I am.

  
 

This tropical weather, the intense heat of the afternoons, an eternal summer. But at night, it gets chilly sometimes. Bathed in this greenhouse warmth of  the studio bedroom, I sit in front of the pc and I masturbate. I stare at the monitor intently, the feverish strokes of my hand resonating with the furious action on the screen. It's near, I clench my teeth and let out a little hiss, and it feels so fucking good as my essence spurts uncontrollably out of me like a sick disease.

After a long day at work, sometimes sex is all I think about. I'm a complicated man with the occasional simple needs, so it doesn't always have to be fucking. Some good old oral sex is good enough at times. Pleasuring each other's genitalia with mouth, lips, tongue and teeth. Whoever thought of it anyway?

    Oral sex often reminds me of dogs. Them dogs are such filthy animals. Lewd beyond belief. I suppose a philandering man is not called a 'dog' for nothing. The same goes for women who are labelled 'bitches.' In Cantonese, there's a phrase used to describe a pair of cheating man and woman, and it loosely translates into 'dog man woman.'

    These dogs and bitches, one second you see them cheerfully trotting along, and the next they could be bent over with their heads between their legs sniffing and licking, or worse, crudely mounting each other and then start fucking in that trademarked doggie way with jaws agape and tongues hanging out, oblivious to the world around them. Neko confessed to me that there was once, when she was sitting in the car all by herself and was so turned on by the sight of a few dogs taking turns with a bitch that she fingered herself till she came. To which I replied with a confession of my own: I once stroked my cock in a cybercafe till I ejaculated. And it felt so fucking good as I spurted and spurted inside my trousers! While the idea of girls getting turned on while looking at some dogs fucking, bestiality is not our cup of tea. No matter how much the dog seems to be enjoying some human pussy, we can't help but feel sorry for the poor dog that is being abused, plain and simple. But such is the price that dogs pay for being man's best friend, isn't it?

    I love women who love to eat cock. For me, some of the most sublime visual pleasure in this world are derived from images of an attractive woman with a cock in her mouth and loving it, treating it as an essential part of her. As an organ, the mouth is far more expressive than the cunt. After all, we use our mouths to speak and take in most of our nutrition. Having the talent to give good head is something that cannot be underestimated, and for the woman who knows how, she secures a sacred spot in the heart and soul of the man that she intends to spend a great part, if not her entire life with.

Time flies, and before you know it, it's the beginning of another week. It was a busy weekend, and there wasn't really much downtime for the both of us. And it's really terrible when you're obligated to have fun, know what I mean? I mean, having fun should be just having fun, nothing more, nothing less, just like sex.

    In other news, Neko's on the rag, so she offered to suck me off last night while I watched some filthy porn. It was heaven as her expert mouth --- the dangerous swoops and dives of her tongue, the scraping edge of her razor teeth, her sucking lips --- bounced back these delicious sensations that agonizingly mapped the rugged texture of my cock deep within my mind. Unable to bear it any longer, I told her I had to get off, and no sooner said, I came in what seemed like an endless series of spurts into her mouth. Ever the sweet girl that she is, she shook and shivered as she swallowed it all, after which she was so intoxicated that she began to "attack" me --- touching and fondling me all over and trying to bite my supersenstive post-orgasm nipple, triggering grossed-out, creepy goosebumps all over my neck, thighs and arms.

Unless you're steeped in a mood that is tipping towards the contemplative, the cheery vibe of acid jazz is the perfect musical companion for afternoon pleasures, and I don't just mean fucking. Regardless of whether I'm driving, sipping iced coffee at a café or blogging, it has never failed in helping me to maintain that elusive feeling of joy under that often insufferable heat of the afternoon. That fluffy combination of jazz, fusion, muzak and 70s funk always rekindle for me memories of a carefree childhood, when there was nothing else to do but have fun.

    The shots of Neko's youthful breasts were taken yesterday afternoon, while the ones of her playing with her cunt were taken a few days ago, when she was feeling exceedingly horny from all that pre-menstrual tension.

I'm sure most of you would've heard about the Tammy NYP sex video by now. Well, I've seen it, and though it wasn't hot enough to make me want to jerk off to it, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. The guy's got a pretty curvy banana dick, and Tammy's pretty sweet-looking, though a little on the expressionless side. Well, she's only seventeen after all. She secreted a fair amount of cream during that fateful session, and seemed to enjoy fellatio a lot. And she's only seventeen. I won't be posting any links to the video here. If you're all that keen, try your luck with the search engines. I'm almost certain you'll find it.

Lewdness is a young girl with a hairy cunt, a woman shamelessly enjoying herself in a frenzied bout of illicit sex, the accidental exposure of breasts and/or genitalia, a peeping tom who's beside himself with sexual excitement, an old man ogling at young girls and dreaming of running his hands all over their youthful bodies, a mature woman ogling at young boys and imagining herself getting fucked by them, a young girl hungry for cock, a sweet girl with a mouth full of cock, a woman who can't help secreting copious amounts of cream as she's getting fucked, a woman biting her lower lip and begging for sex, a woman who betrays her horniness when she involuntarily sticks her tongue out, a woman with beautiful hands fingering herself silly, an attractive man fucking an ugly woman, a gorgeous woman getting fucked by a retard who's hung like a donkey, a group of ugly women sexually abusing an attractive woman, a woman willfully subjecting herself to bukkake, a woman getting her just desserts for making a man insane with lust, secretly masturbating in public, a young girl who enjoys pornography and dreams of getting fucked in more ways than she can imagine, a man with a painfully erect cock being victimised by a group of sexually-ravenous older women, swapping saliva while fucking, a woman playing with a man's cock, a man diddling with a sexually-frustrated woman's cunt, fucking and sucking while making eye contact with someone else who is watching, a woman licking her own cream off a man's cock, demurely spreading your thighs apart for all the world to see

 

I have it in a loop. We shot it on a whim and it lasted only about ten minutes. But what a ten minute it was.

             “Where’s that new MNG top that you bought when we were in _______?”

            “Why?”

            “Nothing. Just that you haven’t put it on since you tried it in the store.”

            “Do you want me to put it on?”

            “Yeah.” 

She obviously knew what was on my mind. One of the great things about being in a relationship is that you didn’t have to spell everything out. Communication was on a higher level.

            But I said it anyway.

            “I want you to play with yourself wearing that dress.”

            She didn’t reply. She coolly put it on, slipped her panties off, and sat down on the bed against the wall. With the digicam in hand, I propped a mirror in front of her. She started touching herself, rubbing and caressing her inner thighs with both hands. She massaged the darkened areas around her shaved cunt for a few lingering moments before starting to roll her meat around. With half-lidded eyes, she stole glances at herself in the mirror. I had her perfectly framed in my viewfinder, hungrily recording the ongoing action.

            She started squeezing her breasts through the material of her dress. And when I noticed that her cunt was glistening I knew I had to join in. I stepped into frame, the frame cutting me off just above my navel. You could see the edge of my white t-shirt, my cock jutting out from my hairy thighs, pointing at her like a fat banana. She reached out and grabbed on, stroking me and rubbing her cunt at the same time. I simply didn’t know where to look; at the expression on her face or at her fingers twiddling her little cunt or at her veined, bony fingers that were wrapped around my cock, languidly stroking me.

            Her top was soon pulled up to reveal her perfect AV star breasts, round and firm, with those pointy nipples that drove me absolutely nuts. I simply had to taste her cunt and lap up the sticky glue that was trickling from her hole. I paused the camera and placed it in front of me as I positioned myself above her cunt, facing the mirror. I rolled the camera and began feasting on her cunt like it was bowl of hot noodles. She twitched and squirmed, but not quite enough to push me away. I looked in the mirror and saw it all: her swollen cunt and the areas around it slick with saliva and juice. I spread her wide for the camera’s benefit, exposing her juicy pulp inside.

She was sucking on me now, the hot little cocksucker that she was, and alternated between looking up at me off-frame and looking at her own performance in the mirror. She sucked, nipped and bit, licked and teased my swollen head with snake-like flicks of her tongue, lazily letting it slip in and out of her mouth. She deep throated me to the point of almost choking and gagging, tears in her eyes as she pulled my cock out along with heavy strings of saliva. She rubbed my cock all over her face, her eyes pressed shut, meditating on the texture and scent of my meat. I was literally going insane with lust. Once again I didn’t know where to look --- at my cock that was glued to her little mouth or her beautiful breasts as I lewdly kneaded them with my hand. Visual, tactile, and hot beyond belief. It was unreal how good it felt. And it was always that way; one of the marks of a good piece of porno is when you do not know where to look. The sequence ended. And began again.

A sex blog, like porn, is one of the easiest things to own. Just do a search on "sex blog networks" and you'll see what I mean. And now there's talk about a brand new sex blog network, where they intend to "change perceptions, promoting blogs which demonstrate that sexy needn’t mean stupid, erotic needn’t mean explicit and graphic needn’t mean gross."

    See, I would like to pride myself on believing that Notes from My Libido goes against the current mould of the often-didactic Western notion of what a sex blog is supposed to be. Hey, I would like netizens to know that Asians enjoy sex too, and in far more colourful ways than Caucasians. Wham-bang thank you ma'am has never been my idea of sex. I would like to think that sex is a state of mind that is layered in more ways than one.

    Interstitial.

    I also believe that sex, eroticism and everything that has to do with the libido has a mystical dimension to it. Well, if you think I'm full of shit --- which is fine because you could be right --- then go ahead and just enjoy the images. I'm sure you remember what they used to tell you when you were a kid: a picture can speak a thousand words. After all, lexi-lust is not for everyone. Please feel free to comment. Feedback is good!

There's a running belief among the Chinese that if a girl or woman has hairy arms, it usually means that she possesses a voracious appetite for sex. While my limited (ahem) experience tells me that a girl doesn't need hairy arms in order to have a ravenous sex drive, I do find hirsute women quite a turn-on.

    Perhaps this fetish of mine has to do with my childhood exposure to pre- hypercommercialisation era porn, when women and girls alike had natural bodies, photographed in that distinctively retro style.

    As I've attested in a previous post, I have encountered girls with bodies so natural and cunts so hairy that I've had no choice but to continue lusting after girls whom I imagine, based on all the telltale signs, to be in possession of a thick, dark bush between their shapely thighs. It's especially lewd when the girl in question is a teenager.

    Here's something lewd I wrote while meditating on hairy cunts:

    I removed her white ______ panties and cupping my palms on her knees, I gently parted her thighs and said, " Now let's look at what we got here..."

    It was an inordinately hairy twat that greeted me, and however shameful its owner must've felt at that moment, the hairy twat greeted me like an old friend: her hairy twat knew me, or rather, its hairiness did. (the poetic quality of "twat," its wet sound)

    On the bus, a black girl with pigtails and paul smith glasses, her pink and dark meat exposed, the imagery sticking to the sound of "meat," stretched wide, the lips on her mouth like the lips on her cunt, the colour of her lips the colour of her cunt. 

Reading my last few posts got me thinking --- and thinking is good --- about the things that go on in a young girl's mind. Mind you, I'm not that old myself, but each time some sweet young thing comes on to me --- and I'm not gloating at all --- I will start to imagine what they're thinking.

    Just today, one of them sauntered up to me as I was making some photocopies. And as she half-mindedly mouthed off a bunch of trite, unimportant questions to me, she leaned against the edge of the doorway and eyeballed me. So there she was, standing there, all seventeen years of her --- she could be eighteen, I'm not positive --- triggering these phantom hands in my mind that were reaching out for her shapely thighs. I smiled, or rather, grinned my trademark wolfish grin, seemingly unimpressed. I knew for a fact that my theatrics fooled her, considering how she walked away so abruptly.

    As I left the centre I saw her in the room sitting next to one of her friends, and as she kept her head down --- and a little pouty --- her friend was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If that was her best friend --- and teenagers do have best friends --- I wonder if they talk about me when they spend time together? And if they do, I wonder what about me that they talk about? During times like these, it's just too easy to get carried away and start perceiving things through the convenient filter of pornographic fiction.

One of the servers here at Tabulas was hacked. I felt a mild sense of loss when I considered  the possibility that some data will never be recovered. Had I been younger, I would've been utterly devastated by the mere thought of all those entries gone and lost forever.

    Everything seems back to normal now: so, whew.

    It was a pretty hectic week, so Neko and I went downtown this afternoon for some retail fun. We bought a number of things, and while I was paying for this back issue of The Robb Report, I noticed for the first time that the Indian lady who ran the bookstore had these amazing breasts that reminded me of, well, balloons that have been voluptuously-filled with water.

    I've spoken to her on numerous occassions, and have never noticed their sheer size before. She was dressed in a Punjabi suit, and I did my best not to betray my excitement as I exchanged a few pleasant words with her. Not only were they full and heavy, the seemed heavily-pendulous as well. As I stepped out of the shop I wondered which lucky man was currently enjoying them --- and if she were married --- for I was positive that those fabulous breasts would be an unbridled joy to hold and behold. I searched through my collection and this is how I imagined her breasts to look like.
 

    It was yet another hot, sweltering afternoon, so Neko and I adjourned to the studio for a little siesta and more. I was flipping through the Robb Report when she sidled up to me in that and planted her ass on my lap. Being completely naked and panty-less beneath that favourite fuck-gown of hers, I knew it was time for some of our favourite things. She promptly got on her knees, pulled out my cock and prepped it up for a sweaty afternoon fuck.

    Considering how her rag ended just a couple of days ago, the session ended predictably with me shooting three days' worth of come --- I was that caught up with work --- deep inside her and then falling asleep almost immediately after.

We sleep, we dream and then we wake up to the world, to yet another day of desires from the micro to the macro, yearning to be fulfilled. What then is happiness? Is it that first cup of coffee, or something bigger, for instance, the dream of becoming world-famous? This blog is probably the last place you'd expect to find me talking and pontificating about spirituality, but believe it or not, I'm more than just a bunch of horny words and images. I am more than the sum of my libido. While I understand that by saying this it might make me sound holier than thou, there are some things that I want to say today, and I want to share them with you.

    For me, desire ends when it is fulfilled, and desiring for more after one has been fulfilled is greed. The wise often advocate moderation, and I believe that at the heart of their wisdom is the compassion of guiding us towards the attainment, and ultimately, the maintenance of happiness.

    I've mentioned that I believe that sex, eroticism and everything that has to do with the libido has a mystical dimension to it. If you think I'm full of shit, fine, but at least hear me out.

    I think it's important to first acknowledge our desires. This concept actually goes beyond the erotic and the sexual, and applies to all other aspects of life as well. A desire can be a dream, or a goal, or a problem. Acknowledgement is inevitably the first step, if we're serious about becoming a better --- and not bitter --- version of ourselves. Being aware of our desires, however negative they are, will aid us in gaining an insight into ourselves. This is by no means, easy. One might too easily be terrified by his or her own desires, and crumble into a messy heap of guilt. Or else, a person might be so caught up with the apparent positivity of his or her own desires and become obnoxious, smug and self-righteous.

    There was this young girl of about eighteen, and she came to the centre to work as a temp. I've heard from two of her friends that she has a condition, but they weren't exactly sure what it was. Apparently it had something to do with her brainwaves. I later found out that the condition is called Complex Partial Epilepsy. There was once when I found her lying on the stairs unconscious just as I was about to leave the centre. My first reaction was shock of course, and as I moved closer to her, I realised the possibility that I could well do something utterly vile; I mean, I could've fondled her breasts and no one would know. But I didn't. Two of our staff were chatting in a room at the far end of the centre --- it was a Saturday --- and I hurried over there to get their assistance, because I hadn't wanted to touch her. As ridiculous as this may sound, I was being leery of myself on behalf of her. If there's something that I did wrong in the whole episode, it was not the fact that I had impure thoughts, but rather, the fact that I allowed those impure thoughts to jam and delay my action in wanting to help someone.

    Thank goodness she was okay, and while she's no longer working at the centre, we still bump into each other and exchange pleasantries once in a while.

    My point is, it would all seem rather meaningless if all our "good" actions are dictated by the hand of God, and all our "evil" actions are attributed to the convincing persuasions of the goateed Devil. I choose not to believe that we are mere puppets in this theatre of life because I think it's a fuckin cop-out to blame others for your action, even if these so-called "others" consist of God or the Devil, or a million other evil jinns and spirits out there. In all fairness, while there is a possibility that we could well be mere puppets, I choose to believe that we have free will, and that we have a choice when it comes to carrying out an action, regardless of whether it's good or evil. And after all's been said, not every desire has to be fulfilled.

Waking up groggy from this restless afternoon nap, I saw my lust amidst the stupor. We are both facing the mirror, and there I see her looking back at me with those big, round Sly Stallone eyes.  I reach out from behind her and lovingly fondle the comfort of her heavy breasts, feeling their weight in the palm of my hands. She joins me in pleasure and leans her body onto mine. She closes her eyes and I support the weight of her body with that of my own.

    I then stepped into the bathroom and had a hot shower in the dark. As I was soaping my cock I felt my desire itch, and not wanting to succumb to it, I did not.

Come to think of it, Neko and I lead a pretty boring sex life in this debauched  zeitgeist of sexual excess. We love and understand each other, and we have been monogamous for some time now. Though I understand intellectually that love and sex do not have to be the same thing, I've always believed that sex is best when there's love.

"Now, when you work it out I'm worse than you, when you work it out I want it too, now when you work out where to draw the line, your guess is as good as mine."

    Every time I listen to Coldplay's God Put A Smile On Your Face I'm reminded of human desire, and also, to a lesser extent, the scene in Alias when Sydney and Vaughn consumated their love.

    Many physical forms provoke desire, but the mere sight of certain physical forms of women causes nothing short of sheer existential pain in me, simply because I'm too aware of the fact that I will never possess them physically. I know too well what my tastes are like, and we're talking about immanence here, the way it meant for Georges Bataille, and the way I can relate to it.

    Beyond imagination or fantasy, I feel them move, and the way their limbs would fold against my body like the roots of trees, snake-like, intertwined. 

    And as I sacrifice my desire for them, that sense of loss pains me for a fleeting moment before I resume doing what I was doing, the memory of the sight having now become yet another part of that pornographic sediment in my mind.

The untold wisdom and brilliance of William Blake:

Cruelty has a human heart,

And Jealousy a human face;

Terror the human form divine,

And Secrecy the human dress.

The human dress is forged iron,

The human form a fiery forge,

The human face is a furnace sealed,

The human heart its hungry gorge.

    Ah, this horny motherfucking shit, it never ends.

    Though I can't honestly say that I'm looking forward to it, but I can definitely see the end of the libido, human desire and every other attachment that's a natural part of this world. You know, it's hard to talk about spirituality without evoking the hyper-glamourised imagery found in The Matrix, and to a lesser extent, The Fight Club. Laugh if you will, but late yesterday, I think I had an epiphany.

    I'm thinking of starting another blog where I would expound my experience as a traveller of the Way, albeit a low-level one. Notes from My Libido can be seen as a reservoir of my desires which have been filtered and collected --- sediments, as I have mentioned in a previous post. It's natural to feel desire and to have impure thoughts, but that doesn't mean we cannot go beyond. In the annals of wisdom, desire is attachment, and I relate to this notion intellectually. With hope, I will be able to relate to it in a way that moves beyond the intellect.

I will always remember her as the girl with whom I've had some of the best sex with. Elle's from Singapore, and to me, she's just like a living, talking sex doll that's almost perfect. We met each other during a university students' association meeting, and under quite favourable circumstances actually. She had just broken up with her boyfriend, and I was coming out of my self-imposed social exile following my tumultuous relationship --- if you can call it that --- with Aiko.

    Just yesterday evening, Neko and I were stepping into a café when we saw this chick walking out. I told Neko how her walk and gait reminded me of Elle, which kinda brings us to this post. 

    After that first meeting, Elle and I went out for coffee quite a number of times. We even watched Vertigo together at a repertory theatre. You know how they say, one thing led to another? Well it did, but we took our time with it. I often slept over at her place, and you might not believe this, but we slept naked and showered together for almost a month before we started fucking.

   I remember our first time; we were there underneath the covers --- it was winter --- and perhaps the both of us were trying to pretend that it was going to be yet another night of petting, kissing and cuddling, but really, who were we kidding?

   At some point I was overcome with this forthright urge to fuck, and pulling back the covers I positoned ourselves for doggie. I slipped in, and she began shuddering all over. That strange, almost eerie shuddering of hers continue to boggle my mind even till today. I don't remember how or why or if I even ejaculated that night, but since that night we pretty much fucked like rabbits whenever we were together in private.

   We did it in many places, notably the meeting room of the said students' association and on the staircase leading to her apartment. Her taste for adventure equalled that of mine, and she often skipped wearing panties so that I can finger her on the bus till her cream ran down her thighs all sticky and wet. Whenever things became too wet she would always complain, and her complaints would only stop when her mouth or quim was filled to the brim with my cock. She sucked pretty well, and she was the first girl who lovingly swallowed my come. She was really creamy, especially when she's drunk, and I'm getting a fuckin hard-on just writing about it now.

    I always made it a point to make her lick her own cream off my stick, and then we would swap it in a deep kiss. I'm reminded of this one time when I stayed up all night to work on this three-page essay about Film and Society. By five a.m. I was almost done, and she walked into the living room dazed and groggy, half-awake. She had only a tank-top and a pair of flimsy panties on. We hugged, or rather, I hugged her as she rubbed the sleep off her eyes. I led her by the hand back into the bedroom where we fucked till she collapsed on top of me.

   I pulled out, and as she lay there I fed her my cream-coated cock. She lazily licked off her own cream and when she was done, I leaned close to her face and savoured that tangy taste in her mouth.

    That session when we were in that meeting room: we greedily masturbated in front of each other till we each exploded in our own selfish orgasms. Sensing that she was about to come, I promptly got up and painfully sprayed my eggnog all over her face, thick horny drops of it clinging to her long hair and partially-exposed breasts.

    The hot chick with the opulent breasts above is not Elle. It's a scan from my collection of retro Penthouse images. Ironically, the pictorial is called "Satin Doll." I chose this particular image because whenever I see it, it reminds me of her.

 

This afternoon, Neko was so hot her cream dripped onto the bed. As she approached her orgasm she rocked in tune to my thrusts, all the while emitting those precious little slutty anime sounds that goaded me on and on. And as she came I felt her strangling me inside; unable to withstand any longer, I pulled out and jizzed all over the slopes of her ass with the fervour of an abstract expressionist.

   

    I don't like to sound pedantic, but if I do, please forgive me.

    You know, everything takes effort, and this is especially true when it comes to maintaining a relationship. Honesty is important, but there's something that's even more important, and that's being thankful for what we have and never taking things for granted. Loving someone is the same as loving ourselves, and since everything's got to end some day, why not make it last for as long as we could?

I can't seem to stop thinking about this line that Jessica wrote in the tagboard:

"I just love that close-up of chocolate dipped in cream."

I really wished I had thought of it myself because it's such a great line!

I just love how it sounds so indulgent and sexy, so here's an encore of the image: 

Close-Up of Chocolate Dipped in Cream 

    Though it's one of our favourite self-produced images, I had some reservations when I first posted this image because it seemed so filthy. But after that truly erotic line from Jessica, I'm glad I posted it here.

    I've always found certain types of food sexy, and this includes indulgent desserts of dark chocolate drenched in thick, rich cream; mussels or baby clams cooked in cream of mushroom, and hearty sandwiches with lots of mayo on the meat.

   I would like to say something here that might make it sound like I'm gloating, but rest assured that I'm not. I'm really glad that the image above and all that it represents --- female cream as evidence of unbridled sexual pleasure --- was created out of the love between Neko and I in the context of a monogamous relationship. With this I dedicate this image to Jessica and all my readers and wish you luck in finding your one true love, and lots of female cream.

(I hope this doesn't sound too cheesy, but it's been on my mind and I really want to get it off my chest!)
 

I remember a time, when girlie magazines featured girls with wholesome, naturally-toned bodies free of silicone.

You know, jerking off is a really wonderful thing. Amongst other things, it can quell those unholy desires to rape someone. It's an outlet for stress relief. Come to think of it, if you're a highly-sexed person, masturbation is a postmodern necessity that you simply can't live without. It's almost as important as your cellular phone --- you don't really need it, but if you have it, it's great.

    Let you in on a secret: no one, besides myself, has managed to successfully handjobbed me to the point of orgasm. And for this, there's no one to blame except myself. My cock has already become used to that unique rhythmic signature of my hands. (Yup, I'm an ambidextrous masturbator!)

    So, before I go have a nice wank and call it a night, here's a vidclip collage of one of my favourite pieces of Japorn. Besides the obvious, what always pushes me past that point of no return is that expression on her face, and the idea that she's getting helplessly aroused by the wretchedness of it all, of having her pretty face blasted by all that thick, white gloppy come...

Outside it's rolling thunder and whistling winds, and now, the pitter-patter of raindrops like little rocks falling on rooftops. It's going to be a heavy downpour that brings sweet relief to the tropical heat. To quote a line from U2, "let the rain wash away our bad love."

    Speaking of which, I was browsing through my images, and I wasn't even thinking about her, when this image caught my eye.  

    I did have the thought that we would be together for a long time, the way the police officer in Chungking Express thought about his relationship with the sultry stewardess. While it's true that it takes great effort to keep a relationship going, karma plays a major part as well. I suppose some things are simply not meant to be. 

    What is this thing called taste anyway?

    Though my taste for smutty images has a pronounced bias towards the retro, not every retro image that I come across earns itself a place in my hard drive by default. If there's ever something that's worse than bad taste, it's being indiscriminate, so I'm taking this gratuitous opportunity to share with you my taste for softcore smut.

    I don't know why, but I've always had this thing for Carrie Fisher. Or was it Princess Leia? The girl in the image above reminds me of her, so I guess one of my criteria for a smutty picture is that it must remind me of someone or something pleasant. Everything in the image works for me; the mise-en-scene and mood, the rattan chair and drapes, the pillow, her shoes, nails and hairdo, that unflinching stare of her eyes, her pert, erect nipples, and that whole suggestive I'm-exposing-my-hairy fanny-to-you pose.

    Young girls with hairy cunts, I adore images of young girls with hairy cunts. But yet, lewd images of girls with shaved twats are exciting in its own way too. Just notice how her rude bits can barely restrain themselves from peeking out of her smooth-shaven, slightly-swollen gash like the meat of a tasty clam.

    And notice her choc-fudge nipples too, on those round, full-volumed perfect breasts. Breasts, what's there not to love about breasts? For as long as I can remember, I've always loved looking at women's breasts, even at a tender age. Breasts, and cleavages. But I have reason to believe that my sexy neighbour is the one who concretised that breast fetish in me. And for me, when I think about breasts and girlie mags, I will often remember Playboy. (When I think of Penthouse I think of labia)

The first girlie magazine I laid my eyes on was the March 1976 issue of Playboy that featured this superhot chick (Victoria Cunningham) on the cover, barely covered in a red hot fireman's raincoat, red boots and a killer pout. I was six, and I was mesmerised, but soon realised that I could those words that were writ large on the cover: P-L-A-Y-B-O-Y. In the pictorial inside, what struck me the most was all that hair between her legs. It was very black, and as she lay there with that expression on her face like she was getting fucked, I thought there was something truly ferocious about all that hair on her cunt, and I had an impulse to kiss it, to kiss her pussy, whatever that was and whatever that meant for me at that time.

    If I remember correctly, she is (was?) Welsh, and she had a long and tight body. She had these incredible breasts that pointed up in a rather strange way. I couldn't locate any free images from her pictorial. Seems like she has pretty much dropped off the radar.

    But no worries. I do have a few images of Ann Pennington, the playmate of in the above issue. Her breasts are not particularly large, but they look like they've got a nice weight to them, and her nipples look positively yummy.

   The photography is a little misty, but at least it's not airbrushed. And even if there's airbrushing, it's not obvious. She looks absolutely organic to me.

Bliss is...

...a breezy Saturday morning, Neko taking a dump in the loo, me on the couch with a cigarette, and Wicked Game echoing through the apartment.

There I was, sitting in the car, getting ready to leave, when I saw her walking by with her friend. I've always noticed her presence at the centre, but I've never really picked up on her vibe until that moment. She saw me, and there was that fiery dance in her eyes, not fully-developed, yes, but yet, totally unselfconscious, free and unrestrained. She stuck out her tongue a little and smiled, wherein the totality of her expression summed up the word "cheeky" for me.

    As she walked away, my eyes followed her, and she looked back; that fire still dancing in her eyes. The fact that she wasn't endowed with a voluptuous body --- she still had a tad of baby fat --- was irrelevant. That look on her face stayed with me for many hours as the day wore on. And it was a look that no slutty cam whore or club wench can ever hope to attain, if only because slutty cam whores and club wenches no longer possess this thing called innocence.

Desire can be a nice thing to enjoy if you're in control. Remember that busty Indian lady who runs a bookstore downtown? Well this afternoon I popped by at the store and bought another bunch of used books from her. Though the neckline of her blouse that she wore today was pretty low, her breasts didn't look as obvious as they did that day. Ever the pervert, I had hoped that I would be fortunate enough to be right in front of her when and if she bent over. And you know what? If only I were that lucky. To compensate, here's an image of a pair of magnificent breasts for your pleasure.

Today's Sunday was mostly an uneventful one. Neko and I spent most of the day vegetating at home. Much to her annoyance, we left the house a little too late for dinner, and ended up having to hunt for a place to eat. After driving for a bit, we finally sat down at this rather romantically-lit coffeeshop. A well-rounded beer promoter dressed in a tight-fitting, one-piece dress came over to get our orders. Her round, succulent ass was big enough to make me sick. What made it worse was how her pantylines were visible. Though her tits weren't very big, I could tell that she probably had real perky nipples. Everything about her ample proportions screamed succulence.

Brokeback Mountain is a pretty decent movie, but I don't think it quite deserved all that it has garnered. Perhaps this has to do with the fact that I've never been a big fan of Ang Lee. While I did appreciate all that homo machismo and old school cult of masculinity jazz, what awed me the most were the shots of those big, blue sunny skies, which from now on I would refer to as "brokeback skies." (On a sidenote, gloomy skies are "blairwitch skies," which I've christened after that God-awful excuse of a blockbuster movie.)

    Went out to do some necessary shopping with Neko this morning, and after lunch I sat on a bench and smoked a cigarette. I looked at the majestic brokeback skies and thought about how today would've been a great day at the beach filled with bossa nova music and carefree splashes in the sea.

    For some strange and inexplicable reason I feel especially awake today, despite the fact I slept very little this morning and splurged my sperm like a rich, crazy housewife on a shopping spree yesterday. A classmate used to tell me --- and I'm positive he was being absolutely facetious --- that I should be the one who controls my masturbation, rather than allowing my masturbation to control me. Well, he's got a point. Money's made to be spent, and sperm's made to be ejaculated. The more money you have, the more you can spend and the more sperm you have in your balls the more you can ejaculate, but don't spend it all at once.

This is yet another post where I need to start off with a rather lame effort to qualify what I'm about to say. Regardless of what I do, or whom I'm engaging a dialogue with, I always try to make it a point not to sound pedantic.

    You know, a woman who's steeped in sadness can be so attractive.

    Veronica was at the centre today, and I'm sure she was still feeling my heat from our work-related, mini-fallout the other day. There was forlorn in her face, and self-consciousness in the movements of her body.

    I know of her problems with her so-called "husband-to-be," a truly pitiful idiot who doesn't really know how to treat his woman right. And I don't mean sex, because I have no idea what their sex life is like, nor am I even vaguely interested, if we're talking about "their" sex life, though admittedly, I am interested in hers. This probably sounds like an ego trip to some of you, and it probably is, to a certain extent. But that's not the whole truth. I think it's only a complete ego trip if I think I start thinking along the lines of "I'll show her how a real man treats a woman" and then act upon it. The nature of my ego trip is more along the lines of savouring that sexiness of hers that is singularly borne out of sadness.

    Seeing her in that wretched state, it triggers certain urges in me. Urges might be too strong a word, and perhaps "impulses" would be more fitting. Seeing her looking so pathetic makes me want to cause her more anguish. When I saw her today she was wearing a tight-fitting top that showed off a little cleavage. I know for a fact that she wears a push-up bra, and correct me if I'm wrong, but for me, the significance of wearing a push-up bra lies in insecurity. And being the cruel bastard that I am, whenever I chance upon insecure women, my first reaction is to terrify them. 

    I still believe that cruelty is the default state of the human heart, and that is why we must transform all that cruelty into compassion. And as far as being spiritual is concerned, I'm still a low-level practitioner, but I can feel that I'm getting better. The fact that I no longer have a need to act upon my impulses is a sure sign of this. (I know that self-praise is no praise, and I'm sorry for gloating.) But yet, the impulses to be cruel remain. Seeing her in that short skirt and top made me feel like going over and feel her up with my body. I wanted to fondle her breasts and feel their warmth on the palm of my hands. I wanted to touch and play with her dried-up strands of peroxide hair. I wanted to kiss her mouth and feel the sadness in her every breath. I wanted to fuck her till she weeps silent tears in an orgasm that rattles through her body.

    I guess this is an ego trip after all. Maybe it's all nothing but sheer sophistry on my part, pure and simple. But aren't we all guilty of sophistry at some point in our lives? One thing's for sure though; there's no way in hell that I'll ever be caught dead in an affair with her. With m, I've been there and done that. There are some things in life which I simply do not wish to repeat.

    You know, it's really kinda funny. I don't even know if I should categorise this entry under "Fiction." When I told Neko about how I felt about Veronica, she just smiled. I guess some men still retain a part of that heroic little boy in them. Well anyway, I've sifted through the sands of today's passing as seen through my eyes, and here's the distilled essence, just for you. 

My restless libido, without which these filthy flowers of lust would not bloom. Neko and I are big on oral, and faced with those images of her frenzied sucking, my fingers can't help but find their way around my meat and start stroking.

    Whenever Neko fellates me, I am transformed into a drooling retard. Her furious, cannibalistic sucking assumes centre stage, and my brain immediately turns to mush. The power of coherent speech leaves me completely. I become nothing but a cock. I become nothing but a tumescent, jumping penis given to uncontrollable twitches and jerks as she administers her freestyling brand of cocksucking torture.

    She is relentless when she sucks. Absolutely merciless. I am hard, and she violently pushes against my rock-like resilience with her soft tongue and lips. I try to brace against the crazy sensations but she's always one step ahead. Her little mouth opens wide and she dives into my glistening pole. And just as I am about to relax, she bobs her head up and down, heightening my agony with the cruel scrapes of her teeth. She rolls her tongue around inside and playfully pops me out. As she's doing this, her eyes lock on to mine and she hungrily gauges my reaction.

    Feeling satisfied, she pulls me out. Her razor tongue dances round and round my spit-covered head, and using the pointed tip she pokes into my slit and tickles my frenulum. I twitch, and twitches only serve to encourage her further. And she continues to gun it tighter and tighter till I can stand it no more, both of us fully aware that this is merely a mouthwatering, teeth-gritting prelude to more brutality. 

    Oh the things we do to each other.

In porn, if the performers are truly horny, there's really no need for acting, whatever "acting" means in the context of pornography. Feeling horny is a state of mind (and being) which is, come to think of it, no different from feeling happy, angry or sad. Sure, if we're feeling sad or angry we can always put up a front to mask our real state inside, and if we're so successful at this that nary a soul can see through our mask, then we're truly good actors and very professional indeed. And if this is what is meant by "acting," then porn performers should by all means "act," even when they're not feeling horny.

    Horniness is contagious. I don't know about you, but whenever I sense that the performers are horny and are really into whatever filthy sex act that they're doing, my cock stands up automatically.

    An aside: One of the reasons that I've never had a hard-on in a titty bar or a grope bar is because I've never come across a woman working there who's genuinely horny. I mean yeah, they put up all these pretend coyness and chi-chi which amounts to nothing but an obligation to the wads of cash that they're hopefully gonna be pocketing at the end of their shift.

   Anyway, as I was saying, my cock starts to get all fat and naughty whenever I catch sight of some genuinely horny moments in porn. Horniness is also a reaction. You can't really will yourself into being horny, can you? And even if you could, would you want to? I mean, what's the point?

   Another aside: Which is why I've never believed in using lubricants during sex. If she's not wet, it probably means that she's not in the mood, so why bother? Like I said before, it's your pussy too, man.

   Horniness is, in crude terms, a deep desire to fuck and get fucked. And when it comes to this, your body is the most honest when it's itching for sex. Without the need of any sort of manipulation, cocks get hard, and pussies get wet, automatically. Which is why I always keep a keen lookout for female cream in porn. And sure, this can be manipulated too, but if there's genuine horniness in facial expressions, it doesn't really matter, does it?

   Western porn is pretty much dead to me. These days, there are no longer as many gems to mine, compared to that golden age of porn in the 70s, when the performers actually fucked with a passion that was driven by lust and horniness. And I know this because I've watched boatloads of porn. To name a few titles off the top of my head: Debbie Does Dallas, Sex World, and The Devil in Miss Jones. Most of the earlier Johnny Holmes movies were good too, before his dick went limp and his performances suffered as a result of his drug-addled mind.

...to be continued...
 

    How could I have resisted you that morning, when you draped upon yourself that diaphanous sea-green dress and dipped your body into the salty seawater only to present me with that inviting view on our first day at the sea?

    I couldn't, and so I didn't.