Sometimes it just boggles my mind to see how my mind works. I'll chance upon a busty woman and imagine what her breasts would look like without her clothes on. And whenever I stumble upon an image of an attractive woman with her large, heavy breasts exposed I'll do the opposite and imagine them dressed and covered in layers of clothing. It's all very dialectical really, so this one's for you, Hegel, Fichte and Chalybäus!

This blog of mine isn't just a blog for me to document my sex life. If it were, it'd be just another blog. My conceit tells me otherwise of course. For all intents and purposes, this is a sex blog, so why keep a sex blog then? For a start, I enjoy having a channel where I can write the kind of smut that I enjoy reading but can't seem to find anywhere else. Also, it's great having a place in the www where I can keep a visual catalogue of pornographic images that appeals to me. I enjoy looking at good porn images and the best thing is that, I know too well what I enjoy looking at. This blog is also an excellent way for me to post some of the pornographic images that I enjoy making in private. And it goes without saying that I enjoy sharing them simply because I am both an exhibitionist and a voyeur.

She had a truly odious personality, but this didn't deter me one bit from lusting after her breasts. In a twisted way, it made my desire for her even stronger. Day in and day out I would watch with regret the way she would snap at her own children and her subdued-looking mother-in-law. Her husband was working in some faraway land my mother had told me, and perhaps this partly accounts for her mean streak. My mother also told me that she worked in a pub a few nights a week, and I remember feeling reluctant to believe this for I didn't really fancy the idea of all those men having access to those beautifully ruddy breasts of hers. But I knew it was true, because there were many times when I saw with my own eyes how she tarted herself up before heading out into the night.

    Though I was fourteen at that time, I had already tapped into that open secret called sex for several years by then. So I knew what was possible between men and women, especially in places like pubs. I jerked off religiously to the memory of her breasts, and one of my favourite positions was by kneeling on the bathroom floor, which was a solitary simulation of the doggie-style, something I learnt from the sex magazines and films hidden in my parents' closet. I enjoyed coming this way, and often, what ultimately made me spray my young seed uncontrollably all over the wet, baby blue tiles was the thought of my large-breasted neighbour being pawed by the hands of different men every night, and ending up doing all the filthy things that people do in porn films and porn magazines.

If you enjoyed La Renarde, or The Vixen's blog, which I mentioned in a previous post, then you should check out Cat in the Net, the blog of yet another smoking hot French girl. Her images are slightly different in tone and mood from La Renarde;  the images of the latter are better in terms of clarity, but the former more than makes up for this her propensity for public nudity. But whatever their differences may be, they've both got the kind of body that I adore.

The night is full of potential, and I'm gonna make full use of it. There is something in this world that is more important than blogging, and it is sleep.

 

I was listening to a rather mushy David Foster song on the radio and misheard the lyrics and heard "And when she danced, I lost my innocence..." instead of "And when she danced, I lost my inner sense...," which got me thinking about when exactly was my innocence lost.

    I guess it must be on that night when I was watching Strange Days in the apartment of their living room while they were having sex in the bedroom. I remember how my heart sank as I turned up the volume in an effort to drown out the sounds of their lovemaking, if you can call it that.

    Yet another memory of m; I suppose some things can never, will never, be forgotten.

Poor is the man who holds the assumption that all women are the same when it comes to sex, or anything else for that matter. Some women are good for the mind, some are good for the soul, and some are just plain magic for the body.

    I had no idea which type she was, but I wanted to believe that she was of the plain magic variety because Neko was with me and I can't help but feel sexy whenever Neko's around.

    In another time and another place, that open smile would've had me even before hello, and I would be feeling the flutter of those eyelashes against my cheeks as we crossed the physical boundaries of religion, making children with eyes as big and round as our own.

Joe, this one's for you!

I have this recurring dream where I'm hunting for porn in my parents' bedroom. I check under the mattress, in the closet, and on top of the cupboard. I know it's there but yet I can't seem to find it. And during those times when I do find them, that's when I usually wake up.

"It was only when you walked away I saw you had the perfect ass. Forgive me for not falling in love with your face or your conversation." —Leonard Cohen, The Energy of Slaves (1972)

Here's the much-needed jolt for your weekend.

She spoke good English and had nice tits, but what a waste; she was dressed like a fuckin' hick on the prowl for some rich fat greasy dick who wore thick gold chains around his neck and wrist.

you were such a sweet girl. what happened to you? now you let them do to you the things that you never allowed me to do when we were together. truth be told, some of the things that you allow them to do to you I would never ever do. see honestly, i would love to say that it hurts me to see you doing what you do now but the truth is, i've gotten over you a long time ago. it's always good to see you, even if it's just the footage of you. i'm not ashamed to admit that after all these years, on certain occasions, i still think about you. the parts i enjoy the most are inevitably the scenes where you're revelling in your own degradation like a pig in shit. you were always so full of pride. and thinking about it now, perhaps your choice to do this is indeed a manifestation of your pride. but with all due respect, it's your life, and not mine. 

He stood over her like a super soldier as she tried her best to bring him to his knees.

It's amazing how we can manage to wake up every morning and think the most lucid thoughts while our mind struggles to wake itself up from the numbness of sleep.

{illyria}, this one's for you.

In some unspecified future, an incarnation of me will discover his father's sex doll collection and enjoy them in a way that parallels my discovery and enjoyment of my father's porn collection.

 

If you're a serious fan of good-looking images of women's breasts and asses, you gotta appreciate the effort of this fella at flickr. Check it out; you're bound to find something you like.

Sometimes, the prospect of entering darkness and then emerging into the light makes me want to linger in the shade of the darkness.

Songs are such amazing vessels of memory, and whether I like it or not, you've pwned Game of Love because it has never failed to remind me of you and that two months when we practically met up every day. And it wasn't after slightly more than three weeks' worth of smoking and drinking that we made the first moves in my car in that back alley that night, to the tune of what else but that darned Michelle Branch/Santana song on the radio.

    A day later I was over at your house, and I took some shots of your beautiful ass while you were taking a shower with the door ajar. I knew you were self-conscious about your breasts, but they seemed perfect to me. If they were any bigger you would have become an even greater cliché. To me, you were always one of those truly hot chicks, the kind who turned heads and intimidated all at the same time.

    I'm sorry to see how we now have to pretend that we're strangers whenever we bump into each other. I still wonder what went wrong. I've been honest with you from day one, and perhaps I was wrong to assume that by being honest with you I've absolved myself of any responsibility for your emotional ability to handle the issue. If this is a fact, then I'm sorry. But wouldn't you agree that, in the end, all's fair in the game of love?

Without a doubt, "hot." But something about that perfectly processed photographic sheen gets in the way of cathexis: something inorganic, meaning I can't jerk off to images like these. Pretty, but cold, and everything looks almost too perfect. Notice that I didn't even used "she" or "her."

More of this cold heat here, here, here, here, and here.

I'll be posting a bunch of retro/vintage porn images very soon, so to all you nostalgic fuckers, watch this space!

There's something very irresistible and mouthwatering about puffy nipples, the kind that stick out like cupcakes with a raisin on top of each.

As my semen showered forth from the tip of my cock, I found myself wondering what is it about bukkake that makes it such a turn-on for me.

I know that the World Cup of 2006 is over and Brazil didn't win, but this is...FUCK!

These are some of the images that were snapped when I was there. Frankly I think you went a little overboard with her breasts. I know what you'd say. You'd say, if there's a demand, why let it down? Bread and butter and some sundry capitalism bullshit. I wish I could talk about this entire experience in a less agitated state of mind, but I can't because I've been listening to a lot of Radiohead prior to this assignment. For my next job, I'll be listening to bossa nova. The counsellor prescribed it this morning. And while the angst is wearing off, I want to get this off my chest.

    I reached the house at about eight in the morning. I did things in accordance with procedure, and told the movers to hang back, give me fifteen minutes --- which was snappier than most --- have a coffee and wait for my call. The moment I stepped onto her front yard she was already standing in the doorway looking every bit like she was waiting for me. I was worried for a second, and then reminded myself that it was her job to be standing there and convey the impression that she was waiting. After all, if you were a sex droid, what else is there to do besides lounging around the house waiting for sex to happen? She had this black lacy number on, with matching panties. She had a cigarette in her right hand, and she stared at me like every bit of the vamp that she was made to be.

    Like most of the later models, she didn't immediately kneel down and try to unzip my pants. This change in programming still surprises me somehow, perhaps because I've become so used to droids that were programmed to be forthright. Mind you I definitely wasn't one of those who didn't enjoy a blowjob from a sex droid, but frankly I was more turned on by the opportunity to reject their advances. Yeah, it's fucked-up, but we do live in a fucked-up world, don't we?

    Well anyway, I asked her if she could let me shoot some images of her, and she complied, naturally. As I took the last shots, I don't know what came over me, but I began feeling a vague sort of sadness for her, not that she was real. But then I remembered a line from McLuhan, "the world is so small and the stars are so big, stay as you are," and with this, I switched her off and called the movers.