A wonderful weekend it was. I had the opportunity to spend and eveing with a close knit community and The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. It involved, sexorcisms, rituals, altars, floggings,  and the blessings they manifested all around. The Sisters blessed The Center for Sex and Culture‘s new location.  It turned out to be a long night, but it was pretty darn amazing. The great experience was one I will not soon forget and I was honored to spend this time with these individuals and I look forward to performing my new Head Librarian duties there.

I came out of the sutuation with an undertasding of “work to play.” A sort of philosophy– that in order to play the way you want, one must put the work in to do so. The whole event is really all still running through my mind.

The weekend also included a sunny fun photo shoot. I have only just started the editing, but I thought I would share a few.

Catch Up

Whew, that was some long weekend, which I am only now almost recovered from. Two separate sets of house guest, wine country, and then taking the tourist to Folsom Street Fair, where there was an abundance of sweat, skin and cock. I think I showed the out of towners a unique SF adventure indeed.

Now I am trying to get back into the grove, the grind of my only slightly hectic life. There may be chance I met an actual fella, a lover would be really nice right about now. One not married, one I can hold hands with in public, or suck his big red throbbing cock in the stacks, one that wants to come home with me and serenade me with his ukulele.

It feels good, the inclinations of more, the notions of possible love or some warped version of it that time has created in mind of what love could be. Even though I can be a bitter cynic, I remain hopeful, like a boxer–even in the worst of times I am still ready to fight for it–for love. I think glimmers and shards of love get through to the darkest of corners, the dustiest of mind, if they didn’t I would be worried.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”  ~Oscar Wilde

Other News

I participated in my first CSC Erotic Photo Club. It was a fantastic experience and I want more. The vibe there was great, friendly and competitive. Our model was cute, nice smile, and willing to be propped. A few of my shots can be seen here. I would love to take some pics in a more private setting, with maybe one other photographer and the model. I would also love to take pictures of a couple. If anyone is interested let me know, also CSC is always looking for models for the club, it pays, we are ethical, and not too sleazy (I can behave sometimes).

Who I like this week

Joewehner.com
Studio@joewehner.com
Vimeo.com/jw99

A NYC to Cali back to NYC videogrpaher, is currently working on a feature film. No doubt it will have to be about women considering the shorts he has created. The women, the music, the smiles, and the care he seems to have with each woman is beautifully rendered in this medium.

Joe says this of his work and the models:

I enjoy shooting these women because they are usually from somewhere else and are here in NY to make it as a model. They all have different stories and dreams about life. They also are put in very unusual situations for an individual to be in. They are a pretty  face and body but no voice. Shooting video gives a little peek into their personality. It’s interesting seeing what their personalities are like and how they want to represent themselves, It’s odd sometimes how people see themselves vs what others see, it also gives them an opportunity to express themselves, which is always fun to photograph and record no matter who it is. I don’t want to say which one is my favorite because they all have a spot on the list.

Rebecca from Joe Wehner on Vimeo.

Shane Deruise of take this pill and of Shane Deruise Photography

I love his mix of photography he does, portraits mostly. But he bring back a tradition to portraits by placing items in the scene or making use of a setting that allow the viewer to tell a story or create our own story about the person. The work has a mix of beauty and torture.

Lastly

I had a nice hard come this morning thinking getting my pussy devoured. It was just a bit too cold to get out of bed I had to warm it up.

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The late day mix of sun and rain filtered through the open basement window onto our bed. I could see passerby’s but they would rarely take notice of us. The window was not at the vantage point of eye level, we would easily be missed.

“get the camera”

Wearing a tiny little black tank top and a little lacy bra that is useless, that my tits had long since spilled out of, I sprawl out. Stretching my limbs in opposite directions, feeling my sinew and ligaments pulling tight, my joints pop and crack.

Running my hands on my body, I am relaxed and at ease with myself and with you. You begin to shoot.

“I want to cum, I want you to watch me cum.”

Everything about me at that moment is soft. The tough was eased away. My hands know what I want, I know what I want. I like it when you watch me, I find it to be an important part of a sexual relation.

My pussy is full of blood and life and want, it has been for days now. Pulling my tits from the top of my tank top, I kneed them together for you, mash them– wanting you to know your dick could be in there. Shards of sun, bounce off my skin as I twist the nipples into a peak formation. Putting my fingers into my mouth I coat them with saliva then reach for my bare, now fat, pussy. The lips spread for my cunt–needy. I use my finger and knuckles to get me flowing.

You watch, you shoot.

I grab my new jimmyjane and begin massaging into my full puffy cunt. Lightly at first, just resting it on the lips of my pussy–feeling the rumble fill my body. My eyes slit in response. I want more. I begin working the toy, around, feeling my tiny clit grow to a hard pebble. Twisting the toy around my flesh, I can feel my clit popping to meet the vibrations. That familiar fire spreads through my body beginning at the bottom of my feet and writhes up and out every follicle of my hair.

Grabbing you by the dick, which has been bouncing in front of me as you take our snapshots, I bring you into me. Your hard cock is mine, momentarily. I use it as I want. I use it as a toy, and appendage for my use, for my insatiable cunts use. Rubbing my clit with the tip of your dripping cock sends me into a different realm–one of female dominance. Your cock is mine and I use it like I want. At least for now. I continue to manipulate your meat like it was a dildo, slapping my pussy with it, grinding my cunt up onto it, simultaneously using it with the jimmyjane. I want to cum.

My head tips, my neck and back arching and I see the window shade wide open, legs and torsos passing by as I cum and you shoot.

“fuck me.”

Bringing your body into me, reaching beyond me you pull the shade down–shutting out those who pass by, and we fuck. When your cock fills me the female dominance dissipates and it is just you and I and we fuck.

Wearing my smartballs to work all day proved to make me beyond insatiable and crazy. It has made me a very wet kitty.

As I moved, shelved and squatted the balls within the balls rumbled inside me. We were short staffed at the library, which means for me, more reference desk hours than usual, which means more internet access for large blocks of time. I logged on to find a steamy email from a man who fancies the idea of his hand striking my ass as I grab a hold of the shelves while reciting those filthy odes I love so well—“do you need you mouth and cunt and ass fucked like the filthy little slut you are?” Alluding to my ultimate library fantasy, of cock buried in my throat while his hands grip the back of my head–semi hidden from eyes, but not really. Adding to my larger fantasy– he includes another woman and him in between the stacks of books, words, pages–her licking my honey salt pussy and he fucks me from behind as I drip into her mouth, she is drinking all of me in and loving every bit of it. Bit-o-Honey.

As I read the email, I grip up the balls, squeezing them tight. My inner flesh grabbing them like they were a cock. I grind my ass onto the seat pressing my full lips into the cushion. I wiggle my ass a little, crushing my full lips as the balls press into my g-spot filling me up.

Another email, from a friend who would like to bend me over the sorting table, hike and yank my skirt up, his hands discovering my body, my curves—what makes my breath rapid, what makes me pant like an animal, whimper and beg. Reaching between my thighs, kicking my feet apart–his hands searching my ass, my cunt, my slit. Slipping two fingers in he discovers how wet I am, he feels the cord of the smartballs.Pressing his two fingers into my dripping pages, he pulls my head back by my hair and whispers in my ear “what a little slut,” as he yanks the balls out, his words still lingering in my mind, I ooze onto them and into his hands, he lifts the balls to his mouth and licks them clean.

On top of these sweltering emails is the young, too young, boy who has been relentless in his pursuit. While I have been resisting because of our age difference, damn! he is really turning me on. He wants my mouth and lips around his cock, he wants to meet me in a dark spot and get some car cock worship (one of my favorite places). The smutty decadence he delivers to my text message has my box dripping. As I am squatted shelving I feel my phone vibrate, pulling it out to read one of the many texts about his throbbing cock, I spread my legs wide the balls inside drop a bit, and I can easily smell myself, the wetness, the sticky sweet slime leaving it’s traces behind. The physical scent of fuck me–fuck me–fuck me drifts up from my pussy into the air.

I am beyond insatiable now. I am ready to slip away and take my much needed break. I text the young boy back telling him I am about to go stroke my pussy, he asks for pictures. “Sure why not, I love photographing my own antics.” I open then lock the bathroom door behind me. Wash my hands, standing in front of the mirror I unbutton my jeans and slide my fingers into my panties, I smile to myself at how incredibly wet I am. What a wonderful slut. I close my thighs around my finger and hand wiggling them in my tight rainy cunt. I pull out the phone and snap a shot of me in the mirror with my hand down the front of my pants.

I am passionate, ardent, oh so horny. I slip my pants off, folding them and placing them on the chair cushion (yes there is an ugly orange vinyl chair in the bathroom), I sit with my ass at the edge of the chair, my pussy hanging over and my feet propped up on the toilet seat in front of me, knees bent. As I slide my fingers into my panties I snap another shot. Leaning back in the chair I stroke and please with more cadence, It feels good, my pussy so ripe and ready to be fucked, I melt around the idea. Not able to take it any longer I sit up and pull my panties to my knees, when I do this I drip onto the tiled floor below me, I just shake my head at the insatiability of my cunt. The puddle grows larger. I fish out my mini vibe from my jeans pocket, and proceed to stroke and fuck my self in the work bathroom. The hours of emails, texts, smartballs and my own delicious filthy mind have me soaking. Right as I am about to cum, I pull the string on the smartballs, as I pull–I resist with my muscles, like I am trying to keep your cock in me forever…one pops out, pain and pleasure merge, I press the vibe hard on to my clit. Holding it there for a moment, my abs tighten and my pussy clinches around the remaining ball. I let the vibe go and rub my clit and cream with my fingers I pull the second ball out –despite my cunts refusal to let it go–when it pops out I gush and come at the same time, the floor, the seat and my panties soaked. My thighs are shaking and my breath is not mine. The balls are covered in me, my fingers are covered in me. I lift them to my mouth and snap a shot of my fingers sliding down my throat tasting my own.

I sit there a moment–regain my wit. I get up rinse the smartballs off and put them back where they belong. When I go to put my panties on I realize they are too wet to wear so I slide them into my pocket, button my jeans and go back to work satiated and my pussy still full and many ways.

I could be a contender.
I probably share too much–in many ways. I am giver, well and a taker–it’s a two way road.

For this entire summer I have gotten in the habit of waking up every morning and taking a picture of my ass in bed. Not my lazy ass in bed, but my round soft scrumptious, sometimes covered, sometimes not– ass in bed. This morning I snapped a shot of my entire length in the bathroom mirror, still asleep, wild hair. I often share these images of womanliness with friends, men, my boss, or; anyone who asks in just the right way–has the option of viewing, what must me close to a thousand, pictures of my body.

I have not been like this my entire sexual life, in fact I only became this way in the last year. The image at the right is the first picture I took of my ass. This was last Halloween night, as I was getting ready for a date. This picture was not taken for my date though, but for my favorite protagonist. He did not ask for such a treat–it just happened and it has been happening ever since. I have grown accustomed to setting up the camera and the tripod while I get prepared for a night out. Often, I am astounded at how many images I snap in one session.

What I find interesting is my fascination with the experience. It’s not that I am the epitome of a “tight little hottie.” Quite the opposite, I am Venus figure, round here and there, full. Most of my life I grew up not even liking my own body, always in touch with my body, but dissatisfied with my figure. Like sexuality–it took time to love my body, love myself and now that I do, I photograph and film the understanding, or I’m just really hooked on photographing myself in sex, sexy, sexuality, sexual reality (?) shots and then sending them to random men online. Slut.

I get thrill for sure, there is a complete openness and vulnerability to sending an image of my ass, or of my fingers sliding into my wet pages, just barley visible under the sheer fabric of my panties. The glistening of my petals highlighted in the image. Will he like this, will it make him hungry, will he want more? Sometimes my favorite recipient make requests or themes. This is fun, it takes more time, more planning, but I like the process. I like that he wants to see me in a certain frame, light, angle, position, location, holding something or something sliding between my lips. When I have a batch of new naughties I like to tease with the images, send a trickle and nibble–before giving the big guns.

Then there are the times there is no work put into the imagery, it is just me, usually with the camera phone, usually in the car, outside, or the library sorting room. If I have down time I am snapping picture of my legs or a pantie peek, with no recipient in mind. Then on the complete opposite spectrum is when I film myself. This started a few months ago, when I viewed a clip of a man stroking his cock to cum. It was so hot, I decided right then and there to watch him as I fucked myself imagining he was fucking me, all the while filming.

This is the ultimate in vulnerability, there is no editing, no photo magic. It’s me, all me–fucking myself for the camera, for myself, to watch myself come. The first time–I was in shock at how I looked. The way I came, the noises I made, my face contorting, my body flaws, and my pussy dripping. Like it was not me. I came again. Since then there have been perhaps ten or so more clips produced. I keep them hidden, only once in a rare mood or for that special individual will I share these, they are that personal. It’s that side of me even a lover would rarely see. I masturbate all the time in front of any lover who wants to watch, but it’s different when I am alone, it is for me, not for we.

I have yet to film myself fucking someone and only recently was filmed with a juicy piece of meat in my mouth, but I am sure it will happen, just another one to add to the list. Right?

So why do I get off on this exhibitionist behavior? One; I think my openness about who am and what I look like and the willingness to share that–if you don’t like the way I look, my strong thighs, round ass and belly, well–there is always someone who does. There have been times when I regret sharing, I usually know before I even send it. The mystery online man on the other end, has visions dancing in his head about what I look like, and when they get the reality image, well the thoughts do not line up and yes I do regret sharing myself with them, but that is life, rejection is more part of it than acceptance. Two; reactionary, I want to know you want me, that you want to fuck me, that your cock is growing heavy because of my picture. Anticipations and power pleasure. I want you to want more of me.

Rarely do I post pictures of myself directly on the blog–just peeks, preludes.

deceptive like springtime
most passionate of street scenes
I caress, ogle– snap my shutter
photographic memories of love

snatch time beats methodically
moment to moment
fast living captured in slow motion

examine my landscape
my ridges—hills—mountains
You move me with assertion—commitment—proof
fill my void, fuck my architecture

word thief with stolen heart
deconstruct my language
in measured fragments of chronology

confident in my sex
wet lips–cunt–thighs
surrounding the lost remnants of two
that time has carved away

This beautiful photo (not me) was created by Naken Bilderna.

Thank you, I love it.