With a flower in her hair and stars in her eyes she was incandescent as she made her way through the world, nature at her heels and a flourish in her step she beguiled all who met her but only a select few would be lucky enough to lay with her.
Today she stood wiggling her toes in the warm grass as she waited for her latest beau. The sun was high and hot, and all around her animals rested under the shade of nearby trees and wandered lazily to the stream to drink and bathe in the cool water.
She herself had spent the morning with her back against the trunk of large leafy oak as butterflies fluttered around her, so many of them were there that they seemed to be emerging from her, as her hands raked through her hair the butterflies seemed to emanate from within those soft tendrils, fluttering into the surrounding air before returning to her and landing on and around her.
I sounded far more prudish than I had planned to but I had to admit to being slightly horrified by the scene before me.
‘Oh come on. You know how much I love Christmas.’
She did love Christmas, but this … this was just … obscene. She was lying on the bed with everything from baubles to tinsel scattered around her, a smooth bauble was still nestled in her palm and I am certain it’s shine would be slightly dulled in parts as her juices began to dry upon it. Fairy lights twinkled all around her and despite my reservations about her choice of erotic inspiration I did giggle, she looked like the naughtiest elf there had ever been.
I did know the rules or should I say his rules and I thought they were fucking stupid. Not least of all because they weren’t my rules, but they were still imposing on my life and spoiling my fun. I wouldn’t mind if she was saying no, because she didn’t want it, but saying no when she did want it, just made no sense to me.
Rules aside, she began to remove her clothes, leaving nothing on but her white shirt and her tights, sheer with a hint of blue, I wanted nothing more than to rip them from her body, before pushing her thighs apart and delving tongue first into her delicious, wet cunt.
I think my desire for her is a form of madness, it twists in my gut, makes my mind foggy and pushes out any sense of propriety. Which always worked very well for us, friendship and passion combining, we would spend hours talking, fucking and exploring our mutual interest in photography.
A little while back I read a blog post that is no longer available about polyamory and swinging myths, it was a great post and it inspired me to talk about another type of alternative relationship model, non-monogamy. I wrote the article below for that blog, but later on in the week I would like to share another post about a more specific non-monogamous experience and I think this post is a perfect preface to that one, so I am taking the opportunity to share it with you now.
For me, non-monogamy is both an umbrella term and a more specific way to describe my own relationship without using a descriptor that could be a little misleading. Myself and Bakji both identify as non-monogamous, both as individuals and within the dynamic we have together.
As many of you will know I enjoy getting involved in Sinful Sunday, while it is a great place to share images and find inspiration for new ways to create my own images, every now and then it inspires a blog post too. This time it is the wonderful image from Love is a Paraphilia. I was a bit stumped for a Masturbation Monday post this week, life has got a lot going on and I think a little bit of writer’s block set in towards the end of last week. But I couldn’t stop musing on the idea of discarded Polaroids being found in an old and derelict building, so I let my mind run with it and this is what came of that inspiration.
The old manor house had always been in a state of disrepair, new owners that purchased it but never saw fit to renovate let it move into derelict territory. As it lay abandoned it was impossible not to imagine what it could once have been, what memories must lie within its walls, as I stood in front of it I recalled the experiences I had there myself before it had fallen to be the ruin it now was.
We were young, adventurous and definitely thrill seekers, we engaged in what many people would consider ‘bedroom activities’ in a myriad of places, and rarely were any of them even close to a bedroom. Even as the seasons changed, and bright summer days gave way to autumn leaves and winter frosts we could still be found cavorting outside in various states of undress exploring the most intimates parts of one another.
I watch the people pass me by as I nurse so many coffees I lose count, they are all endlessly fascinating but it’s the women who tend to catch my eye most often. I am careful though, I look but I don’t draw their attention to my enjoyment of them. It is regretful that I can’t invite them to sit with me or pursue a dalliance where my hands could roam across their warm soft flesh. In fact, I could do that, but I shouldn’t, it is far too recent since my last encounter, it would be reckless to embark on another so soon.
I am lost in my thoughts of rueful longing when her voice startles me and pulls my focus immediately to her presence. Her hand rests on the back of the spare chair at my table, she is quite unbelievably asking if she can join me. I glance around and see one or two other places she could have chosen, all of which do not contain a single man sitting alone. I realise it is I who has caught her eye and I feel a mixture of excitement, for myself and pity for her, as I confirm that the seat is indeed free.