Ta-Ta for Labor Day

I wish I could say I was going to the beach to lie in the sun and bake. Or going to the mountains to hike and swim in mountain streams.

Instead, I'm going to do my duty as a friend and lend assistance to someone I love dearly. It is Labor Day, after all.

But, it's just as good, really, as those vacation-y type things. Certainly better for my karma.

Have a good weekend, all.

Eve

Tagged, I'm it...

I've been tagged by our very own lifeguard, ATLLG, so I'm it. Or one of 5 it's.

Here's the rules, apparantly -

Let the tagging begin....here is how it was explained to me.

Go to Wikipedia and type in your birthday (month and day).
Write down three events, 2 births, 1 holiday and tag 5 friends.

There are five slots in the Birthday Meme. As you are tagged, you have to remove the name in the first slot and bump everyone up so that your name can be added to the bottom.

Okay - my birthday - October 9

Events -

1582 - Due to the implementation of the Gregorian calendar this day does not exist in this year in Italy, Poland, Portugal and Spain.
So, if I was born in 1582, my birthday would be....

1967 - A day after being caught, Che Guevara is executed for attempting to incite a revolution in Bolivia.

Long live Che...

1989 - An official news agency in the Soviet Union reports the landing of a UFO in Voronezh.

This explains some things....

Births -

1940 - John Lennon


1835 - Camille Saint-Saëns, French composer (d. 1921)



Holiday -

Uganda - Independence Day (from Britain, 1962)

I'm tagging -

Rupert
Roger
Figleaf
Gracie
Shon Richards

Previous players -

Mizmouthy
JeannieGrrl
Stealth
ATLLG
Eve

Impressions of O

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I have never read The Story of O. I realize this is requisite reading for a budding, or even veteran, player in a D/s dynamic, but I simply have not put it on my reading list.

That has changed and it's going to be the next thing I read.

Last night I watched a film called The Writer of O. A biopic of Dominique Aury, the author of the Story of O.

A French writer who was highly respected and afforded a position of honor in the French literary community, she successfully crafted this tale of love and submission, perhaps the ultimate submission, as a gift for her lover. And as a dare. Her lover and employer, Jean Paulhan suggested that a woman could not write erotica. That they were not capable of envisioning such tales. She set to, and did, prove him wrong.

The film itself did not, I suspect, give the author her due. There were wonderful segments of interviews with her many years after she came out as the author. She had a sharp and visionary mind. She strongly, and rightly, believed that women had the capacity to be as immoral as men. That their imaginations and fantasies could easily wander towards scenes both loving and tempered and brutally erotic.

There were some contradictions in the film that confused me as to the position the filmmaker was taking towards the prose in The Story of O. Specifically, enactments of scenes from the book, where O is being made into a slave, would be cut with scenes of butchery (and I mean that literally - of animal slaughter) and images of slaves, shackled and led along. I couldn't understand if this meant the filmmaker did not approve of the Story, and so this montage was meant as a criticism? That's how it appeared. And yet, in the interviews with Aury, as well as interviews with other players in her life - publishers, biographers, friends - we're led to see the author as a strong, smart, courageous and immensely creative woman.

Contradictions aside, I found the film illuminating. I believe it will set a groundwork, a reference, for me as I read the book. Knowing the authors intentions, to write both a love letter and a polemic on women's ability to be as licentious as men will, I believe, inform my impressions as I read The Story of O.

Two Little Words

As a writer, I think I have a grasp of the power of words. They evoke emotion and reaction. They inspire ideas and actions. And, as in the case of writing about sex, they arouse. But, I never knew until recently the power that 2 words held over me.

When spoken to me, or even written, I'm immediately transported into another place within myself. It's a place where I'm extremely aroused and submissive. I am happy and compliant. I go to a quiet place. I become content, even for a moment. I take in a breath and it's all there.

It's a phrase that conveys praise and asserts control, all at once. And I long to hear it. I want to deserve it, and my actions, my acquiescence, has its utterance as the goal.

So, tell me... am I a good girl?

A Perfect Piece of Fiction

I'll tell you what's been getting me lately. And, by "getting me" I mean "getting me off".

First, though, let me say that I haven't had sex with another person in, oh I don't know, a month? Maybe a little more? So, I'm left to my own devices. And, by devices, I mean my fingers, generally, and sometimes a dildo. I'm not a fan of vibrators. I've used them, but find the sensation too extreme. After using them consistently for a while I become over-sensitive and it takes too much, and sometimes too long, to come. So, I eschew vibrators and rely on my good, old right hand. It's fabulous.

Anyway, in the hopes he doesn't mind my linking to his site, I want to share with you this fantasy that Roper from Confessions of an English Gentleman has so brilliantly developed and shared with us and what I've been coming back to over and over. And coming to over and over.

As in the fantasy, I picture myself in the lap of my lover, whoever he may be. I picture his hands on my thighs, holding them apart so that the stranger sitting between my legs has a perfect view of my mostly waxed, and very wet, cunt. I see the strangers fingers pushing up into me as my lover watches and makes me watch. I drip at the thought of a stranger, someone my lover has chosen, looking at me and touching me. And watching me as I spread myself for him and come completely open and exposed, while he ravishes my holes with his fingers.

A stranger. I am enamored with the idea of exposing myself, of opening myself, my cunt specifically, to a stranger. Of being seen by a man I don't know. Seen and appreciated. Seen and touched. Seen and instructed in what actions to take. Told to spread myself, to show myself, to masturbate, to come. By someone I don't know.

And yet, I also crave intimacy. Because I have no illusion that what I describe here, simply exposing myself to a strange man, is intimate. I have done it, more than once now, and I know this - it is vulnerable, it is sexual, certainly, and sensual, perhaps, and for me incredibly arousing. But, it is not intimate. There isn't closeness, except in physical proximity.

And that is what attracts me so to Ropers Fantasy No. 11. It combines both the trust and intimacy and ability to share something so private with someone I love and the debauchery of a stranger finger fucking me. It is, really, perfect.

Thank you, Roper. For, somehow, climbing into my head and pulling out such a perfect piece of fiction that I can ride on over and over.

Note: Obviously, I'm over my little moment of feeling supremely unsexy. Whew! As I seem to do with everything lately, I've decided to blame it on hormones. So nice to have a scapegoat.

The Difference Between Me and Me

Lately I've been thinking about the difference between my blog persona (Eve) and the "real" me. I've been wondering how much of a difference there is between these two characters, if you will. Everything I write, even the fiction, comes from the "real" me. What you're reading is written in my voice. I haven't made anything up or adopted any characteristics that might be attributed to Eve, but not to me.

But, there is a temptation.

It's appealing, the idea of creating a different character for myself. Acting on-line. Concoting someone with an entirely different life. Other experiences, new parents and family, fictional accounts of all kinds of sexual adventures that are not my own. It's an enticing thought, but it's not me, not here.

I haven't revealed much about myself here but what you do know is fact. The intimate and detailed experiences and fantasies recorded here are more than any person in my true life know about me. Except, perhaps, for a few lovers who I've let in on the secret and led them to this blog. They are the only ones (and, as I give it any thought, it is only one man) who can put a face and a body to the gyrations on the page. So, perhaps, there is only one person that sees the woman and the pseudonym as one.

So, I've been wondering if the blog persona and the non-blog persona, are different. And, I realize, they are not. What you read is the composite me, in so much as we are all composites of our experiences. Traveling through our lives like comets, picking up debris, both good and bad, and adding it to our selves. Amalgams of the worlds we inhabit.

A Me by any other name...

’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;

O! be some other name -

be Eve.

Summertime Sabbatical

That's right. I'm off again for a long weekend. I have no spicy prose for you anyway, just now, so maybe it's the perfect time to slip away from the blog.

I will admit though (because I know you all want to hear about it and because I'm really dying to tell you) that I've been making like May and masturbating a bit. So, there you go. All is not lost.

Enjoy till next week when I return with tan lines extraordinaire.

Note to commenters: I monitor all comments, so if you post something be a little patient. I'll make sure to put it on the blog when I return.

The Opposite of Horny

Sex has not been on my mind, of late. (And, by “of late” I mean the last few days.) I haven’t been pondering a pounding, as it were, by some gorgeous, well-hung, hunk of a 20-something. This image, as pretty as it may be, doesn’t make my blood quicken, my cunt clench and moisten, my breathing shallow.

This could be, I hesitate to say, hormonal. I’ve had a few “symptoms” that foretell an imminent hormonal change, and this could be one. I’ve prided myself on, so far, having retained my libido at a time when, I’m told, it could be on the wane. I haven’t lost my umpf, or my juice. I haven’t dried up. I’m a little nervous and wondering if this could be the beginning of such a thing. I try to perish that thought, but it arises and, frankly, that makes my blood quicken. With anxiety.

Can that sort of change happen so quickly? Almost overnight, or within such a short time? I'm thinking not. Considering just last week I had hot, hot phone sex with this fellow.

Perhaps I'm in a place where I want my sexual attentions to come from a partner, a lover, a boyfriend, a mate, or, dare I say, a husband. Someone who knows me intimately, not just because he wants to fuck me (or anybody), but because he wants to know me. His interest in me lies deeper than the depth of my pussy. When the ropes are untied and the toys are put away, we can lie together in confidence and silence.

In fact, I've felt that for some time now. Tiring of disconnected, unapologetic sex with nearly anonymous men, I long for someone who knows me. But, I've thought, I don't need to be chaste while I'm waiting. I can have a little fun in the mean time. I'm wondering if that isn't what's making the search more difficult. If somehow I'm imbued with an aura of the nonchalant connection.

Whatever the case, or the reason, I'm far from horny right now.

So, please accept this post by way of an apology. I am remiss in causing your blackberry screen to steam up as you feverishly scroll down to the finale of something sordid and dirty dreamt up, or lived, by yours truly.

I have no doubt my libido will come around again. And probably not too long from now. And I assure you, I won't leave you out of the proceedings.

HNT - August 2

And just a little more skin....

Well, actually, it's quite a lot more skin.

This is dangerously exciting.

Happy HNT!