Freedom

Since my sex life is somewhat limited and quiet these days, I was telling a friend that I didn't have much fodder for writing in my blog. He suggested I make things up to write about and I realized that that's essentially what I do when I report my fantasies here. When I confess what it is that makes me drip and throb and, ultimately, masturbate. And come.

Because, what are fantasies but made up stories we tell ourselves to get ourselves off? Sometimes they come true. Often they don't. Often, we don't really want them to. Because then what would we think of? Where would our minds roam?

I don't often think of real life events when I'm masturbating and fantasizing. Even things that have happened that are extremely exciting to me and that I want to have happen again. Even if it's something I previously fantasized about that has been made manifest. Once it's happened, it's out of my head and in the realm of reality.

I may, though, bring elements of that real experience into my fantasy and either elaborate on it or alter it to make it a new fantasy.

For instance, after He watched me masturbate, I began to fantasize about something similar, but with twists. Sometimes there are other people in the fantasy watching me. Sometimes there are toys involved, a vibrator in my cunt, a plug in my ass. Sometimes the things he says are different. Sometimes he isn't even He, but someone else entirely. (As I've alluded to before, I have a long standing therapist fantasy - someday I'll write it out.) So then, the reality becomes the fantasy, embellished upon.

What I'm getting at is the freedom we have, the fluidity that exists, in making our stories reality and making reality our stories. Plucking from our perverted minds all the deviant ways in which we think we'd like to be used or use. Some people, I'm sure, have vanilla fantasies, but of course that's not what I'm talking about here. I don't know that I've ever had a vanilla fantasy. Something that didn't involve some kind of kink, or perceived kink. Being watched while masturbating is, I'm sure to some, quite kinky. I think it's pretty mainstream, so I guess that's as close to vanilla as I get.

So, when my friend suggested I make something up to write for you I realized that, in effect, is mostly what I do. Yes, you've heard a bit about my real life adventures, but the majority of what is in this blog has come directly out of my head. The pictures I view with my eyes closed and my fingers on my clit.

I lay on my bed, legs spread in some position of accommodation, my right hand rubbing and pulling the wetness up from my seeping cunt, my left hand spreading my large, swollen lips to thoroughly expose my hard, needy clit. This is what you might see were you to happen upon me (and hopefully punish me for being such a naughty, dirty girl). What you don't see is the action that pushes me towards my climax. The story I'm telling myself, the movie I'm playing, in which I'm the protagonist. I'm the star to whom all manner of use, abuse, or exposure is being performed.

This is the freedom we have to bring ourselves pleasure. I can only hope as I relate my inner drama to you, that it brings you some measure of gratification, as well.