No Worries…

Penis ProjectIt’s a strange one, isn’t it? Ask a woman what size her boobs are and, assuming she’s willing to divulge such information, she’ll tell you. Ask a man how big his cock is, and you’ll probably be met with something along the lines of: “Um, dunno, probably about 6 inches”. If you are really unlucky, he may take that as an invitation to send you a photo of it.

Now I suspect one of the reasons women know their measurements much more accurately than we men know ours is that they have to get themselves fitted to wear an uncomfortable garment that, ultimately, is still the wrong size; whereas we don’t need to worry about such things. Also, a woman’s boobs, even when modestly covered are still pretty much on display; whereas what we men have in our trousers is, by and large, more discreetly concealed.

It’s not that we men are reticent about our penises; far from it. Indeed, we seem to take the opportunity to proudly wave them about at every opportunity, so why are we generally so vague on their dimensions?

Well, for one thing, their dimensions are decidedly inconstant. Mine changes according to the mood I’m in, the temperature, whether or not I need to pee, my partner’s state of undress or what she happens to be doing at any given moment. When I’m cold it can shrivel down to virtually nothing, when aroused it is, well, whatever size it is.

The fact is that the women I’ve been with have all seemed to like it. When I was younger, before any member of the opposite sex had even seen my member, I used to have some concerns that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t “man enough” in that department, but such doubts were quickly dispelled by the first girl to see it (and subsequently feel it) and the comments that I have had directed about it have all been favourable.

#MasturbationMondayThe insecurity, such as it was, came from comparing my cock in its flaccid state with other lads my age. I am very much what you might describe as a “grower”. The other problem is, things always look smaller when you look down on them, and given that since my early teens I have been about 5′10″ that’s a reasonably long way down to look. Of course, even then, I knew that the size of a penis in its flaccid state bears no relation to its size when fully erect, but that was all I had to go on.

Even as I grew more confident, thanks to the appreciative comments of the women who saw it in the flesh, I’d still rather that their first view of it was in at least a semi-erect state.

I’m over such things now. Even when I had “hang-ups” I still knew that it wasn’t really the size that was the important thing, nor was my penis the only thing that gave women pleasure during sex.

I have learned that, ultimately, the important thing is, is that the woman I am with likes it and what I do with it. As for how big it is, um, I dunno, about 6″ I guess.

ZeN

Advertisements

Ssshhh! It’s A Secret…

Share Our ShitI’ve had a few chats about anonymity in the context of our community of late. It seems we occupy a very polarised section of reality.

There are some bloggers, who are pretty much “out”. I’m thinking along the lines of people like Molly Moore and Tabitha Rayne. Whether or not they use their real names or pen names, their identities are pretty much known. They show their faces, and other bits. They are out and proud.

Then there are the “halfways”. This time I’m thinking May More and Helen Scott. They use what may (or may not) be their real names. They blog openly about subjects that affect/interest them personally. They participate in (potentially) revealing memes like #SinfulSunday. And yet, for all that we know that both have cracking breasts, we don’t really know who they are; we never see their faces.

Finally, there are the “anons”. People like Girl on The Net and myself (not that I’m holding myself out as being in her league). For all that we frankly discuss the aspects of sex and sexuality that interest and/or concern us, we remain hidden behind pseudonyms, our identities hidden to all but a trusted few who have met and know us.

Now this, sadly, is quite understandable. While the activities we in the community discuss so freely are “normal”, so called polite society does not deem them suitable for public consumption. There are many people who would not approve of me if they knew I was a sex blogger.  I would almost certainly suffer professionally, despite the fact that the topics I write about are well within the bounds of what is considered to be normal human behaviour. It’s simply that, I write about a part of human behaviour that is conducted, for the most part, behind closed doors, and which, it seems, the majority of people would prefer not to be discussed at all.

Now, because I participate in #SinfulSunday, and occasionally post more explicit images on tumblr, it is, I guess, perceivable that my real identity could be gleaned by some sharp-eyed viewer. This is a risk I accept. Similarly, I enjoy meeting members of the community in real life and try to do so wherever my work travels take me. It is, after all, always nice to put a face to the boobs and/or arses I see every week. But every time I do so, I am entrusting them with my most precious secret, the real me. Of course, they are placing the same trust in me. There is, I guess you could say, an element of Mutually Assured Destruction in place.

Partially in jest, I once commented to Exposing40 that one of the bizarre things about our community is that often, the face is the last bit of each other that we see. It’s kind of inevitable I guess; It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate for us to meet up in a public location and try and identify each other by our naughty bits after all. That said, given that we would likely be the only people present with said naughty bits on display might make it a bit easier.

I fully accept and understand why those of us who blog openly about sex need to be protective of our identities, I just wish that now, in the 21st Century, such secrecy wasn’t required.

Which, finally, brings me to the point of this rambling post. \this community is what it is because of the wonderful people who contribute to it; the writers, the reviewers, the photographers, the bloggers, the readers, the commenters and the lurkers. We need to look out for each other. The more observant among you may have noticed this post is slightly more link heavy than usual and the reason for that is that we need to “Share our Shit!

Zen

Facial Hair

Most of you will no doubt be aware that I am “moderately” hirsute, to say the least. I have been shaving (my face) regularly since I was 12/13. My beard, such as it is, grows in pretty quickly and quite thick.

I have, possibly surprisingly, only ever grown a beard twice in my life, both times for charitable causes, and both times I couldn’t wait to get rid of the bloody thing.

Some men can grow a beard with relative impunity, others can’t. I fall most definitely in the “can’t” category.

For one thing, it doesn’t suit me.  I really don’t have the right sort of chin (or, since I’m being honest, chins) for it. There is also the fact that, despite being dark haired, it used to grow in with ginger streaks in it.  The ginger bits have now been replaced with silver, so I’ve gone from looking like a raccoon to a badger.

But then there is the itch. It starts after about 4/5 days and no matter how long I endure it, it just doesn’t diminish, and so, out comes the razor. Of course, I have very pale, sensitive, Celtic skin, and shaving irritates the fuck out of it. In my late teens and early 20s, when the job I did involved being in the presence of the public, I used to shave daily and I had an almost permanent combination of 5 o’clock shadow and shaving rash that was the worst of both worlds, no mater how well I moisturised.

Now, I tend to just tidy myself up twice a week. My skin is never really smooth because one side of my face has started regrowing before I’ve completed shaving the other side.  It is almost the facial grooming equivalent of painting the Forth Bridge.

Apparently, however, my prickliness, while making kissing me a bit uncomfortable, does have its “advantages” when I’m going down on a woman. I guess then, being a walking lint brush isn’t all bad.

ZeN

Sexy

Wicked WednesdayBeauty, they say, is only skin deep. Sexy, on the other hand, goes right to the core. So what do we mean by sexy? Is it appearance, is it an attitude, or is it just some unfathomable quality that you see in someone?

Humans are a visual species, so it is impossible, I think, to completely divorce sexiness with physical attractiveness, but in my opinion, the two are not inextricably linked. While everyone has their own “standards” of what they find attractive in another person, simply finding them attractive does not necessarily mean that you also find them sexy.

Sexy is something more than just the physical. It may be an attitude, but what attitude?

Many people say they find confidence sexy; I’m one of them. At the same time, however, I would also say that I find a sexiness in vulnerability too.

I think much depends on the person; it also depends on the circumstances, and the situation.

In a club, the way someone moves when the dance may make them sexier than the other members of their group. The way someone smiles, the way they angle their head to listen and talk to you. The way they dress. The degree of confidence/hesitation they display. Our brains are constantly picking up these signals and analysing them.

So, is sexy just a chemical reaction in our brains?

Like all things human, sexy is subjective and, I think, highly individual. What I find sexy in a certain person, others may not. What one person finds sexy about me, others may be turned off by.

For me, it is a combination of looks and personality. I’ll be honest and admit that the physical attraction catches my attention, but it is the personality/attitude that ultimately piques my interest. Just because there may be a recognition of physical attractiveness does not mean that I automatically find a person sexy.

In this age of online friendships, sometimes the physical is actually the last thing we see, and yet, somehow, we can still engage in “sexual” stimuli; there is something that we find (for the want of a better term) sexy about that person that shapes the way we interact with them.

So while beauty and sexy may not be the same thing, they are very much, I believe, both in the eye/mind of the beholder.

ZeN

Private Parts

#MasturbationMondayAs anyone who writes about sex, or pens erotic stories will know, euphemisms abound. The terms we use to describe sexual acts and the erogenous zones of our bodies are too numerous to list. If you ever get stuck, I do recommend this particular post.

For the purposes of this post, I am concentrating on the names that we give to those intimate bits of our own and, where relevant, partner’s bodies. Personally, when it comes to the words I use for the various naughty bits of the human anatomy, I find a lot depends on the context.

So, starting with my own particulars…

Generally, my penis is my penis. I will sometimes, in the context of a photo, refer to it as my cock or dick, but by and large (cue childish sniggering), it’s my penis. What my partner calls it, is entirely up to them. If they wish to feel my cock, throbbing manhood, or other such ego-stroking term inside them, then I’m happy to oblige. I’ve commented on any number of occasions that I find the male reproductive organ faintly humorous, so I’m not going to get all angsty if the woman I’m with comes up with some joking term of endearment for it. So long as she it and she likes what I’m doing with it, and she is complimentary, she can call my tally-whacker whatever the hell she wants.

In the context of my writing, I tend to use “cock”. I simply prefer it to “dick” or “prick”. I will differentiate between the shaft and the head where it seems appropriate to do so. I will occasionally use words like “member” or “pole” etc., just for the sake of variety, but in the main, “cock” is my go to word of choice.

Now, lady-bits…

I’ve written before about the plethora of terms for the female erogenous zones; and again, context is key. When I’m with a woman, I generally use the language that she herself prefers to use. Some women have tits (not really a fan, but hey-ho), some have boobs; some women have a pussy (again, not my favourite), others have a cunt. Really, it depends on her chosen term for those bits of her body.

If I’m having a general discussion on the subject with someone (most usually a woman) I tend to use boobs/breasts and cunt/vagina, but again, I try to be sensitive to the other person’s sensibilities.

In my writing, if I’m being descriptive I would usually make a reference to the female character’s breasts (e.g. she had small/large/perky/full/firm breasts). For a woman’s genitalia, I tend to use cunt, but sometimes I will use sex; sometimes I will differentiate and refer to specific parts such as labia or clit.  When writing dialogue, I tend to try and reflect the fact that women use different names, so one female character might want her tits played with and her pussy fucked, whereas another might prefer her boobs to be caressed and her cunt filled. A lot depends on the coarseness  of the sex being written about and the level of detail I’m describing. Also, again, variation stops things getting repetitive so nothing is set in stone.

There are lots of words that can be used, and everyone has their own preferences. Ultimately, while the words used for those bits might not please everyone, what’s much more important is the way in which those bits are used and the enjoyment such use evokes.

ZeN

In Praise Of Pussy

Pussy PrideYes, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Hold on a minute here, Mr Nudist, you’re a guy, you don’t have a vagina, why are you commenting on this?’ If you aren’t thinking that, then you would have been forgiven if you had been.

Yes, I am a guy and, no, I do not possess one of these wonderful objects of my own. I have, however, got to know quite a few of them intimately over the past 20+ years or so, so I think I have a certain perspective.

Pussies (I hate that word, even though I love that part of your body) like penises, come in all shapes, sizes and configurations and they are all amazing. Without exception, of the pussies I have known, I love the feel of them around my cock, I love the taste of them on my tongue. I love how warm and inviting they are. I love how wet they become. Basically, I just love them.

In the same way that we men can get hung up about our cocks, I know that women can have issues with their pussies. When it comes to how they look, I don’t care if your labia protrude beyond your vulva. I don’t mind how you style (or otherwise) your pubic hair. All I want to do is cherish and pleasure that most intimate and sensitive part of you; be it with my lips, my tongue, my fingers, or my cock.

Wicked WednesdayWhen I’m going down, I love how the juices it exudes taste on my tongue. I’m fascinated by the way the flavour changes as your arousal increases. For those that I have become particularly well acquainted with, I can almost tell the level of the woman’s arousal by taste alone; and when you come, oh, believe me, I can tell, and it tastes just perfect to me.

I love the way your labia part for my questing fingers, how you clit reacts to my touch. When I slide my finger inside it, I love the texture of your vagina and the way it grips my fingers.

And when my cock is inside one, when I am inside you, I love the way it feels; holding me, gripping me, caressing me, making me a part of you until I come.

Pussies, cunts, muffins, fannies, whatever you want to call them are all as individual as the women they belong to, and all marvellous. Each has its own “personality” (pussinality?), each has its own list of things that turn it on and things that it doesn’t like. Getting to know the intricacies of your lover’s pussy is, for me at least, one of the most joyful things about being with that person.

So let’s hear it for pussies (or whatever you call yours). They are one of the greatest gifts you can bestow. Those of us to whom you give them will always find ways to show you how much we cherish the gift you give us.

ZeN

A Strange Nostalgia

#MasturbationMondayIt is often stated that porn, it seems, has decided that women should be hairless from the eyelids down. Now, whether or not porn is actually responsible (I have my doubts as people are capable of determining their own preferences, without having them rubbed in their faces, as it were) it is a look that many women chose, for whatever reason, subscribe to. Now, on the subject of rubbing my face in it,  as a man who has spend a lot of time with my head between women’s thighs, I will admit that there is something particularly appealing about going down on a lovely, smooth cunt; being able to explore every nook, every fold with my tongue as I take her (hopefully) on a journey to orgasm. I also know a few women who, having embraced the bare look, say that it increases the sensations for them, the friction on their clit is so much more intense because there is no barrier.

Now all of this is fine and good, and I would never tell anyone how they should, or indeed shouldn’t style their intimate areas but, damn it, I actually am very fond of pubic hair on a woman.

There! I’ve said it! I’m out and proud! I am a pube fan! I enjoy getting my nose tickled when I go gown on a woman.

Now that’s not to say I don’t have preferences; I do. My preference is for tidy, trimmed, short but not too short. If the lips are smooth, that’s an added bonus. But at the end of the day, I’ll take what’s presented to me. In a sexual career going back over quarter of a century, I’ve met all kinds of women with all kinds of styling; from wild and natural, to as bald and smooth as a cue-ball and, you know what? I’’e loved everyone of them.

But for me, pubic hair will always elicit fond memories.

As a randy teenager in the late 1980s, and an even randier young man in the early 1990s (OK, we’re talking mostly about my student days here), I used to experience a small feeling of triumph when, during the course of a heavy petting session, my fingers eventually worked their way down her body and sought out and found those soft curls; that triangle of hair that was pointing my fingers towards their goal. I used to (and still do if circumstances allow) run my fingers through that patch of hair, feeling it get progressively damper as I got closer and closer to her opening. When I went down on a girl, I loved the way those soft tufts tickled my nose. Yes, yes, there were those odd awkward moments when a stray hair lodged itself somewhere it shouldn’t, but that was just one of those things you shrugged off.

The first time I encountered a girl who had removed her pubic hair was a bit of a surprise. As I slid my fingers into her knickers, I was waiting for that customary contact; that furry reassurance that I was going in the right direction. Making contact with her clit, without first encountering anything to play with was, I’ll admit, a bit of a shock. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind that I’d gone straight there, and once I got over my sense of having missed out on something, I went on to enjoy myself with her, and her with me.

Since then, it seems the prevalence of smoothness continues to increase unabated, and the pubic bush seems to be heading towards extinction. Should this ever happen, I for one will certainly mourn it’s passing, if only for the memories of my younger days.

Oh, and for the record I keep my own short above, and smooth below. Well, you girls are no more fond of nature’s dental floss than we guys are…

ZeN

One Size Fits All

Penis ProjectI am a man, I have a penis. I have written about my penis here on this very blog and over on my other blog. In fact, if you’ve viewed the photos I share , over on that blog, you will have no doubt seen a fair bit of it.

It’s a strange thing, in my opinion. It’s not particularly remarkable in any way. It’s neither especially long nor is it especially short. It is, as far as I am concerned, not particularly aesthetically pleasing, but penises, in my view generally aren’t. If anything, the penis epitomises function over style. The general opinion that I’ve encountered is, so long as it does what it does well, what it looks like is pretty much immaterial. After all, when it is engaged in its more pleasurable function, it generally isn’t visible to the eye anyway.

So how do I feel about my penis?

Well, as I said, I don’t think it’s much of a looker, but it does what it’s supposed to. No one has ever complained about it (to my face anyway) and it has received its share of compliments.

Am I self-concious about it? No, not particularly. No woman, on seeing it for the first time has ever fainted in shock/horror, but at the same time (and much more importantly) nor have they ever exploded into fits of hysterical laughter, pointing out its inadequacy.

So, yeah, I’m happy with it. The women I have shared it with have been happy with it too. That said, they have also been happy with my hands, my fingers, my lips and my tongue.

And that’s the thing; sex isn’t just about the size of my penis and what I do with it. It is about how I stimulate, arouse and pleasure my partner. My penis plays a part in that process, of course. In fact, you could almost go as far as to say it plays a disproportionately large part in the process; but, be that as it may, it isn’t the be all and end all.

If I could magically have a bigger (longer/thicker) one, would I?

Yeah, probably. Not that I feel mine is inadequate in any way; nor that I feel it would make any difference in my ability as a sexual partner, but, well, you know… The next size up wouldn’t be too much to ask for would it?

Would I do anything (surgery/pills/potions/stretching devices) to make it any bigger?

No. It’s fine the way it is. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

So, what have we learned?

I’m a guy, I have a penis. I’m happy with my penis. The women who have encountered it have been happy with my penis. It does what it’s meant to do and, based on the evidence I have had before me, does it pretty well most of the time. To me, that’s pretty much all that matters really.

ZeN