I wore clothes to bed for the first time in a while.
It was a particularly cold night in this here middle of winter Australian season. I thought to myself, I’ll just rug up. Sleeping nude can sometimes leave a chill and the last thing I want is to catch a cold.
So I compromised. I took off my pants and left my shirt on. I figure keeping my chest warm was more important than my legs.
For the first moments in bed, I was restless. My body screamed. An itch would snake its way up my back, under my right shoulder blade. Around and around in circles it slithered, knowing full well it was beyond the grasp of my arms as I tried to ease the itch.
I tossed and turned, turned and tossed. I could feel the shirt construct me. Could feel the heat off my skin cooking underneath. Something didn’t feel good. Something didn’t feel right.
And the more I rolled left and right, the more my t shirt twisted beneath me, limiting my movements further.
Enough was enough – I sat up and tore off my shirt and threw it to the space beside my side of the bed.
The feeling of peeling off the t shirt. Revealing bare skin, the cool middle of the night air skimming every surface of my body, the fact that I was naked…
My mind was instantly transported back to my youth. I had snuck away from the house, deep into the bush where I would undress. And run through the shrubs, feeling the wind on my body and a sense of freedom. I would masturbate there after a run. Feel my bare cock grow beneath my hands.
In that moment, I wondered how other people, those who enjoy nakedness, felt when they peeled off the last layer of clothing and felt completely and utterly naked in the world.
In that moment, I thought of how it might felt for a woman to unclasp her bra and feel her breasts freed? The gentle breeze on a nipple, the feeling of them swaying as they are released. How a man might feel the air on his bare cock, how it might feel to touch that.
I was reminded of a moment in time again: I had put a winter jumper on my pug. Moments later, I returned to the back yard to see she had removed it. She didn’t want it.
I, too, am the animal. Wild at heart, wanting not to be bound by clothes. Wanting to feel the world around on my skin.
And I have learnt my lesson – always sleep nude.
Okay, so here’s the thing:
I was having this dream that I was visiting my folks back home. My home is in another state – and for some comparison, if you drove it would take 18 and a bit hours to reach, give or take traffic, roads, the boring she-bang.
But the point was, I was back at home. Visiting. I wasn’t me, as I wasn’t with my kitten. I was a version of me. It’s very weird how the mind correlates between version me and reality me. But I wasn’t me.
I was heading home, in some light blue car I’ve never seen before, and all of a sudden, my sister wants a ride.
Now, this was version-sister, not reality-sister. In reality, my sister isn’t a blonde-haired, blue-eyed porcelain doll come to life.
Why Dream-Sister chose to come along, beats me. I don’t know. Can’t remember.
But for the first half of the Dream, it was pleasant. A road trip, killer music, the wind in my hair, the open road – the dream, my mind, was playing all the cards I like – it knows I’m seduced by the road. I must’ve been a nomad in my past life, before I was a domineering 18th Century Master with a cruel sadistic mind.
All of a sudden, I turn to her and say
‘Your cunt must be soaking wet’
All of a sudden, the dream shifts. We’re in a car, still on the road trip, but the mood has completely changed. She’s blushing, like an anime girl (more on that in a bit), and I’m reaching down through the gap in her denim skirt.
And I’m right. She IS dripping.
Feeling how soaked you’ve made someone is right up there as being one of the best feelings, because it’s sexy on so many levels and because it’s a culmination of so many different things. I mean, yeah, it’s a bodily reaction, but on the same hand, you’re the reason why. It’s just a nice feeling. And a huge turn on.
I don’t remember the rest of the dream – but let’s dissect it a little.
I’ve already made sense of the romantic side in me being manipulated by my own brain. The brother-sister thing – that’s been a little fantasy of mine for ages, and a role play on a few occasions.
The appearance of my ‘sister’? I’ve been watching a lot of anime lately. More to the point, I’ve been binging Persona 5, a JRPG (Japanese Role Playing Game, for the uninitiated) and I do believe that a combination of one of my favourite characters, plus just a mix of characters from the fantasy-horror Berserk have melded to create my dream sister.
Exhibit A: Ann from Persona 5.
Exhibit B: Farnese from Berserk.
So there you have it, between my love for road trips, acceptance of incest as a fantasy and my interest in anime, I’ve had a strange sexual dream merging all three.
As for why? Who knows. I don’t actively fantasise over these characters, though I do mentally register them as pretty. So who knows? That’s the mind for you.
Care to share yours?
I found a fun way to play with myself.
It came when I was nodding off one afternoon, my hand resting in the heat of my pants, gripping my cock.
Next time you grip your hard cock, use the muscles in your crotch to squeeze. The pressure against your hand holding it down creates that delicious friction.
It creates this pull and stretch effect. Two forces against each other. This grind that you can easily get into a rocking sensation.
From there, you can build a nice orgasm or stretch your shaft with your fingers to create a lingering sensation.
It all builds, you see. That’s the best part. Building to the moment you explode.
So for the guys out there, do try. Do take the time. And do let me know, either by comment or email, how you found it.
In a second, my mind flashes – and I wonder about their shape, their tastes, their soul, the dark corners of their mind?
Is it a matter of perversion? Am I THAT guy? The sleaze? Or am I just of a sexual nature, of a curious nature, pondering.
A woman behind the counter smiles, and I think about what that smile might look like years ago. And does she smile, not for me, but for herself when she is alone?
A dad sternly tells his child to sit still, his wife and he exchange glances. What is their life like away from their kids, behind closed doors?
It isn’t a matter of being a pervert, I don’t think. I just think it’s a heightened sense of thinking. I’ve always had an overactive imagination. I’ve always thought too much and too deeply.
People’s lives fascinate me. It’s something I love about this blog – hearing from people, getting to know them. Checking my email is exciting for me, though of late, it’s been empty, routinely cleaned. Chat to me? I’m sure I have a marble of knowledge to pass on. Maybe.
I always feel guilty about thinking too deeply. Like it’s wrong to dig deep, to think about the raw nature of a person. To open that door.
I’m not gawking at women left right and centre, it’s more that I watch everybody. Women, men, children, families, the middle aged woman behind the counter with the sad smile. Maybe it’s the writer in me?
I was looking at Facebook earlier. A post of a science fiction movie came my way, the image featured a woman, nude, knees bent hiding her breasts and vagina, and my mind skipped to the intensely erotic:
What if she was held in a pod full of water, breathing through a tube connected from the device to her mouth.
What if there were machines, pulling at her legs, testing her desire, exploiting it. Like she was a pet to an unseen scientist.
Does my mind always go to the sexual? Sometimes. My wandering mind tends to cross over into my high sex drive. But I guess what it comes down to is that I think too deeply.
And what I wanted to write, as the night heads into the witching hour, was that it’s okay to think deeply, about the people around you, about their minds, dreams, fears, relationships, desires and more.
I wouldn’t advise going too far down the rabbit hole – unless you’ve got a guide to help you come back to Earth. But is it something you should hide from? Try to repress?
No. Absolutely not.
So here’s a thing:
Yandy.com just announced their line of Disney Princess lingerie – and people are having mixed feelings about it.
I wanted to talk about that a bit.
First off, I won’t be arguing with anyone’s point. These things are subjective. Who am I to insert myself into your childhood and tell you that you have to think a certain way?
Because to some, it’s taking these very innocent characters and sexualising them and considering these girls are mostly in their teens, people don’t know how to feel about that.
Maybe people feel guilty FOR thinking sexual thoughts about them, I don’t know.
But me personally? I can seperate the brand from the character. For example, there’s Elsa in the movie….and Elsa in my imagination. Or: Kitten as Elsa. Or Kitten as Ariel. They are two different entities.
And I suppose being a sadistic Dominant comes into equation too. I see these innocent Disney princesses and I want to twist their minds. As well as their nipples.
I want to steal their innocence, one bit of humiliation and degradation at a time. Maybe over the course of a few days as they’re chained for my pleasure on the balcony of their own castle. But I’m getting sidetracked.
And further more, I hope the lingerie comes in all sizes, so it’s there for everyone.
After all, we need more curvy Disney princesses.
For the original story, click here…
So, hang on a minute. Hold the phone. Or go to press, whatever you’d like.
I mean, yes hi it’s me. I’ve suffered a cold and have been reborn, but just look at this.
This article, written by a Danielle Colley, about a middle-aged couple in a M/s just popped up in my NEWS section of my phone and….huh? What? This is news? Where did this come from? Why? And why now?
I’m baffled, really. You don’t see this sort of thing happening – and it’s in my home state as well so extra wow factor – it’s always nice seeing people so close to you in this life – but good curly fries, what a surprise that this made news at all. I opened the article expecting to have a giggle at the way the person documented it, and does get a giggle for sounding a bit distanced from the subject, but it’s still here. Someone signed off on this, someone thought of reporting it. Why? I have no idea? Because of click bait? No, let’s not be cynical. It’s about love. It’s about love in all the different places.
“While we may not grasp this kind of lifestyle, there is no doubt that this duo of kinksters are deeply in love. Kim says, “i am safe, i am loved, i am cared for, i am protected, and i am complete.”
All anyone can ask is to feel secure, protected and happy in a relationship, and we all get there in different ways.”
This, ladies and gents, is just sweet. It’s the perfect tonic for the night! Kim Debron, Master Joe! My hats off to you all! Especially you, miss Colley, for writing or wanting to write something about this.
What a lovely little sentiment! Ole!
Sometimes someone will write in and be unsure about addressing me. And I’ve gotten it a few times now to warrant me writing me up this little note for you.The thing is – within reason, you can call me what is comfortable for you. Obviously I leave the most intimate gestures for myself and kitten – I would feel uncomfortable otherwise.
Generally speaking, my name is fine. Or, if you feel I have earned your respects, you can call me Sir. Sir I will allow because I liken it to an old fashioned greeting, a sign of respect from one person to another. The same thing as walking down a street and saying good day to the only other person sharing that same street with you.
Really though, there’s no secret way to talk to me. I’m just a regular guy. I’m flawed, human, like eating cake in my underwear at 2am. So just be casual with me, is what I’m saying. Be yourself, because I’d be a fool if I got upset at you for addressing me incorrectly – how would you know?
At the end of the day, we’re all human so don’t stress or give it too much thought!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a cake to devour.