An Ovipositor Fetish

Most people who post a link like this will slam it in some way upfront. It’s a way to distance themselves from the fetish, as if it’s something they would never do or have any interest in. But… do you really believe them? After all they are posting it.

I’m not going to do that because I do find it interesting. The idea has been something I have had a fetish fantasy about. I like most of the weird science fiction sex fetishes. (Science fiction sex fetishes are based on reading a lot of science fiction, fact and history). I only say most because there is likely something I haven’t thought of, heard of or seen on TV, that I wouldn’t like.

Having said all that, the fantasy is not reality. The fantasy is a lot more controlled and has far less consequences.

The Ovipositor lays gelatin eggs in the body cavity of your choice. Fans say the sensation of mushy extraterrestrial ovum slopping out of them is a real treat.

Source: The Emerging Fetish of Laying Alien Eggs Inside Yourself | VICE | United States

Kinky Bug Sex

Why do we like sex with giant/ alien insect creatures? It’s a fetish which usually involves being forced too. Is that part of it? Being desired sexually by someone (or thing) and having our better judgment suspended? So much of kinkiness is about what is and is not taboo for our culture. Something which breaks our acceptable standards must be labeled kinky, or a fetish, because it’s abnormal even wrong.

We do need standards for behaviour in our culture. We need laws and codes of conduct and protocol to guide us and avoid chaos. But, in our imaginations we can be as weird and unacceptable as we choose. The problem arises when imagination becomes reality. People question the lines drawn and standards and rules are sometimes changed. For better, or for worse?

Anyway, I do like kinky bug sex. Analyzing why spoils it. Like holding it up to a light and making it seem something I have to be responsible for, answer for. But, it’s all in my imagination. I don’t take kinky bug sex ideas into reality. I do like seeing illustrations from others however. I do like kinky bug sex in movie scenes and written erotica. But, these are things I enjoy in the privacy of my own computer.

I have never tried anything with a real insect. That would be too weird and very unsatisfactory as an experience. Reality has too many limits to enjoy kinky bug sex. The fantasy is only limited by imagination and my own moral standards.

Source: Naked Lunch / B2 / bug style / Japan

But What if it Were Real…

11822791_10153045473501938_1594222403926907164_nThis photo was posted to Facebook with a note:

“This photo was taken in Australia, get it out there as Facebook are trying to remove it.”

Logically, why would Facebook being trying to remove this photo? It looks like a fake. But claiming Facebook is trying to take the photo away makes it seem legitimate as something others are trying to hide. People will flock to see something secret, or scandalous. So the fake photo gets passed around and around.

But, what if it were real…?

What if aliens were secretly running the planet? I don’t mean the governments (those are human-made). What if aliens with spaceships and more were actually controlling the planet we live on, aliens as caretakers. An evolved human-like (I guess) culture which keeps the Earth on track.

What if the thing we have been mysteriously calling god is actually a space alien taking care of our planet, quietly, in the background?

The Alien at 50

In our culture it is very alienating to be 50. That age where it hits you that you may not even be middle aged now. Being young, from childhood to somewhere in the 30’s was such a different perspective. I didn’t see it then but I can see it now. Being in my 40’s was (so far) the best time of life for me. I felt ok and even good sometimes. I felt I was ok with myself.

Then, among the years I should have been 40-something, 50 hit me. It came down hard and clouded everything. Even when I could have been happy being 40-something that 50 hung over me, hovering like my personal rain cloud of doom.

In younger years I had read about actresses and such who said there were no roles for older women. I thought little of it. I could see older women in TV shows, movies, commercials, etc. Likely they were in theatre too if I cared to look.

But, the actresses said it wrong. It’s not that there aren’t roles for older women. It’s that there are so MANY roles for younger women, younger people.

Our culture is based on youth. Not just being young and looking it, but the parts of life which come in those younger years (traditionally): going to school, dating, marrying and having children. When I watch anything on TV now I am swarmed with the feeling of how much I don’t belong. How far I am past those parts of life. I don’t want to go back. I just want to be ok with where I am. But, it’s hard.

It’s hard to feel ok with being older when it seems we don’t exist, are expected to keep to ourselves and not be seen or heard. Unless it’s something to do with spending money like buying insurance, buying sedate vacations, buying pee pads (not for your period, whether you still get it or not).

I feel alienated in my own world. I don’t see where I fit in. I can talk to the younger generations. I don’t know their particulars any more: the music, the actors, etc. But, those are just entertainment. I know about life, having come through those younger years. But all my experience and knowledge is tainted by how younger people see me. I’m old. I don’t know the entertainment stuff so I’m relegated to being outdated, out of place and I don’t really understand how things are today.

Odd, but things aren’t all that different. People are born, go to school, try to get along in the world, get married, have babies (or not) and then…. it’s the long stretch of being there, but not getting in the way, until you’re finally as old as you feel.

I don’t feel old. I feel like me. I feel almost the same as I did when I was twenty. But, those are memories and I know that. No wonder we tend to look at the past more as we fall into the future where we don’t fit in and don’t have a place. In the past we had a place and the world was about us.

Now I’m an alien. Just because I’m 50.

If it weren’t for the perception of others (and my own awareness of time limits) I could believe I’m twenty. Young people expect being older to feel so different. It’s not. It’s almost exactly the same as feeling twenty. But, I look at those who are twenty and I can see a difference then. There is a shiny new-ness, an extra bounce and they’re just a bit quicker to laugh.

So maybe we do become an alien as we get older. Where is the mothership then? I’d like to find the other aliens and feel I belong again. I don’t like this feeling of being isolated among all the people I see every day.

The other thing I don’t like to think about is to look past myself and see those older than I am. Right now I may not feel I belong and I may feel like an alien… they look more alien. I worry about how I will still feel like myself when I start to look even less like myself and more alien to who I think I am.

Where is that mothership…?

Retro Internet: The 1500 Point Purity Test

Long ago, in the days of the Internet surfing highway, there was a purity test with over 1000 questions. I found a copy of it. Posted for your viewing (or take the test) pleasure.

THE UNISEX PURITY TEST

If you thought the millenial purity test was bad, well you ain’t see
nuttin’ yet!

This is the 1500 point Purity Test!

We felt that the 1000 point version lost a lot of the “fun” of the
earlier versions, so we re-wrote it, adding a few new sections, and
a shitload of questions. This test is guaranteed to be nosier that
your parents, more invasive than the census, and containing something
to offend everybody.

Also included is an answer form so that you can remember where in the
test you were, or show to a friend.

Continue reading Retro Internet: The 1500 Point Purity Test

A Proposal Planner?

» Blog Archive » Would You Marry A Guy Who Used A Proposal Planner?.

On one side… doesn’t he know you well enough to do it himself? On the other side… why not have some help?

Do you remember being proposed to? I don’t, because I was the one who proposed. It was over the phone and more of a now or never thing. I was at the bus station with all my luggage and was told I was attempting to cross the border as an illegal alien. So I phoned and told him I wasn’t coming and didn’t want to live like a nomad any longer. We started the immigration and marriage procedure from there. Trust me, it was a procedure.

Anyway, I would have liked being proposed to. Something romantic and yet practical. Not too showy. I’d prefer privacy and intimacy to billboards and jumbo viewing screens.

All that aside, what a great job Proposal Planner would be? If you were already an Event Planner you could take up Proposal Planner on the side. Simpler than planning a wedding and all that chaos.

I Like Taking Myself to Bed

This is my contribution to #AdultSexEdMonth. This is personal and does contain mentions of taboo sexual fetishes and kinks. I don’t apologize for the contents of my sexual fantasies. 

I have a problem with sex. The problem happens when I involve anyone else with my enjoyment of sex. Masturbation is divine. You won’t catch me saying that to anyone, in person. But, masturbation is fully under my control, there is no feedback from cheap seats and I can do whatever I want to myself because I know what I like and how I like it. I explore self pleasuring – I’ve been doing it for a few decades and I’m just getting better at it all the time.

Why does sex have to be about more than one person? I think most people consider self pleasure to still be a selfish act. Or, something for only the lonely.

In actual fact, the best sex I have ever had (except for one very special situation) has been when I was alone in the room. Alone in the building even. In my thoughts I am sometimes alone on the planet even but for my trusty sex bot, or some weird space alien, or other creature from my imagination or readings of other people’s erotica. I do love a good story.

In my sexual fantasies nothing is taboo. I can masturbate my way to orgasm with fantasies of being abducted, alien men with extreme and unusually shaped cocks, age play (based on my own experience of being molested in a movie theatre – which does seem strange to me but nevertheless), sex with animals (the only time I like being near a dog) or anything else wild, dangerous and among the things I would never do in reality and would not even discuss or admit to anyone who knows me.

Having a great imagination and making use of it for your own pleasure does not make you a sexual deviant, it may make you a sexual oddity. But there is nothing law breaking about dreaming up assorted sexual situations while you lie in bed, sit at your desk or in the car… and give yourself a great orgasm.

I have learned to be quiet and fairly quick about it. I almost had my first orgasm when I was about 10. The sensations freaked me out so I stopped at the beginning of the build up. I had no idea why my body was reacting the way it was then. I hadn’t read anything about sex. Parents and sexual education in school didn’t talk about women having orgasms, how your body could flush with pleasure and then burst, all without breaking anything.

In those days I had fantasies about being looked after by a TV doctor, Dr. Kildare for those old enough to know or curious enough to look it up. Richard Chamberlain was the actor. I know this fantasy was based on my issues with my Father. I wanted that caring Daddy who would wrap me up in cotton balls, kiss me gently and make me feel good. I didn’t know about sex toys and had none. I used to bring things to bed with me and use them to play with myself. I won’t go into the assortment but, pens and pencils became my favourite bedtime pastime. Twirling a pencil over my clitoris was a good sensation.

My first orgasm came not from any understanding or knowledge about what I was doing. It was just an accident, on purpose. I was curious about the build up of sensations and finally became curious enough to keep going and see what happened next. I was a little frightened, maybe more than a little. Still, some part of my brain must have known it wasn’t unnatural, in spite of how unusual it seemed. After that first orgasm many more were to follow. By the time I was in my later twenties I was enjoying an orgasm daily. By myself.

I was a virgin, technically, until I was in my early thirties. That was the sex I mentioned earlier. We were both virgins, both the same age and both social misfits. We had been friends for years before sex came into it. We are friends again since the divorce too. So I am one of those old fashioned types who married the first man she slept with. By the way, having sex as a virgin, with a virgin was phenomenal. I doubt it would have been that amazing if we had both been younger. Without having the experience yourself I don’t think you can really ever know what it is like to have your body worshipped.

Anyway, back to the masturbation.

Masturbation can be done with nothing at all, this makes it very portable, mobile even. Sometimes I do like the feeling of something else touching me, something that does not return the feeling which I get from using my own fingers. I used to use the pencils and pens but I have since graduated to a vibrator. I don’t use batteries in it. For one thing, the noise is distracting and for another, I don’t need it to jump or shimmy or vibrate. I like it to penetrate me – but only the odd time. Mostly I like the vibrator (it’s a soft one, not hard plastic) to rub over my clitoris and push just inside the inner lips of my vagina.  I’ve read that vagina only has sensation, the ability to feel, for the first few inches. I have found it to be true. Although I can enjoy the fantasy of being penetrated by something huge, in fact, I enjoy the dip more than the fill up.

Our culture has so many taboos about women and sex, masturbation and virginity and there I was right in the cross-hairs of all three.  I haven’t slept around since the divorce and the marriage itself was light on the sex. But, I don’t feel deprived, anxious or abnormal. I love the orgasms I give myself. Men just seem to mess it all up.

My last actual boyfriend talked so much about how much sex we would have and then… he changed his mind. It ended up with me masturbating him and getting very little back from him. That just isn’t going to work out for me. It was ok for awhile but cock sucking is a double edged thing. I heard my brother and his friends call each other cock suckers and they didn’t mean it like it was a good thing. So, how can men expect women to become cock suckers if being a cock sucker is a bad thing? You can’t have it both ways. So, cock sucking makes me feel dirty, used and angry too.

So, sex with men has not really panned out for me. Men don’t really seem to get it. For one thing they focus on their own needs and when it comes to a woman they think of boobs and pussy, if that much. I want a man who knows I have a body, who discovers how aroused I can get by having my back stroked, lightly scratched and rubbed. I want a man who pats my bum and slips his finger into my pussy from behind. I want a man to explore sensual kinkiness and fetishes with me. I want a man who is masculine and knows what he wants but likes to have a woman in charge sexually. I want a man I can tie up, put in a cage and tease and torment and then laugh at him while he squirms. I want a man who can be a partner in my sexual fantasies and then add his own twist, or take over and become the Daddy who takes care of me but coaxes me to do bad things, naughty things…

I haven’t found that man. I think he might be available in years to come. Ordered online and shipped in a crate. I’d like mine to have a wind up key and an off button. It would be nice if he can also shrink in size for some of my fantasies about little men, like the tiny people from Gulliver’s Travels. I won’t go into details, just leave that for your own kinky, sensual imagination the next time you have some time to yourself and let your fingers do the walking.

Masturbation is very relaxing in the evening when you can’t sleep. (Just in case you didn’t already know).

Hot Pink is Coming by Courier

There is something kind of special about expecting something hot pink to come to your door. 
I’m the good girl type. Never gave my Mother any real trouble. Helped look after the younger kids, then I became the favourite babysitter to the parents along my street and a few others around that area. I babysat the friends of my little sister. Then I was a good, sweet and kind young woman. I didn’t screw around before marriage, at least not with anything more than battery animated. I married the first man I seduced into touching my breasts. (That was kind of fun).

So, I was all (unless you’re a Nun) that was prim and proper for years and years. Even after the divorce I dated and didn’t bed hop from man to man. I’ve always had standards. I like a man to not just know my name but actually know who the hell I am, before I let him get intimate with more than just my boobies. (Even then the boobie play was mainly digital photos or scans which I sent to him in email).

I don’t think I’m uptight or frigid. Though some have cursed me for being so. Spoiled little boys who just weren’t getting what they wanted. Boo hoo!

Tonight I went to the EdenFantasys site and I used my gift cards to purchase not one… but two new vibrators. One being the hot pink you see in the image above. The other sold out in pink but the purple will be fun, like having an alien from another planet as a lover.

I’m looking forward to their arrival. Not in the way you may assume. I’m waiting to see who of the four people living here gets that package at the door. If it isn’t me, the others will be curious and wanting to know. I don’t get many packages. The odd time I’m sent a book to review but that comes in a fairly flat box. It looks like there’s a book in there. So those packages, even as infrequent as they are, don’t cause so much curiousity any more.

This package will be different. Of course, the package will be discreet, non-de-script and fairly blameless looking. No one will know what’s under those cardboard wrappings unless I tell them. I won’t be telling them. But, I may blush. I will know what’s in there after all. You can’t step away from being a good girl when you’ve always been a good girl.

But, I’m enjoying it tonight. Knowing a secret, a hot pink secret with a friend (because I had enough gift cards to buy 2 vibrators, on sale even). I’ve never had good luck with vibrators in the past. I gave up on them. It didn’t help that I moved frequently and those I had in the past all disappeared. (I never heard from anyone about what happened to them – but I’m pretty sure they were thrown out by someone. That’s what my family does.)

These new vibrators are different from the old hard ones that made aggravating noise when you turned them on. These two are softer in texture and they can bend. A nice feature for myself, they will bend and squish around to suit me. I don’t think they will feel so much like I’ve just stuck a tree branch inside myself. A little flexibility should be a nice thing. Also, they both claim to be quiet. This isn’t so essential as I’ve found I don’t really care how they vibrate at all. I can use them without turning them on at all. Most of the time all I really want is something other than my own fingers touching me and something a little thick to slip inside of me. The various kitchen implements I’ve tried just don’t work for one reason or another. Plus, I feel really odd about putting them back in the drawer (of course I have washed them, put them through the dishwasher as an extra wash too, before I put them back into use).  But, they really just don’t do what I want when I’m in the mood for doing what I want.

So, now I have this hot pink secret in the mail. It may take a week to get here. I’m not sure. I didn’t pay too much attention to that part of the ordering. I wanted it to be something of a hot pink surprise. Every one should have something kind of daring and risky to look forward to now and then.

I can always just tell them it’s a different kind of book, maybe one of those new fangled pop-up books.