I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to admit that I watch porn. Lots of people do it. Probably more than are willing to admit. I even confessed to my husband that I watch it. Yet, I’m sure he assumes I watch straight couples. That doesn’t excite me. I strictly watch lesbian porn. And of course, I prefer at least one of the women be a redhead. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I DO NOT VIEW UNDERAGE PORNOGRAPHY!
There’s something just so erotically beautiful about two woman engaging in sensual and sexual pleasure. I prefer a natural experience void of “toys”. Sensual kisses as they disrobe. Hands gliding over soft flesh, as bodies grow heated with arousal. The intensity of their mutual orgasms.
My body can’t help but respond as I watch. I feel the wetness pool between my thighs. I squirm. My back arches as the sensation runs through me. I refrain from touching myself. I let my mind acknowledge what is happening, and let my body silently react. When I finally reach my peak, it’s intense. I would moan or cry out loud, but I don’t want to give the tenants above me a thrill.
Sometimes I role play that I’m the other woman in the video who is receiving the redhead’s attention. She is kissing me. Hot, open-mouth kisses travel down my body. She takes the weight of my breasts in her hands, as her mouth converges on my nipples. She tugs and laps upon the sensitive flesh. They stiffen under her assault. In this instance, I touch myself. I rub my clit, but it’s the redhead I imagine touching me. Faster and faster, she is bringing me closer to orgasm. I wet my fingers, pretending it’s her saliva that coats them. Brazenly, I find my G-spot and hit it with a feverish pace. It isn’t long before my orgasm erupts. I’m left heavily panting, and twisted among wet sheets. As I come down from my erotic euphoria, the redhead is smiling down at me with smug satisfaction.
Want a dirty, little tidbit? What drives me the wildest when watching lesbian porn is when they go down on one another.
The mouth is a powerful weapon when you know how to use it!
(continued from Entry Three)
The nameless stranger is now a redhead. Instead of sitting apart, I ask if I may share her table. She looks upon me with mild curiosity then simply nods in approval. We don’t exchange any words; each absorbed in our own activity. But I catch the subtle assessing of her green eyes. Her tongue darts out, moistening her bottom lip. I feign ignorance, but my body naturally reacts. I feel myself growing wet between my thighs.
“Um- I’ll be right back”, I announce. I needed to put some distance between us to regroup. Was it my imagination, or was she now looking at me with arousal? I almost run from the table.
This scenario is new to me. Usually, I play the silent admirer. No one actually shows any interest in return. Yet, this girl is definitely interested. Should I make a move? I envision those eyes. How they’d look at me if I touched her. Instantly, I grow hot. I have to go for it.
Getting myself in check, I return to her. Unfortunately, a harsh reality greets me. She is gone. Feeling foolish and mildly pissed, all I want is to get the hell out of there. Hastily I grab my journal, a pink slip of paper lie beneath it. As I read its contents, I audibly gasp. I read it again to be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. There is no mistaking the blunt challenge.
My name is Becca. Come walk on the wild side with me!
I can’t help the saucy grin that breaks across my face
Going to the bookstore is one of my favorite things to do. But lately…Well let’s just say it has taken on a new meaning. Whether I’m alone- and yes- also in the company of my husband, I’ve been checking out more than books. It’s women! As they pass me by, I’m unable to suppress the urge to scope out the redheads. It has become a ritualistic indulgence.
On a recent trip by myself, I was feeling a little bummed over a life situation. I had taken a journal with me in hopes of pouring my woes into my writing. While fragmented ideas swirled in my head, I wasn’t inspired to put them on paper. Then, like a lightning strike, a young girl- probably of college age- sat down at the table directly in front of me. Although she wasn’t my preferred redhead- blonde instead- she was petty.
Immediately, I was intrigued, even smitten. As time elapsed, I found myself completely swept away. She exuded a certain aura. If she noticed- or was unnerved by my not-so-subtle, stalker-like leering, she never let on. Soon she abruptly rose from her seat and headed towards me. My body actually jolted with fear. Oh shit, I’m busted!
I was afraid to meet her eyes, but I didn’t want to look like a coward. Channeling a shred of bravado- my breath suspended- I met her hypnotic green eyes. Luckily, she only wanted me to watch her table while she went to the ladies room. Phew! I wasn’t being chewed out for my prying eyes.
Almost immediately among her absence, a spark of creativity was infused. Once again I am submerged, as a naughty scenario plays out in my mind.
To be continued…
There’s an old adage that says blondes have more fun. Personally, I can’t attest to that being a fact. I was born a brunette. Only recently, did I color my hair red.
Why does society seem to put such emphasis on hair? Why do we favor one shade over another? Yet, if I voice the question aloud, one could counter back and ask why I am partial to redheads. In reality, I can’t respond. Simply being that I don’t know why.
I do have a definite opinion on the subject. I feel that redheads are a rare, extraordinary breed. Why they only account for a small percentage of the population is a mystery to me. Furthermore, I think that any luxury that’s of scarce supply should be appreciated while in existence. Redheads are no exception.
In closing, while I readily admit to encountering many beautiful women, I will always favor redheads.
Since childhood, I have possessed a fascination with nudity. More specifically, the female body. I vividly recall searching through the TV Guide looking for movies that featured nudity. It was a secret ritual, that bordered on obsession.
In my youthful innocence, it seemed “normal” to engage in this type of behavior. I told myself that curiosity of the human body was part of the natural progression in coming of age. Harboring an appreciation, exploring femininity, I didn’t question if I was crossing any dangerous lines, or venturing into strange territory. It felt as though I was partaking in a harmless journey, somehow meant to travel.
To be quite honest, I was envious of other females. In my eyes, they possessed a beauty that was unlike to my own. Born with some medical issues, I was always self- conscious of my appearance. I never felt beautiful. Many in society agreed, thrusting upon me harsh labels that took years to come to overcome. Oh, and how I detested mirrors. Their uncanny ability to highlight every flaw, flashing like a warning signal. What the hell? How does an object hold so much power?
Can I answer, with certainty, where my appreciation of women stems from? No! A psychologist would probably surmise that it relates to a deep- seeded desire to look like them. To be what I deem the definition of “perfect”. I’m not sure that I would agree with that analysis. Perhaps as I continue this project, the answer will be found.
Do you harbor any lifelong secrets? I do. That is part of the reason I decided to undertake this book. If I am being honest, I have lived a double-life, of sorts. Understand, it was not intentional. I did not set out to purposely deceive anyone for perverse pleasure, or possess a selfish, ulterior motive.
Since childhood, my “other self” resided primarily in my head through impulsive thoughts and a vivid imagination. Although, over the past few years, I couldn’t deny its presence in my soul. Unfamiliar desire, suspicion, confusion and doubt all wrestled within me. A battle waged within me that I chose to fight in private. My only opposition was a nagging question that took center stage: Am I a lesbian?
This was territory I never thought I would explore. After all, I was raised in “traditional” Catholic household. To have intimate tendencies toward women seemed taboo. Yet, I must say that certain members of my family have had the courage to “come out”, and now live as gay members of the community. So, it left me to wonder what keeps me from revealing my secret. Fear? Shame? Maybe it’s because I am unsure what to label myself. Who am I?