What is it about watching someone masturbate that appeals to us so much? It is, by far, my biggest turn on to watch a woman masturbate before my eyes. More than big breasts, more than redheads, more than any other kink or fetish, nothing makes me more aroused than watching as a woman touches, teases, and pleases herself into a writhing orgasm that is decadent to the eyes. But why is watching masturbation even more erotic than sex? Why is it so much more exciting to watch people find pleasure on their own, than as a couple?
Everyone, from those who raise us at early boyhood, to the women we pursue, all play a part in our behaviors, and yes, our egos. Of course, we’re becoming much more aware of the cultural stigma of boys being taught to always ‘man up’ and not to show emotion, but it’s more than just our upbringing, it’s those around us during adulthood who play a role as well. If you think back, there has probably been several instances where you, or someone you know, has made some dramatic exclamation about the opposite sex. Whether it be a guy who rolls his eyes, muttering, “Women, huh?” or a lady groaning in frustration, shouting, “Ugh, MEN!!!” What this does is further build up the stigma of every person of the opposite sex only ever behaving in a particular fashion. “He can’t help it, he’s a guy” or, “What more can you expect from a man?” they all play a role in creating this image of what a man is supposed to be like.
Hello, sexy people. It’s been a while since I wrote anything new, and I do apologize for that. It hasn’t been easy lately, with the dreary weather, my landlord only just now getting around to renovating my floors, and work being especially hard lately. Depending on what you believe, you could also blame planets going…
As I was going through my feed, I come across something posted by a friend of mine. A new service called “Sexy Liberation” has come into the light to provide a path into the sexual revolution. At first, I was skeptical, of course. But I went ahead and checked out their selection, as well as how and why they can provide a service that gives the public access to sex toys for free. That’s right, I said ‘free’. As in, you pay nothing for these quality sex toys.
As I was doing some research for an upcoming story involving cuckoldry, I realized there was much more to this fetish than first meets the eye. As a writer of erotica, I like to understand why people take part in certain fetishes, and what appeals to them to commit to it. In turn, I like to share what I find with you, so readers can understand more about what arouses them, and writers can use the knowledge for their own work as well. It’s simple enough to proclaim that some people are just weak-willed, or easily manipulated because they’ll never do any better. But there’s much more to it than meets the eye. Cuckoldry is actually far more psychological than it is sociological, and is not at all limited to less than average-looking men. Nor is it limited to just men.
Now here’s a subject I’ve been getting excited about for a while. The topic of lingerie has been hotly debated for years and years, from both men and women alike, regarding whether or not paying hundreds of dollars for something that will come off within thirty seconds is really worth it. Much of the time, the argument is broken down into topics of comfort, durability(does it tear easily?), accessibility, and of course, the cost. All of these things are good things to consider when getting lingerie for yourself, or for your lover. But, is that all there really is to it?
I had recently read a blog post from another erotica author, like myself, who spoke about the differences between erotica and smut. Her explanation entailed there being very little, to no difference, between those genres at all. What you label your work is entirely up to your interpretation or preferences. After reading it, I found myself dissatisfied with her conclusion, and found it to be a little fluffy. Personally, I dislike when people try to blur the lines between distinct genres, and create this idea that what one person does is no different than what someone else does.
A flock of seagulls stood closely together, each pacing around, searching for any traces of food hidden in the sand. Knowing how skittish they were, I moved very carefully towards them. I stayed low, moved me feet closer and closer to them. A couple of them stopped and looked at me, before scurrying further away. It was a big risk for me to continue my approach, but I took that risk, and was justly rewarded.
Some of you may remember some time ago when I posted an Erotic Bites story called New Membership, I wrote about a couple who become members of a lifestyle club in downtown Nashville. I was inspired to write about this club after learning about it’s existence. Yes, it’s a real place, it’s in downtown Nashville, and it really is an exclusive club where people will dance, swing, and explore their own sexuality. It may seem surprising to the uninitiated, but these kinds of clubs are much more prevalent than you would think, with similar establishments in nearly every major city across the country. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself. Depending on where you live, there could be one just within driving distance.
Well, here I am, at my laptop, with a half-finished story on my screen, and I can’t think of how to continue it. I find myself suffering from that great frustration known as writer’s block. I keep telling myself I can push through it if I just sit down and think, but I do so, and I remember why I stepped away in the first place. It’s especially frustrating as I’ve made a promise to you, my readers, that I would provide regular posts, and a new short story every week. I fear I may not be able to guarantee every week at this point.
Still dark, and the parking garage was still empty. A lone car pulls into one of the spaces, and shuts off. Crickets were still chirping while the streetlights buzzed overhead, and only a hint of blue formed in the night sky, signaling that dawn would soon rise. The driver door of the car opened, and a tall, black man exited. His head was shaved, and his designer suit was crisp and pressed.
The bright glow of morning began to shine through the blinds of the bedroom window. Although it did not shine directly onto the bed, it was still enough to stir the sleeping, brunette man that laid in bed, asleep. As he took his first deep breath of the day, his arm reached up above his head, and shifted his body to stretch his muscles. The grey sheets slid down his body, revealing a fit, shaven abdomen. It was almost a very relaxing wake-up, until the alarm went off next to him. Rick turned his head quickly, and reached over to shut it off with a slap, cursing it.