My favourite

Now it's fallen off the blog's front page. It's not the best rated, not the most visited post, but it is, ever since I made it, my favourite caption. So I indulge in promoting it once again.

One at a time

I should have known it wouldn't be easy.

The cure

Into the sea

Get real!

I made a decision today. I will not wank anymore in front of the computer. I will continue this blog, read others, get horny... but I won't wank anymore here. I'll keep my cum for my girlfriend. She deserves it.

I am not ashamed of dreaming of being a girl. I am not ashamed of getting turned on by doing so. There's nothing wrong with being kinky, or a pervert, or whatever you may call it.

But it's wrong to spend so much time being horny and getting off alone when you can share it with some person close to you. In flesh and blood. A person you love. I am so lucky to have one. It's true I cannot realize all my wet dreams with her. But some I can, and there is room for progress. So were I not an idiot if I not tried to get my sex-life back to being real?

When I was eleven (reprise)

I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry-cola
C-O-L-A cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said Lola
L-O-L-A Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

Well I'm not the world's most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand
Why she walked like a woman and talked like a man
Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

Well we drank champagne and danced all night
Under electric candlelight
She picked me up and sat me on her knee
And said little boy won't you come home with me
Well I'm not the world's most passionate guy
But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola
Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

I pushed her away
I walked to the door
I fell to the floor
I got down on my knees
Well I looked at her and she at me

Well that's the way that I want it to stay
And I'll always want it to be that way for my Lola
Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up muddled up shook up world except for Lola
Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

Well I'd left home just a week before
And I'd never ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled and took me by the hand
And said little boy I'm gonna make you a man

Well I'm not the world's most masculine man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man
And so is Lola
Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lol


The Kinks' song was the soundtrack of my holidays at eleven. It made a deep erotic impression on me. But only ten years later I understood it's meaning.
(I wasn't that good in English then...)

Nice

A treat

Coming out a little bit

This post is for Jamie. The picture. I'm not sure he appreciates the retro girdle - I don't particularly -, but the girl is pretty and the polka dots should do the trick.
And the text. Because it's the truth this time, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I know he appreciates that. But therefore it's going to be a bit dull, I fear, and I warn everyone who read until here hoping for a hot story to get off on to better stop and and click elsewhere - or browse my new tumblr archive just here on my sidebar.
The post is not only for Jamie. It's also for those of us who haven't come out and wonder how it would be if they did. No, I didn't actually come out, but I gave friends, close friends and not so close friends of my everyday life, yesterday's story to read. And it had some effect.
To tell about it I have to disclose some facts of my life I'd rather keep to myself because they contradict the young, pure, inexperienced and sexy persona I had planned to assume as author of this blog. So that's over. Hopefully only for the young and inexperienced part. (If you are still annoyed by my dishonesty, I apologize and beg you to read my page "on truth", also right here on the side-bar.)

Good times

Lisa is a beautiful, cheerful brunette and we know each other from college. At that time we both already were with our men, with whom we still live, but that did not hinder us to start making out. I'll always remember the first hot fucks we had in the library. Sure we knew we were cheating on our men, but we did not really feel guilty. We loved them, and we knew that our lesbian relationship, however passionate, never would endanger our devotion to our future husbands. What we were doing was just in another domain.

Dream come true

This is not made by me. It's from Gerita. I found it deserved a translation.

What I would do if I were a pretty girl

have a ride with the boys:

The sheltering sky

I read this book by Paul Bowles only recently. He's a reference, of course, for anybody interested in literature and lives led outside conventions, sexually and otherwise.
For me, adds to this that I love tales of travel. The whole book is fantastic, but what got to me most, and might get to you too as you seem to like things I post in my blog, is the last chapter: "Sky". Kit's adventure has haunted me ever since I've read it.

Improvement

Who was it who said he knows people who don't like braids?

The point

Desesperadamente loquita

If you are able to read even only a bit spanish, like I do, you should visit Gerita's blog. I myself am doing it regularly, and I tell you the effort is worth while. Her blog is beautiful, very feminine, has taste and charming, almost - but only almost - every-day-life stories.
The longer I read her, the sexier the spanish language sounds to me!

Probation

Another childhood memory

The day after a school's event, attended by our parents too, a classmate told me, with obvious malice, that his father had commented on me. That he considered me the prettiest girl of our class!
I didn't tell him that he'd made my day.

(I had long smooth hair at twelve, but certainly wore unisex clothes, probably jeans and sneakers.)

Not nothing

When I was eleven

A long time ago JamieLin answered somebody else's question of what he remembered from when he was eleven. Here's what I remember. The story is entirely true, except for a twist. Lets assume, for the sake of the story and for the sake of a deeper truth, that at eleven I was a girl.

Picture taken from here

I grew up in a rural area in northern Europe. I spent a lot of time outside, often in my older brother's tow, straying around with other kids of both sexes, climbing trees, stealing cherries and that sort of thing. I was what you call a tomboy.

I wish I could say this

.

Doubts

Otto Rudolf Schatz

Attention whore

The itch

I was a boy once. But that is past. Now I am a woman, married to a loving husband who is helping me - and enjoying himself by doing it - to explore the depths of my submissive, masochistic and exhibitionistic feminine self.

Where we live, nobody knows that, and we want to keep it that way. We are in almost every other respect a conventional married couple, are socially adapted, and it is very helpful in our conservative town that I can pass well as the young woman I am.

Yet we are different, and we act it out playing "games" like the one I am going to tell about.

The opportunity for our game arose when a famous orchestra gave a concert in our town. These concerts, rather rare, were the pride of the council's cultural program, and thus important social events. We prepared and dressed up as one does for such an occasion, perhaps even a little more than usual. I had been to the hairdresser the afternoon, and I would wear my silken champagne-colored ball-dress, 12den white stockings with garters and 4-inch pumps, and lacy panties and bra. I was doing the final retouching of my make-up when my husband came in, kissed me on the neck and said I looked ravishing. I felt so too. Then he produced some fresh nettles and placed one carefully in either cup of my bra and one in my panties, over my shaved pussy. He checked that they wold not show in my silky dress, and was satisfied.

As always, we had agreed on a punishment for the case I failed the dare. Failure would be if I took the nettles out before we were back home, and my punishment would be twelve hard lashes with his belt.

Bastard

Turkish bath

Early fantasies

I may not have seriously wanted to be a girl as a six year old kid, Stevie Stevens, but I definitely had erotic TG fantasies! At six I dreamt of being a slavegirl in a harem. Of course I had no clear idea of what that might mean sexually. And I wonder a little where my notion of a harem came from, but I have a good guess. As I was practically not allowed to watch any TV at that age, it can only have been the book "1001 Nights" that my mother used to read to me. A book not of the Disney type, rather an old illustrated edition. Probably intended for young readers, though certainly not for six year olds. I remember vaguely the opulent architecture, courtyards with fountains and flowers; beautiful, veiled princesses and a handsome prince, and a powerful sultan who everybody loved and feared at the same time. Even if it was a children's book, there is no question that I felt the eroticism of the stories, felt the breathtaking connection between sexuality and power. I still remember the fantasy, and I am absolutely sure it to be of that age, because I can date exactly the family holidays during which I daydreamt about it. I fantasized that we were various girls of my age in the harem, all made up beautifully, our hairdo, with braids of course and coronets, but then we were ordered to take off our skirts an panties and slide down a helter-skelter with our nude peepee (I knew what that was because I have a one year younger sister) into the pool!
I was to write that we were ordered to take off only our panties and kept on our skirts, which obviously would have been pulled up during the slide, but I suspect that I am making that up now in hindsight.
Ah, and sure, the Sultan was watching!

No caption today, but tomorrow.

Thank you

The call

Friction

Bobby's boyfriend

Shame...

Shopping shoes

Guinea pig