Gnashing And Thrashing

The question has ever been the same: whether to take flight like a startled rabbit and timorously spend the rest of my days anxiously looking over my shoulder or whether to bare my teeth like a cornered rat, snarl menacingly and fight for my life.

As it happens, I have always been more of a meek little bunny at heart and thus my miserable fate was sealed the moment she began her stealthy, catlike pursuit.  

As she steadily advanced, I first became wary and then nervous, paralysed by degrees until so overcome with terror that by the time i looked into her steely eyes, it was with abject resignation and unconditional surrender.

Transfixed by her supernatural beauty and invincible Amazonian prowess, my legs were too wobbly to run, my throat too fearfully constricted to scream and my feeble little heart too panic-stricken to lend so much as an ounce of courage.

The silent eternity that stretched out between the moment of our eyes meeting and her merciless, triumphant pounce was sheer purgatory and before I could even blink, she had swiftly pinned me down and subdued my trembling body to her complete, devilish satisfaction.

I believe there was a great deal of gnashing, thrashing and scratching involved but my only thought at being so wickedly consumed was that perhaps it might for once have been preferable to be a rabbit than a rat, after all.

Secrets Of The Blindfold

The blindfold was always her favourite and most generous friend because it never failed to give The Gift of Not Knowing: not knowing for sure who was present, not knowing where upon her tender skin the next  gentle touch would be received and not knowing what tantalising delights may be about to unfold for her.

It was always best experienced in complete silence with not a single word spoken on either side.

She never knew for certain that nobody else had softly entered the room to either observe or to join the fun and with wild imagination set free to believe almost anything she dared, she meekly became an unknowing participant in whatever pleasures might be desired.

With the primary sense of sight temporarily disabled, all other senses became heightened and her body tingled in anticipation as she lay completely subject to the whims of whoever was leisurely toying with her exposed and vulnerable flesh.

The sensual feelings steadily building up inside always remained entirely beyond her control and were thus intensely consuming for without distractions to the concentration, she became enslaved within the moment and fully committed to experience every last thrill as it was graciously granted her.

She was completely set free to perform shamelessly delirious acts upon another without ever truly knowing who they really were and that is why she loved the simple blindfold so very much.

Rubbery Ruby

One episode in my life that stands out like a beacon amidst all the others is when i enjoyed the good fortune of a passing dalliance with a memorable young lady of almost unbelievably fluid gymnastic capabilities, known locally as Rubbery Ruby.

Not to put too finer point on it, she was the bendiest girl that i have ever encountered: her jaw-dropping athleticism was a rare treat to behold, even better to experience at first hand and at close quarters, her supple flexibility seemingly knowing no mortal bounds.

She could twist and contort her lithe flesh into a mind-boggling array of positions, suffice to say that she viewed the Kama Sutra as a mere beginners guide, leaving me at times bewildered regarding from which angle i should best and safest approach her.

Were i anywhere near as bodily pliable as she then i have little doubt that we would eventually knotted ourselves irrevocably together into a trembling mass of quivering ecstacy but fate, sadly or perhaps fortunately, had other ideas and our ways parted quite soon after one particularly energetic liaison which left me lying in a breathless, tangled heap, gasping for mercy.

My precious little gymnast left me happy memories indeed but my poor old bones ache to this very day and my flesh still twinges fearfully at the mere thought of her, twitching spasmodically like a highly tensioned piece of knicker elastic that has been twanged once too often.

Pants Up, Knickers Down

As a longstanding advocate of ladies sporting desirably scanty knickers and thongs, it somewhat saddens me to learn that current trends appear to favour big pants a la Bridget Jones, with sales of these comfy creations disappointingly trouncing those of more seductive underwear by a ratio of some fifteen to one.

Whatever became of all those women proudly pronouncing that they felt sexier and brimming with confidence in their slinky lingerie and have their saucy skimpies gone for good, never to be pulled up or teased down again?

Is the sudden rise in more substantial undies something to do with global warming, I wonder?

There is a view that the more you cover, the more is left to the imagination which is of course undeniably true but the imagination is something that needs nourishment not stifling; we wouldn't wish to see the tender spark of passion smothered beneath the impenetrable tarpaulin of matronly reserve, surely to God?

Size, however, is not always the issue and a personal tendancy toward comfort need not be at the expense of glamorous elegance; a glance or two at the glorious retro styles now available show us that not only can a girl embrace the classy allure of yesteryear and raise her lover's temperature but also keep her modesty snugly under wraps.     

As Nature Intended

I can honestly say that i had not the slightest qualm or least objection upon discovering that my new neighbour was of the naturist persuasion, happily going about her daily business utterly free of the restrictions that clothing can bring, seemingly without a care in the world.

Many's the time we chatted over the garden fence, her with not so much as a stitch on and me always the perfect model of gentlemanly attentiveness as she explained that one only need wear a sunny smile to be immaculately attired.

She kindly suggested erecting a higher fence to spare any awkwardness or embarrassment on my part but i wouldn't hear of it, remarking that i only ever spied things of the greatest beauty within her dainty little garden and would be loathe to forego such natural delights.

I particularly cherished those times when she was busily tending her delicate blooms or weeding, so pretty did she look kneeling on the fresh green grass whilst singing softly to herself.

Talented horticulturalist though she was, this fragrant specimen of flowering womanhood was also generous enough to praise my gooseberries whenever they attracted her welcome attention and she would almost blush with maidenly pride as i enthused at great length over her charming little bush.

Although all this was many years ago now, i still give thanks for our special friendship to this very day, the warm recollection of which still sends a lingering tingle through my gently swelling root vegetables.

Ride The Storm

One of the oldest lines in the book is remarking to a woman that she looks beautiful when she's angry, perhaps an unwisely inflammatory thing to say but it is nonetheless very often the simple truth.

Make the fatal mistake of enraging her and you will have, however unwittingly, invoked a veritable fire-breathing she-devil with fearsome teeth and claws who will stop at nothing to repay your foolishness a thousandfold with abject suffering and endless misery.

A shocking change comes over her in a flash and with blazing, spiteful eyes alongside razor sharp words, deeply wounding and dripping poison, she tears into you with a feline savagery that chills the blood.

Suddenly, at the very height of her fury, you become dumbstruck by the awesome beauty that now posesses her and it is at that precise moment that you feverishly dare to desire her the most.

You are entirely consumed in both wanting and worshipping her feral majesty, your romantic admiration soaring to new heights as she seethes and explodes before you and although you cower from her onslaught you also secretly harbour fantasies of riding that terrifyingly turbulent storm.

However, such volcanic episodes should be treasured as capricious acts of nature beyond mere man's control and never intentionally inflamed for the man provoking such wrath is skating on very thin ice indeed and does so at his own mortal peril.

Bedtime Bookworm

At any given time of day or night i could always find the very pretty and very studious little bookworm with her head buried in a weighty volume, studying for all she was worth and soaking up information like a hungry little sponge.

She had an admirable thirst for knowledge, a voracious appetite for fresh discovery.

I must confess that she never failed to impress me with her steadfast diligence and omnivorous reading but as i once remarked, One can never learn everything about the ways of the world simply from a book, young lady.

She glanced up from her page with an inquiring look which prompted me to add, Theory is all very well but practice teaches invaluable lessons too, you know...

Pondering my worldly wisdom for a moment, carefully weighing up the words in her mind, she steadfastly gazed into my eyes and permitted herself a knowing grin as she softly closed her book and abandoned her studies for the day.

I completely agree, she conceded with a knowing smile, practice is indeed vital and i habitually make a point of practising whenever i am alone in my room...perhaps you might care to see for yourself at bedtime tonight?  

The Ten Commandments

And so it came to pass that while the righteous Prophet was atop the lofty mountain receiving his insoluble stone tablets, the buxom Matriarch prayed for guidance and forgiveness, having recently become sorely afflicted by the burning bush.

The words thus passed down to her from on high were forever inscribed upon her heart and preserved upon secret scrolls of papyrus hidden away from the eyes of men, concealed within her handbag and shared only with the countless succeeding generations of women also seeking divine succour and guidance.

So it shall be written, so it shall be done.  

I: Thou shalt not ask him 'Doth my bum look big in this?'
II: If thou hast it, so shalt thou flaunt it.
III: True righteousness dwelleth in matching bra and knickers.
IV: Thou shalt wear only stockings for tights are surely the Devil's work.
V: If thou talketh the talk likewise shalt thou walketh the walk.
VI: Thou shalt not just lie back and thinketh of England.
VII: Thou shalt leave thy kinky boots on in thy bedchamber.
VIII: Thou shalt honour the sanctity and mystery of thy knicker drawer.
IX: Thou shalt strut thy saucy stuff wheresoever thou goest.  
X: What goeth on the hen night stayeth on the hen night.