Happy July the 5th… I am creating some new articles for a few publications and for both blogs (Erotica du Jour and The Sensual Foodie) Plus, there have been so many things going on in my private life. My son is in baseball camp as well as ‘all stars’ league, so lots of baseball mom action: making sure he has enough water, food and rest, basically. And doing laundry. Constantly laundry. Then, my two younger girls are, well, young girls. They wake up early and refuse to go to bed (so I can write). But, I have perfected the art of banana pancakes recently, which is no small feat. Yes, I have finally mastered the ‘fluffy pancake secret’. Add bananas to that, and you have very fluffy, delicious banana pancakes. And, I have attempted to go to bed early(er) and get up early(er) although I do hit the snooze button quite often. Despite my snooze button fetish, I have promised myself that I would get into great shape this summer. Yet, waking up early for a walk/run on the beach has happened once this past week. I had hoped to do it every day, but when I don’t get to bed early enough, well, I do need my beauty rest. I weigh out the positives while I hit the snooze button. More sleep (beauty), or more exercise (fitness)? Or, more articles to post (intellectualism)? So, I hope to catch up with creating fresh and interesting articles for my love child Erotica du Jour. In an effort to make this a dynamic and sexy blog, I decided to create two new categories for your pleasure:
When I first decided that I wanted to film myself for Beautiful Agony’s website, I hadn’t any idea that I would be, in the process, exposing the most delicate parts of my being. I wasn’t concerned with masturbating on camera and posting it off to the Feck Party in Australia, because I was incredibly inspired by their artistic project. However, preparing to contribute my video for Beautiful Agony, in particular, has been the most nerve fraying, anxiety producing project I have ever considered. It has required me to examine the interior of my own sexual psychology. So I decided to follow through with it.
I was very certain that I would create a video, no problem. But I was hesitating to actually do it. I made numerous excuses why filming myself while masturbating was just not going to happen, today.
My gray roots are showing, I said to myself. I have to book a hair appointment first, then I will videotape. I can’t find my tripod. I need a better camera. I just can’t find my pink rabbit pearl vibrator. The bedsheets aren’t what I want in the background. I need nicer bed sheets. I have to film in the daytime. The lighting will be bad at night. I need better lighting. It’s too late now; I’ll do it tomorrow. Somehow, filming my orgasm on camera involved shopping for new bed sheets, a new camera, and getting my hair colored and styled at the salon. It was superficial and absurd to worry about those things, when I knew that it was about something else. It was about revealing the essence of my sexuality.
So many reasons why I could not masturbate and orgasm on camera overwhelmed my inner dialogue, running in a loop through my mind. Like a beginner in meditation, the many thoughts were distracting. I had carried my mini flip camera and my vibrator in my handbag for weeks. The video camera and vibrator went everywhere I went, never touched, considered, or used. I discovered, through all my excuse making, that I was still a shy introvert, and filming my face during the most intimate moment of arousal and orgasm was a brave act that exposed me completely.
A new tripod telescoped above me. All lights in the room turned on. Wearing my fuchsia silk kimono and nothing else, I positioned my head on the pillows just underneath the camera’s view. When the camera was on, I felt a sudden shyness. Afraid to breathe almost, I began touching myself. My husband was kneeling next to the tripod, naked, caressing my thighs. I wanted the weight of his body upon me, to feel him penetrate me, press his weight upon my clitoris. But, with the camera rolling and the precarious tripod between us, it felt like an awkward attempt to capture an elusive moment: the orgasm.
So many thoughts ran through my mind during our first video, and none of them were sexual. Preoccupied with the lens on me, I wanted to hide. I wanted to throw the tripod aside and clasp my husband’s warm body to mine. He was loving and tender during the filming process, as he tried to please me while we created the videotaping. He went down on me first, and touched my clitoris delicately, sliding his fingers inside my warm, wet vagina, watching my face. I felt transparent, silly, and awkward, like the tall girl wearing glasses, back in elementary school all over again.
Perhaps that was the source of my shyness: when I first started masturbating. I was in elementary school. By doing this for the camera, I discovered, I was peeling away all the experiences, and coming back to the root of my sexuality.
I was in fifth grade when I found that I had an opening in between my vaginal lips. I knew intellectually that it was there, but had never explored it with my hands. I possessed a strong concept of anatomy, with art books swelling up the majority of my bookcase. Physicians’ Desk References also took up a large part of our bookcase in my home, as well as in my grandparents’ home. The red, hard-bound books as thick as large bricks were stacked one against another in our living room bookshelf. My mother was a nurse and my grandfather was a doctor. We also had The Joy of Sex on the same bookshelf; a veritable illustrated guidebook for a young girl. I knew how babies were made, and where men put their penises, but despite such knowledge, I was still an innocent child. Putting my fingers to my vagina was something I naturally felt compelled to do, privately. I waited until my bedtime, or I disappeared into the bathroom and lay down on the soft fluff of the bathmat. I turned my walk-in closet into a secret hiding place to touch myself, quickly, before anyone discovered me. I was fortunate that my family was liberal about things, and there wasn’t any worry about such a ‘discovery’. But, innately, I felt that it was a private experience.
The human body, in our family, was a natural and beautiful thing. We were very open, and nothing was made an issue. I had two flamboyantly creative and beautiful aunts, and each had a myriad of boyfriends. Monogamy was not implied nor was it expected during my upbringing. Sexual freedom, and women’s liberation was prevalent in my house full of opera singers, flower children, and musicians. No brassieres, no deodorants; it was the 1970’s. My two aunts were earthy hippies, wearing their gossamer Indian skirts and filmy peasant tops. Disco parties were a regular occasion created by my mother. During the summer, running through the sprinklers in our backyard, completely nude, was a routine pleasure on weekends. The warmth of the California sunlight, cool water arcing in rainbows, the sprinklers misting my skin, my wet bare feet upon the grass, the scent of jasmine, eucalyptus trees, the sound of lawnmowers; all evoked summertime, my nude body exposed majestically to the sunlight.
Still, I hadn’t kissed a boy. I was about twelve years old. The tallest girl in school. Skinny and long-limbed, I wore glasses that hid my face, and I was extremely shy. I wore purple, mostly, and knee-high socks in many colors and dazzled with glittery threads. Just above those crazy socks, my knees were covered with band-aids from roller-skating and bicycle falls. I wore gobs of Bonne Bell lip gloss in Piece O’Cake or Dr. Pepper flavor. Crushes were happening with everyone in my sixth grade classroom. The two crushes I had on other boys were unrequited. The boys I liked were the ones that teased me for it. The boy who liked me was as awkward and as shy as I was. He also wore thick glasses and had buckteeth. He was Filipino, and some other mix of Asian. I tried to think of kissing him when I touched myself, but no images came into my brain. I wanted to feel desire. Then summer camp came along. We moved on to different schools. I wanted to remember the way he looked at me, to remember his gaze. I thought there was something in the way he longed for me that was worth my attention.
Instinctively, I felt aroused when lying in the sun, wearing a wet swimsuit. The sun and the ocean, the frothy, enveloping waves, swimming into them, diving, the sensory delight of water and summer heat, all memories of my eleven turning twelve year old body. But it wasn’t until I was thirteen did I learn about kissing and the reactions it causes in boys. It was more subtle, the discovery of my own arousal, and the wetness, that slippery feeling and the ache of pleasure.
The first time I had sex I was fourteen years old. By then, I had learned how to make myself orgasm, but, as I remember it, it wasn’t the kind of orgasm I have now. It was like a miniature orgasm, a prelude to womanhood kind of orgasm. It was soft and fluttery, and without depth. My pubescent orgasms were like meringue; light, and barely a taste upon the tongue of pleasure.
It was summertime when I lost my virginity. June. There was a camellia bush outside of my bedroom window. The heat of the California night, the fragrance of jasmine; sensory memories of my first sexual experience rush back into my mind. The older boy, seventeen years old, fumbling to put on his Trojan condom, all for his pleasure, his orgasm. My own pleasure that evening was the acceptance of myself as a woman. I found that my first sexual experience was liberating.
And so, as a woman, I began my sexual journey. It took some time before I figured out how to orgasm with a partner. I could definitely orgasm by masturbating, that I knew. Finally, when I was about nineteen, I cracked the code of having an orgasm during sex. I had to touch myself while my boyfriend was inside of me, rub my clitoris in little circles until the combination of my clitoral stimulation and his penetration made the most delightful waves of orgasmic pleasure happen. It was then that I discovered what it was all about. This was a true orgasm.
Not until my mid-twenties did I experience multiple orgasms without having to touch myself during sex. I found that if my lover pressed his pelvic bone against me, that the pressure was perfect combined with the rhythms of penetration. I hadn’t figured out how to come while on top of a man, nor did I get much out of the other positions, unless, of course, I was touching myself, but sometimes it took too much effort. A vibrator helped in those cases, and anal sex definitely made me respond, almost to the point of extreme, sudden orgasm. Anal sex was orgasm in zero to ninety seconds flat. It was a good precursor to regular vaginal sex then orgasm. After a few minutes of anal sex (he washed himself off clean, of course), then back to good, old-fashioned, slow motion, vaginal penetration while touching myself was, for me, the ultimate in orgasmic recipes.
Masturbation was still good, although, sex was better. Into my thirties I found myself enjoying richer, more layered orgasms, one after another, wave after wave. How to explain the deepening of one’s sexual response? It just happens, as the body becomes accustomed to pleasure, I suppose. Knowing one’s body after all the years of self pleasuring, knowing your responses, knowing what really makes you feel good. Now, in my forties, I am pleased to find that it gets even better.
On camera, I am searching for the pure source of my sexual freedom, the source of my letting go. While practicing the art of orgasm on film, I am exploring, peeling away the layers of external self, and revealing my real self, letting all else fall away. Self- pleasuring is a practice of meditation, and achieving orgasm is a source of enlightenment. When attaining enlightenment, we are truly in the moment of letting go. Orgasm must be a way, not a religion, then. In fact, Taoist sexual practices describe that sex and sexual energy are parallel to acupuncture, tai chi, qi gong, and meditation, all practices of harnessing and recycling our life energy or “chi”.
Taoists believe that the practice of feeling our orgasm and channeling that energy is calming to the mind and opening the potential of the human spirit. When we are feeling our chi during orgasm, we are practicing a Taoist internal art. There are many other aspects to the Taoist practice of channeling sexual energy and being mindful of our chi. I don’t mean to speak casually about it, nor do I intend to give any expert advice by explaining this. As a completely natural thing, sexual energy, our life force, “chi” is the ‘water of life’ as the ancients called it. My acupuncturist explained that chi is much like a water current. When receiving acupuncture, I felt my energy flowing through meridians, and understood what he meant. Our sexual energy, then, is charged with emotions, and the quality of that energy is what we are talking about. It is about balance and harmony.
Sexually, women (according to the Tao) are encouraged to orgasm as often as they desire. Women are energized by orgasms, their bodies are nourished by the flow of chi, and so it is healthy for women to enjoy their life essence. By taking in the male energy, the female is rejuvenated. There are many books and teachings on this practice.
Capturing a moment of bliss on film, I hope to discover my self on deeper levels, and express the humanness of letting go, surrendering to the magic of life. Just by filming my face when enjoying pleasure and orgasm, it takes the courage to expose oneself to the world, in the very moment of letting go. I hope that the art of my orgasm inspires.
My Beautiful Agony video will be on its way to Australia, where the Feck Party will upload it to their website, as one of the many liberated orgasms on display.
visit beautifulagony.com
Beautiful Agony… the unabashedly sexy website that exhibits thousands of real people having real orgasms.
Beautiful Agony is dedicated to the beauty of human orgasm. This may be the most erotic thing you have ever seen, yet the only nudity it contains is from the neck up. That’s where people are truly naked.
The videos were made in private by the contributor (and sometimes their partner). We don’t know what they’re doing, or how they are doing it, we just know it’s real and it’s sexy as hell. Make your ears blush by putting on your headphones and turning the sound to eleven.
Yes, there are free samples. Look for the ones with the red borders and the text underneath that says ‘free sample’.
New agony comes five times per week (at least).
They all have sound.
You will also find interesting snippets, interviews and outtakes.
Some “Agonees” have confess their dirty secrets, and you can watch and listen, so long as you promise not to tell. Look for the word ‘confessions’.
I’m creating my own “Beautiful Agony” submission for you to find…
of course, I will announce it soon, and then you’ll have to join to look for my orgasm video.
play windows media
play quicktime
beautifulagony.com
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