For this Sinful Sunday, I’m using one of the photos I took for #FishnetsFriday this week, and I’m really feeling the need to up my selfie game! You know how you read about people spending half a day trying to capture that one perfect unposed shot that they can filter the shit out of and post as their best self?
Yeah, I don’t have time for that stuff, but I am learning about, for example, making sure the bedside table is going to be out of shot when I’ve finished editing (especially if I havent tidied recently and there’s a bottle of lube, 3 novels and a gram of weed on it), keeping the selfie stick out of shot, and angles, baby … nobody wants those middle aged jowels in the frame …
Anyway, what I’m absolutely fucking loving about taking these is that I’ve now given myself permission to take sexy photos of myself, see the sexiness in them and to share them with Helena – she’s been sending me these since we first met, in fact her profile pic on my phone is one that she sent me of her stocking top and cream and navy polkadot dress from the train as she was coming down for our first proper date.
So, here it is, gender-fuckery fun, taken with the specific intention of making someone else horny and wanting to fuck me.
The sense I love the most out of all of them isn’t one with a name, at least not one that I know of. Or, definitely not just one name; but it’s definitely one sense and with one source.
It’s the sense of warmth and comfort when I get changed after work, and pinch a pair of her satin pyjama shorts to wear under my pyjamas, knowing that she’ll be delighted and turned on when she discovers this later.
You were standing in the kitchen when I got home, putting away the last couple of bits of shopping. You heard me drop my keys in the bowl by the front door, and called out a hello, and I replied in kind.
“How was your day?”
“Antsy! Nothing in particular, just a low tolerance for for stupid people in supermarkets. Oh, and all the idiots seemed to be out on the roads today.”
I step up behind you and wrap my arms around your waist, nuzzling your neck.
“Well it’s chill time. I’ll make dinner in a bit. Risotto?”
“Mmmmm” is the only reply I get.
“If you’re antsy, does this help, or make it worse?” I ask as my left hand comes up to hold your right breast through your blouse. You release a quiet gasp and wriggle your hips into my groin.
I got up at the first buzz of the alarm this morning, rather than snoozing 4, or 5, or 6 times. You’ve done this for me more times than I can remember, and I’ve loved it, every single fucking time, but it’s never felt like a thing I could do for you. My body – men’s bodies – just aren’t made for this kind of sexy play. It feels different today. I can do this for you, and I know you’re going to love it, and I feel a new confidence in myself.
My body is sexy, not because of its youth, or its finely chiselled contours (because it has neither), but because I love you with it, with every inch of it, and you love it. That is the only acceptance I need. The same patriarchy that tells you that you’re not good enough also tells me that I can’t look at myself that way at all. Fuck. That. Shit. Continue reading Kink of the Week – Men in Panties