Welcome to Elust #60 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #61? Start with the rules, come back August 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Shame Hurts

Of Cocks and Cunts: The Language of Erotica

#RealBodiesAreSexy

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I may never suck another cock, but I’m still

The sofa

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Aftercare
YKINMK but My Kink is Not YOUR Kink either
Nerds, Pervs, and Jeffrey Dahmer
Sex Is Simple. That’s Why It’s So Complicated
Cuckolding. The Step Child of BDSM?
What Is A Man’s Role At A CFNM?
Happily whipping Jesus
What are your views on the ethics of kink?
FetLife and The Single Gal
How Porn and BDSM Helped Me

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Tall guys! You’re a bunch of sick perverts!
In Which I Fuck Up and My Uterus Saves Me
Why Is There So Much Shame?
Birds do it, Bees do it…
Little Lower Layer
Wooing, pursuing, romancing a dominant woman
Sexual Freedom. Why Do I Feel I Need to Hide.
Our Age Gap Shouldn’t Be Your Insecurity
Advanced kegel: stroking with only PC muscles
Impress your lover with these oral sex moves

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

The Hashtag Activism…It Burns It!
Sex Worker Etiquette
Rant Break: SCOTUS and Hobby Lobby Rage
Subs Need Classes Too!

Erotic Fiction

A Flight Attendants Secret
Relentless
Sit
Festival car park fun
Private Performance
And The Band Played On
Consequences Part One

Blogging

A warning for erotic writers and sex bloggers
Bloggy, Soggy, and Sexy

Erotic Non-Fiction

Don’t Ever Make Me Wait Again
Words

Poetry

Satan’s String – a Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Writing Erotica for Trans Readers Pt 1

The post e[Lust]#60 appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Prompt #111: Masturbation Fodder

(Second related theme : selfies)

You take a pic. You angle it for your best assets to show. You write a short piece. It’s hot sweaty sticky and delicious. You make these public, you share. Do you care what the viewer or reader does with them? Does it turn you on to know that you stimulate? Do they ask you for permission bringing you into their pleasure? Does it humiliate you to be reduced to their masturbation fodder, you a merely specimen of the species?

Conversely, that picture, the light, the angles, something’s clicks. The words, the ideas, the movement of the story. Your body reacts. You save it for later. You know why. A private movement and moment. Do you value it less for it’s immediate function? Is it art or literature when you masturbate over it? Are they human or porn in that moment of pleasure? Do you read the words or stare intently at the picture, or use it just to get you going? Do you return to favourite pieces?

Sorry, folks. I know my header clip is beyond obvious but I adore this Divinyls song – excellent memories of dancing about to it at university with a dildo and a whole bunch of other girls for the visual pleasure of a single guy (long story) – and just couldn’t stop myself from including it here.

Before I start babbling, can I just say that this is a bloody awesome Wicked Wednesday prompt by @tigger_sub. It made me realise that in the entire two years of blogging here on Chintz that I’ve never done a post on masturbation, which is both extremely shameful (not the act of masturbation, the fact that I haven’t written anything about it) and incredibly ironic considering that of all the sexual acts I enjoy and partake in, it’s the one I engage in most frequently.

Before I get to the crux of Tigger’s prompt, a little background …

I stumbled upon this rather delicious form of sex at a relatively young age and quite by accident. I used to ride a lot as a child and although it’s something of a cliché, I invariably discovered that when I sat astride a pony and my bottom was connecting with the saddle in a certain way (generally at a walk) something bloody amazing happened:

I got this incredible feeling between my legs.

A feeling that, provided I maintained whatever friction and rhythm I had going on against the tack, invariably spread over my whole body before peaking and leaving me feeling unbelievably good. Cataclysmically good … although on occasion pursuing it almost made me fall sideways off my horse. Needless to say, it didn’t take me long to work out that I could recreate this very moreish sensation with my fingers, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I don’t recall specifically when masturbation and fantasy started to hold hands with one another but I can tell you that when I discovered eighties bonk-busters, just before hitting my early teens, that the two become irrevocably intertwined. And that to this day, the written word remains my masturbatory aid of choice.

Why?

Well, while I definitely find certain images arousing to look at, I get far (far) more mileage and satisfaction out of scenes that I am able to paint in my own mind through textual cues. I like to be able to imagine – to spin a situation in my head to make it suit my purpose, i.e. getting myself off.

So, what sorts of things, exactly, will cause my fingers to drift south? And do I return to the same masturbation fodder over and over again? In asking myself these questions, I am reminded of a different one asked of Molly Moore during a session at Eroticon 2013:

“When did you know you were submissive?”

Well, if you were to ask that same question of me (and I consider myself to be a pretty messy mix of bottom and sub), I’d say that my textual masturbation choices gave me some pretty damn strong cues as to my sexual proclivities very early on, even though I didn’t acknowledge them or understand them properly until much later. Indeed, to this day, it is very, very unusual for me to get myself off to something that doesn’t have an element of D/s in it. And I’d go so far as to say that my ‘go-to’ masturbation texts over the years outline pretty clearly my personal sexual trajectory …

Age 14: Defy the Eagle, Lynn Bartlett

As a young teen, this scene absolutely fascinated me. It still does. It’s incredibly tame but even though there’s no actual sex in it, the forced bondage element fairly shouts its erotic intent. These few words had my hand (and mind) very quickly occupied.

Jilana lowered herself onto the pile of furs and, while Caddaric towered over her, stretched out full length. He knelt beside the pallet, dropped the rope and then his hard hands bit into her shoulders. When Jilana gasped at his touch, Caddaric merely raised an eyebrow at her and flipped her onto her side so that she faced the tent wall. He released her shoulders and a moment later, Jilana felt the bite of the rope as he coiled it around her ankles. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her wrists bound by the same length of rope which tied her ankles. In the space of a few minutes, Jilana was trussed in a manner that left her immobile. Even as Caddaric rose, Jilana could feel the strain in her muscles and joints as she was arched backwards over the rope.
.
.
.
She had to strain in order to turn far enough over her shoulder to see him, and when she did he smiled mockingly. “Wait for me, Jilana.”

With those sarcastic words he was gone and Jilana was alone in the dark tent. Wait for me. Jilana laughed a trifle wildly. As if she could do anything else.

Age 15: Till We Meet Again – Judith Krantz

This one, I read over and over and over and over and over and over. In fact, I don’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times my teenage self got off to this particular interaction between Sabine de Koville and Bruno de Lancel. I had no idea that what I was reading at the time was a D/s scene. All I knew was that it appealed to me. A holy hell of a lot.

“Madame must stand absolutely still. Madame must do whatever I tell her and nothing else,” Bruno said harshly. “Does Madame understand?” She nodded gravely, feeling the hot, heavy congestion grow between her thighs as she looked at the boy’s suddenly fierce features.
.
.
.
“Madam must stand against the wall,” he muttered. Madame will not remove her shoes.” She complied, her back straight and her breasts proudly high. He stood over her, only inches away, his thumbs roughly weighing her heavy breasts while his thumbs and forefingers sought her nipples under the thin folds of silk. He found them and pinched them, knowingly and repeatedly, with stern fingers that came perilously close to causing pain.

Age 36: Kaylee’s Keeper (Masters of the Castle, Book 2)

Skipping ahead a fair few years, lest this become a post of excerpts, a book that I picked up about a year ago and have returned to over and over again. There are a number of scenes in Kaylee’s Keeper that really hit the mark for me, but I do so (so) love this one, where the heroine, Kaylee, is punished in front of an audience.

“Look how wet she is,” Alan announced, and soft laughter filled the room. He laughed too, even as he purred down at her, “What kind of naughty girl gets wet during her punishment?”

“My favourite kind,” Master Marshall drawled, winning another round of chuckling laughter from everyone. “Open your legs for him, pet, nice and wide. Give him your naughty little pussy and ask Master Alan to spank it for you.”
.
.
.
“I’m waiting, pet,” Master Marshall said. Is there something you want to say to Master Alan or do I need to put you across my knee first?”

She shivered even harder, but dutifully raised her chin and, horribly embarrassed, whispered, “Please spank m-me–”

“Spank what?”

“Please, sir.” She moaned, hiding her eyes behind her hand as if that could somehow shield her from this wanton debasement. “Please don’t make me say it.”

And even more recently? This edgeplay scene from Cherise Sinclair’s recent Edge of the Enforcer.

As to the question of selfies … Do I care that people might get off on the pictures that I take of myself? Feel ‘reduced’ in any way? Nope. If anything, it kind of gives me hope that people are embracing the idea of everyday men and women with everyday bodies being sexy and erotic and desirable. Because, as I’ve said before, that’s my ultimate objective when I photograph myself in various states of undress.

I could very easily go on about this topic for another few thousand words but I’ll haul myself back at this point before I bury you any more than I already have done in a grave of verbosity. A thought to end if I may, though:

“To masturbate is to imagine: physically.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

The post Wicked Wednesday: I touch myself appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Today, 3 July, marks the second official blogiversary of Behind the Chintz Curtain. I’ve actually managed to babble smutty stuff at you all for a full two years.

Wow.

I’m not really going to say much in this post. Just thank all the awesome people who’ve supported me thus far (fellow bloggers, authors, writers, reviewers, friends, family) give you a little visual glimpse back over the past year’s worth of photographs (my favourite images taken for Molly’s Sinful Sunday – c.f. the collage at the top of this post), and leave you with the next little snippet from a story beginning I posted for last week’s Wicked Wednesday. This was the tale the majority of you wanted continued. And, of course, your wish is my command.

Hope you enjoy.

Jane

xxx

LOT – PART TWO

*For those who missed Part One, you can find it here. Simply scroll down to Story Two.

Oh, Christ, but I don’t want to go up there. Can’t think of anything more humiliating. To be stared at by all those men and then sold like a cow at a farmers’ market. Despite the pressure it puts on my windpipe, I find myself planting my feet as my handler begins to move forwards, trying to delay the inevitable, but as soon as he feels the resistance he stops and turns back towards me, his grey eyes narrowing. “Now, now. None of that, girl.”

I expect him to haul me forwards, much as the other girl’s keeper did, but it appears I have completely misjudged the man in charge of me. Before I can blink, his arm is clamped around my torso, we’re chest-to-chest, and a heavy palm is landing on the flesh of my bare bottom. The are blows strong, designed to hurt and, pinned as I am to his torso, I cannot pull away, only yelp in pain each time his hand makes contact with my flesh. On and on the spanking goes, until the cheeks of my backside feel as if they’ve been scorched beneath a hard desert sun. When he finally stops, I am crying, breathing hard against his chest, trying to get my head around the hurt and emotions roiling through me. I concentrate on sucking in air through my nose, releasing it through my mouth, and notice, bizarrely, that the shirt I’m pressed against smells of faintly of laundry detergent.

Fresh, clean and grassy.

“Ready to behave?” he says as he releases me.

His voice is gentle – completely at odds with the physical punishment he has just met out – and I find myself looking at the ground and nodding furiously, unable to meet his eyes.

“Good.” He tugs lightly on the leash. “Let’s get you up there.”

I keep my gaze fixed on the wooden floor as we move forwards, me slightly behind him, refusing to look at the audience, trying to forget that they’re there. But they begin to murmur as we emerge from the wings of the stage and, once again, it becomes impossible to avert my eyes.

Faces. So many faces. They blur, the sea of men seemingly becoming one before me. My heart is beating so fast it aches.

“Watch the steps.”

The softly spoken command has my head swinging back to the man at my side; we’re at the very centre of the stage and he is waiting patiently for me to mount the auction dais. When I don’t move, he steps closer to me and drops his mouth to my ear. “If you don’t get up there, little girl, I’ll bend you over right here so that every man in this room can see just how wet that little pussy of yours is. And then I’ll spank your ass until it’s purple.”

I recoil, his words sending a volatile cocktail of shock and horror raging through my body. “You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper softly, face flaming. “And I’m not wet.”

His mouth hardens and I notice a glint in his eye.

“Did you just challenge me?”

What?! Oh, lord. “No!” I say frantically, reaching out to touch his arm with a placating hand. “I didn’t mean it like that!” I close my fingers around his forearm.

For a second he simply stares at me and I think he’s going to let it go. But then he looks away, opens his mouth to address the room, and I know I am done for.

“Gentlemen!” His voice carries across the rumble of voices swirling around the room. He waits for them to fall silent before turning and nodding to the man with the gavel. “Auctioneer.” The man inclines his head in response. “It appears that,” he looks down at the number written in permanent marker on my left breast, “Lot 14 doesn’t know her place.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“In fact, I’m not entirely sure she is fit for sale.”

I want to hide in shame and fear as sounds of disapproval swell out from the audience.

“First,” this as he holds up a single finger to the audience, “she refused to come out onto the stage when instructed.” A second finger. “Then, she refused to climb on the block.” A third finger. “And, finally, she challenged me and denied her little cunt was wet from the spanking I just gave her.”

More disgruntled sounds from the audience.

“So, tonight, if you are all in agreement, I would like to propose an amendment to proceedings.”

An expectant silence.

“That I be allowed to purchase Lot 14, free and clear, and in return give you the opportunity to observe the corrective lesson that I intend to give her.”

He can’t be serious. He can’t be. I close my eyes and try to ignore the excited whispering that floods the room at his words.

“Does anyone object?”

A chorus of ‘nos’ hit us as the sea of men give their approval and I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly as if doing so will make them go away.

“Excellent.” My keeper’s voice holds a definite note of satisfaction and I feel his warm fingers clamp around my wrist. “You’ve just been bought and paid for, little slut.” The sound of footsteps tapping a steady beat across the wooden stage have my eyes springing open of their own volition; another guard is making his way towards us, a pair of antiquated metal shackles in one hand, a long, thin cane in the other. “Now. Let’s see about getting my money’s worth.”

The post Two: Best Sinful Sundays … and a little bit of spanking appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Click on the banner below to see who else is taking part in this week’s Sinful Sunday.

The post Sinful Sunday: A little help appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

GAMES

Sex games. More specifically, sex board games. Have you played one? Would you like to play one?

Things have come a long way since spin-the-bottle and strip poker – although that’s not to say that those aren’t still great fun – and Lovehoney U.K., Lovehoney U.S. and Lovehoney Australia are all currently running ‘three for*’ promotions, which include a selection of sex-focussed board games for couples and groups. NB: there are other items in this offer as well, such as dildos and vibrators, so don’t just have to purchase games to take advantage of it.

Monogamy: A Hot Affair Game

“Perfect for a naughty night in or a boring Sunday afternoon, Monogamy is the game to spice things up between you and your partner, encouraging you to try new things together and reignite the passion you felt the first time you set eyes on each other.

With over 400 ideas at three levels of play, you can make this best-selling game as sweet or as sexy as you want.”

Buy links:

• Lovehoney U.K.
• Lovehoney U.S. 
• Lovehoney Australia

Tie & Tease Sex Game for Couples

“Using the die to work your way around the Tie & Tease board, travel through a range of bondage and S&M fantasies, including light spanking, blindfold play, bondage and more. With an hour’s worth of playing ahead of you, get ready for some serious stimulation!”

Buy links:

• Lovehoney U.K.
• Lovehoney U.S.
• Lovehoney Australia

Tease Naughty Board Game for Couples and Groups

“Combining a classic party game with sexy features and scenarios, Tease is an erotic board game for both devoted couples wanting to experiment and for swinging parties. Suitable for 2 – 6 players with a choice of 3 different experiences to explore.”

Buy links:

• Lovehoney U.K.
• Lovehoney U.S.
• Lovehoney Australia

*Please note that the ‘three for’ amount vary by currency and are listed on the various Lovehoney sites at the time of writing as follows:

• U.K. – ‘Three for £50.00’
• U.S.A. – ‘Three for $75.00’
• Australia – ‘Three for $75.00’

EBOOKS

Title: Her Mad Hatter
Author: Marie Hall.

“Alice is all grown up. Running the Mad Hatter’s Cupcakery and Tea Shoppe is a delicious job, until fate–and a fairy godmother with a weakness for bad boys–throws her a curveball. Now, Alice is the newest resident of Wonderland, where the Mad Hatter fuels her fantasies and thrills her body with his dark touch.

The Mad Hatter may have a voice and a body made for sex, but he takes no lovers. Ever. But a determined fairy godmother has forced Alice into Wonderland–and his arms. Now, as desire and madness converge, the Hatter must decide if he will fight the fairy godmother’s mating–or fight for Alice.

Long length Novella ~ Approx. 40k words. Additional pages are sneak peeks to future books!

This is not erotica, just a good old fashioned romance.”

This sounds thoroughly intriguing and has over seven hundred reviews (most of them positive). Best of all, it’s currently free, free, free. Clickety-click.

Buy links:

• Amazon U.S. – Her Mad Hatter
• Amazon U.K. – Her Mad Hatter 

LINGERIE

Bargains abound! Agent Provocateur and Coco de Mer are both having their seasonal sales. I love sexy lingerie but this is about the only time of the year I can afford to buy it from either of them. Some of the bigger ticket items, such as AP’s corsets, are still eye-wateringly expensive, but there are some excellent kicker and bra bargains to be had.

• Agent Provocateur Sale
• Coco de Mer Sale

Happy shopping.

Jane
xxx

The post Freebies and Discounts: Game On, Alice in Wonderland, and Hot Knickers appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: MAKY. OREL via Wikimedia Commons

There’s nothing quite like penning the first few lines of a new story. Realising a new character, allowing them to step out of your head and onto the page; setting a scene and creating a world for them to walk about in. In fact, I think I may have a slight addiction to beginnings because I’m particularly good at writing these as opposed to middles and ends! Looking in my Drafts folder, I’m greeted by a veritable wash of documents containing snippets of text – monuments to ideas that I absolutely had to get down before they disappeared into the black hole of lost thoughts and then, after typing those critical words, promptly did nothing with.

It’s not that I consciously abandon creative flashes, rather that I an idea strikes and nine times out of ten I’m working on something else that means I can’t give it my undivided attention. Inevitably, by the time I have the breathing room to explore it, the urgent creative outpouring I initially experienced has ebbed or I’ve forgotten that I had the idea in the first place. There have been quite a few occasions when I’ve gone to open a document up, seen a file I have no recollection of creating, opened it, and gone “Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I keep going with that?”

So, I need your help, my lovelies. Below, are snippets from three stories I started writing and failed to continue with. There is one that stands out more than the others to me but I thought it would be fun to see which introduction is most appealing to you.

Given the choice, which story should I continue to write? Which would you most like to read?

EXCERPT ONE: “CLEAN”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I shriek, spinning around as I do so. Almost slip on the wet, soapy tiles.

He’s standing right next to the glass door of the shower cubicle, completely naked, a grim look on his face.

Busted.

My face flames and I drop my guilty hands to my sides, the hot shower spray washing the last of the frothy suds from my belly and between my legs, sending them swirling down the drain.

There’s nothing I can say.

We both know that I’ve broken my promise.

I’d hardly say that I’m a neat freak. I’m not the sort of girl who folds up her clothes after wearing them, who makes her bed neatly every morning before skipping merrily off to work. No, more the kind who leaves the washing in the dryer for as long as possible rather than putting it away. Leaves flowers in vases until the blooms have long dried up, withered and crumbled into dust.

In fact, I’m not really tidy at all.

But when it comes to cleanliness? Well, you know that old mantra. It really is next to Godliness in my book. Especially when it comes to my body. I shower at least twice a day, every day – and always, always after sex.

The drip and trickle of rapidly cooling semen coating my pussy and legs?

The sticky smear of my own arousal?

The urge to wash both from me pounces within seconds of him pulling out.

I know it’s irrational. I do. And he hates that I’m so eager to wash the evidence of his possession off of me, his disappointment seeping into me like a cold, dismal damp. I think we both knew that my promise to try and accept the mess of our joinings was a hollow one but to have my lack of commitment to our agreement confirmed is worse than I imagined.

His gaze bores into mine.

 “Get out of the shower. Go and lie on the bed.”

EXCERPT TWO: “DOCTOR’S ORDERS” 

Your eyes are as wide as saucers; white moons eclipsed by little planets of deep green. “I … I’m sorry?”

Mortification perfumes your voice, makes it vibrate and shiver like smoke.

Oh, this is perfect.

You heard me. No question. But on this occasion I’m happy to repeat myself – not least because I want to see the look on your face when the words finally sink in.

“You’re going to be examined,” I say blandly, careful to mask my pleasure at your reaction.

“But …” Your eyes skitter across to the shiny metal table winking beneath the bright, hanging lights and then dart quickly away, as if the sight of it burns your retinas. Even as I watch, the skin over your collarbone turns a delicious shade of strawberry. “You know I don’t like being …” You trail off again, wavering from the path of speech.

I remain silent, delighting in your struggle to find the right words. To admit the truth.  And your fear. Bless. There really is nothing more beautiful, more intoxicating, than a sub who’s just realised she’s about to be eaten by the wolf. That he’s going to sink his teeth in.

“People will see me,” you finally blurt out, your gaze locked to the floor, seemingly absorbed in watching your left foot paint awkward patterns on the wooden floor.

“They’ll see your cunt, you mean.”

The blush climbs your neck and threatens to scorch your lovely, pale cheeks.

“I can’t do it,” you say, almost defiantly, although when you finally look up, your eyes silently plead with me for mercy. Mercy we both know I’m not going to show.

For a time I simply watch you, enjoy observing the war you’re waging with yourself play out across your face: your ingrained sense of modesty versus your need to submit. To me. I know what the outcome of the battle will be, of course – knew before the skirmish was even declared – but I have no doubt your humiliation will be far, far deeper if you agree to this without any form of coercion on my part. None of this “he gave me no choice” crap.

I want to fuck both your body and your head. Invade every recess of both and turn you inside out until you’re nothing but a ball of shame and need.

You’re going to hate me for it, without a doubt. But you’re going to adore me in equal measure.

It’s just the way it is.

EXCERPT THREE: “LOT”

The auctioneer’s gavel strikes like an axe against a neck.

“Sold, for five hundred pounds, to the gentleman in blue.” Polite applause. “Congratulations on your purchase, sir.”

Don’t look, I tell myself. Don’t look. But, inevitably, I find my eyes scanning the audience of smartly dressed men, trying to spot the buyer. It isn’t difficult; he’s tipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of his purchase, a smirk on his too perfect face.  Arrogant shit. I stare at him for a few moments but the sounds of a struggle pull my attention abruptly away.

It’s the red-headed woman he’s apparently just bought. She’s being led from the auction block, resisting like crazy, by a huge blonde man.

“Please. Not him. Please, not him!”

Her feet scrabble at the floor as she tries to pull backwards but her jailor pays her absolutely no attention, remains completely unperturbed. He just marches her relentlessly forwards until she stands, trembling, before the blue-shirted man who has paid for her.

The buyer doesn’t bother to get up, doesn’t touch her. Simply regards the naked woman in front of him with a detached expression. A faint smile plays about his lips, though, and it appears that he is pleased with his purchase.

A tug at my neck startles me and I jerk in fright before remembering the collar at my throat and the leash dangling from it like a thin, black snake. I turn and glare at the man holding the latter.

“Watch it,” I growl.

He chuckles slightly. “You’re next, darlin’.” Nods his head towards the stage and the auction block at its centre. 

The post Wicked Wednesday: Beginnings appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Click on the banner below to find out who else is joining in with this week’s Sinful Sunday.

The post Sinful Sunday: Shadow Game appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

I am a very average woman, unexceptional in almost every respect.

I’m not beautiful.

I’m not Frankenstein (well, maybe first thing in the morning).

I just am.

The other week, I saw a comment on fellow sex blogger’s post that literally made me do a double take.

Emma (the very same one who wrote the recent guest post on Femininity) posted a picture of herself on her site, Dirty Little Whispers, as part of Curvaceous Dee’s Scavenger Hunt meme and had her image criticised by a certain commenter. He expressed ‘concern’ over her body shape, the specifics of which I won’t go into (if you want find out more, you can click here), and basically implied that she needed to change herself to fit his idea of the perfect female.

Many of us profess to know that the bodies (and faces) we see in magazines, on television, in porn films, aren’t real. Yet we persist in using the images that bombard us on a daily basis as yardsticks to measure Janet and John on the street. Despite our awareness of the smoke and mirrors employed by commercial entities, we wilfully disconnect ourselves from reality, on the one hand saying ‘Oh, she’s definitely been airbrushed’ and on the other ‘I don’t measure up because I’m short a size zero waist and a set of double-D breasts’.

Some time back, a friend shared this image with me via social media:

It’s the cover of the 1994 edition of Sports Illustrated and features the so called Dream Team of Elle Macpherson, Kathy Ireland and Rachel Hunter. Twenty years ago, these women embodied the ‘ideal’ body type. They look beautiful (although the shot undoubtedly caters to another perceived notion of ‘the perfect woman’) – and yet I cannot recall the last time I saw those with their stature on the cover of a magazine. (Incidentally, the friend in question posted the image with a note saying ‘After looking at this, I’m going to let myself have that extra piece of bread’.)

In Emma’s particular case, it was wonderful to see how many people came out in support of her, both on and off her blog, and attempted to educate the commenter in question on his perceptions of the female body and the inappropriateness of his words (it never ceases to amaze me how the – relative – anonymity of the Internet makes people think that they can abandon all sense of social nicety and basic manners), although it’s anyone’s guess as to how much of their words of wisdom were actually absorbed.

I am a size zero. I weigh forty-seven kilos (forty-five if I’m stressed). If you’re measuring me by the current commercial ideal of the perfect size, I tick the box. The realities of being naturally small like this, though? Trying to find a bra small enough to fit me is an uphill struggle (I’m a 30 AA), every doctor’s graph I’ve ever seen tells me I am underweight for my height (although if I actually take my clothes off, I don’t think I look like a skeleton) and I’m constantly being asked by people whether I eat anything (yes, I eat and eat well) or if I’m anorexic (I’m not).

The one that annoys me the most, though? People I’ve known for all of five minutes calling me  a ‘skinny b*tch’. (Oh, but it’s usually said in a jokey way, so that makes it ‘okay’.)

I’d also like to point out to everyone out there (Yes, I’m looking at YOU, Emma’s commenter) even at this size – and I walk every day with my dog and am reasonably fit – my thighs touch and I have a bit cellulite on my butt. I am a female and no matter what weight we are, that’s how we store our reserves.

I am never going to look like Rachel Hunter, or Kathy Ireland or Elle Macpherson. But I absolutely believe that my body and those of all other shapes and sizes can be sexy and powerful and erotic.

And that right there is why I photograph myself.

My figure will not be to everyone’s taste. Don’t like it? That’s totally okay. Look away and move on. But it’s real and it’s mine and for every person who sees its minuses there will be someone else who sees its pluses.

This last photograph (from the same series as the Tramp image I recently posted to Sinful Sunday and Dee’s Scavenger Hunt) is a tribute to the very lovely Emma (and Bawdy Bloke, who posted a similar one when he came out in support of her a few weeks back).

Emma, you’re gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

#RealBodiesAreSexy

The post #RealBodiesAreSexy appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Photo courtesy of Frisky in the 916

Welcome to Elust #59 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #60? Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Considering Cocks
I Love Interrogation, or Diabolical Genius
Yes all Women but Not All Men Rant

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I Kissed A Girl (& Her Man) And I Liked It

10 Things No One Warns You About Nonmonogamy

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Trigger Warnings from a Girl with PTSD
To Cheat or Not To Cheat
Why Trigger Warnings Are Important
On women in the world
Pillow Talk Secrets — We Have Lift Off!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Boundaries
Daddy doesn’t want to have sex with a virgin
Female Masturbation…Healthy, Not Sinful.
Partner Play – Dealing with Dildophobia
Tired Of Being Alone Some Relationship Advice
On Hang Ups
How to (almost) pick up women
Sex Smell

Erotic Fiction

Dark Fantasy
Exhibit ‘O’, Pt. 1
Her cock vs his cock
The Leopard Girl
Excerpt Two from “Legacy of Desire and Blood”
The Bachelor’s Prayer
Behind the bar

Writing About Writing

I’m Sheri and I Have a Shitty Author Persona

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Navigating The Waters of BDSM
Kink’s transgressions: breaking the rules
Edges, Limits and Boundaries
Feminist Beliefs vs Bedroom Preferences—help!
No Stupid (Kink) Questions: Identification
CollarMe – Return to Sender

Poetry

Facebook Fixation – a Lusty Limerick

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Pain From Long Ago
I Just Need to Fuck You!
Meet the Amazon
When I Am Laid in Earth
Undressing
Twice
The Night Club

Events

Yes, the G-Spot is Real

The post e[Lust] #59 appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Next month, on 3 July, it will be my second blogiversary. Flake that I am, I didn’t actually do anything to commemorate the first year of Behind the Chintz Curtain – mainly because I was preparing to move countries – but this year, I really do hope to mark the occasion in some way. With the two-year line looming, though, I thought it was a good time to take a look at the blog and how it’s evolved.

Scrolling through the various posts published over the past twenty-three months, it’s amazing to see how much Chintz has changed in content and emphasis. In the beginning, there was a much stronger focus on book and sex toy reviews but, as time has passed, I’ve found that I’ve taken things in a rather different direction and posted more and more commentary articles and more and more photographs. I like to babble much more than I thought I did – about censorship and portrayals of women’s wants and needs by large corporations, apparently! – and have discovered, thanks to Molly’s Sinful Sunday meme, just how curiously addictive photographing yourself in various states of undress can be. I never would have imagined that I’d find such freedom through self-portraiture (I’m one of those people who hated having their picture taken) but in this age of media-perfect bodies I feel its becoming more and more important to get images of real ones, like mine, out there.

What do I hope to do more of going forwards? Writing. Both long-form and short. I have actually been writing erotic fiction for various submission calls outside of my blog (there are some stories that I’m really pleased with waiting in the wings that will, fingers crossed, find a booky home before too long) and want to continue with that, but I’m also keen to get some more Five-minute Erotica pieces out there, too.

As for The Garden of Earthly Delights? Well, as some of you have already noticed – Hi Connie! – the serial is no longer on the site. I finally finished the story (huge 60,000 word achievement, the longest tale I’ve ever written) but, unfortunately, I’m not happy with how it turned out (probably because I wrote it over such a protracted period) and I know that I can pen a better, more cohesive story. The more I write, the more I realise that I’m better when I give myself permission to really let go. To give all those ideas in my head, no matter how odd or kinky they might seem at first glance, room to breathe and see how they work on paper. That said, if you were reading Garden and really want to find out how it ends, please email me via the contact page. If there’s enough interest, I’ll mark off some time to finish editing it and create an ePub for those who want it in its entirety.

So where to from here? More articles, more photographs, more erotic stories. I’m still going to review toys and books that interest me but beyond that? Well, that’s the joy of blogging. Whichever way the wind blows the curtains.

Oh, and I’m on a boat for the next seven days so things will be a little quiet around here. Feel free to listen to Mr Young in my absence.

See you all soon.

Jane xxx

The Times They Are A-Changin’

Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who
That it’s namin’
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside
And it is ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin’
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’.

- Bob Dylan

The post The Times They Are a-Changin’ appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.