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.
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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.
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“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.”
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“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.

The weekend before last, I went to a fete in a small village not far from where I live. It was a typically English affair; loads of families with dogs, stalls groaning with plants, tables laden with household bric-a-brac (mismatched teacups, weird porcelain figures and squat glassware), cottage industry craftsmen and women selling handmade jewellery, soaps and cheeses. I had a great time wandering about chatting to people I knew, eating ice cream and watching the various entertainers perform, including a rather fabulous fire juggler. But the best thing about that fete for me? The attraction that held me for absolutely ages? The stand filled with used books.

Secondhand bookshops and stalls, to me, are the most seductive of creatures. I spot one and it’s a pretty safe bet that you’ll not get a coherent sentence or any sort of conversation out of me until I’ve picked through every rack, box and shelf at least twice – and then a third time to make sure I’ve not missed out on something marvellous that’s been hiding in plain sight. Needless to say, I walked away from that fete with a bagful of paper treasures and, of all things, ‘browsing sunburn’. (Yep, the great golden orb was actually out that day. Virtually unheard of in Britain because if there’s one thing you can count on in this country, it’s that any outdoor event you host or attend will be drizzled, rained and poured upon.)

What did I buy? A load of children’s books, including a vintage copy of Stig of the Dump, and a very tatty but lovely interpretation of Jack and the Beanstalk. The pre-loved gem that pleased me most, though? A dog-eared copy of Judith Krantz’s Till We Meet Again.

What?! I hear you say. Eighties bonk-buster trash? Jane! How could you?

Oh, dear readers, with ease. With ease. You see Till We Meet Again was a landmark book for me. A tome that marked a milestone on this wonderful journey through books and words that I’ve been on – and will be on – for the rest of my life. Seeing it sitting there at that fete reminded me how much it meant to my fifteen-year-old self and my decision to part with the princely sum of thirty pence and buy it was a no-brainer. I had a great time that evening, perusing the text and re-reading certain scenes that I remembered standing out to me over twenty years ago. And, interestingly, those same scenes appealed to me as much, in my mid-thirties, as they did way back when. Which got me thinking:

What would my reading life look like if I mapped it out?

In other words, which books have had the most influence on me at different stages of my life? Are there any discernable patterns and themes that come through when I look back at the titles I’ve got a soft spot for? Are there certain books that I chose as a child that alluded to the stories and genres I now enjoy most as an adult or (more scarily) certain aspects of my mature personality? I have to say, my literary imprint is surprising (and revealing), to say the least.

Behold, Jane’s Life in Books, ages four through twenty …

The Tale of Peter Rabbit – Beatrix Potter
Age read: 4
This is one of the first books I can remember reading all by myself. I loved Beatrix’s illustrations but also the element of danger; would Mr McGregor catch Peter and turn him into rabbit pie?

Where the Wild Things Are – Maurice Sendak
Age read: 4
This should have scared the cr*p out of me but, for whatever reason, it didn’t and I adored it. Naughty Max and all those terrible beasts who wanted to eat him? Deliciously dark and inexplicably appealing.

The Blue Fairy Book – Andrew Lang
Age read: 6
This book sat on a shelf at my grandparents’ house and I used to pull it out every time I visited them. It had a blue cloth cover and was filled with deliciously dark fairy stories that I just couldn’t seem to get enough of. The one that stood out, though? Blue Beard. That awful moment when his new wife disobeys him and she discovers what’s behind the locked door …

Black Beauty – Anna Sewell
Age read: 7
I was horse-mad and this book totally fed my obsession with ponies. However, I think the other reason that Black Beauty appealed was that the emotions expressed in it were so raw and honest. Sewell didn’t shy away from the difficult stuff – cruelty, sickness and death were all strong themes. And I liked that. Liked that the story had the power to make me both smile and cry.

The Halfmen of O – Maurice Gee
Age read: 9
The Halfmen of O? Maurice who? If you’re a Kiwi (or an ex-pat Kiwi like me), I’d be willing to place money on you having read this. Halfmen was my first ‘true’ experience with the fantasy genre and the captor/captive plot line: Susan Ferris, the female protagonist, is dragged into a cave by an old tramp and transported to another world, O, where she is held captive by a brutal race known as the Half-Men. This book, the first in a trilogy, is about her cousin Nick’s attempts to save her and bring her home.

The Valley of Horses – Jean M. Auel
Age read: 11
This one belonged to a friend of mine, Julie, who was as much of a bookworm as I was. We were at the age where sex was a common topic of conversation and she’d promised me that this had some decent shagging in it. I remember ripping through its not inconsiderable number of pages in a matter of days but, interestingly, I found that the sex scenes in it appealed less to me than the hardships suffered by the characters. Reading this made me realise how much I liked plots that featured life or death situations, man versus the elements.

A Town Like Alice – Neville Shute
Age read: 11
My mum bought me this from our local secondhand bookshop. It had a red leather cover and a built-in bookmark made of gold ribbon. She saw it on the shelf and said ‘You’ll like this’. Man was she right.

World War II. Jean Paget, a British expat, is taken prisoner by the Japanese. Unable to decide what to do with her and the other women and children in their possession, the invading forces decide to march them through the Malayan jungle, supposedly to a suitable camp. The weak die, the strong keep going. And in the middle of all this an Australian POW, Joe, takes a shine to Jean and tries to feed her and her companions – with disastrous results. Brutal, romantic … I wanted to move to a farm in the outback after reading it.

Defy the Eagle – Lynn Bartlett
Age read: 14
Defy has a slave/master storyline of epic proportions; Jilana, a Roman noblewoman, is captured by a barbaric Celt, Cadaric, and forced to serve him as he and his countrymen wage war against the Empire. Shackles, human sacrifice, loads of bloodshed. I must have re-read the scene in which Jilana is tied to the back of Cadaric’s wagon about a billion times; that fact that she was forced to depend on him for everything, despite her initial hatred of him, only added to the appeal.

*A full review of Defy the Eagle can be found here.

The Wild Hunt – Elizabeth Chadwick
Age read: 15
Bought in the bargain bin at my local bookstore. My friend S and I went halves and we took turns reading it. The plot? An arranged marriage in which fifteen-year-old Judith, who is terrified of men, is forced to wed Norman nobleman, Guyon FitzMiles. Feuding, fickle kings, loads of sword fights and, of course, sexual discovery. I have continued to buy Elizabeth Chadwick’s books over the years based on the strength of this one. Her attention to historical detail is second to none.

Till We Meet Again – Judith Krantz
Age read: 15
Borrowed from the library. Rediscovered at the fete. The scene I read over and over again as a teenager? The one in which Bruno has sex with Sabine de Koville. At fifteen, I didn’t know or understand why this particular encounter appealed to me so much but in retrospect it’s pretty damn obvious. The encounter is a D/s one. It’s not named as such, doesn’t feature any ‘equipment’ but the power-exchange dynamic is crystal clear. And hellishly hot.

The Flame and the Flower – Kathleen Woodiwiss
Age read: 16
Found in my grandmother’s spare room! Hideously OTT cover, this book is often credited with founding the romance genre. So un-PC it’s not funny (yep, it’s from the hideous ‘rape plot’ era) but shamefully readable. Not least because it has (you guessed it) an element of captor/captive to it. (Are you beginning to see a trend in my reading habits?)

Delta of Venus – Anaïs Nin
Age read: 16 (I think)
Lightbulb moment! My first encounter with ‘pure’ erotica and the point at which I realised how powerful and beautiful the genre could be. This book helped me to understand the importance of the brain when it comes to sex and sexuality. That what turns us on can often be unexpected and unusual.

Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
Age read: 16
Tried reading this at age ten. Hated it. Then revisited it in my teens and fell for the clever, witty writing. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read this book over the years; it speaks to the romantic in me and, for that reason, never loses its appeal.

The Bone People – Keri Hulme
Age read: 17
One of my all time favourite books. I tried to read it at age thirteen and wasn’t ready – gave up after three chapters. Age seventeen? I devoured it. The Bone People earned me a scholarship grade in my final year exams (it was the title I chose for my fiction essay) and I went on to study it at university, too. Sad, beautiful, and the the way Hulme plays with language is exquisite.

So there you have it, the landmark books of my youth, part one. Is it what you expected? Completely different? Can you see echoes of Chintz in my choices? And I’m curious; what does your reading life look like? Which books appear on your timeline? Can you see your current self in the titles you have selected the way I can?

Part two later this week …

The post My Life in Books (Part One) appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.