Gael has commented on many posts of mine, so I think it is time she be officially welcomed into Racer X’s harem of blogger girls. Yes, my lovely bloggers girls, those secretly dirty creatures who enjoy reading my racy writings, who like to confess their hidden desires and darker secrets, who love to fuck and fuck a lot, but perhaps are a bit ambivalent about the societal scorn they may receive if they were to be too open about their desires. So they come here, read and comment upon my posts, and realize that there is a place where they are more than welcome, without scorn or judgment. They can be fully sexual beings in all freedom. We are all sex addicts here. And we love it.
Gael fits into this nicely. She has more than deserved her own special post, the official welcome into my harem of lovely, sexually liberated women. She, like many girls, understands that to be taken by a dominate male is one of the deepest desires of her sex. She also understands the compromises she must make in order to be impregnated by alpha sperm. She is married and she has stated her that her husband has fathered other children from other women; and yet that does not deter her from accepting his natural dominance. As a matter of fact, like most women, this turns her on. In the world of the feminine mind, there is always the superficial denial of what their vagina’s are telling them, namely, to be filled with the best possible specimen of manhood, and this of course leads to the eternal conflict that most women have between finding a man who is a provider, who will obsequiously follow her demands, and a man who is a creator, the independent sort who is driven by conquest, whether social or sexual, and not the conformity required of family life, which is essentially a feminine institution designed for the most part to neuter most males. The woman wants the man who will stick around to help raise the children, and this of course is by necessity required for a healthy society; but she deeply desires the man who will also give her the best possible, strongest and healthiest children. It is very rare that the two are the same. The men who produce the strongest, most audacious offspring, the ones who ultimately drive and rule society, tend themselves to be unruly and ultimately unable to be domesticated. This, as I have said before, is the essence of all sexuality: all women desire alpha sperm. And the lovely Gael is such a woman.
And how I would love to fuck Gael. I can only imagine how a woman such as herself would respond to a lover as skilled and proficient as Racer X. I am up front with all my women about my desires, my needs for freedom and independence, my abhorrence to the shackles of domesticated life; and when women find this out, they tend to find this refreshing, since many of them simply want to be fucked and fucked well by a man who knows how to fuck. Now, Gael may have a husband, but she also, like many women, even those already in thralls of an alpha man, desires a little variety. Perhaps Gael is simply curious, perhaps she merely wants to sample different alpha cock? Or perhaps she is becoming a little bored in her marriage? Whatever the reason, one of my great pleasures in life is pleasuring women who desire to be pleasured without the chains of commitment. But this takes a special kind of man, the kind who can fuck a woman well, yet still feel something for her, even love, without wanting to possess her or be possessed by her. What I have found in my lifetime is that this is another of those secrets of life, the strange and seemingly contradictory desires of the human heart and body that many posses.
But to fuck Gael, yes, to fuck Gael. This would be a great pleasure. I would love to offer her the opportunity to enjoy a different alpha penis. In my imagination, perhaps Gael and I have known each other for a while. Perhaps we work together. Perhaps we have both for quite a while now felt the draw and pull of sexual desire for each other. Perhaps she is hesitant at first. After all, she is married. But Racer X will persuade her to explore the darker sides of life.
Yes, perhaps we would be alone somewhere, perhaps an office after work, alone and free from interruption, and she would be wearing a nice dress. I can imagine taking her, turning her around, bending her over a desk, and hiking up her dress. Then her panties (lacy and pretty of course) would be ripped off. Once she was in the right position, and as I kissed the back of her neck and massaged her breasts with one hand, she would feel the caress of my fingers on her warm and ever moistening vagina, touching and exploring and entering, and I can imagine the feeling of her wetness quickly covering my hand. Perhaps she might resist, touched by the momentary guilt and shame of straying from her husband. “Don’t worry,” I would tell her, “no one needs to know this secret except us. I know you desire some variety and I am here to provide you with this service. You can count on my confidentiality.” And as she feels the heat building between her thighs, stroked by my fingers, her feelings of guilt would slowly subside, and then vanish into the cloudy pleasures of illicit sex. She begins to move her hips around, as she desires to feel me inside her, but I will make her wait, and I will increase her pleasure in a torturous way. At first she thought the feel of my fingers on her hot vagina was delightful, then, when she felt my mouth and tongue slowly and deliciously kissing her, up the back of her thighs, lingering and patient, up and upwards until I finally reach her treasured secrets, again, her now soaked pussy, when she felt my mouth and tongue delighting in her womanhood she would gasp and shudder with excitement, feeling an intense pleasure she had never felt before. “Oh god yes,” she moans as I lick her. She pushes herself into my face as I satiate myself with her warm, tangy juices. I love the feel of them all over my lips and mouth and chin, and I delight in covering my face with all her sexiness. And not content with this I continue kissing her, upwards, exploring and tasting, until finally I bury my face in her ass, and lick her tiny little asshole. She gasps and even screams at this, but she loves the forbidden pleasures, and she loves it even more when I gently insert a finger in her ass, and finger fuck her ass and pussy at the same time. When I then find her clitoris, and run my tongue all around its swollen head, all the while with one finger in her pussy and another in her ass, she screams with delight, and soon I can feel her buck and shudder with orgasmic pleasure…
And then it is time. She is breathing heavily, and without warning I stand up and slowly rub the tip of my now hard penis around the lips of her exceedingly excited vagina, and as I do so she pushes back while I push forward and without hesitation enter her from behind. “Oh god, you feel so huge,” she moans as I fill her up, completely, and fully and without restraint. Yes, my cock deep in her, I begin to thrust, and she pushes back, and I thrust some more, and we fuck like this for a good long time, Gael bent over the table and me behind her, slowly at first but then harder and faster and faster, the room filled with the heavy sounds of fucking, with the sounds of my hands slapping her ass and spanking her and pulling her hair and grabbing her hips and fucking her as hard as I can, fucking over and over and over again and pounding and pounding her, until finally after such a good long, sweaty fuck I can feel my balls begin to explode, and I do explode, so turned on by Gael’s sexual intensity and hotness, her delightful beauty, and I fill that sweet vagina of hers with a fresh load of hot alpha sperm, and she loves the sensation of being filled with the sperm of a strong man other than her husbands. Having emptied my balls into her pussy, I bend over her sweat covered body, her legs trembling with wonderful fatigue, her torso undulating with the heavy panting of a woman who has been fucked and fucked hard and fucked thoroughly, and push aside her hair and gently kiss the back of her neck and her soft lips.
Still, as a married woman, once she realizes what she has now done, she can not help but feel guilty and ashamed. Her mind is torn between the pleasures of illicit sex and her commitment to her husband. And yet, despite all this, despite the confusion of this moment, the delicious pleasures felt deep within her vagina, the sensation of being taken by yet another man of alpha status, a man who loves to fuck as many women as possible, to pleasure them and give them the upmost pleasure freed from the constraints of societal rules and expectations, despite her ambiguous feelings, Gael also loves the feeling of a good hard fuck by a man who knows how to fuck, and who does not expect anything in return except the sweet memories she may keep hidden in her heart of our secret rendezvous.
And so she returns to her husband, a happier and more satisfied woman, and Racer X has once again helped another marriage and relationship survive and even thrive…
November always has been one of my favorite months. It has a nice balance. Not too cold and not too hot, with the holiday seasons quickly approaching, and the duress of the dread winter still a ways off, November is a time for peace, happiness and a sallow yet still colorful beauty. I always enjoy the stark contrasts between the bright, clear blue skies and the last vestiges of a polychromatic foliage. It is a great time of the year.
And a little bit of loveliness can always enhance a nice fall day…
This is one of my favorite little poems from one of my favorite poets, the great John Milton (1608-1674). Second only to Shakespeare in his esteem as an English poet, and best known for his Christian epic Paradise Lost, Milton was a strange, but very contemporary combination of religious, classical and sensuous thought. Now, most people do not equate Milton with “sensuousness”, yet I have always found his poetry to be some of that most luxuriantly beautiful in the English language. I sense, beneath the religious puritanism of his outward temper, lurked a man of deep passions and desire. His love of beauty was well attested throughout his poetry.
This poem is a beautiful poem, not erotic, but ful of love. It is about his late wife. For those who have lost a loved one, the pain and terror of loss can be truly tortuous. Dreams are particularly painful. In this poem, Milton expresses well the sudden shock and pain that occurs when we dream of lost loved one, only to wake to realize that it was only a dream, a fleeting vision of nothingness but lost hopes and memories.
But it speaks more than anything else of love, and power of love in our lives, even for those who are no longer part of our lives, but still live on in our hearts and minds and souls. Through our belief in God and the eternal spiritual world we hope that we will someday be reunited with them.
METHOUGHT I saw my late espousèd Saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
Rescu’d from death by force though pale and faint.
Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
Purification in the old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was vail’d, yet to my fancied sight,
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin’d
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O as to embrace me she enclin’d
I wak’d, she fled, and day brought back my night.
As we live in our modern, technologically sophisticated world, it is important to remember the great men who came before us, who paved the way for our civilization, Western civilization, and who had the courage, the balls, to explore places on this earth that had up until relatively recently never been explored. Richard Burton (1821-1890) was on of those men. He is truly a fascinating figure, a representative of the more unknown sides of mid nineteenth century Victorian England, the period at which the British Empire was at its zenith, an Empire which was destined to vanish into the annals of history, as all other empires do.
His great fame is as the man who, with John Hanning Speke, searched for and discovered the source of the Nile River, something which had been a complete but alluring mystery for all generations of scholars and explorers up until that time.
Burton may be considered perhaps the last Renaissance man. To quote Wikepedia, he was a “geographer, explorer, translator, writer, soldier, orientalist, cartographer, ethnologist, spy, linguist, poet, fencer, Egyptologist and diplomat.” Truly he was the combination of action and intellect, ambition and courage, idealism and deep learning. Not only did he explore different and dangerous parts of the world, in Asia, Africa and the Americas, but he also explored the various, forbidden parts of nineteenth century sexuality. One of his accomplishments was to translate the Kama Sutra, the Indian text of sexuality, an act which won him much reprobation from the morally upright classes of British society.
He knew at 29 languages, excluding his knowledge of various dialects of those same languages. He famously translated the 1001 Arabian Nights from the Arabic. He explored Islamic culture, disguising himself as a pious pilgrim so he could participate in the religious ceremonies at Mecca.
His accomplishments, included the physical wounds he suffered in his many travels, not only from hostile natives but also from various diseases, are too immense to really expound upon in a blog post. What I can emphasize here, on a blog such as this, is Burton’s interest in human sexuality. As mentioned above, he translated the Kama Sutra. He also translated The Perfumed Garden, an Arabic erotic text of the twelfth century which deals with different aspects of sexuality. His interest in sexuality and erotic literature was scandalous for his time. In his travel books he often writes about the sexual practices of the indigenous peoples he encountered, and it is widely speculated that he achieved such knowledge from his own experiences. .
Burton often faced death in many of his adventures. On one of his early explorations of Africa, he and his crew were attacked by the local natives who killed many of his men, and Burton himself was impaled in the face by a javelin, which entered his left cheek and exited the right. He had a lifelong scars from this. On another trip to Africa he suffered from calves so swollen his only recourse to save his life was to cut his legs in order to let the blood out, something which he did himself, without any aid. Later in life, as a diplomat in Syria, after he had antagonized the Muslim governor of Syria, he was set upon by hundreds of armed horsemen and camel riders trying to kill him. He escaped and later wrote, “I have never been so flattered in my life than to think it would take three hundred men to kill me.”
He also enjoyed simply shocking the staid society of his time. Once, to a priest who was inquiring on whether the more scandalous rumors about him were true, he replied, “Sir, I’m proud to say I have committed every sin in the Decalogue.”
Burton is a good example of how in our own world where masculinity, often under siege from the nefarious, feminist driven world of PC madness as well as grey societal conformity, is little more than a caricature. There is a profound difference between the type of man Burton was and represented and most of the men of today’s world. He was learned. He was cultured. In today’s world, unfortunately, masculinity is too often associated merely with popular sports, such as football, and the idea of learning or culture is considered some type of weakness. Yet our football worshiping Bubbas clad in their sleeveless, Wal-Mart manufactured shirts are mere imposters of masculinity when compared to men like Burton.
The world that produced men like Burton is different from our own. It is worth remembering that were was a time, and that time was not long ago, when being educated, being cultured and civilized was all part of the being a man. Great men of men of the past, such as Julius Caesar, were often both men of action and men of letters. Burton wrote many works, and he wrote and appreciated poetry. I have written posts here on such men who loved poetry, such as General George Patton. And yet what chest thumping, hyper-ventilating, steroid saturated man of today’s world ever reads or even knows anything about poetry. He may spend his time following sports, playing video games, or watching the latest wars on television, but he is basically a creature of a world and society that devalues the ancient traditions and pursuits that men once mastered. (And given the hideous state of modern art, fiction and poetry, with all its ugliness and obscurity, I don’t blame anyone for not being interested.)
Now it is true that men like Burton are and were rare, even in his own time. He was the ultimate example of something that few could achieve. But he did represent a type of man, a type that now seems to have vanished. Many men were like Burton, if not fully, at least in degrees. Thee great men of the past did love art, learning, poetry and many other intellectual, civilized pursuits. They were also men of action. Such synthesis of different human potentials was expected of the great leaders. In the early days of the twenty first century we have lost such a culture and such expectations at our peril.
I love a girl who loves to fuck, who loves to explore and fully enjoy all the different pleasures of eroticism. So many girls are uptight and prudish, so when you come across a girl who loves fucking, and who loves to be fucked over and over again, day after day, night after night, you can count yourself lucky.
Give me an unihibited, slutty girl any day. I love a girl who loves to fuck as much as I do. Meeting such girls, fucking them, is one of the great delights of life.
As much I enjoy a girl’s ass, I have to say that I find the present fashion craze for booty shorts a bit off-putting. Wearing shorts so short that your ass cheeks are literally hanging out from the bottom is really not all that attractive. It is more trashy looking than anything else. A woman’s backside can be much more impressively enhanced through decent clothing than this latest trend.
Cleavage, on the other hand, is one of the most ancient and traditional methods of feminine allure. It is universal. It always works. I have yet to be at least a little bit enticed by a nice display of cleavage. It rarely looks trashy. Breasts are always those wonderful things that men enjoy, if nothing more than at least visually.
So I say that powers that be in fashion should focus their talents more on beautiful displays of cleavage, rather than the liberation of endless ass cheeks.
As this photo shows, this, with our high carbohydrate, sugar saturated diet, is most likely where we are heading.
Then again, since famine has always been a threat to all societies until recently, and may very well again be someday. I suppose this is not a completely bad thing. We enjoy the luxuries of over abundance. What we need is a little more balance though.
And pork is delicious.
Fall is a great time of the year. I am not sure which I prefer, spring or fall, but regardless, there is a special quality to fall. The weather is cooler, the colors are brilliant, the atmosphere more lucid and stunning. Gone are the hot and heavy days of summer, and yet there is still enough light left during the day, and warmth in the air to make the time pleasant. October is a month particularly rich in warmth and colors. It begins with the late summer still lingering, (Indian Summer, as we used to call it), and ends with the strange festivities of Halloween. We are still quite a ways from that ritual, but not too early enough to appreciate the dark and orangey hues with which it tends to be associated. Fall in general, and October in particular, seem to emanate with such light.
Then soon enough the first frost will come and the signs of the impending winter, but until those darker days arrive we can still appreciate some of the beauty that the mild and gentle October brings.
These are a couple of nice photos for a quiet Saturday. I do not know enough about photography to know what is going on here, as far as the technique or what it is called, but I like the effect of these photos. The incandescent atmosphere seems to enhance her natural beauty in a way that most images suffused with various shades and colors do not. There is a sharp brilliance, not soft and nebulous, as I tend to display in most of the photos here, but something crystalline, like a sharp and beautiful diamond.
Then again, the artistic depiction of beauty is like a diamond or some other precious jewel; we are often absorbed by the pellucid vision that is set before our eyes, marveling that in a world which often contains much darkness and ugliness, God can grant us such pellucid visions of his own loving creation.
And such things can, in turn, give us hope for the future.