Japanese Idol Mahiro Aine

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Japanese Idol Momoka Sawada

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Have you seen our new Femininity magazine?

Frauen, die keinen Slip unter ihrem Rock tragen machen mich scharf!

I never feared Jeff in the way he wanted me to.  I did often feel uncomfortable in his presence and frustrated with the interaction, but my only fear was being identified by others as his girlfriend.  Well, what else could I have been?  No, the alternatives weren’t pleasant— an escort or even a daughter tolerating the desire of her father.  Still, I didn’t want others to assume complete willingness on my part.

Our interaction began one early afternoon in February during my third year in college, when he responded to a profile I had posted online, in which I’d mentioned that I went by “o” to friends (to give voice to the last letter of my last name which the college had hacked off to create my email address), but that I did not identify with the character O in Story of O, which I found too dull to even finish.  The man who would be Jeff inquired by IM if I’d seen the film based on the book, and I asked why, was it better?  No, not in particular, but it was worth watching.  Did the idea of the book turn me on?  He reassured me he had experience.  I may have explained then that, no, I didn’t have experience with S&M, though I had been looking for some time for a guy to hit me, but the people I’d dated thus far had been too disturbed by my request.  He said it didn’t disturb him; he wanted to know where I wanted to be hit.  My legs certainly and my back and I supposed my arms and chest weren’t off-limits.  I often got angry with my legs, I explained, and hit them out of frustration, but I had reduced sensation and it made me feel for a change.  He could make me feel, he said.  Theoretically, perhaps, but the man lived in California according to his profile.  Had I ever used a riding crop or a cat-o’-nine tails?  Had he?  How did I feel about being slapped or handcuffed?  I said I was open to anything.

He gave me his phone number and I called a minute later knowing, if I didn’t call then, I would never bother.  I could tell he hadn’t expected it because, instead of being at his BDSM-best, sounding confident and in control, he was out of breath and his voice revealed itself as high and nasal.  No, he wasn’t at all as threatening as he’d wished to seem.  I imagined him rooting his kids on from the side of a baseball field.

“I’m the girl from the IMs.”

He adjusted his voice.  “Oh, hello, baby girl.”

“Hello.”

“Say ‘hello, daddy.’”

“You know, I’ve never called my father anything but dad.”

He chuckled, but said, “Behave, baby girl.”

“Sorry.”

“‘Sorry, daddy.’”

“Sorry . . . Sorry, daddy.”  I winced, closing my ears to the last syllable I spoke.

But by the end of our conversation an hour later, I was decidedly under his control.  I don’t think he was ever conscious I didn’t take him seriously at first so it’s unlikely he knew when and how I reconsidered his effect on me.  Or perhaps he was more strategic out than I had thought.  But whether or not he meant to find my Achilles heel, I do know that my mistake was in letting him present me with enough imagined scenarios until I became aware of my own vulnerability.

“You know what I want, baby girl?  I want you to wear a short skirt without your panties and sit on my lap in the subway and let me enter you.”

“But that’s unhygienic.”

“You’ll do what I tell you to do, baby girl.”

“But I don’t wear short skirts.”

“But I like girls in short skirts.”

“But it’s not me.”

“I think we can find a skirt you’d like to wear that’s short enough.”

“Isn’t it inconsiderate to have sex in a public place?”

“We can fuck when the subway is empty, I promise, baby girl.”

“Hmm, okay.’

“Thank you, baby girl.”

Though I was honest about my not wearing short skirts (my aesthetic sense told me to balance my skimpy tops with knee-length skirts), what I couldn’t say was what was going through my mind, that I was terrified of going outside without underwear.  No, it was more than that: I needed more than underwear.  I would surely have a panic attack if I didn’t feel a pad held securely between my legs.  But what was the point of really my most shameful fear?  He was across the country and I would never meet him.  I could be completely honest with this stranger about my idiosyncrasies, but there was no point in risking embarrassing myself before him.

When this stranger then threatened to tie me to his iron-post bed and leave me in his bedroom for a full day without checking in on me, I knew that, however nasal his voice and however unintimidating the notion of consensual forced sex was, he could make me short of breath just by concocting scenarios in which my most traumatizing secret would be aroused.  “What if I had to pee?” I thought.  “Did he have wood floors or carpeting?  Wouldn’t I become dehydrated?  What would happen if I had an accident?  Could other people control their bladder for a full day?”  It didn’t occur to me that this was the point, my losing control of my functions, that my humiliating myself wouldn’t irritate him but turn him on.  Instead, my heart raced, senseless with panic, and I was unexpectedly, illogically, under his control.

[Continued here]

Explain to me why I’m wrong for being ashamed of my own race again? There’s this video on WorldStarHipHop.com [the site is full of coon-ish crap so take this as a warning] with this chick sprawled out all over the floor fist fighting some chick at a fast food joint in California. The motive behind the fight? All because a chick cut her in line. I don’t know whats worse, the fight or the black ignorant fucks that got all in the camera with their fucked up mouths.

So, this is what blacks do on the daily? Can’t even go to a fast food restaurant without someone fighting with their twat out, let alone fighting in general. No wonder I try and stay away from my own kind so much. Look what the hell they be doing. & It seems there is always someone around with a camera.

If you want to see the video, just click here.

Its hard to say there are more smart blacks out there than dumb ones when we’re the minority.

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I’m going to try a list system of what’s good and bad in this episode. It’s based on Kotaku’s model. Let’s see if it works….

WARNING: Do not take the above montage  at face value. It may present the best aspects of a lackluster anime. In this case, the highlights are gathered for your convince. There is nothing more to be seen in the episode itself; only time to be lost.

This episode is about an elf girl who get’s in trouble with the council of elves and consequently gets ejected from her village. The maid warrior Airi makes an appearance in the beginning of the episode.

The Magnificent

New characters: Those who are fans of magical maids and elves who don’t wear panties will be pleased. I must note that they are the most generic designs yet.

Yuri: They are keeping the yuri quota up and that’s a good thing! Airi gives two deep “Life sucking” kisses and cops a quick feel. Elena has set out in lusty pursuit of her older sister.

The Weak

Blandness: This episode is pretty damn boring. There is not much zesty fanservice or fighting. Airi simply disappears and does not return during this episode.  This show falls flat on its face when it does not feature more interesting characters.

Nanael: The annoying blue haired angel is never a pleasure to see hovering around.  The less we see of her the better. . . . unfortunately it seems she’ll be featured in the next episode.

This was the lamest episode yet, but it’s still watchable- just nothing special. 2/5

Confession, originally uploaded by sensualpersona.

During my latest evening of Tango dancing, I was wearing a skirt which was just a bit longer than this one. As you may have read in my (Flickr) profile I really enjoy the nakedness and adventure of wearing short skirts and dresses without wearing panties. One of the guys I danced with really swung me around a lot and my boyfriend told me later with a worrying voice that he spotted my vaginal lips at least 4 times. I felt embarassed and aroused at the same time, but I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, because I was asked for the next dance.

It was a guy who was at least twice my age and it surprises me sometime how great vitality and smooth dancing go together with older age. When he complimented me with my sensual lips I didn’t know for sure which lips he was referring to. That cafe (The Syndicate) has quite a small dance floor and the next tango was a slow one. It was very crowded and we danced in close embrace. I let my left hand slide down in an easy manner and felt his sturdy bottom move with my body and the music. He obviously felt he could do the same, because I felt how his hand slid down casually onto the back of my skirt.

At that same time I felt his manhood grow in his trousers, while his hand slid down a little lower under the rim of my skirt. My heart started to beat a little higher, but then he slowly and casually moved his hand up under my skirt! I was doubting what to do until I looked him in the eyes. He had this warm, daring and intense look in his eyes and I felt sure that he was quite playful about what he did right then. It was that playfulness that made me relax into his arms and dance on.

He kept looking into my eyes when his hand moved up, his fingers slowly caressing my inner thigh. It was only a matter of (very long) seconds before he touched my bare vaginal lips! His eyes became even more intense, while we were still slowly moving around between the other dancers packed within the cafe. He began feeling and rubbing my lips slowly, while my heart was now bouncing in my chest. I checked if my boyfriend could see what was happening, but I spotted him at the bar, trying to get throug the cue to buy a drink.

I felt how my dancing partner now had a thick and hot rod hidden in his pants and my lower lips felt like they were dripping with wetness from the excitement. I noticed a couple sitting at the edge of the dancing space looking with a big smile and great interest at my skirt. It was only then that I realised how part of my nude butt was exposed to their eyes and so was the hand that was caressing my lips below that butt with lovely intent. Within a second I moved my hips in a sudden turn.

This made it even worse because my partner was not as quick, making my skirt slide up completely, exposing all my completely naked flesh under my skirt for everyone to see. The packed crowd saved me, because I only noticed a few people giving a possible sign that they could see my derriere! And than something strange started to happen. The look in my partner’s eyes was still playful but at the same time there was an intensity to it that connected with the intimacy and vulnerability of being naked. Something that I would normally only feel while making love with my boyfriend.

I suddenly felt a total surrender to my sensuality within the dance. I felt eager to be watched by all the men and women within the cafe, while my body was being touched only by the music, my partner and the air that I was breathing. It wasn´t my heart that was pounding anymore. It was my whole body pulsating with sexual energy and it wanted to be seen, enjoyed by admiring eyes that were already undressing me now with their interested looks. It felt like being drunk and I wanted my partner to bluntly expose me as much as possible.

It was as if his eyes were saying “are you sure” and it felt like there was a slightly dangerous touch added to his gaze. It was like he looked right into my heart and I only remember my heart shouting “yes, please, expose me, show me, let me feel naked completely!” It felt like I wanted everyone to see ME. Dancing naked with all these people around me would show them all of ME. Not the cover, the package, but ME.

Skirt, Booty & Stockings, originally uploaded by arndbutoh.

My body moved in a spasm, pushing my behind even more outwards, as if it was begging for his hands to keep caressing it’s halves. As if he could feel my thoughts, my partner now moved his hand casually to the side of my skirt and with a swing in the dance his arm moved my skirt up completely again, now even more than before, right up to my middle, showing my completely naked butt, my naked and shaved vagina, and my naked upper part of my thighs right down to the edge of my hold-up stockings. I was bending over, leaning my breasts against his chest, pushing my butt backwards, positioning my vaginal lips outward as if my body wanted everyone to feel induced to lick me or even penetrate me, and I shivered from the fear about the desire that made me dare to go beyond all fear!

It frightened me that I was thrilled! I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol and I was completely drunk from the feeling this blunt exposure brought home to me. I saw quite a few gazing faces that noticed my completely bare bottom and naked genitals, and it made me drunk in the surrender that I felt during the few seconds that my partner held up my skirt. As if nothing had happened, he changed the position of his arm and my skirt fell down friveously, while we kept on dancing.

All this had happened in only a few minutes and I’m still trembling when I think of what happened. My boyfriend was one of the gazing faces at the end and that put an end to the excitement. I still have to cope with the not so nice reaction he had and somehow I understand. On the other hand I feel this experience is very important for me and I need to come to terms with it. I wrote this spontaneously, when looking at this picture, giving a comment.

Reading my comment back, it had become so lenghty, I decided to copy the picture of Arnd Butoh on my own stream (with a link back to the source of course), as the source of inspiration that made me share this confession and get to terms with what has taken me over recently. This picture makes feel me less alone about my personal experience, knowing other people may have similar experiences and dare to share them here. I’m learning about me and I love and dread it!

Jelena Jankovic changing her panties on the court..ah she is kinda slut!!

That Jessica Simpson is one classy broad. In this quick upskirt shot, it appears that our darling Country gal is not wearing any panties. Guess that just gives easier access for the cow pokes when they need some loving.

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are you ready? now that American Apparel’s gone Authentic African (they should change their name) on America, you can bet there’s going to be a backlash. when i look at this i wonder what kind of person will buy and wear these clothes. maybe The Cobra Snake since he has been on a mission to print T-shirts for kids in Africa so they can be cool, too. maybe Paris Hilton would buy the boob tube for her trip down here when her Madden brother played in Africa, except that has already happened. Maybe all the rich Nigerian kids will buy their own patterns in another country when they do their yearly shop overseas and bring back stuff for their friends to buy (see how i slipped in that free nugget of market research info in there? i do that a lot, if you’re observant you should see loads of free ‘research’, like free love, on my site).

Afrika with a 'K' - now in fashion.

i was just thinking it would be really cool to bring out a Jacob Zuma range which is the same as what you see here except they throw in a really short skirt that shows your knees (American Apparel fans will be pleased to know that in AfriCa, if you show your knees, it means you’re a dirty slut who’ll have sex in exchange for money – which is a LOT  easier than the American equivalent where you actually have to flash your hoo-hoo when you’re getting out of your limo).

i was also thinking they should make a print of the AIDS virus because that is very much in fashion in AfriCa (seriously, almost every 3rd person has it. How far will you really go to be cool, American Apparel fans? only those who have REAL COOL AMBITION will make it to this level. you have to really WANT it.).

The AIDS print. This season's must-have in AfriCa. Flannel is so last century.

Anyway, it’s actually awesome to have some of our indigenous stuff getting respect in mainstream retail outlets world wide. big up to AA.

Umm, enjoy.

I like this guy, I really do. But can SOMEONE either ghostwrite for him or enroll him in some sort of writing classes? Maybe his BFF NeYo can teach him a thing or two. I’m always questioning his lyrics. They leave me confused sometimes and I don’t like to be confused, especially when listening to an R&B song.