Tag Archives: Exploration


Good news, everyone! Not only are you now reading this in Professor Farnsworth‘s voice, but also my computer is working again! You may not have realised that it wasn’t working, but of course it’s hard to tell you on here that I can’t really make any blog posts when I can’t really make any blog posts. Sure, technically I could blog from my phone, but ew, no.

Anyway, I’m back, though honestly still likely to be intermittent as this summer has really caught me in a hands-off sort of mood.

Although, that’s not always the case.

You see, at the weekend I went to the beach. There were a bunch of us, Crush included of course, and we had a great time being ridiculous and summery. We swam, we bought fish and chips, we doused ourselves in sun cream, we ribbed each other, we built sandcastles, we collected the world’s tiniest shells (that aren’t outright sand, clever clogs) and we dug a giant hole.

In the process of building said giant hole, I became absolutely head to toe covered in sand. There’s probably a fetish for that, because there’s a fetish for everything. In any case, there was no way I could get changed back into my clothes like that, so I headed for the waves for the third time that day.

This time, because it was getting late, none of my friends would come with me. Fine, I thought. I’ll enjoy myself anyway. The sunshine was starting to cool and the lifeguards (what luxury!) had just headed back indoors. The only people even in the sea besides me were paddling and that just doesn’t count.

At my depth, just deep enough that I could comfortably put my feet down if I wanted, I was alone. The people in the breaking waves were far away, the people on the beach even further. Suddenly, a naughty thought overcame me. No-one could see what I was up to. It’d be ages before I was back in the sea again and even then I wouldn’t be alone.

Fuck it, I thought, I’m trying a seawank.

Why not? A bit odd, maybe. The sea was cold and British and not the most romantic of notions. I’d come from a group of my friends and would be going back right after. People could see me, though not what I was up to with the water so dark and deep, and I could see people. But why not? It’d be interesting, exciting, adventurous, though probably not much of a success.

So I slipped my Special-K-red swimming costume aside and found my clitoris with my right hand, the other one keeping me vertically afloat and just bobbing off the bottom now and then. To onlookers, I was just having a very lazy swim.

As I say, it was cold, though it was the warmest water of the day. It was also unusual and even a little uncomfortable, so it took a little while to get my engines going, as it were. I could try and make it sound erotic (and in a way, it was). Heck, I’ve made zombie sex sound erotic, so I’m convinced I could do it. But, though there’s something erotic about daring and, even uncomfortable, adventure, it was more fun. Frivolous. A bit of (not so) innocent fun.

Why not wank in the sea? A guy might leave unwanted substances in the water for the other (zero) swimmers, but my juices would be there whether I was coming, ahem, or going. No harm done. I came to a satisfying, though not mindblowing, orgasm and I felt incredibly content with myself. Like a child with a secret. A secret they tell everyone on the Internet.

Once I’d adjusted my cozzie, I tipped myself back and floated for a while. With my friends around earlier there’d been too much horseplay just to float, eyes closed. I’d have ended up with a dunking or a face full of seaweed. But now I could float and slowly drift, with the sun beating through my closed eyelids, turning my world into one of peachy-yellow warmth and weightlessness.

I grew up by the sea and I’m too wise not to open my eyes every now and again and check I wasn’t drifting out, but in the minutes at a time that I floated there, I felt supremely peaceful. I felt my body stretch and relax and revelled in my senses much more than during the supposedly more sensual bit of self-pleasure. By the time I decided to come back to the shore, it was like a beautiful non-religious religious experience. I was appreciating life.

I came out of the water feeling powerful, free, peaceful. I wish I could say it was the seawank that did it, but I think it certainly helped set me up for it. The daring, the childish glee, that laid the basis. It’s something I’d never have done if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but I’m glad I had the opportunity. I recommend it, if you’re careful and you go in with no expectations.

Plus, that’s another masturbation location to add to my (short) list. Dear diary, things I’ve done: had a wank in the sea. ♦

A Brave New World

♦ Next week I’m taking what feels like a pretty big step in something that’s been simmering for a while but only recently started to come to the boil. And, unsurprisingly, the fact that I now feel happy to let it do so is thanks to (or [if it all goes, ironically, tits up] the fault of) Fractal.

I had a very odd dream once, a while back now, in which I was molesting a tiny naked Barbie doll. Disturbing. Luckily any further thoughts involving naked women (if you can call Ms. Placky-pneumato-boobs that in the first place) since then have been much less bizarre. And a deal more frequent.

Agent Provocateur

It’s been, until the great Fractal Era, a bit of a dark secret really. Though it shouldn’t have been. I was afraid of fancying women instead of men, it never really occured to me that I could do both. Let me get one thing clear here, I love men. I have one. I love men and I love the cock. I’d never consider choosing to be with a woman over a man. I don’t find women more sexually attractive than men either. For a start, I think women and men are too physically different to really compare.

But nonetheless, maybe a year and half ago, I’d look at pictures of women sometimes when I touched myself. And then I’d feel horribly guilty (though admittedly by this point I think I was still having some guilt over touching myself at all. This now seems strange to me).

And then Fractal came along. And he showed me that sex really was as acceptable (and fantastic) as I’d hoped it would be and not at all as shameful as I’d feared. He showed me it’s okay to like sex. Not only okay, but wonderful. Touching myself was okay, fantasies were okay.

But I still didn’t let on about the women thing. Because I was still hung up about that. He’d joke about my screenscaver, which just flicked randomly through the pictures on my computer, and point out how many of the deviantART pictures were rather skimpily dressed women.


It turned out though that I wasn’t quite the only one hiding something. In the best tradition of ‘haha, only serious’ Fractal had started to make a few jokes about me and lesbian sex and then would adamantly point out that he was just kidding. He wasn’t one of those blokes who liked that. Honest.

And somewhere among all this, and all the experimenting and learning we sort of confessed to each other that I quite liked the thought of having sex with a woman and he quite liked the thought of a woman having sex with me :)

So recently I’ve been having a think. And he wrote our first fantasy diary entry involving another woman. And I started allowing myself to get naked lady pictures off of the Great Interweb. A few months ago I changed my Facebook profile to read ‘Interested in: Men and Women’ (As far as I can tell no-one has actually noticed, but fuck it, that’s their problem, I’m not hiding anything if I’ve got it on Facebook. It’s Facebook.)

And more recently I joined a website recommended to me by a male friend (it came up in conversation that we both liked ladies arses muchly) for women looking for other women. A dating website sort of. Like a gay…well, Facebook.

Obviously I have an extremely wonderful loving romantic relationship with Fractal. I don’t want another relationship. I want to make it extremely clear that I am *not* a polyamorist. I don’t even understand them. As far as Fractal is concerned as long as I *love* only him, I can have sex with other people. If I ask him nicely.


It may sound strange, but I don’t actually want sex with other people. Just another woman. I want to try it. I want to know if it is something I would actually enjoy, not just an idle fantasy. I’m basically in it for the boobs.

So next week I have a rendez-vous, with a girl. Which seems to be well on course for leading to the kind of rendez-vous which you say even more Frenchly and with one raised eyebrow. This is quite a step for me. I’ve had no experience with women. Luckily I get a head-start by being one, so I at least have some idea of what feels nice. And I’m terribly shy and awkard around new people, hell, even familiar people sometimes.

I guess it’s a risk, because it may turn out that it’s something I don’t actually like in reality, just as a fantasy. But as Fractal tells me (not altogether altruistically he admits, but enough for it to be true)  if I don’t try it I will never know. That part of me will always be unknown to myself.

Also boobs.

So wish me luck ;) ♦

I hope I’ve explained all this well enough, there’s so many little things that got me to this point, even now so many niggles and questions and am I doing the right thing (it feels slightly slightly like adultery still even though Fractal tells me it isn’t, and if he doesn’t think it is then surely that’s what counts). If I’ve just confused you all, I apologise. As always, but moreso with this post, I’m open to questions :)