Regular readers will know that little Vesta has ventured quite a bit on the inside; in her mind. Her thoughts have meandered over various hills and valleys and she is having a marvellous time letting those thoughts out here, and elsewhere, in deliciously wicked ways. Some of those thoughts are darker than others and that is rather appealing to her. She can be rather naughty, indeed, in her thoughts.
That's the inside. But, what about the outside? I'm not an overtly sexy looking girl, though I don't know what is an overtly sexy looking girl. I know when I feel sexy and that is usually when I am wearing a dress which is shapely but fairly plain; heels, minimal but good looking jewellery, my hair freshly washed and blow dried, my makeup carefully applied; a little perfume. If I feel confident then I feel sexy; ready for anything. We girls need that burst of confidence, I think.
It has been suggested to me that as a man takes his girl deeper into her own mind and into his own desires for her, he might want her darker; perhaps, for her hair to be dyed a darker colour than her natural colour. For some years, I've actually added lightness to my natural hair colouring. It suits the tone of my skin and my eye colour. But, of course, as per my nature and desires, I am subject to persuasion and I have been giving this idea some thought. As a younger woman, my hair was a darker colour and when my friend made the suggestion of darker hair for a darker mind, I immediately thought back to a conversation with my old boss. I think I was about thirty years old.
We were sharing a quick bite to eat at a restaurant near the office sitting opposite one another when he looked at me and said, "I like your hair that darker colour. It gives you a hungry look." I didn't know what he meant and I still don't, but my friend's comment had me wondering all over again.
What does a man want in a woman's appearance? Does he want an angelic looking girl; one for whom butter wouldn't melt in her mouth? A 'bad girl' look; one who will accept his own dark desires with glee? Does he want her well groomed; a 'nice girl' who is kind and who can order his life? Does he want the sunny disposition of a giggly, smiling blond, or the mystery of the dark haired girl; unknown?
Or, whatever she is; blond, red head, black; does he wish to transform her into his own creation? I can only think of one scenario that it is unpalatable and that is that he does not care enough to at least try to transform her into that which is wholly pleasing to him.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Pamela's first scene
When she woke her owner was gone. Beside her on the pillow where he had lain was a white envelope with her name written on it in his handwriting. He had used his fountain pen, as he always did, to write her name carefully in the middle of the envelope. And, next to that was a pink rose that he must have brought in from the garden. She smiled. It was a lovely way to begin her day. She closed her eyes again for a minute or two and remembered the previous evening with him. He had been particularly tender with her; surprisingly so, kissing her body all over and holding her close to him, as if protecting her. Then, she remembered the envelope beside her and she was curious now to see what he had said to her; probably, that he loved her and would miss her whilst he was gone.
Pamela was wrong about the contents of the letter. Her owner had been business like and to the point, instructing her of what she was to do. She was to make herself ready; her body clean and cleansed. She was to wear her black, no sleeve, light wool sheath dress; black heels. She was to wear no jewellery and no garments below the dress but she should be particularly meticulous about her makeup and hair. He told her that he wanted her to feel as beautiful as she was to him.
Immediately after reading the note she should eat a light, nutritious brunch; an omelet, some orange juice and tea. She was to be collected at noon. At 11.45, after all her preparations, she should insert her butt plug and also place into her pussy cunt her vaginal balls. The driver would take her to a location, where she would be attended to by a man well known to her owner. She was to do exactly as he said and obey all instructions. Her owner was unsure as to whether he would be able to meet her at the location or not but she should be certain that anything that took place there was on his instructions, and that her obedience there would demonstrate to him that she was a good girl and worthy of ownership. Her owner loved her very much, he wrote, and would never do anything to harm her. She must always trust.
Pamela began to feel bubbles emanate from the pit of her stomach right up to her throat and through her head. She felt light and floaty. She had no idea what lay ahead of her but she was excited; embracing of the challenge.
At five minutes to two o’clock, Pamela checked her appearance in the hall full length mirror. She was no longer a young girl, but she felt desirable; even beautiful. What she saw was a woman in love; a woman whose eyes were bright, whose skin was clear and healthy and who radiated desire. She felt confident; assured; willing.
When the driver rang the door bell a minute later, she collected her small bag containing nothing more than her front door key, as instructed, and walked towards she knew not what. In her mind was only one thought; ‘Bring it on.’
(to be continued)
© Vesta 2009
Pamela was wrong about the contents of the letter. Her owner had been business like and to the point, instructing her of what she was to do. She was to make herself ready; her body clean and cleansed. She was to wear her black, no sleeve, light wool sheath dress; black heels. She was to wear no jewellery and no garments below the dress but she should be particularly meticulous about her makeup and hair. He told her that he wanted her to feel as beautiful as she was to him.
Immediately after reading the note she should eat a light, nutritious brunch; an omelet, some orange juice and tea. She was to be collected at noon. At 11.45, after all her preparations, she should insert her butt plug and also place into her pussy cunt her vaginal balls. The driver would take her to a location, where she would be attended to by a man well known to her owner. She was to do exactly as he said and obey all instructions. Her owner was unsure as to whether he would be able to meet her at the location or not but she should be certain that anything that took place there was on his instructions, and that her obedience there would demonstrate to him that she was a good girl and worthy of ownership. Her owner loved her very much, he wrote, and would never do anything to harm her. She must always trust.
Pamela began to feel bubbles emanate from the pit of her stomach right up to her throat and through her head. She felt light and floaty. She had no idea what lay ahead of her but she was excited; embracing of the challenge.
At five minutes to two o’clock, Pamela checked her appearance in the hall full length mirror. She was no longer a young girl, but she felt desirable; even beautiful. What she saw was a woman in love; a woman whose eyes were bright, whose skin was clear and healthy and who radiated desire. She felt confident; assured; willing.
When the driver rang the door bell a minute later, she collected her small bag containing nothing more than her front door key, as instructed, and walked towards she knew not what. In her mind was only one thought; ‘Bring it on.’
(to be continued)
© Vesta 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Service
The point was recently made by Sir J that in a D/s relationship the opportunity exists for both partners to bring out the best in one another. It is an important point. In an ideal situation, not only is the dominant partner modifying and transforming the submissive to be the best person possible, both within the relationship and as an individual, but the submissive has the opportunity of modifying and transforming the dominant to be the type of dominant that will serve both their needs best.
I want to underscore that last point. Time and time again, I have read that the role of the submissive is to serve the dominant. I’ve never really felt entirely comfortable reading that statement. It seems to me that both partners are serving one another, none more than the other.
It is critical that the submissive have a dominant on which she can rely. She looks to him for her direction. He is her compass and without him to guide her, she can be quite lost. It is not that she is hopeless, useless or incompetent. Far from it. The submissive women I know are proud, bright and with a strong sense of self; competent, accomplished and more than capable. But, they are also gentle, sensitive and reliant on their dominant for their sense of wellbeing. It is one of the contradictions of D/s that these intelligent and able women require a boss; in fact, demand a boss.
They need a dominant to serve their interests; not just any dominant but a high functioning dominant who bestows all the desired qualities: wisdom, understanding, resolve, patience, strategic thinking and a steady hand. It is unacceptable that he have a fit at his submissive, regardless of whether she is ‘freaking out’ at him. His behaviour must be beyond reapproach in order for her to understand that it is her behaviour that is at question. If he can maintain control of himself he is demonstrating to her that civil and controlled behaviour is always expected and achievable.
Of course, both the dominant and the submissive are mere mortals and mistakes will be made by both of them. But, a submissive woman gains nothing from a dominant who is unable to control his emotions, as well as hers. He has the power to bring her to her knees, to silence her or correct her for her 'out of control' behaviour. She has no such power. However, she has the power to vote with her feet. She demands that her dominant be reliable, show control and exhibit exemplary behaviour. She has to believe down in her bones that the same man who may choose to cane her tush, to remind her of her place, is the same man who would protect her to the ends of the earth; who wants her to be blissfully happy; who would be the first person to cheer her victories or take her in his arms and console her when the world has done her wrong. He is her father, her brother, her lover; her best friend. He serves her well.
Becoming the best submissive; a happy and contained submissive, is not just a matter of luck. The most capable and accomplished submissive is such because she has a dominant of steady hand, noble thought and strong mind. When her dominant is the essence of strength, wisdom and humanity with her best interests at heart, it is no co-incidence that she is able to serve him with humility, honour and feminine virtue. It is her pleasure to serve with pride the man who asks more of himself than he will ever ask of her.
I want to underscore that last point. Time and time again, I have read that the role of the submissive is to serve the dominant. I’ve never really felt entirely comfortable reading that statement. It seems to me that both partners are serving one another, none more than the other.
It is critical that the submissive have a dominant on which she can rely. She looks to him for her direction. He is her compass and without him to guide her, she can be quite lost. It is not that she is hopeless, useless or incompetent. Far from it. The submissive women I know are proud, bright and with a strong sense of self; competent, accomplished and more than capable. But, they are also gentle, sensitive and reliant on their dominant for their sense of wellbeing. It is one of the contradictions of D/s that these intelligent and able women require a boss; in fact, demand a boss.
They need a dominant to serve their interests; not just any dominant but a high functioning dominant who bestows all the desired qualities: wisdom, understanding, resolve, patience, strategic thinking and a steady hand. It is unacceptable that he have a fit at his submissive, regardless of whether she is ‘freaking out’ at him. His behaviour must be beyond reapproach in order for her to understand that it is her behaviour that is at question. If he can maintain control of himself he is demonstrating to her that civil and controlled behaviour is always expected and achievable.
Of course, both the dominant and the submissive are mere mortals and mistakes will be made by both of them. But, a submissive woman gains nothing from a dominant who is unable to control his emotions, as well as hers. He has the power to bring her to her knees, to silence her or correct her for her 'out of control' behaviour. She has no such power. However, she has the power to vote with her feet. She demands that her dominant be reliable, show control and exhibit exemplary behaviour. She has to believe down in her bones that the same man who may choose to cane her tush, to remind her of her place, is the same man who would protect her to the ends of the earth; who wants her to be blissfully happy; who would be the first person to cheer her victories or take her in his arms and console her when the world has done her wrong. He is her father, her brother, her lover; her best friend. He serves her well.
Becoming the best submissive; a happy and contained submissive, is not just a matter of luck. The most capable and accomplished submissive is such because she has a dominant of steady hand, noble thought and strong mind. When her dominant is the essence of strength, wisdom and humanity with her best interests at heart, it is no co-incidence that she is able to serve him with humility, honour and feminine virtue. It is her pleasure to serve with pride the man who asks more of himself than he will ever ask of her.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Just do it
Whoever ran the Nike campaign, 'Just do it' really knew what they were on about. When the children have put up a defence as to why something hasn't been done, I will say, "Just do it, all right!" You can't really argue with that. Just do it!
In many ways, the dominant person is saying just that, although that particular terminology is not necessarily used. He or she is saying that the task needs to be done - no excuses, no apologies. Just do it.
Although submissive in nature, in that I want to please and I want to feel the strength and power of the dominant over me, I can experience resistance. (Stop laughing, you guys!!) It's the million dollar question as to why this happens and I wish it were not so. I'm certainly not looking to pull the wool over the dominant's eyes. If he asks, I tell him straight that I haven't got around to that particular task yet. I finding telling a lie almost impossible and distressingly uncomfortable. I would do it to save someone else, but not myself.
Part of me wonders if I am (sub-consciously) asking the dominant to come down hard on me. Praise is divine but to feel the power in full, one has to get him a little peeved. I really doubt this. I certainly don't have that as a conscious thought and I loathe being in trouble. One can feel so desolate in the doghouse.
Earlier today, having felt what I think might be best categorized as the dominant's disgust at my inability to follow through on a perfectly simple daily task whilst away, I gave myself a good talking to. Well, Vesta, why? Why didn't you just do it? There is no acceptable answer. I chose very poorly. I just didn't get around to it, even though by not doing it, I hurt myself.
One dominant friend once said to me a while back, "You have made your bed, and now you must lie in it." Well, that pulled me up with a round turn. We talk often and that was really the first telling off I had received. Listen, I did. If I make my bed, then I must lie in it. It's time to grow up!
Earlier today, I was summarily "dismissed". So naughty, that banishment was the only cure. 'And, let her have a good think about it', I could imagine him saying to himself. But, it's not my way to sit passively and do nothing, awaiting the lecture which will surely come. A girl must do something to ease her guilty mind. And so, I've written the book report overdue. I have watched the video clip assigned me, and I am nearly finished with drawing lines through some items of a list that was expected to land on his desk some weeks ago. If only I had owned up that I don't know how to draw lines through items on a list, my behaviour might have been looked on in a better light.
What can I say? I am recalcitrant at times; a perpetual rule breaker. But the times they are a changing. It's the new me. I'm going to assuage this guilt and kiss the doghouse goodbye. I'm going to...
Just do it.
Yayayayayay.
In many ways, the dominant person is saying just that, although that particular terminology is not necessarily used. He or she is saying that the task needs to be done - no excuses, no apologies. Just do it.
Although submissive in nature, in that I want to please and I want to feel the strength and power of the dominant over me, I can experience resistance. (Stop laughing, you guys!!) It's the million dollar question as to why this happens and I wish it were not so. I'm certainly not looking to pull the wool over the dominant's eyes. If he asks, I tell him straight that I haven't got around to that particular task yet. I finding telling a lie almost impossible and distressingly uncomfortable. I would do it to save someone else, but not myself.
Part of me wonders if I am (sub-consciously) asking the dominant to come down hard on me. Praise is divine but to feel the power in full, one has to get him a little peeved. I really doubt this. I certainly don't have that as a conscious thought and I loathe being in trouble. One can feel so desolate in the doghouse.
Earlier today, having felt what I think might be best categorized as the dominant's disgust at my inability to follow through on a perfectly simple daily task whilst away, I gave myself a good talking to. Well, Vesta, why? Why didn't you just do it? There is no acceptable answer. I chose very poorly. I just didn't get around to it, even though by not doing it, I hurt myself.
One dominant friend once said to me a while back, "You have made your bed, and now you must lie in it." Well, that pulled me up with a round turn. We talk often and that was really the first telling off I had received. Listen, I did. If I make my bed, then I must lie in it. It's time to grow up!
Earlier today, I was summarily "dismissed". So naughty, that banishment was the only cure. 'And, let her have a good think about it', I could imagine him saying to himself. But, it's not my way to sit passively and do nothing, awaiting the lecture which will surely come. A girl must do something to ease her guilty mind. And so, I've written the book report overdue. I have watched the video clip assigned me, and I am nearly finished with drawing lines through some items of a list that was expected to land on his desk some weeks ago. If only I had owned up that I don't know how to draw lines through items on a list, my behaviour might have been looked on in a better light.
What can I say? I am recalcitrant at times; a perpetual rule breaker. But the times they are a changing. It's the new me. I'm going to assuage this guilt and kiss the doghouse goodbye. I'm going to...
Just do it.
Yayayayayay.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Not so fast!
They’d been chatting about the possibilities. She’d been telling him of what some other people did; girls who had pierced their nipples and wore rings in them. She’d explained that some doms or tops used rings in the nipples to keep the girl in place. Should she try to protect her bottom by moving out of position, she’d experience the pain elsewhere. As usual, she sensed that he was making mental notes, of what new idea had taken her fancy; what “more” was turning her on.
The following morning, he woke early to take a call. She awoke too and soon thereafter she made herself a cup of tea; picked up her book. One call led to the next and preoccupied, when he entered the bedroom, it was simply to take off his pajama pants, throw them on the bed and go the bathroom for a shower. She felt a little ignored. She lay there, pondering.
Showered now, he returned to the bedroom; put on his underwear and his trousers. But, he was not sure what to wear on the top.
“Hmmm…this polo shirt is rather thick.”
“Well, why not a t-shirt? There is no law against wearing a t-shirt.”
She was having a dig at his preference to wear a collar no matter what the occasion.
“I don’t really feel right in wearing a t-shirt.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Country boys don’t wear t-shirts. They have to wear a collar.”
“Right!”
He closed the door of the bedroom.
“No! I’m sorry!! What did I say?”
“You’ll learn! You’ll learn not to be cheeky.”
“But…but…what did I say?”
“You’re just a cheeky little girl. On your fours; over here by the edge of the bed. Quickly!!”
She mock cried a little. She had already experienced her fair share of the cursed wooden bath brush on this trip. Her bottom was well exposed and tight. She waited for the first swat. But, now he did something totally unexpected. He pinched her right nipple firmly and held onto it tight. Should she try to jump away as she had before in the past few days, it was her nipple that would take the brunt of the pain.
Whack!
“You’re a cheeky, cheeky girl!”
Whack!
“You’ll learn to respect this brush eventually.”
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
She stayed as still as a statue and whimpered as quietly as she could, the heat in her bottom rising fast.Now, he let go of the nipple and she remained completely still. Recovering as she was, and secretly enjoying the sting in her bottom, she was totally unaware of his next movements.
Without prelude, she felt his hard cock penetrate her fast and hit up against the wall of her cunt. She let out guttural sounds of pleasure. She was still on her fours with him riding her from behind. Seemingly without a thought for her needs, he fucked her hard and fast for several minutes whilst she sucked on her fingers, trying to contain her enjoyment. She made contact with her new acrylic nails and had to alter the place where she sucked, deciding ultimately on the knuckle of her thumb.
She was in her own little world of being used well and she felt perfectly content; perfectly at ease. Eventually, he exploded into her, and moments later he took a tissue and placed it up between her legs. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Good girl. I need to take another shower.”
She was sorely tempted to say,
“That’s your fault for being so fast to take the first one…”
But, she did not. A second round of the brush may not have been so much to her liking. Anyway, when he discovered how much of the nougat she had already eaten, things were going to be pretty grim!
The following morning, he woke early to take a call. She awoke too and soon thereafter she made herself a cup of tea; picked up her book. One call led to the next and preoccupied, when he entered the bedroom, it was simply to take off his pajama pants, throw them on the bed and go the bathroom for a shower. She felt a little ignored. She lay there, pondering.
Showered now, he returned to the bedroom; put on his underwear and his trousers. But, he was not sure what to wear on the top.
“Hmmm…this polo shirt is rather thick.”
“Well, why not a t-shirt? There is no law against wearing a t-shirt.”
She was having a dig at his preference to wear a collar no matter what the occasion.
“I don’t really feel right in wearing a t-shirt.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Country boys don’t wear t-shirts. They have to wear a collar.”
“Right!”
He closed the door of the bedroom.
“No! I’m sorry!! What did I say?”
“You’ll learn! You’ll learn not to be cheeky.”
“But…but…what did I say?”
“You’re just a cheeky little girl. On your fours; over here by the edge of the bed. Quickly!!”
She mock cried a little. She had already experienced her fair share of the cursed wooden bath brush on this trip. Her bottom was well exposed and tight. She waited for the first swat. But, now he did something totally unexpected. He pinched her right nipple firmly and held onto it tight. Should she try to jump away as she had before in the past few days, it was her nipple that would take the brunt of the pain.
Whack!
“You’re a cheeky, cheeky girl!”
Whack!
“You’ll learn to respect this brush eventually.”
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
She stayed as still as a statue and whimpered as quietly as she could, the heat in her bottom rising fast.Now, he let go of the nipple and she remained completely still. Recovering as she was, and secretly enjoying the sting in her bottom, she was totally unaware of his next movements.
Without prelude, she felt his hard cock penetrate her fast and hit up against the wall of her cunt. She let out guttural sounds of pleasure. She was still on her fours with him riding her from behind. Seemingly without a thought for her needs, he fucked her hard and fast for several minutes whilst she sucked on her fingers, trying to contain her enjoyment. She made contact with her new acrylic nails and had to alter the place where she sucked, deciding ultimately on the knuckle of her thumb.
She was in her own little world of being used well and she felt perfectly content; perfectly at ease. Eventually, he exploded into her, and moments later he took a tissue and placed it up between her legs. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Good girl. I need to take another shower.”
She was sorely tempted to say,
“That’s your fault for being so fast to take the first one…”
But, she did not. A second round of the brush may not have been so much to her liking. Anyway, when he discovered how much of the nougat she had already eaten, things were going to be pretty grim!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The perfect whole
I'm still on vacation with precious few minutes of this Internet in a public space, so I must be brief.
I've been reading and I read this from Donne:
"When love with one another so
Interanimates two souls;
That abler soul which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls"
And, I read this discussion of that:
"Ecstasy is a mystical state in which the soul escapes the body to seek union with the divine."
And then,
"...the entities which flow from (Donne's) soul and his lover's unite to create a third entity, a perfect whole or divinity."
D/s comes in various packages. People often don't know what they mean when they write, but if one has experienced that "perfect whole", one does one's best to describe it. Alas, it is often untranslatable.
Yet, the first thing I will do when I get home will be to get down my very old edition of Donne's poems. He was definitely onto something.
I've been reading and I read this from Donne:
"When love with one another so
Interanimates two souls;
That abler soul which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls"
And, I read this discussion of that:
"Ecstasy is a mystical state in which the soul escapes the body to seek union with the divine."
And then,
"...the entities which flow from (Donne's) soul and his lover's unite to create a third entity, a perfect whole or divinity."
D/s comes in various packages. People often don't know what they mean when they write, but if one has experienced that "perfect whole", one does one's best to describe it. Alas, it is often untranslatable.
Yet, the first thing I will do when I get home will be to get down my very old edition of Donne's poems. He was definitely onto something.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Happy bodies
You know me. I just couldn't resist saying one last thing before I left...
Remember I talked about the men who said they loved coming home to their wives and spending time with them? Well, one of those men was rather inspirational and I thought to tell you a little more about him.
He wasn't the most handsome man the world has ever seen. He was on the wrong side of 50, he'd lost most of his hair, and his body was rather unlike the statue of David. Yet, he was an engaging man, and he had a lovely smile, alert and warm eyes. He talked about the fact that his emotional life and his sex life with his wife had been fine, but it was no longer thrilling. He felt there must be more. So, he took himself off, on his own, to a sex therapist and there a young woman taught him all about Tantric sex.He began to use the methods he had learned at home with his wife and this improved life considerably.
He didn't want to hold onto his secret forever and he told his wife what he had done. Being a woman, she was a bit jealous and when he suggested she come along to the sessions, she grabbed her bag and off they went.
Now, let me tell you about her. She was on the wrong side of 50, too. No longer a gorgeous, young thing, she had a certain style. She wore funky glasses and she had a Rubenesque look and way of moving. She was one of those women who look comfortable and right walking on the beach barefoot and fancy free. She did not have the perfect figure. She might even have had body shape issues. Her bottom was, shall we say...voluptuous.
So, they interviewed her about how life was now with her husband, since the sessions. I don't have her words verbatim but it went something like this:
"Before, a sexual encounter might last 20 minutes - say 15-20 minutes - something like that. Now, (and here she starts to look away from the camera as if remembering some lovely recent interlude from the past) we have sex for hours and hours..."
She blushes, looks down; giggles a little. She looks about 19. She is clearly a blissfully happy and contented woman.They hold hands, sit close; clearly revel in one another's company. He looks on adoringly.
This couple is not going to win any beauty contests but they are very happy. Now, I rather suspect that their doctor has suggested some modifications to their diet and encouraged even more of those walks along the beach. Bodies are important. We only get one and we have to take good care of it if we are to enjoy life to the maximum.
Yet, not having perfect bodies (and most likely perfect body images of themselves) didn't stop them from having that connection; from reinvigorating their lives and finding a deep sense of happiness.
Hunh. Maybe that's something to think about...
Remember I talked about the men who said they loved coming home to their wives and spending time with them? Well, one of those men was rather inspirational and I thought to tell you a little more about him.
He wasn't the most handsome man the world has ever seen. He was on the wrong side of 50, he'd lost most of his hair, and his body was rather unlike the statue of David. Yet, he was an engaging man, and he had a lovely smile, alert and warm eyes. He talked about the fact that his emotional life and his sex life with his wife had been fine, but it was no longer thrilling. He felt there must be more. So, he took himself off, on his own, to a sex therapist and there a young woman taught him all about Tantric sex.He began to use the methods he had learned at home with his wife and this improved life considerably.
He didn't want to hold onto his secret forever and he told his wife what he had done. Being a woman, she was a bit jealous and when he suggested she come along to the sessions, she grabbed her bag and off they went.
Now, let me tell you about her. She was on the wrong side of 50, too. No longer a gorgeous, young thing, she had a certain style. She wore funky glasses and she had a Rubenesque look and way of moving. She was one of those women who look comfortable and right walking on the beach barefoot and fancy free. She did not have the perfect figure. She might even have had body shape issues. Her bottom was, shall we say...voluptuous.
So, they interviewed her about how life was now with her husband, since the sessions. I don't have her words verbatim but it went something like this:
"Before, a sexual encounter might last 20 minutes - say 15-20 minutes - something like that. Now, (and here she starts to look away from the camera as if remembering some lovely recent interlude from the past) we have sex for hours and hours..."
She blushes, looks down; giggles a little. She looks about 19. She is clearly a blissfully happy and contented woman.They hold hands, sit close; clearly revel in one another's company. He looks on adoringly.
This couple is not going to win any beauty contests but they are very happy. Now, I rather suspect that their doctor has suggested some modifications to their diet and encouraged even more of those walks along the beach. Bodies are important. We only get one and we have to take good care of it if we are to enjoy life to the maximum.
Yet, not having perfect bodies (and most likely perfect body images of themselves) didn't stop them from having that connection; from reinvigorating their lives and finding a deep sense of happiness.
Hunh. Maybe that's something to think about...
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