Sunday, August 3, 2008

Milfette meets Lesbian Femme and creates extreme aesthetics

There are more of Lipstick Lesbia than I have posted previously for Milfette: Kim CattrallBrittany Love, Celeste Fox, and
my girlfriend, another hotwifey milf Melissa, a limo MILF, Lela Star, Mini-Me Sex Tape news.

Правильное платье -конечно не всем такие платья пойдут, невеста симпaтичная, все при ней и оделась достойно:)
Рекомендовано - У каждого ведь есть прикольные фото и видео. В телефонах, на фотоаппаратах -Типа Бритни Спирс, Девушки 18+, Извращенец в фитнес клубе, Подборка баянов, подборка роликов находится тут.
 Plus, the great same unicorn swinger attends swinger parties attended female swinger,
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Friday, July 18, 2008

more MILF stuff

 I have tons of new links for Milfette: Kim CattrallBrittany Love, Celeste Fox, and my girlfriend, another hotwifey milf Melissa,
a limo MILF, Lela Star, Mini-Me Sex Tape news.

Рекомендовано - У каждого ведь есть прикольные фото и видео. В телефонах, на фотоаппаратах -Типа Бритни Спирс, Девушки 18+, Извращенец в фитнес клубе, Подборка баянов, подборка роликов находится тут.
 Plus, the great same unicorn swinger attends swinger parties attended female swinger,
sapphic erotica, as well as lesbian blogspot, (which is jolie, lesbia, erotica and lesbian triangles) as well as lesbian MILF, is at the same location as lesbian training, lesbian girlfriend, lipstick, candy and lingerie lesbian girlfriends- they are all here.
reality, sybian,  slut wife , dominant MILF , flickr wifey
couples the CEO foreplays.
habib show, seasoned layers 4 - Tom Byron
You will witness MILFs and slutwives, as well as dominant MILFs hotwiveys doing blowjobs
milf blogspot , vixen gangbang
swinger queen
trashy real wives
wiki for wives gone black
glory holes
facials and facial sluts - facial housewives, just like the Wifey's World
gentle giants, dogfart, interracial, blacksonblondes and mandingo - Just read my husband's letter about me.
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Tuesday, June 10, 2008

lovelink updates

unicorn swinger attends swinger parties attended female swinger,
sapphic erotica, as well as lesbian blogspot, (which is jolie, lesbia, erotica and lesbian triangles) as well as lesbian MILF, is at the same location as lesbian training, lesbian girlfriend, lipstick, candy and lingerie lesbian girlfriends- they are all here.
reality, sybian,  slut wife , dominant MILF , flickr wifey
couples the CEO foreplays.
habib show, seasoned layers 4 - Tom Byron
You will witness MILFs and slutwives, as well as dominant MILFs hotwiveys doing blowjobs
milf blogspot , vixen gangbang
swinger queen
trashy real wives
wiki for wives gone black
glory holes
facials and facial sluts - facial housewives, just like the Wifey's World
gentle giants, dogfart, interracial, blacksonblondes and mandingo - Just read my husband's letter about me.
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Sunday, May 18, 2008

lipstick, candy: the interracial connection

unicorn female swinger,
sapphic erotica, as well as lesbian blogspot, (which is jolie, lesbia, erotica and lesbian triangles) as well as lesbian MILF, is at the same location as lesbian training, lesbian girlfriend, lipstick, candy and lingerie lesbian girlfriends- they are all here.
reality slut wife , dominant MILF , flickr wifey
couples the CEO foreplays.
seasoned layers 4 - Tom Byron
You will witness MILFs and slutwives, as well as dominant hotwiveys doing blowjobs
milf blogspot , vixen gangbang
swinger queen
trashy real wives
wiki for wives gone black
glory holes
facials and facial sluts
gentle giants, dogfart, and mandingo - Just read my husband's letter about me.
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Sunday, May 4, 2008

Olessia and the teddybear

This swan has long been my benchmark of graceful innocence, which, for long time, has not been matched by anything human. I am still searching for a good picture of figure skating,and the search is biased, I admit, since skating is so suggestive of a sport. I will post on figure skating eventually.

In my never-ending quest for beauty, I have stumbled on the following images which portray a hands-down, most innocently delicious perfection of female body. Don't they project effortlessly the adorable, pure affection?

(see Olessia at Lipstick)

On another site I found a siren who has a perfect face. Judging from the web site, she is Russian, and a s a Russian woman she is probably blessed with hair-free legs and armpits, and delicate, downy hair in the most sacred of our locations. And that is from my personal experience, Oh, how lucky is a sister that has spent a night intertwined with the impeccable femininity of a Russian Venus!

Thursday, May 1, 2008

leggy candy

Sometimes I just love an eye candy for a photo. The two college girls french kissing by the pool is exciting, but how refreshing it is too see a photo with just a hint, a promise of the exhilarating, ecstatic, intimate touch?

I think that is the purpose of evening gown and lingerie. I don't live a secret life, I am either a lipstick lesbian or a lesbian MILF - either way, I am having fun, and you are, too.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Piombo and dainty fingers

The world, or at least our Western civilization, hasn't changed much. Though, it has become more refined. First, behold the hand, by Titian.

Flora's left hand, says a scholar, points to her privates. Having made this startling observation, he runs with it, taking it to be an indication that this is a "wedding picture", and as such part of a genre of such, whose purpose was – we are told – to teach the wife about her place in the world as the breeding machine for her husband. Oh, and also -- to stimulate the man to perform his duty, by making the coded gesture full of promise.

Wedding pictures were indeed frequently made in the 15th and 16th centuries, but their ideological programs vary too much to justify this peculiar genitalization.

Look at this picture of my Sapphic girlfriend. The fingers, splayed, tensioned, upside down, seem to be secondary to the task of pulling down the nylons, but they have a powerful, more than subliminal role - I am about to give it to you. It is a promise of intimacy handed on a silver plate.

Flora's fingers, writes another scholar, form the shape of letter V, for Virtus, a clear indication that she is virtuous, and a virgin.

This, too, takes a fair bit of imagination, since the V, if that's what it is, would be lying on its side (actually, somewhat upsidedownish). Besides not being very much like the letter V, the gesture is a lot like something else: like just the sort of gesture you might see girls use from time to time to hold up an unruly garment. On top of which, it also happens to be pretty, which is what explains its presence in several paintings -- not the suspect implications of its putative-V shape.

But in any case, let us concede, for the sake of argument, that it is a "V". Whence the leap from here to -- "Virtus"? For why should the V, if that's what it is, be construed as standing for Virtue rather than, say, Victory? Or how about – Vitello? Or, Vanita, or Verita, or Vino, or Vescovo, or Vipera, or Violino, or Vigilanza, or Vicario, or Vaselina, or Vale? Or Vacuo. (This is a good one!). Or, indeed, while, we are at it, Volgarizzare?

Come to think about it, is volgalizzare perhaps the relevant word here?

For, surely, the reason why the scholar sees a letter V, and in it, in turn, decodes an indication of Virtue, is that he is gripped by the urgent need to answer just one question: is the woman in the painting virtuous or is she – significantly a word written with a doppie-v – a ...?

This question in fact summarizes about 80% of the scholarly writing on Titian's Flora – and about 50% of all scholarly writing on all Venetian women's portraits, whether nude or not. The question, in other words, is: did this so-and-so, whoever she was, or did she not, have sex? And -- would she have it with me?

Which goes to show you that the art-historian's mind isn't very far from the lacrosse players' locker room. The relevant question is the same: is she easy? Can I have her?

I don't know, dear Sapphic sisters.

This seems some really, really weird stuff. I mean, is someone frustrated here?

In all the years of looking at these paintings it has never occurred to me to ask whether these women are virtuous or otherwise. (I have always assumed them to be like most women I have known in my life – a little bit of both – virtuous for the most part -- and thank heavens for that "most"; what would we do without a little doubt in the more shadowy corners of our lives, ahem). And, in any case, in staring at their beautiful skin, and hair, and into their dreamy eyes it has never occurred to ask myself whether they would sleep with me.

They were paintings; portraits of women dead these 500 years. It seemed – well – just a little irrelevant to ask?

Or consider this woman by Sebastiano del Piombo. Wise Virgin - about which one of the authors says that her gaze is seductive.

Years of sleeping with women taught me to recognize the obvious, apparently. This woman is looking at someone seductively!

But then -- how to square this astute(!?) observation of the writer with what follows, the discussion that she is a Wise Virgin – because she holds a lit oil lamp? (For those of you who are a little shaky on the New Testament: 20 virgins went to spend the night with their boyfriends; 10 were wise and brought extra oil for their lamps and remained virgins; 10 were foolish, did not bring oil, the lamps ran out of juice, darkness fell and – well, you know). So here is the problem: why would a virtuous virgin with a lit lamp, and a supply of oil, look at anyone seductively? Has the author of this description – ahem – not thought through her conclusions? Become - a little befuddled in her thinking? You never know the parochially dark mind of New Testament composers.

Alright, I'll make an excuse for the author: she's a woman. No, I don't mean that she is therefore feeble-minded or any such male chauvinist thing. I mean that she probably does not spend much time in her real life analyzing women's gazes for their seduction value; and therefore is in her analysis of this painting is a little -- shall we say -- at sea? (I am similarly powerless when analyzing men's gazes in paintings: my women companions seem a lot more astute in interpreting them. Perhaps because that's what they do all the time while I do it never).

But let's not put too nice an interpretation on this thing. What happened was this: the scholar looked at the painting; and was baffled by the gaze; and not understanding it, assumed that it was meant for a man; and therefore had to be seductive. (How else could a woman gaze at a man). This conclusion seems to reflect the same preoccupation as experienced by the male writers mentioned under 1 and 2 above: when in doubt, assume it's about sex. (What else could it be about?!)

There must be something wrong with me: my head must be on backwards or something. I look at Flora's hand and do not see what it obviously points to and fail to decode its obvious intended alphabetical symbolism. All I can see is a pretty hand, so delicious I could die kissing it, trying to hold up an unruly edge of a nightie. And I look at Sebastiano's woman and do not see that she is seductively gazing at me and instead I think her gaze is partly knowing, partly quizzical, and partly – guarded.

And then I look at this painting (also by del Piombo) Dorothea. Besides not finding it one of the most captivating female portraits, like the writer says (alright, let us say this is a subjective judgment) I am entirely puzzled why her 800 word description of it has to end on this note:

"It remains to be determined whether Sebastiano's portrait represents a bride, a mistress, or even a woman named Dorothea."

For to me, dear friends, besides the fact that Dorothea may of course be a sex object (each of us harbors at least the seed of that delicious potential), sanctioned or unsanctioned, the questions which come to my mind -- and remain to be answered -- are not of this (apparently obvious and overriding) nature. Rather I ask myself: what kind of a person was this woman? Was she shy, or cunning? Forthright, or manipulative? Is that shadow in her eyes a memory of a tragedy or – a fear of the future? Was the role she was expected to play in life – indicated by the basket of fruits, which she seems to hold away from herself rather stiffly, as if she wanted to push it away, or at least forget about its existence – something she hated but believed in, or something she did not believe in – but was only resigned to?

Sunday, April 27, 2008

wishing for Catellani G-string

While touring vacationing in Europe (where, incidentally, I met the I whore for art (Supernaut) gal) I discovered the Castellani pieces, presented in the Louvre. Even to someone who has regularly seen marvelous goldsmith work in India, besides lesbian Tantra monasteries, these pieces, their delicacy and precision, and especially the astonishing work in a technique called granule-poussiere ("dust granulation"), which is granular work with gold balls not the size of grains of sand, as you may see in India, but of the particles of pollen so that, at first glance, the surface so embellished appears to be covered with tea-dust or powdered-sugar. (If you look at the owl pin (among the illustrations of this post), you will note the fine pattern of feathers on the bird. If you look really closely, you will note it is actually made of the powder-granules. Yes, they are that fine).

To me this is not just a wonderful experience -- and an exciting antiquarian discovery -- but also an object lesson how artistic techniques are lost, reinvented and then lost again. I want to know why the Castellanis closed up -- thereby taking western granulation and filigree techniques back to their graves again.

Do go to Villa Giulia, my sweet Janet, and let me know what you can find out.

The beauty of Castellani leaves me wishing for something of that delicate exuberance to decorate my waistline for a romantic evening, where they would be under an exquisite evening gown, modestly cut, underneath, however, would have me look like this:

I think it is most titillating experience of peeling away the pretense of European look from my body to present my girlfriend the promising silkiness of fine lingerie.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Sapphic vestal playing house

I stumbled upon some pottery for my Sapphic love nest. This 15 inch vase is post 1820, and therefore from a period generally thought to have produced only mediocrity. This object looks at first as if a proto-impressionist has dabbed it with the tip of a brush dipped in gold. A change in my quest for non-obnoxious art.

But a closer look reveals each of the dabs to be a meticulously painted crest.

And then comes this vessel.

In the process of firing, the sang-de-boef ("bull's blood-colored") glaze - of exquisite color depth and chocolate-like texture uniformity - runs, imparting a wonderful bleeding effect on the neck. Thoughts of poems. Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson. But look closer: the bleeding reveals a magnificent network of hairline cracks in the underlying layers.

Anything less than mid six figures would be a damned outrage should this piece be offered at an auction.

If I were a man, I would want a limited number of things that are outright beautiful. I know many men, and they strike me as being shy to actually surround themselves with aesthetically pleasing objects. Instead, regardless of their marital status, their favorite den or a bachelor pad is a heaven of sports memorabilia punctuated with a token poster, which is a pinup photo or modern art.

I came across the Canofthoughts blog, and it struck me as a man's blog that struck a note in any mother's heart. A woman with a natural nurturing spirit inside, I wanted to have a bedroom just like this one, since the settee at the foot of it is so versatile. Though the versatility, defined by the romantic liaison with my Janet, is more pointedly an idea for novel Sapphic gymnastics.

Mother's Day Contest (run by the blogger) reminded me of a challange I got last week. "You're one hot MILF," told me a man at the Lex Bar. "Hot lesbian MILF," cam the reply. I had my kid when I was 18 and a ten-year career in Fonda-like aerobics has preserved me in an ideal MILF shape, just right to be picked by Catherine Deneuve lookalikes from then onwards. Till I got the job at the college magazine.

I don't like filling my place with fragile objects. Because we are just too aerobic.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

potential triangles

Once, as I was blissfully absorbed in conversation with a beautiful, intelligent, and attentive woman over a delicious cup of coffee in a pleasant outdoor cafe, a situation in which I, a blissfully romantic Sapphic vestal is bound to lose any consciousness of the surrounding world, suddenly an ecstatic tremor barged in on my prefrontal cortex with the rude self-promoting insistence of the fat probing finger of a pervert on a crowded subway train. Losing my train of thought I looked up with alarm in order to identify the source of the disturbance. There could be no doubt. The inebriating odor was projected by a woman who had just arrived at a neighboring table having first liberally lathered herself with a soap, a lotion, or a perfume of the most astonishing erotic power.

Unbelievably, she was not alone. There were in her company her husband and her two sons, not one of whom gave any indication whatsoever that he was in any way disturbed by the erotic aura, or that he even noticed it. The waiter arrived and began to serve them.

"Pardon me, sweet Janet," I turned to my comely girlfriend, "but would you mind terribly if we moved to another table?"

She answered: "No, of course not, but why?"

I placed my index finger on my lips mysteriously and led her away. When we were at last ensconced at our new table, clear across the cafe from the enchanting MILF-bomb, and safely upwind from it, I explained. "Oh, yes," she said, "I did notice it." And then she gave a short, hearty laugh at my finicky sensitivity. "You are such a hottie." she said.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Erte on plates of cheesecake

This is truly a delightful discovery I ran across in New York- Judy Chicago's infamous The Dinner Party, an installation of ceramic plates and embroidered place mats intended to celebrate important historical and mythical women. It matches my literary-artistic tastes (Natalie Barney and Georgia O'Keefe).

The exhibit was overseen by Judy Chicago, though it is the collaborative effort of many women artists, and was launched in 1979 to enormous controversy. The reason was the artist's choice to celebrate these icons of feminism by making the unifying motif for each plate a highly-stylized rendition of the female genitalia or, to be more exact, plates of vulva.

Above is the most-articulated plate, that of fellow-artist Georgia O'Keefe.

Many of the plates are more subtle. To be honest, I find the plates to be a bit too grotesquely purple-cherry-hot-blue, arousing associations with rape, death and bruised flesh. I love Georgia O'Keefe's paintings, though.

I confess that when "The Dinner Party" first appeared, I was a bit shocked at the crudeness of its chosen metaphor. But over time, the project has grown on me, and seeing it for the first time in person reminded me why gender makes a difference in our appreciation of the world. C. has taught me how women are never free from the sexual pressure of objectification, whether taunts and catcalls on the street, or the never-ending reminders by the media how women are expected to look beautiful and be sexually-available to men at all times.

These differences aren't always comfortable, nor do they invariably lead to insight or mutual understanding between men and women. As many of you know, I always appreciate a good argument, and was granted the seeds of one recently on, whose forums have some of the silliest debates I've ever run across. Recently two female members of a certain age were insisting that the Sexual Revolution was a setback for women, as it had freed men to enjoy casual sex while pressuring women to be the source of that play.

Monday, April 21, 2008

My girlfriend Doris Day

There are certain things that make me recite Sapphic poetry. This time, it's not a classic engraving of Daphnis and Chloe, nut a pleasant, 50's or 60's visage of Doris Day.

If it was not my girlfriends Janet, I would really like to fall in love and spend days of hedonistic bliss with Doris. Her lips here might appear as thinner, or more taut, but imagine this heavenly mouth locked by a gentle suction to your own lips. These lips taste just as yours, perfectly cared for, soft, pleasantly warm, with a hint of an almost edible lipstick. I am not a blonde, but I would feel like we would complete each other's color oppositeness. My raven-black hair would blend with Doris' blondeness, right after an unforgettable makeout session, after we suddenly felt perfectly comfortable to break the kiss and rest, cheek-to-cheek, staring at the ceiling, whispering softly, about the silliest things that otherwise we have never divulged since our girlhood.

We would laugh, tickle each other with the locks of our own hair, and unexpectedly look into each other's eyes. Doris would quizz me with the blueness of her huge eyes, and my eyes would inhale the outlines of her mysterious face. Doris would nibble on my lip, then let her lower lip get caught between her own lips, seductively, and realizing that my panties are ready to be pulled off, disappear under the sheets. Doris is an unsurpassed, perfect lesbian MILF, and men have never conquered her. As I reach for my pulsating, battery-powered never-tiring finger, I melt in fantasies of Sapphic erotica,  Kim Novak,  lesbian blogs,  Ann Lister romance,  Emily Dickinson's cat poems, Avril and Lux, Peaches, Renee, Zafira, Pailina, Felicia, and many, many other equally sweet, cheesecake delicacies...

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Song poetry by the seaside

More on aural nirvana - I have had a recurring dream, where I live on a villa high on a cliff overlooking a sea of azure. The villa has arch windows. They are always open, letting in a balmy breeze. Floor-to-ceiling windows. I have seen it back in college, in my boyfriend's GQ magazine. I think it was an ad for Paco Rabanne. I thought to myself all these years, what music would I listen to if I were to spend a vacation at a villa like this? Brian Ferry keeps coming back. Bete Noire. Again. The sounds of freedom from worries, of well-being, of inner, profound happiness. Maybe David Bowie.
The voice and chord syncopation assuring me that they can be shared with a loved one (like Janet), who savors the same aesthetic expectation in music, though, possibly, having different taste in it.

And thus, we did have a musically intensive vacation. It was on the Cote d'Azur. We listened to Brian Ferry's New Town, More than This, and then, David Bowie's Heroes

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be Heroes, just for one day

And you, and you can be mean
And I, I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact
Yes we're lovers, and that is that

Though nothing will keep us together
We could steal time, just for one day
We can be Heroes, for ever and ever
What d'you say?

I, I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim
Though nothing, nothing will keep us together
We can beat them, for ever and ever
Oh we can be Heroes, just for one day

Isn't it a beautiful poem for feeling great by a seaside? I think Bowie and Ferry sound well together - Bowie has admitted to be inspired by Ferry's glam crooner image, hence resulting in the album Lodger.

I remember when I was choosing the name for this blog. One of my friends said  it should be Lesbia Bound. Another says its Lesbia Benitez. Why Benitez? I said that it had to be less puritan and more hip. She, a chubby lookalike of the bank owner's secretary from Beverly Hillbillies, says that Lipstick Lesbia is just fine. She even kissed me sneakily, on a darkened patio during a party. The picture above is just right in capturing the makeup of the party.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Hopelessly Audrey Hepburn

Audrey Hepburn. Jodie Foster. Helen Mirren. Catullus and Sappho(?). Lesbia hath a beaming eye. Lesbia bound. Tori Amos. Janet tells me that I am an incurable romantic. She got that right, that's why I wrote this post. I say that it is hard to accept diesel and butch types. I think they happen out of yearning to make political statement. I have no reason to proclaim that I am a lesbian. I walk holding hands with Janet, a la Europeene, and there is no need for a t-shirt statement or a K. D. Lang do.

I read Emily Dickinson and Marylin Hacker. I love holding hands and running them through her hair. I like making gentle, caressing love. Because women nurture and comfort.

I love when we both wear tube dresses and high heels (flashback to Audrey Hepburn). I love peeling off her thigh highs. I love feeling her feminine, tender fingers between my epithelial tissue. I love to feel her perfectly oval, nay, dream-rose petal fingernails fleet along my lips. I love when we wear Kim Novak - Audrey Hepburn makeup. I love going down on Janet because love and care comes back. I swear, this sensuality makes me write Sapphic poetry. Which I will do.

Jodie's sibilants, though, turn me off a wee bit, especially during romantic moments.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

on aesthetics of Brian Ferry, Tori Amos, and K. D. Lang

What is orgasm? What is happiness?

They fuse into one unashamed hedonism when I hear the ABC's When Smokey Sings. Beyond their crafty use of Tears of The Clown's chords, it is the silkiness of their tune which bows down directly to the silkiness of Smokey Robinson's voice.

The Orgasm Of Well-Being is even more pronounced when caused by Brian Ferry's More Than This. Did he achieve it through endless studio sessions? Or did he have a shvoong, or that inspiration which comes spontaneously from the inner spiritual perception of nirvana that makes writers and musicians produce masterpieces. I can identify More Than This from its first three notes.

and thinking associatively, the stare reminds me of the chain recollections: K. D. Lang - Tori Amos.

This is pure lipstick deliciousness: in an interview by Joe Jackson as it appeared in Hot Press (Feb 23, 1994), on similarities between Tori Amos and Kate Bush:

"her oragnic style of self-expression can be
traced back through the post-punk rage of Patti Smith, and the similarly
"disturbed" songpoetry of Dory Previn to the kind of demons that
drove Sylvia Plath to her death...."

"Has Tori ever considered having a lesbian relationship?
"I have a dear friend who's not diesel but she's definitely dyke
and I feel like we are very good friends and I know her girlfriend and

"And she said to me recently 'the dykes know that you love to
suck cock but that you also see the beauty in women and can sit and talk
with us about the idea of giving head to another woman and caring about
that. And she said 'the best thing is that there is no judgment with
you." And there isn't. But I have never given head to a woman and I
don't really feel the need to. I like to feel myself feeling myself, which
I sing about in Icicle, but I don't have to have whatever chemistry is
needed to be attracted to women that way.

"Having said that, when k.d. Lang looked at me over her glasses one
time I almost crawled into her arms. But I did wonder if I was a bit of
a sex object for her. though wanting to crawl into her arms in the same
as wanting to give her head, is it?!"

Monday, April 14, 2008

Three Graces and Kim Novak

Janet upbraids me for the incompleteness of the last post. Though of course it cannot be but incomplete -- there should be thousands of items there, how can I even begin to do justice to the images when so much emotions lurked behind the scenes?

But to pacify my dear Janet, here are four more items.

First, there is the Festival. In honor of the birthday of Sapphos of Lesbos, the famous Greek lyric poetess, September 7 has been chosen as the date for the first Sapphic Erotica Festival. I have contributed to the content on several websites, but it cannot be pasted here. Instead, I shall describe the objects of admiration that is the essence of my writing.

This drawing is so classically curvaceous - no need for more pounds. The 3 Graces were the ultimate sugar lesbians. That is how I like my Janet. The fullness of the thighs is just right to beg the comfort of graceful stockings. The unearthly perfection of calves and ankles beckon the touch of her trembling maiden-in-waiting. The hourglass figure is a inexhaustible supply of sweet silkiness for her lady's hungry lips.

What else is left? Kim. The unforgettable Kim. I rest in comfort knowing that I have enjoyed the creamy cleavage in a way no man has even imagined.

Kim Novak. Kim No Va. Kim Shall Not Go Any Further Beyond The Abode of My Endless Love.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Results of my tantra vacation, sort of

Besides tons of photographs, the number one fruit of my working Tantra vacation is the extension of the Lesbian Kama Sutra book. They really went retro-creative on the book titles. For example, under Tribad sex there is English Breakfast, Venus to Venus, Best Buddies, Ride, The Canter, Backside Venus, Tandem Yab Yab.

Tactile Sex chapters are ("Erotic touch using every aspect of hands and fingers, caressing, stroking, fondling massaging") Yab Yab,
Yab Yum, Yum Yum, Up your's Baby, Molding Kiss.
Oral Sex is less Tibetan-Himalayan: ("Sex using every aspect of the mouth") Mole-Muff Diving, Anilingus, Taktilingus, Kissing, More Kissing.

There is the Applied Sex section - "Sex with appliances such as sex toys, dildos, fruit and vegetables." Hot stuff, Veg Out, Servant, Little Millie. Auto Sex is "Sex involving self-pleasuring, self-exploration and masturbation" - Eyes wide shut, Hello Fanny, how do you do?, and Love Gazing

That's some surprise! And that is after spending months in the place that looks like this?

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Slightly LUG/BUGgish

Our weekend is going just swimmingly. We dropped by Janet's office and did some paperwork reorganizing, since I am a perfectionist and have been invited to organize CEO's offices and library nooks.At the rate the things are going, we might be ending up on beer kegs soon.

I have discovered a shop that carries all kinds of fishnets. Fencenet, that's what I really like, enrages Janet. I wear it to bed. I have sex in it. This is the kind I have:

One of my friends who's still in college called me a full-time heterosexual, but she was deeply mistaken, (and creamy-delicious), since I style myself as a slightly passive, LUG/BUG-like non-political lipstick Sappho romantic. Isn't that a mouthful? Depends what's in the mouth. No need for a drum roll, I am not trying to be cocky. It's the alcohol working, and Janet's well-crafted manicure teasing my cleavage.

Here's how it looks, described poetically by a gal calling herself EIleen Bangkoksky:

Feeling and Felt

Her hair shone, unlike any hair I had ever seen leaving me,
with a feeling unlike any i had ever felt.
She knew, I guess, that she had me from that
first night, over the green fabric her blues met my
cat like gaze and I fell, so deep that I felt I was
falling into the felt of that table as the balls made their
way to the holes,
THWACK, went
my heart and she was the cue
The tinkle of your ice in that glass and I knew you
a Bacardi Breezer kind of girl, I laughed
Hardly a drink for a woman like you,
you chuckled then I had you and we moved
around the floor to Joan
Melissa, you cried out
That's not my name, I cried back,
play me some
and then I was yours until the morning when
the paper arrived on your door step
and as I passed it I saw it was
the National Inquirer and my
heart skipped like a stone
back home my lady love

I found it at Biva

Friday, April 11, 2008

Orchids for tantra

My tantric orchid will look like this

Janet and I have started growing orchids. Her ex-roommate got us started and taught us how to feed the flowers with special banana gels.

I have seen his orchids and they look very much like the one above.

I say they are extremely eye-candy and erotic.

You know what they have done to Janet and our private life.

Her ex-roommate is gay.

Janet is a slightly dominant lipstick lesbian.

I am a slightly passive, sundress-wearing MILF lesbian.

I love tantric orchids.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Baby doll and the big city

Am I the only woman pining away for a lover clad in gossamer thigh-highs and projecting the lithesome charm of Doris Day. I want my Janet for a perfect lipstick lesbian girlfriend. I want her to wear suspender hose to bed. I want her to wear an off-white miner's shirt that we've seen at Sax Fifth Avenue, and forgot to pick it up.

Pink. That's what she should wear. I really want to write poetry about our night come true.

On a romantically-technical(sic) note, I have added another water heater to my co-op, thus doubling the hot water capacity to 100 gallons. Plenty for the Jacuzzi, and then some.

I am definitely more artsy than this. I swear to you, to my straight college MILF professor, and to my Janet - this is me, either top or bottom. By John Chilton. (Whom you could see at Coffee, Cake and Kink in London)

I love it all. The reality of women sleeping, women bathing, women petting, caressing each other's thighs. The shameless display of the nude female curves is fantasy of sex and the big city. And my reality. Janet reads my blog.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Waxing sensuously literary

I have been ghostwriting for several lesbian sites, still the same fare as my day job at a magazine. As a result, I cannot shake off the sensitivity to the themes of lesbia, water and tantra prevalent in the lesbian imagery.

I don't have to admit - I love wearing my Escada dress with thigh highs, sometimes fencenets. I love quiet evenings with Janet, sipping champagne, enjoying the buildup to the bubbling Jacuzzi. I love reading Marylin Hacker. I love heterosexual MILF erotica. I even love the Mandingo phenomenon. Not that I wish I was Mandingo - I can imagine myself the wife of a plantation owner. I am contemplating voting for Obama, but am still vacillating. I love Russian women, who are lucky for being naturally hairless in all the erotic places - their Venusian mounds, the heavenly-crafted legs, the balsamic armpits, and milk-and-peach arms.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Blond daughter

I wax sensuously romantic when Janet reads this to me:

(From Exiles, by Marilyn Hacker)

Lady of distances, this fire, this water,
this earth makes sanctuary where I stand.
Call of your animals and your blond daughter,
I am in exile in my own hands.

and we become the Sapphic erotica that nobody will ever film. We will be Paulina and Rene. Jackie and Zafira. Felicity and Justine Jolie, my dream combination. Blond yoni brushes her raven-wisped sister. Dreams of poetry embodied as us, the internet vestals, drink blush wine and bathe in languorous drip of water into sandalwood-scented soapiness.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Lesbian Recruiters

Janet and I were talking to our friends at a Madison Avenue talent agency when someone called and, by coincidence, informed us that the agency is a leading lesbian recruiter in town. I Googled them. The result was laughable, and a welcome search hit for me and Janet: Lesbian Recruiters is also a funny, engaging and delicious site. A sexy premise: young, lithesome girls that are coaxed into lesbian sex for the very first time by a sensuous MILF-type lipstick lesbian. There are some quick learners of things Sapphic. There are dildo riding bi-maidens and angel-bow lips open to inhale as much of MILF's husband appendage past their tonsils as they can. Pretty faces and even prettier bodies made our lesbian dreams come true.

I wish they had more of the real lipstick lesbian action, high heels and fishnet and all.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Marylin Hacker and cold streams

I found another gem that sings of water and lesbia, ever so gently and elegant - Iva's Pantoum, by Marylin Hacker. Here are the bits that hearken back to the motif I loved in previous posts (Dickinson 1 and Dickinson 2)
you are the baby on the mountain. I am
in a cold stream where I led you

You are the woman with spring water palms.
Again, sweet dreams of lesbian MILFs: Zafira, Avril Lux, Paulina, or even that milk-and-peaches Sapphic mermaid, Justine Joli.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Dickinson on Drowning

I found this poignant poem which, in many ways, provides answers to my questions in a previous post on the themes of drowning in women's or lesbian's poetry.

Drowning is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise
Three times, 'tis said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode,
Where hope and he part company --
For he is grasped of God.
The Maker's cordial visage,
However good to see,
Is shunned, we must admit it,
Like an adversity.

I am completely unpacked from my working vacation to a Sapphic Tantra monastery, and my girlfriend Janet says the spirituality between us is unprecedented. We watched Desert Hearts and Liana, while our DVDs of lesbian MILFs, Zafira, Rene, Avril Lux, Paulina and Justine Joli are still undisturbed within the dining nook drawers. I agree with the bliss recently described bubblingly in The lesbian bed death syndrome does not exist if you stay away from the L-word Cause.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

quick report on my Tantra vacation

I have been away traveling on an assignment that my chief editor told me has long been postponed. She sent me into the proverbial briar's patch. The destination: Sapphic Yoga Academy of Tibet. I quickly forgot my other assignments that I covered (CIA, Chopin and the L word, and the review of lesbian and other MILFs)

Bodhichitta Atti is a Sapphic form of Yoga (I refer to it as the "yum-yum" teaching) that has a respectable precedent amongst a particular lineage of medieval Tibetan Yoginis.

I have witnessed exciting, mouthwatering, eye-candy rituals. Apparently, the spectacle I provided has induced suitable awe in the "students" and the girl who received the symbolic punishment is telling all who will listen that she was transported to the very heights of ecstasy and can't wait to experience the inevitable delights of my lingam in its more proper accommodation. I trust she will not be disappointed when the time comes. I have been taking lessons in Tantra from a travelling guru. The man is remarkable in the things he teach to do with your yoni and he assures me that he can teach me to climax many times. All his talk of "chakras" and spirituality seems to me to be so much hokum but the program of exercises he has given me seem to make perfect sense. I doubt I will ever be able to perform his trick of emptying a glass of water and ingesting the contents with my yoni, but I can't think of any sort of party where such a stunt is likely to be well received by the hostess.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Virginia Woolf: Exploring Lesbianism

The typical tone of the early 20th century literature is apparent in the virtual disparity between women and popular literature. An authentic woman's voice was a faint if at all audible contingent within what preceded modernist authors. Even rarer were the voices of women who spoke against the normative restraints of their culture. Virginia Woolf offered significant contribution to this emerging literary movement, both in the areas of women writing about women and, more specifically unique to her modernist experimentalism, the exploration of female-to-female intimacy. Woolf was a trailblazer in her weaving of these themes into her work. She creates characters who represent the struggle that she and other women experienced in early 20th century Britain. Her young protagonist, Clarissa, in Mrs. Dalloway, Woolf explores the social constraints that limit agency and suppress these yearnings. To the Lighthouse and her unfinished and posthumously published novel, Between the Acts, lesbian desire is squelched by popular convention and its oppressive alienation robs her heroines of the chance to possess the objects of their desires and withholds from them a social environment wherein it is plausible to assume a lesbian or woman-centered identity.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Anne Lister's Journals, Feb 8, 1821

Anne Lister was a noble Englishwoman from Halifax, West Yorkshire. She lived from 1791-1840, and is famous for having left behind her diaries describing her daily activities. These journals also describe her romantic relationships with women. Not "vaguely romantic", but clearly passionate and sexually-involved affairs that she pursued exclusively with women, throughout her life.

Anne's coded journals might have gone unexplored had not Helena Whitbread invested six years of her time carefully exploring and decoding them. Helena's book, I Know My Own Heart: The Diaries of Anne Lister 1791-1840, offers the diaries as fascinating story of the "everyday" life led by an early 19th century lesbian. Engrossing reading, to say the least.

About Anne Lister, Helena says, "She became the first woman to be elected to the committee of the Halifax branch of the Literary and Philosophical Society because of her academic contributions to that society. She took an active interest in schools in the area and generally encouraged the spread of education. She managed her estates, dealt with the business of farming, and developed coal-mining on her land. Much of her working life was spent out of doors supervising workmen and, at times, tackling some of the physical tasks herself."

Anne died unexpectedly at 49, from a fever contracted while traveling through Russia.

Excerpts from 1821: Monday 29 January 1821, Halifax

Cutting curl papers half an hour ... Arranging & putting away my last year's letters. Looked over & burnt several very old ones from indifferent people ... Burnt ... Mr Montagu's farewell verses that no trace of any man's admiration may remain. It is not meet for me. I love, & only love, the fairer sex & thus beloved by them in turn, my heart revolts from any other love than theirs.

Thursday 8 February 1821, Halifax

Came upstairs at 11 a.m. Spent my time from. then till 3, writing to M- very affectionately, more so than I remember to have done for long ... Wrote the following crypt, 'I can live upon hope, forget that we grow older, & love you as warmly as ever. Yes, Mary, you cannot doubt the love of one who has waited for you so long & patiently. You can give me all of happiness I care for &, prest to the heart which I believe my own, caressed & treasured there, I will indeed be constant & never, from that moment, feel a wish or thought for any other than my wife. You shall have every smile & every breath of tenderness. "One shall our union & our interests be" & every wish that love inspires & every kiss & every dear feeling of delight shall only make me more securely & entirely yours.' Then, after hoping to see her in York next winter & at Steph's before the end of the summer, I further wrote in crypt as follows, 'I do not like to be too long estranged from you sometimes, for, Mary, there is a nameless tie in that soft intercourse which blends us into one & makes me feel that you are mine. There is no feeling like it. There is no pledge which gives such sweet possession.'

Janet and I wax romantic and cuddle up sapphically, as always.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Dickinson and Themes of Drowning in Lesbian Culture

Remember P. J. Harvey's song -
I lost my heart
Under the bridge...
That blue eyed girl...
Became blue eyed whore...
Down by the water...
Won't see her again...
I had to lose her...

To do her harm...
I heard her holler...
I heard her moan...

 Little fish. big fish. Swimming in the water.
Come back here, man. gimme my daughter.

Or Eurythmics' Jennifer:

Jennifer with your orange hair,
Jennifer with your green eyes,
Jennifer in your dress of deepest purple,
Jennifer, where are you tonight?
Underneath the water. Underneath the water. Underneath the water.

And who remembers an case back in the 80's when a lesbian drowned her lover on a bathtub?

Back to a cheery note: Herein is another of poems from Emily Dickinson's letters to Susan Gilbert.


You must let me
go first, Sue, because
I live in the Sea
always and know
the Road --
I would have drowned
twice to save you sinking, dear,
If I could only
have covered your
Eyes so you would'nt
have seen the Water--

1876 or so

Susan--I dreamed
of you, last
night, and send
a Carnation to
indorse it--
Sister of Ophir --
Ah Peru --
Subtle the Sum
That purchase
you --

My girlfriend and I are waxing sensuously tantric with a hint of longing for a nebulous, heterosexual carnality. We are watching old movies, hug, take a scented bath and worship Dickinson. We will post soon.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Emily Dickinson Letter June 11 of 1852

Herein below is another of Emily Dickinson's letters to Susan Gilbert. I emphasized admirable words, or words that now, to me a college publications editor, would be a tongue-in-cheek explicitly Sapphic implorations.

The Letter of June 11, 1852

I have but one thought, Susie, this afternoon of June, and that of you, and I have one prayer, only; dear Susie, that is for you. That you and I in hand as we e'en do in heart, might ramble away as children, among the woods and fields, and forget these many years, and these sorrowing cares, and each become a child again -- I would it were so, Susie, and when I look around me and find myself alone, I sigh for you again; little sigh, and vain sigh, which will not bring you home.

I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away -- I miss my biggest heart; my own goes wandering round, and calls for Susie -- Friends are too dear to sunder, Oh they are far too few, and how soon they will go away where you and I cannot find them, don't let us forget these things, for their remembrance now will save us many an anguish when it is too late to love them! Susie, forgive me Darling, for every word I say -- my heart is full of you, none other than you is in my thoughts, yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me. If you were here -- and Oh that you were, my Susie, we need not talk at all, our eyes would whisper for us, and your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language -- I try to bring you nearer, I chase the weeks away till they are quite departed, and fancy you have come, and I am on my way through the green lane to meet you, and my heart goes scampering so, that I have much ado to bring it back again, and learn it to be patient, till that dear Susie comes. Three weeks -- they can't last always, for surely they must go with their little brothers and sisters to their long home in the west!

I shall grow more and more impatient until that dear day comes, for till now, I have only mourned for you; now I begin to hope for you.

Dear Susie, I have tried hard to think what you would love, of something I might send you -- I at last say my little Violets, they begged me to let them go, so here they are -- and with them as Instructor, a bit of knightly grass, who also begged the favor to accompany them -- they are but small, Susie, and I fear not fragrant now, but they will speak to you of warm hearts at home, and of something faithful which "never slumbers nor sleeps" -- Keep them 'neath your pillow, Susie, they will make you dream of blue-skies, and home, and the "blessed contrie"! You and I will have an hour with "Edward" and "Ellen Middleton", sometime when you get home -- we must find out if some things contained therein are true, and if they are, what you and me are coming to!

Now, farewell, Susie, and Vinnie sends her love, and mother her's, and I add a kiss, shyly, lest there is somebody there! Don't let them see, will you Susie?

Emilie --

Why can't I be the delegate to the great Whig Convention? -- don't I know all about Daniel Webster, and the Tariff, and the Law? Then, Susie I could see you, during a pause in the session -- but I don't like this country at all, and I shan't stay here any longer! "Delenda est" America, Massachusetts and all!

open me carefully

My girlfriend and I are waxing romantic. We are watching old movies, hug, make out and read Dickinson's poetry.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

CIA and the IBT Committee, A Sapphic Review

As I found on after watching the movie together with my MILF-like flame Janet, it turns out that some of the best talents working in lesbian movie industry today got together in a room and produced this Itty Bitty Titty Committee. I have as good a sense of humor as the next lipstick lesbian, but it leads me to believe that somebody in the studio thought it was far funnier than it actually is. For those of you who don't know, Itty Bitty Titty Committee (IBTC) is the first feature film produced by the organization known as PowerUP.

The film has some excellent street fabula, my college professor girlfriend says. The group is CIA (C[litori] in Action). The plan is chaotic and is carried off with gusto by the cast who seem to cozy up to their roles as the film goes on, I, as an editor say.

The love story is romantically nurturing, though the ending is utterly ridiculous, with some laughs sprinkled in for entertainment. The visual feel echoes Down and Out with the Dolls. The plot is cartoonish just as But I'm a Cheerleader was but without the uniqueness, and we're reminded quite gleefully often that reality has no place in a milf-wannabe lesbian world. The slapstick comedy prevents us from really taking the lesbian agenda that seriously.
The love story was supposed to be the highlight of the film, but the bland sex scenes will probably award the film at least an R-rating, if not NC-17 in the States, which may prevent many young tender Sapphic vestals from seeing it at all. The acting is of that "I'm in an independent-film and I have an ego trip" kind we're all familiar with, which is makes the crossover potential to touch zero.

I suspect this is a film best enjoyed in groups where the laughter may become infectious. Without giving too much of the ending away, I also truly believe the lesbian community deserved more from PowerUP than a film which is essentially the world's longest lingam joke.

Janet and I curled up Sapphically on my couch and we watched The Hunger, again.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

How to Be Mrs. Humbert Humbert and Love It

Be it Dreamhost or the Dream Weaver song, I had both in mind when my Macworld almost crashed on me because my girlfriend sent me over 30 raw photos fresh from her camera, as attachments. I usually zip them. "Alan November," she kept saying for some reason. I went out to the Twelve Palms Mall and decided to also get string bikinis for myself and our intimate weekend that is coming up."Laure Manaudou, Ron Paul, Mark Driscoll," kept popping up on my mobile's RSS reader. The last thing Janet wants me to be is Britney Spears, so I opted out of Victoria's Secret and headed to get my favorite, Escada. My Facebook account is dormant, so is MySpace. I feel luxuriantly more mature and lipstick-lesbian than their populations.

I have not finished musing over the allure of the fishnet hosiery. I think it is the minimalistic nature of the fishnet that is confining, defining, and directing the lusting' observer's eyes into predefined openings. A sort of forced voyeurism. I am Janet's Sapphic Humbert Humbert.

Escada will look great on me, accentuating my hourglass, gym-conditioned Rubensian voluptuousness - no excess fat spoiling the calf lines, no cottage-cheese-looking cellulite upsetting girlfriends' expectation of my hips, when all of the above are intertwined in Kadie Lang-made-shameless wrestling match, when all of the above is embracing a slightly anorexic siren who dazzles heterosexuals with her flouncy Fifth Avenue skirts. I understand the fapping loners staying up late night watching blue video snippets, wherein the camera captures, from a longitudinal point of view, a siren like me, wrapping her legs around an impatient lover, the legs bent at the ankle, resulting in accentuating the calf look, the hips' feminine indescribable softness,  the unearthly lines of the pelvis-to-the-bosom line. That is me in everyone's clip. I love it.

Monday, January 14, 2008

The LLL Word

And Janet, the Midwest's exponent of grace and intellect, where is she now?
She is, according to my latest iPhone communication, shopping for a slingshot bikini, as I found out by an incredible coincidence of having worked on the same workstation, where I always try to police my cookies.

Last time we were consummating our Sapphic attraction for each other we have briefly touched on the topic of the bed death in
the World of L Word. I said that there seems to be a cornucopial excitement among us, since, just like in the straight world, the aesthetic factor provided by a pair of elegant thigh highs is a hands-down winner. We the Sapphic sirens are still the same women that our found in man-woman relationships, we innately draw on the simplest electricity sparked by lingerie that makes men drool.

She asked me, broaching the issue, if I like to dress up. I said, "in bed or out?" Sure, in bed I like to dress up, and watch the prettiest scenes from the "Hunger." Call it the LL L word, for the Lingerie Lipstick.

If I was the Playboy's centerfold, which I may have been had I thought of that when I was about 10 years younger, I would have written in the turn-offs category: politics, women with pierced lips, and tattoos.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

The L Word To Chopin, Monks and Sappho

And what about the incredible, edible elegance of a Sapphic maiden's leg, clothed in finest of French lace, weave around my Northern cowgirl's  milk-and-peaches complexion! I don't mind if you call me the super-lipstick L word, but a luxurious Sunday lunch at a restored railroad station, watching suburban trains whizz by, sharing soft glances, neither anticipating nor indifferent - all this is just a lead-in to a night on white satin, tumble in intimate silks, intertwining in a balmy bath of perfectly perfumed suds...
Janet is a perfect 10, a social studies professor, but not a militant. She enjoys a quiet night watching the stars on my patio while listening to Jo Jackson. Unforgettable, those platonic, Sapphic nights. They are beyond the need for political statements, feminist agenda, Equal Rights Amendment. They are beyond the need for obscene policy statements screamed by hi-cut, brusque and pierced matrons on the Diag.
She told me all about her husband, and that made me feel a sort of an odd mastermind of a peaceful plan that includes her husband as a cuckold, had I been a man, she would be thought of as an adulteress. I find myself as a gourmet huntress of MILF's . Back to movie reviews, my eunuch-like monk friend and his violin repair shop, back to the philharmonic and Shostakovitch, Chopin and Mozart. That is too much.

Monday, January 7, 2008


Using stereotypes to exploit stereotypes, writer and director Maria Maggenti earns points about male vs. female roles and sensual expectations, but succeeds in extending comic episodes of cable TV's The L Word as her PUCCINI FOR BEGINNERS.

Unlike the libidinously superficial romantic triads of Kissing Jessica Stein and the British Imagine Me & You, a lesbian's perspective is at the center here. The alluring Elizabeth Reaser stars as relationship-o-phobic Allegra, on the rebound from Samantha (Julianne Nicholson) and now in love with both a straight man Philip (Justin Kirk), who shares her love for opera, and a dazzling straight woman, Gretchen Mol's Grace. The element that is expected to make this movie a contemporary homage to classic screwball comedies, hinted at by Allegra's fondness for such films as Holiday, is that Philip and Grace are former lovers. This crucial coincidence is introduced in a confrontation during the prologue, with the rest of the film resigned to be a flashback with routine Carrie Bradshaw-like narration as well as the droll touches of passers-by commenting on Allegra's convoluted liaisons.

Though the men glimpsed in the background seem to be stuck babbling in a frat house, Philip is a carnally cool intellectual, but his proficiency in Kant is used tritely for too many puns and raise off-the-screen questions such as how does someone become an assistant professor in the philosophy department at Columbia without a PhD? Allegra's friends are icons and cartoonish characters such as a laughless feminist editor, a lipstick lesbian, and a supportive, lusciously straight woman. Mol's sensuous Doris Day appeal worked well in The Notorious Bettie Page, but here the only way her cloying, naive nagging could be a believable as an investment banker is through futures trading in in pork bellies.

Written & Directed by: Maria Maggenti.
Produced by: Eden H. Wurmfeld, Gary Winick & Jake Abraham.
Director of Photography: Mauricio Rubinstein.
Edited by: Susan Graef.
Music: Terry Dame.
Released by: Strand Releasing.
Country of Origin: USA. 81 min. Not Rated.
With: Elizabeth Reaser, Justin Kirk, Gretchen Mol, Jennifer Dundas, Julianne Nicholson andlesb Tina Benko.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Sapphic Erotica

Once a reader wrote to us saying that Sapphic Erotica is the "finest lesbian gourmet site on the web." Upon revisiting this orchid, you couldn't agree more. Sapphic now has over 100 hours of downloadable videos of yoni-savoring excitement as well as thousands of pictures, most of which are exclusive to this site.

This fine dish of cheesecake serves up over 500 of the alluring freshman girls munching away with many exclusive and original scenes. These babes make up for inexperience with enthusiasm, and the action is genuine down to great passionate kissing. There are no scenarios or intros and many of the girls are probably TOEFL graduates or may not even speak English other than "yes" and "more." Some of the sets feature 4 or even 6 young models at a time such as the very hot blonde-blonde brunette-brunette yoni feast featuring Zafira Jackie Rene and Paulina, who are all fingers and tongues. Visitors especially enjoy the face-sitting and gluteal-playing adventures of adorable Avril and Lux.

The site mechanics and organization are somewhat clunky, but the indexing is good, with plenty of caps and thumbs. The newer movies are crystal clear in 960x540 resolution and most can be downloaded in one click. Videos come in either Windows Media or Quicktime, with some as large as 300mb for a half hour of spanking fun. The photo galleries really sparkle in both quantity and quality offering 1024x768 sized pictures with thumbs and zip downloads. Not all content here is exclusive and there are some extra filler sets mixed in here for value.

To summarize: there are no lingams to ruin this pure yoni palace that is Sapphic Erotica. It is a sincere and commendable effort that has ripened into a fresh piece of yoni liturgy.

Have fun,-


Wednesday, January 2, 2008

The Raven's Site

Raven has wild pink hair, a 36 DDD chest, an insatiable desire for black tools, and a husband who likes to watch, photograph and join in the fun!

Over 250 downloadable videos featuring cutesy couple Rick and Raven swinging exploits will keep your hard drive, and your tool, fat and happy, with nonstop interracial action. Raven's got some very kinky tastes beyond dark meat, which include seed drinking, gluteal licking, threesomes, foursomes, moresomes, anal, DPs, footjobs, and lots of hot friends (they, thankfully, do not have crazy pink hair) in straight, group, and lesbian scenes, and loads of lingerie. Raven's also into fantasy scenarios (Secretary, Babysitter, Maid, Nun, etc.) which up the entertainment value of these highly strokeable genre movies.

Most of the videos are ten to twenty minutes long and download in one click, and in multiple formats, although older movies are chopped into many segments. Unfortunately, there is really no way to preview the videos before downloading. There are also numerous still galleries, but these are difficult navigate through. A better player/viewer for the stills, would help considerably. While downloading was fast and easy, we were prompted to enter our user id and password whenever streaming. The couple's videos are for sale, and there are upsells for cam shows, friend sites, and pov movies throughout the site, detracting from the overall experience.  

Numerous extras include full access to three other premium sites from these same producers: Feet n Heels, Use My Wife (interracial BDSM), and Jen Stefani (yes, she looks like the famous singer). There are also more pedestrian extras, some stories, as well as familiar feeds from Candid Cams, which add next to nothing to the overall value of the membership. Still, Raven is a unique, energetic and kinky performer with busty good looks, sure to please fans of hardcore interracial genre.