Three weeks ago, my body was subjected to trauma. I haven’t written much about it, and I don’t expect I will. But in the last few days, my libido, my cock, has begun twitching back to life, in spite of continuing pain and pretty limited mobility. I’ve been interested in some of the details of the ways in which my libido’s been returning.
Here’s one example: I’ve written before about the “OnlyAllSites” family of web sites. It is, far and away, the porn that most consistently turns me on, gets me hard. It’s barely porn. There’s no sex, barely even an acknowledgement of the existence of sex. Vaginas are rare. There are no men, ever, except that, incidentally, in a few shoots, we see a man operating a camera. The site is, simply, an appreciation of female beauty, and of the excitement entailed in a woman’s revealing her body for the camera, for our (my) gaze.
There’s lots, politically, to be said about this porn. It’s not about female pleasure. It’s not about sex, or connection. It’s simply about objectification. This is reinforced by the site’s search functionality, which allows the viewer to search on any number of objectifying characteristics – breast size, hair color, clothing options. For this post, I’m not interested in the ways in which this is problematic, or incomplete. But it is.
What I’m interested in right now is something far more prosaic: why it is that, in recent days, as I’ve been struggling with my mortality, with my limited ability to function physically, let alone sexually, my search preferences have narrowed, and deviated from my usual preferences. Usually, what I search for on the site is, first, constrained by breast enhancement (I hate that shit), and then, informed by sartorial preferences. Do I want to see women in tights? In cotton full-back panties? In summer dresses? In skirts? School uniforms? Gowns? But lately, what I’ve been craving is something different.
In the last week or so, all of my searches have been for something I not only don’t typically seek, but something that actively, affirmatively, turns me off. I’ve been searching for women who are busty. Not just women who are busty, but women with really big breasts. Breasts that are so big that there’s no visible space between them. Breasts that are pendulous, heavy, that dwarf a woman’s figure. I’ve been craving images, in particular, of a model who, usually, turns me off.
Her name is Stacey Poole. Her face isn’t, to my mind, particularly pretty. There’s something almost cartoonish about her breasts. They’re simply too big for her body, which is curvy, trim. But there’s something about her, about the contrast between the top of her body and the rest of it, that just… does it for me, right about now.
In particular, I find myself drooling hungrily over images of her that tease me with both her breasts and her thighs, her cunt (obscured, always, by panties, tights, skirts, trousers, what have you).
What is it about these images? Why now? It’s as if there’s something about her breasts that makes me feel alive at a time when, otherwise, I’m struggling mightily to find vitality. And I should say: it’s interesting that I’m not going to my other favorite sites, ones that feature actual sex, and finding busty models having sex. I’m just taking in the visuals, appreciating her beauty, and not, really, her beauty, but her form.
I can’t say I understand this, but I’m certainly taking note. And, dear readers, if you want to do me a service, and these pictures make you think of other models, other shoots, you think I might enjoy, please feed me.