oh god
oh god
oh god
sometime I cannot even feign eloquence in the face of overwhelming pleasure.
oh god.
That expression, ripped from my lips by the touch of another's, where a flash rushes over my face, my skin rippling, tickling, goosebumping. A light headedness that mere alcohol could never produce. Ahha oh.
But what is it about? Why, why, why, why, why?
It isn't about the size of your cock, or your checkbook. It isn't about your toys, or the places you can take me, rl, sl or bed. It isn't about the home you talk about, the children you have, the things you want.
It's about everything dear, it is about everything. It is about how I want you to be my everything, my whole world. To get lost in your mind, lost in the things that you create, could create, can even dream of creating.
It is about everything, because when we are as one, that is what you are, I see neither sky, nor earth, nor even myself. I feel myself only as you press upon me, in me and through me.
oh god oh god how it feels with your lips suck the skin of my neck, and I can feel the welt rising, knowing that I will there be marked as yours.
oh god oh god, how I shake like an autumn leaf just ready to let go and soar into free fall. Death, so swet an embrace that death that is when I let go of all the things my mother said, and my father feared in his quiet moments. I am falling upwards, into your sky.
oh god oh god, when you have your hands on my, smooth and rough. I want them to be soft, but they are not, they are hte hands you handle the world with, and os I want you to handle me.
oh god oh god, what you do to everything, I want you to do to me. The way you take a shaft of wood, the way you do what you could. I want it to be tender, I know I should. But the force is making me giddy.
When you have your tongue on my pearl, my bright and searing diamond made of heat. How your tongue feels as if it will rip me from my body, pull me up. I want it to be soft, but like a cat you tear at me, and I shake and stammer out your name. oh god, oh god, the ripple runs up through me, and jerks my limbs like a puppet, only the strings, I feel them, I feel them within my body, torquing, torturing, taut and taunting. I am coming for the first time with you, from there, from there, from the shivering shaft that makes me suqirm and writhe.
It is like the tolling of the bell, and it tolls once, wrung from me by you.
Then you have your hard curve pressing on me, I am tight and closed and open all at once, feeling wet within and clenched without. I want you tyo be softly, but you are not, instead pressing, pressing pressing on me, as if you were pressing on every part of me, and I am surrounded by you, until all my awareness drains to that one point, were you are breaking through me.
I am stabbed. You have stabbed me. No knife can plunge in so deep and hard.
Kill me darling. Kill me. Stab me stabe me stabe me. Rape me if you can. Oh god oh god. I want to be every woman you have ever had, every will have, ever will dream of. All at once. I want to be softly your girl, warmly your wife, passionately your victim, coldly your whore, by turns on each stroke, a different woman as you turn me inside out.
Oh god oh god, I pulse and clench around you, giving your crest that deepest kiss, over and over and over again that deepest kiss that showers down upon you, my outer lips rubbed raw with your pounding.
And it is like a bell, and I come the second time. But my shame is this as my midriff clenches around oyu, and I can think of nothing but hodling you within me... I feel a shameful pressing in my inside, I want to tear away to piss out this passion. Oh god it burns and itches, oh god oh god. But I cannot bear that you might leave me.
Oh god. Oh god.
But however long you have me, I know, whether in midnight to your other, or the morning to your world of work. Or in some different moment when the tides of your boroding nature call you. I know I shall be alone, as you face that restless inner sea, from which your everything arrives and emerges.
Oh god. Oh god I hate you in that moment, and I am angry because I am so in love with everything of you.
And so in my anger I lie on my bed, and I think of you. I have stolen your shirt, it reeks of you. I wear it, and it surrounds me, you surround me, and I can smell your sweat scent rising from it. I remember vivid the touch and kisses, the stabbing shame of being so overwhelmed. My face is flush, my feet are warm, you know not what that means, my cheek is burning. And from no where and everywhere, I come again, the pleasure flooding in to my head like light and rising steam at once.
It is the bell that tolls again and again, you cannot leave me. Promise you will never leave me. Promise you will live beyond me, and let me die first, because I could not ever bear to be alone in this world without you, my everything.
Oh god oh god. I can't believe that I have become this way.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Inner Life of Sex:
Peripheries of Desire
I'm starting this here, because while this post isn't NC-17, it will rapidly head there.
One thing to get firmly in mind, is that every woman is different, as every man is different. Every night is different. What drives me wild one night, will hurt on another. Learning the map of a woman's desire, and learning the nuances of the evening, are the first skill of the intrepid sexual oral adventurer. In this, I think, men and women are the same. Our moons of desire have many phases and faces.
However, my experience is that there is something that is different between men and women. For a woman, it is more important to get her body to tell her mind that you are the one, than to directly try and press the matter. Many men worship size, because in their minds, they think that if they can stretch a girl out, then she won't be satisfied with less. There are girls who worship size out there, and endowment of the right fit is certainly a plus. But the size script, of the man stretching the woman out, gets it in reverse. Yes there is a very particular feeling to having a man who is just slightly larger than you can accomodate easily, but that feeling comes not because he is larger than your last lover, but because of the inner life of sex.
You see, if I don't want you to be the one, I can be tight for the next man in my life just by waiting a few weeks and doing some kagels. I know tight feels good for a man, but being tight isn't what makes sex good for a woman. Instead, being tight is a sign of the body embracing, not a sign of the body being pushed. Even rape fantasies turn on something simple: wanting it, underneath it all, wanting it.
This means that people who, rl or sl, try and simply force the issue by say, emoting or by say, just pushing ahead when it is clearly too early, aren't creating that deep need in a woman, but are, instead, coming off as ... um ... a bad cocksman, and selfish as well. I don't know where the script of "stretch her out marks her as your territory" came from, but it is simply reversed. You aren't going to win a woman by stretching her out, but instead, by wanting her to wrap herself tightly, tightly, tightly around you, hold you inside. For ever. Never letting gone, never leaving. It is that hope forever which is sweet, and tingling. Since men, I know, hope for it as well, it is only a matter of bridging that gap.
So realize that approaching the corners of erogenous zones is essential. Let me take one example, along the inner thighs, if you kiss them, and it causes my muscles to tighten, it pulls on me. Suddenly, it isn't just you, it is my body telling me "this is the one." Ask women who have conceived, many will tell you that there was a whole body experience with the man who was the potential father. Make my body pull on me, make it stretch me, make it tease me, and I will be the right size for you, or will have sex with you until it does work.
So don't just think pink, kiss and tease, so that muscles tighten, that skin becomes flush and warm. Remember that under a woman's skin is a layer of fat, and thus the skin is often cold, the sign of good insulation. A woman's body also pulls blood into the center faster. This means we are less likely to have hypothermia, but it also means that our fingers and toes often feel like ice. Muscle's rippling and skin heating, digits flexible and flush, so common and easy for a man in his prime, is a different experience for most women. When combined with erotic sensation it feels... it feels as if your spirit has broken through your skin. But often it doesn't need to be that spiritual to feel very, very good.
Don't knock it boys, more than one man has been saved by having warm feet on a cold night.
This is particularly true of those "secondary sex characteristics" that catch your eye in a swim suit. What are breasts and full hips? Well to be blunt for a moment, they are well sculpted fat. Which means that making them warm is mmmmm a good thing.
By warming the skin around the pinnacle, it makes reaching it that much more, more, more.
These sensations create a small web of details, details that all begin to sing out the same desire, and spell out the same name. And if you know how to write on the skin as a canvas, that name can be yours. So lick long up and down the spine, kiss the curves of the waist, and spiral towards the nipples. Kiss the neck, the ears, and every part where blood may come to the surface, because it is this welling up of life that starts moving the deep waters of desire that you crave so much.
One thing to get firmly in mind, is that every woman is different, as every man is different. Every night is different. What drives me wild one night, will hurt on another. Learning the map of a woman's desire, and learning the nuances of the evening, are the first skill of the intrepid sexual oral adventurer. In this, I think, men and women are the same. Our moons of desire have many phases and faces.
However, my experience is that there is something that is different between men and women. For a woman, it is more important to get her body to tell her mind that you are the one, than to directly try and press the matter. Many men worship size, because in their minds, they think that if they can stretch a girl out, then she won't be satisfied with less. There are girls who worship size out there, and endowment of the right fit is certainly a plus. But the size script, of the man stretching the woman out, gets it in reverse. Yes there is a very particular feeling to having a man who is just slightly larger than you can accomodate easily, but that feeling comes not because he is larger than your last lover, but because of the inner life of sex.
You see, if I don't want you to be the one, I can be tight for the next man in my life just by waiting a few weeks and doing some kagels. I know tight feels good for a man, but being tight isn't what makes sex good for a woman. Instead, being tight is a sign of the body embracing, not a sign of the body being pushed. Even rape fantasies turn on something simple: wanting it, underneath it all, wanting it.
This means that people who, rl or sl, try and simply force the issue by say, emoting or by say, just pushing ahead when it is clearly too early, aren't creating that deep need in a woman, but are, instead, coming off as ... um ... a bad cocksman, and selfish as well. I don't know where the script of "stretch her out marks her as your territory" came from, but it is simply reversed. You aren't going to win a woman by stretching her out, but instead, by wanting her to wrap herself tightly, tightly, tightly around you, hold you inside. For ever. Never letting gone, never leaving. It is that hope forever which is sweet, and tingling. Since men, I know, hope for it as well, it is only a matter of bridging that gap.
So realize that approaching the corners of erogenous zones is essential. Let me take one example, along the inner thighs, if you kiss them, and it causes my muscles to tighten, it pulls on me. Suddenly, it isn't just you, it is my body telling me "this is the one." Ask women who have conceived, many will tell you that there was a whole body experience with the man who was the potential father. Make my body pull on me, make it stretch me, make it tease me, and I will be the right size for you, or will have sex with you until it does work.
So don't just think pink, kiss and tease, so that muscles tighten, that skin becomes flush and warm. Remember that under a woman's skin is a layer of fat, and thus the skin is often cold, the sign of good insulation. A woman's body also pulls blood into the center faster. This means we are less likely to have hypothermia, but it also means that our fingers and toes often feel like ice. Muscle's rippling and skin heating, digits flexible and flush, so common and easy for a man in his prime, is a different experience for most women. When combined with erotic sensation it feels... it feels as if your spirit has broken through your skin. But often it doesn't need to be that spiritual to feel very, very good.
Don't knock it boys, more than one man has been saved by having warm feet on a cold night.
This is particularly true of those "secondary sex characteristics" that catch your eye in a swim suit. What are breasts and full hips? Well to be blunt for a moment, they are well sculpted fat. Which means that making them warm is mmmmm a good thing.
By warming the skin around the pinnacle, it makes reaching it that much more, more, more.
These sensations create a small web of details, details that all begin to sing out the same desire, and spell out the same name. And if you know how to write on the skin as a canvas, that name can be yours. So lick long up and down the spine, kiss the curves of the waist, and spiral towards the nipples. Kiss the neck, the ears, and every part where blood may come to the surface, because it is this welling up of life that starts moving the deep waters of desire that you crave so much.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
What if they gave an orgy, and nobody came?
The open scandals of sex in the undercity.
A friend of mine calls such places "The warrens of the undercity," those vast dark gathering places of people who gather in the blackness of the soul, and cry out in the emptiness. One such cluster of places are where streetwalkers congregate, looking for quick tricks to turn. The mirror of them is the orgy room. The streetwalkers cluster alone and wait for the few men willing to pay to drop out of the sky. An orgy room is where clusters of newbie men sit, with cheap cocks errect and attached, waiting for the few women willing to just fuck anonymously to drop out of the sky.
(Click on pictures for full size versions.)
If the open scandal of SL escorting is how, without males playing females and women cheating on their husbands, it would be very difficult to pay for a blow job in sl, the open scandal of orgy rooms is how few people are actually having sex. I went to 6 the other night, and in most of them only one couple was having sex at one time. The most I saw was three. The reason this is over on Raise the Red Lantern, is that I took pictures.
The first picture is from the Neva orgy room. The largest actually active one, the only ones higher on the list that night were camping farms with no, or few, actual people. Three couples were having sex at the peak. One person shouted for 45 minutes "any woman want to spend the night with an angel." He wasn't getting any. Many males tried the approach of hopping on half a pose ball and waiting. They didn't get high rates of success either.
This next picture comes from "Nymphos paradise." I am not sure that is true, but be that as it may, the score here is one couple, and they probably were a couple before they came, since they were using their own pose balls. This has been my experience: that if you see a good looking couple having sex in an orgy room, it is because they are a couple who has a penchant for public sex.
Score here? One raw newbie chick. Yummy if you are still into biting the erasers off of pencils. When getting good looking is 0L, you can do it just by visiting the Yedo Freebie room, and being a reasonably good looking barbie requires on a a short side trip to Bare Rose Tokyo for the 1L basic AOs, and 10L for prim shoes. That's right for 11L you too can out of that newbie gear and into a gown, a shape, a skin, a walk and spiked heels. Then send in your newbie hair coupons at Gurl 6 and Diversity... and well, you won't look like the girl in this picture... or the next one either.
Again, one raw newbie chick, and a man getting in my face after not having taken the first "no." This gets me to my thoughts on the matter. Clearly, there are women who want to have sex, and have sex at rates that would not cover my weekly take out expenses... (full sink, no time, forget to eat, you know the routine I think. If I didn't forget to eat, SL would be really bad for my wasteline...) Clearly there are men who want sex. But the terms are incomensurable, the men want to hop on a pose ball, or at most make a few noises about how cute the girl is. The girls want to look good, and have some spending money for that pleasure of sl... shopping.
The costs for keeping a girl happy aren't high. In fact, if you think about it, the cost you can get an sl pixel prostitute for are less than what it would take to buy a girl a cup of coffee and feed her a chocolate croissant as an extravagance. The time it takes to find a girl willing to have sex by going dancing, that is couple's dancing, is a hit or miss affair. We like romantic moments, and that's the cost of having sex without paying for it, give the girl a couple of magic moments.
One way to look at it is money, if there were other work for women, they wouldn't need to make virtual sex their entry level occupation. If there were enough work for men, they might be willing to, gasp take girls out on excursions and dates, buy them trinkets and act like... ummm... you know, men. As opposed to prickbots. But that isn't the way I look at it, because while buying Linden from Linden Labs can be a pain in the neck, there are enough other sources. And since the Linden exchange rate is around 260L:1USD, it doesn't take much to be able to be generous on sl.
No, the problem is social. There are men who not only can't pay, but do not want to pay. Not just not want to pay money, which I can understand, but who don't want to pay anything. Not time, not emotional investment, not presents, not caring, not conversation even. And since the sex they want, the other part of this is not just the pictures, but the complete absence of text in any of the sex acts other than one, that I saw on this excursion, is of such dismal quality, they feel it is more worth their time to stand around, dick upright, saying "any girl want to have fun?" and IMing every female who goes through about "where are you from?"
Think about that last. A man who isn't even willing to spend 1L on his own cock, wants to, immediately, know a personal piece of information about a girl, one that narrows down where she is and makes her vulnerable to being stalked. And stalking is a problem on sl. Even the Pepsi-Cola company is willing to give me some free iTunes downloads to get my email address out of me.
So it isn't about money, though money would put many more women into circulation as being willing to have unpaid sex, and, I think, take many of the men playing women out of circulation as being willing to have sex with men. It is about a social system which is fundamentally broken. And I don't mean SL's social system, but instead the one that is pouring both streams of people into SL. Not to knock my profession, but what exactly does it say about us pixel prostitutes that we are willing to engage in some fairly complex hard core pornography to format for rates that wouldn't hire a data entry person on a work study job for some biology professor?
One last picture, one last thought. SL is about bringing people together, between streetwalking and orgies, there is a picture of a world of people apart. A problem, a real proble, to be solved. Because if you peruse the top sites on sl, they consist, almost entirely, of camping farms and orgy rooms.
If streetwalking is selling the hopelessness, boredom and despair of women on sl, then orgy rooms are selling the hopelessness, boredom and despaire of men on sl. By loudly proclaiming "FREE SEX!" and "NO ESCORTS!" they are avoiding a larger truth, and that is the costs of orgy sex are time, both simulator and real, and the soul crushing emptiness of the results.
The warrens of the undercity are a reflection of that which is above the water. It isn't SL which is broken, it is us.
It is only us.
(Click on pictures for full size versions.)
If the open scandal of SL escorting is how, without males playing females and women cheating on their husbands, it would be very difficult to pay for a blow job in sl, the open scandal of orgy rooms is how few people are actually having sex. I went to 6 the other night, and in most of them only one couple was having sex at one time. The most I saw was three. The reason this is over on Raise the Red Lantern, is that I took pictures.
The first picture is from the Neva orgy room. The largest actually active one, the only ones higher on the list that night were camping farms with no, or few, actual people. Three couples were having sex at the peak. One person shouted for 45 minutes "any woman want to spend the night with an angel." He wasn't getting any. Many males tried the approach of hopping on half a pose ball and waiting. They didn't get high rates of success either.
This next picture comes from "Nymphos paradise." I am not sure that is true, but be that as it may, the score here is one couple, and they probably were a couple before they came, since they were using their own pose balls. This has been my experience: that if you see a good looking couple having sex in an orgy room, it is because they are a couple who has a penchant for public sex.
Score here? One raw newbie chick. Yummy if you are still into biting the erasers off of pencils. When getting good looking is 0L, you can do it just by visiting the Yedo Freebie room, and being a reasonably good looking barbie requires on a a short side trip to Bare Rose Tokyo for the 1L basic AOs, and 10L for prim shoes. That's right for 11L you too can out of that newbie gear and into a gown, a shape, a skin, a walk and spiked heels. Then send in your newbie hair coupons at Gurl 6 and Diversity... and well, you won't look like the girl in this picture... or the next one either.
Again, one raw newbie chick, and a man getting in my face after not having taken the first "no." This gets me to my thoughts on the matter. Clearly, there are women who want to have sex, and have sex at rates that would not cover my weekly take out expenses... (full sink, no time, forget to eat, you know the routine I think. If I didn't forget to eat, SL would be really bad for my wasteline...) Clearly there are men who want sex. But the terms are incomensurable, the men want to hop on a pose ball, or at most make a few noises about how cute the girl is. The girls want to look good, and have some spending money for that pleasure of sl... shopping.
The costs for keeping a girl happy aren't high. In fact, if you think about it, the cost you can get an sl pixel prostitute for are less than what it would take to buy a girl a cup of coffee and feed her a chocolate croissant as an extravagance. The time it takes to find a girl willing to have sex by going dancing, that is couple's dancing, is a hit or miss affair. We like romantic moments, and that's the cost of having sex without paying for it, give the girl a couple of magic moments.
One way to look at it is money, if there were other work for women, they wouldn't need to make virtual sex their entry level occupation. If there were enough work for men, they might be willing to, gasp take girls out on excursions and dates, buy them trinkets and act like... ummm... you know, men. As opposed to prickbots. But that isn't the way I look at it, because while buying Linden from Linden Labs can be a pain in the neck, there are enough other sources. And since the Linden exchange rate is around 260L:1USD, it doesn't take much to be able to be generous on sl.
No, the problem is social. There are men who not only can't pay, but do not want to pay. Not just not want to pay money, which I can understand, but who don't want to pay anything. Not time, not emotional investment, not presents, not caring, not conversation even. And since the sex they want, the other part of this is not just the pictures, but the complete absence of text in any of the sex acts other than one, that I saw on this excursion, is of such dismal quality, they feel it is more worth their time to stand around, dick upright, saying "any girl want to have fun?" and IMing every female who goes through about "where are you from?"
Think about that last. A man who isn't even willing to spend 1L on his own cock, wants to, immediately, know a personal piece of information about a girl, one that narrows down where she is and makes her vulnerable to being stalked. And stalking is a problem on sl. Even the Pepsi-Cola company is willing to give me some free iTunes downloads to get my email address out of me.
So it isn't about money, though money would put many more women into circulation as being willing to have unpaid sex, and, I think, take many of the men playing women out of circulation as being willing to have sex with men. It is about a social system which is fundamentally broken. And I don't mean SL's social system, but instead the one that is pouring both streams of people into SL. Not to knock my profession, but what exactly does it say about us pixel prostitutes that we are willing to engage in some fairly complex hard core pornography to format for rates that wouldn't hire a data entry person on a work study job for some biology professor?
One last picture, one last thought. SL is about bringing people together, between streetwalking and orgies, there is a picture of a world of people apart. A problem, a real proble, to be solved. Because if you peruse the top sites on sl, they consist, almost entirely, of camping farms and orgy rooms.
If streetwalking is selling the hopelessness, boredom and despair of women on sl, then orgy rooms are selling the hopelessness, boredom and despaire of men on sl. By loudly proclaiming "FREE SEX!" and "NO ESCORTS!" they are avoiding a larger truth, and that is the costs of orgy sex are time, both simulator and real, and the soul crushing emptiness of the results.
The warrens of the undercity are a reflection of that which is above the water. It isn't SL which is broken, it is us.
It is only us.
Friday, June 15, 2007
it is, it is, it is not, it is
It is and it is not. It is how I call your name and you do not answer. I opened my mind to you and all you desired was for me to open my legs. This gate is not open. But yet it is.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
A humming song that rattles down my brain and leaves me empty dizzy down across my throat as your lips do touch it softly like the dry wind that off of desert flows. Your face like sand leaves trails across my skin and scars its surface in a thousand puncture me penetrations. The pain and burn that come from this drive me awakening to another realm, I want to fly away from your vicious monstrous mind that batters at my sense of self. But I cannot. I am it under this assault, and erased by its irresistability.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
You think then having me by the throat that you can smash me with the revelation of your power over others, a contempt that screechs over wire and into my eye as if my ear. You think, you do not think, you know, you do not know. It is at the moment that I grow ever cold to you and turn to let you find your own bliss. The flowing spring stops to instant winter without end. The past is frozen within its ice until uncovered by the washing years as a picture of what once when it was. It is better this way.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
Ah yes, my cunt, that thing that you think makes all holy or sacred or profane, that raises your ire and bends your hate for me to focal point. Ah yes, my cunt, from which flows la difference. The engine of difference, that wheels and turns and clicks and whirs from out of every age into this.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
Seek thee thine own bliss. We must all find it and follow it.
Even if it is.
It is not.
It is.
It is.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
A humming song that rattles down my brain and leaves me empty dizzy down across my throat as your lips do touch it softly like the dry wind that off of desert flows. Your face like sand leaves trails across my skin and scars its surface in a thousand puncture me penetrations. The pain and burn that come from this drive me awakening to another realm, I want to fly away from your vicious monstrous mind that batters at my sense of self. But I cannot. I am it under this assault, and erased by its irresistability.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
You think then having me by the throat that you can smash me with the revelation of your power over others, a contempt that screechs over wire and into my eye as if my ear. You think, you do not think, you know, you do not know. It is at the moment that I grow ever cold to you and turn to let you find your own bliss. The flowing spring stops to instant winter without end. The past is frozen within its ice until uncovered by the washing years as a picture of what once when it was. It is better this way.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
Ah yes, my cunt, that thing that you think makes all holy or sacred or profane, that raises your ire and bends your hate for me to focal point. Ah yes, my cunt, from which flows la difference. The engine of difference, that wheels and turns and clicks and whirs from out of every age into this.
It is, it is not, it is, it is.
Seek thee thine own bliss. We must all find it and follow it.
Even if it is.
It is not.
It is.
It is.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Eden (Club Review)
The life cycle of a successful club turns hard when it becomes a festival of lag. In comes another new club, often one fitted on its own sim, to fill the void. You know a club is too crowded when it tells people coming in to detach not only AO's but prim clothing. Eden is the latest entrant into the sweepstakes for top end escort club.
The build is at a high standard of quality, with sleek rock gardening and smooth biege tile. The girls are at the level of emote quality that you would expect. Eden is not generous with its girls, it demands minimum hours, 150L for training and exclusivity. The girls don't stand head and shoulders above other top clubs at the present time, the are good, but they are not better than Arsheba, which is the reigning queen of quality dancing - an Arsehba birl would never chat when she meant to emote. But while Arsheba is the queen, uneasily sits that crown as examples like this show:
A bit long for a more crowded space, but well crafted work. Kudos dear, if they don't get warm on that, they don't have a pulse. Yes it is basic slut, but it is rocco in its execution.
And already the tip jars are telling the tale: most were well over the topless line of 150L when I was there, and it was not a crowd in full swing. This is a place where the serious tippers are going to come, because the smooth animation is just so much better than the herk and jerk of a laggy club.
The smooth low lag environment and incredibly spacious build are destined to draw people in, is there anything here that isn't in the standard package? No, not really, but the uncluttered easy to nagivate design means that even as traffic comes in - and it will come in - people will still be able to get to the floor, to the dancers, or to the nooks for more intimate conversation.
There are, as should be expected from this kind of ambitious build, a few rough edges to smooth out. Security was not inevidence, and I was harrased when entering the sim. Ours is a business that attracts people who haven't learned good manners unfortunately. The staff was polite, but not particularly so. Instead they were, as they should be, focused very heavily on the paying clients. There was a small amount of roleplay going on with a master and his slave that added a nice touch to the procedings.
Another area where Eden is strong is managing expectations. They have automatic shouters with prices for stripping and lap dances, and senior people all over the floor and poles to make sure that patrons have a good guide into how to enter the demi-monde of SL. So many clubs leave patrons wondering what to do, and how to do it.
In short, if the top club you go to has lag that is driving you crazy, and you want to go to the newest and freshest, I can almost assure you that Eden and it's alt arty competitor NC-17 are where you will visit, and many well end up. And given the very professional and focused nature of the staff, which shows through in the layout, employees, decor, music selection and details, what ever small problems there are will be ironed smooth in very short order.
There are several other clubs trying to be the next fresh place. Eden is it.
The build is at a high standard of quality, with sleek rock gardening and smooth biege tile. The girls are at the level of emote quality that you would expect. Eden is not generous with its girls, it demands minimum hours, 150L for training and exclusivity. The girls don't stand head and shoulders above other top clubs at the present time, the are good, but they are not better than Arsheba, which is the reigning queen of quality dancing - an Arsehba birl would never chat when she meant to emote. But while Arsheba is the queen, uneasily sits that crown as examples like this show:
Ambrosa Jano pants gently as her head leans to one side of the pole Her body glistening with sweat being on stage so long. She moaned out as she slide up to the pole again playfully grinding her hips against it. The slick lips of her pussy spreading her moist juice as she slide down. Her face came close to the pole licking it off as she stared over to the people blushing a deep crimson.
A bit long for a more crowded space, but well crafted work. Kudos dear, if they don't get warm on that, they don't have a pulse. Yes it is basic slut, but it is rocco in its execution.
And already the tip jars are telling the tale: most were well over the topless line of 150L when I was there, and it was not a crowd in full swing. This is a place where the serious tippers are going to come, because the smooth animation is just so much better than the herk and jerk of a laggy club.
The smooth low lag environment and incredibly spacious build are destined to draw people in, is there anything here that isn't in the standard package? No, not really, but the uncluttered easy to nagivate design means that even as traffic comes in - and it will come in - people will still be able to get to the floor, to the dancers, or to the nooks for more intimate conversation.
There are, as should be expected from this kind of ambitious build, a few rough edges to smooth out. Security was not inevidence, and I was harrased when entering the sim. Ours is a business that attracts people who haven't learned good manners unfortunately. The staff was polite, but not particularly so. Instead they were, as they should be, focused very heavily on the paying clients. There was a small amount of roleplay going on with a master and his slave that added a nice touch to the procedings.
Another area where Eden is strong is managing expectations. They have automatic shouters with prices for stripping and lap dances, and senior people all over the floor and poles to make sure that patrons have a good guide into how to enter the demi-monde of SL. So many clubs leave patrons wondering what to do, and how to do it.
In short, if the top club you go to has lag that is driving you crazy, and you want to go to the newest and freshest, I can almost assure you that Eden and it's alt arty competitor NC-17 are where you will visit, and many well end up. And given the very professional and focused nature of the staff, which shows through in the layout, employees, decor, music selection and details, what ever small problems there are will be ironed smooth in very short order.
There are several other clubs trying to be the next fresh place. Eden is it.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
The river of joy
It isn't sex, until someone gets wet.
The change from our walking state, where we are so drive and divorced from the sensations of our body, to that other state, where rain comes to the mountains and the rivers flow, is the transformation that we must leap over, from that cold winter of waking life, to the spring of fertility, passion and desire. It is why the slut trick of talking about how wet she is works, and always will.
But this transformation is far more complex than simply the flowing of effluvia itself. It is the chnage from a body, and a self, that are trying to protect, to one that is receptive, sensitive, and ready to have life leap across the gap from one physicality to another, and to bond tightly with that other being.
From the perspective of fertility, the crucial task is to create a river over which will flow the sperm and down which will float the ovum. From the perspective of bringing the results of that union to fruit and harvest, the task is to create a bond within two people so powerful that over time they will be attached to each other as powefully that they will be attached, as well, to that fruit. It is not just the body that becomes fluid, but the brain as well, where hard nerves bend like stone that has heated until it burns.
It must also be a bond so powerful that either of the two people involved must be willing to give their lives for the results. Hence the power of water in sex and death paintings and music. Women throw themselves into the sea for their lost lovers, it is a ship and the sea that flows around the sex and death of Tristan and Isolde, and potion which draws them into it. Andromache is chained above the sea. The failed love in Schubert ends with the brook taking in the wanderer.
But this is the teleology of this river, it is not the phenomenology. Or to put it a simpler way, the end isn't the ride.
/me shifts her hips back and forth as she leans first on one foot and then the other.
In second life, describing the visible mechanics of the coming of spring, wetness flowing, touching oneself, chats that talk about "how hot it is in here" are often the way to to create the impression that sex is about happen. When working a club floor and there are many men about, it creates the compulsion for the men to pay for sex. They know someone is going to get it, and they aren't paying for sex per se, but to cut to the front of the line.
The orgiastic female who holds the troop over is fertile and all the boys want their throw with her. She is the physical goddess, a reflection of something more primal even, than humanity itself. And corresponding to the woman's river of fertility, must be the man's own moisture, that drop of rain that falls down.
/me flushes as she takes the rose from your hand and looks down shyly.
But these outside forces are pale to use, compared to the solidity of our own feeling. While the weight of ages may weigh on us, we could care less at that moment that our whole consciousness drops from our heads, down into our lower body, and we stare at a person or avatar and can only say "uhhhhhn." Feeling that is easy on sl, we can all be pretty if we want. It is easier and safer to send the signals of availability. And it is easier and safer to express sexual apprecation for someone else.
/me looks softly into your eyes, and gently lets her fingers play over the back of your hand, half leading, half pleading, to take the dance floor.
But what is most seductive about Second Life, is that it is possible to be drawn across the line by one's avatar. I, and I know other people, have slid into intimacy with others, because of the lethal effectiveness of the slow dance pose balls, whose touching and kissing and swaying make the mind imagine a pulsing rhythm and warm touch. The mind can imagine the body doing by seeing, so long as there is that all important identification between avatar and player. His hand caresses your hip, your mouth touches his neck, your breasts ache to slip out of your dress.
Blood flows to the skin, and its ice thins as the warmth wells up from below, and showers down from above. The river is flowing.
Once this moment has happened, there is a powerful urge to unclench that that band that runs round the inside of our skull, like an iron mask from Dumas, that is the tight grasp of our inhibitions and control. The mental dam that is meant to hold back the flood. Once unclenched, the spirit flows down, the muscles relax, and the warmth flood to the midriff with it. The exposed midriff is sexy because it is through there and from there, that the animal emotions must be controlled.
/me rolls her abdomen and gyrates her hips wildly.
Every society knows that the inhibtions of the working days, where raising food and building houses are the order of the day, are also lethal to formation of this flood of river. As the savannah needs its rainy season, so does the sexual spirit. We have carnivals, both fixed in time, and impromptu, to help this unclenching. Second life is such a carnival.
/me places her hand over yours, and slides it down the curve of her waist, pulling at the fabric from the pressure, until it is firmly planted on the back of her hips.
In such moments, the flow ceases to go from player to avatar, and goes in the other direction. In such moments it is clear that on the screen the inevitable animal logic is to follow the warmth to wear it leads, and seek the moisture that is welling up from below.
At this point there is a need to imagine closeness, and reinforce virtual physical intimacy with emotional intimacy. The next step of spring is to make the spirit flow. To admit some deep fear, feeling or fantasy. To look into a soul, even across the ether, and allow a some hidden part to coallesce into words, from scattered droplets.
Intimacy is what created the bond. And around the fear of loss must flood that intimacy. It is perfectly reasonable, how better to know whether someone will desert you or hurt you, then by giving them a chance to do so right at the outset? Sometimes the harsh put down is really just the test of the other person, to see if they will take rebuke as a challenge to do better.
/me fixes her gaze on yours, her face seemis to fall towards you and places her lips close to your ear until you can feel the breath from her pursed lips. She whispers in a very low, barely audible tone.
This is the floating time, when your feet have been lifted up off the floor, your spirit up off the pedastal of its every day repose. You are waiting and hoping. Either hoping for that admission, or hoping that it will flutter and alight, and be handled with care like a butterfly.
Once this moment has come, the rest is preparation, anticipation, because already within, there is flowing that river of join, and it seeks nothing more, than to meet a passionate tide, from distant sea.
The change from our walking state, where we are so drive and divorced from the sensations of our body, to that other state, where rain comes to the mountains and the rivers flow, is the transformation that we must leap over, from that cold winter of waking life, to the spring of fertility, passion and desire. It is why the slut trick of talking about how wet she is works, and always will.
But this transformation is far more complex than simply the flowing of effluvia itself. It is the chnage from a body, and a self, that are trying to protect, to one that is receptive, sensitive, and ready to have life leap across the gap from one physicality to another, and to bond tightly with that other being.
From the perspective of fertility, the crucial task is to create a river over which will flow the sperm and down which will float the ovum. From the perspective of bringing the results of that union to fruit and harvest, the task is to create a bond within two people so powerful that over time they will be attached to each other as powefully that they will be attached, as well, to that fruit. It is not just the body that becomes fluid, but the brain as well, where hard nerves bend like stone that has heated until it burns.
It must also be a bond so powerful that either of the two people involved must be willing to give their lives for the results. Hence the power of water in sex and death paintings and music. Women throw themselves into the sea for their lost lovers, it is a ship and the sea that flows around the sex and death of Tristan and Isolde, and potion which draws them into it. Andromache is chained above the sea. The failed love in Schubert ends with the brook taking in the wanderer.
But this is the teleology of this river, it is not the phenomenology. Or to put it a simpler way, the end isn't the ride.
/me shifts her hips back and forth as she leans first on one foot and then the other.
In second life, describing the visible mechanics of the coming of spring, wetness flowing, touching oneself, chats that talk about "how hot it is in here" are often the way to to create the impression that sex is about happen. When working a club floor and there are many men about, it creates the compulsion for the men to pay for sex. They know someone is going to get it, and they aren't paying for sex per se, but to cut to the front of the line.
The orgiastic female who holds the troop over is fertile and all the boys want their throw with her. She is the physical goddess, a reflection of something more primal even, than humanity itself. And corresponding to the woman's river of fertility, must be the man's own moisture, that drop of rain that falls down.
/me flushes as she takes the rose from your hand and looks down shyly.
But these outside forces are pale to use, compared to the solidity of our own feeling. While the weight of ages may weigh on us, we could care less at that moment that our whole consciousness drops from our heads, down into our lower body, and we stare at a person or avatar and can only say "uhhhhhn." Feeling that is easy on sl, we can all be pretty if we want. It is easier and safer to send the signals of availability. And it is easier and safer to express sexual apprecation for someone else.
/me looks softly into your eyes, and gently lets her fingers play over the back of your hand, half leading, half pleading, to take the dance floor.
But what is most seductive about Second Life, is that it is possible to be drawn across the line by one's avatar. I, and I know other people, have slid into intimacy with others, because of the lethal effectiveness of the slow dance pose balls, whose touching and kissing and swaying make the mind imagine a pulsing rhythm and warm touch. The mind can imagine the body doing by seeing, so long as there is that all important identification between avatar and player. His hand caresses your hip, your mouth touches his neck, your breasts ache to slip out of your dress.
Blood flows to the skin, and its ice thins as the warmth wells up from below, and showers down from above. The river is flowing.
Once this moment has happened, there is a powerful urge to unclench that that band that runs round the inside of our skull, like an iron mask from Dumas, that is the tight grasp of our inhibitions and control. The mental dam that is meant to hold back the flood. Once unclenched, the spirit flows down, the muscles relax, and the warmth flood to the midriff with it. The exposed midriff is sexy because it is through there and from there, that the animal emotions must be controlled.
/me rolls her abdomen and gyrates her hips wildly.
Every society knows that the inhibtions of the working days, where raising food and building houses are the order of the day, are also lethal to formation of this flood of river. As the savannah needs its rainy season, so does the sexual spirit. We have carnivals, both fixed in time, and impromptu, to help this unclenching. Second life is such a carnival.
/me places her hand over yours, and slides it down the curve of her waist, pulling at the fabric from the pressure, until it is firmly planted on the back of her hips.
In such moments, the flow ceases to go from player to avatar, and goes in the other direction. In such moments it is clear that on the screen the inevitable animal logic is to follow the warmth to wear it leads, and seek the moisture that is welling up from below.
At this point there is a need to imagine closeness, and reinforce virtual physical intimacy with emotional intimacy. The next step of spring is to make the spirit flow. To admit some deep fear, feeling or fantasy. To look into a soul, even across the ether, and allow a some hidden part to coallesce into words, from scattered droplets.
Intimacy is what created the bond. And around the fear of loss must flood that intimacy. It is perfectly reasonable, how better to know whether someone will desert you or hurt you, then by giving them a chance to do so right at the outset? Sometimes the harsh put down is really just the test of the other person, to see if they will take rebuke as a challenge to do better.
/me fixes her gaze on yours, her face seemis to fall towards you and places her lips close to your ear until you can feel the breath from her pursed lips. She whispers in a very low, barely audible tone.
This is the floating time, when your feet have been lifted up off the floor, your spirit up off the pedastal of its every day repose. You are waiting and hoping. Either hoping for that admission, or hoping that it will flutter and alight, and be handled with care like a butterfly.
Once this moment has come, the rest is preparation, anticipation, because already within, there is flowing that river of join, and it seeks nothing more, than to meet a passionate tide, from distant sea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
