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www.magazinetoday.org/how-to-give-her-multiple-orgasm/ Follow these four hot steps to triple her pleasure.
Giving her just one orgasm is cause for celebration. But any woman who can climax once can probably cross the finish line again—and again.
It’s a biological gift: You have to wait for your refractory period to pass before you’re ready for round ...
Kayden Kross is missing something in her life. Her disconnected boyfriend Erik Everhard has never satisfied her needs. It's only when her promiscuous girlfriends pass on the secret of their pleasure, does Kayden find what she is looking for an exclusive agency of men. Manuel Ferrara, James Deen, and Steve Holmes specialize in the art of sex and bringing women to explosive endings. Katsuni, Penny Brooks and Kagney Linn Karter are the women who use the studs to quench their whorish desires.
No. Not with lovely Dania although with consent I may be prepared to.
No.
Tessa has just got the new PS CS5. Woohoo!
Enough computing power to take you to the moon
A lovely picture of flickr.com/photos/200054231@N07/
To Infinity and Beyond: This Is the Afterlife ~
Turning inside out, the young shaman falls though a long swirling tunnel formed of his inverted self, his unbodied mouth and eyes agape in a primal rush toward extinction.
He accelerates t
hrough a tightly wound vortex that shifts and bends to accommodate his course, always centred in the swirling tube which never touches his falling, disembodied perspective. The tunnel is made of light, and of his own bloodstream, and of all the memories and unremembered details of materiality and personality that made up his life – yet not merely ‘his’ life.
Every human, fish, bird, animal, insect, cell and blood corpuscle that has ever lived is there with him, all at once – the dying shaman can feel their bright fear and ecstasy pouring through him as they all rush toward an unseen destination around the curving, translucent bends of the primal vortex. Even though every being dies alone – no matter if a multitude of witnesses is present – the moment of death itself is one great screaming orgasm experienced simultaneously by every one, every single thing that has ever lived – all our eyes and mouths and ganglia agape at the same simultaneous culmination of our material existence.
The tunnel is an eternally vivid living record of past events and future dreams, all memories and visions embroidered into the seamless fabric of its swirl – and Ram’yana’s private past and the panoply of his personal memories are displayed most prominently to him, brightly livid episodes which emerge from the tubular walls as he passes. His strongest experiences – the most impressive ones, that imprinted themselves most brightly into the palimpsest of his being – leap out at him in high relief as he turns and twists and falls and flies, a singular eye of consciousness accelerating toward the endless end of the convoluted time tunnel that’s leading him home.
As the world we experience slips past us at the periphery of our sensoria, an ongoing tunnel vision moves with us at the extremity of our perceptions, whether dying, dead or alive. Journeying out of the physical plane, outside the material matrix of the world, Ram’yana is beyond time and the ken of time-bound beings; as he leaves four dimensional Timespace and approaches the speed of light everything twists into a tunnel which lengthens fore and aft.
He sees his grandfather and grandmother, Mickey Mouse and Pluto, all the dogs and cats and mice and goldfish that shared his boyhood years, the smells of his houses and the flavours of his lovers. He hears the laughter of his kindergarten friends, their bright faces visible all around him singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, while pretty little Abigail jumps over a spinning rope twirled by Gina and Hannah, her long blonde pink-ribboned pigtails rotating around the sides of her head.
He holds his mother’s huge hand, grasping her finger through the wooden bars of his bassinet while she sings to him in the sultry evening air. He witnesses the expression of semi-resigned shock on his father’s face during the Cuban missile crisis and again when Kennedy was shot, sees the squashed remains of mosquitoes on the wall above his crib, watches the strange lights moving in the sky while all the neighbours point and speculate, sinks again with a collapsing sandbank on Bondi Beach, swept away with hundreds of panicking faces being pulled out to the deep sea along with him, while hundreds of man-eating sharks are driven off by the beating, splashing oars of desperate lifesavers.
He sees his mother’s eyes for the first time all over again and screams at the hard slap on his bottom as he hangs before Doctor Traub’s thick-lensed glasses in the bright, antiseptic birth theatre. His paternal grandmother smiles at him as she leans over and obscures his view of the magnificent giant yellow flowers of the magnolia tree while she wheels him in his pram; he can still smell the cloying fragrance of the flowers. His mother’s mother screams as he holds a dingo puppy up for her inspection and she tumbles over backward in her bedroom, breaking her hip while his eight year old eyes wash the scene away with tears that burn through the illusory years.
The Cat in the Hat and the Mighty Thor; the smell and Hungarian accent of alcoholic Uncle Tony, putting him off beer for years with his first taste of bitter ale at the age of six, and the bright laughing face of his babysitter Wendy by the blazing wood fire; the spray of blood when he cut his wrist falling onto a broken bottle at the age of three and the dizzying view from the emergency surgeon’s high private balcony; the first time he kissed a girl and the first time he dreamed of kissing a girl, all bound up together; flying through the sky in a propeller-driven passenger plane, watching circular rainbows following him in the clouds below.
White sulphur-crested cockatoos and sparrows circle his yard while kookaburras laugh in the gum trees; the first terrifying time his father holds him up high in the air to place him in the fork of a tree; his first night after he ran away from home, reclining on a beanbag in a Kings Cross commune reading Philip Jose Farmer’s pertinent To Your Scattered Bodies Go – everything is there, each scene and sensation embedded within and revealing a multitude of others. Everything. His dying mind seeks out everything he’s ever experienced, seeking a way back into the womb of living as he falls through something else entirely, riding a rollercoaster beyond the imagination of the most topologically tormented tycoon.
As Ram’yana falls he flashes before the eyes of his whole life – as others fall with him, many others, all others, sharing the time tunnel with his self-judging awareness. In the eternity of the Fall everything hidden or repressed is exposed in the Divine Light of clear sight and each being is their own Judge, emerging from the blindfold of their material existence to weigh their own soul on the ineradicable scales of justice and mercy. Conscience is the soul and the soul is immortally, inescapably honest with itself when released from the fetters of self-deceit and delusion.
Beyond time, at the singular moment of the great primal rush that is the birth and death canal leading from one world to the next, everyone experiences the same thingat the same time. We all come and go together in a mind-blowing orgasm; dreaming or screaming, laughing or crying, all emotion quails and pales before the rush of unstoppable motion that dwarfs any and every trivial concern.
No thought of gods or devils, life or death in the primal scream toward the Light at the end of the tunnel – the only thing that matters is holding onto your headless hat and the wordless regrets felt toward all the people, animals and conscious entities you ever knew deeply, or ever loved – and still love, deeply, tenderly, with a perspective of forgiveness, understanding and compassion never vouchsafed to your flesh-bound, in-coiled, emotion-embroiled mortal personality.
Ram is every human who ever lived and died, every fish ever caught in a current to swirl down into lightless depths beyond its control, every bird caught in a whirlwind that flings it to flinders, every animal diving for cover into cloaking vegetation from an inescapable predator, every individual blood corpuscle flinging itself on the way to the crushing pressure at the heart of its warm, pulsating cosmos. As he pours through the end of the world the tunnel twists and whirls, always hiding the point of it all, the point of no return, the heart of the matter, the source of every thing and being – and his mind expands to simultaneously see his spiraling course as a single thread in a vast interwoven image.
The tunnel is one thread among myriad drab and colourful strands in a great uncharitable tapestry, an inextricable part of its intricate pattern. The dying shaman follows the course of his life along its undulating strand and sees that his thread rises and falls above and beneath uncountable other interlocking threads, a spectrum of hues and textures in the enormously unfathomable tapestry. As his thread rises above another he is ‘conscious’, while the thread it occludes is ‘dreaming’; where his strand is covered by another thread, his mortal body sleeps and dreams while the other strand lives their waking life. Everyone and everything is there, all at once, simultaneously, lain out and displayed before him with no need for the flow of time to elucidate the infinite multiplicity of being.
Turn the tapestry around. The thought comes unbidden and the cloth reverses itself around him in a loopy topological twist; the implicately shared complementary nature of consciousness becomes apparent to his blown mind as he sees himself dreaming the lives of others, and others dreaming through his waking eyes and flesh. The intermingling pathways wind around the curving delineaments of their divine co-creation, which turns into itself like a Moebius strip until the beginning of one thread seamlessly winds into the end of another. The falcon is the hunter is the arrow is the feather is the truth. All is alive and whole; nothing is partial or frayed.
The tapestry is vast, but he’s able to follow his individuated thread through the colourful patterns and sees that the enormous conglomeration of dreams and lives is incomplete – not completed by the path of the single thread that is his experience of existence, rising from the tapestry to enter him as him. At the same timeless moment, Ram’yana approaches the plexus of light that is the destiny of all nations, women and men – the future and past of all that are born to fall along with him, minds blown in the blinding light of the immortal portal.
An immaculate blazing white-hot sun glows at the end of the tunnel. He can see it ever more clearly through the transparing walls of the vortex, thinning and fading in the face of the overwhelmingly brilliant source and core of existence. Ram sees the arcs of a trans-finite net spreading outward from the source, sees an infinitude of other vortices approaching its plexus from more angles than he can wrap his bodiless head around. They pass through each other in ways that defy and tease his mortal three-dimensionally entrained mind – but the arrangement makes subtle sense to a higher form of his being, trembling on the edge of an unchartable metamorphosis into something so much greater as to be intrinsically unimaginable. Simultaneously, on another level, the individual personality of the shaman approaches its ultimate rebirth and transformation in his flight toward the blinding light of the central sun.
The source of all is the hot, bright core and central axis of the centreless multiverse, the eternal end of every tunnel; the maw of a transdimensional creature about to swallow him up, the Infinite Light of God and his own silent heart gently glowing in timeless repose. He flies around a final bend in the dissolving tunnel, surging toward the arcane net that veils the core – which flares into him as the tunnel widens, opening into the final straight.
Ram’yana flashes toward the weave that’s flung to the ends of the cosmos, spreading himself to embrace the Light – and as he reaches it, he encounters the safety net. A web-like sieve is strung across the open maw of All, and as Ram’yana passes though it a great, resounding BOUMMB fills the boundless universe – the sound of one heartbeat, as loud as the boom that eternally creates the unborn, ever-living universe; the sound of Shiva’s eye opening and of one hand clapping.
Before your time, he hears and feels, not ready, not yet – unfinished – and he feels himself shrinking toward an infinitesimally small spot in the multitude of multiverses – back into the weave, where plan net X marks the spot where all things meet in his current-bound primate life.
Boumb… Boom…. Boom!
That’s why I’m here, writing this to you ‘now’ – the same ‘now’ that you are reading it in, really. I and eye remember it all vividly, not as something to slowly forget or avoid in the unfocused mind’s eye, but as an ongoing experience that is with me now, always, dynamically imprinted. It is with me as it is with you, when you close your eyes and open your memory to see truly through the waters of forgetfulness, to the infinite waters of eternal life.
Life and death, sensory wakefulness and supersensory dreaming are the same thing, appearing as the warp and weft of the reversible tapestry of existence. And everyone, each of us, is the whole tapestry, inextricably interwoven – everyone is everyone, and that’s about as close as this constraining corsetry of early third millennium Inglesh needs to get at this point in infinite time – xcept, perhaps, for the most important thing of all -
Every one you truly touch and are touched by, in every way, leaves the deepest and most prominent engravings in your heart, mind and soul. What we do unto others is what we do to ourselves – and other living beings are more than mere memory mirrors or handy usable tools. That’s what draws us back for more, and more again – the need to do better by our selves – over and over, until we do it right. Then we get another choice – or another chance to ride the carousel Wheel of Fortune again, if we so choose.
The multiple layers of ascendant consciousness are a self-filtering system of co-evolution – a system of slowly developing focus and perspective that leads our awareness to other dimensions, already inextricably interwoven with the relatively ‘familiar’ bounds of our largely unknown but ever-present reality. There’s no dim-witted hierarchy of order-givers or sword-wielding guardians barring the doors of higher perception – the gateway to Heaven on Earth. There’s just you – and me, and all of us, together. We all have our time to shine, and that time is always now.
Yet Death is not Dying. In the Bardo spaces between thy flowering carnations of existence, all the bright religious hopes and turgid superstitious terrors await the untrained monkey mind in its ongoing fall toward dissolution or reintegration. The Bardo Realms are entire worlds or pocket universes as apparently solid as the full-blown reality ye imagine around thee, right where thou art sitting, right now. How do ye know thou art alive, not dreaming this experience, right here and now? Do ye think that’s air you’re breathing?
A true story
By Ram Ayana @ hermetic.blog.com/2012/03/13/to-infinity-and-beyond-this-...
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The sex instinct will be eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now...
As ever I'm amazed by the random juxtapositions thrown up when written works, books, journals, magazines are gathered together. I never move or 'pose' the subjects but on this occasion I couldn't resist edging the face slightly further out - these are issues of a German medical ethics journal from the mid-sixties..the quote is, of course Orwell's 1984...
Tilly Losch,” circa 1935, by Joseph Cornell, Construction, 10 x 9¤ x 2⁄ inches ©The Joseph and Robert Cornell Memorial Foundation/Licensed by VAGA, New York City
May 17, 2005
A Critic Takes On the Logic of Female Orgasm
By DINITIA SMITH
Evolutionary scientists have never had difficulty explaining the male orgasm, closely tied as it is to reproduction.
But the Darwinian logic behind the female orgasm has remained elusive. Women can have sexual intercourse and even become pregnant - doing their part for the perpetuation of the species - without experiencing orgasm. So what is its evolutionary purpose?
Over the last four decades, scientists have come up with a variety of theories, arguing, for example, that orgasm encourages women to have sex and, therefore, reproduce or that it leads women to favor stronger and healthier men, maximizing their offspring's chances of survival.
But in a new book, Dr. Elisabeth A. Lloyd, a philosopher of science and professor of biology at Indiana University, takes on 20 leading theories and finds them wanting. The female orgasm, she argues in the book, "The Case of the Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution," has no evolutionary function at all.
Rather, Dr. Lloyd says the most convincing theory is one put forward in 1979 by Dr. Donald Symons, an anthropologist.
That theory holds that female orgasms are simply artifacts - a byproduct of the parallel development of male and female embryos in the first eight or nine weeks of life.
In that early period, the nerve and tissue pathways are laid down for various reflexes, including the orgasm, Dr. Lloyd said. As development progresses, male hormones saturate the embryo, and sexuality is defined.
In boys, the penis develops, along with the potential to have orgasms and ejaculate, while "females get the nerve pathways for orgasm by initially having the same body plan."
Nipples in men are similarly vestigial, Dr. Lloyd pointed out.
While nipples in woman serve a purpose, male nipples appear to be simply left over from the initial stage of embryonic development.
The female orgasm, she said, "is for fun."
Dr. Lloyd said scientists had insisted on finding an evolutionary function for female orgasm in humans either because they were invested in believing that women's sexuality must exactly parallel that of men or because they were convinced that all traits had to be "adaptations," that is, serve an evolutionary function.
Theories of female orgasm are significant, she added, because "men's expectations about women's normal sexuality, about how women should perform, are built around these notions."
"And men are the ones who reflect back immediately to the woman whether or not she is adequate sexually," Dr. Lloyd continued.
Central to her thesis is the fact that women do not routinely have orgasms during sexual intercourse.
She analyzed 32 studies, conducted over 74 years, of the frequency of female orgasm during intercourse.
When intercourse was "unassisted," that is not accompanied by stimulation of the clitoris, just a quarter of the women studied experienced orgasms often or very often during intercourse, she found.
Five to 10 percent never had orgasms. Yet many of the women became pregnant.
Dr. Lloyd's figures are lower than those of Dr. Alfred A. Kinsey, who in his 1953 book "Sexual Behavior in the Human Female" found that 39 to 47 percent of women reported that they always, or almost always, had orgasm during intercourse.
But Kinsey, Dr. Lloyd said, included orgasms assisted by clitoral stimulation.
Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.
But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."
Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.
In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."
"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.
Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.
"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said.
Among the theories that Dr. Lloyd addresses in her book is one proposed in 1993, by Dr. R. Robin Baker and Dr. Mark A. Bellis, at Manchester University in England. In two papers published in the journal Animal Behaviour, they argued that female orgasm was a way of manipulating the retention of sperm by creating suction in the uterus. When a woman has an orgasm from one minute before the man ejaculates to 45 minutes after, she retains more sperm, they said.
Furthermore, they asserted, when a woman has intercourse with a man other than her regular sexual partner, she is more likely to have an orgasm in that prime time span and thus retain more sperm, presumably making conception more likely. They postulated that women seek other partners in an effort to obtain better genes for their offspring.
Dr. Lloyd said the Baker-Bellis argument was "fatally flawed because their sample size is too small."
"In one table," she said, "73 percent of the data is based on the experience of one person."
In an e-mail message recently, Dr. Baker wrote that his and Dr. Bellis's manuscript had "received intense peer review appraisal" before publication. Statisticians were among the reviewers, he said, and they noted that some sample sizes were small, "but considered that none of these were fatal to our paper."
Dr. Lloyd said that studies called into question the logic of such theories. Research by Dr. Ludwig Wildt and his colleagues at the University of Erlangen-Nuremberg in Germany in 1998, for example, found that in a healthy woman the uterus undergoes peristaltic contractions throughout the day in the absence of sexual intercourse or orgasm. This casts doubt, Dr. Lloyd argues, on the idea that the contractions of orgasm somehow affect sperm retention.
Another hypothesis, proposed in 1995 by Dr. Randy Thornhill, a professor of biology at the University of New Mexico and two colleagues, held that women were more likely to have orgasms during intercourse with men with symmetrical physical features. On the basis of earlier studies of physical attraction, Dr. Thornhill argued that symmetry might be an indicator of genetic fitness.
Dr. Lloyd, however, said those conclusions were not viable because "they only cover a minority of women, 45 percent, who say they sometimes do, and sometimes don't, have orgasm during intercourse."
"It excludes women on either end of the spectrum," she said. "The 25 percent who say they almost always have orgasm in intercourse and the 30 percent who say they rarely or never do. And that last 30 percent includes the 10 percent who say they never have orgasm under any circumstances."
In a phone interview, Dr. Thornhill said that he had not read Dr. Lloyd's book but the fact that not all women have orgasms during intercourse supports his theory.
"There will be patterns in orgasm with preferred and not preferred men," he said.
Dr. Lloyd also criticized work by Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, an emeritus professor of anthropology at the University of California, Davis, who studies primate behavior and female reproductive strategies.
Scientists have documented that orgasm occurs in some female primates; for other mammals, whether orgasm occurs remains an open question.
In the 1981 book "The Woman That Never Evolved" and in her other work, Dr. Hrdy argues that orgasm evolved in nonhuman primates as a way for the female to protect her offspring from the depredation of males.
She points out that langur monkeys have a high infant mortality rate, with 30 percent of deaths a result of babies' being killed by males who are not the fathers. Male langurs, she says, will not kill the babies of females they have mated with.
In macaques and chimpanzees, she said, females are conditioned by the pleasurable sensations of clitoral stimulation to keep copulating with multiple partners until they have an orgasm. Thus, males do not know which infants are theirs and which are not and do not attack them.
Dr. Hrdy also argues against the idea that female orgasm is an artifact of the early parallel development of male and female embryos.
"I'm convinced," she said, "that the selection of the clitoris is quite separate from that of the penis in males."
In critiquing Dr. Hrdy's view, Dr. Lloyd disputes the idea that longer periods of sexual intercourse lead to a higher incidence of orgasm, something that if it is true, may provide an evolutionary rationale for female orgasm.
But Dr. Hrdy said her work did not speak one way or another to the issue of female orgasm in humans. "My hypothesis is silent," she said.
One possibility, Dr. Hrdy said, is that orgasm in women may have been an adaptive trait in our prehuman ancestors.
"But we separated from our common primate ancestors about seven million years ago," she said.
"Perhaps the reason orgasm is so erratic is that it's phasing out," Dr. Hrdy said. "Our descendants on the starships may well wonder what all the fuss was about."
Western culture is suffused with images of women's sexuality, of women in the throes of orgasm during intercourse and seeming to reach heights of pleasure that are rare, if not impossible, for most women in everyday life.
"Accounts of our evolutionary past tell us how the various parts of our body should function," Dr. Lloyd said.
If women, she said, are told that it is "natural" to have orgasms every time they have intercourse and that orgasms will help make them pregnant, then they feel inadequate or inferior or abnormal when they do not achieve it.
"Getting the evolutionary story straight has potentially very large social and personal consequences for all women," Dr. Lloyd said. "And indirectly for men, as well."
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this is from my trip to mexico over winter break. the quality is bleh because it wasn't taken on my DSLR but my G11.
fonte: www.diggita.it/v.php?id=1572264 Ricetta e Ingredienti Orgasmo Cocktail via ---> www.diggita.it/v.php?id=1572264
Airborne Mark has visited Allen Gardens recently and dropped this there. Hope you all have a Happy Valentines day, and stay safe.
Ever wonder what Women's faces look like during climax? WIRED Magazine did an article about the up and coming "Science of Sex". Definately a fun read and the picture is priceless!
Just a 5-Iron shot from the Colorado Line, Work Extra 315 enters what has become known as "Orgasm Curve", around MP 336. I'm told that the nickname "Orgasm Curve" doesn't date back to the D&RGW days, but instead surfaced during the Cumbres & Toltec era. It apparently relates less to the railroad, and more to the activities of teenagers who often parked with their companions on the mesa just above this curve. Anyway, it's a great photo location, rain or shine.
Kayden Kross is missing something in her life. Her disconnected boyfriend Erik Everhard has never satisfied her needs. It's only when her promiscuous girlfriends pass on the secret of their pleasure, does Kayden find what she is looking for an exclusive agency of men. Manuel Ferrara, James Deen, and Steve Holmes specialize in the art of sex and bringing women to explosive endings. Katsuni, Penny Brooks and Kagney Linn Karter are the women who use the studs to quench their whorish desires.
Kayden Kross is missing something in her life. Her disconnected boyfriend Erik Everhard has never satisfied her needs. It's only when her promiscuous girlfriends pass on the secret of their pleasure, does Kayden find what she is looking for an exclusive agency of men. Manuel Ferrara, James Deen, and Steve Holmes specialize in the art of sex and bringing women to explosive endings. Katsuni, Penny Brooks and Kagney Linn Karter are the women who use the studs to quench their whorish desires.
04/12/2010 Circuit de Bordeaux Mérignac
I had a ... circuit ride in this wonderful Porsche 911 GT3 Mk2!
It's this one: www.caraficionado.fr/27-Porsche-911.html
This is my dreamcar!
Mrs. M (reverently): “I swear, everything Yuri makes tastes like a little bit of heaven. *nibbles on a crab puff* If I spent any more time around her cookin’, I’d be as big as a barn.”
Kumi: “Wait until you see what she comes up with for the wedding reception. It’s going to be orgasmic.”
Mrs. M: “I have no doubt. She is an amazing woman. Lukas couldn’t have done me prouder in his choice of a wife.”
Kumi (bluntly): “If that’s the way you feel, Mrs. M, then why don’t you two get on better, because I know Yuri respects the hell outta you, too?”
Mrs. M (thoughtfully): “Hmm, well, I don’t know if Yuri and I don’t get along so much as we just don’t know how to be comfortable with one another. We both love Lukas and, as much as we know it’s selfish, on some level, we both want him to be exclusively ours…and the other one knows it.”
Kumi: *mulls it over* “Yeah, okay, I get that, but do you feel the same way about Candy marrying Danny?”
Mrs. M: “No. Candy is like my own child. I know her and love her as much as my boys. Also…I suppose I’ve had a long time to get used to the idea of Danny and Candy together. I could see as early as grade school where that relationship was headed.”
Kumi: “Really? It was a complete shock to Luke.”
Mrs. M: *affectionate smile* “Lukas has many strong suits, sugah, but deciphering complex human emotions is not one of them. He’s like his daddy in that way—takes everything at face value until you tell him otherwise, though Yuri has helped him improve in that area as well.”
Kumi: “So, I guess Danny’s more like you, then? He’s better at the touchy feely crap, and that’s doubly true when he’s with Can.”
Mrs. M: “I reckon that’s a fair assessment, yes. I know Danny believes we favor Lukas over him, but that’s never been true. Danny’s more headstrong than Luke, so we had to be harder on him to keep him in line. We’ve always been proud of Daniel. He was a good boy, and now he’s a fine man.”
Kumi: “Yeah, he is a pretty decent dude, when he’s not being an ass…*winces* No offense.”
Mrs. M: *laughs* “None taken. Now if only I could make him take out those beastly piercings and stop bleaching out his beautiful hair...”
Kumi: *snickers* “So, could you really tell Dan and Can were going to get hitched back when they were kids?”
Mrs. M: “I had my suspicions. Danny was always different with her, more protective and attentive. I assume you know what kind of life Candy and her brother, Dylan, had with their mother,*lips twist in disgust* and I suppose it’s un-Christian of me to say so, but I never did like that woman. She’s a selfish, negligent bitch.”
Kumi (grimly): “Agreed. Can doesn’t really talk about that stuff much, though.”
Mrs. M: “No, she never did care to discuss it. I think Danny knows the most, which is one reason he’s so protective of her. In fact, the only time he was ever suspended from school was for fighting to defend Candy.”
Yuri: *walks up, leans against Kumi* “As a modern woman, I should be appalled at the idea of a man resorting to violence to defend his lady’s honor, but, in certain cases, I still think it is exceedingly heroic.”
Fashion Credits
**Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes) were done by me unless otherwise stated.**
Yuri
Black Dress: Mattel – Barbie Basics – Collection 001, Model 05
Strapless Beaded Top – Madame Alexander – Coquette’s Closet Fashion
Shoes: Jennifer Sue
Earrings: Fashion Royalty – Foreign Affair Gift Set
Bracelets: Mix of “Greed” & “Envy”, along with turquoise pieces – Knife’s Edge Designs (me)
Doll is a Nu.Fantasy Red Riding Hood Yuri transplanted to a NuFace body.
Kumi
Dress: Dolls Fashion Shop (ebay.com)
Jacket: fakeskin (etsy.com)
Belt: Fashion Royalty – NuFace – Great Pretender Lilith
Shoes: Toy Sity
Toggle Necklace: Knife’s Edge Designs (me)
Doll is a Nu.Fantasy Wild Wolf Kumi transplanted to a NuFace body.
Mrs. M (on furlough from the valmaxi collection)
Dress: Natalia Sheppard (also from the valmaxi collection)
Shoes: Mattel
Necklace and Cocktail Ring: Knife’s Edge Designs (me)
Doll is a Red Zinger Dania, repainted and restyled by Jon Copeland of SeloJ Spa.
Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598-1680), who was initially influenced by Michelangelo, the Antique, and Caravaggio, eventually came to be the master of baroque effects in which the space between the artwork and the spectator is broken. His sculpture of The “Ecstasy of S:Teresa” on the altarpiece of S.Maria della Vittoria (in Rome) is a stunning example of baroque sensuality, indeed eroticism. Bernini produced an aesthetic of erotic illumination as the medium by which God enters the world (Buci-Glucksmann, 1986: 100-1). Here we have sensual effect and affect, combined into the spiritual service of the Church. In baroque religious art, the orgasm of the body is brought into play against the barren hygienic churches of northern, Protestant Europe. It was a spiritualization of the sensual body in the service of both spiritual development and political control.
(From: Bryan S.Turner, Recent Development in the Theory of the Body, in : M:Featherstone, M. Hepworth and B.S.Turner –eds., The Body. Social Process and Cultural Theory, Sage Publications Inc, 1991)
There's no "i" in "team" or "orgasm" or "sex" or "sports" or "beer" or "porn"
The letter is kind of a buzzkill
F**k the letter i.
19th and Ranstead
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Have a look at the complete guide on what orgasm pressure points are and how do they work. You will find 10 female orgasm pressure points to help you out - www.thevoiceofwoman.com/10-female-orgasm-pressure-points
When I arrive home from a hard day photographing people’s living rooms I plonk myself in front of the computer, put my headphones on and for the next few hours sit ‘uploading’, accompanied by the sounds of GentleWhispering, TheWaterwhispers, TheOneLilium and pigsbum53, amongst others. No, I’m not a subscriber to some live porn website, these girls are not sat in front of their webcams waiting for their subscribers to request they carry out peculiar activities, oh, no, actually they ARE sat in front of their webcams inviting peculiar activity requests - but not the sexual kind. These girls (and boys, but it’s the girls who do it for me) have a gift, the gift of triggering ASMR. No, not Advanced Surface-Movement Radar, but Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response - in layman’s terms braingasms, head-tingles, head-orgasms, spine-tingles, attention induced euphoria.
Do you have it?
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autonomous_sensory_meridian_response
I have had it since childhood, and back then loved nothing more than going round to a friend’s house and playing role-play games; doctors and nurses, schoolteachers, librarians, Barbie and Ken rub up against each other with no clothes on, George’s marvellous medicine, Barbie and Barbie rub up against each other with no clothes on, Ken and My Little Pony rub up against each other . . .
Whilst listening to and watching my companion concentrating on our games and putting on the airs and graces of whichever characters we were pretending to be I would frequently be besieged by this overwhelmingly euphoric feeling, starting in the back of my skull, sending tingles all down my back, I would be totally transfixed by her banal chattering and careful movements, content just to sit there and be drowned in the sensation.
“Hannah! Lucy! – It’s time for Lucy to go home now, we are about to eat.” would be the words that broke the spell. I would be bundled out of the front door and have to run round the corner, back home, cursing them for eating dinner when I was experiencing the best moment of my life thus far.
I remember aged about seven forcing my male playmate to play doctors and nurses – I kept him shut in my bedroom and made him stroke my arms, legs and tummy with strange objects, accompanied by a doctorly dialogue and strict instructions on how delicately to speak. He didn’t seem to understand the purpose of this and his clumsy, chewed up fingers and the feeling of duress emanating from him put rather a dampener on it for me.
Upon learning that it was a rare phenomenon and one that couldn’t be forced, I would gratefully accept any fleeting moment of ecstasy, however it came. So hungry was I for the feeling that I would even tolerate going to my arch frenemy’s house, just because her mother triggered my tingles. She (the mother) was highly strung, obsessed with etiquette, angst ridden about everything and extremely strict, whilst speaking in a constrained, geisha-like whisper at ALL times. Perfect conditions. Standing in the entrance hall before entry into the house was permitted, we were all given explicit instructions on what rooms we could go in, what we were allowed to play, when our tea would be served, not to pester her beloved obese tortoiseshell cat, (tortoiseshells are nearly always overweight and unfriendly.) not to go within ten metres of the study where FATHER resided and to take our shoes off. I listened, transfixed. The tone of her voice, this nervous-breakdown-teetering whisper of hers hit me right in my ASMR. I would linger, dazed and super-relaxed in the hallway, long after we had officially been granted entry.
Other memorable AMSRvents:
Ready steady cook, when the contestants carefully emptied out their bags of ingredients describing in dreary detail, “I bought chicken because I like chicken and I eat a lot of chicken and I bought potatoes because I like potatoes and I eat a lot of potatoes.” whilst patting each item gently as they talked - bliss – I would sit as close as possible to the TV to hear the crackling packaging.
I remember a dull girl next to me in a maths lesson, during a hiatus when the teacher must have been out taking another dose of valium, drawing me a detailed diagram of her house layout and walking me through it with her pen, describing the layout of each room and drawing in each ornament. That was the best maths lesson I ever had.
Recently I was floorplanning a woman’s house while she spoke all-foreign-like to her child in lovely dulcet tones. I had finished drawing the kitchen 10 minutes earlier but I couldn’t bear to leave the room and lose the sensation in my head, so not only did I draw a plan of their kitchen – I sketched in every knife, fork and spoon, tea towel, tin of soup, and scouring pad to prolong my ecstacy.
Part of what is wonderful about ASMR is that you never know when it will hit you. A dreary day can be transformed by meeting that one special person with contrived mannerisms and voice. They will have no idea of the head orgasm they have just given you, apart from when you breathlessly gasp, ‘Thank you, thank you oh, thank you.’ It is the unpredictability of it all, the knowing it will end at any moment and cannot be relived that makes it even more covetable and can drive you to obsession.
But you can’t do it to yourself and neither, for me, can lovers. This is what proves that it isn’t sexual – my boyfriend and I discovered we had ASMR in common when we met, but can we trigger it in each other? Can we f**k – I would be worried if old ladies were more likely to give me orgasms than my man, but head orgasms – no problem, that’s standard, in fact he came home excitedly the other night to tell me that he had had braingasms for almost an hour with a librarian in the British Library. I was delighted for him.
But lately I don’t meet any of these god-like beings, and that is what led me to search on the Internet. There (once I eventually worked out it was tagged as ASMR) on YouTube they all were. I felt like a starving lion, on it’s last legs, reaching the crest of a hill on the arid Serengeti to look down into a lush valley where a vast waterhole was ringed by hundreds of thousands of juicy wildebeest – There were my tinglebeests! They had been there all this time and I had had no idea. I have since spent the last year catching up with the show and tells, lip smacking, close up whispers and make up sessions, my addled brain soothed by talk of nothing much, and the sounds of menial tasks.
As a non-conversationalist anti-social hermit, being able to listen to feminine chatter without having to respond in any way is a most satisfactory state of affairs, I subscribe to so many ASMRtists but my participation in the whisper community is entirely voyeuristic. I watch and enjoy, but I don’t comment and I don’t make videos either – I am an ASMR parasite, sucking the relaxation out of everyone and contributing nothing, that is why I have decided to try to spread the word about International ASMR day on 9th April, mind you, I have decided to do this only about five days before the actual day so my minute and tardy effort will probably do precisely nothing.
I have made private attempts at videos (ASMR videos that is) and watched them back, wincing, cringing at my not-at-all tingly voice, the way my mouth moves, how peculiar my hairline is, how dry and cracked my hands are. Some ASMRtists go for over an hour – after three minutes of my first show and tell I was getting louder and louder, talking faster and faster and hurling nail polishes and eyeshadows impatiently into a Tupperware box with loud and most un-relaxing clatters. I decided that the whisper community might not need my input.
A recent ASMR ambition of mine was to trigger someone else who has never felt the tingles before. So the very next child that partially knew me I used as a guinea pig, steering the game he was playing, ‘hammering something into a block of wood’ towards the game ‘I’ wanted to play; ‘Getting the stone out of the cow’s hoof’ which involved me using several primary coloured plastic implements from his Tomy toolset to remove an imaginary pebble from his imaginary ‘hoof’. The activity was narrated by me – the exceedingly softly spoken vet – who lightly tickled and de-stoned his feet with great concentration – I knew it was working when he lay back and just stared into space, trance-like, while I worked. As soon as I stopped he told me there was ‘nother tone in my hoof’ ‘and nother’ ‘and nother’ until, now satisfied that I had achieved my life’s goal, I was bored and wanted a glass of wine.
I hope to one day read in this child’s memoirs (the child growing up to be the foremost authority on the science of ASMR and getting stones out of cow’s hooves with plastic toys.) of the experience that set him on the way to the ‘Nobel Prize for Whispering’.
“This peculiar woman ruined my game and then insisted on tickling my feet with plastic tools. I was frozen with fear. She then announced that I bored her and abruptly walked off to get a bottle of wine. She never came back. I cried for a month and have had abandonment issues and drink problems ever since.
Perhaps in subsequent years with a bit more recognition International ASMR day could involve enormous conferences where the world’s leading ASMRtists attempt to create simultaneous mass braingasms to packed auditoriums. There will be ASMR pleasure-hunts where the aim is to experience tingles as many times as possible in one day, with visits to libraries, beauticians, opticians, schools, old people’s homes etc etc. For the entirety of International ASMR day everyone has to be softly spoken – even policemen, football coaches and scaffolders. Celebrities will naturally jump on the band wagon and each will produce an ASMR video.
Celebrity videos I would like to see:
Mary Berry does a weapons arsenal show & tell and delicately disassembles a Glock.
Sister Wendy does a mammogram role-play.
Brian Sewell chews Jelly beans whilst brushing your hair.
Nigel Slater unboxes and unwraps tampons and gently stirs them into a lamb stew.
Nancy Dell’olio performs an autopsy role-play.
Monica Bellucci wraps a severed finger in tissue paper.
Charlotte Gainsbourg gives you a binaural rectal exam, in French.
ASMRtists will become A-list celebrities, putting their voices on Sat Navs and special ‘whisper adverts’ where you will be asked to put headphones on to fully appreciate the effect.
ASMR clinics will open on high streets where you can go in, choose your role-play scenario and, in addition to aural and visual triggers, you get to experience tactile ones. I have found that a feather-light stroke of the inner forearm can increase a braingasm - many a wet-break at primary school was spent tickling each other’s forearms, “Close your eyes and when I get to the crook of your elbow with this paintbrush you have to call out, and then it’s my turn.”
I never called out.