The G Spot

According to the textbooks the “G” may very well stand for Grafenberg, for me it might as well stand for God.

I was standing in the middle of the room, completely naked, one foot on the floor and one on the dining room table. He was still fully clothed, down on his knees, licking my pussy and beckoning my g-spot with his fingers. Juice was dripping out of me. I was cumming a steady stream of fresh cream all over his face. I was being drained. He was swallowing it in gulps.I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I managed to make it to 24 years of age without ever having a g-spot orgasm. After having my first, I now know why it took me this long. I was not ready. Before I could experience the g-spot orgasm I had to be spiritually, emotionally, and physically prepared to meet my maker, so to speak. I had to be willing to cum buckets all over some poor bastards face. I had to be willing to stare God in the eye. I had to be willing to let go. I realized after having it that I had been on the cusp several times before in my sexual history, but I always stopped the action, shifted the weight, squiggled out of the situation in some way. It was uncomfortable. It felt like I was gonna piss myself, or lose control of some other bodily function, laugh hysterically or cry hysterically. Who knows? I could only tell I was approaching some threshold, and I was afraid. Unlike some lucky players, I had never been involved with anyone whom I felt comfortable enough to piss myself in front of. Then I met him.

There’s this part in Gabrielle Garcia Marquez’s “Love in the Time of Cholera” where the main character is fucking a widow, rather, she’s fucking him, and he says to her, “You make love to me like I’m just anybody.” She laughs and replies, “No, I make love to you like you’re nobody.”

I fucked this guy like he was nobody. I fucked him with my eyes open and looked straight through him. This wasn’t indifference, it was transcendence.

We had an understanding. He was being used, not by me, but as a channel of God. It may seem a bit blasphemous to suggest that I was being fucked by the Lord Almighty, but I know, as all deep spiritual truths are known -- deep in the body, soul, and bones -- rather than understood -- I was having a spiritualexperience.

At first this made me feel kind of strange. A strange way to meet God, I thought, thick cum dripping out of me, nipples erect, body hot. The writings of the Mystics speak of a Rapture. I don’t think this is what they had in mind. My mind wanders to the Greeks and Romans. Their myths tell of gods coming in human and animal forms, raping fair maidens and mating with mortals. At this moment, that makes perfect sense. I was cumming with my eyes wide open. That’s was a difference I noticed with the g-spot orgasm. Usually my eyes were closed, lazily rolling about in my head, lovingly gazing at my partner, or clamped shut in a pleasure/pain squint.

When the g-spot is stimulated, my eyes are peeled open. I get alert like an animal when a predator or prey is nearby. I see everything and nothing at the same time. I can see through everything; through walls, through faces, through feelings. My partner vanishes and I find myself having an intercourse of a different kind. All my thoughts turn to God.

All of this God-talk simply because I had my first g-spot orgasm? Well, yea.

Creaming… Feels like high school when I call it creaming. Memories of getting fingered in dark, teen dance clubs in the 8th grade, over by the pool tables, hurriedly getting it on until my name is called over the sound system, “Culo, your mother’s here.” At the time I thought that was humiliating, now it’s so hot. Don’t get caught! Taboo’s always intensify orgasms. Kinda like holding your breath. But that was then. Now it’s trying to keep quiet in the apartment building. Some sort of restraint is always necessary. Without restraint it seems to always go into excess. I start performing. I get disconnected, too showy and outward. I’m a spiritual fucker. I’m not sure how many others there are who are praying to God while fucking. I bring God to bed with me. God is love.

Thank you for letting me share.

how to lick a lady...

This is a brief lesson in pussy licking that was requested by a young man lacking in experience who wanted some "tricks" for the tongue.

The trick is, if there is a trick at all, not just to learn, but to unlearn every time, with every different person. I don't know if I buy the whole thing about having "skills" and "techniques." My first orgasm was experienced with a guy who was a virgin. I had been with a few technically experienced guys before him, however, their experience had merely programmed them with a "routine" which was not specific to me: my body, my rhythms, my idiosyncratic little ass. This guy just went by intuition and payed attention, and he did a fine job. He figured me out like I was a musical instrument. There wasn't any pressure, just pleasure. We simple played around... licked, sucked, fucked, groaned and giggled until something happened or we fell asleep.

I preface by saying, of course, that I only have experience with my own pussy, so everything I say is my own opinion...

Oh yea, and all this bullshit is off the top of my head, but here we go.... now then, some tips on orally pleasuring a lady:

Step One, SLOW DOWN!

Everything is all hot and heavy and you get to the moment and she's gonna let you do it and you drop down there... and then, you STOP...

make her wait a second, (just a second) let the body cool for an instant... you can even gently blow on the pussy. Spread the lips open. Lick around the lips, nibble on the inner thighs. Make her want it. Massage the ass. Spread her open. And then, move in...

A strange thing happens when I'm getting licked. My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only when it's time to get the pussy licked: the clit. I get absolutely focused on coming, like that's all there is. Waiting for it, building up to it, is almost torture. I get greedy and lazy. I want it and I want it now. Any teasing is a torment. It's alright, though, cause it's all part of the game, and the better a guy can play me, the better it is. I get taken on a journey... I re-live episodes from my childhood... I go through high-school again. It's a fucking meditative theraputic head-trip; when it's good. There is nothing in this world so wonderful at a clitoral orgasm brought forth by the gentle wet tickle of a soft and talented tongue. It is fucking amazing. And we love you for it.

If you plummet full-faced into the fray, without direction, discipline, or attention to detail, the sensation received is a general, more mental, sensation. The mind registers something like, "Oh, he's eating my pussy" and that's about it. When you slow it down, it gets specific.

We feel every lick, probe, touch... I can feel the air hitting my wet lips when I'm spread open. I'm given the time to shudder and respond to every new sensation. It's not a race, it's an experience. The goal is to learn something new about my body, my self, my capacity to feel.

Specific things! (because this is starting to get me all sauced up and crazy)

When you're fingering... full, deep, slow thrusts are often preferable to fast ramming.

G-spot stimulation: find the G-spot! The best way to do this is to move your finger like you're beckoning someone to "come"... funny, huh? It's toward the front side of the vaginal wall, and when I have a g-spot orgasm while receiving oral sex, I fucking drip like a faucet. I wrote a story about the g-spot orgasm, you can read all about it here.

We love it when you eat our asses. We don't judge you for it. You fucking rock if you will shamelessly eat our asses like it's some sort of pie eating contest gone wild. Finger in the ass is good... slow and steady, playing my ass like an accordion.

And rhythm... slow, steady, building... like a good symphony.

Sucking on the clit is sooooo nice, light, light nibbling is nice, and putting a finger in the ass while sucking on the clit (this is the accordion feeling) is fucking great.

Let your mind go, let yourself be in the moment... just flow, and go with it. There are times during oral sex that I forget I have a body, and I become a giant, glowing, infinite pussy, pulsing and wet, and the man buried in my juices is like some 8 armed Shiva, doing some mystical dance all over my nervous system. He is a God, and I am nothing but sex.

Oh lord, whatever. Just make me melt and lick up the drippings. I'm gonna go take a fucking shower now. I love you all.

- Culo


(click on the pic for porn)

Meditations on Meatholes

Yes. Meatholes.

Is it wrong how excited I am that there’s a new Meatholes sister-site coming out soon dedicated to nothing but girls being violently face-fucked until they gag on cock, often vomiting on themselves?

Is it sick that I watch all the Meatholes trailers, all the way through, over and over again, with slack-jawed awe and wonderment at a woman’s ability to take punishment and their willingness to be utterly humiliated by assholes and goons?

Is it weird that I show this shit to my boyfriend, tell my mother about it, make reference to it in casual dinner conversation, and site it as a phenomenon in Philosophy of Media courses?

My aforementioned boyfriend asked me, after a particularly heinous episode starring Meathole Kerri which we watched, silently, mouths agape, “Why would a girl do this?” I mumbled a bewildered, “I don’t know.”

Did Nikki’s parents abuse her? Did Kat’s father not love her enough? Was Kerri ignored? Molested? Raped? Was Jane on drugs? How much money could they possibly be making that would make this “worth it”? Are they really just dumb whores? Why are they willing to be treated like abject objects? Like pieces of meat?

Why do I watch it?

The folks at Meatholes are definitely onto something. They have found an audience. Masses of people hungry for more dirty whores, willing to be spit on, sat on, stepped on, slapped around, mocked, humiliated, spanked, fisted, choked, gagged, and more. They make these girls lick ass, drink piss, swallow spit, and take cum directly in the eyeball. Many of the girls “break” at some point. A lot of them cry. It’s terribly awful.

How real is it? I don’t know. How much of it is “acting” and how much of it is honest moments of realization of what they have become? I don’t know.

I watch it. With my mouth agape and my brow furrowed with a mixture of concern, horror, and fascination. I watch the whole thing. Somehow I think it’s making me stronger, in the way that Nietzsche says what doesn’t kill me will.

In the same way that a kid pokes at a dead bird or picks at a scab, I keep coming back. I look at the site from different angels. I try to analyze it and understand it. I want to know how many of the girls are dead, on drugs, in institutions, married with children, prostitutes, suicidal. Sometimes I wish I could give them a hug. Sometimes I want to slap them for being such dumb bitches. I am conflicted.

I whole-heartedly recommend the site to family, friends, teachers, and random folks I meet on the street. I link it up to my website. I accept the challenge. I do battle with my demons. I am glad that I am not them. I am grateful for their sacrifice.

- culo