I’ve got accustomed to hear from fans, gentlemen, to pose and film according to their requests. But this film has been produced at the request of a lady fan of mine. She wished to watch me getting intimate, pleasing myself, squirting and wetting my pants before posting them out her way. Honored and humbled at the same time, I had to use hubby to jump start my engine first. Then, acquiring wings, I took off, on my own. Lovely pink pseudo-lesbian experimental film.
The soul of a woman is like an ocean. Overwhelming and irresistible. Calm and unpredictable. Tempestuous and gentle. Wet and dry. Everywhere yet nowhere. Here’s how the elusive game of fantasy versus reality plays in this particular case.
When someone asks me to provide a fantasy (for him, her, them), I get happy. At first. It’s the attention I get. They must like me if they’re interested enough to pay for watching me. But then I get sad. Pay how much? Oh, this much. What if… And my mind begins to balance: buy a new bicycle for my son?; buy that pair of shoes for his sister?, are the current ones totally worn out or can she walk in them for another year?, or has she outgrown them already?; how about that summer dress for me?; or this purse?; do I need a new purse?
On and on, my mind rains questions upon my ocean. And doubts. Too many doubts for me to stay sane in the realm of reason. So I hurry to escape back to fantasy: the guy, or the gal, or the couple, wishing to watch my intimate moments (most intimate!) feels a certain attraction to me, or to the image of me. To the naked me! The wild me? The beast in me? Oh, where art thou? Come out and let us roar! Together, me and myself! As they sit and watch us.
Oh wait, think that I’m starting to talk like Gollum. Honestly, it’s the cry between letting it go when you wish, because you wish so, and letting it go on request, because they wish so. Not that you wouldn’t. Just that they said it first. Crazy, don’t you think?
And here it boils again, the ocean in me, below me, around me. Boiling the infinite up to the clouds. Starting storms and rains and gusts. Pouring the waters down, back inside the infinites of my ocean.
What you’ve read till now is my take on this half an hour long erotic, para- or pseudo-lesbian film. I didn’t know what to do with my take. Thus I’ve asked him. And he said, “you lay down on the bed, spread wide; I lick your pussy until you come; giving the panties to you, so you may wear them, soak them and play with them, I’ll get out of the frame to capture close ups of your masturbating dialog with your remote friend.”
Sounds simple. For men probably. But the soul of a woman is an ocean. Always wet and heated by an invisible force.
Watch the fantasy at CougarBunnies.com