Mother Was Right - At Least, Partly

I'm a cinephile.  That's a fancy way of saying movie lover.  I come by it honestly; my mum was a fanatic about going to the movie palace when she was growing up on the south side of Chicago in the thirties and forties.  She adored Clark Gable and Van Johnson.  I adore a man who lives back east who's filmed himself jacking.  Different strokes for different folks.

Don't get me wrong; the actors of classic Hollywood films make me happy.  For many years, watching Clark Gable growl at Vivien Leigh "No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how" set my pulse pounding and my ***** aching.  As time wore on, I developed my own movie star crushes.  James Garner, for his humour and selflessness in The Great Escape as well as his extreme manliness in The Rockford Files.  I wanted him big time.  I wrote to him, and received a signed black and white photograph back.  I framed it and hung it on my bedroom wall.    There were others, of course.  Johnny Depp, Robert Downey, Jr., Alan Rickman, Joseph Fiennes.  Many a fantasy was spun about those fine gentlemen.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped dreaming about those guys.  They were great to look at, and it was fun to watch their films and imagine myself in the sack with one of them instead of the heroine hogging the covers.  But when I went to bed at night, and touched myself, I didn't dream of any of them.  Most all were married or in committed relationships, and I am not a home wrecker.  Besides, I could not compete with the likes of that french singer Vanessa Paradis who's married to Depp, or the lovely Susan Downey.  I am merely a simple suburban matron. 

So I fantasized instead about places I loved with faceless men.  When I ***********, which I did a great deal during the years of my husband's infatuation with a girl half his age, and his subsequent love affair with countless bottles, I envisioned making love in the bed and breakfasts I'd visited in New England, on the beaches of Sanibel Island, in Hotel Tabard off Dupont Circle, in San Francisco's Cornell Hotel de France.  The sensuality of those places brought me to climax as I envisioned setting more than any specific character.  My fingers flew over my slippery **** whilst I recalled hot summer nights in Central Park, envisioning  ******* on a secluded spot on the grass.  I pinched my nipples and thought hard about the big four poster bed in The Stephen Daniels House in Salem, Massachusetts or the garden with Italian plum trees near Hells Canyon in eastern Oregon.  An excellent place to be taken, bent over and ******.  As long as one kept an eye out for rattlesnakes.  I'd been to all these places, and my husband and I had probably ****** in most of them, but I couldn't for the life of me remember those times.  I just knew the places made me happy.  He no longer did, so I erased his presence in the dream sequence as I had at myself.

My mum always claimed that the best sex scenes in movies left something to the imagination.  That the overt nudity and humping was not nearly as exciting as the moment when Rhett Butler carries Scarlett up the staircase to have his way with her.  It fades to black, then shows her all happy the next morning.   We know she got some.  We didn't have to see all that thrusting.  Or the moment John Wayne picks up Maureen O'Hara and tosses her on the bed in their little Irish cottage.  More fading to black and her all happy the next morning.  Getting some is awfully nice.  The ladies' contented faces surely inspired many a fantasy about naughty things.

But here's the thing.  I like a bit of realism sometimes.  I like to know the actor personally, I've found.  And I like to see him naked.  I'm not talking about Hollywood releases.  I'm talking about meeting Internet Men and watching them cam.  I like that.  Well...I like the one I've met and watched.  I'm in negotiations to see another.  But that's another story.  For now, I think about how the man I've met looked and sounded on the short video clip he filmed before he met me.  And the two times I've watched him *** on cam.  So ******* hot. 

Oddly, though, while I loved the sight of his lovely **** as he stroked and teased and spurted and streamed, I get just as much fantasy fodder from what's above the belt.  His hands inflame my imagination.  No joke.  I want his **** in my mouth, my puss and ***.  But his hands?  I've felt them.  And I envision his hands on me, touching, tweaking, pinching, rolling, flicking, rubbing, probing....and doing a million other moves.  This is a guy who knows how to use his hands.  The good Lord Almighty knows this guy has used his hands often enough to bring himself to that moment of bliss.  He's promised to tie me up and tease me until I'm a puddle, using his magic fingers on my ****.  I study those hands and contemplate my upcoming torrid torment.  It's not just his hands that intrigue me, though.

It's that grin.  He really does have a devilish grin.  It's not in the photos I have of him.  Those are pleasant expressions, to be sure.  He's a handsome man.  I'd say cute, but that makes him unhappy.  He somehow thinks that isn't saying he's desirable.  Like it's the equivalent of "she has a great personality."  Trust me, if I say someone is cute, I want him.  But he's also handsome, and so I'll say that.  He has wonderful brown eyes and hair and his features are open and friendly.  His mouth is very kissable.  He has nice teeth, too.  A lovely smile.  When his face is relaxed, not smiling exactly, and he's just listening to someone, as he is in two of the shots I have, he looks wonderful as well.  Intelligent and attractive.  But the thing that gets my panties wet is his grin.  I saw it last time he cammed.  He began with the cam focused on his face, and as we talked and I made some wisecrack, and he wisecracked back, he grinned.

Holy hell.  That grin is the one thing that makes me wish I knew how to do a screen capture.  He's promised to send me some edited video footage from some future camming session.  So I'll get plenty of hand to **** action shots.  But I strongly suspect none of it will be of his face.  Not that I blame him.  Hell, up to this point I've been too timid to even show a second's worth of my face.  He cams for me, full frontal nudity, and is rewarded with a blank screen to represent me, since my laptop camera lens is covered by a sticker.  I'm planning to be brave next time and show him my smile.  My face, my eyes intent upon my own screen displaying his male beauty.  My mouth, opening a bit as my jaw drops at the splendour of his performance.  My grin, as he says some salacious thing.  His scandalous remarks cause his own eyes and mouth to transform into a bit of a rake.  He's no longer the respectable suburban dad and husband.  Nor is he the responsible, hardworking employee.  He becomes someone else.  His sensuality and sexuality come out, and I'm able to shed my suburban matron skin for a brief shining moment as we play together.  I fantasize about what it would be like to be with this man in this flesh.

There is no Hollywood star who compares to this fella.  He is for me what Bogie was referring to when he paraphrased The Tempest line from Prospero, to wit "We are such stuff / As dreams are made on, and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep."

My gentleman friend who's cammed for me is "the stuff that dreams are made of."  As I head to bed to get some rest, I look once more at his photographs, knowing that my sleep will be filled with thoughts of his mouth and fingers and other lovely bits and pieces, busy at work to bring me great joy.
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
1 Response May 21, 2012

and if that novel is ever completed....<br />
<br />
I would like the movie rights please. <br />
<br />
Will of course allow you to consult.... and watch.

Thank you, darling. I'll bring the popcorn and sit next to you in the screening room. You've seen Diner, right? ;)

hmmm that would be a most interesting play - you holding the popcorn box instead of me.... what will I find when I reach into yours????