I wasn’t sure what to expect from this DVD to be honest. It was my first time watching a Comstock Films erotic documentary, and while I have a great appreciation for the art of expressing subtlety and intimacy in erotic video I wasn’t sure that I was the right person to review a portrait of real sex and intimacy between an older couple.

Score one for discovering latent preconceptions and score two for blowing them out of the water.

It was the humor that drew me in, the humor and their personalities. (I laughed out loud at Bill’s retelling of his admiration for Desiree’s “perfect” pussy. And then, having seen it, had to agree.) They’re a naturally funny and charming couple – I found myself thinking how fun it would be to have them over for dinner, drinks and poker. Or go hiking. Bill and Desiree are very enthusiastic people – about their community, about nature, about art, about sexual exploration and about each other. It’s infectious and utterly endearing.

You can tell they’re in love. It’s the way she watches him when he talks, not the camera… the way he touches her shoulder casually, like she’s a part of him. There’s a sweet touch of worship in the way he speaks of her – and she radiates it back joyously. They had been dating only three weeks when strangers were asking them how long they’d been married.

At this point in the interview Bill pulled out his book – as in, one he’d written – and uttered a phrase I’d never heard in an erotic movie before: “This is actually a place where I’d like to read a poem.”

And it was a sexy poem.

The Comstocks’ filmmaking style never gets in the way of Bill and Desiree’s love story. The arousal builds slowly; cuts of love scenes are woven throughout the interview. This approach works well for relationship-oriented erotica; we get to know Bill and Desiree before we see them make love. We get to witness and understand their attraction to each other and we get to develop chemistry with them as well. A friend once told me the great weakness of erotic movies was that we’re never given the chance to find the stars sexy. We have time to see their bodies, but not to develop an attraction to their quirks and personality. Tony and Peggy Comstock give us that chance.

Comstock Films’ catchphrase is “real sex,” and this film shows the realities of sex in a relationship. Desiree and Bill talk about accepting that sometimes orgasms just aren’t going to happen but enjoying the sex anyway; they emphasise that “peak experiences are just that” but that even “boring” sleepy sex is worthwhile. It’s about sharing pleasure, staying connected.

And then it’s the quiet of the camera and their kissing, laughing and undressing… hands and smiles and the camera just glancing over their bodies, like a lover does, rendering faces and sensual movement just as visually important as genitals. The Comstocks know when to focus on Desiree’s face, on the energy of her pleasure, then back to Bill’s hand inside her natural pussy. Their sex flows back and forth, exchanges of pleasure, peaks and valleys… it’s not at all about a pop shot, it’s very unscripted. Their lovemaking flows naturally from their creative, exploratory sexual energy.

Bill going down on her dildo was a very cool scene: unexpected and sweetly kinky. It brought back happy memories of my own.

In “Bill and Desiree: Love is Timeless” the Comstocks have successfully created three things: an erotic film, a relationship documentary and an explicit love story. It’s difficult to master even one. This is not a forgettable explicit movie to be deleted after viewing. You will be aroused. You will also be affected. The words and the images of Bill and Desiree’s love scene will stay with you. You’ll watch it again, and be moved again by that same playful passion…

This is what real sex looks like. Hands clenching, faces scrunched up, unexpected orgasms… tangled up in clothes and in laughing, playful sexual energy. We’re so afraid of sex fading away when we take off our band t-shirts and put on the real world. If this tender sexual exploration is what we’re all dreading then frankly I can’t wait.

You can purchase “Bill and Desiree: Love Is Timeless“ from Amazon.com (free shipping) and visit Comstock Films‘ website to explore their other erotic documentaries.

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Guys always say they want an insatiable woman, one they can’t keep up with. A nympho. Someone as addicted to touching their cocks as they are. A woman who’s wet and ready just about any time, day or night. A vixen who prefers belting out a hoarse “YES!” to just saying no.

Go ahead – admit it.

This chick will invariably get on your nerves. I don’t care how high your sex drive is: She’s going to drive you crazy. You’re going to find yourself saying, “I’m too tired!” and even the dreaded “Could you please just stop grabbing my cock?”

She’ll try to warn you most guys have a hard time keeping up with her. You’ll tell her you have the same problem. After all, you have a pretty high sex drive. Most of your previous lovers haven’t wanted it three, four times a week like you do.

She will wear you out. She will want it, crave it, no – need it – more like three times a day.

There is one trick to handling the near-nymphomaniac: exhausting them with orgasms.

It worked on me; I’m a recent victim.

Yeah, some days when I’m not blogging it’s because I can’t walk straight or stop shaking long enough to type. Damn, life is good.

(Next post: the heartbreakingly kinky sex.)

Lots of us sassy sexual intellectual types (okay, perverted nerdy girls) have a leetle problem. We’re independent. Very independent. To the point of being dependent on independency.

We’ve got a near-phobia of the idea of becoming The Girlfriend – the needy, clingy, stereotypically feminine, weak woman who mistakes sex for love and starts picking out china patterns on the second date. That kind of woman makes too many demands and we’re not all about that.

We’re cool. We don’t need you, your love, your care, your time, your emotional support, your money. You’re not going to make fun of us to your guy friends. We’re the kind of chicks who think porn and pizza make a great date. We’ll spring for the pizza (and probably the porn). We won’t expect dinner and roses before we put out. Hell, we won’t expect anything. At all.

And if we find ourselves wanting something, we’re going to have an awfully hard time asking for it without feeling like horrendous needy, clingy bitches. If we start falling in love it’s even worse. Girls like us weren’t built for traditional love. We were expecting a lifetime of casual dating and dear, treasured… fuckbuddies. We want to cum and go as we please and are happy to extend you the same courtesy. If you don’t want it you’ll only confuse us.

(I am, thusly, very confused right now.)

There are a lot of girls like that out there now who don’t feel right asking to be treated like some kind of chaste princess, because we’re not chaste and we’re not princesses. We’re Just One of the Guys, only with great boobs. We’ll be happy if you remember our birthdays and we’ll notice when you do favors for us. We’ll bend over backwards to make you happy (while giving you head, of course. And girls like us always swallow.). We’ll think it’s thoughtful to send you obscene text messages. We’ll worry you’ll think we’re falling too fast when we plan special stripteases for your birthday.

We go in looking for sex, not love. Maybe friendship. Not love. We want someone who’s interesting in and out of bed. Mostly in bed. And frequently. We need adventure, we need to be an adventure – we’re terrified of being domesticated.

We don’t need too many attachments, we don’t like to get too close – but when we fall, we fall hard, and it confuses the ever living fuck out of us.

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The double meaning is fully intended.

There are a few linked ideas swimming through my brain right now.

One is a couple of posts, and their attached comments, by the divine and transcendent Ms. Lena (namely Praise the Goddess and Pass the Lube and Sodomites in Room 101). One is my slight – but persistent – submissive streak. One is the song “Stinkfist” by Tool. It uses anal fisting as a metaphor for transformation, crossing into the otherworld, and trust.

It’s that last word that links these ideas and this experience.

I’m a pervert, not a slut. I’m short on experience but long on ideas. That said, I’ve done my share of experimenting, but haven’t had the opportunity to do so in much depth.

On Saturday my depths were plumbed.

That was… new.

It’s strange to realize you’ve been in situations, romantically involved with people you’d trust with your life but not with your ass or your thoughts. It’s even stranger to realize that sometimes to win you have to surrender, to protect yourself you have to expose yourself.

I’m not very good at expressing my emotions (I have emotions? Wait, what?); I’m primarily a thinker and a doer. When faced with things I don’t want to say I have to find out how to say or show them without coming out and actually doing it. Subtlety is a form of perversion, and we perverts have some pretty strange ways of saying things.

So bent over, on my hands and knees, wet thighs apart, virgin ass in the air, with my kiss-swollen mouth muffled in the pillow I was saying, to someone who’s just barely not a stranger, I trust you. I’m no good with English so I used the most basic language I knew, the only one I speak, for $1.99 per minute.

Spirituality is the experience of God; mysticism is the ache for, lust for, love of and submission to Hir.

Relax, turn around, and take my hand.

I wasn’t hearing those words – I liked the ones he used better – and they didn’t even come to mind, although that song’s stuck with me for a while. I’ve used it, every word, as an extended industrial mantra.

I’m not stuck on romance. Romance wears out when two people realize they aren’t each other’s love cartoons, and the beloved might actually have expectations and moods of their own. Romance has never been my craving. But experience, intensity, adventure both mental and physical – those are what I need and those are (to me) what the lyrics suggest.

To get those you can’t close off, tighten up, close your ears and forget how to breathe; you have to relax and open up, and it hurts at first, and it feels strange, it always does. You have to breathe, and focus, and listen, and accept accept accept and concentrate on not squeezing yourself tightly like you always do, no matter how much you enjoy it, because there’s a process…

And there are always points in that process when you hit a wrong angle and wince but if you relax and accept when new things try to push their way into you… sometimes you’ll be surprised how deep you can take it, and how good it feels.

It’s strange to put yourself into a situation knowing: I have no choice. I must submit or this is going to hurt like hell. But I want this.

It’s even stranger how easy it was.

Cold lube circled the rim of my ass and dripped down, jolting me out of my trance. Relax, baby. Breathe, breathe, breathe… Focus. Relaxing took focus, just remembering not to tighten that ring in time with the shivers running through my pussy. Remembering to hold still and just let things happen. I listened to his voice and the weight of his body on my legs and back and his finger sinking in slow and it was like going under, honestly, except no one’s ever been able to hypnotize me. Good girl and I opened up all over and bent my head down, arms folded, and raised my ass, and just held that feeling…

One fist pressed tightly against my slippery, just-fucked pussy, one clutching the pillow, then (desperately) the rug, then his hand, and I think I was touching his legs with my feet, or something… My hair was in my mouth and it helped muffle the mewling noises I think were coming from my throat.

And it felt good. Different. Intense. When you’re having a dick pressed inch by inch into an ass so tight one finger inside feels like stretching, til it’s almost buried to the base, and he finally gives you a real thrust for that one last inch, you truly feel fucked.

(HNT coming shortly but this post is much more than half-nekkid.)

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