Sex is everywhere you look

Freud put sex on the map. He realized that even babies have erotic feelings and that all parts of the body can be erotic. Freud knew that love, sex, fantasies, and even ambivalence are on our minds consciously and u*********sly.

In our sexual fantasies we often conjure up all kinds of strange and “perverse” scenarios which add to sexual excitement and hopefully lead to climatic pleasure, through actual sexual intercourse or masturbation.
In the world of the u*********s, beneath even the most loving and caring involvement are feelings, fantasies, and ideas that are negative, hateful, and destructive.
No one who has seen a baby sinking back satiated from her breast and falling asleep with flushed cheeks and a blissful smile can escape the reflection that this picture persists as a prototype of the expression of sexual satisfaction later in life.
Sex is a prime motivator and common denominator for all of us. Even or perhaps especially, the most prudent, puritanical-appearing individuals struggle greatly against their sexual appetites, fantasies and expression.

Many of his theories have been debunked and replaced by supposedly more modern men, and some women, but for myself, I have often lain back in my bed and wondered about my willingness to accept he was onto something because deep down, knowing myself, my background and innermost thoughts as a sexually liberated young woman, akin to Samantha Jones in Sex and City series, I liked my sex, and the sense of power I held over the men I chose that night and fucked, and walked away the minute emotions crept into the relationship.

I was twenty four when assigned a case for a psychological report in a criminal case before sentencing. I travelled to the city and was put up in a motel across from where I was to conduct my assessment and as I read his background, I was suddenly confronted with a dark thought, that would question those who so readily wished to debunk Freud, he was not a man but a teenage boy, and even though his crime had nothing to do with sex, I was to access who he was and what drove him to do it, which meant answering my own questions.
I was a lone c***d, I never had a sibling brother to grow up with and had often wondered, looking at my girlfriends interacting with their brothers, how much they learned from them, did they experiment and touch each other, they always appeared knowledgeable and comfortable with the guys at school and it often left me with a yearning and an anger and as such, now I had a boy under my care and I could ask and probe to my hearts content, to get answers for his case to be sympathetic to his cause but more importantly, to satisfy my morbid i****tuous desires.

That afternoon I sat on the bed, after having lunch in my room and watched an inhouse movie, "The Paperboy". I was riveted by the prison visit scene, where Nicole k**man sexually aroused John Cusack to ejaculate by mere visual stimulus, opening her long thighs to show her crotch, I almost wet myself and cummed on that bed, seeing her and the men around her being affected by her actions.

I left and went into town and visited a sex shop off the high street, on a sexual high, noting the men in the shop watching me and sensing deep down what they wanted , was driving me to play along, looking at the DVD covers and the sex scenes displayed, handling the sex toys to tease them, and buying garters and stockings, I was doing everything Freud suggested, and like a Nun wearing lingerie, I was revealing my inner sexual self, was I really such a fraud, a young woman who would in twelve hours be someone else of notable authority, question a mere boy about his sexuality, and getting pleasure from it?

I could not leave the shop in this state of mind, the feelings aroused in me being this wanton woman flirting with these men, needed to be satiated before leaving. No one knew who I was and when I left I would leave a trace of my existence in the minds of the men I interacted with both visually, and what I was about to do.
I had noted the viewing booths where you could go in and watch porn by choosing something and paying like a vending machine. All three booths were occupied and the first one I looked into I saw a man masturbating himself to a gang-**** scene, and I stood fully a few minutes, so he saw I was a woman, before I withdrew and waited outside for him to finish.

He came out and glared at me, but I stood firm and glared back, he wilted and shuffled away, his orgasm achieved, he had no use for me, and I went in and slipped my money into the slot and settled down do watch a movie, 'V': The Hot One. This was an old favourite of my fathers and I watched many times, especially the cinema scene, and as I watched it, my eyes fell upon the waste paper basket, with discarded paper towels. I reached in and pulled one out, still warm with the cum from the man I saw, and I brought it to my nose smell his semen, for me that was so arousing, a man's semen scent, was the same as my perfume lingering amongst the men watching me.
The booth was open to any men wanting to venture in, and I was a bit sad that no one had. I decided as the scene I liked appeared, to masturbate myself and let the consequences of being caught play out by being submissive to the man or men who came in.

I removed my tights and panties, hiked my skirt high and say back with my legs open and fingered myself, using the tissue of cum on my clitoris, my climax was powerful because of the situation I placed myself in, and got up, putting my tights and panties into my bag, and left, after paying for my lingerie in cash, so as to leave no trace of me, and as I stepped out into the street and hurried away, I was another person cloaked in my thin veneer of education and respectability, but deep down a satiated and sexually happy woman.

The next morning I studied myself in my netted stockings, belt and small red thong, before covering up with my respectable outer garments. My skirt would be considered short for respectability but my coat was mid calf length and my briefcase just added to my air of authority.

I was shown into an spare office where the young man was seated, with one wrist handcuffed and a guard standing beside him. I asked the guard to leave us, which he did and I pulled a chair from behind the desk I was meant to be seated, and placed it in front of him, removed my coat and sat down facing him, noting his flushed look and his eyes on my stockinged knees. "Good", I thought, "I have his visual attention".
One one of my shoulders I played the devils advocate, asked my questions and proffered no assistance to his answers, while on the other shoulder, was the she devil herself, wanting this young man to desire her and feeling the tension with each provocative move I made in my chair, that caused my knees to part, and his eyes to widen.

My questions were subtle, provocative, and highly sexual. My probing was feminine and seductive to induce him to tell me everything and when my eyes fell on the clock nearing mid-day, I timed my last five minutes to perfection.

I thanked him for his open and frank answers, I told him everything said between us would remain so, as nothing had been recorded and then I asked him a question that would define our meeting, "You have been distracted by my netted stockings, do they remind you of anything?"
His face reddened, but by now after three hours alone he confessed to seeing them in girlie magazines as a boy. So I had to ask him, "Did you masturbate to these photos?" He looked confused and then I realised he did not know what masturbation meant, so I amended my question, "Did you 'wank', 'Jack-off' to them?" His face turned crimson and I wondered if I had pushed my boat out too far, until he nodded in the affirmative, he did.
I looked at the clock, three minutes to twelve, "Would you like to see some more?" My voice was thick and my heart pounded in my chest, he nodded again in the affirmative, and I sat there, two minutes to twelve, and I opened my thighs, as wide as indecently possible, to show my red thong parting my labia, as his eyes widened and my ears were extra alert for the footsteps of the guards.

"Do you like what you see?" his eyes looked at my face momentarily and then back to what would remain with him for the rest of his life. I had in one minutes time given him something he would carry to his grave and stain many a bedsheet wanking himself, thinking about me.

This for me is what sex is really about, giving and taking, regardless of who your partner is. Its the raw lust you feel and the opportunity to grasp it when the needs arise and when you do, it's the best sex you ever feel.