Room With A View

If you say the word "speculum" to just about any woman over the age of eighteen, odds are that she'll cringe. I clearly remember my first run-in with this medieval torture device. I was just barely eighteen, at my first ob-gyn appointment. Like most teens, my appointment was with my mother's ob-gyn. A male ob-gyn. I was still a virgin. No one had hardly explored that area, let alone looked at it. And here I had to let a strange man inspect me?! Not to mention the fact that my mom had told me "don't worry, you'll like the doctor. He's handsome. He looks like Omar Sharif." I had no idea who Omar Sharif was (I now know he was in Doctor Zhivago, which I've still never seen). What if I was attracted to him? What if my body liked him? What if I got aroused, and he noticed? Oh no!

It seems that ob-gyn offices are specifically designed to prevent any type of physical arousal, though. They're cold. Beyond cold: they're fucking freezing. To this doctor's credit, he was nice, patient, humorous. I suppose it could have been worse. He went over the entire exam procedure, step by step. He even held up sample speculums, calling them "those duck-billed thingies." His sample speculums included nostril-sized, which he claimed would be used on me that day, and elephant-sized. It would have been nice, however, if he had thought to warm up the damn speculum before the exam. Nostril-sized or elephant-sized, I could have sworn a fucking Popsicle had been shoved up my vagina.

Who would have thought that, so many years later, while watching free, web-based porn, I'd come across a medical fetish site with speculum videos? Who could have predicted that I'd watch these videos and get incredibly wet? Not I. And yet, surprisingly enough, it happened. I mentioned this to Sir, and he, too, was intrigued by the idea. One evening we purchased a clear plastic speculum from the local porn shop. This speculum, somewhere between nostril-sized and elephant-sized, lacked the medieval menace of the metal monstrosities in the ob-gyn office. In Sir's hands, it was no longer a frightening device.

On my knees, ass in air (Sir's favorite position for me), I could hear him fidgeting with the speculum, trying to figure out how it worked. I had already investigated it earlier in the day, but I wasn't about let him know that. It was good to know that we were both a little nervous about this new toy. Finally, it was in, extended, and I was spread open. Uncomfortable? No. Incredibly erotic? Yes. Nothing screams vulnerability and trust like being exposed in such a fashion in front of your lover. I could hear the awe and appreciation in his voice as he described the scene. Suddenly, he repositioned the speculum, so that he could access my g-spot. Now, we've discovered almost a new form of bondage. As he stroked that knot of flesh with his fingertip, I was helpless. I could not clamp down on him; I could hardly squirm. When I came, he witnessed my orgasm through clear plastic walls.

Since our first experience with the speculum, we've expanded our horizons a bit. Sir bought a slightly larger, medical-grade speculum for our enjoyment. There's nothing clinical about it, I assure you. With me held open in such a manner, Sir has been able to tease my body in new ways. He has tickled the walls of my pussy with silky little pint brushes, tormenting the pink recesses of me, painting my flesh - nipples, face, lips - with my own wetness. We've even played around a bit with a camera. Having to explain a stray photo of your interior to a friend ("Damn! I dunno what that is... Someone take a picture of their hand?") really keeps you on your toes. I know Sir enjoyed every moment of that. And I doubt for one moment our friend bought my excuses.

Wax On, Wax Off

Hello again. Long time, no blog, I know. We had technical difficulties here at casa de teacher, preceded by writer's block from hell. I apologize to my readers (all of what, two , maybe three?) for my absence. This afternoon's post won't be too racy, sadly. And yet, I find it a pressing matter in my mind. Something has got to be better than shaving your bikini area!

Don't get me wrong: the actual act of shaving can be quite sensual, as I found out Friday night with Sir. Perhaps it was meant to be a lesson in trust, or maybe one in obedience. In any case, we followed a delightfully playful session in his garden tub (should be required by building codes in all homes across the nation) with me, on my hands and knees in the tub, ass in the air, and Sir with a razor in hand. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the definition of trust: letting someone else take a sharp razor that close to your clitoris. And Sir did a marvelous job grooming me, I must say. Not a drop of blood was shed! (This, I admit, was my biggest concern - I've heard horror stories of bikini-scaping gone terribly wrong.) He shaved almost every bit of me bare, leaving just the cutest tuft of a landing strip at the top of my pussy. I almost had pictures for you, too.... One day, I promise!

So, what's the problem with shaving, especially if it is such an erotic experience? Well, as I stand in front of my class today, trying with every fiber of my being to NOT scratch, let me tell you, all of these five million teensie-weensie little tushie hairs itch when they grow back in! Oh, sweet mother of God! I found myself running to the bathroom in between classes just so I could discreetly SCRATCH. I assure you, I have no bugs. No rashes. Just hairs growing back. Everywhere (except for the cutest little tuft of a landing strip just above my pussy). I'm thinking that there has to be a better way (because I just can't imagine millions of porn stars scratching furiously two days after a bikini shave).

In a moment of frank girl-talk, I asked my sister-in-law "after you wax, does it itch when everything starts to grow back?" Sister-in-law (SIL, here after), being a fond supporter of waxing, swears that not only does waxing eliminate grow-back itching completely, but it also reduces the amount of hair to grow back. And, let's face it: I'm so hairy, I wasn't born, I was coughed up - much as a cat coughs up a hair-ball.

Hell... if I enjoy having my pussy smacked and swatted, surely I can't use the pain of waxing as an excuse to not wax... right? Unfortunately, at the moment, a professional bikini wax isn't in the budget. In fact, an eyebrow wax isn't even in the budget. But since I like that cute little tuft of a landing strip, I'm open to suggestions. ;)