WARNING THIS POST IS FOR WOMEN ONLY!!!
If You are a bloke reading this I don't ever want to know. There are to be no smirks, no little references nothing... I am sure there will be a few things that would make a smutty little schoolboy laugh... Don't read this if you are prudish either!
As some of you may know I recently was inspired to buy some dead sea mud to slaver on my body to have some nice fun time with my inner child. Today was the day and earlier was the hour.
I took my sachets of mud to the bathroom and opened the first one to discover it had settled a little in the packet and I was loosing water. No matter. Down the legs it went.... It took two packets to cover all of me, except my head and the bits of my back I couldn't get to.
It smelt anoxic, think that dark black mud you find underneath that is always wet and never gets any air, marsh mud. It has a different set of chemical reactions because of the lack of air that give it a very distinctive smell. Probably good I have hardly any sense of smell, it really doesn't bother me at all.
So gooey clay, everywhere, and yes I do mean everywhere. Once I put it on, I played with it for a while, enjoying the sensation of it on my skin, running through my fingers, drawing spirals on my breasts. Touching my sin and caressing myself. Now I know some of you might be having a titter some time about now, thinking oh aye, but, you see, it just wasn't like that, not one bit. Why does touch have to be about sex? Why does pleasure have to be sexual? I was playing and stroking my skin and enjoying it, why does that have to sound smutty?
My masseuse often says that ouch is so important and we don't touch ourselves enough. We don't spend time looking after the skin we are in. I don't mean slathering it in potions and lotions, but spending time on it. Look at monkeys, they sit there and groom, most of the time they are not even dirty, it has a social meaning to it as well as personal welfare.
I am fat and I try not to spend too much time looking at my body. I try not to notice it a lot of the time, if I can possibly help it and I certainly do not want to look at the clothes I wear which a lot of the time are not things I would ever choose to wear if I had all the choice in the world. How much time do I spend letting my body know I love it and I appreciate the skin I am in, not much.
I lay in the bath and massages myself. I particularly enjoyed massaging my feet, it felt lovely squidging the mud between my toes. I filled it up with water after a while and I sat in my little muddy pool of water. I played with the mud as it dried, peeling it off, turning into that lovely liquid mud that oozes between the fingers. Letting it dry again. Turning my belly button into a mud hole.
It was glorious, innocent play and right now my skin knows that I love it and loving being in it. It also feels very, very soft.....
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