Lifting the veil (getting gothic)- Part I

My dear Readership, for quite some time now I’ve been at great odds with the dynamic of virtual interaction, in particular as manifest in the realm in which yon humble blog finds itself. I know it’s content is pornographic, but really... it doesn’t feel like pornography to me. It’s merely the honest, unashamed expression of an aspect of the individual I am. It feels like art, albeit art I get a very delicious *kick* out of.

And the interaction I illict in the process doesn’t feel strictly virtual, like there is deception or restriction, despite the fact that every one of us is hiding behind a veil of sorts. I get the distinct impression of each one of you as entirely real people, sitting behind your computer screens, the memorabilia specific to each of the individuals you are scattered on the periphery (currently I have four tubes of lipstick, a gargantuan mug, three books, a number of data cds and a black, decorated quill which you will see in the post below this one scattered around my pc), perhaps you are alone, perhaps your lover accompanies you and you take delight in sharing the experience with each other, perhaps you’re sipping coffee, or green tea or a scotch on the rocks while you peruse and make your mark hither and thither at these virtual oases of interaction…

I can’t guess for each of you, but I know it’s happening, pauses to go to the bathroom, frustrated grumbles under your breath when a glitch interrupts you, the sound of your breathing, your piercing glance as your eyes absorb all this information in nanoseconds to your brain where it’s processed and a physiological reaction takes place, you laugh, you gasp, your blood electrifies in your veins etc…

I know it’s happening.

I’m just curious if you all know it’s happening for me too, this disembodied voice addressing you from these virtual glyphs.

And how many of you, who register that voice, register it as belonging to the flashes of silken-coloured lips and legs and curves and contours captured in limited frames of images that scatter the pages of Wet Your Lips *Here*? How many of you truly register that these flashes of flesh belong to another person, so alike and so different to you?

We’ve spoken of the objectification of the human form here before, under the post entitled “Different strokes for different folks”:

“So Ms Likes-To-Cover-Her-Body-In-Lipstick Lady, does the body not become objectified when in contact/adorned with the mark of the sexual fetish?

Fuck no. It’s a cogent statement to make, certainly, but by mere virtue of the fact that the sexual body is being adorned…it qualifies as a celebration of, a tribute to feminine sexuality. It’s gone beyond the realm of acceptance to the state of worship, so to speak.

And I think we should all have the *freedom* (god, I love that word) to pay tribute to whatsoever entities we deem divine that we choose.”

And yes, the images that adorn this blog are, essentially, celebrations…but any worthwhile interaction should surely evolve: change is the essence of life, stasis, stagnance, it’s antithesis. And if I allowed this oasis of lipsticked delight and communication to stagnate, to be an unchanging face staring unblinkingly into time, then perhaps… Perhaps this site would be reduced to mere pornography.

And there’s plenty of that out there (and I’m so very, very grateful for that ;-) Wow) but then what do you all need me for? And why do I need you? I could just delete this blog now and keep all the information, visual and textual, that it contains with all the other forms of information I haven’t posted in their relevant folders on my pc for my private perusal. What kind of a celebration would that be then?

The act is the celebration, the information would be reduced to a mere record of the event. I could stick it in a private diary to be found posthumously to embarrass friends and relations in proximity. Woo hoo.

And what a turn off.

No. This is not what Wet Your Lips *Here* is about. It’s about lipstick and sex and joy and wonder and bliss and me and you and about everyone of us being on this planet together as a member of the human race and, of consequence, how we should all love and respect each other…and ourselves.

And because this blog is what it is and because I am who I am and because all of you are who you are, thereby allowing us to be able to interact with each other here (thank you all so much!)…I have made a decision to lift one of my veils.

Hi everyone! I’m Lady Lipstick, I’m somewhere out there living my life, doing all the things that entails, just like you, and I’d like to be able to talk to you, through the images of this blog…

face to face…

Lifting the veil (getting gothic)- Part II

“It’s the sense of touch…”
“What?”
“In the real cities, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you…in LA, no-one touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.” -Opening dialogue from the movie, “Crash”.

Man, what a *perfect* opening for this post! It conceptually links up to the text of the post above, and both are already visually linked, though you may not know it yet. And I absolutely *adore* the opening of that movie, the almost entirely abstract images of moving spots of coloured light, passing each other, through each other, following each other, flowing and dancing, representing cars, and then a voice emerges from the darkness that follows, saying the above quotation. Fucking perfect. I love it. That’s the artistic summary of the *entire* movie, in the first few minutes. Beautiful. Brilliant.

So here we are, brushing past each other in this virtual space, I love it when some of you aren’t in a rush and stop and chat when it happens. Thank you so much.
Touch.
All my life, all my various sensory receptors have run on overdrive, have constantly and consistently craved more and more input…
But my most heightened physiological reaction comes from touch. Texture.
Guess it’s no surprise then that I have an orgasmic penchant for lipstick… (Wonder why I didn’t realize that before?)

I love being touched as much as I love touching. Texture. The creamy velvet that produces a silken sheen on lips. The warm, milky silkness of skin. The liquid smoothness of a slinky, satin cocktail dress…

I just had a flash back of being a child and being dragged around with my mom on one of her shopping expeditions. I remember the lady’s clothing department of this one store she would often frequent. Without fail, every time I was there I would end up burying myself in a rack of clothing, the faux furs, the velvets, the satins, the silks, the chiffons. Always starting with my face and ending up entirely immersed. I remember the one time I got so carried away with the satins the whole rack came tumbling down. No one reprimanded me though and mom never discouraged me on future excursions.

The first time I snuck at mom’s tubes of lipstick (I was around 11 years of age), the amazement at discovering how wonderful it felt and wondering how come all the girls weren’t wearing it? It wasn’t like coffee, you saw all the big people partaking of it, but it was vile to my preadolescent senses. But not lipstick, lipstick was clearly one of those fun things you get to do when you’re big, like stay up after bedtime.
And I didn’t even know just how right I was then ;-)

So I’m a sucker for touch. But for the past couple of
months, owing to being a very faithful lass (well, it’s generally discouraged to be rude to girls so I’ve allowed one or two particularly cute one’s to have some of their way with me…but really, it’s been a while), I’ve been feeling extremely deprived. And that, in all honesty, is an understatement. To atone for this deprivation I’ve been indulging in as much textural sensory input as I can get when it’s Lady Lipstick’s *playtime*. Dressing in gently tickling lace, luscious leather, watery satins and

whispering chiffons, as well as incorporating feathers and cool, slick glass and sashes of succulent crushed velvet and lavish lotions and whatever else I can while partaking of my most *blissful* indulgence, lipstick. My current favourite make regarding texture,

incidentally, is L’Oreal Endless. It’s like liquid, creamy velvet to the touch, but has a beautiful glisten to the eye. Everything about it says “take your time, luxuriate in me.”

I’ve often been able to

have the whole digs to myself for an entire day lately and was feeling particularly *playful* so I thought to blow it on three such sessions, each indulged in at length and it did such wonders for my mood I thought I simply had to celebrate by doing photoshoots of each.

These are as depicted in the above post and the following… (and here the aforementioned feather)

Let’s celebrate people! :-)