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Tanglewood Jones
Chances are you’ll probably look at my book and decide that I’m sort of nymphomaniac slut, but really I’m not. In real life I’m shy and retiring and really nothing special to look at. You’d probabl...visualizza altroChances are you’ll probably look at my book and decide that I’m sort of nymphomaniac slut, but really I’m not. In real life I’m shy and retiring and really nothing special to look at. You’d probably pass me by on the street without even noticing me. To look at me you’d never suspect that I was filled with all these tempestuous thoughts and dark yearnings.My main feature is my hair which has a life of its own. My friends call me Tangle which is something I like. Although obviously it’s not how my colleagues at work refer to me. It was one of my dad’s pet names. He used to call me it when I was a little girl, ruffling my hair, hugging me:Tangle what are we going to do with you?Otherwise I’m petite. My boobs are not very big. When I was very young I was confident and outgoing. But I guess at puberty when other girls morphed into full sized Barbie’s with gigantic bosoms I pretty much remained as I was, growing more moody and insecure each day. Diminutive and flat chested I turned into a bit of an outcast. As a woman, there was only one thing worse than being different from everyone else, and that was being smart.Art was always something I pursued as a hobby. I’ve always drawn people, but it took me a very long time to draw my first nude. Even if someone started off without clothes I felt obliged to add bras and skirts, or underwear and trousers. It took years to remove each piece of clothing in turn and finally break through my own natural reserve and cultural repression. After that there was no turning back.I remember when I first drew myself naked, sitting in the bathroom with a strategically placed mirror, squinting at the reflection, frantically scribbling with pink and mauve and purple pencils, amazed at an intricate interior world unfolding between my own legs. It was one of the first times I realised how art could stimulate me directly, and as I squinted and scribbled, dabbed and daubed, I was surprised to find myself becoming more and more aroused. It was a breakthrough moment for me, connecting directly with the artistic world, and my own sexual needs.My boyfriends have often been a lot older than me. I prefer men who are intelligent and sophisticated, even a little kinky. I’ve even known a few who wanted me to squeeze into an old school uniform and pretend to be fourteen years old again, so they could do disgusting things with me. It’s a pervy British thing I guess since the rest of the world doesn’t have school uniforms. Now I’m getting too old to carry it off.I remember studying my boyfriend’s cock all veined and throbbing, wondering what it must be liked to be controlled by this demanding pink monster, always inside me, in one hole or another. I watched it pulsating in my hand trying to commit its details to memory. I wanted to sketch it, capture all its details. I became fascinated by drawing cocks.In the end I was drawing things which were pornographic and shocking. They were never for public consumption; rather I think I was trying to stretch myself and break through all the prissy conservatism and moral niceties to find some sort of artistic, spiritual and sexual truth. It was a process of self-exploration in which I tried to come to terms with myself as a woman and as a sexual being- throwing off layers of doubt and insecurity. And now I don’t think I can be shocked anymore.So yes, here I am, Tanglewood Jones. Welcome to my world.visualizza meno