Life, The Universe & Chocolate Bunnies!

Although the most important holiday for the Christian religion, celebrating its central figure's alleged return from the grave, Easter derives its name from a pagan goddess named Éostre. The concept of a new beginning and life's triumph over death are represented in the symbols of eggs and the notoriously fertile rabbit.

Whether one is a believer, or an unbeliever like myself, there is something to be celebrated at Easter time.

Some of my atheist friends act a little embarrassed by religious holidays and try to distance themselves, for instance renaming Christmas as Newtonmas (since December 25th was Isaac Newton's birthday.) To me this has always seemed kind of silly. Christmas and Easter, while specifically Christian holidays, are also about the celebration of things which are not limited to one form of belief, but are, in fact, universal. Christmas is a celebration of love, community and generosity. And Easter is a celebration of life's persistence and of fertility.

In recent times we've seen some terrible natural disasters as well as man-made conflicts troubling various parts of the world. The wonderful thing about life in general and humans in particular is that such things do not defeat us. In the wake of each disaster, the survivors reestablish their communities, homes are rebuilt, babies are born and life goes on. For me, this is what Easter celebrates. Death doesn't win.

But also it celebrates fertility. This is not just biological fertility. If I wished fertility on you, many of you would probably scream, "No, that's the last thing I need!" But fertility is not just about producing babies. It is about the fecundity of the soil in which we plant a seed, be that seed an idea, a monetary investment or a literal seed that we plant in our garden. To toast fertility is to wish that those seeds bear fruit. Unless they are vegetable seeds, in which case it would just be weird for them to bear fruit.

One need not believe in Heaven or Hell to believe that life is not limited to our physical bodies, finite as they are in time and space. Our deeds and our ideas sow seeds which can have a life of their own, bearing fruit in places we will never visit and also long after we cease to exist as individuals.


The internet is the perfect example of this. The inventors of Facebook, Twitter or Google could die tomorrow, but that which they created would continue to have a life of its own, providing a conduit for social interactions the outcome of which noone can possibly predict.

Recently I've been taking part in the Twitterotica challenges created by Ruby Kiddell and Aisling Weaver. Here is another example of seeds which bare fruit. A seed word is sown over Twitter and lands in the fertile minds of sundry degenerates who set to work to create some prime filth. Nobody could predict the fruity tales of debauchery they produce. These in turn are disseminated over the net where they themselves perhaps inspire much stiffness and wetness of generative organs. And what happens after that is anybody's guess. But the point is that a simple idea in one person's mind ended up effecting the lives of many in ways that they will never fully know.

So what can make us more fertile in this broader sense? Well, just as the fertility of a woman is unlikely to bear fruit if she doesn't open her legs, so an open mind is most conducive to the success of productive endeavours of all kinds. And nothing stands in the way of such success like a closed mind. The most wonderful of creations are those which could never have been predicted. And the belief that we can predict the future closes us off to the seeds of such creations. Few of us would claim to be psychic, but we think we can predict the future when we say such things as : "I'll never get that job promotion!" ; "No member of the opposite sex could find me attractive!" ; or "All my problems will be solved when I win the lottery!" It is welcoming the unknowability of the future with open arms and following ideas to see what they lead to, rather than presupposing that they are worthless, which allows us to make the most of life's creative principle.

But let us also not forget that Easter is a time for perving at scantily clad girls in bunny ears and eating lots of chocolate!

Also not a bad time for catching up with a movie or two or some reading. Here are some suggestions :


MOVIES


The Religious Aspects of the Holiday


Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)


Ted Neeley makes for a whiny, annoying Christ, but it is all about Carl Anderson's dynamic Judas, Yvonne Elliman singing "I Don't Know How to Love Him", and Josh Mostel in his bathing trunks asking Jesus to walk across his swimming pool. Andrew Lloyd Webber's finest moment if you ask me.


The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964)


Who would have guessed that a movie by an atheistic communist homosexual would come in at number two on Pope John Paul II's recommended movies list. A starkly beautiful film in the Italian neo-realist style. A counterpoint to Pasolini's last film Salo, the watching of which is a bit like being crucified.


Ben-Hur (1959)


One of my all-time favourites, this has it all. A crucifixion scene which can even ring tears from a devoted heathen such as myself, the splendiferous spectacle of the naval battle and chariot scenes, and lashings of homo-erotic chest-baring and muscle flexing.

Life of Brian (1979)


Look on the bright side of life with a comic masterpiece which, contrary to the views of some of its critics, is not disrespectful to Jesus or his believers, poking fun, instead, at those who are less discriminate in their faith-placing as well as at bureaucracies and misguided forms of rebellion.


Chocolate

Chocolat (2000)


Chocolate as a source of romance and eroticism. A charming film from the director of Abba : The Movie.


Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (1971)


Tim Burton is a genius, but Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was not his finest moment. Go back to the original film starring Gene Wilder. And it has a classic song in "The Candy Man".

Rabbits

Harvey (1950)


Films don't come any funnier or more charming than this tale in which Jimmy Stewart's relationship with an imaginary giant rabbit causes consternation to all around him.


The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie (1979)


Everybody's favourite rabbit - trickster, anarchist and inveterate cross-dresser. There's no-one like Bugs and this movie was a showcase for some of his funniest cartoons.

Night of the Lepus (1972)


If you are truly perverse (and if you're not, what are you doing on my blog?), you'll want to check out this mind-numbing horror misfire, supposedly based on a novel called The Year of the Angry Rabbit by distinguished Aussie author Russell Braddon. It's all about giant mutant bunny rabbits that eat people! The original title of the movie was going to be Rabbits, but they were afraid people wouldn't take a horror movie with that name seriously. Needless to say, they still didn't take it seriously.

EROTICA


Chocolate

Heidi Klum...yum!

Lavender and Chocolate by Dalide (Lady Laid Bare)


Read this mouthwatering story and then break out the chocolate bodypaint with your partner!


Hot Cross Buns

Emily Winters and Tender-Bottomed Girl always have buns which are hot and cross from having received the spankings that naughty girls such as themselves so richly deserve. So why not go sample the sweetness of their just desserts?


My Favourite Easter Bunny

Rosie, model and photographer for Girls Out West.

Jeepers Creepers, Get A Load of These Peepers!

We get the term Peeping Tom from a certain tailor who defied Lady Godiva's request that nobody observe her naked ride through Coventry. For drilling a hole and peeking at her nakedness he was supposedly struck blind.

But before and since many a desperate individual peeked in a window hoping to catch a glimpse of a bit of nudity or sexual activity. Generally they were not struck blind, but some, no doubt, were arrested.

Today, television and the internet not only make it possible for us to be voyeurs without paying such a price but, in the case of shows like Big Brother, we might feel positively anti-social if we don't join in on the peeping.

There are many websites where individuals provide spy cams in various parts of their house. Viewing these gives one a newfound respect for more traditional peepers. You can sit there for hours watching an empty room, or somebody sleeping, or, if you are really lucky, checking their emails while fully clothed. In these days when Michael Bay movies and video games have infected us all with Attention Deficit Disorder, the Peeping Tom still retains the virtue of patience, able to stay crouched in an uncomfortable position for hours on the slight hope of catching a glimpse of a bare butt.

In public we all put on something of a false front. The creep peeping into your bedroom window, however, wants to see the real you, he (or she) will not be satisfied with the PG version. The peeper is a perfect model of tolerance and open-mindnesses. Don't trouble yourself about the possibility that your nudity or your behaviour might offend.

So here is my celebration of peepers, in stories, pictures and films. Expect reviews of peeper-related movies to follow.

Peeping Tam by Evangeline Love

Peeping Tam is a free ebook available from Smashwords. Natalie is bored with her latest boyfriend Greg. Little does she know that her neighbour Tam has a crush on her. Or that Tam's bedroom window looks into her own. Tam knows it is wrong to watch Natalie fucking, but she can't help herself. This is a fun little story with a very sexy payoff. I look forward to reading more from Evangeline Love.

Baxter! (1973) (dir. Lionel Jeffries) is a movie which had a big impact on me when I was young. It tells the story of a young American boy with a speech defect. Roger Baxter (Scott Jacoby) can't say his R's. So when he says his own name it comes out as "Woger". He has just moved to England with his mother, who has little time for him. So he makes friends with his neighbours, Roger (Jean-Pierre Cassel) and Chris (Britt Ekland), and a girl who lives across from him, Nemo Newman (Sally Thomsett, who went on to fame as the blonde in Man About the House). A speech therapist, Dr. Roberta Clemm (Patricial Neal) helps Roger with his speech problems and ends up going beyond the call of duty when he suffers a nervous breakdown. It's a film which captures the joy as well as the sadness of life during adolescence, and really deserves to be released on DVD. This video shows one of my favourite scenes in the film in which Roger gets peeked at.

Vanessa's Island

Vanessa's Island is my major work, a novel, almost completed, most of which I wrote back in the 90s. I'm planning to publish it as an ebook sometime later this year. In the meantime, here is a peeking-related extract.

It was no good. I just couldn't get her out of my mind.

I was back on the other side of the island where I lived in a small cottage over-looking the beach. I had my easel set up on a slight rise that gave me a perfect view of the sea and the beach and the rich green vegetation that covered the island from the edge of the beach to its central rocky outcrop which rose to about 20 metres above sea-level behind me.

I was trying to paint, but it was no use. The large rocks that gave the beach its character, round and smooth from thousands of years of tidal erosion, became soft round buttocks. The clouds that hung in a deep blue sky became milky white breasts. And the bushes became...well, bushes.

Could an alcoholic concentrate on his work if he knew that there was an ice cold beer in the lunchroom refrigerator? I rest my case.

There was nothing for it but to pay Vanessa a visit. Maybe if I saw enough of her I would get bored and be able to return to my work. Desensitisation therapy I think they call it.

Now if you really think I believed this crap that I was telling myself then you're a bigger fool than I think you thought that I thought that I was. I think.

No, visiting Vanessa was not going to return my shattered peace of mind, but it would probably give me a hard-on and I was willing to accept that as second best.

The island was not a large one, so it only took about 20 minutes of trudging through the hot, white sand to reach Vanessa's place.

From the beach a cobblestone path curved up through an unkempt cactus garden to Vanessa's front yard. As I got close to her house I heard the sound of softly splashing water and realised that she had turned the fountain back on. This fountain, which had been silent since Old Man Ramsey had become too infirm to visit his island retreat, was in the form of a statue which seemed to depict a naked woman holding a vomiting fish.

As I approached the front door I noticed that the curtains on the front windows were not drawn, so I decided to have a peek.

All right, I know, I was being a peeping Tom, invading Vanessa's privacy. But hadn't she invaded my island? All's fair in love and war, they say. Which one Vanessa and I would end up engaging in I was none too sure of at the moment, but it had to be one or the other.

So I crept over to the window on my left, very aware of the fact that, when it is easy to see in, it is also easy to see out. No luck there, just the kitchen/dining area. Moving stealthily to the other window, however, I found that I was in luck.

This appeared to be a lounge room, but Vanessa had set it up as a room to do her writing. And there she was sitting at her computer, her back, thankfully, towards me.

What I found hard to believe was how she was dressed. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Before I noticed what she was wearing, I notice the fact that her glorious bottom was totally bare.

She was sitting on a backless stool, over which she had draped a fluffy white bath towel. Her arse was even better than I thought it would be. So soft, so pink and with a light dusting of freckles over the top of her hips. I had to suck in my stomach to give my cock room to stretch himself. It was all I could do to resist the temptation to pull down my shorts and jack-off on the spot. But I realised that if Vanessa turned around she would see me.

It was now that I noticed what Vanessa was wearing. Above she wore a pink lace-up, Victorian-style bodice. The laces were threaded but not pulled tight, something which I imagine would have been impossible for one person on their own. Below this she was wearing a white garter-belt and white stockings.

This seemed a strange way for a woman to dress when she was on her own. For a moment I felt a jealous twinge as I wondered if she had brought a visitor to the island. But there was no sign of anyone else.

As I stood there staring at her lovely bottom and listening to the tapping of the keys of her computer, I noticed that occasionally she would stop typing and move her right hand down to her lap. Maybe she has to rest it occasionally so as not to get RSI, I thought. Surely she doesn't have to rest it that long, I wondered. Ha, ha, it almost looks like she's...No, she couldn't be...Shit, I think she is.

I moved in to get a better look at what she was doing with her hand, and my head and the window pane collided with a resounding thwack.

I caught a quick glimpse of Vanessa jumping up from her stool, as I ran and knocked at the front door, hoping I might still be able to salvage the situation.

When Vanessa opened the door she was wearing the towel around her waist. Above her pink bodice a rather large expanse of pale, freckled bosom was exposed, heaving deliciously in her current state of agitation.

"It's only me," I said, in the vain hope that, if I played it cool, she would think that the face in the window was a figment of her imagination.

"OF COURSE IT'S YOU. I KNOW IT'S YOU. THERE'S NO-BODY ELSE ON THE FUCKING ISLAND," she yelled. "BUT WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO COME PEEKING IN MY WINDOW."

Personally, I thought she was overreacting. Maybe a change of subject would help to defuse the situation.

"Why are you dressed like that?" I asked, remember that a person's favourite subject is themself.

"MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!" she shrieked, thus dashing any thoughts I may have had to parlay my diplomatic skills into a job with the United Nations.

"I'm sorry I peeked in your window," I said, trying another tack. "I just caught a glimpse accidentally as I was coming up to the door, and you looked so gorgeous that, even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't help myself."

This time I'd hit on the right formula. The storm clouds disappeared from over Vanessa's face.

"All right, you can come in," she relented. "But I'm still going to be mad at you for another 5 minutes, because you deserve it. I ought to give you a good spanking, that's what I ought to do."

"Yes, please, Miss," I replied.

"You're an all-around deviant, aren't you?" she said, shaking her head.

By the time my 5 minutes were up we were sharing a couple of cold beers at the kitchen table. Vanessa had changed in the meantime into a light yellow summer dress.

"Actually I wouldn't have really minded if I hadn't been writing at the time," Vanessa admitted. "I really get into the story when I'm writing and it's very frustrating to get interrupted."

"Yes, it really did look like you were getting into the story," I agreed, meaningfully.

"What do you mean?!" she asked heatedly, though I could tell from the smile on her face that she was more excited than angry now. "David. Tell me the truth. How long were you looking at me through the window?"

"Well, long enough to tell that you like to take a few breaks from your writing," I replied, trying to be tactful.

"All right, so sometimes a girl likes to play with herself," said Vanessa in mock irritation. "Any objections?"

"Well," I replied, "only that I couldn't get a very good view from where I was standing."

Vanessa can't have been very thirsty because she emptied the rest of her beer over my head.

xNovel is a site where you can download porn novels from defunct publishing houses. Be warned, a lot of the novels there are kind of gross - Nazi concentration camp stories or tales about people who love animals in a way not condoned by the RSPCA. But there are also some that make for a fun read. One of those is Jane Fox's The Peeping Neighbors. It tells the story of four couples and one single girl who live in an apartment complex. Vera Parker wants to try out on her husband Vance the sexy techniques she has learned about from her neighbour Sharon McNeal. But Vance gets called away to investigate goings on by the swimming pool. He oversees Tony Summers fucking Georgette Martin, the single girl from downstairs, in the pool enclosure. Andy McNeal is paranoid about his wife Sharon. She learns her sex techniques from books, but when she gives him a great blow job he thinks she has been practicing on some other guy. Charles "The Colonel" Kolby is frustrated because his church-going wife Gladys has told him they are now too old for sex. The only way he can get satisfaction is masturbating while peeking through a hole in the bathroom wall which lets him spy on Belinda Summers doing the same in her shower. When Sharon, annoyed by Andy's suspicions, plots with Vera to put an end to them by getting Georgette to seduce her husband so that they can catch him with his pants down, things really hot up and soon everyone is being converted, one by one, to the joys of swinging. Jane Fox writes with the explicitness one expects in a porn novel, but also a playfulness which is very appealing. The story is not very believable, with its instantaneous conversions from jealous spouse to free-wheeling swinger, but if you want social realism you're probably looking in the wrong place.

Peeping Story on the Web

Window Watcher by Irishnia

An eighteen-year-old girl is having an shower when she notices the middle-aged man next door peeking at her through the window. Feeling horny, she decides to put on a show for him.

The Creep by The Lonely Island (feat. Nicki Minaj & John Waters (these creepers are also peepers).

Sexy Occupation - Maid or House Cleaner

The windows are only one part of the house that need cleaning. The next of our sexy occupations is the maid or cleaner who probes every intimate nook and cranny of the house. She (or he) gets up close and personal with the places we have sex, the places we have sat our naked bottoms and sees any clues about our sex lives we may have inadvertently left lying around - the vibrator, the porn stash or the crotchless panties. And a fetishistic male cleaner, if unscrupulous, might take unnatural advantage of a lady's panty draw. It is hard to imagine a maid doing the same with a gentleman's y-fronts, but even that may be known to happen.

The French maid, particularly, has been an erotic archetype since the 1800s. In a more hierarchical, class-oriented society, maids were very subservient and there was no hope of suing an employer for sexual harassment. The reality of this situation may not have always been very pleasant for the maids, but it does provide a scenario that is often highly erotic as a fantasy for both men and women. And maids (along with butlers) were always perfect characters for a sex farce, with wives always on the verge of catching their husbands pants down with the home help.

But recently house cleaning has become sexy in a new way with the invention of nude or near nude house cleaning services, both female and male. There is no need to go to a strip club in order to perve at a hot nude sex object. You can do it in your own home and avoid having to do your own dusting and vacuuming into the bargain.

Recently I read a very sexy ebook on this very topic. Kendall Swan's Naked Housecleaning is a deliciously playful romantic fantasy about a college girl who cleans for a handsome, wealthy and somewhat eccentric young gentleman. When he offers to pay her three times as much if she cleans in the nude she is not sure what to think - the idea arouses her, but she worries that this amounts to prostitution. Her qualms are soon swept aside however and she finds that cleaning nude for a sexy man unleashes a very naughty side to her personality.

I've always found the idea of casual female nudity a big turn-on. Nudists claim that nude living is not an especially erotic thing, but for me the sight of a woman doing everyday things - gardening, ironing, cleaning, cooking, working out, etc. totally naked is somehow very erotic, so the idea of a naked cleaning lady is definitely a very appealing fantasy.

But what about the idea of being a nude cleaner for a female clientele? Well, in reality I'm a slob who avoids cleaning when possible, and with my physique the only way I'd get to work nude is by offering a massive discount for the privilege. But let's leave reality behind. In an ideal world it might go something like this :

LUSTING WHILE DUSTING


I'd been working for Clobber-Free Cleaners for only two weeks when I met up with Dora. Most of the women I worked for just quietly watched me as I cleaned their house naked. Afterwards they might make me a cup of tea and we'd have a friendly chat. With Dora it was different, she took an evil glee in having a defenceless naked man at her mercy. I felt like a mouse being played with by a tiger cub.


I should have seen the warning signs on my first visit when I noticed an enormous purple vibrator sitting on the television in the lounge room looking for all the world like a decorative ornament. I lifted it gingerly to dust the top of the set. It felt a little sticky.


"Oh, how embarrassing!" cried Dora. "I forgot I left that there." She grabbed it out of my hand, standing uncomfortably close as she did so. "There was a George Clooney movie on the telly last night," she added with a wink.


There are no hard and fast rules about how we are to speak to the customers. The only rules are that there should be no physical contact more intimate than a handshake. Personally, I think it lends an air of class to come on a little posh, so I always refer to my clients as "madame".


"I don't think you should really be doing that, madame," I said, on my second visit, when Dora came up behind me and began to gently stroke my right thigh while fondling my left buttock and nibbling my left ear lobe.


"I don't think you really mind," she teased. "If you did you would tell me to stop. You wouldn't be all 'I don't think you should really be doing that'." She actually did quite a good impersonation of my manner, I have to give her that.


"I'm sure madame is just trying to be affectionate," I replied, "but my only interest is in upholding the reputation of Clobber-Free Cleaners by doing the most thorough job I can in removing dirt and grime from your domicile."


"I really don't think that that is your only interest," she responded, "or else your cock wouldn't be standing out all big and stiff and dripping precum all over my bedside stand."


"Oh, I am sorry ma'am," I spluttered, grabbing a Kleenex to wipe up the mess. I looked down at my stiff cock and muttered "Traitor!" under my breath.


"I like your cock," said Dora. "He's on my side."


Luckily I was nearly finished for the day, so I was able to escape before things could get really unethical.

From that time on I never knew what Dora might do next and the erotic tension was so strong that my cock would be erect before I even came through the door and stripped off and would stay that way the whole time. On the up side, it did give me somewhere to hang my dust cloth. But when Dora caught me doing the vacuuming with the skirting board attachment stuck over my dick for later use she yelled at me for not being fully nude.


Of course she would take the opportunity to parade around in all kinds of skimpy clothes, bending over front ways so I could see her cleavage and bending over the other way so I could see the ripe curve of her butt.


Then one day, just as I was coming out of the bathroom after cleaning it, she appeared in a skimpy towelling robe and pushed past me, accidentally on purpose brushing my cock with the back of her hand, and started to run a bath.


"Come in here, will you?" she called out a couple of minutes later.


When I entered the bathroom I saw that she was sitting naked in the tub covered in soap. She had a stern look on her face.


"You left a smudge on the mirror," she said, pointing at it. "Clean it off now."


As I ran a cloth over the mirror, I watched her reflection. She'd slid her right hand down between her legs and was clearly masturbating.


"You're watching me, aren't you?" she teased. "Well, I don't care what you think. It's my pussy and I'll wash it as fast as I like."


"It is my opinion," I said, turning towards her, "that madame is a dirty little slut."


"Well, you are under contract to clean everything in my flat," she smiled. "I have a dirty cunt that needs cleaning and it looks like you have just the perfect utensil to do the job."


She reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed my cock with her soapy hand and tried to pull me into the bath with her, but it slipped through her sudsy fingers. "Oh, bugger me," she cursed.


"Madame will have to make up her mind which service she wants first," I laughed.


In response, Dora stood up and pulled her creamy wet bum cheeks apart to display the rosebud that lay between them. "Clean this with your tongue!" she giggled.


"Just don't tell the agency about this," I told her, as I stepped over the side of the tub and took her in my arms.


"Because you'd get fired?" she asked.


"No," I said, giving her playful smack on the ass. "Because all the guys will want to work for you."


The End

Sexy Occupation : Window Cleaner

Back in the 70s, when I was just a lad, there were a series of books and films that related the clumsy sexual adventures of a British working class everyman by the name of Timothy Lea. The first book was The Confessions of a Window Cleaner. Although Timothy Lea was listed as the author, it was actually written by Christopher Wood (who would later go on to write the scripts for two James Bond films - The Spy Who  Loved Me and Moonraker).

There where 19 Timothy Lea books and 4 films. In most of the books Timmy followed a particular profession. By turns he was a window cleaner, a driving instructor, a travelling salesman, a long distance lorry driver, a film extra, etc. Wood also wrote a similar series about Rosie Dixon, who was a night nurse, gym instructor, tour guide, babysitter, etc.

Recently I've been reading a lot of the Timothy Lea books, which are very funny, if rather politically incorrect by modern standards, filled as they are with rampant sexism and tasteless racial humour. What is most fun about them, though, is the slang - as Timmy's adventures lead to lots of encounters between his "spam ram" and his horny female customer's "spasm chasms". Here is a sample from Confessions of a Plumber's Assistant (1975) :

"As our lips stack, my right hand drops into her lap and starts to interfere with her under-clothing. Nothing to get you pulled up in front of the beak for finger smuggling but a soft, rhythmic carress ruckling her panties and rippling over her short and curlies. She starts to say something else but I kiss her silent and quickly slip my hand inside the blue lace. Percy is quivering like a tuning fork activated by a steam hammer and as I send a couple of cuticled hombres riding into love gulch Mrs Richmond presses back against her chair and shoots out her parted legs."

This gave me the idea of doing a series of posts on the humorously erotic possibilities of various occupations. Over the years I've written a number of stories which do this - Nicki the Naughty Nurse, Inappropriate Behaviour (about a psychiatrist), School Daze with Maria (about a teacher) and What Do You Want for Christmas? (about a store Santa who moonlights as a stripper). So I'll highlight all those occupations and more. But I thought I'd start with Timmy Lea's first occupation - window cleaner.

Cleaning windows isn't a glamorous occupation, but it allows for plenty of erotic possibilities. The voyeur never knows what intimate delights may reveal themselves on the other side of the glass. A window washer who serves private clients may meet up with the archetypal frustrated house wife. And a fit window cleaner in a wet transparent singlet can easily be a lust object for the ladies.

All of these possibilities were covered in the movie of Confessions of a Window Cleaner (1974), which was directed by veteran Val Guest (The Quatermass Xperiment (1955)). Guest and Wood collaborated on the script. Timmy (Robin Askwith) is working for his shifty brother-in-law Sid (Anthony Booth) in the window-washing business. He sees some exciting sights through the windows he is washing - a girl lounging nude, randy schoolgirls in the shower, a pair of window dressers getting frisky, etc. But Timmy is inexperienced sexually, so Sid decides to help him out by introducing him to a friendly stripper. They make out in the dressing room, but, as will be the trend, things don't go as they are supposed to. Later Timmy will have a very soapy encounter with a nymphomaniac, get caught doing nearly nude yoga with a client's au pair, have to hide naked under a tiger skin rug and will help a weepy girl to make her lover jealous by jumping into bed with her. One of his more interesting encounters occurs when he returns to the home of the woman who caught him with her au pair. She is a middle aged clean freak, but when she gets him to change a light bulb in the coal cellar and he falls into the coal heap, accidentally ripping her dress off as he does, she gets turned on by how dirty he is and insists that, in order to keep from getting her house dirty he must strip naked and let her give him a bath. Poor Timmy runs for his life, but personally I would have played along. Timmy also falls in love, with Elizabeth, a young policewoman played by sex goddess, Linda Hayden (The Blood on Satan's Claw (1971)), who would return in Confessions from a Holiday Camp (1977) playing a different character. Timmy's family are horrified that he is going out with an officer of the law, especially as his dad's chief hobby is stealing things from the lost property office where he works. The story leads up to Timmy's wedding to Elizabeth, but it is no spoiler to say that it all goes awry.

Robin Askwith as Timothy Lea.

Linda Hayden as Elizabeth.

Trivia : Confessions of a Window Cleaner was the highest grossing British film of 1974. Anthony Booth is the father of Cherie Blair, wife of ex-British Prime Minister Tony Blair.

An Erotic Story about Window Cleaners

The Window Cleaner by Gaia Lorraine

A very hot tale of exhibitionism, voyeurism and masturbation.

Let me know what you think are the sexiest occupations for men and for women.