Silk Reveries

Headscarf Video 2

2008-05-16T23:21:00.003Z

The wonderful Kathy Ireland, probably still best remembered for her regular appearances in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions, had a brief role in Loaded Weapon 1 parodying Sharon Stone's infamous leg crossing from Basic Instinct.

More importantly, she wore a stunning Kelly headscarf in this brief scene. Not quite sure of the designer - Ferragamo perhaps, or maybe Gucci? Either way, this is the look that most of us think of when we think of a classy, elegant headscarf.

Headscarf video 1

2008-05-16T23:17:00.003Z

Rachel Roberts from the movie 'Simone', wearing an Hermes Brides de Gala in taupe tied Kelly style. Pity the clip is so short. It comes from the extras on the DVD.

Celebrities wearing scarves #1 - Sharon Stone

2007-06-07T17:19:00.001Z

When you think of Sharon Stone and scarves, the image that is most likely to pop up is that of her tying Michael Douglas to her bed with a white oblong Hermes scarf in Basic Instinct. I found some better images of her in a little-known movie called A Different Loyalty.
This is from Intersection, with Richard Gere:
And this is from a BBC interview:
As always, if anyone can point me to some more images, I'll happily include them. Didn't Sharon wear a pilot's neckscarf in Police Academy 4? If anyone knows where there are screengrabs, I'd be very happy to know. And no, before you ask, the bandana in The Quick & The Dead does not count as a scarf ...

Scarf headband

2007-06-07T16:48:00.000Z

And speaking of scarf-tying ideas, this has to be one of my all-time favourite images.

Call me old-school, but this is class, elegance, femininity, style. I think RandX found and posted this one originally way back in the early days of the Scarf Web Site.

Scarf tying ideas

2007-06-07T16:00:00.000Z

Madonna inspired many young women to dig a scarf out of the recesses of their wardrobe with this look from the movie Swept Away.

Brooks Brothers have some very nice ideas on their website.

Hermes, of course, have their marvellous Playtime PDF up on their site. It's on the bottom right of the scarf pages.

It's also worth checking the 'encounters' link at the top of the page. They had a great video of the making of the latest Scarf Catalog up there recently and they change the content all the time.

Ferragamo have a few ideas posted up on their US store.

Gucci - no ideas, but really nice scarves.

Karen Anne Taylor has some very nice ink illustrations of scarf-tying tricks on her site.

Candid shot

2007-06-07T15:27:00.000Z

A candid shot of a classic headscarf. Does anyone know the designer?

An Expensive Little Habit

2007-06-07T15:13:00.000Z

Terri Ducay's lovely little vignette about her inherited passion for Hermes scarves

The Kelly Headscarf

2007-05-17T16:02:00.000Z

Remember this image of Valerie Plame from 'Vanity Fair?' She's wearing an Hermes 'Les Cles' in pink. And what style is she wearing it in? Kelly style. It is almost ubiquitous to call a headscarf that is crossed under the chin and tied to the rear or side of the neck a 'Kelly Scarf.'

"Oooh! Such a pretty model. She's so classy. I love her headscarf. I wish I had the courage to wear a scarf like that. It's so Grace Kelly!"

Yeah, except you try finding an image of Grace wearing a scarf like that. She never did in any of her movies. Not once. People think she did, but she didn't. "Remember when she was driving with Cary Grant in 'To Catch A Thief' - she had one on then. Nope - she was wearing a pale pink oblong scarf in chiffon around her neck. Nary a headscarf in sight, and certainly not a Kelly wrap. The only meaningful scarf scene I could find of Grace in her movie career was from 'Mogambo.' She wears a nice blue and white silk headscarf in the classic style:
There's even a dramatic moment when Clark Gable pulls the scarf down off her head and leaves it draped over her shoulders - very symbolic. But no 'Kelly' headscarf.

The string "Grace Kelly" and "headscarf" returns over 700 hits on Google. "Grace Kelly" and "Scarf" returns almost 30,000. But not one image of her with a rear-tied headwrap. "Grace Kelly" and "Scarf" in Google Image search gives about 3,700 hits, with lots of images of rear-tied headscarves, but not one of Grace herself wearing one. "Grace Kelly" returns over 1,000 hits on Flickr, but no headscarves.

So where did the name come from? She got her Hermes handbag, and the Gucci straw bag named for her, and Wikipedia also mentions that she was a prominent wearer of Gucci's famous flora scarves, but ... no images. I find it strange that scarf afficianadoes everywhere refer to this tie as "The Kelly" and people everywhere know exactly what you mean when you say "a Grace Kelly headscarf" and yet it's likely that no-one has ever actually seen an image of Grace with a scarf tied this way. Strange.

The best I could come up with were these:
Might be a Kelly, might be a Classic, either way a small, grainy picture and it looks like a monochrome chiffon scarf rather than a good silk print.
Better scarf - looks like a Gucci, but not a Kelly tie and still in black & white.
The only image I have found in 13 years of web browsing. Looks more like a nun's wimple than a sexy headscarf, but it's the best I've got. Anyone out there got anything better they'd like to share? Notify me in comments.

Regina - Part 2 (Graphic content)

2007-05-17T15:20:00.000Z

Part 1
Then I discovered her neck ...

When I bent down from nibbling on her ear and ran my pursed lips down the big tendon in her neck she made her first sound – a long, low moan. Up until this, Regina had been a silent, intense lover; very much in control. Now, she was becoming a giggly little girl, squirming underneath me and becoming more vocal by the second.
“You likee?”
“I can’t bear it. I love it, but I can’t bear it.”

I laid her back on the pillow and propped myself up beside her on my elbows. “What else do you like?”
“I like everything.”
“What do you love?”
“Everything.”
I sighed. “Not exactly helping here Regina. Okay – what don’t you like?”
“I haven’t found anything yet; but if you do something I don’t like, I’ll be sure and tell you.”
“So, no hints then?”
“You’ll just have to go exploring. But Owen …”
I lifted my lips from her left nipple. “Yeeees?”
“I’m not on the pill.”
“Well, I imagine that two creative people like us can accommodate that particular shortfall. … Or maybe …”
I opened the drawer in Spud’s bedside locker. There was a 12 pack of condoms. There was also a bottle of baby oil, a tube of KY jelly and a pair of handcuffs.
“ … we could be in luck.”
Regina’s eyes widened at the sight of the treasure trove. Then she lay back on the bed and said, “Come and get me.”

I worked my way down between her legs and gently eased the waistband of her panties down over her buttocks. She lifted her ass and I quickly stripped the panties off her. Next I knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed began licking her, starting at her toes. I gently massaged the sensitive area behind her knees as I alternated long tongue strokes up her inner thighs. Splaying my fingers over her pelvis, I began tracing tiny ovals all over her taut, flat belly. Meanwhile, I let my thumbs drift down to her pubic mound and began pressing gently downwards.

Her breath shortened and she began to go rigid and relaxed in time with her breathing. I cupped her buttocks and pulled her pussy slowly down toward my waiting mouth, picking up a faint scent of her perfume from her pubic hair. She shuddered as I drew my tongue in one measured caress from her anus to her clit. Her pussy was salty, musky, delicious. She reached down and intertwined her fingers with mine, gripping my hands forcefully as the tension built within her. I focused my attention centrally, tracing figure-8s around her clit and breaking off every few revolutions to lap at her pussy lips.

She held her breath for a long few moments as I worked on her and then let it out in a convulsive gasp as her orgasm crescendoed. She came for a long time – one of the things I have always envied women for – hurting my fingers a little she squeezed so tightly. She then let go of my hands and lay back, panting hard.

I wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long mark. I began blowing very gently on her pussy lips and stroking her engorged labia with the pad of my middle finger.
“No, no. I need a break.”
“Shhhh.”

I slipped the tip of my middle finger into her, marvelling at the different textures I was encountering as I eased my way in. She lay limp, rocking her head gently from side to side. I brought my finger in to the hilt and then started toying with her – drawing circles on the front wall of her pussy. She immediately stiffened under my ministrations and placed her hands underneath her own buttocks to bring herself up toward me.

I withdrew my finger almost completely and then slid it smoothly back in as far as it would go. A few little circles inside and then I withdrew it again. She groaned.
“I can’t. It’s too soon.”
“You can. It’s called being a woman.”

She began moving her pelvis in time with my fingering. Her eyes tightly closed, a slight flush spreading on her chest and neck. Finally, I pulled my middle finger almost all the way out of her again and slid both it and my index finger back into her with the next stroke. I had my palm up, the nail of my index finger resting on the pad of the middle one. When I got in as far as I could go, I pushed a little further, stretching her labia and then reached up inside her, seeking out her G-spot. I could feel the texture of her front wall change as I drew my fingers fractionally back out and I began working gently but relentlessly on that area. I bent to mouth her clitoris while I did this but she yelped when I suckled it.
“Too sensitive. Too soon.”

So I restricted my efforts there to gentle blowing and the occasional stroke with the tip of my nose while I played “come hither” with her inside. Her orgasm this time was very different. It seemed to come on her in waves. She was even more vocal and she soaked my hand with her juices. She lay, spent, on the bed; her arms and legs splayed.

I got her a glass of water from the bathroom and had a few sips myself. Then I sat over her, playing with her breasts and the wonderful firm muscles in her abdomen. My cock, which had been feeling completely jaded, began stirring. I stood up.

“Turn over.”

As she did this, I retrieved her scarf from the pocket of her coat and came back to the bed. It was folded on the bias into a loose band. It was made of heavy, rich silk, but it wasn’t very big – maybe 28 inches square, so the long edge was no longer than 40 inches, but that was plenty big enough for my purposes.

“Bring your knees up under your breasts,” I commanded
“Mmmmmmm,” she said as she complied. “Don’t forget to use a condom.”
“First things first,” I said. I clumsily folded the scarf down and down and down into a long, thin sausage and crawled onto the bed behind her.
“Bring your head up. Look at the wall.” She raised herself up on her hands an knees and raised her head. “Eyes closed.” I lowered the scarf over her eyes and drew it snugly back around her head, knotting it twice at the nape of her neck.
“Ooooh, very Nine And A Half Weeks,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat – nervousness?
“Drop down onto the bed again.”
She relaxed her arms, letting her face come down onto the pillow and then, turning her head sideways, she spread her arms out wide, seeking the edges of the bed.

I reached over to the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. I rolled it down over my quivering cock with my right hand while fingering her pussy gently with my left as I positioned myself to enter her. Her pussy was moist, warm and ready and I slid easily into her. She grunted a little as I pressed it home. Then I began doing tiny, tiny thrusts – maybe a quarter of an inch. I reached around underneath her and cupped her breasts as I pushed up against her, more wriggling than thrusting.
“Is that a good angle for you?”
“Can I move my legs?” she asked.
“Of course.”

She slowly straightened out her legs, and my cock slipped out. She froze. I drove it snugly back inside her and held it fully in as she adjusted her position. She ended up with her legs out straight, pressed tightly together with my legs outside her, pressing inwards. I could never have entered her from that angle, but given that I was already in her we could use the position really well.

I placed my hands over hers, still splayed out wide, and then slid them back to grip her wrists.
“Press down on me. Let me feel your weight.”
I relaxed my arms somewhat and let my torso press her into the bed.
“Oooooh God, yes.”

Gripping her wrists tightly, I began lengthening my thrusts. She lay completely still under me, biting her lip as I ground in and out of her. I judged my withdrawals very carefully, because I knew that if my cock came out of her, I’d never get it back in without moving her and that would totally break the mood. I was in as dominant a position as I had ever enjoyed with a woman and I wasn’t going to let a careless move ruin it.

She began testing the strength of my grip, writhing underneath me and trying to pull her hands away from my grip. I let more of my weight press into her back and gripped down tight on her wrists, my efforts hampered as both her wrists and my hands were slick with perspiration.

Realising that her efforts to escape were futile, she began rubbing her forehead against the pillow and the mattress, trying to dislodge the blindfold. She partially succeeded in these efforts, but by the time the scarf slipped down over her nose, I was starting to lose control.

I let go of one of her hands and cupped my hand over her mouth stifling her groans of pleasure. She fought against my hand, trying to jerk her head from side to side and then pulling at my wrist with her free hand, but it was to no avail. I muted all her sounds including the long wail she gave as she came to orgasm. Her struggles put an end to any thought I might have had of prolonging my delay. With a handful of juddering thrusts, I came and my softening cock flopped out of her.

I collapsed onto her back for a moment, blowing like a whale and then rolled off her. She nestled in against me and said, “Owen! So dominant! Who would have thought it?”
The blindfold had fallen down around her neck like a chic neckscarf. I played with it idly and stroked her cheek with the tip.
“What can I say? You bring out the cave man in me.”

The Forgotten Scarf (short film)

2007-05-16T22:49:00.000Z

"THE FORGOTTEN SCARF tells a story of a woman who finds love in the midst of a failing marriage. When she finds an old gift from her husband, it suddenly takes on new meaning. Through the scarf, she explores her unfulfilled desires, leading to her own liberation.

Fashion plays a central role in the film. The clothing and locations are used to create the film's setting in the early 1960s. The scarf acts as the fourth character; when passed from scene to scene, it assumes each human character's feelings towards each other and changes from an object hidden away to a moving catalyst for the three people involved."

The Classic Headscarf

2007-05-15T22:50:00.000Z

I suppose, like many people who grew up in the 1960's and 70's, my earliest memories of scarves were the classic silk headscarf that so many young women wore back then. For the majority of wearers, the headscarf was a simple functional accessory - much like today's young women pulling on a baseball cap. But often, it was a glamorous and alluring accessory. Women would wear their best scarves to church on a Sunday. So classy, feminine and elegant!

Nowadays, you hardly ever see a young woman wear a headscarf. Most associate them with old ladies, the Queen of England or the modesty and religious iconography of the Muslim Hijab. Such a shame. Look at these pics - is there anything middle-aged, frumpy or religious about either of these women?

The Power of Silk

2007-05-15T12:26:00.000Z

I found this collection on Slideshare.

If only all young women thought this way about scarves.

Regina - Part 1 (Graphic content)

2007-05-15T11:53:00.000Z

“I’m not on the pill.”

Her name was Regina.

Tall, lithe, fit. Very feminine, with long graceful fingers and a cloud of soft brown shoulder length hair. She was that rare, ‘grown-up’ dresser amongst a sea of denim-clad students. You never saw Regina without lipstick, her hair done, her nails manicured. She would wear blouses, pearls, fine leather gloves and beautiful silk scarves when all those around her were schlepping through the campus in grubby jeans and sneakers. She was two years behind me in college and trained in the gymnastics club (my passion in college was karate). She dated a friend of mine for about 9 months after I had left college, but had stayed part of the group after they broke up, even though their split was acrimonious.

I got a slight sense of interest from her (du-uh!), but I was never very good at picking up signals when I was a younger. Some months after her split with my friend, we found ourselves, as part of a larger group, hanging out together in London – she was working there for a few weeks to fund her postgraduate studies; I was stopping off to see some friends for a weekend on my way to Japan for a business trip. The group had lunch in Chinatown, a smaller bunch of us went for coffees and pastries and then 6 of us took in a movie; my friend and his new girlfriend, two single male friends, Regina and me.

Her foot brushed up, and down, and up again against my calf as she settled into her seat. She gripped my arm tightly at a tense part on the movie and then left it in contact with mine. I inclined my head over toward her and … she met me in the middle. I inhaled her perfume and the faint floral scent of her shampoo. Bruce Willis sweated, grunted and wisecracked his way through the rest of Die Hard, but I can’t say I remember much of it.

Her slender fingers dropped off the armrest and down onto my lap. She grazed, oh so gently, over the mound swelling in my jeans and began her brushing trick with her foot again. I was rock hard and tense from head to toe from her very skilful attention for the next hour or so and was never so relieved when a movie ended. As we made our way through the cold evening air to the tube station, she gave no sign of what had transpired between us, to me or to the rest of the group. We sat opposite each other for the long ride out to Leyton and she smiled and talked and laughed – with everybody.

I took her in: Her hair was tied back into a simple ponytail and she wore a few clips to keep it tidy at the front. Her fringe swept low over her left eye and back up over her ear. She had very pretty ears, with simple pearl studs. Her eyes were startlingly green – not murky or khaki, but a pale, flickering green, almost like a cat. They were framed with long, long lashes and expressive eyebrows. She had the kind of cheeks that women now pay plastic surgeons a fortune to achieve and a jawline that bespoke good parentage and a very disciplined fitness regime.

I still shudder when I think of her neck.

It just went on forever and (I was later to discover) it was incredibly sensitive. She was wearing a navy reefer jacket over a beige cashmere Argyle sweater and a pale cream cotton shirt. I had never really noticed her breasts, as I’m not much of a ‘breast man,’ but now I could see them rising and falling with her breath or when she threw her head back in laughter. She was wearing pale beige chinos and flat deck shoes as she was conscious of her height and rarely wore heels. A beige silk scarf peeped out from under her jacket and she carried a small, no-nonsense rucksack as an overnight bag.

Pretty.

Pretty, pretty, pretty. That was my over-riding impression of her as I took her in, really for the first time. Then she did something extraordinary. She bent over to put something in her rucksack and as her head came back up, one iridescent green eye looked up at me and she … words fail me!

She smouldered!

It’s the only way I can think to describe it. Her left eye was hidden beneath her sweeping fringe but her right eye took me in from toe to head and it glittered at me. Her face was a mask as she considered me and then she inclined her head, bringing both eyes into view, smiled a private little smile at me and … smouldered. I had read my Desmond Morris. I pushed my glasses up onto my nose and looked very closely across at her. Were her pupils dilated? I thought so. I hoped so.

The rest of the evening crawled by. We had some junk food in the living room and watched a kung-fu movie that Spud (my pal who was renting the house) had just acquired for his collection. Regina sat on the floor with her legs curled up beneath her. I was on the sofa and, after a while, she pushed herself back so that she was between my legs, her neck pressed against the seat of the couch. She pulled her ponytail out of her hair and gradually teased her hair back and forth into smooth strands again. She sat up at one point and slooooowly pulled off her sweater, arching her back. By the end of the video, she had her cheek resting on my thigh and was stroking the toes of my stockinged feet with her lacquered nails.

As the credits rolled, I got up to clear the remnants of the snacks and drinks into the kitchen. Spud joined me in there and quietly said, “You’ll be needing my room then. Fortunately for me, the couch is very comfortable.”
I gave him a little man-hug. “Thanks brother.”

I went back into the hall, said good night to my friend and his new lady (they were just in time to catch the last tube), looked Regina in the eye, picked up her rucksack and coat and went upstairs. Spud had the master bedroom, with its own en-suite shower and WC. Regina coolly said good night to Spud and Ron and then followed me into the room. I was standing, holding her bag and coat. Wordlessly, she locked the door behind her and came over to me. She stroked my jaw with one finger and took her bag off me. She went into the en-suite and, looking over her shoulder at me, said, “Get undressed.”

I stripped off and folded the duvet down to the foot of the bed. The linens smelt fresh and the bed was clean and cool to the touch. I sat in the middle and pulled the duvet up over my growing erection. A bedside lamp provided too much light, so, leaving it on, I put it down on the floor.

Regina came out of the bathroom in her panties with a loose cotton t-shirt on. She was beautiful to behold. Long, slim legs with nicely defined muscles and – oh yes! – that wonderful ‘girl triangle’ at the top where her thigh muscles did not quite meet below her groin. Long but pretty feet with toes painted to match her fingernails. I could not discern her waist, but her breasts were pushing her t-shirt out very nicely. In the dim light, I could just make out her nipples pressing against the cotton. She stood at the foot of the bed and then leaned over to pull the duvet down off me. Her perfume filtered into my nostrils.

Languorous – that’s the perfect word. Every move she had made since entering the bedroom was languorous. The duvet inched down off my belly and lap as she pulled it in a series of short tugs towards her. My semi-hard, uncircumcised, cock sprang free and her face broke into a slow smile. Her eyes did their glittering trick again.
“Very nice.”

She let go of the duvet and drew her t-shirt up her body. She paused for a couple of beats, her elbows up over her head, her torso stretched and arching, her breasts standing proud; and then dropped her t-shirt onto the floor and put a knee up onto the bed at my feet. My cock was fully erect, nuzzling up against my navel at this point.
“God! You’re exquisite,” I said. “Come here.”

She leaned forward and placed her hands either side of my legs and then moved up the bed on her hands and knees. When her face came level with my groin, she paused, breathing on me. She directed the warm air along my quivering penis and down to the root of my scrotum. Her hair cascaded down onto my lap, a million tingling brushes electrifying my skin. She dropped her head and licked me, swirling her tongue around my balls once, twice, three times. Then up me in one long sweep. Back to my balls. One, two, three and uuuuup. Her hands came in and grasped my hips firmly. One, two, three and uuuuup. This time she didn’t drop back down, but rather blew on the tip of my cock.

It was cold for a moment as her saliva evaporated and then lusciously warm. Her mouth formed a tiny ‘O’ and blew out a tiny stream of air. Then her tongue darted out and described tiny circles on my glans. She found my slit and pressed the very tip of her tongue into it, nudging the sides apart. Then her mouth closed on the head of my cock and she bathed me with her hot saliva. Her fingers encircled the base of my shaft and gripped firmly, then relaxed, gripped and relaxed, gripped and relaxed. She kept that rhythm up with her hand while her mouth began to envelop me. She bobbed her head up and down; achingly slowly, taking more of me into her mouth with each thrust down. Her other hand cupped my scrotum, kneading and tickling me with a velvety touch.

I reached up and held her hair out of her face, pressing it gently behind her ears as she worked her magic on me. I had had oral sex before, but nothing like this. An Irish Catholic upbringing for a teenager in the 1970s meant for a lot of angst, and a lot of guilt (not on my part I hasten to assure you!). Sex was not talked about, rarely granted and often so quick and furtive, it was difficult to enjoy. Oral sex was a ten-second, badly executed (often toothy), big deal before moving quickly on to some other form of foreplay. For most of the active girls in my circle, sex was something you did to rebel, not to get pleasure from.

Regina clearly did not suffer from any that guilt or ignorance. My cock was her new toy and she was going to learn how it worked. Considering she had teased me for a solid hour in the cinema and that I had been semi-erect for the whole evening, I was pleasantly surprised that I did not come immediately. She sat up, tucking her feet in under her buttocks and began kneading my cock between her hands. Every now and then, she leaned forwards to drop saliva on my foreskin. This was new to me too – I had always had to teach girls to do that before. As she sensed the pressure building in me, she would slow her two-handed stroking and would go back to licking my shaft or twirling her tongue on my glans. As she bent to do this for the fifth or sixth time, I said, “No. Just let me come.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine for a moment and crinkled with amusement. She began bobbing her head faster and faster, all the time soaking me down with her warm spittle. She pressed in hard against my perineum with her thumb and clamped down on the base of my cock with her other hand. Just as I came, she took her mouth off me and pumped me furiously with her hand. My spunk raced out my cock – it got in her hair, onto her hands and all over my belly. She slowed her pace with my fourth spurt and let me down slowly, milking me in time with my breathing.

She clambered up beside me and licked my sperm off her hands. Then, wordlessly, she pressed in to kiss me. It was an amazing first kiss. Her mouth was sweltering, appreciably hotter than mine, and her tongue was far more agile than mine was. That tongue, which had felt so broad and long licking my cock, now felt very small – pointed and nimble. She traced my lips, across my front teeth, explored my gums; all the while running her fingertips over my scalp and the nape of my neck.

I focused my attention on her lips, gently sucking, licking and tugging on them with my teeth and played with her earlobes one at a time, pinching them gently between my thumb and forefinger and stroking up from there.

Then I found her neck ...

Part 2

Welcome

2007-05-15T11:35:00.000Z

Welcome to Silk Reveries, my dumping ground for reminiscences, stories, images and ideas pertaining to a lifelong passion of mine: silk.