Tabletalk.

Hey. Good to see you. Come on in.

I'm just out on the deck here, at the barbecue. Gorgeous night, huh?

There's beer in the fridge, but help yourself to the bottle on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet there. It's a really robust 2009 Tilia Malbec. Argentina. The new girlfriend picked it out for dinner last night, and I'm turned on by it.

You want cheese on your burger? Cheddar or provolone?

The new girlfriend?

Yeah. No, I haven't written about her yet, but she's fucking cool. And the really ironic part? She's mulâtresse. Actually, she dislikes that word and identifies as black, although I have to admit that the biracial thing is hot for me. And it blows my mind since it was just a short while ago that I was yearning at the stars, Aphrodite, for a black lover again. It's been since Pamela.

Those smell good. ...Hey, about your last post. Can I ask you something?

Go for it. Yeah, they do.

Alright, like, I know it's just a blog and all, but really, what were you thinking? I mean, you were pretty harsh there.

Mm. I love it when the flame embraces the meat like that, you know? Won't be long now. Yeah, I've been thinking about that, actually. Over the last day or two, I've had some interesting responses to it on the blog, in my personal email box, and even on FetLife. They run the spectrum.

Not everyone who reads the blog might be in the know as far as kink ideas are concerned. You said before that most of your readers seem to be women, and if someone found your blog for the first time and read that post, dude, you'd probably come off... well...

As an arrogant, misogynistic jerk airing personal dirty laundry in a public forum?

Well, kinda, yeah. They look done. You gonna toast the buns?

Already did. Yeah, that occured to me. But I'm hoping the context comes through.

Context?

Here you go. More wine? Just nudge her off of your seat there, she won't bite. Whoah, these look awesome.

Hell yeah.

So, yeah. I realize that that post was pretty volatile, but I was trying to make some important points. Normally, no, I wouldn't use the blog as a platform to target someone on some nasty personal level. I mean, sure, I've made the occasional snippy remark about my ex-wife, but even that's extremely rare and brief, and always, I hope, reflecting a bigger picture. And I've earned it. But to cite someone broadly like that? Not something I'd normally do.

So why do it to Little Ginger?

Well, for one thing, she kinda walked right into it. I mean, I was already wanting to draft some posts with my thoughts about the power dynamics behind topping anyway, but when she started targeting me with this weird nonsense, it just seemed like the perfect springboard to make an example with. I can be a little snarky anyway, but the writer in me just saw this delicious opportunity to use her actions as backdrop to illustrate that, for one thing, respecting Tops and Dominants is a pretty paramount feature to power exchange play. At least in my view. For me, the post really had less to do with her than it had to do with making that point. She became the perfect example of what not to do, and I ran with it. And it's not like she's going to be hurt by the post anyway, since, duh, her moniker is a pseudonym.

But don't you think a certain amount of detachment would have made a stronger point? Could I have the steak sauce? Christ, these burgers are great.

A friend actually suggested that very thing to me, and yeah, after more thought, I think maybe that's true. Being more objective does add to a strong argument, I agree. But, you know, at the same time... well, it's not like she didn't deserve some kind of punishment too, you know? It wasn't the main intent, no, but it's not like it was entirely accidental, either. Just not as much as perhaps some readers might have thought. Especially those who emailed me to say that I'm an ass.

Maybe some of those people were offended because they're SAMs too.

Sure, maybe. And SAMs generally dislike it when the jig is up for them and they've been called on their shit.

So, do you think then that any bratty sub is a SAM?

Oh, hell no. SAMs aren't just brats: they actively ruin a playsession or a scene because they're deliberately manipulative and personally hurtful. A bratty sub might totally enjoy whimpering and refusing to comply with instructions or do other things to play up the role, and I can easily see how a Top in that playspace could have scads of fun with it. But even in that kind of scene, it's still about the bratty sub's submission, eventually anyway, to the Top's playful "wrath." Being naughty to acquire "punishment" can be awesome fun. But SAMs are much more destructive: they say and do things that deliberately, consciously attempt to incite a Dominant into stronger and stronger retributive responses, and they'll do it with chiding, shaming, disrespectful remarks and taunts. That's just hurtful and sexually impolite. It would be like a man saying something shaming to his BBW partner about her bodytype when in the very middle of deep lovemaking, or a woman making a rude comment about her man's cock size in the same situation. It's just not something good, healthy, caring lovers would do. SAMs deflect their own inner demons by playing this you-can't-catch-me mindgame which is inherently unwinnable by a reactionary Dominant.

Why so?

Because it ruins the sense of power exchange. There is no power exchange: it becomes a battle of wills. A reactionary Dominant feels the need to stand ground, and so the matter just gets bigger and bigger. And most importantly, it becomes unfun.

At least for the Top. Is that like "topping from the bottom"?

Can be, I think.

So, what "context" was that last post written from? Or are you really an arrogant, misogynistic jerk?

I think the blog demonstrates pretty clearly that I'm anything but. Then again, that post...

Oh, c'mon. "Cuntswipe?"

Ha! Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. Not a word I've ever used before. Although, the new girlfriend I mentioned did tell me that she thought that was hysterical. But remember: that post was written in the context of a pissed-off Top actively in scene mode. I tried to indicate that by noting how my approach to Ginger changed when I figured her SAMmishness, and when I included the now-we're-in-scene warning label. I think I may write a post or two to help clarify things as well. Oh, hell, we're almost out of wine.

And the real violence you mentioned? You said your past BDSM mentors would wipe the walls with her, and that physical assaults could have happened.

I like to believe that the vasy majority of kinksters in the world are safe, sane, consensual-minded people, and I certainly count myself as among them. No, I certainly don't condone something like genuine physical assault. But, the fact of the matter is, SAMs push buttons on some people and sometimes, unfortunately, unpleasant results can and could happen. Now, that doesn't mean it's right or healthy or advisable or good, but it's one reason why fetish educator Laura Goodwin has even suggested that mortal injury can be a risk factor in those circumstances. Tops protect their territory; it's part of the whole point.

Have I witnessed genuine violence in such a situation? Yes. I've seen people slapped, backhanded, when something Really Ugly happened during a playparty or in a fetish club. People can be dramatic sometimes. People don't always think clearly.

I think it's important to remember that power exchange play, dominance and submission play, is about roles. Masks. It's supposed to be a game, like a grown-up version of "Cowboys And Indians" or "Cops And Robbers" or some sexually kinkified version of "House." Oh, it can get deeply serious, but there's something to be said, I think, relating those childhood roleplay scenarios to the naughty adult potentials.

So that also means that the game can, and often has, definite start and endpoints. Me, I'm a big stickler for ritual and protocol and symbols, so I use real and concrete ways to illustrate the parameters of a scene. It might be the gear I'm wearing: if that leather band is still on my left wrist, I'm still in Top mode, and if that collar is still around your pretty neck, we're still Playing. It might be a handsome candle that's burning: as long as it hasn't been blown out, the game continues. That sort of imagery allows players to sink deeply, and safely, into the skewed-but-scandalously-fun role dynamics happening during the scene. It also means that when the scene is over, we're equal partners again.

But it's all about roles, personas, roleplay. And people choose their roles, and how deeply or consistently they want to take them, based on their fantasies and experiences and what they want to achieve and/or release through the process. It's kind of like ancient ritual theater in that way; it's cthonic.

And that's also why there's a sense, at least a subtle one, of violence to Topping. In life, certainly no, I'd never dream of laying a hand on anyone. Well, not usually anyway. But to some extent, can't it be argued that a fundamental part of the mythology behind this whole Topping thing is the image, the hint, the whisper of a chance that he or she could fuck you up? Isn't that part of the playful element of danger to it all? And, for that matter, wouldn't any self-respecting Top possess some amount of arrogance? Now, that doesn't mean that I really believe that women can or should be threatened or treated with sexist disrespect... but it might mean that, during a pre-negotiated, limited, consensual, limits-respecting scene between trusting partners who know what they are doing is a game, a roleplay, yeah, I just might call you some nasty name when you've "transgressed" and "require punishment."

So, are you saying that taking on any role means you're basically faking it?

No, I don't think so. It depends and what you want out of it, no? Sometimes people wear one role because their daily lives are so entrenched with its opposite: the submissive male who, during the day, is a barking corporate CEO for example, and who seeks release from the stress of responsibility. Or, the other way around, someone with real authority in the daily lives who enjoys that authority so much that they carry it into their sexplay. And then, there are people for whom the roles are entirely and happily fluid, and can wield a riding crop just as quickly and easily as receive the strokes of one. Those sorts of kinksters, it seems to me, are more interested in the shared physical sensations of the toys than in delving into the theatric psychodrama of the power exchanging. But that's just me. In any event, it's all good.

What about 24/7 kinksters? And Ginger's remark about "true Doms"?

For me, trying to be in Topspace 24/7 would be a huge amount of work. Besides, I adore knowing that my intimate partners are, in daily life, my equals: I expect her to have her own pursuits, goals, and interests outside of me. I think doing extended play over a few days would be a blast, but then there are times when I don't feel like making all the decisions too. And, again, that's me.

And this whole "true Dom" stuff is, as far as I'm concerned, hurtful, splitting nonsense. I'm certain that even the haughtiest, slickest, most deliciously ominous professional dominatrix with a walk-in closet full of PVC and leatherwear has her days when she just wants to kick back and catch Sex In The City reruns over a tub of ice cream.

Ooo ice cream. Have any for dessert?

A feast for the senses.

Young Kinkster, aka Lolita, writes to ask:

"I have a question that needs your attention. My recently-acquired boytoy seems unwilling to, as we said in high school in the 'hood, go down. Specifically on me.

"I've taken a lot of sections of his cherry but this one frustrates me to no end. How do I go about persuading some almost-virgin to do this for me?"


Short answer: You can't.

Probably.

Well, maybe. It depends.

Read the long answer.

But first, have you tried tossing him into a crowd of drunken sorority sisters yet?

I'm going to begin with some comments about pussy, capitalism, and raising sexually informed men. Come walk with me.

One of the reasons that I am a strong believer in early sex education is because, in my view, it's the only way to undermine what mass market corporate advertisers impose on us from the moment we come screaming from the womb. Take the current trend toward bald (i.e, visually sterilized) pussy as an example.

Perhaps because of (mass market corporate) porn and its post-90s influence on pop culture, fashion, and advertising, throngs (thongs?) of women (and including, in some cases, children) have been starry-eyed foo-foo convinced that Brazilian waxjobs are de rigeur. It's the new conformity in marketed body modification. Consequently, hordes (hoards?) of men now may fully expect that the only "worthwhile" pussy is the seemingly pre-pubescent, bald, shaven one. This marketing concept has become so conceptualized into socio-sexual hegemony that I figure that the pressure on other (read: unoppressed?), furrier women feel must be huge. Big as a Victoria's Secret billboard.

Both feminist and queer theory have shown us how politically powerful bodies and sexualities are, and that's because of how fundamental it is to our personhood and identity. Genital modification is, and has been, used in cultures throughout the world as a means of social control for the same reason. How much difference is there then, for example, between young girls in Arabic cultures who are forced to undergo circumcision as a means of social control, and those women who "voluntarily" undergo cosmetic labiaplasty? Are they not arguably submitting themselves to the same end result? And for what? Because pussies terrify and deserve to be domesticated? Ok, YK, these examples are peripheral and extreme to your question, but don't they suggest that with so much control and unnecessary confusion imposed on women's (and men's, surely) genitals, is it any wonder that they remain such mysteries to most people?

In other words, sexual anthropology jargon aside, most men simply aren't appreciatively, reverently, respectfully exposed to a celebration of women's bodies... and as a result, are usually either terribly uninformed (at best) or are subliminally scared of pussy. There's a reason why the ancient Celts used sacred vaginal sculpture as a warning sign, not an enticement.

How could we break young men (and women, surely) away from that ignorance in their adolescence? Take the kids to a nudist resort. Please. Make some hot cocoa and sit down with them at the computer to explore the virtual Vulva Museum. Visit England and check out the sculptors at Brighton Body Casting, who have embarked on an extraordinary art project that will dash any notions or expectations about what women are "supposed" to be.

I know an excellent young man who developed a reputation as a superb, considerate, hot lover. He was raised in a polyamourous household in California, and in his late teens was introduced to the ideas of romantic sex-as-pleasure by various articulate and caring women. They taught him by discussing their experiences and what they expected from men. They used what could be described as softcore porn. They taught him that sex wasn't exclusively about procreation, but also about communication, and they taught him the basics of how not to fuck it up.

There are those in the world who might jump to the conclusion that this is tantamount to borderline sexual abuse, if for no other reason than his age at the time. Yet, he's been exposed to loving, caring, body-positive people who wanted him to grow to be a good man for his partner. Elsewhere, more sexually conservative, "legitimate" families do produce men who are abusive, controlling, selfish, socio-sexually inept, or fail to respect and value the women they profess to love.

Why am I writing this? What does this have to do with your boytoy not flicking your bean? Because when I was an older boy/young man/adolescent punk, pussy was as much an almost total, absolute mystery to me as it probably is for your playmate and most other men. Hell, it's only been within the last five years that I learned that the clitoris doesn't consist of the nubbin, hood, and shaft alone, but that its nerves and musculature are part of an entire wishbone-shaped mass that ensconces under and around the entire labia like an inverted horseshoe. Cool! Damn, I love it when there's something else to learn.

(Raise your hand if you knew that already. ...I'm counting about a tenth of you.)

So, to your question, dahlingk. I tend to shy away from seeking to "convince" a partner to do anything. My attitude is that if s/he doesn't already have a desire for something, the most you can hope for is to expose him/her to what it is you're into and make an effort at nurturing a new interest where none may have been before. You may find that he's simply not into it, and this might forever remain a sexual incompatibility between you. Whether or not that's a dealbreaker is up to you.

The Tomboy doesn't particularly like to suck cock. It disappoints me, but I'm mature enough to deal with it and choose to not let it bother me as long as I'm just her occasional lover. But if she were my primary partner (and especially if we were going to be monogamous), it'd be a Problem.

Yet, in a way, Cherry Boy's inexperience can also be to your advantage! If he's game, it might even provide you with a rare treat.

He's so new to his sexuality that everything is a fresh slice of pie. Apart from whatever it was he was stroking his cock to before he met you, all topics, nuances, and experiences remain fair game. Uncharted territory! If you have the patience, that might be fucking hot for you. You have become his sexual initiator, and as long as you're aware that almost every move you make will leave a longlasting impression on another human being's sexual consciousness and confidence, you could be in for a riproaring time. But it's a big responsibility.

I lost my virginity at 17. A late starter by some standards, but I more than made up for it by doing on-stage bondage performances within the next two years. Me, once the opportunity presented itself, I was eager to give my partner head and went at it with gusto. In retrospect, I wasn't particularly good at it then (too fast, too much pressure, not enough handplay, clueless about body language), but what's a kid supposed to know?

But it sounds like Cherry Boy lacks even the zeal. Assuming that he's at least been jacking off to images of women before you came along to offer him your delicious, flesh and blood self, then there's a reason.

He may simply be that selfish. So many young dudes are so focused on their own exclusive pleasure that it's become a stereotype. If Cherry Boy's among those ranks, I'd suggest that it's time to update your dating site profile.

He may be very shy. If he's otherwise trying to be a good lover, then he might not have the confidence to give it a go. I'm less inclined to believe this, but it's possible.

If it isn't selfishness, and if it isn't shyness, then (for him) something is standing in the way between his mouth and your body.

(I'm about to tread on some very sensitive territory. Caveat: as a man, I feel wholly unqualified to intelligently remark on the functioning of women's bodies or sexual health, and God knows guys have been doing that for centuries. What follows is strictly from my own experience and how I think I can best articulate it. We're all adults here.)



For the uninitiated young buck, bringing one's face and mouth and tongue to his lover's pussy can be a world-class adventure. Even young, experimenting proto-lesbians would, I'd think, have some clues as they share the same anatomy, but young lads feeling thighs on their shoulders for the first time have almost no idea whatsoever of what to expect and how "she" will respond. Pussies are complex, beautifully feral creatures that, for the mortally clueless, take a little getting used to. There's a full and rich orchestra happening there with diverse colours, scents, fluids, shapes, nuances, textures, zones, personalities and all of which capable of shifting its needs, demands, and sensitivities at a moment's notice.

When he places his face to you, it's your scent, wetness, and texture that's going to greet him first. You already know that. Like many women, maybe you've had some anxiety about that because, let's face it, sometimes men behave like insensitive morons.

For his book Coming Of Age In New Jersey, sexual anthropologist Michael Moffat "went undercover" and lived among coeds in the Rutgers University dorms to study sexuality among college students.

"Oral sex did not touch off alarm bells of guilt in either females or males as often as did "going all the way," he writes. "(Oral sex) dilemmas were more often that of hygiene. Men and women worried about learning how to do it and about whether or not their partner enjoyed doing it to them. Men complained occasionally about vaginal cleanliness."

Now, I know you're an intelligent, healthy person who knows how to take care of her body. I also know that if you did have some obstetric concerns and its possible relationships to your sexual wellbeing, you surely wouldn't be asking a man who writes a damned sexblog.

But consider this: what you know is a wonderfully healthy, happy pussy may not be what he thinks is a healthy, happy pussy. Brie takes a little getting used to when all your palate knows is cheddar.

A big part of his (current?) aversion probably is about your body being so foreign to him. He may be a little overwhelmed by all those new scents, juices, and textures. He's so new to sex in general that, despite what he thinks now, he really hasn't too much of an idea of what he's into, and not everything that he'll be into later will be something he'll crave right away. Some things take time, and for many lovers, enjoying oral can be an acquired thing.

Only once in my (younger) life did I make the mistake of suggesting to a partner that perhaps her cleanliness was an issue. I know now that it wasn't, that the cunnilingus experience I was receiving was perfectly natural and normal... but, like so many other guys, I never expected that the perspective problem was with me rather than a body issue with her. The partner in question was terribly embarassed and took to vaginal vinegar douching, which many now know isn't completely advisable. I wasn't rude or crude in my approach, but once I learned more, it became an important lesson for me. Embarassing a lover is no fun.

It took a little time, and a few lovers, before it really became clear to me how extraordinarily different bodies can be and that scent, taste, texture were as equally varied woman to woman, diet to diet, happenstance to happenstance. Eventually, learning the subtle nuances in scent, taste, texture a new partner's body might possess became part of the reason I'd be eager to feast on her. And the first time I'm with a lover, I'm always going to feast on her. Count on it. But it took time and paying attention before I got there.

So let's assume that it's his unfamiliarity with your yummyness that has him holding yellow flags. Because, let's face it, he's clueless. You ask how you can "persuade" him. I suggest that you try some playful games.

If you enjoy foodplay, you probably already know that whipped cream is the signature oral enhancement. Warm fruit nectar, maple syrup, canned cherry pie filling (poetic justice!), honey, crushed fresh berries, cream... anything that's wet and messy that makes it to his face can help him bridge the foreign sensation of stickiness while also blending with the (natural, healthy) scents and fluids that he's still learning about. Slice papayas and mangoes and smear them on one another. Use plastic bottles of chocolate sauce like water cannons. Enjoy the post-gooey-fuck shower together.

Roleplay some power exchange scenes like "Private Tutor." You're the professional sexual surrogate contracted by his wealthy guardian to teach him the "arts of pleasing a woman." His massive inheritance is completely dependent on your assessment of his ability to follow instructions. He does exactly and expressly what you tell him to do. Or "Cleopatra's Slave," where his very life depends on his ability to please the sovereign Pharoah queen as he kneels, head back in submission, waiting to be ridden. "Stick out that tongue or my guards will yank it out with pliers, you loathsome Greek!"

And when he's ready, get naked and read Violet Blue's Ultimate Guide To Cunnilingus or Ian Kerner's She Comes First in bed together. Make some popcorn and check out Nina Hartley's Guide To Better Cunnilingus DVD.

But sooner or later, if he has any hope of being a good and appreciated lover, he's going to have to wake up to the fact that pussies have fluids and scents and expressive diversity. If he's having a boundary with a perfectly healthy, natural, happy, properly enticed quim, dude is going to be awfully lonely. And doesn't he know that getting a rep for giving good head can only work for him?

As an added bonus, I polled some joyfully moistened blog readers (hi guys!) to share their thoughts about your plight. (See what perks there are when you become my Facebook friend?)

"How might you respond if your lover refused to go down on you?"

The Fearless Consultant was straightfoward: "That would be a no-can-do moment. I'd find out why, and if it were a pattern, it'd be see ya!"

"I think it's a deal breaker," replied Alise from the French spanking bench. (J'ai manqué voir vous là.)

"Not only is it selfish behaviour," she rightfully tells us, "but it would make me question his feelings towards the female body and women in general. If a guy wants his dick sucked (and which one doesn't) and thinks that should be his gods-given right but dislikes going down on a woman, then maybe he should consider trying a bloke so he won't have to worry about there being any vaginas in the equation. Even knowing the guy doesn't particularly like doing it and does it under sufferance is a deal breaker for me.

Sextoy Hostess was more patient, but to a limit. "As long as it isnt a regular occurence, I wouldnt worry. Sometimes I want what I want and I would imagine that he's the same, or we just want to get right to penetration and a quickie is just right. But, if it's regularly one-sided, I don't think that's fair. It's selfish and I probably would begin to feel cheated out of the enjoyment. I'd probably discuss it with him to find out why he isn't going down any longer. If he continued to NOT, I would take ORAL pleasure away from him as well. If that didn't change his mind I'd probably ask him (sarcastically) if he minded that I invite a girlfriend over while he's at work to replace what he's not giving me."

Poet and visual artist Shane Girl (no, not that one) would also have limited patience. "Depends on why he refused and if it's something he's done before with me. There really shouldn't be a refusal. No WAY! Otherwise, I'd need to figure out if this was his first time kissing below the belt and may give him a coaching lesson. He might love it! But if it's not his first time, then I'd need to know what the hell is wrong. The cootie is clean, free of germs and diseases, so why not? It amazes me when men want their knobs polished but don't want to return the favor, or if they're over-sensitive about doing something they know will drive a woman CRAZY!

"If he played his cards right, he'll know that's one of the ways to grab a woman's attention, providing he executes the tongue just right. There is a technique. Otherwise, it's not a two way street but a one way dead end, and then he's outta there."

And Boots, who tells me that she sweetens herself before an evening's feasting with milk and honey baths, reminds us exactly what it is that Cherry Boy is missing. If I could, I would pat her man on the back. Maybe he and I should take this kid behind the shed and learn him up some.

"I am concerned for your reader, the poor thing. My heart (well, my heart and elsewhere) go out to her.

"Having been beautifully and thoroughly attended to, year after year, with regular worship by my good husband's mouth, I cannot begin to imagine this girl's plight. When I think on the lovers that have come and gone, I cannot recall a man who didn't, at the very least, aim to please with his tongue and intentions, even though a fair few would do well to stick to receiving rather than giving.

"My man loves to pleasure me. And, oh my, he pleasures me well. His passion for tastings and tongue-fuckings is truly a thing of wonder and delight, and therein lies the key for giving good head methinks... That your man is unquestioningly enjoying himself whilst nose-deep within your wetness, to feel a man moan whilst his tongue explores your depth, or while he sucks and gnaws upon your eager clit... mmmm... to hear and feel and know that your lover is relishing in your scent, your texture, your wetness and your waves of pleasure is such a delight to the senses. He grows hot and swollen with lust 'tween my glistening thighs, not limiting himself to location nor limb, and it pleases me to see him so hard in his enjoyment as he worships my wellspring.

"After twelve years of his mouth on my cunt, he still brings me to that place of leg-shaking, panting, squirting exquisiteness. He teases with a mix of lip, tongue and finger, making my hips rise in anticipation and longing. A finger slowly circles my folds whilst teeth nibble at my turgid clit, and a tongue licks the length of my seam then pauses at my arse. A finger slides in there whilst another circles the button elsewhere, and he's eating me, hungrily. The stubble on his face is dripping with me, and he loves it. His tongue is at its length as he laps me up, his hot breath upon and within me, and I cum in his mouth. Hard.

"The wave washes over my body, and he inserts another finger into my tight arse, and moves his mouth to my clit to suckle while his other hand delves deep into my cunt, and my orgasm is kicked back up to the full height of eye-roll-back-pleasure.

"I do hope her man finds his manners, as poor head is surely poor etiquette."

We got mail.

Just a quick word to say a strong and pleased thank you! to Urban Roguery readers who have been emailing, Facebooking, and Tweeting me to share your thoughts and questions. Rest assured that those of you who have been writing with questions (such as advice on how to be an effective Top or how to get your squeamish boyfriend to suck your beautiful pussy) will see responses in the near future. I have a crack team of internationally acclaimed scientists at work as we speak.

Really.

Meanwhile, this postal carrier has some very pretty tits, don't you agree?

The swing of things: a rant.

I'm casually preparing some stroganoff (her favourite) when Kara mentions that she's received an interesting, flirty message in her FetLife mailbox. I'm intrigued. I enjoy knowing that others find her as hot as I do (with her tomboy looks, she especially gets plenty of ogles from other women as we stroll along Queen Street), and this sounds like it could be fun.

She shows me the message. It's (seemingly) from a couple in our region that's into swinging, and they've expressed interest in my hot, little, schoolteaching waif.

But when I start to look a little closer at the couple's profile, I can't help but feel a few little red lights go boink.

If you're familiar with FetLife (and shame on you if you're a reader of this blog and you're not), you know that profiles typically include a listing of what kinks, pleasures, interests, and sexual curiousities one is into. Some lists are brief, some are vast, but it makes for a great way to break the ice and tell the world what makes you tick.

This profile entirely lacks that, which (in my view) almost defeats the purpose of having a profile on FetLife to begin with. It also lacks a lot of detail of who and what they are, apart from being a 'professional, educated couple seeking playmates,' and there is no specific information about (or from) the woman in this couple at all. We see her in a series of deliciously explicit images from (what seems to be) their past swinging experiences, but who is she?.

She's an attractive blonde, and appears to be having loads of fun (pun intended), but apart from her smiling face in the vicinity of throbbing cock, we see and read precious little of her. So we can only assume that it's the male in this couple who (as one can see on a profile) has been having a fine time sending individual, seemingly flattering comments to a long string of other, different women on the service.

"Wish I could get her to do that." "You could have some great fun with us." "Would love to convince her to get piercings like those."

Now, sure, maybe I'm making assumptions. Now, sure, maybe these people are exactly as they seem to be. They very well could be perfectly cool people who simply have very little to say but totally love fucking newly-found strangers in their extra rented apartment in another part of town. Maybe he "does all the talking." Seen it before. But having witnessed a fair amount of stupidity in my life, I can't help but wonder what gives here.

I might have at least expected to see individually-written paragraphs from each of them, or at least a cogent write-up about what and who they are, what they like, what they dislike, and what they're ideally seeking. After all, sez I to myself, if Kara and I were to consider meeting another couple for fun, frolic, and fucking, I'd like to think we're meeting people and not just another set of genitals. For the love of God, who are you?

And then those references to "convincing her."

As a man, I get it. You have fantasies about sharing your partner with another hot, fun couple or single for any number of reasons, and you're probably used to being the initiator in your partnership's sexual escapades (or so you might think). You want to introduce this idea of swinging, and maybe you've even done a little research and reading about what that means and what that doesn't mean. Hopefully you've been asking yourselves hardcore questions about trust, jealousy, communication, fantasies, desires, fears, worries, boundaries, and other Really Important Things That Could Fuck Up Your Relationship Unless You've Gauged A Path Through A Potenial Minefield.

But, Mr. Guy-In-A-Couple-Who-Messages-Other-Women-Everywhere, I have to tell ya: the moment a word like "convince" goes past your lips, you've lost all credibility. And it doesn't help the optics when it's obvious you (and apparently only you) are messaging every hottie on the internet without any apparent attempt to really introduce yourself, make a social bond, or even, you know, be polite.

If she's not saying anything, not contributing to the process, to the fun, I end up asking myself why. I think any sane, respectful person would too.

"Convince" implies that your partner wasn't there in the first place and somehow, someway, got nudged in a direction she perhaps really hadn't intended to go. Loving people, sexually adventurous and otherwise, don't try to "convince." Even if you're (seemingly) successful, what you've achieved with him or her is far closer to acquiescence than sharing or cooperation.

I enjoy swinging. It's a very different dynamic than being polyamourous, which I prefer, and its been years since I've really engaged in it heartily. But that's also because Kara and I are still totally enjoying being engrossed in one another. While we've discussed it here and there, we already know that (unless you're already a friend) someone who doesn't aproach us as sensual, intelligent people first very probably won't make it past the first drink.

But part of the entire reason why I enjoy swinging, or even sex in general, is because I love watching my lover get off. And if there's any modicum of doubt to me that she's not having an entirely awesome time (which will never happen if "convincing" is necessary), I may as well read a book.

Finding tribe.

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Guy talk.

"I love a woman with a big ass," he shouts into my ear. For a fleeting moment, he makes me think of the Grrl. The guitarist leaves the stage and stands not three feet from where we're enjoying our beers.

My friend, the Bodybuilder, and me are checking out Bare Rump, a local AC/DC tribute band, at one of Toronto's better bluecollar dive bars. Before the show, the married tomboy with the Gibson SG (who fully dresses the Angus Young/school uniform role) hung out with us when she overheard me talking to the Bodybuilder about the band. She playfully griped when it came time for her to change into costume, but said she 'would do it for me.' I told her it would "give me something to think about later." She smirked when she left.

She's eventually standing near me, grinding Who Made Who behind my shoulder, when I realize Bodybuilder is looking in my direction but isn't watching the performance. This happens again after the show while we're talking over our beers and spicy wings.

Behind me is a broadshouldered, muscularly thick longhaired blonde in a sundress. After her bronzed and radiant face, it's her bare thighs sauntering from under the dress that I notice, and I'm smiling when I turn back to my buddy to suggest that she's checking him out too.

Bodybuilder is in a fix, and one of the reasons we're out is so he can have a chance to vent and process things in his personal world. He's been a happily 10+ years married, monogamous, regular kind o'guy, and his world was rocked when he discovered that his loving wife was finding some additional fun on the side. He comes to me because he knows that I'm discrete (apart from the fact that, yeah, fine, ok, I'm blogging about this) and likes my counsel. But Bodybuilder and me are often on different pages when it comes to sex. I make his innocent jaw drop, so I can only guess what he'd think if he had even a small inkling about the sordid, ribald past that has privileged me with the seditious perspectives that I've developed.

He and the wife are Working It Out, though this is after she Had Her Fun with Her Friend. In time (i.e., apparently after she took Her Friend's cock out of her mouth long enough to really think), she started to wake up to What She Was Risking To Lose. Now she's dealing with his Conditions and he's moved back home, but in the interim, Bodybuilder had also tasted a little Freedom of his own and is beginning to discover His Choices. I made sure that, in his hiatus from home, yes, he had gotten laid.

Although he actually blushed when I asked.

Maybe it was the beer.

But me, I'm supporting my friend with whatever direction he chooses to pursue in this. On one hand, he does want to work it out with his wife, and who can tell him he shouldn't? Yes, true, being that they were/are/were monogamous, there definitely was a betrayal of trust involved at the very least. But if he really has the heart to look past that, well, hey. Sometimes Cupid uses broadheads.

And I must admit that part of me, when Bodybuilder first told me about this, related to the wife. Wife wanted some spark, some fire, and that sexual need eventually overcame whatever restrictions she had been abiding by in the relationship. God knows Bodybuilder isn't even remotely kinky, and I'd be surprised if he were experimental in general. So, yeah, I grokked her needs.

Part of me even thought it was kind of hot.

Maybe it was the beer.

Ok, no, it wasn't the beer. It's kind of hot.

Of course, in my brain, all this could potentially be solved with a little Polyamory 101, a small dose of introductory compersion, a few good adventurous orgasms to break the ice, and a lot of slow and easy perspective shifting. For that matter, their monogamy needn't be compromised either: with some patient listening and imagination, Bodybuilder can also explore the fantasies his wife has so that she can get a taste of candy too. But, alas, Bodybuilder is a "nice guy." "Normal."

So, my prediction is that It's Not Gonna Work. Seems to me that if Mrs. Bodybuilder has fantasies (or at least interests) that they don't share, and if she's is willing to risk what traditional household stability Bodybuilder provided (and he did) to get her fantasies achieved, and if Bodybuilder doesn't want to consider expanding his psycho-sexual repetoire to possibly find hot&sexy common ground with his wife... well, then that's all she wrote, isn't it? In the end, she wants something that she's not finding in the relationship, and he's not willing to consider broadening his horizons.

The next day, I checked in with him by text.

Me: "Dude, I still say you should have done something about the big-assed blonde. She was so checking you out."

Bodybuilder: "Was thinking about it!"

Me: "And she had thighs like Mary Lou Retton."

Bodybuilder: "I like!"

Magic words.

It always pleases me to receive a personal note from a reader, and I like corresponding. Once in a while, you share a personal concern or question, and both the writer and the Top in me take pleasure in sharing what I can from the path that my leather boots have clattered upon. It feels shamanic in a way, as part of the reason I do this blog at all is to share my stories for the benefit of you-all: an openminded, revolutionarily sex-positive tribe of people.

A reader emailed me recently. She asks that I not mention names (not that I would have used her actual name anyway), so let's call her Young Kinkster.


Young Kinkster asks:

I think that, ironically, I may be kinkier than my older boyfriend, even though he was my first time. I don't really know how to propose to him some of the things that I've considered. I mean, other than the built-in ageplay that comes with dating someone so much older than I am, is there a non-awkward way of asking someone to be your Top without making them exceedingly disconcerted by same? Any magic words that work, from your experience, on older men from fairly younger girls? I've been reading your blog for some time.


All words are magical for this. That is to say: what you need is open, clear, courageous, vulnerable, delicious communication.

Throughout our lives, the odds of finding a partner with whom we're totally sexually compatible is pretty slim, and all relationships will sooner or later require compromise and understanding. When we pursue our journeys, we discover more and more about our sexual selves, and this changing wave to our own sexy vibe will continue to keep things interesting. Like with food and music, our tastes with sex can often broaden with time and experiences.

You're in a glorious world of discovery. Go you! But because your partner is also your first lover, there is still so much ahead of you to see, do, be, feel, learn, experience, climax over. You've also come of age (and I am counting on that fact that you're of legal age, because you attested to that to even have access to this blog) in a time where there is an abundance of good, solid sexual information out there for you to explore, including topics kink-related.

I have no doubt that you are bright and intelligent. But don't do yourself the grave disservice of believing that you are invulnerable to being taken advantage of, or lied to, or otherwise deceived into an unpleasant situation (and most especially if you are choosing older partners). My own experience in the kink community has almost always been positive, but that doesn't mean that there aren't some people in the world who don't know how to play by the rules.

You owe it to yourself to learn all you possibly can about the nature of safe, sane, consensual play. This is a credo I first learned when I was active with the New England chapter of the National Leather Association, and its principles will be upheld in any self-respecting leatherbar, playparty, or social event. Leave any location, any relationship, that compromises its principles. An informed kinkster is a safe and happy kinkster, and never forget that there'll always be something new for you to learn.

The age difference between yourself and your partner may not be as much of a complication for you as you might think. It isn't unusual for one imaginative partner in any relationship to discover something to their sexuality that they may fear their partner doesn't necessarily share. But in a sexually positive, nurturing, and rewarding relationship, each is interested in listening to each other, without judgment, and (as Nina Hartley once said) to "help each other out." This is part of another credo, to be good, giving, and game.

Only by opening up to your partner will you learn if he shares your fantasies and interests and whether he'd be excited (as opposed to merely "willing") to explore them with you if he doesn't (yet). How you choose to open up can be as varied as your imagination desires: a brave discussion on the couch between sips of wine, a gasped request whispered into his ear between thrusts, a slow submitting slink across his lap as you give him upturned doe-eyes and a bite on the lower lip. Rent The Secretary and watch it together. Visit your local sex shop during a date. Leave a copy of The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty at the bedside table (or better still, read it to one another). Network in your area for munches or other social events where you can meet your local kinksters, and hopefully make new friends. If and when you do attend a playparty, consider attending to strictly observe and digest the vibe for your first visit or two before committing to play yourselves (and be sure to tell the organizers that you're new). Talk, share, nurture the interest in exploring fantasies together.

You can also listen and observe him, his habits, daily things he does that (if you tweak your imagination just right) make you hot and find a way to sensualize and sexualize them so that he can see it. Does the way he handle a circular saw make you think of rugged Top guys until you're panting and wet? Tell him, and reinforce the signal with a blowjob while he's still in his boots and jeans. Let him know that it makes you hot when he does "toppish", dominant things. You like watching him shave? Stand right next to him, strip, and jill yourself while he does so. Or, if you ever wanted to explore dominance, deliberately select his clothes before you go out together and remain firmly instructive throughout the night. Make it a game. He needs (and, ideally, wants) to know what you like, and if he's an attentive and unselfish lover, he'll run with that as far as his own boundaries let him.

One thing I like to do, and especially with a new partner or with one who is new to this kind of play, is to have clear and physical symbols. A large candle or a certain bracelet, when I light it/place it upon her wrist, marks the beginning and the end (when I snuff it/remove it) of play. These sort of symbols help define the mental boundaries and provide a sense of time-on and time-out before things 'go back to normal,' and that can be vitally important for someone new and being introduced by a partner.

"Honey, let's play a game. You'll like it, trust me. You see this candle? When I light it after dinner, I want you to treat me like I'm yours. Like, your property, like some errant servant or a gift from your buddies or a prize slave you got at auction. You don't have to be mean to me, but make me obey you, because I'll want to obey you, do anything you desire. We'll play the game for an hour, or until one of us blows the candle out. It'll be fun."

No, it doesn't always work. A past lover of mine sought over-the-knee spankings through online sites because her husband couldn't, or wouldn't, "help her out." She eventually left him. Whether or not your current relationship can endure if (and when) you find certain sexual disconnects between the two of you is a matter for you to decide when you've weighed the compromises, options, and importance of it all to you. But it does mean that if you want to see a certain result, the onus to introducing it most likely will lie with you, regardless of whether your interest is submissive or dominant.

But sometimes it does work really well. Before being involved with me, Kara had never been to a fetish playparty, or even actively spanked, and she assures me that she's having a wonderful adventure so far.

How do you keep from "exceedingly disconcerting" him? By feeling him out, observing his body language, truly listening to his response. By remaining open-minded to the possibility that, yeah, some fantasies might make him hard as a post and, yeah, some may squick him. Consider your options for whatever response he gives you, but remember to respect his choices too. (The same can be said to men trying to introduce other ideas that might be new in a relationship, such as swinging or other fantasies, with their partners.)

You might consider introducing what you'd feel are your 'tamer' fantasies first, and seeing where and how you can introduce further ideas from there. But, and this is important, also prepare yourself ahead of time for how you might become exceedingly disconcerted if his response is noncommittal (or worse, negative) to what may be even be the most tame of hotter desires. This sort of risk to emotional vulnerability is especially tender for someone like yourself, who is relatively new to your own sexuality in general.

But the important thing is to communicate, to remain honest with yourself, and to decide beforehand what you're ultimately willing to compromise on before something does or does not become a dealbreaker. Only you can gauge that, because ultimately only you are the steward of your own happiness. It's all about choices and accepting the consequences of those choices, one way or the other.

And never forget that a partner who does not respect you, listen to you, and help you achieve what you wish for in your life (even if its a spank-to-tears session of sexplay) does not deserve you.

Love is a verb. It's success depends upon what both of you do.

Taking a message.

A sexblogging colleague, brilliantly, also coordinates a site focused on shared experiences in educating kids and parents about sexuality. She tweeted recently to seek submissions from readers about how their children had been introduced to the topic in the home, and it sparked a memory in me. I responded. Here is a much more adult version of what I had to say.

I was barely nineteen, she was twenty-four, and this morning I was making her late for work.

She had this massive waterbed, and it was a few weeks after I moved in before I really figured out how to best use its motion to our advantage. Sex with Diva was always really, really good, but once I learned that I could use the wave motion to help me push my thrusts even deeper inside her, her moans grew to arched-back peals and eyes-screwed-tight screams that resounded throughout the apartment.

When I fucked her missionary, she would raise her ankles high into the air, legs spread, and the motion of the water would push me harder and deeper into her lightly-tufted blonde pussy. She could tilt her hips in a way that would be otherwise impossible on any other surface, and it gave me angles to pound her that brought stars to my eyes. Likewise, when I took her from behind, the motion of the water lurched her back toward me as I clung to her hips, gripping them tightly and bringing her ass to my pelvis with all the force I could. Sex on a waterbed, if its timed right, brings extra verve to move bodies in urgent ways when you want them to.

It wasn't a very large apartment, and the walls were thin. The door to her 4-year old daughter's room was less than five feet from her (our) bedroom's. Her daughter, ever quick-witted and as sharp as the tacks that she left in the middle of the hardwood hallway, simply knew what was going on.

The phone was ringing off the hook this morning, and we were either ignoring it or in too much bliss to hear it brrrringinginging brrringinginging in the kitchen. But her daughter did, and pro-active girl that she was, naturally she answered it.

I had just pulled myself up from Diva and whipped a towel around my waist. By the time my feet were in the hallway (carefully avoiding the crayons and, thank God, no tacks this time), the wee one had the phone to her darling, ruddy face. On the phone was her Mommy's boss, wondering where her Mommy was. I knew this the moment the wee one spoke.

"Mommy can't come to the phone, mister," she said with matter-of-fact, unembarassed calmness. "She's busy dinkying."

Lust and Wrath.

One thousand years ago, a charismatic fellow named Odo remarked that "to embrace a woman is to embrace a bag of manure."

A few hundred years later, two young men published a book, a real best-seller, that argued that sexuality (especially that of women) would be the downfall of all that is right and good unless it was violently persecuted.

This tradition for antisexual, so-called moralist God-fearing behaviour would perpetuate itself again and again and again in the years to follow. Sexual repression has a long and colourful history, often couched in so-called "higher" ideals.

Now, this doesn't mean that material of a sexual (or "prurient" if you prefer) nature was unavailable to the people, mind you. Certainly not. In fact, English literature alone boasts multiple examples of stimulating material, both clandestine and the wildly popular.

Sometimes, sex-positive reading could be found within both the spirit and heart of the same sort of people who otherwise would seek its purgation. That sort of suggests something, does it not? And sometimes, sex-positive expressions could be found in times and places far more ancient and diverse than that.

But still the proponents of sexual repression, of single-minded judgment, of homogenous culture, of whitebread patriarchal gender roles continued to beat their drums and their chests before the lost and wayward sons and daughters of Sodom. Finger-pointing was good business when the sawdust got into your shoes as they bellowed quotes under the Big Top, or later on the radio, and later still on the small grey screen after Mitch Miller stood behind the bouncing ball.

But between chomps on his cigar, an Austrian guy had already started a dialogue about sex that had nothing to do with the book those pulpit pounders kept quoting from. A few years later, between chomps on his pencil, an American guy wrote a book of his own that a lot of other people started quoting from. Not long after that, something incredible happened in the world of print media when, heavens-to-Betsy, women started talking and learning and sharing and realizing and connecting in a way that would have given good ol' Odo a righteous heart attack.

Then came Gloria. And Betty. And Nancy and Xaviera and Reay. Then Camille and Susie and Nina and Violet and so many more contemporary voices proudly sharing, teaching, discussing, and even climaxing in joyful abandon for and about empowered, articulate sexuality.

Welcome now to the postmodern cybersexual world. The erotic classic literature remains with us, and many modern writers continue the tradition. But now we can also add to that genre a wider world of media and expression. Phonesex chat lines yield to webcam sites, VHS (itself the successor of Super-8 film loops) yields to DVD and YouPorn, and earmarked paperback sexbooks yield to the growing world of internet sexblogs.

But still, even with all we've learned and celebrated since Kinsey and Playboy and My Secret Garden, since vibrators moved from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue for "curing women's hysteria" to the glass counters of upscale boutiques, since the development of both oral contraception and erection enhancement in convenient little tablets, there are still those heirs to Odo who insist on trying to spoil the party. They are Saturn to our Dionysus, saltpeter to our ambrosia, Wrath to our Lust.

They are the small-minded folk who harass sexbloggers.

It's because of these spoiledsports that so many people, throughout history, have been terrified to express themselves as they truly wish to live, do, be. This is part of the reason why elements of the fetish community can be as insular as it is accepting, because once we realize that we all (well, ok, most of us) have our "kinks," it becomes much easier to appreciate the diversity available in the world, providing no actual physical/emotional/mental harm is being committed. "Safe, Sane, Consensual."

Nevertheless, some sexbloggers have strong apprehensions about their sexblogging because of the possibility of a blog's discovery by another in the writer's life. Many of us write with a level of anonymity for that reason.

I, for example, use my pseudonym because it's simply more convenient. It allows me to share my truths without too much worry that I would hurt a lover's feelings should I write something critical (although that rarely happens). It's also because I'm part of a spiritual community that, in my region at least, is really quite judgmental and sexist and hypocritical despite its reputation for more openmindedness than that, and I enjoy not having unnecessary headaches. To date, two lovers have deliberately been told about this blog (and continue reading it) (hi guys!) and another found it by accident (hi!), all to no ill affects or breach of trusts thus far. But I may be lucky.

One sexblogging colleague of mine tells me of people who not only send her hate mail, but have doctored blog-shared photographs in particularly nasty ways and resent them to her. In one case, an individual was observed staking out hotels where the writer's consensual escapades took place. These people then would use other internet resources to lambast the subject's sexual play in troll-riddled forums where they freely espouse their judgement.

Another sexblogging colleague recently posted about how her blog had been "discovered" by a co-worker. This co-worker found it titilattingly necessary to share the fact among others in their office, and this resulted in a complete change of decorum toward the blogger. She became the brunt of colourful "humour" and, in one case, had actually been physically approached and touched inappropriately. She writes about sex, so she had become "easy" in the eyes of these social Neanderthals. She had become a victim of sexual harassment at work, but her first instinct was to panic about her blog rather than redress the infantile and liable behaviour she was being subjected to at her place of employment. This eventually changed.

And there is the man who stopped sexblogging because his ex-wife thought it would strengthen her case during a custody dispute to argue that his bisexuality made him a bad father.

Or the courageous, selfless woman who stepped down from her position as a successful parochial schoolteacher because of her sex-positive community building (and blog) as part of an agreement to keep her A-student child out of controversy. Not that there would be any controversy without the immature judgement of these allegedly educated people, or that child would have been part of it to begin with without their machinations. But even this (tragic) compromise didn't prevent the God-fearing powers-that-be from twisting the knife later, sending this happy and sane family into unnecessary duress anyway. So much for loving thy neighbour. Or being human.

It is easy for lesser persons to point fingers toward those who are living joyfully. In our post-Puritanical Western culture where the likes of radical conservative and religious zealots still manage to bluster their way into large microphones, it is easy to sometimes forget that those people who choose to behave thusly not only weaken their arguments with such illegal and reprehensible tactics, but they actually empower the braver souls to carry on doing what they choose to do, what makes them happy.



Sexblogging, at least here in Canada, is not a crime. The harassment these people may be responsible for very probably is. The inter-office sexual assaults definitely are.

At the root of voyeurism is the desire to want to secretly witness the escapades of others. Those of us who enjoy sharing ourselves pose for photographs or films, write about our sexuality, or create blogs. Exhibitionists. We give consent, and thereby have an amount of control over what will or will not be shared.

But sometimes even consentual exhibitionism is not enough for some and an invasion of privacy (or worse) is necessary to achieve the desired thrill. These are the people who delight in seeing sudden "surprises" on Jerry Springer programs, or ferret out personal information about others for amusement, or who create and use surrepticious networks to share their vitriol with others of like heart. These are the passive-aggressive people who delight in gossip and drama and hurtfulness. They want their judgment to be shared, to be agreed upon, so that their lives may seem so much less uninteresting and puerile. They form social bonds with others to cluck tongues and roll eyes with. Misery may love company, but judgement requires a forum.

The irony is that people who take the time to send virulent remarks, or harass, or cajole, or stalk often do so out of a sense of righteousness and moral vigilance. But what in fact they only manage to demonstrate is their own pathetic ignorance, provincialism, and compassionlessness. They advertise how empty their lives truly are. There is no sophistication in bigotry. Further, I'll submit that many, if not most, people who target literate libertines do so out of a latent and conflicted jealousy.

Nyeh nyeh. So there.

But such jealousy can be easily surmounted: you're not going to beat 'em, so simply join 'em. History is not on their side. In every age and in every repressive regime, the human imagination and desire for passion has surmounted every attempt to contain and control it. Jeannie is out of the bottle, sons and daughters of Odo, and she's sucking Master's cock. Probably Major Healey's too.

And she likes it.

Love your sexuality however you choose to express it, be it, do it, have it. Sexually "conservative"? Fine. Love the arousing beauty of your partner in whatever happily monogamous, missionary, bimonthly way you choose. Stay dressed. Keep the lights on. Make it quick. Be sure to get to confession right afterward.

And if you can't handle that, really, then please consider continuing your own guilt-ridden masturbation sessions while keeping your Wrath and Envy and Anger away from our Lust.

A closing thought... How can any "sin" that has helped elicit minstrels and artists and poets to heights of inspiration, join people in happiness, be the one of the most important topics for every culture in every era on every continent on the face of the earth, and repopulate the planet after plagues and pogroms and crusades and wars be called "deadly" anyway?

Now go get laid, wouldyapleez?