I think finding your kink. Is kind of like finding your G-Spot (for women, I’m still working on the analogy for men). Some women seem to know it from birth, inherent in its qualities. Some ladies doubt its existence, disheartened by time spent searching with no results. And then there’s chicks like me.

We. Are the Christopher Columbuses of Kink.

We are constantly proposing new voyages. Preparing for new excursions.  Always ready to map out some new territory for ourselves. Because after all, we want the world. We want the whole world. I don’t just want a little piece of sexual satisfaction. I want the whole pie. Which sometimes involves a physical exploration of my pie. And other times involves the sorting of my mental laundry basket. Figuring out just what the fuck I like. What I want. What I need. To feel. To think. To be a part of. To be connected to. I have to chart the waters. Conquer the mountains. I have to map this shit out. And that’s what I’ve been doing.

And the thing is. It’s a fucking process. I mean. It’s literally. A Process. In Fucking. And I’m figuring out all the kinks. In my kink. See. I started having sex was I was 18. And back then. It was about power. And feeling hot. And desired. And then I graduated. And for 6 years I was in a committed relationship. And that’s when I really started to test the kinky waters. That’s when I began my journey into the rough seas. But it was still a team situation.  We were co-captains. Me and him. Navigating our way through the kinky deep. And then we broke up.

And that’s when it became about me. Figuring out my kink. Captain, O Captain. I was in charge. Because after all it was just me now. I mean sure enough there were the “somethings” that I was dating. But they weren’t soul mates and I wasn’t attached. And this is my journey. And they are grown men who can take care of themselves. This was new. And it was all about me. So I was exploring. Testing waters. Charting territory. Lush greens there. Return soon. Angry natives there. Do not disturb again. Volcanic eruption on that island. Return with supplies. Land ho! But it’s deserted captain? You’re right. Far too boring on that island. Not a fan of the isolation. Mark it down but move on. And the journey continues.

And this is why, when Skye asked me to write on the topic of “Pain and Pleasure”, I answered with such enthusiasm. Because after all, it’s brand new.  My discovery and navigation through it. Finding my niche within it. And the funny thing is. Though I may still be quite vanilla in my kink. I now know about my vanilla. I know I want high quality. Double churned. Top shelf vanilla. I want Veruca Salt vanilla. I want what I want when I want it. So pay attention boys. Because I’ll only say it once.

Pull.

My.

Hair.

I know. It’s nothing new. It’s not shocking. But it’s important. Because I like it.  Oh. Sigh. How I like it. And what makes it kink. Is that not every chick will like it. Sure there will be lots of others like me who do. And we’ll all be varying degrees on the spectrum. So you have to talk to your lady. Or take baby steps and assess. Baby steps and reassess. And if they’re like me. If they are me. Then go ahead. Because I like it when you kiss me. Tease me. Pull my head away. And hold it. No, not like a little girl in elementary school. Take that man hand of yours. And slide it in under the curls. Close to my scalp. You’re going for pleasurable pain not annoying ouch! Don’t yank. Or jerk. Just pull. Tight.  Close. In control. Show that strength. Control me with those man hands. In missionary. Or from the back. Potentially when my warm mouth is all over that cock (but I’d recommend a double check since this one can be more precarious with us ladies since after all we’re already on our knees).

But I’m telling you this gentlemen. Of this kink I am certain. If you want to make this a repeat experience. If you want to leave me satisfied. If you want a place on my map. Pull my hair. Pull my hair. For the love of pie, Pull my hair.  And if you’re lucky. I might let you be my first mate.

Cause, baby, these things you’re doing to me
It hurts so bad but, It’s worth all the misery

Cause it hurts so good, don’t you know that
It hurts so good
-Millie Jackson, It Hurts So Good

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It was a silly dance. One repeated over and over and over again. Me meeting her new boyfriends over and over, me forced to pretend that it didn’t matter. Make that, forced myself to pretend. She was always quick to remind me of that, that I didn’t have to sleep with her anymore if I didn’t want to. But she would say that they didn’t understand her like I did. They didn’t touch her like I did. But for Christ sakes how many times can you meet some poor bloke and say, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you” without feeling….something.

“When we were together, did you have other men?” I asked her once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted “There was never anyone but you”

I once told myself that I would stop. So the next time she called I didn’t answer my phone. She showed up at my door anyway; with a bottle of rum, a bottle of wine and some massage oils.

“One for you, one for me and a little something for both of us” she said.

Apparently the more she took the more I gave. The more we behaved as if we were together. Until the morning would come, or her phone would ring or…then it would start all over again.

It didn’t make sense unless we were naked. I loved to run my tongue along the back of her thighs, linger in the small of her back, tasting her. Caressing her. I’d press my body against hers, making sure that she could feel me against her ass, on her thighs. Or in between them.

She loved to hold my hands and extend our arms over our heads until they hung over the rails of my bed. Then she would look me in the eye and ask me if I was ready. She would proceed to kiss and nibble on my neck, slowly meander in sinuous fashion over my chest and abdomen. Releasing my arms she would put my hands on her head so I could guide her.

Our last time together wasn’t tender. Or gentle. Or sweet. It started as a casual conversation over drinks at my place. I was telling her about Jen, whom I’d just started seeing. For some reason things got heated. Insults were exchanged. Names were called.

I told her to fuck off. She followed me into the kitchen, hit me in the back of the head and tried to slap me again as I turned around. But I grabbed her arm. And then the other one and backed her against the wall. It was stupid. It was some clichéd movie bullshit. But I was hard. She could tell.

She placed her hands on the inside of my thigh and started to kiss me. I pushed her away, turned her around and bent her over my counter. She stepped out of her panties as I hiked up her skirt and undid my pants. I entered her. We both moaned. Deeply. It was violent. It was hard. It was fucked up. It felt fuckin’ good. But it hurt. Really hurt.

A couple of weeks later I was at the Rivoli with Jen when she walked in with a group of her friends. Our eyes made four. She approached my table and said hello.

“Jen, this is______, ______ this is Jen”

She focused her gaze on Jen.

“Pleased to meet you” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you”.

Partaking in pain as pleasure is a personal choice. I like a spanking to frame my orgasm with a short, sharp slap. Others may like something a little more intense and indulge in nipple clamps, beatings, gimp suits and the like. These folks may need a safe word – a word or phrase unlikely to be used in normal sexual conversation that signals a true end to the event. Choosing to use phrases like the obligatory “Oh stop, no, no, that hurts” are unlikely to work, as they are often said during bedroom romps, even when you may not really want your partner to stop.

Being the helpful sort, I have come up with some suggestions for suitable safe words you can use the next time you dabble (I know – I just spoil you)…

1. Maggie Thatcher on a cold day – one to yell at the top of your voice, repeatedly.
2. Hosepipe Ban – something seasonal for the South of England.
3. This is a passenger announcement – nothing more annoying than a travel interruption.
4. The British are coming – yes, we are.
5. Autofrettage – a word that means boring metal tubes; but sounds kind of dirty.
6. Geronimo – the old ones are the best!
7. Gerbils! – urban myth or Richard Gere’s hobby… it can be yours too.
8. Cowabunga – Bart Simpson or Nick Hornby, both worthy to quote.
9. Crouch. Touch. Pause. Engage. – for the rugby fans.
10. Yellow Card – for the sports fans.
11. Your Mum – take the wind out of anyone’s seductive sails.
12. Alright treacle! – in faux cockney accent.
13. Respect my authority – if it works for Cartman…
14. I ain’t getting on no plane – if they can remake the A-Team, I can steal the catchphrases for my sex life.

Which of the following is true?

a. Sam Sharpe enjoys being pegged.

b. Sam Sharpe enjoys being choked.

c. Sam Sharpe enjoys being spanked.

d. Sam Sharpe enjoys being gagged.

______ ended a relationship with me and called me a freak because I asked her to ___________. The fact that she got turned on by the idea of me f***ing other people while she watched or that she used regular household items as dildos or that she loved to receive facials didn’t make her a freak. But my simple request to _______ apparently was enough for her to throw that final parting barb my way.

Two things about this. One, I don’t mind being called a freak. However, I do mind the term freak being used in a pejorative sense. Two, these things really are relative. I mean I was planning to get all self-righteous and blast _______ for being judgmental and then metanotherfrog’s powers that be decided that we were going to talk about breath play. And part of me freaked out.

Breath play? You mean, erotic asphyxiation? I know what you’re thinking. “C’mon Sam, we already know that you’re open minded. You just told us that last week. Plus, after reading this how could you possibly be threatened by a little breath play whether done with a partner or self-administered? And since we know all of this, we’re sure you’re blowing smoke up our ass.” (Blowing smoke up your ass huh? Now that might be something I could get behind.)

Well you’re only half right. It’s not the run of the mill jerkin’ off with a belt around my neck or pounding you while you strangle me that gets me a little nervous. It’s the other stuff that makes me quiver. It’s the less conventional stuff that gives me pause. It’s stuff like this (NSFW). And this (NSFW).

Let me be clear here. I’m not claiming that there is anything wrong with any of these activities. Its just been a long time since a sexual act, behaviour or predilection truly made me a little nervous. And this feeling made me reconsider the ire that I directed at ______ for calling me a freak. Because though I don’t believe in attaching negative attitudes to any person’s sexual tastes and desires, I could relate to her discomfort.

Plus, the more I perused the sights, the more open I became. Now, I’m not likely to ever get all rubbered up and shit, nor am I likely to get aroused by it, but I think I can see how someone else would. And maybe that’s what bothered me most about _______’s words; I mean she didn’t have to be into _______ but she didn’t need to judge either. Oh, and about that quiz, the answer is e. – none of the above. But I’ve got an open mind.

I awaken to touch, and then confusion.

I feel the ghost of a caress on my neck and my breath catchs in my throat.

My eyes are still closed, and in the darkness I reach out to you.

My hand finds the arm of my chair. My eyes open.

I feel your touch again, and my body sinks into it.

My shoulder pressing firmly against the chair.

I look over, you are not you. You are a stranger sleeping next to me on the plane.

Your touch is not your touch; it is the hot breath of the form sleeping next to me.

Disappointed, I close my eyes to sleep again.

But the caress continues.

I feel the lightest touch against my throat from this stranger’s breath.

My pulse quickens.

I lean my body in towards the stranger.

His breath plays across my exposed flesh.

I feel goose bumps form across the bare skin of my chest.

With my eyes closed – each of his breaths are your fingertips, tracing from my ear lobe towards the swell of my breasts.

I feel my nipples harden.

I lift my hand to trace the line of your touch.

And as if I was physically struck, suddenly I miss you.

I remember our last night together, and wonder why am I flying away from you.

My hand hovers over my heart while the breath of the stranger dances over my skin.

The memory of you fills my senses.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

With a sideward glance I check to make sure stranger is still sleeping.

I undo the top two buttons of my blouse.

I turn away from the aisle and towards the sleeping stranger.

As his breath sweeps across my chest, I manoeuvre my hand  beneath my blouse to gently cup my breast, freeing it from the lace of my bra.

The stranger’s breath now rushes over my erect nipple.

I check again.

The stranger sleeps and my flesh is hidden from other passengers.

I slide my hand under the fabric of the aeroplane blanket.

I am surprised to feel the wetness between my legs.

I close my eyes.

I let visions you fill my mind.

The stranger’s breath is your mouth, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your hand.

The stranger’s breath is your hand, my hand is your mouth.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

My fingers are not yours, but they play out the same path.

I arch my back as the sensation builds.

I am lost in the moment.

I am lost in you.

Your hand joins mine.

Your fingers take over. Reaching deeper, rubbing faster.

I gasp, but the sound is lost as your lips cover mine.

Your kiss lifts me, and as you move your mouth to my exposed nipple, I bite my lip to stifle my moan.

I lift my hips to your hand to take you deeper, to take all of you.

I.

Miss.

Your.

Cock.

Your teeth draw out my nipple; your other hand massages my breast exquisitely.

My breath stops.

I crest, deliciously, marvellously, exhilaratingly; I crest and ride a wave of you.

As I reach the shallows of you, I exhale.

Your hand slows and stills.

Your mouth leaves my chest, and you rearrange my bra and blouse to cover me.

I sigh into your mouth as you gently kiss me good night.

Without opening my eyes, I draw up the blanket, and turn away from the stranger.

My body is spent, and begging for rest.

“Sweet dreams” a voice says in my ear that is not yours.

I feel the stranger shift in his seat and lean back into his chair.

I close my eyes and smile.

I sleep and I dream of you.

When Skye recently came to me and asked if I’d be interested in writing on breath play my immediate response was yes. And not just a regular yes. But a yes with enthusiasm and gusto. A ‘Hell Yes!’ if you will. And I know what you’re thinking. Is SSD an erotic asphyxiation aficionado? Well, not quite kids.

My enthusiasm stems less from a knowledgeable, expertise, (what’s the opposite of vanilla) standpoint than it does from a recent awesome experience. A recent awesome experience that taught me about how and why I like those man hands around my neck.  But I should tell you now. I’m only barely out of vanilla territory. Actually I’m still possibly in vanilla territory but maybe with some sprinkles or something.

Breath is very important. It keeps you alive, that much is obvious. Take a breath. A breath of fresh air. I can’t catch my breath. Under your breath. Your breath is on fire. I just want to breathe him in. A gasp. A sigh. Hot and heavy. Slow and steady. Breathing is everywhere. It’s generally how I indicate to a fella that I’m having a good time if ya know what I mean. So it seems to follow then that as a woman who likes to give up control in the bedroom…I might want to let someone else take control of one of my most important bodily functions.

When I was in my early twenties, I had a friend. And you could say we were partners in crime. Our “crimes” generally consisted of boys and shenanigans. So clearly story swaps and technique talks were a regular occurrence. During one of our many booty banter sessions. She told me the following.

“Yeah ya know…like…I just whip off the pillowcase and throw it around my neck…and he just kind of holds it…like reigns…while he hits it from the back.”

I thought this to be very interesting. And not one to shy away from something new.  I gave it a shot. Honestly, it didn’t do that much for me. At the time I didn’t really get it.  Later I’d start to understand that everybody needs something different and while the decrease in oxygen may have been enough for her. I required more. I require a story. A fantasy. A reason for the lack of flowing breath into my lungs. A reason for the tension around my neck.

Now before you start picturing me in one of those Law and Order scenes (I may watch too much TV) with extreme asphyxia gone awry. I assure you. I’m still far more of a novice at the sport and my participation is way less dangerous. See for me. It’s more mentally kinky. Than physically. Which, anyone who reads my blog and knows my keen appreciation for science and logic, will know is just about right. Spot on really. Because for me. It’s the why more than the how that’s important.

Now I’m not really going to get into the why (me personally) of the why (the fantasy) that this gets some of us ladies off (and a warning for all you gentlemen out there, because the line is so fragile and not all women even want you anywhere near it, you better ask your lady what she wants before you get your hands all around her neck). But I will just say this. For me. The story line. Is only a fantasy. It’s only fun and hot as long as it remains a fantasy. If you tried to dominate me in everyday life per say, I’d likely tell you to fuck off or simply kick you in the nuts. But in the bedroom. When I’m ready for you to put your hands on me. I want to be dominated. I want to be manhandled. I want to be tossed about. I want to be viewed as so hot that you simply cannot control yourself and must take it all from me. And most importantly (as is the topic of this post). I want it rough. I want your big strong hands around my neck. And I certainly don’t want to have to ask you to do it (that kind of ruins it). I want you controlling my breath (in fantasy). I want you in control completely.

So I say one more time. Before you choke her….talk it out. Because it’s all fun and games until it’s not fun and games. And while Cindy wants a Chokehold, Melanie-Lee may just want to Make-Love. So you better find that shit out first. And even once you’re there. I suggest you take it a little slow and steady at first. Because nothing turns kink into konk (aka FAIL) faster than a bad experience.

This week it’s all about Breath Play, and I’m here to start things off by telling you a bit about Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation or AEA…

So What is AEA exactly?

Well dear readers, AEA is:

1. The practice of cutting off the blood supply to the brain through self-applied suffocation methods while masturbating.
2. A fetish that is considered to be one of the greatest and most dangerous sexual taboos, primarily because it is practiced alone and is usually a carefully guarded secret.
3. A highly addictive method of masturbation that induces a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state called cerebral hypoxia. Combined with orgasm, the rush is said to be as powerful (if not more so) than taking a hit of cocaine.

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The Physiology of AEA:

Both the carotid artery, which carries blood to the brain and the jugular vein which carries blood back to the heart pass through your neck. When these vessels are constricted carbon dioxide builds up in the brain, and creating a narcotic effect. Combining that effect with an orgasm may trigger the release of dopamine, which in turn intensifies the feeling of euphoria.

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Although AEA only pops up in the news when a celebrity dies as a result of what is usually reported as a suicide or ‘solo sex game gone wrong’ – as was the case for Micheal Hutchence, David Carradine and Kristian Digby – AEA is a much more common method of masturbation than most might think. According the FBI’s estimates, this fetish, which has been around since ancient times (there is evidence that the practice was known to ancient Mayans in Mexico), is responsible for 500-1000 deaths/year (mostly men, though women also perform AEA) in the US alone. Some experts believe these estimates are quite conservative because many AEA deaths are labeled as homicides or suicides by police and family members, to conceal the ‘unsavoury’ truth.

AEA is usually discovered as a method of masturbation when young adults start experimenting on their own. Many who stumble upon the practice, which eventually becomes a fetish, after becoming familiar with the thrill of the high of dizziness created by playing the choking game or similar activities. The problem is that the intense highs reached when performing AEA are so addictive that individuals, who choose to masturbate this way, are at risk of falling into a pattern of chasing the heightened the orgasmic experience (much like a junkie seeking out his/her next hit), as well as the psychological thrill they get from performing such a dangerous activity. Often, in order to reach increasingly intense orgasms, the risk level of their activities will escalate; which also increases the possibility for fatal accidents.

And even for the lucky ones who don’t die, depending on how long their bodies are deprived of oxygen, brain damage could still occur. Persons participating in AEA also risk lacerating, cutting, or bruising their necks, depending on the suffocation or strangulation techniques used. The more common ways of carrying out the practice are self-hanging, strangulation, choking, suffocation and other techniques that restrict breathing. Notably, self-hanging is usually the method observed among fatal cases.

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If after reading all of the above you’re still one of the seemingly growing number of people interested in experiencing the orgasmic highs achieved through AEA, I’d like to suggest (since I firmly believe that there is no orgasm so good that it’s worth risking death for – but I’m also extremely risk averse, so what do I know?) that you start by trying safer options like trying tantric breathing and gas masks and/or choosing to engage in gentle breath play with a partner (one who knows what he or she is doing!) first.

And if you’re looking for like minded folk to connect with or for information from people in the know about AEA, choking or any other type of breath play and you don’t know where to look, here’s a tip. Check out fetlife.com, sign up and then join one of the discussion groups (they’re literally hundreds of discussions on virtually every type of kink under the sun) on the fetish of your choice.

Until next time…

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Breathe and Play Safe!

JFB posed an interesting question to me, both in the comment section of my last post here and in private:

“…I would like to see some specifics as to why this is enjoyable for women… Will this be covered in the next part of the series?”

It took me a couple of days to sort through what direction I wanted to go in with this essay… Do I poll groups of women to find out why they like butt secks? Do I dig out the books and pile this article full of statistics and research? Do I talk about my personal preferences?

I’ll start with this video clip:

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And now, picture me with a stupid grin on my face, eyes bright and wide, nodding my head up and down,

“Yes. Yes. I would allow that to be done to me. And YES, old broad, it’s normal.”

Then imagine me assuming the position, either with my clothes on in order to get a laugh out of the crowd or with my girly bits al fresco to, well…have some butt secks.

I think it’s impossible to really outline why people like butt secks – it’s totally subjective! Popular reasons, according to Ask Men, women love anal sex because it feels good and because it’s naughty. The article, while not a bad read, bothered me because only offered up two reasons why a woman would be into butt secks. I mean sure, the nerve endings all piled up in my bum light up with electricity and send waves of pleasure through my body in an entirely different language. Yep, I really enjoy that “full” feeling, particularly when I’m manually stimulated, or (gasp!) penetrated vaginally at the same time. But I feel like these physical manifestations are not doing butt secks justice! It would be like saying, “I like kissing because of the way it feels on my lips and tongue.” What about the feelings you get? The butterflies and flippy-sensation in your stomach when you’re in serious lip-lock with your lover? Those things count just as much. The same thing applies to butt secks for me. It’s about way more than just the act. And it’s not that it’s kinky. It really isn’t about it being naughty for me. I mean, I’m writing a column about why I like butt secks… I think that sort of takes the whole naughty-factor out of the equation, right?

No, for me, it’s about submission. I really had to dig deep for the answers here and I really wasn’t comfortable with them once I sorted through them. Me? Submissive? But I’m the least submissive person you’ll ever meet! I’m never going to wear a ball gag. I’m never going to answer to a Master. This is not the kind of submission that I enjoy. For me, it’s about being so intimately close to another person that I trust them to do with me what they will…to let go of the control, even if I don’t give it up entirely.

My friend Mandy taught me a phrase earlier this year: topping from the bottom. Basically, this means you are a submissive person, but still bossy and controlling in bed. With some discussion, we decided this was the best term to describe me.

In some ways, I think of my pussy as my property but there is this shared-ownership situation between my lover and myself over my ass. There’s a woman in Atlanta, Alexyss Tylor, who used to have a cable access show and would go on and on about Vagina Power. Now, she’s mostly crazy and I wouldn’t take her too seriously, but there IS power in it, guys. I never surrender my pussy – it’s a gift I give, after an appropriate amount of teasing. But my ass? I don’t think about “giving” butt secks, I think about my lover “having” butt secks with me.

In essence, vaginal sex means I fuck him. Anal sex means he’s fucking me.

It’s the give and the take. There is a complete shift in my being when I have anal sex with my partner – the noises I make change, my orgasms are entirely different. It is the time when I most feel like an animal. And I can ride his cock and run the show and be the one that’s breaking a sweat and getting tired, but at the end of it all, he was the one that was fucking me.

I’m the girl that walks up to a group of men at a party, brazen and not shy. I’m the girl that makes eyes at that skinny bearded and bespectacled boy at the end of the bar. I’m the girl that will straight-up put her car in park and get out to yell at some road raging asshole. I’m the girl with the confidence. The gusto. I don’t demand attention, I just get it.

But you see, that’s exactly why I love butt secks. It’s the ONE time that I put all of my control on the shelf, put myself face-down in a pose that would be fit for worshiping a gilded god, and I do what I’m told.

“Lift your hips,” he’ll say.

“Come closer to the edge of the bed.”

Strong hands, pressing into my hips and then into the small of my back, causing that really great deep arch.

“Give me your hands.”

And then, because I can never totally let go, a command from me, the girl that likes to top from the bottom…

“Pull my hair!”

“If everything seems under control, you’re just not going fast enough.” – Mario Andretti

I have control issues. I like to be in control of the schedule, the menu, the car, most everything in fact. So in the world of domination and submission, I should be a natural dominant. I like to be on top after all. And I am always ready to tell my lovers all about my wants and desires.

But, it is nice to have a switch around sometimes and there is still nothing sexier than a man who takes control. (I have a long standing sexual fantasy involving Howard Webb that attests to this.) I have a job that involves making decisions and bossing people about (I’m not a professional Dominatrix, I promise) so I don’t always want that in the bedroom. Sometimes, I know what I want and I make it happen, but other times it’s nice to have a bit of a passionate throw down. (Not unlike Sam, I do enjoy a bit of a tussle during foreplay.)

So, basically I like variety, with a hint of Vanilla. As long as the end result is a good variety and some fun, I can go with the flow. However, there are a few key things I would ask all my lovers; past, present and future to remember…

Being submissive with me is not:

1. Lying back to “be done unto” – that’s just lazy, men can be starfish too.
2. Constantly asking “What do you want me to do?” – have a bit of imagination! Do I have to tell you everything?
3. Asking for me to put on heels and then kick you – this actually happened once, it was a bit weird for me.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Being dominant with me is not:

1. Coming in your timeframe and then ignoring mine  – that’s just lazy.
2. Unexpected anal – permission and lube are ALWAYS prerequisites
3. Damaging my clothes or delicate skin – a firm grip and a bit of a spanking is great, but try not to leave marks. It upsets the next chap.
4. Never reciprocating – you should go down too sometimes. Yes, it is a very good thing.
5. Running into the bathroom to suit up into some lunacy gimp outfit and coming back looking like Smeagol.

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Whichever way you choose to take the power dynamic is all good with me. Just remember it’s always about giving and receiving of mutual pleasure, and NEVER about gimp suits.

This week saw Jami opening all of our eyes to the potential for butt secks. Even for vanilla girls! I’m not a vanlla girl, but the tips, clarity and giggles provided in the two day literary feast had me reaching for my lube and bending on over.  As I said at the time, this is a far cry from my previous view point, though that largely centred around why men want to put it up there. We have yet to really address why women enjoy this, so it appears we have yet to exhaust the topic!

Our launch week of Fringe (the first bit in January) was also anally focused. This is where you’ll find all things for all bottoms, including a bit about “pegging”, some purchasing tips for butt plugs, anal avoidance techniques and a taster on rimming.

Enjoy!

Elizabeth Rose

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Instinctual Butt Clenching

Above The Rim

The Anal Truth

Ain’t Too Proud To Peg

Heteroflexible Dudes and Straight Pussy

Bum Toys