A month later I found myself cornered in my best friend’s kitchen. He presented us to each other, like some landmark meeting of the minds. I suppose we were both sort of big personalities so everyone wanted to know how we would react to each other.

We eye each other. We circled each other. We asked some pointed questions about books and music. We fell into banter. We sat down on the floor and started a long conversation. We sang some songs. We tested each other. Eight hours later we were best friends.

That’s how it went in high school. I had this close group of friends and we all dove headlong into this incestuous relationship somewhere between friendship and something more. Every moment was swooning over an intellectual crush or a sexual one or trying to figure out which was which. Everything was blurry lines and cuddle piles.

Months went by and Jill and I talked every day. We talked for hours. We talked about everything. So At some point I fell in love with her. In some ways it was the first time I fell in love, or at least the first time I fell in love with someone for more than physical or situational reasons. It was confusing and weird and awkward and wonderful.

Jill mostly dated girls, seemed to have a crush on my friend Lindsey, but very obviously had a crush on my best friend Martin. Lindsey had a crush on Martin as well, but Jacob had a crush on Lindsey. No one had a crush on me, or at least not that I knew of. This was the way high school was.

So That summer I decided to seduce Jill.

Jill and I, more than any of our friends, had the most in common when it came to music and literature. We were also both writers, where most of our friends were musicians or artists. We talked about stories we were working on, we obsessed over poetry, we locked ourselves in her room and listened to The Doors. We were angsty and horny and we though we were so very deep.

This was the first time in my life I became aware of the changes that came over me when I wanted someone. Later on I would realize that this was my form of seduction.  I take someone apart, find their buttons, find out what they want, find out what they like and then I become that as much as I can. I figure out the puzzle of their desires and then I show it to them, tempt them with it until they ask me for it and think it was their idea. That’s how it works.

I’m not sure how that worked in my teenage mind. I suppose I thought since she liked women I would be more emotional, more vulnerable, chatty and catty and soft. I wasn’t very subtle,. I started listening to Melissa Ethridge and telling her how I had a gay Aunt and how I identified with her “so much.” It was silly and juvenile and she saw through most of it.

Still one night we laid in her bed and I massaged her back and traced little patterns on her arm with the soft pads of my fingers. I touched her so lightly that we could feel my fingerprints flutter across in the tender insides of her elbow. Her eyes closed and my touches grew bolder. I traced up her leg and across her belly and even circled the dark outline of her nipples through her shirt. I moved closer, not sure if she was asleep and kissed the side of her mouth.

The next day she gave me a letter. She asked me if I thought she was asleep. She asked me if I liked her circle-yes-or-no. She quoted songs. She showed interest.

I really wish I had a copy of the letter I sent as a reply. I don’t remember it all but it was long and it was as eloquent as I could muster and in the end I told her that I loved her and that I wanted her in my life in any capacity, but she needed to know. I told her that I wanted her and that I needed her and that she was amazing.

We met at Martin’s house and we stood on the porch shyly. She asked if I meant it all and I wrote to her. I did. She asked if I was going to kiss her and so I did.

And my heart exploded in fireworks.

We fell into the a strangest practice. You see, We were sexual people. We liked to kiss and we liked to touch, but we were also scared and awkward and dramatic. Plus there was the fact that neither of us was really sure she liked boys. So somehow we ended up going back to her room every day after school and I fooling around and I would always end up going down on her.

You see, Jill was pretty comfortable with her body. I on the other hand wasn’t comfortable with mine. She didn’t seem to mind this because she really wasn’t sure what to do with a penis. I liked making her feel good; in fact I loved that it. Plus she was multi-orgasmic.

So it came to be that for part of a school year and half of a summer I would go over her house every day and we would make out and then I would go down on her for an hour or two. I don’t mean this facetiously or even proverbially; it was literally between one and two hours.

Initially she showed me how she liked it. She told me where to lick and where not to lick and when to go slow and when to go fast. Once I knew the basics I improvised well and soon my world became the incense she burned and the light smell of her sex and the tuft of blond hair and her thighs closing around my head and her hands in my hair and the power rush I got from making her come over and over again. Sometimes it was twenty times in an afternoon.

We tried other things, sexually. She occasionally, awkwardly, reached into my pants and toyed with my penis. She didn’t seem into it and so I wasn’t very interested. We even tried PIV sex, but she was super tight and didn’t like penetration particularly and it ended up being painful for her and weird for me. Really I just wanted to eat pussy all the time. Honestly, I still do.

The physical part of our relationship was lovely, if a bit unorthodox. We had conversations about love, art, poetry, literature, philosophy for hours on end. We hung with our friends, life was good.

Until the walk.

We were walking one day, holding hands and some of her other friends were down the block. Her queer friends. She immediately dropped my hand. I didn’t really think about this at the time, but it stuck in my head for days after. There were other ways I was segregated from parts of her life. We both had a lot of friends in various cliques and so on. We were social butterflies and social chameleons. There were very clearly parts of her life in which I was not welcome.

I was living Chasing Amy.

The insecurities started there and grew and by the end of the summer we were broken up. From then on we were on and off friends and eventually when I started college as she finished up high school I was on my way to becoming an angry young man and deemed her an undesirable.

Still I think about her a lot and that Summer remains this strange defining moment in my life. It was when many of my curiosities about sex were addressed and the desired that were building inside of my teenage mind finally got acknowledged.

And ever since I’ve told people I was trained by a lesbian.

I saw her every day. She was this cruel, beautiful, petulant, bossy little thing. I went over her house every day after school with my cousin.

Amy was my cousin’s best friend and she tolerated having me in her home because I told amusing jokes and because I was smart enough to figure things out that she and my cousin couldn’t. I could do things like talk people’s parents into things and fix their computers and so on.

Amy, of course, would never be seen with a chubby geeky boy like me. Plus we were the same age and obviously she could only date seniors, if not college boys. Still, I had some things she wanted, music, better notes from classes we shared, money to buy the silly things kids like, so she occasionally put on a smile and cuddled up to me and asked me nicely for things. That’s the way kids are.

I would basically do anything for her. There were a variety of reasons for this, her looks, her attitude, her coolness, her casual sexiness.

Eventually my cousin got a boyfriend and didn’t want to go over Amy’s house after school. It was closing in on summer and I wondered who I would hang out with. At lunch Amy passed me a note that I should still come over. She also told me not to tell anyone.

Thus the game started.

I went over Amy’s house every day for two months. We were alone from 3pm to about 5pm when her father got home from work. He was, to this day, one of the scariest men I’ve ever met. Tall, white hair, bulging arms, a scar across his cheek, a incomprehensible Baltic accent of some kind. Still that added to the thrill of it.

When you are a fifteen year old boy you aren’t alone with a girl very often. She saw my nervousness and my attraction and it gave her a taste for power. She would boss me around, she would tease me unmercifully, occasionally she would corner me in her room and ask me if I wanted to see her breasts. I shook my head like an idiot.

She showed me, watching my face, watching how I drank in the first taste of a real girls breasts. A week later she let me touch them. A week after that she let me put my hand down her pants.

We didn’t know what we were doing exactly, but we had good instincts. She let me explore a little, moving my fingers around until I hit a spot that made her gasp. Everything was suddenly wet and those teasing eyes were changing to pleading.

She shifted and I got spooked, pulling my arm away. She told me I didn’t have to stop. My mind was racing, my skin was tingling and I felt this rush I’d never known.

I told her I wanted to see, but she was embarrassed. She turned off the lights and took off her pants. She kneeled on her bed in underwear, twisting and turning to take off her bra without taking off her thin cotton shirt.

The gray light of a Spring afternoon barely came through her windows, but it was enough. She laid down and I laid next to her, she didn’t like to kiss usually, but we fell our lips awkwardly touched. Then my mouth was on her neck and she was cooing and pulling at my arm, pushing my hand back to where it was supposed to be.

I pulled the scrap of panty to the side and felt her soft hair, then the wetness of this unspeakably amazing thing. I played, toyed, watched her responses. I wanted to kiss her every where, take her, fuck her, I didn’t know what to do. I just rubbed. I rubbed and rubbed until her hips were pushed up at me and she pushed her head into my neck and made little bird cries.

Then she pushed me away, half laughing but half scared. She made me leave. She wouldn’t look at me.

The next week we went back to watch television and doing homework. By that Friday we were back in her room, back on the bed.

“Let me see yours,” she said, which was new. She never cared about my body or my pleasure.

She grabbed it hard, too hard, when I protested she laughed and then touched it gently. She looked closely but didn’t really do anything to it.

“Make it hard,” she commanded, but I was far too scared.

She kissed me, though she hated kissing or at least hated kissing me. She whispered warmly into my ear. “Make it hard, I want to see,” and it was done.

She pulled the curtains closed and then I felt her next to me in the bed, the room now pitch black. She climbed on me and I felt her naked hip brush my leg. She pulled off my boxers and grabbed my hand, pulling it to her naked crotch. She was wetter than last time, wetter than anything I’d felt.

She held my hand against her, grinding against it. I kissed her neck and she gasped so loudly it scared me. Then she was pulling me on top of her, we were rolling around on the bed, I was hard and scared.

“Do it. Do you know how?” it was a mocking joke, but also a serious question.

“Yeah, but we need… I mean we shouldn’t,” I didn’t know what I was saying, but looking back I am impressed I could even manage a protest.

“I’m on the pill. Do it,” she wrapped her arms around me.

I knew somewhere in my head it was still a bad idea, but then she shifted and the tip of my cock brushed against the wet heat of her. I moved and tried different angles, different positions and then it was suddenly half in her.

She grunted and clawed at my back.

“Do it!” she growled.

I pushed it in, now that it was wet it moved slowly in and all I could think was how hot it was, how I’d never felt anything so hot. It was this hypnotic burning and throbbing.

I pushed it in and out and I moved down to kiss her, but I got her neck. I pushed it all the way in and howled at the pleasure. My body didn’t know what to do, every nerve was overloading.

It went on, not long, but it seemed like hours. When I started to come I tried to say something and she pushed me off of her. I tried to hold it and ended up coming into my hand, the sudden change from fucking her to crouching on the floor next to the bed confusing me.

“Gross,” she laughed, but her voice was darker now.

I stood up and looked around.

“Bathroom,” she said flatly.

I went to the bathroom, giddy, confused, wet with her. I washed my hands and my dick and my face. I heard a flop and then a door slam. I looked in the hallway and saw my clothes.

“Get out,” she said from behind her door. She laughed and then locked her door.

I dressed, a cold numbness suddenly filling my veins. All the adrenaline and hormones and lust all shut down at once. I felt stupid and ugly and fat.

She didn’t speak to me at school after that. Not unless other people were around and then she would tease me. I never asked her about it or tried to go over there again. That summer she went away with her family. The next year we moved on to other friends.

Sometimes though she would run into me and say something cruel. Not the normal insults teenagers say to each other, but something really personal and mean. It was a message. I wasn’t even supposed to think about telling anyone. I was to learn my place and be thankful for the scraps I got.

Frankly I was thankful. It was years before I ever even thought about how cruel and strange the whole thing was.

Some of these things I’ve known for years, but haven’t really thought about in depth. In most situations these leanings and proclivities can be hidden by the normal dynamics of sex, especially casual sex, where every position and combination isn’t going to be attempted anyhow, so brevity aids omission or at least camouflage.

Power and control are a lot more important to my sexual pleasure than I once thought. I am realizing I have a lot of trouble giving up control, or, more accurately, giving up what I consider control. That seems somewhat normal — after all, I’m a mostly-straight guy who is primarily a top. By most social norms I should be used to being in control. Still, my ideas about control seem a little warped when I look at them more carefully.

The act of being brought to orgasm by someone or even giving yourself an orgasm in front of someone is, in some fundamental way in my head, a submission. It is showing your out of control side. It is being vulnerable. It is being needy. It is everything that little Jack was taught was bad.

Intellectually I know that this is nonsense. Still, a lot of our reactions during intimacy are non-cognitive, deeply emotional and hard to understand without some real processing.

For example, it’s rare that I have an orgasm through oral sex or manual sex. The exception is that if I am also stimulating my partner

during this, I can focus on that long enough to make me forget. Does that make sense? Like the sex lives of most kinky people, sex is complicated.

I would say I get off far harder making people have orgasms than having them myself, with the exception of really intense penetrative sex which is usually awesome for me.

Fingering a woman, performing oral sex and using sex toys on them all turn me on in a huge way. I’ve gotten into what is probably my favorite activity, making women squirt, in some other posts. There is also “forced orgasm” which is in many ways the apex of my kink, i.e., making someone come over and over again until they can’t stand it anymore and are so overwhelmed by the orgasms and the sensation overload they are left a quivery mess.

I’ve written about that, though. What I haven’t written about much is my own reactions.

I’ve had partners comment when I don’t have an orgasm or don’t even really get into my own physical sexual gratification in a scene. I can do a whole scene mostly clothed while the bottom has been stripped, tied, roughed up, made to come several times. I can go away from a scene like that completely aroused and satisfied. Really, bringing my penis into the situation would make it less of fun time. I get off hard in a scene like that, and the somewhat less important desire to have an orgasm not only gets in the way, but gives the bottom far too much power over me.

There are different ways to play, though. That is describing one mood and maybe one character I let myself slip into: the super observant

reaction top who notices everything, mocks everything, punishes, pleases, and plays for his amusement and to take the bottom somewhere. When I am in that head space I want to force reactions. Pleasure, pain, humiliation, lust, need and even catharsis.

Other times I can be more playful or more mean. Sometimes I just want to fuck and the kinks that go along with that game, spanking, manhandling and pinning down hands, are very different than a full on scene. Sometimes I want to have relatively vanilla sex, but still I am taking it.

To receive pleasure I have to be in a very different place. I have to be with someone I trust to be vulnerable with and that doesn’t happen very often. It has happened though, in long term relationships with people I am in love with and care about enough to show that side of myself. Even then, it is a pretty temperamental thing.

This is also because of the lingering fingers of the Catholic guilt from my childhood. It marks many of my desires with guilt and embarrassment. Along with guilt are the lessons taught both overtly and subconsciously through my childhood by my father: that it is weak and wrong to show emotions. Both factors conspire to taint things like public displays of affection, talking about my emotions, saying “I love you” and showing desire towards men.

My mixed feelings towards sex with men are some of the most violently guilt ridden and humiliating, which leads to them also being ones I read about and think about secretly. Thus my fascination with slash.

Where do I go with this information?

For the last six months I’ve been trying to do things that are out of my comfort zone. I’m testing myself and having adventures and trying to break the barriers that keep me from doing everything that I want. I feel like I am really exploring my own desire and the desires of others. I’m shaky and wide eyed and having a lot of fun. Some of the things, like bottoming, make my fears and mental blocks much more apparent and cumbersome.

A good example of this is how when I am bottoming I feel like I am good at taking pain and force and aggression, but the cuddling afterward makes me want to escape. Receiving pleasure, especially

when I can’t control it or return it, is almost enough to break me out of the whole scene. When I am really turned on my hands shake with the need to take control. When I am confronted with “giving in” and being “made to come” my head twists and turns and won’t let my body do it.

That being said, I am more than willing to try. I even think trying is important. Breaking down the barriers to pleasure is as interesting as reveling in the sublimations my head has come up with to work around the blocks.

It’s interesting to think of how far I’ve come, so to speak, in discovering my sexuality. From looking at dirty stories online as a horny fourteen year old to writing things and doing things I’d never imagined I’d do. It will be interesting to see where my life will go from here.

Sideshow: The Queer Literary Carnival is serious literature for ridiculous times, curated and hosted by Cheryl B. & Sinclair Sexsmith.

Every month on the second Tuesday at The Phoenix, 447 East 13th Street @ Avenue A, in the East Village of New York City. Doors open at 7:30pm, reading promptly at 8pm. FREE! But we will pass the hat for donations to the performers.

Here is the text from my reading on 6/8/2010

How I Found my Inner Butch

Hi, my name is Jack and I write about sex on the internet. We are a rare breed.

I was a little taken aback when Sinclair asked me to speak at Sideshow. I was also honored and scared and impressed with him. You see I’m not particularly queer in the way I feel a lot of people use the term, though I’m certainly not straight, or hetero-normative or what ever the opposite of queer is.

Queer is, at this room demonstrates, very much a spectrum.

Anyhow, let me explain to you How I Found My Inner Butch

Like many of my generation I was a boy raised by women. It’s like being raised by wolves, only with synchronized menstrual cycles.

I grew up in a two family house with, at different points, three to five women living in it and me being the only male.

My mother, forgive the possibly politically-incorrect term it is hers not mine, is a fag hag. A full on Will and Grace hag with a cadre of gays and a collection of Barbara Streisand records.

Then there was my aunt, the intellectual lesbian who lived out different but equally well defined stereotypes with her “pulled up her her breast” pants and her blasting the Indigo Girls and moving in with her girlfriend on the second date. People can and are often very happy being caricatures.

There was my mother’s best friend, a gynecologist, I’m serious, and her best friend’s two teenage daughters who would make me sit in their bubblegum pink room as they had fashion shows and did there hair.

So yes, I was raised by women, it was a childhood very much infused with estrogen. As well it was infused with feminist thought. I was very much in a household that was in the middle of a first wave vs second wave feminist debate and I was often dragged into the conversation. I grew up understand woman as peers and I went out into the world treating them as such.

Sex and sexuality were pretty common topics at the dinner table. As were gynecology, obstetrics, abortion and various other lady-part topics that seem to make men cringe but I simply found as charmingly anecdotes.

What I’m trying to say is that it took me twenty something years to figure out how to “be masculine.” I learned to shave by watching razor commercials and TV shows. I learned to tie a tie from a webpage. I learned to be a act like a “man” from reading books.

So, much to my mother’s chagrin, I ended up liking girls. I like them a lot. I like boys too, I mean, not just in general, but in a sometimes I kiss them sort of way, but I think it would be a stretch to call myself bisexual. All these titles are are ambiguous as they are limiting anyhow.

As difficult as it was to figure out how to be a man, figuring out where I fit into society, queer or straight society has been an even rockier road. I didn’t understand for a long time that identity has little to do with biology, especially things as complicated as butch or femme.

So that leads me to the theme of tonight. You see, I never owned a suit, I mean I nice suit, until a few years ago. I had a funeral tie and a job interview tie and I never really figured out how to exert my identity. I came to think that’s what the internet was for.

How I came to find my butch self is a strange story in itself. It’s very much tied into how I found out I’m kinky. It was also very much a part of me taking a look in the mirror one day and seeing an ordinary exterior of an extraordinary person and wanting to do something about it.

At some point I found myself in pink ties and dark suits. I found myself in cufflinks and straight razor shaves and all of this traditional masculine things that were so very foreign and exciting to me. I found my strut and I found my confidence. I found the outside to match my inside and it has made me a much more complete person.

So here I am, trying to become a dandy. I’m not sure how dandy fits into the spectrum of butch/femme. Was Oscar Wilde butch? Perhaps he is somewhere in the middle of the path between Marilyn Monroe and Leather Tuscadero. Playing with my little span of the gender spectrum and fucking with gender as much as I can and it is an adventure. Identity is a very strange thing, especially now where we are so aware of it.

I look around and feel excited to be part of tonight, like in some way I’m more accepted by a group I’ve always felt both a part of and separate from. I’m excited to have people recognize that idea of butch can very much be someone dressing their cis-gender. That queer is more than LGBT; that the letters go on and on. What queer really is, is the opposite of limited. It is the opposite of binary only. It’s always what I’ve been and always what I’ve looked for in others.

I entered three logos and I think they are pretty good. It would really help me if people went over and voted for them.

Mine are numbers 7, 14 and 15.

I’d really appreciate it. Plus going to The Floating World would mean going to the largest dungeon on the east coast and who knows what kind of stories I would bring back from that.

It takes about 10 seconds and you’d be making my summer way more awesome.

Vote here!

KinkForAll Washington 2 (KFADC2) – June 12th, 2010

The seventh KinkForAll is happening on June 12th and I will be there and most likely using the data I got from my taboo survey and various research I’ve been doing in one way or another for the last decade in talking about why people write about taboo subjects in erotica (and specifically online erotica.)

If there is time I always seem to start a talk about fan fiction and slash and I have some good ideas for that as well this year.

If you’ve read this blog for a while you’ve read the various posts I made about the awesomeness of other KFAs

Come one, come all!

TESFest 2010 – July 2th-5th

In the last few months I’ve become a much more active participant in the community aspect of the BDSM scene in New York City. Besides going to Conversio Virium, Comunbia University’s BDSM group and the DSD (Deviants Socializing in a Diner,) Pleasure Salon, In The Flesh, etc. I’ve been going to many TES meetings and even started volunteering.

The Eulenspiegel Society is the longest running BDSM group in the country and it has a wide range of classes and events on every aspect of BDSM and alternative sexuality. There are special interest groups for queer topics, polyamory, bondage, and many other subjects.

TESFest, I’m told, is a great event with “tons of classes, great vendors, and fabulous play-space setup by The Crucible.”

The Floating World – August 20th-22nd

The event I am looking forward to the most this Summer is The Floating World. I’ve been hearing from so many people that this is THE event to go to this year with a list of presenters that is the best and the brightest, bar none. Plus there is the “largest play space ever assembled in the northeast” which seems too intriguing not to see.

I really like that this event is run by an amalgam of people from different groups and organizations. There seems to be a sense of inter-community cooperation that I see lacking in NYC in a lot of ways.

Plus any building that has Barbara Carrellas, Cecilia Tan, Corey Alexander, Dov, Jefferson, Klawdya Rothschild, Lee Harrington, Lolita Wolf, Mollena Williams, Nayland, and Wendy Blackheart all in it at the same time is a building I want to be in.

If you are thinking about going to The Floating World I would get tickets soon. The prices are going to jump a lot on June 1st.

I was on Kink on Tap this Sunday, along with MayMay, Helio Girl and Molly Ren. It’s available in podcast form for you enjoyment.

A couple of months ago I gave a presentation, that turned into two presentations, at KinkForAll DC. My first presentation was on Why Writing about Sex is Important and the other was entitles Slash: SUBTEXT = BUTT SEX.

I was Fleshbotted for the sixth time!

I was listed on the Manhattan Times Neighborhood Blogwatch! It’s kind of awesome that my vanilla neighborhood newspaper spotlighted kinky old me.

And stories are almost done! Actual real stories, just like the ones I used to post. Amazing.

Trilby is a hypno-fetishist. Hypnosis has always been something I have been both interested in and conflicted about. I’m a skeptic. This isn’t just a statement about my not taking capital “T” Truths at face value, it is actually a philosophical and a political stance that greatly effects how I look at the world.

The things I’ve read about hypnosis were often inconclusive, ambivalent or simply too vague to verify.

I met Trilby a while ago and I was fascinated from our first conversation about hypnosis and specifically erotic hypnosis. The idea of controlling someone, specifically their sexual reactions, has always been one of my biggest kinks. Not to mention the fact that Trilby was bright, cute and hysterically funny.

Trilby is also one of the only people I’ve ever met in person who frequented MCStories.com, a pretty old school repository of hypnosis and other mind control themed erotica.

I had mentioned a few times to Trilby that I wanted to learn more about hypnosis and at one point she mentioned that she might like to get caned.

This is one of the things about my new and growing circle of friends that I love. The friendly, fun, non-drama negotiation of play. Not dating, not friends with kinky benefit, just friends who play. Play, not as a separate activity than friendship, but as an extension of it.

But I am over-explaining this, let’s get the to the wet panties and funny noises part.

Now, this story of hypnosis and kink could be intense and serious or light hearted and playful, but one thing was added to the equation that made it ridiculous (in a good way) and epic.

That one thing was Wendy Blackheart.

Wendy was one of the first sex bloggers I ever met in person, during that year and a half or so since I started all this craziness.

Funny story, Wendy and I found each other on OKCupid and then found each other’s blogs. Neither of us really read each other’s blogs, because we are both a little self absorbed.

We met for drinks, both thinking we would top the other one and maybe fuck. When we met we both realized neither of these things would ever happen.

We then proceeded to freak out the patrons of Hop Devil by loudly discussing fisting techniques.

Since then Wendy and I have become good friends. We are pleather siblings and we still constantly try and top each other. She also tends to try and undress my girlfriend whenever they are in the same room, which has caused me to occasionally squirt her with a water bottle, as one would reprimand a naughty cat.

But I digress.

Trilby, Wendy and I all found ourselves at the same party. We started talking and before we knew it we were in a private room and Trilby was being put under.

The problem was, although Wendy was able to put Trilby under, she had no idea what to do with her once she was laying there, open to suggestion.

“Tell her she is very aroused!” I whispered.

Wendy told her and then gave her a trigger word so that she could put her into a trance anytime that night.

Trilby awoke, a little giddy, a little touchy feely. I was still skeptical, but no matter the actual mechanism, Trilby was aroused and Wendy and I did that.

Thus I smiled and reveled in a new power.

Wendy, for all of her awesomeness, was at a disadvantage, because she was both not particularly into girls and unable to perform her most enjoyed activities due to the rules of the party (i.e. no penetration). I, once again, stepped up with some ideas.

“Tell her that every time someone touches her ass she will get more and more aroused and every time someone hits her ass it is like her clitoris is being stimulated.”

Wendy’s eyes lit up. The commands were entered into poor Trilby’s brain. We then led her out into the main room of the party, accidentally brushing her ass the whole way.

She was deliciously dizzy in the crowded room. I looked around and saw a couple kissing in the corner as naked breasts rubbed together. A young man flicked his partner’s nipples with a wooden skewer. A woman assessed a collared boy kneeling before her.

Eventually, after mingling a bit, Wendy, Trilby and I ended up on the couch. Wendy put Trilby over her lap and both of us gave Trilby some light little swats on her ass. Trilby writhed in pleasure and then let out a yep of shock.

“Whoa! What the heck?”

Wendy and I laughed and then Wendy put her out again.

I stared down at Trilby’s prone form. She was only wearing a pair of lacy boycut panties and knee high socks. She was breathing heavy and waiting for commands.

“Tell her that if she is hit on her ass with any implement it would feel like she was being penetrated by a penis. Also if she is spanked long enough the arousal would build and build and she will have a powerful orgasm.”

Who knew if it would work? Still Wendy and I patted and smoothed Trilby’s bottom as she purred under our hands. Wendy started spanking her randomly as I started to spank her with hard, well placed strikes.

Trilby moaned and writhed, as I reached over and got the wooden brush I brought. A few smacks with that had her moaning loudly. I switched to the crop and carefully aimed blows at one cheek, while Wendy spanked the other.

Trilby’s body was tightening now. She had one of those body types where her waist and chest were somewhat small, but her hips and ass flared out. This made for a lovely place to spank.

As Wendy went a little crazy with the spanking I got the cane. I knew she didn’t have that high of a pain tolerance and already I had found myself pulling back as her face went from ecstasy to wincing hurt.

A little bouncing of the cane on her bottom, followed by a few good hits when she was ready. I got enough to give me that lovely little feeling I get in my chest when I see those red and white lines the cane leaves.

Then the spanking started in earnest. I tried to focus on the center of her butt, almost low enough to be spanking her sex. I knew the vibrations would reverberate down.

Trilby, consciously or subconsciously, realized this new barrage was building to a climax, thus her body started building to one as well.

She squirmed and moaned and as we spanked her in quick rhythmic succession she tensed and buried her face in the pillows of the couch.

Of course that wasn’t good enough for Wendy and I.

We let Trilby calm, but continued with our little pats and rubbing. Soon the rhythm was back and Trilby was coming again.

I think we took her up and down again before finally cuddling with her and soothing her.

Wendy put her back down and removed the trigger and the suggestions.

We all giggled and glowed at the fun.

I went back to play with others, but the scene stayed in my head. That control, over someone’s arousal, over someone’s reactions and even their senses. It clicked.

Thus a new interest was added to my list of obsessions.

Girl: Hot and bookish. Librarian chic glasses, pencil skirt, black kitten heals. Chocolate brown hair in a neat bob. NYC government issued red pea coat open just enough to show a low cut v-neck sweater and a hint of marvelous cleavage. She is sitting down, deep into a trade paperback.

He is formulating a plan in his head. You can see him working it out and in his mind it is flawless. He makes his way over to her, bumping into a few people as the train starts and stops. He hovers over her, expecting her to look up, but she doesn’t.

He bends down, so this his head is at her head level. She doesn’t notice. He then looked down and tries to see what book she is reading. He can’t see it from his angle so (and kids, this is where the big mistake was made) he pushes the book up a little with his finger.

The girl is started by the popping of her personal space bubble and yells “What the fuck!”

The person next to her is also frightened and spills her coffee the guy next to her, who jumps up and yells “Oh, fucking come on!”

The delicate ecosystem of the subway car is thrown into chaos.

Everyone looks at the guy who caused all the the problem and he stutters “I-um-uh just wanted to-um see what book she was reading. Sorry.”

Just as she is going to reply the train stopped at 42nd and everyone got off, leaving the guy standing confused as new people entered the train and pushed him around.

The book was The Red Tent.

Troy mentioned something on the podcast called a tag party and it got me thinking. I looked for more information on them online and didn’t find anything. (If anyone knows of resources or writeups about tag parties please comment or email)

The idea of a tag party, as I understand it from Troy Orleans’s description, is a party in which everyone who attends is willing to play. Each partygoer wears a tag in which they write three acts that they are willing to participate in and the role they wish to play in said act. i.e. Spanking/Top, Rope Bondage/Top, Flogging/Bottom.

Anyone at the party can come up to anyone else and ask to participate in one of their tagged activities. Partygoers are expected to play with anyone who requests one of their tagged activities for a minimum of five minutes. After that either person can end play or they can negotiate more time and other activities if they both participants are agreeable.

The minute I heard this description a light went off in my head. Yes, this sounds like exactly the kind of party I want to go to! The basics are all laid out and you can get a little sample size scene with anyone.

Really, this isn’t to say that all guesswork and mystery is taken out of interactions, it’s just that a lot of the initial rundown of the basics are handled by a neat list. Also describing acts you want to participate in as opposed to definitive life roles seems like such a great way to get to know someone. I will tell you what I like to do, not who I am. You have to figure out who I am on your own.

So what’s on your tag?

I sat down on the train this morning and tried to work out my default desires. I have lots of things that depend on specific people/places/emotional states, but these are things I am pretty much always up for.

I did consider, though, that some of these are gender specific for me. I have noted those, though a lot of the reasons why are biological or just because I don’t know how to work boy equipment as well as I know how to work girl equipment.

Spanking/Top

Probably my number one kink. Over the knee. Paddle, belt or wooden brush, but come on, the bare hand is always the best. Squirming is encouraged, but comes with a price.

Caning/Top

The mere sound of the whish through the air gets me hard. The bruises days later make my face hot. The whole thing, from testing taps to aftercare is amazing to me. From intense session with real masochists to showing a beginner the ropes.

Flogging, Impact & Sensation Play/Top or Bottom

Good solid fun! I like working it out with someone. Finding out what they can take and where they take it best. Punching, slapping, hitting with things. Always a fun time.

Rope Bondage/Top or Bottom

I’m still learning, but I have a good grasp on the basics! I nice chest harness, a hog tie, all sorts of interesting predicaments.

Forced Orgasm/Top to Female Bottoms

Tied down or held down. High powered vibrators, aggressive g-spot stimulating toys, anything it takes. Figuring out how to make someone come and then making them do it over and over again until I’m satisfied.

Forced Squirting/Top to Female Bottoms

I enjoy making girls squirt. In fact I would say it is very high on my list of wants, but honestly (and it took me a while to figure this out) I enjoy it even more when the bottom tries not to squirt and is embarrassed about squirting. That part isn’t essential at all, but the humiliation and squirming is a lovely frosting on an already wonderful cake.

Humiliation/Top

This takes a little more trust and a little more getting to know you, but hey, you can scratch the surface just about anytime. If someone lets me I can fuck them up pretty well.