Food for Thought Friday: Fool for Love

f4tf_button2Kat, from the Food for Thought Friday team asks: 


What is the most foolish thing you have ever done in the pursuit of love or sex?



Her name was Kristina. I thought she was perfect in every way: long blonde hair, papa-shell eyes, a laugh like birdsong and a pretty nose. She was always immaculately dressed and she always had dry hands, which was unusual in a seven-year old. Pristine Kristina.

I was eight, and when I saw Kristina I wanted her at my side, to hear great plans and make some of our own. She might even kiss me. I started having ideas about deeper and more adult possibilities. I’d been shown a girl’s cunt, or two, and I had an older brother tell me that they felt really nice. So there was that to consider, too. Kristina went to my head.

But she hadn’t noticed me.

Well, I reasoned, I could fix that. I’d do something heroic that would display my courage and physical skill, and demonstrate my love for her.

At our school there was a thing for kids to climb on, with two enormous rope cargo nets fixed over a frame. The two nets met at the very top of the framework. So one day, when Kristina was climbing on the net, I bounded up as well. “Look!” I said.

My precocious interest in ropes and knots, you see...

My precocious interest in ropes and knots, you see…

I wormed my way between the nets, until I was close to the top. I put my feet into the net’s holes, one on each net, and then let go with my hands so that my body hung down, head first into the bare clay, hard as concrete, a terrifyingly long way below me. But I held on with my feet, and didnt fall.

Some teacher turned up and yelled at everyone to get off the nets. Then he bawled me out. Apparently there’s a lot of paperwork if one of your pupils gets killed on your watch. 

He wanted to know why I’d done it. I thought that if I told him I’d be bandying a lady’s name about, and I already knew that bandying is bad. So I claimed I couldn’t remember why. I cleaned many blackboards that afternoon, for the purity of my love.

Anyway, Kristina sidled up to me later. “You hung down between the nets!” 

Well, I remembered that. I was glad she remembered, though. “Yes!” I said. And I started to say something about running away to join a circus, but she interrupted.

“When you were up there, hanging between those nets -”


“We could all see your willie!” And she laughed and skipped off, and never bothered to notice me again. 

From that I learned … nothing. I learned nothing at all.

Frisky business among the Venetian searchlights: Food for Thought Friday

f4tf_button2The Food for Thought Friday people have asked: 

Where is the riskiest/most adventurous place that you have had sex?

Did you get caught?


My answer:

Richard Wagner died in his rooms at a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice. The locals, naturally, turned this great historical building, rich in artistic associations, into a casino. 

Wagner's old digs. At night

Wagner’s old digs at night. See the dark area on the second floor, towards the left? We were there

A few years ago I went to the Casino de Venezia with Niamh, a girl I’d met in Dublin. Gambling bores me, and she said she didn’t care about casinos one way or the other. But I wanted to have a look at Wagner’s old rooms, and she came along because we were sharing a bed so we might as well share this too. Also, I’d promised and demonstrated that if she didn’t do as she was told I’d smack her arse. So there was that. She was fond of the hairbrush, in particular.

I guess I should admit that I’d answered her ad on Fetlife, once I realised I was going to be in Ireland for a while, so even before we’d met we’d both established that Niamh was a girl who liked doing as she was told. And getting a smacked arse. Anyway, there we both were. Niamh still wore that afternoon’s wonderful summer dress, the top of which was held up mainly by her breasts. I wasn’t so glamorous, since I was in jeans, but at least I had on decent shoes and a jacket. 

Once we were in the top floor I asked a few casino staff where the Wagner rooms were. They didn’t know. They’d never heard of Wagner. If I wanted an explanation of anything you could do with dice and some cards – in public, at least – then they’d be happy to help, but this Wagner fellow … They’d shrug and hold their hands open and empty.

I got annoyed with this, so when I found a closed door I opened it, and when I found a closed curtain I drew it. When I found the back stairs we went down them to the mezzanine floor where Wagner had lived. And died. It turned out that someone had made a Wagner Museum out of Wagner’s old rooms. It was closed of course. Well, it was closed in the sense that it was dark and there was no-one there. But I turned the door handle, and it opened.  

I wondered about security alarms, and decided that I could probably bullshit my way out of trouble if an alarm went off, and I held the door open for her. Then I followed, and after a minute it was clear that if there was an alarm someone had forgotten to switch it on. Italy’s cool like that. 

I moved through the exhibits, feeling a certain mix of excitement and disappointment. Excitement because we’re here, where Wagner lived! And this is his stuff! And disappointment because I’d hoped for some sense of communion and connection. But there wasn’t. There’s his piano, but he’s dead. He’s not here. 

Wagner's Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it's worth it. Drawing: Arthur Packham (detail)

Wagner’s Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it’s worth it. Drawing: Arthur Rackham (detail)

But there was a certain kind of homage to the great man when Niamh came back from her exploration. I kissed her, and then pushed her dress down to her waist, so her breasts were bare.

Like a Rhinemaiden’s. Like a Flower Maiden. Then I put light pressure on her shoulders and she sank to her knees, unzipped me and took out my cock. She licked, then kissed my glans, then opened her mouth a little wider. Oddly, it was me who said, “Ahhh.”

So I was standing there, my cock deep in the mouth of a bare-breasted Irish girl, when I heard something. A security guard had walked onto the mezzanine floor. He’d seen us. I put my hands on Niamh’s shoulders and squeezed, to let her feel how pleased I was with her, though my cock was already conveying that information, and to obscure her peripheral vision.

Then I looked at the security guard and shrugged the apologetic Italian shrug. Niamh was still sucking me, oblivious. He considered for a second or two: is a couple having oral sex in the museum likely to steal things? Or are they innocents pursuing innocent and harmless pleasures? He didn’t smile, but he lit a cigarette (yes, I know; it’s an old building) and wandered back to the stairs. 

overthewallLater I pulled out of Niamh’s mouth and took her by the hand. I opened the window out onto the Grand Canal. There was a ledge with a stone barrier. There were also lights lighting up the front of the casino, but they left pools of darkness at the sides of each projector. So that’s where I bent her over, smacked her pretty little ass, and took a condom from my wallet and put it on my cock. And put my cock in her. 

You’d think that was the riskier situation, but it wasn’t. Our view was fantastic, lights and gondolas and vaporetti, and the throng of people, and so was the softness of her cunt and my hardness sliding slowly together, and the gritty stone under her breasts, uncomfortable in the good way, and our urgency slowly building.

It’s a good place to fuck. Venice is a city for lovers, because without us there wouldn’t be the money to pay to preserve all those drowned streets and buildings. So there aren’t many people in Venice, I don’t think, who don’t like the sight of bare breasts joggling while their owner gets pumped from behind.

But they missed out. Even when Niamh and I came, fairly close together, and not completely succeeding in suppressing orgasm noises (we sounded like donkeys coughing), not a soul noticed us. 

Limits? (I pissed on a girl, and I didn’t like it.) Food for thought #10

The Food For Thought team has asked these three questions:

Food for thought #10: Limits questions

If4tf_button1s there something, (or things), that you would absolutely say no to in a sexual context?

What are your limits? Are they hard? Soft?

Have your limits changed over time?


I have a personal ad on Fetlife, and I tell readers that I won’t have anything to do with shit, or urine, or knives or pins or sharps. Or animals. I also mention that I’m only interested in women, sexually, and that I’m a dom and I don’t switch. 

All of that’s still true and I feel no need to change any off it. But the edges can get fuzzier than I’d expected when I wrote it. 

For example, I’d prefer to have nothing to do with shit, in a sexual context. But I’ve already mentioned cleaning around the asshole of a girl I’d just buggered, because she’d leaked a bit. That’s not scat, because there was no shit-related pleasure in it for me, or her. It was just a job that needed to be done, quietly and discreetly.

I dealt with it by switching off part of my reaction for the duration. I’ve worked on farms, and I’ve cleaned shit from sheep and cattle, where it’s necessary to prevent flies from breeding. And there’s a mental attitude you get where you do what’s necessary, with a kind of detached benevolence until the necessary is done. So I could refine my statement so it reads, “Well, yes: I’ll deal with shit in some sexual contexts, but not for pleasure.”

I’ve found that I will do things that don’t attract me, if the submissive really wants me to. Once, under severe begging from a submissive girl I was just short of in love with, I pissed in her mouth and then, more generally, on her body. (She’d moved to the bath for the experiment.)

My thought at the time was, “Well, this is a new and unsexy experience, but it is taboo-breaking, isn’t it?”

So I felt that detached irony again: I was there and not-there, simultaneously. There was a kind of kindness there, and I like to be kind, but there was nothing erotic in it for me. But though I pushed that limit, it’s still there. It was a one-off, never repeated. 

I suppose I could amend “I won’t do anything sexual with urine” to read, “I won’t do anything quasi-sexual involving piss ever again.” But then I’d have to tell the story above to explain that, and I don’t feel like it. So I’ll let the current wording stand. It’s still true.

See? Sharp's erotica. Some people like it, but it's not for me.

Sharp’s erotica. Some people like it, but it’s not for me. (Confession: just a cheap joke. I’ve never read any Olive Sharp.)

As for sharps, I have an absolute horror of them. I once got cut quite badly when I was a child. It was just an accident, but to this day I feel a little cold chill in the pit of my stomach whenever I’m confronted with a sharp blade. I don’t let it interfere with anything I have to do, but there’s no way I could make it part of something pleasurable. I won’t cut or stick anyone with a blade, and I expect the same courtesy to be extended to me. 

So there’s no change at all in my attitude to sharps: they’re always off-limits. Oh, and animals are still right out, too. And so are shit and piss. Except that I’ll clean them away when it’s my responsibility.

So I guess my limits can be pushed a little, but they’re still hard limits. 


No-one really knows what Terence looked like. The Vatican, and Wikipedia, pretend this is his portrait.

Terence is a Roman comic playwright. He borrowed and translated that line from the Greek comic playwright Menander. No-one really knows what Terence looked like. The Vatican, and Wikipedia, pretend this is his portrait.

I’ve always been proud of holding and applying Terence’s line: “Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto”: “I am a human being. I consider that nothing human is foreign to me.”

Sadly, when it comes to getting sexual pleasure from sharps, animals, scat and urine, I’m not only out, myself, but I don’t really see how it could be much fun for anyone else. So although those are still human desires, they’re all still foreign to me.

I think that’s a fault, not a virtue, because it’s a failure of imagination and a lack of empathy. But there it is, anyway. 


First time (Food for Thought Friday)

f4tf_button1The Food for Thought team ask: 

What was the first overtly sexual act you performed on someone else or had performed on you? How did you feel about it afterwards?

The answer involves sexual contact between young children. No-one comes to harm as a result.

Also, I haven’t eroticised the description at all.

But if this is likely to make you uncomfortable, I’d suggest not reading below the word “Answer”. 


I was walking home from school, aged five. There was a girl playing in the back yard next door. She must have been four, because she wasn’t going to school yet. Her family had just moved in. So I waved at her.

That was when I realised that she was wearing a towel, because she opened it to demonstrate that it was all she was wearing. And beckoned me over. 

So I walked down her drive and introduced myself with my best five-year old manners, because I didn’t often get to condescend to people younger than myself. She invited me to play, so I stayed.

I can’t remember my motives. I don’t think they were sexual in anything like an adult sense. Partly it was that I was  taught to be a nice boy and I thought she must be lonely because she’d just arrived. Also, she’d just done something “rude” when she’d flashed me. That was interesting too. 

“Rude” was the term that children, round there, used to describe what adults would call proto-sexual explorations and demonstrations. She was being a rude girl.

She invited me to play in a little shed with little chairs and a table. It was bigger than a doll’s house. It was big enough for a little girl and a very awkward little boy to sit and drink water from her collection of tiny plastic tea-cups and eat imaginary biscuits. 

It felt odd to be playing a girl’s game. In the games I played, I tended to shoot, climb and fight. I wasn’t sure how this game worked, though I was prepared to go along with it. I thought she needed company, and so looking after her made me feel very adult and protective. But when she suggested that we play Mothers and Fathers I was surprised because I thought, with the cups and saucers and such, that we already were.

It turned out that the rules of Mothers and Fathers, as she played it, meant I had to show her my cock and let her play with it. Her play with my penis was, according to my memory, kind of aimless: artless, unskilled. She didn’t know how to stroke a penis. She just sort of waggled it from side to side. 

Looking at this with hindsight, I’m pleased about her lack of expertise. I’ve spent some of the period between then and now being a probation officer and a social worker. I know now that some of her actions may suggest something abusive happening in her family. On the other hand, she had no idea how to make a penis feel good in a sexual way. An abuser, if there had been one, would almost certainly have taught her that sort of thing.

Anyway, I had no sense of distress or discomfort from her. Still, abuse wasn’t something I knew about or thought about then, so I could have missed something. I’ll never know.

I also think we freak out unhelpfully about childhood sexual exploration of the kind that doesn’t involve adults. Sexual exploration isn’t unhealthy in itself. Children are curious. Adults just have to back off, sometimes. 

Anyway, she expected me to reciprocate, but I wasn’t sure what to do. So I stroked her labia a few times, as you might stroke a dog to convey the idea that it’s a good dog. As I’ve pointed out, I really had no idea.

I was actually relieved when my mom called me in to dinner. It’d been interesting, and it was the most “rude” thing I’d ever done or had done to me. But it was also off-the-scale awkward and embarrassing. After that, I mostly played with her when there were other kids around, to delay Round 2 of Mothers and Fathers.  

There were a couple of repeat games of Mothers and Fathers, but I mostly kept my pants up. Her, too. We did some experimental kissing. We drank water as tea, and ate biscuits I’d stolen from the kitchen. So at least I provided a sugar hit. 

When she started school, she went to the local Catholic school, while I was going to the local state school. So we lost touch. 

What I feel is mostly positive. The explorations didn’t teach me anything much about adult sexuality – except that if a girl flashes you, you may as well stick around. You might think I should have realised that I only had 11 or so years before I’d have to show better girl-stroking skills than that, but that didn’t occur to me then, either. Mainly I learned that boy-girl things can get awkward. Girls can have very different interests from me, and still sometimes expect things from me. 

ThickAsABrick25thAnnivI liked her. I still worry about her a bit: if she were a little girl doing that today, she’d be suspended from or thrown out of school, and she’d meet a whole lot of cops and psychologists, care workers and senior teachers, all in a panic, and passing the panic on to her.

So would I have, come to think of it, just for going along with her. I can imagine my bewildered five-year-old features on the cover of the local rag: “Face of evil”. 

Nudity warning! Food for Thought Friday #7

The Food for Thought Friday team is asking:


Are you at ease being naked? Do you feel more comfortable clothed or unclothed? Can you explain why you feel this way? 


I’m at ease with being naked. It helps that I’m a straight man, and that heterosexual women seem prepared to overlook flaws that a gay man perhaps wouldn’t. So I try to keep fit, but my fitness does fluctuate. 

That doesn’t seem to stop some women from desiring me. There’s a real difference between my self-assessment of how sexy I look naked, and the assessment of most straight women who get to look at me naked. They don’t run out of the room screaming. Well, mostly, with honourable exceptions. (Those ones I chase. It’s part of my fitness program. Er, I mean that in a playful sense, not the dangerous-stalker sense.) 

He seems happy to be a naked man on High Street

Happy to be a naked man on High Street

I don’t understand why some women fancy me, but once I understood that it’s their judgement that matters, not mine, and that they were prepared to give me a pass mark, I got comfortable with it. I’m not going to question it. 

Whether I prefer to be clothed or not depends on where I am. On High Street I don’t often prance around naked, because it would only upset some people without any great benefit to me.

(Also, I live up a mountain, and most of the year it’s c-cold. If some girl was overwhelmed with lust at the sight of my naked body in mid-winter, and grabbed my penis, it’d probably snap off. (If it was warmer it might come off. Tish-BOOM.)

In my bedroom, I’ll be naked in a woman or girl’s presence once t’s clear that it wouldn’t be actually weird. When sex is at least on the cards. Because being coy strikes me as bullshit, and because either she’ll have undressed herself or I will have undressed her, so by that stage I’ll be feeling over-dressed. Alternatively, I may undress first if we’re being sexual but she seems to be feeling nervous about her body. It can help make the thing more relaxed, especially on a first time. 

And she seems happy to be a naked girl on the street.

And she seems happy to be a naked girl on the street.

The thing is, I like girls to be naked when we’re being intimate. I really, really like naked girls. Quite enthusiastically, really.

A girl in lingerie, or dressed as a Japanese schoolgirl or something, is very charming. But once we’re in bed, or nearly, I prefer bare female skin more than anything else in the known universe. And I have to be naked too, so that I can feel her skin everywhere, and she can feel mine.

Especially when fucking. This may not be a terribly original thing for me to say, but it’s just true.

That’s all.



Food 4 Thought Friday: Favourite fantasy

This is my first contribution to Food for Thought Friday. This week the topic is: 

1 Do you have a sexual fantasy that you would be embarrassed or ashamed to tell anyone about?

2 Is it a complete fantasy or would you like it to actually happen in real life, if you had the chance?

3 Are you brave enough to share it here with us?


I don’t really have a favourite fantasy. I make stuff up as I go along, whether I’m domming, fucking, or just fantasising. But I’ve come back to this one twice in four years, once in a post from April 2012, and once in an email today. So at least it’s got staying power. 

1 The fantasy. 

passageI am the captain of a pirate ship, or a naval ship from the days of wood and canvas. The crew see me on the quarter-deck, smiling, stern, looking boldly into the horizon. 

But if the wooden rails weren’t there they’d see me buggering the cabin girl, Erica, who is keeping her head down. Erica, by the way, is a stowaway found and put to work; the crew think she’s the cabin boy, Eric.

Erica, poor thing, is trying to mop the quarterdeck, bent at the waist with her captain’s cock up her arse.

Because if he finds a speck of dust, he’s going to take her back to his cabin, bend her over the bed and cane her until his cock has recovered enough to bugger her again.

bugger 2That’s the worst thing about being an attractive but slightly careless stowaway. Once you’re found, the captain will want you to work your passage. Work it hard and work it flexibly. 

And there’s always a speck of dust, by the way. 

It’s quite short, by my standards, isn’t it?

2 Is it a wish, or just a fantasy?

I’d love some near equivalent to happen in real life, though I’ll have to concede that I don’t own a pirate ship, and if I did I’d find it hard to board another ship and start killing and plundering. It just doesn’t seem like nice behaviour. On the other hand, the idea of buggering a woman who continues to try to clean the floor while I butt-fuck her, and then waits fearfully for my assessment of her floor-cleaning prowess: that’s hot enough to be getting on with.

3 Are you brave enough to tell us what it is?

No, it has non-consensual or at best semi-consensual elements. I’ll never tell anyone about that fantasy.