The (slightly drunken) coolness of Russia!

I’m back from a Russian restaurant (of course it’s a Russian restaurant; I mean Russian in the sense that it serves Russian food). It was a game restaurant, where neither the proprietor nor his son spoke more than a couple of words in English. There were guns, crossbows and animal pelts and mounted heads all over the walls.

A vegetarian’s nightmare. I ate bear, and elk.

catskinI gained the admiration of the proprietor by asking about the pelts on the wall. Since we had no words in common, I finished up by pointing at something I thought was a dead wolf, or what a dead wolf used to wear, and asking, “Ah-hoooo?”

And so on, through to bear noises. And my version of a civet cat was, essentially, “miaoww?” to establish the genus, then doing it again in a deep voice.

Anyway, as a consequence, though I arrived at nine and was still there at midnight, their sole customer, they brought out “samples” of their vodka collection.

They were home-made vodkas, with various things steeped in each one. For example, cedar, birch, ginger, horseradish, some red berry, peppery-sweet, and one other. The proprietor said, “Taste!”

They weren’t “tastes”; they were double shots. I managed heroically, except for the horse-radish vodka, which defeated me.

So now I’ve had an encounter with “the Russian soul.” We agreed on things like, “Russia good”, and “Australia good”, and other important matters.

Neither of those propositions is true, by the way. Russia is transitioning into a theocratic fascist state, and Australia has just voted in a bunch of red-necked racists who run off-shore concentration camps where refugees are kept, subject to being raped or murdered, until they go mad. Then they’re kept on in captivity anyway. But we couldn’t manage nuance.

horseI got home. On the way a beautiful girl nearly ran me over with a horse. Oddly enough, that really did happen. You can hire horses in St Petersburg, even after dinner. She may have taken on more vodka than me.

The evening was good, because I started today not much liking Russia or its culture, because of the relentless nightmare of Immigration: two hours in a concrete bunker while nothing happens. Now I’ve changed my mind. Russians are cool!

The Baltic Beat!

I’m in Tallin. Drinking beer, in the square. 

The beer’s compulsory because buying one is the only way to sit and get wi-fi. But I’m not actually complaining.

I’ll add some pics to this post tomorrow, when I’ve got properly working wifi. For now, text is the best I can do. I’m in a sailing ship going down the Baltic. They’re not big on wifi or democracy, really, round these parts. 

Anyway, here’s a “Viking Slave” from Stockholm. He doesn’t seem too unhappy about his predicament.

vulcan love slave

“Pick me! Pick me!”

Above the Arctic circle!

venus anasyrma

“No, Master, the marks are still showing. Honest!”

I’m in the land of the midnight sun. It never stops being day, or starts being night. 

But if you pull the curtains they have up here, it’s night, eternal night, until you want it not to be.

Today I’m wandering about Sweden’s highest mountains, and eating reindeer burger beside some lake.

I’ve got nothing bdsm to write about today. Here’s another marble girl, whose pants would be on fire if she were wearing any. She’s from the Konstvarmuseet, back in Stockholm. 

A Malmö question: Can men come without touching their cocks?

I’m at a sexology conference in Malmö, in south Sweden. It’s just across the water from Copenhagen, with a rail bridge connecting the two cities, and countries.

images-3Malmö’s not as cool a town as Copenhagen, where I’d move at the drop of a troll hat. I haven’t found a really nice place in the shade looking at water, where some waiter will bring me beers or mineral waters whenever I manage to make eye contact. Lots of places like that in Copenhagen; scarcer in Malmö.

Before I get to my question, here are some observations about Scandinavia, as experienced by me so far. 

1  The people here, and the way of doing things, are friendly and (some people would say “but”) punctual and efficient. 

2  It’s all very civilised. For example, they’ve preserved weekends as times when friends and family can get together and do things, because most people aren’t working at week-ends. Most English-speaking countries were fooled and bullied into giving that away, at great social cost and to no economic benefit. 

3  However, they can’t make a cup of chai tea to save their lives. I asked for a cup in Christiania in Copenhagen, and the girl asked me “what flavour”. By “chai” they mean some sort of powder that you mix with hot water, and that might be vanilla, chocolate, strawberry or whatever. 

4  You should have heard the cheers when England lost to Iceland at soccer the other day. Brexit has not exactly endeared the English to Europeans. 

5  There are no non-pretty girls in Scandinavia. Or if there is one, she must be hiding in Trollhättan. (Trollhättan is a town in Sweden. I think of it as meaning “Behatted Troll”. Obviously, it doesn’t mean that. I think “hättan” has the same meaning as in “Manhattan”.)

Anyway, at the conference there are poster sessions for academics who have something interesting to say, but who don’t have the material or weight for a full session of their own. So you get a room full of posters, with the relevant person standing beside it hoping you’re interested enough to want to talk about their work.  

The orgasm question

One raised a question about male and female orgasm. It’s that some women can come without touching their own genitals, or having someone else do it for them. Just the arousal, the flow of erotic ideas, can bring them to orgasm. But men can’t do that. They can get erect, obviously, without penile touch by themselves or others, but they can’t come without touch. They need friction, ideally slippery friction, to be able to come. 

I thought about that. In bdsm we do a lot of orgasm control. Me, I like female orgasms (I might be a female orgasm fetishist), so as a dom I may deny a submissive girl the right to come without my permission, and sometimes withhold that permission when she really, really wants to let go. However, usually I don’t deny her for long, if we’re in the same bed. Even a few minutes of denial, where she’s fighting back her orgasm while still being vigorously fucked, can get a huge release when I finally tell her to come. 

There are doms who’ve taken that further than I’ve ever felt the urge to. So they might deny the girl any orgasm while she’s being fucked. And then tell her to hold herself in suspense, not erotically relaxing, until he or she gives the word.

Because I like female orgasms, and the more of them the merrier, I’ve never done the kind of training. you need for that However, I’ve met submissive women who can hold on to their peak ready-to-come level for over an hour, and you can command them to come when they’re doing something like watching a movie or doing the dishes. I think of that as interesting rather than peak sexy, but it is interesting.

Master? Tell me a story?

Master? Tell me a story?

The closest I’ve come to that is getting a girl to come by tying her legs apart and her hands behind her back, and telling her a story calculated to appeal to her particular sexual tastes and fantasies. It’s the best possible writer’s audience. 

But she was cheating in a way. That is, she wasn’t being touched externally, but she could get physical stimulation by clenching and unclenching the muscles around her vulva and clitoris.

think that’s how women get to orgasm without apparent touch, though I could be wrong.

But men … We don’t seem to be able to do that, or any useful equivalent. If I have an erection, and I clench the muscles around my penis, I’ll make it wave up and down in a friendly way. But there’s no stimulation for me in it.

And I thought: If anyone can make a man, at least a submissive man, come without his being touched, it’d be a pro-domme. I asked this on Twitter, and got a couple of replies from pro-dommes saying that they’d never seen it done.   

Now I’m throwing the question to the room. Does anybody know of men being made to come without touch?

I’d  count it if the dom/domme used touch to bring the man close to orgasm, followed by orgasm denial, followed by instructing him to stay ready, and more than an hour passing before he was told to come. 

Can anyone help? (I mean, with reports of having that done to them, or doing it to some guy.)

Music is my aeroplane, and it’s circling over Copenhagen

Mile-high club. Disclosure: I'm not a member of that club, in the Clintonian sense

Mile-high club. Disclosure: I’m not a member of that club. Well, not in the Clintonian sense

I’m in an aeroplane, at the moment. And I’m not listening to the Chillies, despite the title. Actually, it’s the complete symphonies of Carl Neilsen on the headphones, since I’m heading to his part of the world.

Also, the quartets, songs and piano music of Edvard Grieg, since he’s a small composer but perfect, and he’s a local up here, too.

Also, Lullaby and the Ceaseless Roar, some Kidney Thieves, and some Canadian music. Neil Young makes that easy, but there’s Mac DeMarco, Tragically Hip and some local bands. I don’t think I brought along any of William Shatner’s amazing vocal stylings, though.

I’m not a fan of Bachman Turner Overdrive, but “You ain’t seen nothing yet, b-b-b-b-b-baby” should be the Canadian national anthem. And for every other country on earth. It’d make the Olympics sound better for starters. (Except for women’s ice skating. Whoever wins, they should just play “Fever” when they get their medals.) And some Americana. Songs about murdered children wailing in the wind, that kind of thing, with banjo and fiddle. 

Anyway, all that’s not to boast about my music taste, because obviously my taste is rubbish. It’s just a guide to my state of mind. 

There Little Mermaid, in Copenhagen

The Little Mermaid, in Copenhagen

Anyway, I’m flying, and I’ll soon be in Stockholm, where my adventures begin. 

As for this blog, I’ll continue the Raylene story until the point where everybody’s in the same room and Raylene’s demonstrating “how to be sexy while getting the cane”. There’s a lot of story to go after that point, but Raylene will just have to wait, bent over a table with three people watching her ass, until I get back. She’d like that.

Then there’ll probably be a series of shorter, one-off posts on this and that, as I go. I got my Russian visa, by the way, so that’s a relief. They didn’t even lose my passport. And I’m spending summer in the Arctic Circle, which I’m very enthusiastic about.

JointsUnless, of course, I get completely distracted in Copenhagen. Er, what were we talking about?

Anyway, that’s where in the world your blogger is, and how the blog will be until late July.

Posts will continue more or less as usual, in frequency, but most likely different from my usual style.

Wish you were here, every last one of you.