On hold

Life’s on hold. Her daughter is sick, and at home, so my agenda for today is off.

I’d thought that a well belted backside, and then lots of fucking, would be good for her. And giving her those things would be good for me. It’d remind her of how we, together, make her happy. Also, it would make her happy. Right now. I know she’s feeling terrible at the moment, nearly as lost as I am.  

Our relationship isn’t just about pleasure and sex, but those things are important. They’re basics, and basics are good. (When they’re good, that is, and in our case, they are.)

Anyway, I’m going over now. I’m going to help build a model bear. A grizzlie, with a mat for hair and I don’t know what the teeth will be made of. Well, that’s something, though I can’t help feeling that it would be better to be sexy, right now, than helpful. 

Ah well, we’ll see.

I‘d hoped I’d never feel like this again in my life, but you never get love or life risk-free. C’est la fucking vie.

Sad

My girl has told me she loves someone else. My heart hurts, and my world has fallen in. I’m bewildered and sad. I want it not to be true. I have no idea what to do.

Update:

Well, I’m not going to give up. I don’t have that first fresh rush of lust on my side. But I know that I’ve been good to her and good for her. I have love on my side, and authority. Though if a woman wants to leave her Dom, then of course she can: his authority stops when consent stops. But I have something: I’ve always used my power and my best judgment for her good, so she will listen and consider what I say. 

On the other hand, though I respect her utterly, I do think my judgment is better than hers. And maybe it’s better than hers at the moment precisely because she’s swept up in the excitement of meeting a new, sexy person. Her happiness comes first, before mine, but at least I won’t assume that making the great sacrifice and going off nobly is the best thing for her happiness.

I think that her best happiness is with me. That happens to coincide a little too well with what is best for my happiness. But that in itself doesn’t mean it’s wrong. We should both be happy.

Well, anyway, I’ll do what I can to save this, and us. 

Why three out of four young women don’t masturbate

There’s a survey coming out soon. A huge random sample of Australians – about 20,000 people – have been asked quite detailed questions about their sexual behaviour and attitudes. It’s the most comprehensive survey of its kind in the world, and it’s impeccable in both its sampling and its survey technique. 

Two of the questions were about bdsm, but the data for those questions is still being  analysed. I do know that there’s been a slight increase in the number of people who say they’ve taken part in bdsm activity in the last year, and a larger increase in the number of people who taken part in role-playing games like teacher/naughty schoolgirl, which typically involve a bit of mild bondage and spanking.

What really interests me is that for the first time they’ve asked whether people usually take a dominant-top role or a submissive-bottom role, or if they just switch without a favourite. That was my idea. I’m interested in what proportion of doms and subs there are, for both men and women. I’ve heard a ton of guessing and theorising about this, but I’d like to know what the real figures are.  

The previous survey found that there was no difference in health, success and childhood experiences between people who do bdsm and people who don’t. We’re all fine, thanks. But it’s possible that, say, submissives are slightly less healthy than average, while dominants are slightly healthier than average, and that’s how we came out as average in the last survey.

Is it true that there are more submissives than dominants? Are dominants or submissives more healthy and successful in everyday life, or is there no difference? Well, we’ll know in a few months, and you’ll probably be able to read it here first, in this shonky blog that no-one reads.

 Young women, fucking and masturbation

For now I’m puzzling over a different result, which is that although about 76% of young women aged 16 to 20 have had sex, only about 27% of them have ever masturbated. Three times as many young women have had sex than have ever wanked. 

That seems incredible to me, but it’s consistent with other surveys – in fact it’s a slight increase on the similar survey ten years earlier – so it’s bound to be true. 

wanksBut it’s only the young women aged 16 to 20 who don’t masturbate much. By the time they’re over 30 most women do masturbate, and the numbers go up as women get older. Women over 30 are never quite as busy wanking as the men their age, but they’re wanking two or three times as much as their younger selves. 

So – given that masturbation is pleasant, harmless, and sometimes the only thing you can do if you want to get any sleep – why on earth is it that most young women don’t masturbate, even though they’re having sex?

You could argue that it’s because girls are taught that masturbation is shameful, and so they don’t do it, or they do masturbate but they pretend that they don’t. I don’t think that’s likely to be the explanation. Remember that three out of four of them have had sex, and they had no trouble telling that to a researcher. If they’re not wanking because of conservative rules about sex, those rules should also be stopping them from having sex. So that’s not what’s happening. 

My theory is this. Both men’s and women’s sexual responses are partly hard-wired, sure, but a lot of it in both sexes is learned.

Male sexual response is easier to learn. Cocks and their sexual responses are blatantly visible. Young men know when they have an erection, and to some extent there’s a feedback cycle based on that knowledge. “My cock is stiff.” –> “I am turned on.” –> “Whoa! My cock just get harder.” –> “I must be really turned on.” And so on. 

Female sexual response is less obvious, and it’s more difficult for young women to know when they’re aroused.

There are experiments that found that women who are in fact having measurable physiological responses (vaginal wetness, skin tension, etc) in response to sexual images will deny being aroused. I don’t think they’re lying, or shy, or that they disapprove of the sexual images and their response. It’s that the physiological changes in women are less visible, and it’s easier to be unaware of them even while experiencing them.  

So young women can be aroused without knowing it. So there’s less of a “trigger” to relieve the arousal through masturbation.

The other thing is that in our culture we spend more time and money showing images of what a sexually inviting, fuckable woman looks like, naked or not wearing much. We don’t show naked young men, aroused or sexually receptive, nearly as often. In our culture it’s easy to learn what a sexy woman looks like, and learn your own response to that, and somewhat harder to learn what a sexy man looks like, and find out what appeals to you about them. 

By “sexy man” I’m talking about the kind of image, with penises and shadows, and strength or surrender, that makes (some) women say “unff”. I mean images that are actually hot, as opposed to “nice” like George Clooney’s charmingly crinkly eyes. 

So a lot of advertising, for example, looks like a light version of the porn aimed at straight men or lesbians. (There are differences between porn made for het men and porn made for lesbians, but also a fair amount of overlap.) But not many advertising images of men look much like gay porn.

This may be one reason why there are far more women, especially young women, who respond sexually to both men and women, than there are men who respond sexually to other men. Both sexes are taught to desire women. 

That means, in the case of young women, that the erotic images they see have less connection with the person they’re most likely to have their first sexual experiences with, who in most cases is going to be a young man.

So young men find it easier to know when they’re horny, and they are given a menu of things to like about women’s bodies and about sex. Young women don’t have so much information, from their own bodies, or about sex with young men in it.  

wank positionSo young women learn the things that really, personally, get them hot through their own experience, and not so much from the culture. So  young women have sex first, and start masturbating later, while young men are already wanking before they’ve had any sexual experience with another person. 

So that’s my theory. It boils down to: sexual power comes from knowledge. Which is one more way of saying: knowledge is power. 

If lesbians can’t have sex in the toilets, what is the point?! 2

When people tell me stories about sex in the cubicles of some nightclub or department store or whatever it might be, I can see that they liked the mischief of it, and the sense of being carried away by lust, and I can relate to that. But I’ve had times when I’ve been overcome by lust, and felt the absolute need to act on it immediately, and that still hasn’t led me to take my girl by the hand and drag her past the Gentlemen sign at the local bar.

It’s useful to know a few places that aren’t “my place, your place or the conveniences at Macy’s”. I tend to explore new cities, when I first arrive, looking at spaces from an unusual perspective.

For example, there’s a little roof garden in one of the London universities that you can get to by climbing up four flights of stone steps and then hopping over the crenellations. It’s a pretty and clean little place, with a great view over London though London can’t see you, and it’s got a little grass area that’s  comfortable. I don’t live in London any more, but I still smile whenever I’m visiting and I happen to walk past that building.  

But no matter how keen I was, I don’t think I’d ever want to fuck in a public toilet. They’re just not romantic. They have that horrible light that’s supposed to stop junkies from being able to see their veins, which doesn’t make anyone look their best, they smell bad, and they’re all hard and uncomfortable surfaces. And while you have privacy of a sort if you keep the cubicle door closed, it’s not real privacy. 

treesaI’d rather have a stand-up up against a door-way or in a park, I think, than go and hide in the toilets.

Anyway, that’s today’s confession of sexual weirdness. I’ve never done anything sexual in a toilet, and I’m pretty sure I never will.

Meta: I’m coming up to another difficult part of the Probation Officer story, and I’m going to take a short break from it.

There’ll be a few one-off posts on random topics before I get back to the main thread.  

If lesbians can’t have sex in the toilets, what is the point?! 1

I was talking to another woman at that party I mentioned. She was the sort of cute lesbian that that they put on television, with an expensive short blonde razor-cut and skinniness worn as a fashion statement. 

lesbian_sex_scene_on_toiletI’ve forgotten how the subject came up – Veuve Clicquot probably had something to do with it, since there was a lot of it about – but she was telling me about being thrown out of a lesbian nightclub for having sex with some girl she’d just met, in the toilet cubicles. She finished by shouting out the title of this very post, waving one charm-braceletted arm in the air.

She was taking the piss out of herself, but she meant it, too.

I mostly agree with anything a pretty woman says under those circumstances. And some stories about things that women I know – bi girls rather than lesbians, mostly – have got up to in lesbian nightclubs would suggest that the club managers don’t usually get all fussy about fucking in the toilet cubicles.

Maybe the pair who got thrown out were just loud. 

Knickerless puzzle #3

Tom Stoppard once told an interviewer that he tended to get plot ideas from unusual things he saw that made him wonder how they had happened. He gave as an example the time he saw a man in a suburban street, with his face covered in shaving foam, chasing a goose.

Then he tried to work out the steps that must have led to that moment. There would have been a series of ordinary, mundane events and decisions that made sense at the time, that came together to make something out of the ordinary. 

Stairs are a thing, in bdsm, aren't they?

Stairs are a thing, in bdsm, aren’t they?

I’m not going to write a play about a knickerless woman running down stairs, or running upstairs with her ass covered. Because a girl flashing her ass at a room isn’t all that astonishing. She was a pretty girl, in an ordinary girl going to music school kind of way. Actually, she looked a lot like the young Pink. I mean the singer. I was glad I happened to look up when she passed.

But there are things I haven’t worked out. Where did she come from, the place where she wasn’t wearing any knickers? If she didn’t mind being knickerless, why did she hurry to get more clothes on? If she did mind, why did she skip down the side of the stairs nearest the audience? If she’d been on the other side of the stairs she’d have been next to a wall, and no-one would have noticed. 

So I haven’t worked out a backstory that fits. 

Always keep your disaster kit stocked: first aid, torches, laptop batteries, bikini, tinned food, matches, wine

Always keep your disaster kit stocked: first aid, torches, laptop batteries, bikini, tinned food, matches, wine

It’s like that girl who was out by the seaside during Hurricane Sandy, dancing happily in a bikini with an umbrella, in the middle of 100-mph winds. Newscasters were talking grimly about the disaster, and she got into the news footage, clearly having a whale of a time while the newscasters just pretended she wasn’t there. 

I still wonder what in the world was going on there, and I guess I’ll never know.

Same with this girl. Not important, but puzzling. 

Knickerless puzzle #2

The knickerless girl disappeared into the green room. It wasn’t the green room that the cast and orchestra were using, but the green room for a different auditorium. That night it was being used by the students working behind the bar. 

So I forgot about the knickerless girl and went back to the conversation about how much of the wanker the director was.

Kind of like this.

Kind of like this.

But a few minutes later the girl ran out of the green room and sprinted up the stairs as if she was later than the white rabbit. She’d got changed in those few minutes, into a little mini skirt with leggings underneath. Her prim maiden aunt, if she had one, wouldn’t have been remotely shocked by the view she provided. 

But I was shocked. Usually I can work out what is likely to have been happening, when people do unusual things. Even if I’m wrong, the story I work out makes some kind of sense. But I couldn’t come up with any story about the girl’s two stair dashes, one knickerless and one modest, that made any sense at all. 

 

Update on snakes: I went back this morning. The snake was out, probably hunting. I picked up the spade, and – very carefully – kept on digging up the old compost heap. When it comes back from hunting, it’ll have to find somewhere else to hide. I’ve warned the neighbours that it’s around, and possibly looking for a new home. 

The fear

I’m interrupting this story because I just hit an extremely fast, aggressive and venomous snake with a spade. That might sound like a foolhardy idea, but the fact is that it wasn’t an idea at all. I didn’t know the snake was there when I brought the spade down.

It was a very blunt spade, that I was using to collect soil from an old compost heap. I’m building up an area of level ground, which I’m going to hold in place with a retaining wall. So it was no sort of a weapon for dealing with something fast and angry, with enough venom to kill a couple of hundred of me with a single strike. It’s one of the dozen or so most dangerous animals in the world, and it was sleeping under grass clippings and dried leaves. It introduced itself, after I’d hit it, by hissing and starting to uncoil. 

I don’t know if you’ve ever wondered what you’d do, if you ever found yourself within a third of a metre of something deadly and angry. 

I had two thoughts. The first was that I could hit it again, harder, followed by the knowledge that I’d never be able to kill it before it had bitten me at least once. If you don’t get treated you die in about 20 minutes to half an hour. The second thought was the expression “mad as a cut snake.” I don’t know a lot about snakes, but I knew that these snakes in particular aren’t known for their forgiving natures. If I wasn’t able to kill it, I should retreat. 

I did. I said, “aaa-yah,” which is apparently a sound I make when I’m genuinely scared (I haven’t heard it before, I don’t think), and I backed away. Then I dropped the spade and ran. These things are aggressive, and they will pursue someone or something that’s pissed them off.

Luckily the ground, going uphill, isn’t the sort of ground that snakes like much. Lots of tree roots to drag themselves over. So I tripped over one of those tree roots, because I had slippery rubber gardening boots on. it struck at my boots, fortunately, so they were good enough for one thing.

And I got up at very high speed, and I got myself out of harm’s way. I haven’t been back to that part of the garden yet. I may have a glass of whisky. 

Probation Officer #95E: Assertiveness and submission

Neither Sa’afia nor I could have wanted to punch the other, even as mock-violence, even as an affectionate “joke”.

In sex, Sa’afia wanted to give her surrender and to have her surrender taken. She wanted to be given orders and to feel herself obeying them. She wanted me to find reasons to punish her, so that she could feel that she had no choice when she obeyed and served me. It wasn’t enough to surrender: she wanted to feel it. She wanted her surrender to be palpable, something she could wrap around herself like a cloak.

Dominance and submission is about tightly focussed attention.

Dominance and submission is about tightly focussed attention.

I wasn’t very experienced in bdsm. I had a lot to learn. But at least I knew ways to let her feel her surrender, and intensify her experience. While we were exploring those feelings together she didn’t want to be anything as trivial as “feisty”. She was strong and courageous. Even waiting for me, naked in her kitchen simply because I’d told her to over the phone, was extremely brave.

She could have ignored that instruction and our evening would still have been good. We’d still have found our way to bed, and I probably would have smacked her bottom lightly. I’d have done it after her first orgasm, when we were building to her second, and I thought it’d be a safe experiment: she’d like pretty much anything I did.

So we’d still have explored some very light surrender, but it would have been a much safer and flatter night.

She chose the riskier option, a definite, explicit act of obedience. It could have gone wrong. She must have worried that I might laugh at her, or that I’d take her surrender and do something stupid and cruel that genuinely hurt. She put her dignity and her safety on the line for what she wanted. That pushed us past various polite pretences and it pushed me up to match her courage. I had to take back the lead, take her surrender, and make her feel it.

What a submissive does when they kneel to serve their dominant, or they present themselves to be fucked or hurt, may not look like any traditional picture of courage. But it’s honest, assertive and brave.

At other times, Sa’afia and I would be shopping together, and she might laugh at the clothes I wanted to buy, or my taste in music. Then she might be playful, and do “feisty” like a fucking Disney fucking princess, as she’d have said. But in sex she preferred something stronger than feist.