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From Fantasy to Reality

This was written a couple weeks ago:

I’m in the process of writing a guide on how to play with fetishes, and it occurred to me one day that I should follow my own advice.  I pulled out my journal and wrote down a few of my most frequent sexual fantasies.  Most I’ve dabbled with but haven’t quite made come to life yet in the way I want.  I made a short list with bullet points of what turned me on and why.  As I looked over my list, I decided it was time to really indulge one of the oldest fantasies on the list – being a submissive, tied up and forced to be pleasured in the way I want.  And then ravaged however he wants.


I ran the general idea by my boyfriend.  “How do you feel about having a date night where I’m your slave?”  I fumbled my way around describing my idea, because even though I knew he’d be down, I was nervous.  Talking is the first step to making it real, and I haven’t made it fully real yet because I’ve been uncomfortable with my own desires.  I told him I’d like if I played the role the entire night and I came up with things for him to make me do in advance (that way he’d know how I want to be submissive, and he wouldn’t have to guess).  He loves my dirty mind, and of course agreed.  Over the next few days, my perverted brain dreamed up different scenarios and evaluated them in terms of my comfort, the logistics of making it happen, and my own ability to communicate what I want.  A day or two before our date night, I told him the basics of what I want: he puts my leash and collar on me, picks out clothes for me to wear out, we go out to eat and he picks out what I have, and then we come home, he ties me up, and plays with my pussy.  I should record myself talking like this sometime, because it certainly didn’t come out as clear as I’ve written it.  I want you readers to understand that this communication thing isn’t easy for me, just like it isn’t easy for almost everyone else I’ve been with.


So date night rolls around, and I’m still stuffed from my sister’s birthday lunch.  I can adapt.  He’s hungry though.  And I just realized I don’t have enough rope to tie all of my limbs up the way I want.  I suggest the following: how about he leashes and dresses me up, takes me out to the sex shop to buy under-the-bed restraints, and then we come back and play.  His response was – (a) he’s hungry so when’s the eating going to happen, and (b) he’s not so sure about going to the sex store with my leash.  He’d be fine doing that at a bar or a party, but not at a store.  I counter that going out in public is part of the fantasy, but he’s just not feeling it.  Okay fine, I’m adaptable.  I sat on the couch in silence for a few minutes and came up with some scenarios we could do just at home.  I tell him this, and he shares an idea of his own – how about he makes dinner for himself while I make donut dough (we just got a deep fryer and we’re on a donut-making kick. highly recommended), which has been his “job” up until now.  Then when we’re done, we can fry up the donuts together and enjoy.  Yum.


So together we build the plot for my fantasy.  First we’ll go to the sex shop as “regular” people to get the supplies I want.  When we get home he’ll put on my leash and lead me crawling around the house.  I want him to pick out something sexy to wear and make me do something sexual to set the mood.  I leave that up to him – sucking his dick, licking his feet or his ass, putting my jewel butt plug in my ass, whatever.  Then we’ll move to the kitchen, where he’ll me how to make the donuts, since I don’t actually know how.  Ooh, I get to obey orders.  Yay.  I have to ask him permission to go to the bathroom and get a drink of water.  And when he’s done eating, he’ll take me into the bedroom, restrain me, and have at it.


We got the basics down, but next I had to tell him what I wanted to happen once I was tied up.  Here’s been the challenge for me — I have crazy fantasies, but I never fantasize about receiving pleasure.  Its all the build up and the general scenario, but because I rarely orgasm from interacting with other people, its hard to imagine what would make me feel good.  Actually, its the other way around – because I don’t see myself getting pleasure from other people, I don’t get it.  That’s what this night is about – forcing myself to be in the position where I have to receive.


I give him a general rundown of what I want, but basically say to try playing with my pussy in different ways and seeing how I react.  I want him to start off light and teasing (I LOVE being teased) and build up to fingering me or eating my pussy.  I’d love if he had me restrained and then left me there by myself for a little bit, so I wouldn’t know when he was coming back.  I tell him not to fuck my pussy because there’s a chance I may be fertile right now and I don’t want to take the risk.  Now, I have no idea how this will go.  It could be amazing or it could be horrible.  However, I want to keep character regardless, so I give myself an out.  If/when I’m over it at some point, I’ll say switch and I’ll do whatever he wants me to do.  That way we both get off to my being submissive.


And so it begins.  We go to the sex shop and buy under-the-bed restraints and, on a whim, a ball gag.  I brought up the idea, but apparently he’d imagined me baking wearing a ball gag.  Great minds think alike, right?


We get home and prepare for the night, setting up the restraints and trying out the ball gag.  Its actually too big for my head, so he plays around with it, experimenting with making it smaller.  He’s great at Macgyvering things up.


So now its time to actually begin.  He tightens the leash around my neck, and walks me into the bedroom.  He picks out my white fishnet dress, pink thong panties that make my ass look amazing (he’s got an ass fetish himself), and pink and white knee socks.  I’m nervous and I put on the clothes he’s chosen.  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he says, as he pulls his dick out and tells me to suck it.  I take it in my mouth and suck.  So far I don’t feel much different than I normally would giving a blowjob – a bit distracted, somewhat aroused, trying to focus on what’s right in front of me.  But I go with it (I DO love sucking his dick).  After a couple minutes he starts unbuttoning his pants.  What’s he doing?  Is he going to fuck my ass right now?  The not-knowing brings me into the moment and I start feeling it.  He steps back to pull his dick out of my mouth, turns around and pulls his pants down.  “Lick my ass,” he orders, bending over slightly.  I scooch myself up higher on my knees to reach.  Before licking, I press my nostrils against his asshole and inhale.  It smells like him, like a dirty, funky, sweaty version of his body aroma.  Scents are an evolutionary turn-on, you know.  We’re attracted to people who smell different from our families to ensure genetic diversity.  Obviously that doesn’t always work out, but he and I must have quite different genes because his smell is intoxicating to me.  I run my tongue around the edges of his asshole.  My tongue flicks the opening to his hole, and I stick my tongue in just enough that I can taste the almost metallic flavor of the smooth lining of the anal canal.


He’s had enough, refastening his pants.  He tells me to stand up and leads me into our kitchen.  At first I wish he made me crawl in there, but then I remember we have tile floor that hasn’t been cleaned in god knows how long, so I go with it.  He hooks the end of my leash to one of the arm restraints he’d attached earlier and says nobody is allowed to touch it except him.  There’s nobody else here, but I suddenly feel like his property and my heart begins to pound harder.  He tells me how to make the donuts, and tells me to wipe off the counter when I’m done.  We hadn’t discussed that, and I’m surprised that the idea of cleaning for him is turning me on.  Normally I like things being clean, but I hate cleaning.  I’m a perfectionist, and whenever I try I never feel like its good enough, so why bother?  But now I have to clean for somebody else.  Its not about my unrealistic standards.  Its about him.


He starts to make his dinner, and I remind him to gag me up.  Reminding him kills the mood for me momentarily, but its all good.  I go with the flow.  Now I can’t talk, so as I mix up the ingredients I have to use hand motions to ask questions.  Drool is spilling down my chin, though not into the dough.  Not that I’d really care.  My mind is distracted, thinking about work, my family, something on TV yesterday – regular things I’d normally ponder while cooking.  I keep reminding myself that this is my fantasy, that I’m making these donuts FOR HIM.  It helps me stay present and over time I remind myself less and less.  I’m becoming his slave.


He’s becoming my master too.  He starts talking to me like we normally would while in the kitchen, about something political – I don’t even remember what.  I make noises in response, but can’t say anything and nor do I want to.  I start feeling annoyed that he’s talking to me like normal, but realize I didn’t tell him not to so I can’t be upset.  And even if I did, so what?  A one-sided conversation doesn’t last that long anyway, and he quiets down after he finishes his story.  Next time, I think to myself, I’ll tell him the only things he should say to me are orders, compliments, complimentary insults (slut), and anything sexual.  I refocus on the task at hand – making him donuts, and I come back to the present.


When I finish the dough, I wipe up the area of the counter he told me to clean.  And I’m surprisingly enjoying it.  I’m enjoying being his kitchen slave so much I clean up the stove and another section of the counter he didn’t ask.  At this point he’s done cooking and is sitting down on the couch in front of the TV, eating.  With slobber dripping down my chin, I rub the grease and grime off the stove, thinking to myself how I’m cleaning for my master.  I think to myself that maybe we should try this more often, and I’ll get my pussy excited and a clean house.  Who knew I could have both from the same activity?  I see that I don’t mind housework, as long as its appreciated.  And the promise of pussy play definitely shows me appreciation.  :)


When I’m done I walk into the living room, wishing I’d told him to instruct my every move.  I kneel down on the floor in front of him, watching him eat.  I motion with my head to the bathroom, and he asks if I have to go #1 or #2.  I hold up 1 finger.  He asks how bad I have to go.  I shrug my shoulders.  I want to go before we start playing with my pussy, but I can wait.  He says I have to wait then, that he wants it to feel really good when I finally go.  I’m on the floor kneeling on my legs, and I’m in my role.  Even though I don’t have to go that bad, knowing I can’t is making me horny.  I start rocking back and forth, stimulating my inner pussy muscles and clit without touching them.  My boyfriend thinks I’m doing this because I have to pee, and after a few minutes gives me permission to go.  I can’t correct him with my gag on, but it doesn’t really matter anyway.  I still want to go before the real action starts.  I go pee and when I wipe, the toilet paper is wet with pussy juice.  I hope to myself it’ll come back.  There have been times when I’ve wiped my wetness away and the mere act of doing that was a turn-off.  But I was determined to be fully turned ON today, so I decided not to worry about it.  Be in the moment.  Be the slave, and it will come.


He finishes his dinner, and I take his plate into the kitchen without him asking.  Note to self: I definitely want to be ordered to do this.  I point to my gag and he asks if I want it removed.  I’d told him earlier I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it on – it makes the jaw quite sore, like I’d popped some X earlier (I wish).  He takes it off and leads me into the bedroom on my hands and knees.  I climb onto the bed while he fastens my restraints to the bed.  I’m spread eagle and at his mercy.


He sits on the bed between my legs, looking at me, almost like he’s plotting his next move.  Probably is – I hadn’t given him that clear of instructions for this part, so a lot of the action was up to him.  He lightly ran his fingers up and down my thighs and pussy area, relaxing me, reminding me to be present.  He proceeds to play with my pussy in ways he’s never done before.  I still have my panties on, and he teases the fuck out of me by waving his hands in front of my pussy *almost* touching it, just *barely* grazing it here and there.  I lift my hips as high as I can to meet his hands, as he pulls them just out of my pussy’s reach.  Yes, this is what I wanted, yet I never would have come up with this.  Points for my master.  He kisses my thighs and lightly licks my clit.  He tickles my feet, something I suggested he try earlier.  I’ve known there’s something about my feet that seems to be linked directly to my vagina, but haven’t experimented with it much.  His light touch makes me laugh and squirm.


He pulls his dick out of his boxer briefs (my new favorite underwear for him) and lightly rubs it around my vulva, teasing the opening and pulling back.  Its all about pulling back, giving a little then taking it away, more and more and more until I can’t stand it.  That’s what my pussy wants, and I’ve known for a long time but didn’t feel comfortable with it.  I didn’t know how to communicate it.  I didn’t think he or any guys wanted to play that way.  After all, his dick definitely wasn’t getting off on this, though it was hard most of the time (from what I could see).  I see how I’ve pushed my desires aside because of my own hangups + stupid social norms that tell me sex is what makes a dick cum (even though I’ve spent countless hours reading and teaching about how this isn’t the case).  And I can’t help but note the irony of coming to this realization while I’m playing slave.  How its taken completely giving myself over to someone else (a man, in particular) to understand and experience what my body wants.


These thoughts are floating through my mind – can’t experience anything without my own commentary, it sometimes seems.  But I’m largely focused on my pussy, on the experience, since I can’t move anywhere anyway.  I feel how I want him to stop, but I don’t really want him to stop.  I feel how I’d normally push away my own pleasure, how I tend to rush past building up my own arousal because I’m so concerned about his (and so uncomfortable with mine).  I feel it because I can’t change the activity, I’m at his mercy.  I want to tell him to just fuck me anyway, even though my mental fertility alert was high, even though its not really what I wanted in the long run (not that I wouldn’t love it).  But I let the resistance pass.  And pass.  And pass.  It comes in waves, but when I focus on my breathing and my pussy I come back to present.


He builds up my arousal, then gets off the bed and leaves me there.  He’ll be back.  I know he’s going to sit on the couch, smoke a bowl, and watch TV for a few minutes before returning.  I know him.  But I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, or even how much time is passing.  Its probably only a few minutes, but the not-knowing… yeah, I like that.  I’m laying across the bed, and focusing on my breathing, on techniques I read about in Barbara Carellas’ Urban Tantra.  I’m not completely focused, but I’m somewhat there, so I think its helping.  I get distracted when one of our cats jumps on the bed, purring.  She has a great habit of being a little monkey, getting in the middle of whatever’s going on, and today’s no different.  She’s got to check out the situation and rub her purring face all over it, or in this case – me.  I giggle as I see that the universe will always send potential distractions to your “goals,” but the key is to stay focused on what I want.  And what I want is for my pussy to feel things its rarely or never experienced before.


My master returns, and laughs at our silly kitty who’s rolling over on my left side, in the space between my arm and leg.  He gets back to business, now using the cold chain of my leash against my clit, dropping it lightly down (panties pulled aside) to barely touch the hood, sending chills down my spine.  He rubs and licks the outer lips of my pussy, where the legs of the clitoris extend down toward the perineum.  He pulls the leash so my neck must sit up, and I watch him masturbating.  Is he doing this because he likes it, or is he going to do something with his cock?  I love not knowing, and I love watching him jerk off, so I’m happy whatever happens.  He loosens his grip on his dick and places the black leather leash handle around it.  He puts his dick inside my panties (still on), and gives me space to rub my pussy up, down, and around it as much as I’m able while strapped to the bed.  I experiment with the moves I’m able to make, and quickly become tired – these are muscles I’m not used to using.  My arousal is going down, but I’m committed to doing what he wants and giving it my all, so I keep going.  After several minutes, he pulls away – my pube stubble is chafing him.  I tell him my pussy wants to be filled up, half hoping he’ll shove his dick in there anyway, even though I told him not to.  He knows me, real well.  He positions himself almost sideways, so he can get his cock inside, and slowly works his way in.  I’m moaning with excitement, all the while worrying about his precum and knowing this would distract me from my pleasure “goal.”  Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I think by that point we were both losing steam.


He does listen to me though.  He pulls his dick out after a  minute or two, because of the instructions I’d given him earlier.  I ask him to finger me – not very slave-like, and I make a mental note to tell him: next time more penetration, maybe with a dildo too.  Because holy shit did it feel amazing.  Even though I was almost losing interest, my body was already turned on enough that I jump into present as his fingers work my g-spot.  Normally, I’d pull back after a minute or two because the sensation is so intense.  Its not an option this time, and I’m thankful.  The restraints give me something to push and pull against; I try to get away and am aroused by the fact that I can’t.  It forces me to accept what he’s doing to my body and to enjoy it.  I breathe.  I breathe to relax my pussy, and as I do I felt it open, dripping wet.  He works my g-spot for several minutes, as I overcome several urges to scream STOP!  I accept the pleasure, and I even feel my pussy muscles contract a few times around his fingers.  Not an orgasm, but definitely on the right path.  Of course, the moment I notice this I’m pulled out of the situation, which sets me back.  But that’s okay, because what else can I do except get back in.  I want to be in my role, and I’m determined that my body will feel, for once.  So I relax, breathe, and feel the warmth emanate from a place deep inside me I can’t quite pinpoint.


After awhile, his hand gets tired.  I don’t blame him, especially in that position.  And by then I was overwhelmed with the sensation, so I welcomed the break.  Perhaps this means I needed more, I needed to push past this wall of resistance too.  Next time, I think to myself, we’ll play with a dildo more to save his fingers.  Maybe save them for last – my favorite.  He curls them up just right inside my pussy, I can feel it now as I’m typing.


I tell him I’ll do whatever he want now, so he unhooks my restraints from the bed and fastens them to themselves – right arm to left leg and vice versa.  I’m in a weird little doggy style ball, and my hands are right at my pussy.  He expertly works his dick into my ass, licking my hole, making sure there’s enough spit, pushing it in, telling me to squeeze, and pulling it back out.  Lather, rinse, repeat as needed.  He’s great at ass fucking, let me tell you.  He builds up to some hardcore butt fucking while I play with my clit  I can feel his cock pushing against my g-spot through the wall of my anal canal, wanting him to pound it with all his strength (and he’s pretty strong).  Its not as intense as being fingered, its not (yet) orgasm-worthy, but it feels great.  He comes, pretty much all over the bed.  See normally he comes in my mouth, but I’m tangled in my bondage gear and can’t get into position fast enough.  Eh, I don’t care.  We’ll wash the sheets…eventually.  He unhooks me and we both lay there panting, telling each other “I love you” and what a great time we just had.  We’re very appreciative of one another – that’s a big reason we have such amazing sex.  We leave the room to clean up (I’ve got gobs of spit in and around my asshole), and when done I pull him back to the bedroom.  I want to masturbate to orgasm, and I want him with me.


I place a condom on my clone-a-willy of his dick.  Its the only dildo I regularly play with – my favorite shape and size.  It doesn’t wash well and gives me yeast infections, so I have to use a condom.  Besides, the material is a bit rough, so the condom smooths it out.  I digress.  My pussy is wet and open; it slides in easily.  I’m so horny it only takes a few minutes, laying on my back with my legs close together.  While I love the sensation of being fucked, when I masturbate I hold the dildo inside me and pulse it up against my g-spot.  I do this with my left hand, while my right presses against my vulva, or more accurately – my body pushes my vulva up against my hand.  He lays with his armpit near my face, and I breathe in the smell of his sex sweat while I cum.  I lay there for a minute, then do it again.


The whole night came down to those two orgasms.  Here’s the challenge, so to speak, of my body.  We spent the whole night exciting my pussy, and yet my orgasms were somewhat anticlimactic.  I feel my pattern of disassociation, where I stop feeling it just as I cum.  It feels amazing right before, almost at the peak of pleasure, my body yearning to let go and feel it reverberate through my entire being.  Yet as I cross over into the o-zone, the tingly warm fuzziness fades.  My pussy contracts – I feel that the orgasm has happened.  I feel somewhat satisfied.  I’m still horny, but my energy is drained.  Nonetheless, I’m thankful for my orgasms.  Grateful to have some release.  In the past there have been months, maybe years, where I felt none.


Its donut time anyway.


All in all, a great night.  I’ve spent the last two days telling him how amazing it was.  Both in general, and specific points.  Positive reinforcement works wonders.


We’ll definitely do this again.  I’m already coming up with things for me to clean (that stack of dishes isn’t getting any smaller), and now that we’ve done it once we can refine our roles more clearly.  It was an awesome feeling to trust him – to give him complete control over my body, and for him to respect it, playing by my rules.  I don’t know how other couples do it, but in my experience the sub role is really the one in charge.  The sub sets the limits; the dom weaves a tapestry of pleasure for the sub, bringing them close then pulling them back, so the sub can simply experience.  At least, that’s what being submissive means to me.


As I finished up the above paragraph, my boyfriend came in to see me lying on my stomach, naked on the bed.  He called me by one of my 40 vajillion pet names, spread my ass cheeks, and smelled and licked my asshole.  He pulled my body up so he could lick my clit as I grinded (ground? ha) my pussy against his face.  I love my life.


Edited: September 26th, 2011

Embodied Knowledge – The First Step to Communcation

I posit:

Communication = Knowledge + Safety


Good sex requires communication.  To communicate, you must know what you want and feel safe expressing it.  Today I’m writing about knowledge.


If your partner asked about sex, “What do you like?  What will bring you to orgasm?” would you be able to answer?  For years and years, my answer was no.  Sex happened to me.  Occasionally it was good, usually it was mediocre-to-bad.  I had no idea what I wanted.  I’d been masturbating since age 8, but it was typically a shameful act for me.  Most of them time (with a few important exceptions), I’d do it as fast as possible to avoid getting caught, and to avoid seeing myself as a sexual person.  Sexual feelings confused me because I felt like I wasn’t supposed to have them.  After all, look around you.  At the grocery store or the bank – do those people look like they have sex?  Asexuals aside, most everyone has sex (and even some asexuals will for their partners), but you rarely see “sex” in your average person.  We reserve that for porn stars and prostitutes that we simultaneously condemn – the good old sexual double standard.


When I was a teenager, I had my first orgasm with another person – my first serious boyfriend.  We were making out in my room – we’d only been together a few weeks or so (long time in teen land), and the sexual tension was ever present.  I laid on top of him while we made out, fully clothed, grinding my pussy against his crotch.  And I came.  He never knew – I didn’t tell him.  It happened a couple other times before I began holding back.  It wasn’t a conscious decision though it was certainly a decision, rooted in my discomfort with my own sexuality.  Later, when he fingered me or ate my pussy, I had nothing to say.  It didn’t feel that great and nothing he tried made much difference.  I’d cut off my own pleasure.


This pattern continued on and off through most of my sexual experiences.  Sometimes I’d be there and it’d be like my partner read my mind – everything “happened” so perfectly.  But most of the time it was awkward, boring, and uncomfortable.  I felt acted upon and had little sense that I could shape my own sexual experiences.  How could I say what I wanted when I didn’t even know?


I continued to masturbate, but almost the same way as in childhood.  I took care of it the same way I brushed my teeth – with little presence, feeling, or enjoyment.  Pure physical necessity/routine.


Over the last several years I took steps to free my sexuality.  I found a partner who is open minded and willing to play how I want to play.  I read books about the female anatomy and watched how-to videos for practical advice (thanks, Nina Hartley).  But nothing I read gave me the knowledge of what I wanted.  No one else could tell me, except me.  And certainly I was the only one who could tell my partner(s).  My boyfriend is good at feeling my sexual energy, but he’s no psychic.


I had a major breakthrough with T.A., my tantric teacher.  I met her about 6 weeks ago; she taught me (and a large group of others) how to eat fire.  That is, we created a small torch and put it out in our mouths.  Before doing so, we set an intention that eating this fire was to represent – something we wanted to create in our lives.  I wanted to consistently orgasm from oral sex with my boyfriend.  Its happened on occasion before, but through a combination of factors we were not able to make it a regular occurrence.  Rather, I was not able to make it happen.  Our typical practice became for me to masturbate as part of our sex together, and I was tired of allowing my personal sexual discomfort to limit the intimacy we shared together.  I knew I was physiologically able to orgasm this way, and that he was skilled enough with his mouth.  The problem was in my mind, while the anxiety was stored in my vagina like a knot in your shoulder.


We went through a series of exercises – she had me tell her my whole sexual story, from the first time I felt sexual until present.  She asked me what the little girl inside me needed to hear about sexuality to free my mental and physical blocks, then metaphorically acted as a mother teaching her child about the wonder of the human body.  She taught me breathing exercises to draw my sexual energy up into my entire body – also something to focus my mind away from anxious thoughts.  She massaged my g-spot like you would any other muscle, pressing on various places until the tension released.  She played with my clitoris and g-spot in a context where there was nowhere to go, no goal in mind, just play.  She asked me what I wanted for each spot she touched, and whether it was okay to touch in the first place.  And when my mind took over and removed me from my body, we stopped, just like that.  She helped me release my past sexual beliefs, showed me what my body was capable of, and helped me understand how much I am in control of my own sexual destiny (and sometimes being in control means surrendering to myself and my body).


Today I asked my boyfriend to play with my pussy.  And for the first time I knew what I wanted.  I asked him to make out with me, and I put his hands on my body where I wanted to be touched, when I wanted to be touched there.  I breathed the way T.A. taught me.  When he began exploring my pussy, it was a joint effort – he tried different moves with his fingers and mouth, and I told him to change this way or that.  I didn’t have an orgasm, but I wasn’t looking to have one anyway.  The orgasm doesn’t matter, the pleasure does.  And I felt it – because I co-created it with him.  I wasn’t comfortable enough to let go with her, but I know that I can with him.  And I will.


Intentions are powerful.  I intended to have an experience – to be fair, I still haven’t had it, but I’m on the journey to getting there.  The journey to the place where I understand it IS all about the journey, not the destination.  My sexual knowledge didn’t come from a book or DVD, though those certainly helped.  Before I could access what my body wants, I had to let go of and recreate the past – in both mind and body.  I had to release shame, guilt, embarrassment, anxiety, and pain to allow space for pleasure.  Knowledge is not in the mind.  Its in the heart.  Communication comes from the heart.


Edited: September 20th, 2011

Why I Love Fetish, Part 1

I’ve made fetish videos on and off over the last 2.5 years.  Understanding the diversity of fetish, I know I could never say I’ve done it all… because trust me, there are dozens of clips4sale categories I haven’t tried yet. :)   That being said, I’ve dabbled in quite a bit of fetish and I’ve come to several conclusions as to why I enjoy it so much.  This is the first entry in a series I call: Why I Love Fetish.


Reason #1: It gives me the opportunity to expand my sexual repertoire.


Sex should be fun – otherwise, why bother?


Fetish is the epitome of fun, in my book anyway.  I’m a very open minded person when it comes to sex.  I’m a weirdo, pervert, whatever you want to call it, so how could I possibly judge anyone else?  I don’t stop at not judging though.  I want to experience.


Most of the fetishes I film aren’t mine – they’re my fans’.  Oh, I’m so objectified, doing sexual stuff for others and getting nothing for myself except cold hard cash.  Uh, NOT.  The money’s great, but its not so good I’d sell my principles.  Fetish is my principle.  Play is my principle.  And while I’ve got a fabulously dirty mind, I relish the experience to try crazy things I’d have never thought of.


Before making fetish videos, I had a limited understanding of sexual diversity.  Yeah, BDSM, sure.  I’d heard of furries, and who doesn’t know about the old foot fetish?  But never in my life would I have expected to make money playing with toys, pretending to be a giant woman.  A giant bitch, a giant lover, or both – I’ve come to understand the giantess fetish quite well.  I have to credit Katharine Gates’ Deviant Desires: Incredibly Strange Sex for giving me greater insight into this fetish, among others.  But I didn’t read this until I’d been modeling for over 2 years.  I’d given up playing with toys years ago.  Not having a giantess fetish myself, why would I have integrated tiny little men into my sex life?


For a full catalog of the fetishes I’ve dabbled in, my clip store is obviously the place to view my library.  But here I’d like to recount some of the most fun fetishes I’ve tried, and what I learned from them:


Shoes and Socks on Hands and Feet: This was a private clip, a request from someone I found on craigslist.  I sent him a series of fully clothed images and a short video wearing shoes and socks on my hands and feet.  He preferred sneakers and white gym socks.  I wasn’t even dressed sexy – a slightly baggy long-sleeved shirt and jeans.  He sent me some sample photos so I’d know what he was looking for, and my photo/video set showed me putting them on – sock, sock, shoe, shoe – then posing in different positions.  I asked him about the origin and meaning of his fetish by email, and he said he didn’t know where it came from or why he thought it was hot.  I have to say, I don’t get it.  But who cares?  It gave my boyfriend and I an afternoon of laughter, and food for thought for years to come.  I learned that nothing, I mean NOTHING, is off-limits when it comes to fetish.  No way would I have EVER come up with this as a fetish, and I’ve never heard of anything like this elsewhere.


Vaccuuming Giantess: I had several requests for giantess vacuuming, but one took the cake.  I began the clip vacuuming (hey, the floor needed it anyway – that’s what I call multitasking).  The camera took the position as a tiny man hiding in the carpet.  I vacuumed away until I saw him.  Oh, his ass was mine!  I “chased” him around with the vacuum while he ran and hid behind pieces of furniture.  It was obvious I’d win, but I gave him a good run.  Finally, I vacuumed him up… the camera angle switched from BEING him to SHOWING a teeny tiny (.25″) man laying on the carpet in surrender.  The grand finale?  I ran my vacuum over and sucked him up.  Yep, people jerk off to that.  Talk about a fantasy that’s strictly, well, fantasy (unless giant women invade the planet with their giant vacuum cleaners).  And I learned that fantasy is not always rooted in reality.  I’ve long understood that not all fantasies are “meant” to become real, but this clip helped me see how many fantasies are limited to the mind.  The only way I can imagine this fantasy coming true is if a man laid on the floor while a woman put the vacuum cleaner over his face.  Maybe someone’s done that before, who knows.  But that’s about as close as you can get.


Nose Pinching: WTF is nose pinching, you ask?  Smashing one’s nose, with fingers, objects, against glass, etc.  I’ve done two of these clips – one against a glass plate and one holding pantyhose against my nose.  The guy who requested these was especially into the “pig nose” look.  Honestly, I don’t know what’s sexy about this.  Maybe some girl made faces at the guy when he was younger and smooshed her face against a glass window at him.  I don’t normally think about the nose as a sexualized part of the body, except to take in my lovers’ smell (yum).  This was another goofy fun clip to do – its hard to keep a straight (and sexy) face for 3-6 minutes doing something so wacky.  So not sexual… except it is!  I learned that there are parts of me that are sexy that I don’t usually consider.  I learned that my nose is masturbation-worthy – considering I wanted a nose job as a teenager (I don’t now), I take it as a compliment.  I learned that something can be sexy in one context, and obnoxious in another (imagine a bratty kid smashing his face at you through a glass window).  Well, I hope those are separate contexts anyway.


Cum Eating Instruction: Okay, this one’s been both a request AND my own fetish, so I’ve recently learned.  Since I’m into this one, I’ll give you my personal take on it.   See, men haven’t exactly lined up at my door begging to forcibly eat their own cum, not that I’d mind.  Straight men are so preoccupied with their masculinity that the slightest “gay” thing freaks them out.  If masculinity and heterosexuality were less closely intertwined, I’m certain we’d see more male bisexuality – if not full blown, at least bi play.  You see, I eat my own pussy juice all the time.  I like how it tastes.  I’ll gladly suck it off my boyfriend’s dick or lick it off his face after he eats my pussy.  Of course, I’m bi, and I like eating other girls’ too, but I don’t think its my sexual orientation that makes the difference.  There’s not a social taboo against women eating their own body fluids (probably because straight dudes like and encourage it).  But there’s a huge taboo against eating one’s own guy cum.  OMG WHAT IF IT MAKES YOU GAY?  God fucking forbid.  I love taboo.  I love breaking taboos.  I love men – straight men – who can be “forced” to break taboos (I’m also into forced crossdressing, forced feminization, and forced bi – that against-their-will shit).  When I’m making a cum eating instruction video, I know they’re doing it because I told them to.  I love knowing whoever buys it will (hopefully) swallow their own nut at the end, because most guys wouldn’t… and the fact that they want to be forced to shows that a part of them doesn’t want to either.  I’ve NEVER been with a guy who’s into this in real life, so making these videos has been a great source of exploration for me.  I’ve learned that clips4sale can be my own sexual outlet, my own playground to discover desires I haven’t had much chance to indulge in “real life.”



So yes, I’m highly experienced when it comes to the weird.  I won’t pretend its not weird, because it is.  That’s what makes it fun.  That’s what makes it fetish.  I celebrate the weirdness in myself, in my partners, and of course in my customers.  I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for their crazy perverted minds, in addition to my own.  By playing out others’ desires, it feeds my imagination and makes me more creative in my personal sex life too.  I’m grateful my understanding and experience of sexuality is constantly being challenged.  It’d be a sad day if I learned I’d done it all, but people are so unique I don’t think that’ll ever be the case.  There are always new things to try.  Come join me!


Edited: September 15th, 2011