Archive for the ‘Kink’ Category

This is an email I received on March 13, 2012

Smashwords author/publisher update:  PayPal Reverses Proposed Censorship

Great news.  Yesterday afternoon I met with PayPal at their office in San Jose, where they informed me of their decision to modify their policies to allow legal fiction.

Effective last night, we rolled back the Smashwords Terms of Service to its pre-February 24 state.

It’s been a tumultuous, nerve-wracking few weeks as we worked to protect the right of writers to write and publish legal fiction.

I would like to express my sincere thanks to Smashwords authors, publishers and customers.  You stood up and made your voice known.  Thank you to every Smashwords author and publisher who wrote me to express opinions, even if we disagreed, and even if you were angry with me. You inspired me to carry your cause forward.

Smashwords authors, publishers and customers mobilized. You made telephone calls, wrote emails and letters, started and signed petitions, blogged, tweeted, Facebooked and drove the conversation. You made the difference.  Without you, no one would have paid attention. I would also like to thank the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF), The American Booksellers Foundation for Free Expression (ABFFE) and the National Coalition Against Censorship (NCAC). These three advocacy groups were the first to stand up for our authors, publishers and customers. Their contribution cannot be overstated.  We collaborated with them to build a coalition of like-minded organizations to support our mutual cause. Special kudos to Rainey Reitman of EFF for her energy, enthusiasm and leadership.

I would also like to thank all the bloggers and journalists out there who helped carry our story forward by lending their platforms to get the story out.  Special thanks to TechCrunch, Slashdot, TechDirt, The Independent (UK), Reuters, Publishers Weekly, Dow Jones, The Digital Reader, CNET, Forbes, GalleyCat & EbookNewser and dozens of others too numerous to mention.

I would like to thank our friends at PayPal.  They worked with us in good faith as they promised, engaged us in dialogue, made the effort to understand Smashwords and our mission, went to bat for our authors with the credit card companies and banks, and showed the courage to revise their policies.

This is a big, bold move by PayPal.  It represents a watershed decision that protects the rights of writers to write, publish and distribute legal fiction.  It also protects the rights of readers to purchase and enjoy all fiction in the privacy of their own imagination. It clarifies and rationalizes the role of financial services providers and pulls them out of the business of censoring legal fiction.

Following implementation of their new policies, PayPal will have the most liberal, pro-First-Amendment policies of the major payment processors.  Will Google Checkout and Checkout by Amazon be next now that the credit card companies have clarified their positions, and have essentially given payment providers the permission to adopt more enlightened policies?   Finally, thanks to Selena Kitt of Excessica and Remittance Girl for helping me to understand and respect all fiction more than I ever have before.

This is a bright day for indie publishing.  In the old world, traditional publishers were the arbiters of literary merit.  Today, thanks to the rise of indie ebooks, the world is moving toward a broader, more inclusive definition of literary merit. Smashwords gives writers the power and freedom to publish.  Merit is decided by your readers.  Just as it should be.


Mark Coker


This is the list of entrance prices/membership fees for a ‘hedonists” ‘sex club’ in Toronto, Canada.

It is a very interesting example of the different values of men and women in the ‘sex’ marketplace. Even in the ‘recreational’ sex marketplace.

Why do you think it costs only $5 basic entry for a single woman and $80 for a single man?

I expect it is mainly because there are not enough women going to these clubs and so they need to give women incentives to go.

And because if there are too many men, the club will go from being ‘hedonist’ to being ‘homo’.

Also, single men are often treated, in the club scene, as predatory- see the sign at the bottom: NO touching without permisssion!, and the note saying ‘single gents will be admitted at the discretion of the management’- and kind of potentially ‘creeps’.

In some clubs there is a genre of man that regular clubbers call ‘the wanky man’. A man who does not take part in the ‘action’ but instead, stands around watching and probably masturbating. This is portrayed as unsightly, perverted and somehow aggressive to the other clubbers, especially women.

It is almost as if men themselves are seen as a problem, unless they play by the rules.

It’s no wonder many men go to all-male clubs, saunas and gyms. There may not be any women there, but at least they are not having their sexuality policed within an inch of its life.

‘I tried to explain to Mr X that it would only be really fun for me if they really genuinely hated it. And he said what about consent? And I said er…

That’s why I shouldn’t be allowed out to explore my sadistic side. I am quite a literal person.’

That in fact sums up my whole problem with sex. I have to hate it to enjoy it but that is hard to arrange, without risking genuine debasement/assault/despair. And all the feminist submissive books and blogs in all the world have not told me how to reconcile that paradox. And neither has Mr Foucault.

Also- why hasn’t anyone just said that? Why do they write such convoluted justifications and ruminations on such a simple problem? I guess Wilde and Crisp and Vidal have said it. But hetero women never do. Not even Anais Nin. Especially not her.

Is it because women need to hang on to ‘victim status’ for when it all inevitably goes pear shaped?

Is it because they need to hang on to the myth of the Great. Dark. Man?


The Ethical Slut

Posted: February 8, 2011 in Desire, Kink, Uncategorized

“A slut is a person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.”

— Easton, D. and Liszt, C.(1997) The Ethical Slut: A Guide to Infinite Sexual Possibilities, Greenery Press.

The Ethical Slut is the Bible of kink. Or one of them. Of ‘feminist’ kink. ‘Sex positive kink’. I have read bits of it. I kind of went with it at first.

But now I think it’s bullshit.

I don’t want to be an ‘ethical slut’. It’s like being a ‘feminist submissive’. Or a ‘respectable pervert’.

And I don’t think sex is nice.

And I don’t know if pleasure is good for you or not.

And I want it to be possible for me to be degenerate.

And I don’t want to separate myself from sluts who do it for the money.

Or out of desperation (everyone is desperate, aren’t they? Aren’t they?)

I don’t need a handbook.

I don’t need your approval.

Ethics are ‘rules’ and hierarchies with a semblance of a social conscience.

There has to be a point where we abandon everything.


Posted: November 7, 2010 in Kink, Uncategorized, Writing
Tags: ,

I had a friend who described once in quite a bit of detail, how she fisted her lover as a ‘submissive act’. I couldn’t get my head round it.

He was a surgeon I think. (Oh god or did I make that up? I don’t think so. He had a good job. He was Australian and married I know that much). The surgeon idea stayed with me because of the way she described the fisting ‘operation’.

She put on a red silk long glove I think. Or was it black and rubber? The point is I imagined her putting the glove on herself and stretching it up over her wrist, all the way up her arm to her shoulder.

And then turning to his ass laid out before her, and massaging it gently opening it up gradually, widening the hole. Before placing one gloved finger in, then two then three. And spreading her hand slowly open like a flower blooming in slow motion on a nature programme. I don’t know how she did it. Ive never done it or had it done. But I know she did.

I just don’t understand how he was the dominant partner in that situation? Lying on his front his arse in the air, or what on his back, his legs up her surgeons glove going in to find his innermost organs. The pain??

My conclusion is that when people say words like ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’. ‘top’ and ‘bottom’ they dont know what they are talking about.

When one person has her fist up another person’s arse, she’s fisting him. She is the do-er. He is the receiver.

Power is everywhere and it never only goes in one direction. We try to harness it but we can’t.

She is a strong woman I was scared of her myself.

I just wish people would be more clear.

Piss Flower

Posted: October 20, 2010 in Kink, Porn, Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Before we go to sleep, he whispers in my ear:

‘If you need to piss in the night you must ask my permission. OK?’

‘Ok’ I say. I don’t really think about what this means. I am battered, my mind is still bent out of shape.

Earlier he told me to piss and he collected it in a bowl and put his dick in the salty liquid and told me to suck.

So I sucked. And I didn’t know which of us was inside who or how a cunt and a mouth and a dick can become as one.

I can’t explain why but there was something magical and serene about this act.

You have to walk through the glass doors into the other world to know what I am talking about.

But now I am battered, and bruised, and I feel like I am a child. Like someone else is in charge and it’s all going to be ok.

Sleep descends on our tired bodies, the smells and scars of sex sticking to our skin like bits of cum, or blood.

My dreams are a waterfall, a hot spring, a river bursting its banks.

At dawn the light jolts me awake. I need to piss. I still feel like a child, but this time I am scared. My bladder is bursting with shame.

Can I just sneak to the toilet without waking him? What if I wait too long and wet myself? Did  he really mean it or was it a joke, a trick?  What if he tells me I’m a stupid, dirty slut, for imagining he’d told me to ask if I could go for a piss?  

In the end, I can’t hold it in any longer. He stirs next to me and the first thing I say is:

‘I need to piss’.

‘Good girl’ he says. ‘Good girl’.

It wasn’t a joke. I did the right thing. I feel relief wash through me as he takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom.

We are still in the other world. The room is filled with an aura, an electricity.  I sit, naked, pissing. I  look up at him in awe and wonder at how something  so basic I have been doing all my life can suddenly seem exciting, and beautiful.

The joyful sound of piss hitting ceramic and water, a golden stream splashing into our consciousness, waking us up this morning.

We are completely new.

Image: Piss Flower by Helen Chadwick (RIP)

It’s a mid-week evening in January, in a northern middle-class home. The Sainsbury’s Sauvignon is magically appearing from the fridge, finding our open mouths so effortlessly. We stand around admiring the newly-converted designer (yet rustic) kitchen. Tonight,conversation is easy, relaxed. We know each other well enough not to have to make too much of an effort. There is no need to impress with our sparkling wit or our in-depth knowledge of what the guardian says about the latest Cohen brothers film (it’s not a patch on Fargo though is it?).

The wine, the familiarity, the mid-week slackening off of social etiquette, its all pointing to one thing: an inarticulate, loud debate about something we barely know anything about.What’s the topic going to be tonight?

‘Sex changes- they do my head in’ someone splutters. Sex changes it is then. Oh how we all agree. They are wrong. from a feminist point of view-gender is not biological is it darling? It’s all about social construction. You can’t surgically remove years of upbringing! They are wrong. From an economic point of view. Its only in the affluent west anyone can afford a sex change, and the medical companies are making a fast buck out of peoples misery. In Thailand Ladyboys just hack their bits off with a stanley knife. I know, darling its awful. And why are there more men having them than women? Well, pipes up Audrey. Women might have more possibilities for being ‘male’ or acting out ‘male roles’ and staying female than men do the other way round. A valid point I have to admit. But I need more wine. Encouraged by the vague nodding around her, Audrey continues:

‘I mean, butch lesbians can use strap-ons and be like men that way can’t they?’

For the first time all night it goes quiet. The easy boozy lazy flow of the patter is stopped in its tracks. Audrey turns to me for support. It doesn’t come.

‘Feminine women use strap-ons too’ I suggest, a little bit tentatively. Then I look down at my feet.

‘Feminist women?’blasts audrey. Now she is confused.

‘No,’ I gently retort, ‘feminine women’. ( Feminine women like me? I feel something unfamiliar stir inside me. )

‘Well I wouldn’t know about that’. And there it is. On her sauvignon-flushed faux-naive face. That expression. One that would look just right on a daily-mail-reading, homosexual-hating-princess-diana-loving-not-in-my-back-yard-bore. The one that says ‘I am not going to think about that because it rocks my nice little safe world where normal people do normal things and other people are weird and evil’.

‘ I do’ , I say, more forceful now,’I’ve done some research’.

Audrey stares at me as if I am a freak stranger that has been parachuted into her lovely new kitchen to cause an upset and spoil the feng shui. She opens her mouth but decides not to say anything. The sauvignon is falling in loud torrents into her emptied glass. The conversation is being swiftly moved on to something…else. Something that doesn’t spill onto the newly-laid parquet floor and make an unsightly mess.

I’ve never worn a strap-on before Audrey. I will now. Just for you.

Stiletto Rage

Posted: September 18, 2010 in Feminism, Kink
Tags: ,

Arguing about gender roles is something I love to do. I have realised that I particularly enjoy doing it with dominant men, even when I am within striking distance. Foolish maybe, but I cannot help myself.

A typical argument might go along these lines:

Him:’I would like to see you in stilettos and a tight pencil skirt’.

Me:’That’s such a fucking cliche. Why does the collective imagination of all the male dominants in the world get reduced to a woman in heels and a revealing outfit?’

Him:’Because it looks good. And you would be restricted and exposed at the same time’.

Me: ‘It’s not fucking fair. Women submissives have to fit into this cliched stereotype of femininity in order to fulfil their need to be submissive. And I am a feminist and it makes me angry to be forced into a role I have been resisting all my life’.

Him: ‘Oh good. So you might find it humiliating as well. Excellent’.

Me: ‘GGGrrr. That’s not the point. Why can’t men think of other ways to objectify women apart from the ways they are already objectified in society?’

Him: ‘Shut up and put those shoes on, bitch’.

Games Perverts Play is here!

Games Perverts Play : stories and essays from the sidelines of pornography…

Games Perverts Play is a new and unique collaborative writing project, edited by Quiet Riot Girl

Games Perverts Play uses pornography and essays  to explore the less examined sides of our libidos, and to dissect our sexualities. Gender, power, pain and violence are all present in the background when we play. This project brings them to the fore, and enables us to look afresh at what it is we are doing when we write about sex, when we play sex games, and when sex gets serious.

First edition September 2010: OBJECTIFIED

We are told every day that women in particular are objectified in our culture, particularly by pornography. The word is supposed to have negative connotations.

But what happens when a bunch of writers take that word, and roll it round their tongues. What emerges from their pens? Their cunts and their dicks?

Here, writers Dan holloway, Marc Nash, Penny Goring, Mark Simpson, M de Winter, Arjun Basu and the editor, Quiet Riot Girl have objectified ourselves for your pleasure, and maybe your discomfort too.

We hope you enjoy the experience.

‘There are just rather more straight men than gay men – and I find they make much better bottoms….’

I read this sentence on the ‘bottom half of the internet’, that murky underworld that is filled, not quite in equal measure, with a mixture of incomprehensible gibberish, mundanity and real insight into the human condition. It resonated so strongly with me, that I wanted to virtually stand up and point at it, like people on comments sections do sometimes, and scream THIS!  in capitals. I am not that expert in internet memes, but, OMG! Fuck. Yes.

I am a heterosexual woman. I have realised, after demonstrating my capacity for masochism – physical, emotional and psychological- with quite impressive consistency in all my relationships with men, that I too inhabit the  ‘bottom half’, not of the internet (though I do quite like it down there too), but of the psycho-sexual power dynamic, that impacts on all our relationships, whether consciously or otherwise.

I have things to say about this realisation, about the brief, sweet, ecstatic, relief of finally acknowledging that if I have been getting hurt throughout my sexual history, this is in part at least, because I want to get hurt.  And oh it can hurt so good. I also have things to say about the ‘come-down’ from my first S and M high, the ‘drop’. The drop that nobody told me would just keep dropping on my analytical, reflective, ‘feminist’ (and I think that word has some vestiges of  meaning left here) head. Heterosexual M/f  S and M? With no political, psychological, emotional, gendered fall-out? Forget it.

I think two case studies might actually help to describe my experience much better than any attempt at analysis. They speak for themselves. These are two men I met over the course of the last few years. I am calling them Mr Gay and Mr Gayer. And you will see why.

Case Study #1: Mr Gay

I met Mr Gay on a ‘blind date’ via the internet. We had chatted quite a bit online. He was a kinky fucker, and I was drawn to his dominant style of communication. We had amazing phone sex in which we relayed quite intense fantasy scenarios to each other, and I said words out loud I had never uttered before, like ‘yes sir’. and ‘your whore’. Once we came simultaneously, which I think is quite an achievement.

We met in Manchester as I’d got tickets for a gig. He was suitably …intense. He pushed against me in the lift from the car park, making me wonder if he was going to take me right there. But he didn’t.

On the way I had to pick up keys to my mate’s flat where we were staying, from a bar in ‘Gay Village’. As we approached Canal St,  I could sense Mr Gay getting more tentative in his steps. At the entrance to the bar he stopped and refused to enter. I was speechless. So I left him at the canalside, fetched the keys and returned to a pale-faced ghost. Was he actually scared that he would be bummed on the spot by a bunch of poofs drinking cocktails and listening to Kylie? As we walked to the gig I felt my hard-on soften and die in my knickers.

The night never really recovered. He managed to grab me in the corridor back at the flat. He spanked me, naked, over his knee. I tried to make it happen. But deep down I knew it was a lost cause. When it finally came to it, his attempt at fucking me was… adolescent? clumsy? I have blotted it out of my brain. Basically his dick didn’t make it into my cunt. I never saw or heard from him again. I hope he met a big butch boy, who buggered him senseless like he secretly wished.

Case Study #2 Mr Gayer

Mr Gayer is a writer.  He is married, but hey, these are modern times, and modern marriages have to go with the flow. I met him in a bar in London’s Gay East End. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was ‘cute’. Not just in appearance, but in demeanour. He had a bit of a coy look about him. All my usual anxiety about meeting strange dominant men, who might do whatever they wanted with me, completely disappeared. We talked about Foucault, and feminism, and porn, and sex. He agreed to take part in a writing project.

The piece I received back was the one I alluded to earlier, in my post Buggery in the Rain . It was called ‘Flaccid’. I won’t quote it here. I have not received permission. Though I think I have earned the rights… It stated how this (not exclusively but mainly) ‘toppy’ hetero man, who has fucked and fisted and buggered and bitten and bondaged his way through the female kink community of London, or if he is to be believed, the western world, can’t take it up the arse. He described trying strap-on play with women, and every time, losing his wood. No matter how pretty they were, or how big their tool.

Now, I can’t be sure. But a sweet looking, coy, kinky, boyish man, who reads Foucault and Bataille, and, er, Mark Gay Simpson, who falls, flaccid, at the first hurdle when the suggestion of sodomy, by a woman, is made, who didn’t seem to have any interest whatsoever in asserting any dominance over me, who actually seemed a little bit scared of my…. dick.  I still call ‘Mr Gayer’ with some confidence. I hope he too, finds a real cock to sodomise his gay arse as he secretly, or not so secretly desires.

It takes a bottom to know one. And I have encountered quite a few straight bottoms in my time. Whether it was before, or after, I consciously acknowledged my own desire for someone to  slap me on the patio. I’ll take it now. Except I probably won’t. Because the tops are the bottoms and the straights are the gays, and when they refer to  S and M as ‘falling down the rabbit hole’ they couldn’t be more appropriate. For everything is upside-down and back-to-front. It is enough to melt poor Alice’s head. And sometimes, just sometimes, she wants to get the hell out, and find a way back to daylight, back to where power is hidden, and violence is non-consensual, and pain, pain is so very real.

I don’t mean that. Except, some days, like today,  I do.