Archive for the ‘Kink’ Category

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.

Carnival Of Kinky Feminists

Posted: August 14, 2010 in Feminism, Kink
Tags: ,

I am delighted to announce the second edition of the Blog Carnival Of Kinky Feminists has been released. This time the theme is ‘experience’.

All the pieces are essays, as the erotica/porn we received was not of a high enough standard. If you do write S and M/Kink porn and want it to be included please send to me !

Carnival Of Kinky Feminists

As I have been disassociating myself from ‘feminism’ I have realised some of the posts in the Carnival are not exactly in line with my thinking. But what I like about it is it is a place where difference and discussion are welcomed, and where narrow-minded puritans dare not venture. In that sense, I am happy to be called a ‘kinky feminist’.

This missed the deadline but would have fitted with the Carnival. This blogpost by Laura Augustin comments on how Julie Bindel was caught on camera at a feminist event saying if she had ‘one bullet’ she would put it to the head of academics who do research into sex work! The lovely Julie adds a comment below the post saying she was ‘joking’.  I would agree that contemporary feminism does seem to be a bit of a joke these days, wouldn’t you?


We all have sexual fantasies right? I remember fantasising before I even started masturbating.  I might have been nine or ten. Or eleven. It doesn’t really matter does it?  Our sexuality starts in childhood and carries on from there.

Recently I spotted a link to this piece by sex educator and therapist, Dr Castellanos, on the role of 
fantasy in our sex lives. I was pleased someone was tackling the subject and sharing her knowledge. Then I read it.

The article starts off ok.  ‘Learning  a little about sexual fantasies may help you become more comfortable with your own fantasies’ writes Dr Castellanos. Unless you learn that your fantasies are wrong, or signs of psychological problems, maybe?

She then goes on to look at ‘rape’ fantasies, saying ‘a fairly common fantasy for some women is that might [sic] be ravished or raped. For many women, this fantasy represents the desire to be so attractive and desirable that their partner (or others in the fantasy) would not be able to resist them. It does not automatically mean that a woman would want to be raped or would enjoy being raped’.

The problem I have with this ‘analysis’ is that it totally ignores the role of violence in many people’s  fantasies, from an S and M, or kink, point of view. Castellanos tiptoes over the fact that some of us fantasise about being ‘ravaged’ or ‘raped’, not because we want to be ‘irresistible’ but because we like the idea of being taken by force, beaten, hurt and violated, against our will. We like the idea. We may even re-enact this idea in a role-play scenario. We might write stories about it.  The Doctor is right. It doesn’t mean we want to be raped, or to rape.  But it does mean we are prepared to entertain the idea of forced, violent, non-consensual sex. This is not a crime, unless you are the thought police.

I originally intended to write this post in a friendly, accessible, non-violent manner, so that other sex educators might read it and learn from a practioner of kink, and writer of kink pornography, how violent fantasies are perfectly natural and can form part of a ‘healthy’, BDSM role-play sex life. But I found Dr Castellanos’ version of kinky fantasy so inaccurate, patronising and pathologising of my and many other people’s sexuality that I don’t think I am going to be able to achieve my original aim.

Later in her piece Dr Castellanos writes:

‘There are many things that people fantasise about that they would not look to carry out in real life. But that  does not mean you cannot use your fantasies to heighten your experience for you or your partner. Fantasy is just that, fantasy-not reality, it is a creative space in your mind that you can use to pretend and to create exciting stories, and have fun’.

(‘This article refers to fantasies that do not involve harm towards yourself or another person, or fantasies that involve inappropriate partners, such as children or animals. If you are having such fantasies, they should be discussed with a therapist to prevent any dangerous or harmful behaviour or any anxiety or depression that result from them)’.

Thankfully the article ended there, because I think if it had have carried on it would have tied itself into even more convoluted and confusing knots. And I might have committed an act of violence against my computer.

I have tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I can only conclude that Dr Castellanos is saying that S and M fantasy, if not done ‘properly’, and if translated into ‘reality’, is wrong, harmful and requires the fantasiser to seek medical and psychological assistance. If that isn’t pathologising people’s sexuality I don’t know what is.

Kink does involve turning our fantasies into ‘reality’ to a degree. Not literally of course. But in role-play such as ‘rape play’ , ‘kidnapping’, ‘interrogation scenes’ etc sadists ‘harm’ masochists. A key point is that they do so with full consent of the person on the other end of the violence.  But still, it is worth noting that it is this very ‘real’ violence that the masochist desires. Try hitting a masochist with an ‘imaginary’ cane/flogger/crop and s/he won’t be very happy!

I know sex educators have a responsibility to advocate awareness of danger, risk and safety in all matters of sex and sexuality. But in my view, the most dangerous thing in our sex lives is ignorance, and Dr Castellanos’ ignorance of kink and BDSM sexuality screams out from her article. Also the fact is that when it comes to awareness of ‘harm’ and the potential for S and M sex to do physical, and psychological damage, it tends to be practitioners of kink who know the most about this and how to minimise adverse effects. Just as sex workers are often the most expert of groups in contraception and STI prevention, so are kinky people often the most knowledgeable about the potential dangers involved in S and M. Not all of them. But there are many responsible, articulate kink practioners and bloggers who could have dealt with this subject much more informatively than Dr Castellanos. Maybe she should have asked them for some advice?

As for her assertion that we should not fantasise about sex with ‘inappropriate partners’ such as children or animals. This is a highly controversial subject. But I retain the position that even if we try to police our thoughts and our imaginations, we cannot, and should not prohibit or denigrate anything that goes through our minds. Novelists, artists, musicians, all deal with the darker sides of our imaginations. Are they to be told they shouldn’t have such ‘inappropriate’ thoughts as well? What about the  Murder Ballads ?  Or Lolita? Or the work of Mat Collishaw ? Or is the doctor saying that ‘art’ and ‘pornography’ ‘imagination’ and ‘fantasy’ are completely separate distinct things? I don’t see how they can be, as they all stem from the same source.

I wanted this post to be educational. I am worried it has turned into a rant. But after reading Dr Castellanos piece, I felt a degree of ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression’ myself. I had a brief flash of doubt about the ‘appropriateness’ of my own fantasies and my sexuality. I did seek counsel as well, but luckily not from Dr C. I spoke to someone who writes about kink sexuality who I knew would not tell me I needed ‘help’ with my ‘problem’. I am a confident and aware person but I haven’t always been so, especially not in relation to my interest in S and M. If someone new to this kind of sexual expression read Dr C’s article, I think s/he could feel very unnerved about the kinds of things s/he thought about, desired, and wished to do.

Here, then, for anyone that is interested, is a list of sources of information about kink, S and M, BDSM sexuality. The sex educators could benefit from some education from those who know what they are talking about!

Clarisse Thorn:

Remittance Girl:

Informed Consent:

Let The Eat: Pro S and M Feminist Safe Spaces:

Pandora Blake: Spanked, not Silenced

Thinking About My Kink

Oh, and if you have any queries about S and M/Kink you can always talk to me. I may not know the answer to your questions; I will know someone who does!

A Close Shave

Posted: June 20, 2010 in Kink, Porn

I am sitting on the ledge at the end of his bath. He is crouched below me in the empty tub. We are both naked. In theory, I could be holding the power in this situation, as I am sat above him looking down. I could probably even kick him in the balls if I tried. But it is me who is feeling vulnerable and exposed. He has got me exactly where he wants me, and I am completely at his mercy. Power, it transpires, belongs to whoever wants it most.

Also he is holding a weapon: a small, manual razor, the blade flashing silver in the fluorescent light. I shiver, though it’s not cold. He notices my discomfort and smiles. ‘Nervous’? he asks but I know better than to reply. Suddenly the cute little erotic story I have been writing in my mind transforms itself into a slasher movie. I see Carrie in her blood-stained prom dress, I see the shower scene from Psycho. I see that Algerian man from ‘Cache’, slitting his own throat in front of his childhood friend, the blood spurting out from his neck and onto the kitchen floor. I start to think about that short by Scorsese: ‘The Big Shave’. It shows a man cutting himself shaving. Only in this mini horror the blood keeps on pouring. The more he shaves the bloodier it gets until the sink is a crimson pool, the man’s face the scene of a massacre.

I imagine him taking the razor and slicing me up into little pieces, my blood splattering all over the pristine white tiles, the bath, the shower curtain, his pale body. What the fuck am I doing here? I barely know this man. Maybe I should have asked myself that question much earlier, before we drank all that wine, before he told me to undress, before he put me over his knee and spanked me till my arse bruised purple, blue, black. ‘Relax’ he says, but I can’t.

I try to rationalise my fears. He wouldn’t want to mess up his lovely apartment would he? He wouldn’t want the hassle of becoming the owner of a crime scene, wouldn’t want to annoy his neighbours with the sound of a woman, screaming? No, he just wants to have a bit of fun, like me. Except I am not having fun right now. I am terrified.

Everything stops. I feel a sudden freezing sensation on my skin below my belly. I flinch and breathe in sharply. Looking down I see I am covered in blue shaving gel. It looks so clinical, like the stuff they put on a pregnant woman before an ultrasound. I sit still as a stone. Then I watch transfixed, as he takes the razor and slowly starts to shave, scraping off little clumps of pubic hair mingled with the gel. The sensation is not entirely unpleasant. I am in awe: nobody not even me has done this before. His expression is one of complete concentraion. He holds his hand steady as he pulls those flaps of my skin to one side to get to the hardest to reach hairs. when he has finished and rinsed me with the shower I examine the results. I have not been this naked since I was about eleven years old. It is weird: I can’t remember actually acquiring pubic hair. It is as if I went to bed one night a child and woke up the next morning a woman. But now I am a child again, no, more like a mannequin. It feels strange, but also horny. ‘I am the first to do this to you’ he declares, staking his claim. ‘You belong to me now’.

Later, in the safety of the darkness, I finally let myself go. He plays with his new toy, licking and prodding it with his tongue, stroking the smooth skin with his fingers. He whispers in my ear as he holds me down, telling me what a beautiful cunt I have. As I lie back, preparing myself for the tsunami that is about to wash over my shores, I cannot help but agree.

When I finally fall asleep I dream of naked flesh, of cold metal cutting through skin. And blood. These days my dreams are always soaked in blood.

Taken Part Two

Posted: June 4, 2010 in Kink, Porn

When we emerge out onto the grubby street the atmosphere changes, darkens. If I thought it was some kind of game before, I know it isn’t now. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as fear grips my body. He looks at me again, impassive, unreadable. I think about my flat, the comfy sofa, the bottle of wine waiting for me in the fridge. It seems they are in some other life, that I have left behind. Then I can’t think about anything, as he grabs me by the arm and drags me along the pavement, digging his fingers into the flesh of my arm.

‘Hurry up bitch’.

An alleyway appears and he leads me in, shoving me against the wall. He parts my legs with his, and pushes his body into mine, with all his strength. Now, I could not escape if I tried. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my clothes. He rubs it against me slowly and deliberately. Then he takes my face in one of his hands and pulls it towards him.

‘Look at me’ he demands. I force myself to look into his eyes, starting to feel a little faint.

‘Tell me you want me inside you’. It almost feels as if I have been drugged. My head is heavy, I want to find the words but I struggle.

‘I… I…’

‘Say it, whore’. With that he pulls me by my hair, so my head knocks against the brick wall.


‘Yes?’ I feel his cock thrusting into me.

‘I want you in .. me’.

‘Good girl’.

Suddenly he is undoing his trousers, pulling a condom out of nowhere and putting it on before he pushes up my skirt and pulls my knickers to the side. His fingers find me soaking. There is nowhere left to run.

‘You filthy little bitch’

As he fucks me I can feel the back of my legs chafing against the brickwork. I hold onto him as if I might fall. He pinches my nipples and bites my neck, like some kind of animal. There is nothing I can do but take it. Our orgasms come at once, breathless and pained.

When he has finished he does up his trousers and waits while I try to straighten myself out.

Neither of us speak but he beckons and I go to him. He kisses the top of my head.

‘Thank you’ he says. ‘Thank-you girl’.

And then he is gone. I stumble out of the alleyway onto the street, trying to remember who I am and where I live. As I walk home my tights ripped and my legs sore, I feel a throbbing in my cunt and I smile.