KenW

I'm up for any meeting of the glans too! Anywhere, anytime, lips & throat open and at the ready. PS: no offence PANICOS, it's just as an old editor I can't resist a good tryping era.

Thanks for the tipoff HB. Problem for us who live elsewhere is it seems to be only ex-Thailand. So fares into Thailand will be quite different no doubt. However, there's some interesting one-way cheapness there to be pondered that's for sure.

Love at first sight (#30) To Bee or not to Bee? That was the question. Omelette chose To. I told Bee so as well. I said words much like the following: My beloved Bay Bee, you are young and I am old. You are Bee Yootiful, while I am ugly. You are poor, but I am (in Vietnamese terms anyhow) rich. You can go nowhere, I can take you places. We were in the familiar eatery. He had brought along the usual sidekick, this time a LB I had not met before. I will call her Wine. She was a year older than my boy and while nowhere near as beautiful, she had a compelling attraction for me. Good looking in fact, and well built, small torso with flat chest under one of those almost cupless pubescent’s bras, she passed for ten minutes or so, me thinking dumbly she must be Bee’s sister. Then when she spoke for the first time it hit me. LB, wow. Nice quiet kid. Top body, nice hair, slut silver painted toenails. To this day – long after it’s all over and done in the ditch, flies buzzing around its eyes, gone the way of all dead relationships – I regret I did not make a move on Wine. Especially when my Bee was doing nasty immature things like rolling away from me in bed claiming a sudden and unexplained illness or weariness (sick & tired of me actually – but not my largesse), whacking me and carrying on. I think Wine would have snapped onto me like a sprung trap onto a rat’s neck. For she turned out to be a polite lonely youngster, who looked and acted hungry for male company, but not pushy at all like so many of them are. Also, unlike some of Bee’s other friends (e.g. Bee#2), she didn’t come onto me, merely quietly sat back, waited and watched. I could see she was capable of maturing like a good vintage. How I desired to drink her down. But foolishly, stupidly, I had even greater desire during that time to show my LB I was prepared to spread my cloak over him, to be faithful, forever if need Bee. I came to know Wine over quite some time and unlike my Bee and several others in his crowd, I never saw her dressed, at any time of day or night, as other than a girl, that is, as a LB. I liked that. Bee demanded they be fed. So from the menu we ordered. Ken lucky tried chicken. Finger lickun good. Bee & Wine unlucky went seafood. Out came the raw prawn. Replenished, and another Heineken ordered, I said more things. If you want, if you so choose, if you desire, I will love you forever. But there is one caveat: be nice to me. If you go on hurting me, this will not work. I am the one who can support you and your family, who can make life good for you, who can give you things you never dreamed of, and some you have, like a job at Tiffany’s. (He had already heard of LB Reviews and yearned to be a flashy well paid famous dancer at one of the big LB stage shows in Thailand.) I can take you there, I told him. Get you an audition. Support you, grease whatever palms we need to. Also, I can set you up in modeling, get your perfect face with its huge cock sucking lips and wicked eyes on the cover of magazines. I can get you in In Flight magazines selling rings or finger nail polish for those perfect nails fingers hands. Or watches and perfume. Why would any sensible advertising agency want Federer or Beckham when they can have face features fingers like yours? (Were F & B around at that time? Possibly. But whoever was their equivalent back then anyhow.) Then she dressed up. A ladyboy who told me her name was Ruth. (Funny: the VNese, like the Germans, can’t pronounce the final English th consonant, so it comes out as Root.) My Rootie Root, my LB. One evening for a clandestine pre-arranged meeting in a beer stall, there she was: kohl eyeliner, blue mascara, lippie, falsies, a tiny top, a crotch length black skirt, stilettos. I was beside myself. Here was the living breathing Miss Vietnam, Miss World, Miss Universe. I had never conceived there could be such human perfection. My boy metamorphosed into Amazing Grace, the living breathing Quite-Divine. Wine was there too, looking good as usual, together with three or four others. This is how these boys like Bee (squared) (for the other Bee did it too, apart from his daytime hairdressing) and Wine made their living: performance artists luring the likes of Ken into their lairs. My himherlet, amid mobs of money boys, hors concours. Love at nth sight. You are sooo beautiful, I echoed and reechoed.

More Thai denial: http://www.smh.com.au/travel/travel-incidents/debate-over-pesticides-role-in-tourists-mystery-deaths-20110511-1ei2f.html

Love at first sight (#29) This analysis shows how Ken gets off in sex event situations where the forbidden fruit dimension entailed such fear, where what was happening was indeed so forbidden that the entire act was accompanied by fear palpable. Burge Buxton snoring two metres above the director’s chair induced this kind of fear. Recall that upon completion of climax Ken pants: “that was so dangerous, I could be killed, I’m risking my life, I just risked my life, get to bed, I gotta get outa here.” It is fear, even after the event, that sharpens the image of the sex event. The fear is there during the foreplay act climax, but physiology drives the actors on through to the end, as if there is no fear, for during the phases of the event fear is sublimated to the more dominant sexual urge, but of course fear there is, throughout, and in the warm down of afterthought, post climax, the cold sweat of fear rises to the surface, is articulated. Sex events rank relatively. For everybody. From superb to bloody awful and many points in-between. According to Ken, for a sex event to be tops, it has to involve forbidden fruit. In addition, superb sex events entail fear. You can correlate forbidden fruit and fear with a ranking of the greatness of sex events. So we get a theory of the relative ranking of sex events, which is that the higher the fear factor attached to a forbidden fruit situation, the higher the sex event is ranked in Ken’s judgment. The closer to the edge he was able to go, riding on that beam of light, to the brink of disaster – “he’ll kill me… kill both of us maybe” – the more pronounced is the fear, the more value thus added, the more forbidden becomes the fruit, the higher the ranking of the sex event. The theory of forbidden fruit accompanied by fear neatly explains why events such as Buxton in the director’s chair rank so very highly. And why doing doggie bumplough, however interesting and kinky, with Shani, don’t. Shani was a nice girl, a ready and available sex event partner. Full stop. Nothing forbidden, no fear. (She was a student, but by the time I began fucking her she was an ex-student of mine - though still enrolled in the department – making it somewhat closer to ethical and less forbidden.) Buxton was something else, and so was the director’s chair. It didn’t matter that I didn’t love Buxton, didn’t matter that I didn’t even like her all that much, didn’t matter that I thought she wasn’t all that specially skilled at sex event performance. What mattered was that she was forbidden fruit, and partaking in that particular sex event under her house in the director’s chair was coupled with so much danger and hence so much fear that it nearly drove me crazy with rapid fire exploding nervous system eruptions lava flows. Ganglia gone gaagaa, Lady. Synapses shooting stars. Hormones hootin hollerun.

Love at first sight (#28) But those are particulars of form. For me they never constituted markers of significance. The kind of greatness I like to think about has nought to do with form, with things like how good was her foreplay, how well did she suck, how was doggie, how loud did she cum. It has to do with forbidden fruit. Now, much earlier I talked about the key role played by fear in underpinning my all time top sex events. (I also touched on how sometimes not cumming plays an ancillary role.) Here I emphasise yet again the other important character in determining my favourite sex events. This is when, just like in the Garden of Eden, a sex event contains some extra dimension, in the way space-time adds a time vector onto traditional Euclidean axes, some dimension that gives it a richer deeper value, where chemical pathways in a physiological system are raised to some higher plane of reward, where tingling excitement takes on a whole field of its own, as if generated not through the physical act of the usual form, but through some field forces from an entirely non-physical realm. Forbidden fruit, as the orchard thieves found, is essentially a taboo category, a participant with whom, by the normal societal rules of propriety and custom, you are not supposed to have sex events. Example of forbidden fruit: somebody else’s wife. Other examples of forbidden fruit: had Shani been a real doggie, or a real slut. Dogs and prostitutes. LBs. Gay boys. Etcetera, alt sex it are. Buxton was forbidden fruit, and sometimes on two fronts as wife and student. Forbidden fruit in turn brings with it a set of attributes that add value to any given sex event. Prime among these is the fear I talked about before. By this I mean, I could have undertaken a sex event with forbidden fruit Buxton at some neutral venue, a cozy hotel say, at a relatively trouble free time, when Burge Buxton was out of town on business, say. A fairly safe instance for all concerned. Free of fear. Or at least, fear minimised. With forbidden fruit there will always be some fear, however minimal. The building could collapse, for example, and Buxton and I end up in adjacent beds in the hospital, witnesses asserting to the fact we were found in the same bed in the same hotel room at the time of the collapse. Mr Burge Buxton, on visiting the hospital ward, would then be entitled to demand: please explain. There would be fear, especially had he carried a large knife in his briefcase, to the hospital, intent on gutting the presumably guilty Ken. Any sex event with Buxton then, represented forbidden fruit, and as such it brought a clear degree of excitement. And probably, though I never asked her, to Buxton as well. Buxton was, after all, somebody else’s wife. She was cheating on her husband, playing up. Presumably she enjoyed that. She herself was partaking of what for her is a category of forbidden fruit: male partner outside her marriage. But when the context is shifted to under Buxton’s house, with Mr Buxton snoring through the floor above, my fear is a living palpable thing. It is this fear that adds value in cascading logarithmic fashion to all dimensions of the event.

Love at first sight (#27) What ranks a sex event? For Tulsa, aka slut, being tied to a coffee table with a vibe inserted, then flogged, rated as the best sex event ever. Sounds of Orgasm Incorporated. Climax Pty Ltd. D&S Inc. I realised why that time in the director’s chair had made it into my short list of top sex events. Sex events have no intrinsic quality. They are of the form: foreplay act climax, and vary according to how subjectively good each of those components may feel at the time for the participant or participants plural multiple. If they involve more than one participant: how skilled is the partner, how well participants gel together, spark, the chemistry, how much one was or both or all were longing for the event, how much time had elapsed since the previous event, or elapsed waiting for an initial event, etcetera, it sex by score. Or, secondly, how the gestalt event was represented in feelings, nerve endings, memory banks, because of whatever circumstances prevailed on the occasion, attached themselves to the event, its environment, etcetera, wet slit adore. The character of the three stages can play some part in the feeling one has towards a particular sex event. For example, many people talk about foreplay as though it is something special and crucial to good sex. Participants in sex events often like to undertake long periods of slurping kissing slopping lapping licking holding squeezing fondling caressing rubbing sucking. Then they relate perceived quality of the event to this, or at least to this component as a critical part of the complete event. I don’t care for foreplay. I am not of the above school. I liken it to savagery. Buxton liked foreplay, foreplay done to her. But on foreplay she had to do, she was not so keen. She was fair as many are, at cock sucking, for example, but refused to do it - apart from that one outrageously daring time in my office - unless, upon her instruction, I entered her first, drove into her belly a few times, and withdrew. Then upon a member wet with her, tasting of her, adorned with her slime, she would suck. Is this ego? Self love? Or does it have a more mundane taste bud explanation? Slimey Buxtongoo bleedin bloody flavour. Whichever, Buxton the savage would only slurp a dipstick oiled in her. She was like a dog that needed to piss on markers of its territory before doing anything else. Buxtondog would only suck what was hers. Another example: most people treat the act itself as though it has some textbook definition involving two people, one male and one female, of legal consenting age, performing a heterosexual version of the act using what is termed missionary position. This is barbarism. Shani Quidnunc, another student I taught, found this method unrewarding unsatisfactory undoable. She never ever wanted to be penetrated in the normal way. It brought her no pleasure. That is, she never wanted missionary position. For the events I had with her she made me get behind her as she knelt forward, doggie fashion, on hands and knees, and penetrate her. But unlike Tulsa she did not need to masturbate by massaging her clitoris with the fingers of one hand as she took her forward weight through her extended shoulder arm hand. She came from cock alone. The first time she presented thus, I thought: what now? She showed me what now, right then and several more times. She made me call her bitch while I was humping her backwards. She came and came and came yelping and howling, loud and long. Civilisation at last!

Any or all of the above, it's totally up to you. I am into that sort of stuff, but I saw all I wanted to in 2 days. Well, 1.5 days really, for the afternoons were so hot I had had enough by lunchtime on the second afternoon. I had a guide who merely told us where we should see, then took us there in his car, and left us to do the walking. We met up with him when time to lunch or return to hotel. It is very spread out. You should definitely see the main temple complex of course. I spent most of the first day there, including the much talked about sunset watch. The smaller temples are ones you can pick and choose on. Some are within walking distance of each other so you you can take in 2 or 3 of them in a couple of hours. I forget names now. But a good guide can give you the info you need.

So do I Larry. We all like to be rewarded, and having any little worth acknowledged chuffs self esteem. But - at risk of sounding like a preaching fucking school prefect or someone of equally revolting station - I do think +1s should be justified. I saw some new FM come onto the site recently (no names, no pack drill), make an opening statement first post of "Here I am guys" kind of thing, 2 short sentences, and get 3 X +1s for that. I thought that a bit rich. I suppose it's nice if you're well known around the traps from way back and have lots of mates as a welcoming committee, but hey... If the Rep system is to work it has to mean something, surely. Otherwise: a complete joke. (End of rant)

I was surprised too Larry. One thing might be that environmental factors (childhood exercise, diet,...) can affect both height and weight while they are not going to affect cock length or width. I dunno. Anyhow, that research (unreferenced by the way) said no link between other bits big or small and cock measurements. I've given PDogg a +1 for opening the thread. I think it's a fascinating topic, an idea I have thought about, as have many of us no doubt, for a long time. But till yesterday I had never done any research on it (except for informally asking around among girls as I said in original post). Once I looked into it, there was so much amazing info. Why didn't I think to open a post on it long ago? (I ask myself.) No imagination, or perhaps worried FMs would think it a wank topic (ha!). Anyhow, good on PD for doing it.

Jeezuz Mate, you sure you're not hallucinating about your geography? This sounds like a 100 places and 100 shithole whores I know in Vietnam.

OK lads, sorry to always be so dull, academic and empirical, but here's a few points the research points up. What small studies have been done indicate a male self esteem link with self perception of penis size. Big cock equals big man big macho big tough guy kind of thing. (Analogy: If Horsecock Nancy is your favourite LB, that shows you to be a HUNK in capital letters). (No research whatsoever on LBs BTW, but the above would suggest a psychological link to the kind of "my LB's cock is big so therefore I can take it big, I like big" ... self esteem again) Research samples with controls also show that self measurement of cock length always outdoes staff or researcher measurement. As you'd expect I guess, we tend to make out our cocks are bigger than they are when measured by others. (links again to above self esteem) So again the implication is we might boast about how big we like our LB cocks to be, but then in reality slink off to Spider Girl or Corner Bar and dote over a gorgeous lil 3 incher. Cock measurement (length & diameter) are normally distributed variables (bell curves or normal curves - you recall them from first year?), with some small, some large, and the lumpen bulk being average size give or take. In all studies thus far done (and there are quite a few) cock length is on average 5 - 6 inches (13 - 15 cm). One in a 1,000 is 2.5 inches, one in a thousand is 10 inches. There is no correlation at all between cock size and so-called "race". Stats are the same across samples. Studies suggest no value at all in any of the enlargement techniques advertised. None made statistical size difference at all. No LBs sampled, but females asked about cock size suggested that width was a more significant indicator of pleasure than length - which to them mattered hardly. Two final comments from my own observations: 1) years ago I talked with lots of girls about this issue, and all at that time said without fail that what mattered most was the bloke, his niceness, his personality, rather than anything about his cock shape or size. 2) Indigenous Australian women who encountered subincision (see my cock modification thread from yonks ago) never ever wanted to go back to being fucked by a man with a normal cock. The subincised cock flared at orgasm like the head of a cobra, giving absolute orgasmic pleasure. This fits with the width factor alluded to in above studies.

Love at first sight (#26) He put a collar around Tulsa’s neck, and using a metal ring at the front of the collar, tied her to the leg of a coffee table, with her down on all fours, naked. He hit her backside with a whip and told her what a slut she was. What are you, he would roar. Slut, she would whimper between the lashes. He inserted a vibrator. She lost count of the orgasms that descended her body and ran back all the way up to her reddening ears. She moaned till she was hoarse. He made her kneel in front of him and take him in her slutmouth. Then he proceeded to walk about the flat, forcing her to crabwalk backwards on all fours, lips not allowed to disengage. He urinated in her and called her his slutmouthtoilet. She shuddered and drank. Nearly drowned. He would sleep, having instructed slut to keep him in her slutmouth. If he woke and he wasn’t in her slutmouth, he would punish slut, throw her out in fact, send her back to her parents. Slut went sleepless. In the wee hours, one time, he put her in high heel stilettos, that’s all, wearing nothing else. He ordered slut down the stairs, and once they reached the car park, he took hold of a handful of her sluthair and dragged slut out onto the footpath into the glare of passing headlights. Not knowing what was going on, she screamed. He took her back inside and upstairs. Then she realised what a buzz that had been as well. Slut asked him to do it again, but he wouldn’t. Slut, I’ll do it when I’m good and ready, was all he would say. Then after about two years of this, he disappeared. She does not know why. But what he did, what he taught her, will remain with her forever. Do you know, she said to me, I still fancy myself as slut. That’s my identity. That’s who I am. What I am. By now she had finished university and attained a professional job, and had a kid with a bloke she didn’t love. But she had wanted a kid, wanted to be a single mother. Did not want a husband. The bloke was OK about that. He had access to the kid. I’m sure she was still hankering after being the main man’s slut, hoping he would walk back into her life. He never had. The point of her story: slut for her was a category that defined her being. The word had significant meaning. It shaped her entire self, made her what she wanted to be in the world. Tulsa was a slut before she was a woman, a person. It was as slut, she saw herself liberated, regenerated, defined. She featured in her life as a professional person, woman, at the office, in her job, and as a mother, responsible, caring, protective. But her secret life was as a slut. Her self perception: slut. Not that she went with lots of guys these days. In fact she rarely slept with anyone, she assured me. Only when her daughter had time away with her father, would Tulsa entertain a bloke in her bed for the night. No relationships of any meaning. Most of the guys were pretty straight, and she couldn’t get them to even call her slut. Or if they did, they didn’t know how to. Pull my hair, she would say, and they’d decline, saying they didn’t want to hurt her. Tie me up, she’d suggest, and they might, but timidly. What about other names, like cunt, I asked. No, she said, after thinking a short while, that doesn’t do it for me. I’m slut.

Love at first sight (#25) Tulsa told this story to Ken. She was an early developer, nice breasts by the time she was eleven, shapely legs, tall, tight buttocks, suntanned, not beautiful, but attractive. When she was twelve she knew from the tingling in her body that this sex she’d heard about, was what she had to try. It was only a matter of finding the right time place person. Her parents had taken the family on a holiday to a beach in North Queensland. Upon arriving at the beachside bungalows, they were attended by a young man with a glint in his eye who took particular notice of Tulsa. Their bags safely stowed, windows flung open, deckchairs on the bungalow verandah occupied, gin and tonics poured, holiday begun, he took his leave, and she was able to slip away, back to the beach where, guess what, he happened to be. Three minutes of small talk followed, during a walk to the back of the dune amid coconut palms, and there, precociously, in mid afternoon, she traded in her virginity. From that afternoon on, sex consumed Tulsa’s inner being. She could not get enough. She spent the remainder of that holiday secretly meeting that guy, and then upon return to Sydney and school, she was up for whatever she could get. Life on the outside didn’t seem to be any different, appearances were kept up, school grades were unaffected, and unlike the lies her parents and teachers had put about, the heavens did not fall in, the sky did not rain lightning bolts, in fact all seemed placid and pretty good. She took precautions. She was soon going with so many boys and doing much the same thing, that she realised she needed more. So the meetings began with older blokes, late teens and twenties even, and then somewhat outrageously, she began asking for money. A whore by the time she was fourteen. Then she met him. The guy who was to shape her life. He was thirty years old, more than twice her age. But there was something special about him, she could just feel it in her bones, and in her nethers, right down to her toenails. Unlike the boys at school, he didn’t talk much, unlike the clients she was now entertaining, he refused to pay her for anything, and he had no interest in taking her to fancy places like bars and dancing clubs where her maturity allowed her to gain entry alongside whoever would take her there. He simply took her home to his flat. Said very little. Made her take off all her clothes. And keep them off. Called her slut. Never used her name, not once. It was slut, do this. Slut, do that. Slut, get down there. And she did it, and what she discovered was a revelation: she loved it. Hearing him utter that word, in such a firm way, a disciplinarian’s tone, a master’s voice, like he was talking to a dog, inhibitors in her brain took a nap, were shut down, closed off, retired, she went to water, openings opened, juices flowed, tremors started, legs and body tingled, and followed his instructions as though programmed. She ran away from home and moved in with him.

Ha ha. I've been to Walking St hospital for that kind of treatment myself.

Love at first sight (#24) Nietzsche said “When you go to women, go with a whip.” Nietzsche & his friends Salome (with whip) and Ree. Of course the old philosopher’s misogyny won’t hold up in this day and age. Also, as I said in the previous post, it is almost as common, in Japan apparently as common, for the whipee to be an ageing businessman and the whipper to be an agile young strong Mistress. Anyway, I went to my local adult shop and bought a couple of whips. The books advised to begin by taking to yourself, to see what kind of power creates what kind of hurt. So you get the feel for what you’re dishing out. Mmmm, not bad. I went through a self designed course of sorts, getting my ideas from these alternative sites. During this time I experimented with a vast array of painful acts, some fun, others bloody awful. By the end I was clear about what degree of pain I was capable of inflicting upon any S&M character seeking same. (I had done everything from the plain simple whipping through to sticking pins in my nipples, and my scrotum, dripping hot wax on my cock, clothes pegs on my man boobs. Etcetera, all hurt in boudoir. I asked around my network, with as much subtlety as I could conjure. But nobody was interested. So for a start it had to be explored via appropriate sites and threads. I was learning all the while. I enrolled in a night class for Introductory JPese, but after a term (the class only ran a term) I was hopeless. I was OK at speaking and listening, but to access sites I needed reading skills. JPese calligraphy turned out to be beyond me. Too many characters and at my age, too many hours of practice needed. I gave up, hoping there would be enough English language work on the web to enhance my D&S learning and give me some fun. Fun fun fun, till daddy takes the tied slut away. Fun fun. What emerged from those who came onto me, was that they were not so much into this physical punishment anyway. Over a short period I began to be glad, realizing I was not either. They were much more into what interested and intrigued me most: humiliation and degradation. Dominance as the ability to make somebody humiliate themselves to the degree that excites them most and maximizes their pleasure. Where, according to the books I was reading, that level of humiliation can produce star shooting orgasms. The main GG girl who came onto me on one of these sites I will call Tulsa. She was a single mum, aged at that time in her late twenties, a university graduate working in a high powered professional role. As we chatted and got to know each other, it was kind of like any developing relationship minus the physical presence. We exchanged pix, talked about life in general, our jobs, our backgrounds, where we lived (on opposite sides of the continent almost). In the pix she wore a very attractive but plain choker. I drew her attention to it. Yes, she said, she wore it to both symbolize for herself and to send signals to anyone who might care, that she was willing to wear a collar if she found the right guy. Then, to give me an idea of where she was coming from, she told me a key story in her development, one that committed her to this lifestyle. Patient Reader, I will relate that to you tomorrow.

Love at first sight (#23) Then I got serious about going to Japanese porn sites. For years, if I had ever been asked to list my hobbies (I never was asked, for that happens only to celebrities) I would have said Japanese pornography. I had a large collection of pix, video clips and videos of JPese porn. I knew most of the sites that had at least some English language. I knew many of the stars by name and movie. I could name an occasional director. But it was all fairly mainstream. Well, for JPese it was all fairly mainstream: hetero with maybe a bit of gay stuff, not much. What had fascinated me however, in all this was that even in their so-called mainstream products, the JPese are always so out there, at the cutting edge. Where go the JPese, there goes innovation and high originality. And so much of that – forgive me Politically Correct Reader for my slippage into misogyny – involved sluts really getting it in some devious or inventive way, often from bunches of blokes or some other humiliating vector. (For example, see the video clip on the Octopussy thread in the Boiler Room.) On the other hand, some of it was ageing businessmen getting it from masked and leathered Mistresses. It was all across the spectrum (These were all listed adult sites by the way, some of them with free access, others pay sites, all having the “All participants & models 18 and over” declarations. I was never party to – nor did I want to be - any subtle under the counter private email boards or exchange lists – for those can easily degenerate, may not, but can easily, into child porn and exploitation of minors.) So I pushed that little bit further into JPese porn that seriously involved D&S, S&M. I learned a lot. I had a very small (sample size only in single figures) collection of outtakes and interviews, enough to let me see that at least some of these girls, once the acting is finished and they are off-set or off official camera, showed they enjoyed what was happening to them. So that things looking bad to some (I used to cringe in fear, my withered dick disappearing up my bumcrack, at the thought of my local Feminists ever finding out about my interests) turned out to be pure theatre; well acted roles. Now, I’ve admitted it was only a small sample, and maybe some porn does exploit the submissive. I tried to hope it was mostly like my small sample. Anyway, I’m not here to debate that issue. I’m actually here to tell you about love at first sight.

The hotel mentioned by katana57 is another along the Quay, Sam, and if you click on his link you'll see the kind of place I'm talking about. 136 St is said to be best for LB bars and 104 St too. If you scroll down in this section of the A List you'll see another general thread on Phnom Penh. In there quite a few FMs give details of bar names, addresses, girl costs.

I've tended to stay along Sisowath Quay. Because I like the outlook over water, the availability of lots of good eateries with chilled white wine, and its easy access to most places. Hotels I'm familiar with go for 15 - 25 or 30 USD range per night kind of fee. Depending on place and season. Best I've had is low season (June) 15 USD, and that's normal hotel not backpacker el cheapo stuff. I've stayed twice at Mekong Palace Hotel, 253-255 Sisowath. It's about a 15 min walk to Blue Chilli (178 St) going that way, and about the same or less to 136 St going the other way. I took femboys/gay boys home each night. Reception had no problem. When the ST session ended (I thought it was for overnight but no boy wanted to stay ON) in the wee hours, reception were tops, would not let the boy leave till they sent a runner up to my room to check I was OK (had not been drugged out, robbed or whatever by a boy skiving off). I was very impressed with that.

O deary me Lin, and I had assumed she was a LB in costume. You mean she's a real nurse from a real hospital? Boo hoo. Or is your :devil: saying something else?

Love at first sight (#22) Somewhere around that time I began an interest (which I retain today) in alternative sexualities. No, not in gay or LB styles, for I had been with them for nearly a lifetime, give or take. And anyhow, to me they are, apart from the constant fears and entanglements with homophobia, all fairly straight. What I mean is, given my latent tendency towards kink anyway, my new interest began to be kindled in dominance and submission (D&S) principally, and in S&M. Though for me, the latter only in so far as it impinged on the former. I am not a very physical person, and most certainly not into punishment and brutality for their own sake. So as I say, S&M was only ever a side issue, useful to the extent it augmented anything interesting in D&S. For example, if a submissive craves the whip, then you whip her – if she’s been good – but you don’t whip her just for the hell of it and particularly if she doesn’t like it. I joined a couple of alterative websites and sought information. I talked with experienced dominants and submissives to find out what made them tick, what they were seeking, how they played out their roles in enhancing each other’s sexual enjoyment and insight. I bought a few books and read them. For example Erotic Power, SM101, Different Loving. They were all helpful, as was the best one of the lot, Pauline Reage’s The Story of O. A most important lesson, nay a Principle, emerged: it is all about maximizing the pleasure of the submissive, so that a dominant needs a personality that gets off on that and virtually that alone. Not sure what I was or how my titillations played out, I role played (as did everybody else) on these sites and in other alternative chat rooms. Being a modest quiet chap I thought for sure I would turn out to be a submissive, but that didn’t last too long. I not only realized otherwise, but interestingly a couple of folk came on to me, simply from comments and info I posted, asking me to be their dominant, saying they wanted me to control their (avatar’s) lives. And in one case, as we’ll see, real life. But that’s for later.

Well done bubba! +1 A top little intro to your carnals. I recall that first evening of ours with little Apple and am jallus of you Mate. But what a good deal by you, and by her. Bring on episode 2.

Here's a recent report in the Sydney Morning Herald http://www.smh.com.a...0426-1duee.html

PDogg I see today you already had a thread on this with some useful info by Lung & others. Apologies for starting an unnecessary new thread. I've copied my SMH link into your thread. You may want to delete this thread.

The old men of Tokugawa, one of the more civilised cultures to ever inhabit the Earth, liked a nice age symmetry between themselves and their girls: 61 & 16 71 & 17 81 & 18 So 19 sounds pretty good to me Lung. She looks a real honey and I'm jallus of you, of Sam, and of any other lucky bastards who get to peck her cheek in the interim.