Vietnam LBs

[bubba]

Aaaah yes! To Bee or not to Bee. Thats is the question, na?

[KenW]

Outstanding stuff.

It's a pleasure to read such a well-written and engrossing thread!

agreed,its an engrossing read Ken,"bumlets"....that's a real ken-ism....I'll borrow that one I think.

Thank you kelly2 and willie.

willie, regarding the bumlets, yes feel free to borrow...

[KenW]

Aaaah yes! To Bee or not to Bee. Thats is the question, na?

Hamlet (or is that Omelette) comes later...

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#15)

“Ken’s Punctured Romance” (1914) Keystone Studios. Director: Mack Sennett.

Scene: All in bed naked, Charlie in the middle and a faggot boy on either side. (Camera pans all three) I go to cuddle and kiss my Bee. Mabel sulkily pushes me away. Curses me. Rolls over to face the wall. Says she is sick.

I lay on my back. Cheeky other Bee lifts the bedclothes to show me he is managing his meat. A nice hard erection. I push back the covers even further and go down to give it the vacuum cleaner treatment. My Bee rolls over in a jealous rage, hauls the covers back up, and drags me back to lying on my back. Mabel abuses me again.

Then all settled, he returns to feigned and fake sleep. Second cheeky Chester nudges me once more. I give him a big hug and cuddle. My Bee wakes and rages.

I desist. Lay on my back. Reach out to Mabel’s cock and begin to hold it, knead it. He takes my wrist and flings it back over my belly. Rolls away again.

Charlie gets up and goes to toilet, closing door. Sits on throne. (Camera inside loo) Door opens. Bee #2 enters closes door and hugs Charlie who stands up. Charlie’s charlie stands up too. Charlie grabs Bee#2 cock. Door opens again. Bee #1 enters. Closes door. Hits Charlie with shoe and goes to throw soap at him. Charlie beats it opens door scrams closes door heads for bed. (Camera in bedroom again)

Charlie in bed. Both Bees enter and get into bed in previous positions.

Chester takes my cock, begins to play. I carefully take his hand, about to place it away, in fear of Bee#1. My Mabel lifts covers, grabs second Bee’s mit and throws it away from me. Hits me with a swipe. Curses both Charlie & Chester. Calls them dogs. Rolls away sulkily.

Charlie sits up, throws back covers, grabs Bee#2 cock. Bee#1 sits up, hits him several times on head and back. Charlie leaps out of bed, so does Bee#1. Bee#1 chases Charlie around room throwing clothing cursing hitting.

Back to bed. Leaping in, covers pulled up.

Reprise…

This goes on for the full ST hour. My Bee does not want me to touch him. Second Bee wants me, I go to respond, my Bee opens up and rages. No action. Second Bee wants me, I go to respond, my Bee opens up and rages. No action. The stop start, no want, offer, go to, prevented, try again, offer, go to, prevented, takes the entire time.

Then my Bee looks at my watch and announces the hour is up. Movie over Mr Sennett. It sure is, I reply, getting up and donning my clobber. I’m outa here you little twerp.

They didn’t hit me for money. They knew enough not to try that one on. But I left with, shall we politely say, punctured romantic emotions.

[williethepimp]

Hilarious Ken....it would have made a great modern-day Brian Rix farce on the West End.Joe Orton(remember him)couldn't have written anything as funny......

[KenW]

a great modern-day Brian Rix farce on the West End.Joe Orton(remember him)couldn't have written anything as funny......

I'm not familiar with Brian Rix willie, but Joe Orton is a culture hero of mine from way back. Superb farceur and playwright.

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#16)

Fucking Lee had led me to a significant discovery about myself, as well as about not cumming during a sex event.

Fucking around with Bee (squared), or is that being fucked about by, had sent me in a completely different direction. I was being led up the garden path, a mere foreign sucker meeting demands for money handouts and getting nothing, or not very much anyhow, in return.

I was in love, but probably seen by most FMs as a fool for being so. I probably was a fool at that, plus quite likely mad, as I claim in another post. Whichever, I was doing it tough.

Serves you right! (Can I hear that harsh admonition, Stern Reader?)

Yes, it probably served me right. But I remain an old fashioned softie, hence a soft touch to boot. I still believed, as I have already said, that I could make Bee see, make him understand, make him improve himself, his moral approach and his reactions to me. I not only sought, as we’ll see, to make him a star, I hoped and worked to make him a better person.

That I was to eventually fail hopelessly in these aims disappoints me, has soured me to some extent, certainly against him personally, as well as against his family. But even more against the kind of Vietnamese culture and morality that turns out young desolate empty products such as him who have no aim in life other than to use people for whatever shallow venal gain they can extract from them.

What can I look back on? I have no photos, which is a shame.

He had for my tastes, an excellent quality cock. Not the best I have encountered, but vastly attractive.

This is not him, but the LB shown has eerily similar features. That same thick limp cock of quite good size that hardens up to magnificent magnetism and dishes up the most delicious cum I have ever drunk. The same shoulders and thin flat-chested torso. The same collar or shoulder length hair. However, my Bee had darker skin than the femboy shown above, and lacked the slightly disconcerting five o’clock shadow that you can just make out on the face of this one in red pants. My boy’s cock sucking lips were larger, huge in fact, while the look in his eye didn’t come up as insolent like the pic, but was wicked, electric, flirtatious.

Bee also had the most perfect arsehole I have yet sampled. Again I regret I have no pix. But here is one getting towards the quality of Bee’s.

This is an ex-Japanese GG porn star, my favourite for many years, named Miura Aika. In her thirties now, she is no longer in the scene, but her magnificent arsehole goes some way to giving you an idea of how good Bee’s was: if I gave him a 100 score (perfect) I would rate Aika-san’s as about 93. The caveat being that I only know Aika-san’s from images.

Note the visibility of the sphincter, how it glistens in the pic quite white for about 300 degrees of arc, and you can easily discern its tendon-like strength and expandability. Surrounding it is the property shared by all great arseholes, that sunray rim of tissue (gorgeous brown in many Asians like Aika-san and Bee) which also aids the expansion, but in relaxation mode as shown in the pic gives to the hole an expansive resonance of attractive clean freshness and beautiful symmetry, akin to an ancient caldera, the inside rim of a quiescent volcano. The radiant pattern is a mahogany version of the Hinomaru, sunrays emanating from the centre of the universe.

It makes you want to shove your finger in there. Or other things. His hole looked smelt and tasted magnificent. I loved to kiss it, lick it and stick my tongue in.

Beauty accepted all that, for it flattered as Beauty likes and demands.

But I still couldn’t cum. And this had zilcho to do with Tantrism. It was because there was no situation in which to cum. Which in turn was to do with a careless, reckless, deceitful VNese femboy taking me to lunch and going nowhere after, taking me to hotel rooms, rolling away sulkily in sheer farce. In short he was busy treating me like shit while at the same time, Attentive Reader, taking my money and trashing my self esteem.

It looked for the moment like my project was in tatters.

[pdogg]

I had the best fun I had had to that time with a cock, as Ishmael discovered it is possible to do; and it was a cock hidden at first in female knickers –

Lee slipped out of my life, but remains to this day seared into my neurons as the provider of my all time number one sex event.

[williethepimp]

Love at first sight

Bee also had the most perfect arsehole I have yet sampled.

Note the visibility of the sphincter, how it glistens in the pic quite white for about 300 degrees of arc, and you can easily discern its tendon-like strength and expandability. Surrounding it is the property shared by all great arseholes, that sunray rim of tissue (gorgeous brown in many Asians like Aika-san and Bee) which also aids the expansion, but in relaxation mode as shown in the pic gives to the hole an expansive resonance of attractive clean freshness and beautiful symmetry, akin to an ancient caldera, the inside rim of a quiescent volcano. The radiant pattern is a mahogany version of the Hinomaru, sunrays emanating from the centre of the universe.

It makes you want to shove your finger in there. Or other things. His hole looked smelt and tasted magnificent. I loved to kiss it, lick it and stick my tongue in.

Beauty accepted all that, for it flattered as Beauty likes and demands.

Bloody hell Ken,that could be re-titled "Ode to the arse"....I never knew there was so much to discern from looking at a pic of an arse...but you have described it beautifully...Charles Dickens could not have given a better inspective description....

aS they say,"Every day is a schoolday"...and Ive just learned something new...

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#17)

I said I would not burden you Poor Reader, with all of my Top 5 sex events, and I won’t. But over recent days it has increasingly itched at me to tell you about #2, for it is now, to me, in hindsight of the years gone by, the most amusing, while being the most crazy interlude I have ever been involved in.

And it concerns a GG. Or more correctly a WWW, a wild willful woman. This happened around about the same time as my top night with Lee the Aussie LB, give or take a year or two.

I was working in a small department in a small regional university in smalltown Australia. Apart from my research and regular teaching commitments, I supervised a team of graduate students doing their own advanced research projects on track for doctoral or master’s degrees. The WWW, who I’ll call Hilary Buxton, was one of these graduate students. She was in her early to mid thirties at the time, a mother of two, with a husband who was a medium shot public servant. She had a sexual appetite befitting a Rottweiler awaiting callers. It is fair to say she devoured.

In the old days, when they made movies, the bloke running the show, the director, used to have a chair on the set specially reserved for him. It was a foldup folddown carryaround chair, with a light unpainted wooden frame held together by riveted bits of metal that overlapped on their rivet axis when the frame was folded, and expanded and clicked into alignment when the frame was opened. Strung across the frame was a strip of canvas which functioned as the seat. And strung across the back posts of the frame, was another strip of canvas that provided back support. On this was usually stenciled in large capital letters: DIRECTOR.

Hence this style of chair, which has become vastly popular in Australia for outdoor living, around the pool, in barbecue areas, downstairs, in gardens, or for taking in the car to set up and watch cricket, have a picnic, or camping trip, has taken the name: director’s chair.

As we’ll see the director’s chair was to have a place of central significance in my history of Top & laughable sex events.

Hilary Buxton’s husband, Burge, a mid-ranking public servant, with degrees in mathematics and economics, handsome, charming, a smooth talker, internationally experienced, liked to mix with folks Buxton told him were good to mix with. Husband and wife had travelled a lot, and considered themselves good company, as well as urbane witty intellectual hosts.

When Buxton got the hots for some boy, she would take him home, make out like he was some new interesting toy that husband and wife should charm and be charmed by, share margaritas with, travel stories with, big ideas with, barbecue with, and ultimately, Buxton would share her ample brown bosom and Suet Canal with.

Happily and willingly I got caught up in this circle. We would sit around on Saturday nights eating barbie nosh and drinking margaritas, talking bullshit. In director’s chairs under Buxton’s high blocked suburban house.

You feel it too, don’t you, she queried. I was mystified, feeling like I’d missed the first part of the conversation. You feel it too, don’t you, she inquired every time we were alone. Eventually Buxton took me home, mid-afternoon, weekday, into her son’s bedroom, and had me sideways on the child’s bed. I was terrified.

Buxton told me I was the next big thing in her life. You feel it too, don’t you?

She was tired of her husband and wanted to move on. O he’s a nice guy and all that, but I’m bored. She saw the future involving her and me. The Dynamic Duo, Fatman & Nobbun.

What if your husband comes home from work, I retorted, returning to the prosaic. What if the neighbours saw us arrive and tell your husband? What if your boys come home from school?

Buxton was cool as the cucumber that was me entering her. I came quick, then left. Boy, was I sweating.

[bubba]

And was "Burge" in the wardrobe, gently stroking his massive member, gorged with blood, whilst this seeing too was unfolding before his bulging eyes, drooling jowls?

So you just "came" and went? Come on, we want some embroidery here. "Flesh" it out a little, boyo! Relentless pursuit by Diana, of the prey. Your sweet virginal body?

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#18)

I was to sweat over Buxton on more occasions before she was finished with me. Mostly in her children’s bedrooms, once in my spare bedroom (yes, the same spot where Lee’s wonderful cock was unveiled), but one memorable time underneath her house (Top sex event #2). This was at the culmination of a margaritas and bullshit party, blithering and reveling, after husband Burge got a late night call from his boss to say that something urgent was wanted by the Minister, and he, Burge, and he the boss, would have to prepare it early in the morning as the M wanted it by nine o’clock.

I know it’s a big night, I know it’s the weekend, I know you’re partying, I’m dining out too. Just get to bed and get in here early, OK. O shit, OK will do, if we must, bloody hell.

A night of confusion and errors.

So Burge goes to bed and snores through the wooden floorboards directly above the tequila and lime drinkers’ heads. The grog and the bullshit take their toll, and revelers drift off home, leaving the drunk and horny Buxton and the drunk and horny Ken, sipping and making eyes, Ken’s big glowing brown, Buxton’s deadsea bluegrey, below the snoring eyesclosed Mr Buxton, to live through the consequences of the dynamism of opposing forces, every reaction being to an action, each mass having a force of its own, propelling Ken at an inclination towards the seated Buxton, knees up against her shoulders, tits under her chin, barefeet spread on the edge of the canvas director’s chair she was inhabiting like a wolf its lair, angle of the dangle, when Galilei rolled his balls down an inclined plane, Buxton, by putting down her margarita flute, slips her red dress up around her hips and flips her knickers away onto the cement underhouse floor, black curly triangle like a pirate’s patch, covers an eye slit that winks at Ken, Ken winks back, winker and winkee, allies in cahoots, I know the next step in this twostep is mine, my glass goes down carefully, along with trousers, something else comes up carefully, and kneetremblingbent insertion of solid into fluid medium fills Buxton up with the salty cocktail she has desired all night long, and makes her face red, makes her feel equally hot and good all over, according to Pascal’s principle, as they go at it, Ken & WWW, tremble tremble, slushy slurpy, paw paw, craw craw, more more, snore snore, pistons pump in time with Mr Buxton, engines hum, ooo nooo, moo moo, aaa maaa, moans groaned in time with pistons with red faced pressure according to Pascal, and according to Mr Buxton, inhaling exhaling, snore gnore, creak creak, canvas and wooden frame of director’s chair nearly give, but don’t, just, hold till done.

She redfaced, gasping hasping, fish on the bank, mouth open, gills flapping, speechless, eyes wide, he jellylegged, exhausted, sober now, confronting his night of errors, terrified that Mr Burge Buxton is either a) awake and has heard it all while pretending to snore, and is about to emerge from upstairs with a carving knife with which to gut Ken, or has just woken up, suspicious of a dream he just had whereby his wife and some guy were fucking while he was sleeping, and will emerge from upstairs with a carving knife with which to gut Ken, or c) one of the boys has woken up and is just telling Daddy that Mummy’s crying moaning groaning downstairs somebody must be hurting her, and Mr Burge will emerge from upstairs with a carving knife with which to gut Ken, or d) all of the above.

I have to go, 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. Don’t go, redfaced wants more, you felt it didn’t you, one more, I need more of you in me, more, redface is out of control, in the grip of chemical release, addictive chemical release, the vessel walls where an equal effect was everywhere felt, wants more, is crazy. You crazy, I have to go, he’ll kill me. You feel it don’t you? Kill both of us maybe, seeya

I peck her red cheek and run, literally run, off down the road to safety and sleep.

[bubba]

Whew! Thats more like it!

By the by, early this morning I sprang awake with a thought, yes, few I know, careering around in my head.

A name! A name or title for KenW's epistle of the road.

"KenW and the Art of LB Maintenance".

Has a certain "ring" to it, I would opine.

What say you fellow travellers?

Ed's note: Might be better if you dropped the W for this once, Ken.

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#19)

We had been out, a bunch of us from the department, staff and graduate school. Dining, wining, who knows what, I cannot recall. But whatever, we ended up back at the flat of one of our number, who I’ll call Margaret. Today I can name 6 of us present, but have no idea who the others were, damaged brain cells, about 8 or 10 in all.

More strong drink. It is the wee hours.

I don’t know why but suddenly I found need to assert my authority (at that time I functioned, Scholastic Reader, as titular head of department). I was ensconced in an arm chair at one end of the small room.

I want to see Hilary Buxton fucked, I growled sternly.

That was a conversation killer. The sound system thumped on, but from those in attendance suddenly not a sound, all silent expectant eyes now on me.

I think everybody present should fuck Hilary Buxton, I continued, right now, right here on Margaret’s carpet. Then when we’ve all had a go, and she still wants more, I’ll find some beer bottles, table legs or whatever that we can continue with.

Much grinning and chatter. People sitting crossed legged on carpet came up with cacophonous cackles, made multifarious moanings with nodding nudges noting dumbstruck state of Burge Buxton’s staring shell shocked eyes that somehow failed to match the leering lecherous leaning lower lip of his wife.

Yea, go Hilary, they cried. Let’s do it. Etcetera, up for sex we were.

Ten minutes of drunken heavy deliberation negotiation followed. Buxton as I remember, held no major objection (she most certainly would have wanted me inside her again), but Mr Burge Buxton played the role of party pooper, whistle willy wet blanket. Perhaps he suspected something. Being a territorial dog. Maybe he was just jealous.

A compromise was reached. Burge would fuck Hilary Buxton, while we all watched.

Jeezuz, I complained, where’s the fun in that? You can do that any old time. (I was tossing out bravado, being a git, for I’m a voyeur and the act of watching other people fuck has always been high on my list of likes.)

So they strip off and Burge the macho man makes sure all the women present get a good 360 degree view of his body and his bone as he struts around prior. Buxton merely lays on her back legs open waiting.

Then he fucks her.

Plain old missionary pumping pounding. Cums quick. Much yahooing guffawing and caterwauling from the audience. Maybe an odd boo. Clapping at climax.

Buxton red faced.

Hilary Buxton fucked by her husband, in public, well, not exactly in public, but with 6 or 8 folks watching anyhow. An ordinary sex event in The Remotes.

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#20)

You are the most beautiful (Bee Yootiful) thing in the whole world, I said.

I’m poor, said the most beautiful thing in the whole world, give me money.

There has never been anyone to match your beauty. I gave money. Give me more money. I gave more money. Give my mother money. I gave mother money.

Beauty took all this, pleased with itself, as beauty does.

Charlie had by now forgiven Mabel for the fake farcical ST stopover at the mini hotel.

We would, in those early days, meet up in an eatery, a bar or a streetside food stall, him always arriving in company, with another LB, a faggot gay boy or two. He would happily sit with me for an hour or so, eating drinking (his freeloading company doing likewise) at my expense. But then the pester would begin.

I’m so poor. My mother poor, no have money. My mother owe money, must pay. You give me money. I would give him a small amount, whereupon he would abuse me like I was a pariah dog slinking to a nearby rat drain. I would give more. All smiles, he would then plant a big slurpy kiss on me and announce that he had to go now, as he had jobs to do for his mother. This behaviour pattern began to hurt me very quickly, leaving me vexed and sighing.

I’m a bit slow, as thick as a painter’s plank, Judging Reader. But neither so slow nor so thick that I didn’t know well and truly what was going down here. Such is love’s transgression.

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs,

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes,

Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears,

What is it else? A madness most discreet…”

That’s Romeo (Act I, Scene I) echoing exactly where I was and what I was going through, my state of mind and my state of heart. I have no doubt, Analytic Reader, that I was mad. (Maybe still am.) A madness not so discreet.

I used to hear the eatery owner where we spent most of our time say to the boy in Vietnamese: the old foreigner loves you so much. (And she was only going on actions, not anything I had ever said to her.) The boy would just smile like a fisherman proud of his day’s catch.

But such is love’s transgression that even though I knew full well what I was doing, and more importantly what he was doing and about to do further to me, I plummeted headlong at the speed of light along with it. Einstein on his beam.

Talk about being conned by a LB. Tell me about it.

But you have to understand my dilemma was, Nodding Reader, I was not being conned. I knew what was going on. My vision was 2020 in broad bright daylight. I was giving willingly. Well, not exactly willingly, as I was not pleased at giving so much and getting so little.

But like Melville, I had seen into this boy’s soul and I knew goodness when I saw it. Albeit that this was warped goodness, a spirit bent and twisted by an evil mother who thought nothing of setting her baby to procuring, and caring not a fig how he came about the loot, as long as it got carried home to her. Caring not a fig who got trashed along the way.

I hoped to change that. This, Cynical Reader, was my folly. Not that I was being conned (I wasn’t). Not that I was besotted (I was), not that I was giving lots for little (I was). My sheer utter helplessness was based around this hapless hope that I could change him, could make him see the way to goodness, to decency, to a certain morality we in many Western cultures take pride in, a morality based around honesty, honourableness and (dare I the heathen invoke the christian version) doing unto others.

He had become my project. My work in progress.

Despite being a grumpy old fart, people who know me well and have done so for decades or years assure me I am a gentle man, a kind man, a warm man, a considerate man, a generous man. To Vietnamese who see you coming along all that translates into is one word: sucker.

That’s the kind of culture it is. I knew that. I’m supposed to be an expert. Ha, I would reply when folks would say that, an expert is when an ovary explodes. (And nongs like me who have their moosh too close end up with egg all over our faces.)

[bubba]

Jesus KenW. You wont get to play in the second row with that attitude. You wont even get to be ballboy.

[KenW]

Love at first sight (#21)

Hilary Buxton burst into my office at 8 in the morning.

I didn’t know whether she was going to attack me or attack me. Terrified of the former I looked about, making sure there were no sharp implements on my desk. She attacked me alright, in the latter manner, laying down a sex event that is ever memorable to me for its sheer audacity, its bizarre wantonness, its bravura brazenness.

The interlude beneath Mr Buxton’s snoring, me kneetremblingbent pushing into the Suet Canal of a potential new middle eastern crisis, Buxton’s gooey sea lane sat upon a director’s chair, was to become my all time #2 Top sex event. So much fear inserted inside forbidden fruit. What I am about to describe, the follow up, was different altogether.

Not a Top list event, but quite a one nevertheless, as it can also be characterized by the presence of two of those three most important attributes of Ken’s great sex events: fear & forbidden fruit.

Now, it was in my office, at 8 in the morning Tut-tutting Reader, in a professional institution, a time when phones are ringing, fifty emails lay waiting to be answered, students and staff striding up and down corridor, busyness bustling, doors being knocked on.

Hilary Buxton doesn’t care a hoot.

It was you I wanted, she hissed as ruthlessly as if she had just told me she was about to kill me. All the time Burge was fucking me, she said, it was you I was thinking about, you I was wanting. Didn’t you see me looking at you? (During that event that evening I had purposely averted my gaze from Hilary’s as Burge fucked her, fearing that if we made eye contact, as she lost control close to or during orgasm she might yell out: Ken, o Ken!)

Then she added: You feel it too, don’t you?

Hilary, ah, …

Before I could say anymore she had reached back, closed my office door, secured the lock, dropped to her knees on the carpet in front of me, undone my zipper and gone for my manikins.

Hilary Buxton sucked me off and drank me down.

Thankfully nobody knocked on my locked door.

She stood up, gave me a huge slurpy post-cum kiss, opened my office door, then took off.

It was 2-level forbidden fruit, this time not only because she was another man’s wife, but also, secondly, in this context, on this campus, in this office, she was a graduate student, a person for whom I held professional responsibility, over whom I was supposed to exercise duty of care.

Instead of that there’s Ken the pentapod with his foot of brawn shoved well and truly down Hilary Buxton’s meat-craving throat.

Jeezuz. That terrified me.

Imagine had my Dean or some other Big Knob been trying to see me. I exaggerate a little, for it was reasonably well known around the building that my door closed meant I was not there, in a meeting, in class, whatever, for my door was always open when I was in the office. So in reality a dean or whoever would have gone away and returned later, or as is much more likely, phoned first to see if I was in. A student would have certainly gone away.

But nevertheless, with the flurry of thoughts that shoot across your synapses at such times, often noisy signals that do not come down the line clearly, my fear was palpable that we would be sprung. That would mean me being called up before the honchos and carpeted, maybe even threatening my job.

Fear, abject fear, of 2-level forbidden fruit.

[bubba]

Aaaah yes! I remember THAT forbidden fruit. My wife calls the office wanting to speak to little me. My horny secretary, already fucking me regularly, puts her on and promptly walks into my office, unzips my fly and proceeds to blow me while I struggle to explain that I will be a little late home. "Something has come up and I need to deal with it." My oath, something had come UP!

I lurched out of the office about an hour later with my balls drained and a silly smirk on my face. Secretary's fave saying: "Ooooh! There's nothing like a nice FAT cock.!"

Office sex can be exhilarating, right?

[KenW]

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.

[KenW]

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.

[bubba]

Soooo, there's more, huh?

[KenW]

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.

[KenW]

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.

[KenW]

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.

[bubba]

Sooo, onleeeee 24 hours from Tulsaaaa.

Onleeee, one day away from Ken's arms!

Whew! Sorry, KenW. Continuay, mon frere!