Testing the waters

So, there is a couple of different notions of waters that I’m going to write about in this post. First, water as a fetish, then waterbondage and what comes with that. Lastly,  watersports, or piss-play.

It is an odd thing, discovering a new fetish. I started this journey about two years ago, a journey into pervery, and all of this is of course a continuous exploration. Of those things that has been most remarkable has been the fact that I started to do needles, which, for anyone who knows me and knows about my knifephobia, is a huge step. Another step, not as big, but certainly interesting, was how I a couple of months ago realised that I have a fetish for water, a fetish that I have previously not pronounced as one. But here it goes: I’m a aquaphiliac/hydrophiliac. How did I come to that conclusion then? Well, I actually needed to see it in print in order to connect the dots from the past, the present and the future. A little book that described different types of fetishes, and one of them was having a fetish for water, in what ever shape or form that fetish might be experienced. For me, it is mostly about sensation. There is something in water that makes me feel alive, that makes me feel strong. The slickness of skin, turning into an element of nature, in some ways transcending a notion of flesh. Flesh that sometimes does not seem to be enough becomes perfect or bettered in water, and it becomes something that I can more easily relate to. Through moving in water, I feel myself more. That is of course something that almost all of my sexual practices bring with them, but extra clear when water is involved.

I’ve always felt good in water, swimming, taking a shower, standing in the rain (had numerous colds due to my love to stand in rain getting soaked, especially in the spring and during the summer), my head being held down under water, someone forcing me to shower in cold water, being led to believe that I am drowning. Water-boarding or getting showered by a cold stream. A cock in me, while head being held under the surface, feeling him fucking me and not caring about me shaking. And fingers clinching my nose shut, my body held by a tight rope harness, dipped and seeing him through the surface. Or being threatened, hanging close, close to the surface. Beneath or below the surface, expectation, fear and focus.

Emma Alexa snorkelling by Richard Knightly

First of all, the sensation of water, the touch of water is very erotic. The slick, flowing part makes my skin breathe in a different manner, much like the feeling of latex. I think there is a correlation there. If you ever had showered or taken a swim in latex, you know what I am talking about, and if you can but have not yet done it, do.
So this is more than BDSM, it is sensation. It is a fetish and it is a practice. And do you know what?  I miss my fetishes. At the moment I’m dealing with a body that does not feel like mine, and because of that, certain fetishes that has the nature of being associated with touch, latex is now very far away from me.
But that is another post. But anyhow, I’m missing my fetish. And curse the day that there became a divide in the BDSM and fetish world. Because I want all the crackers. Greedy fucking girl. I tortured the VISA card the other week, and looking forward to all the slick items that will drop in to my postbox.

But it was water I was talking about. My body becomes a possibility, a movement and is soaked. Like when he grabs my body and force my face into the stream of water coming from the shower head. Says nothing, just holding me there, grasping for air. I cannot distinguish the details of his face because of the stream of water, but I can feel his eyes all over my body,watching my reactions.

And in water I become a tease. Before play and when we are just suppose to shower I’m rubbing myself against more things than soap.  It is one of the few occasions when I can seduce and feel seductive. The water streaming over my body makes me powerful, even when it makes me grasp for air.

Then there is the piss. The watersports  and this is something that has to do with humiliation. As it is one of my partners main-fetishes I did not write it off immediately, although I must say I never thought about it until he spoke of it.  No harm can be done trying yes? 🙂

Golden Shower, Model: BoyKitten, Photo by Razoir

This was hard for me, on many levels. I guess I’ve been socialized into the whole thing about bodily-fluids as waste and as ‘unclean’. There is nothing ‘unclean’ about piss really, but to make my brain understand that is another story.
I crave the feeling of being stripped of control, pushed deeply down in to something that is for someone else and with me as a mere object, a frame and/or a receptacle. This is not about fetishist pleasures, that is not the objective. It touches on different elements of sexuality, such as disgust/abject, submission, fronts and layers.

Disgust/abject, because sex and piss are so far away from each other, at least where I come from. As many others, I grew up learning all about staying clean, not making a mess, about the body as a limit of what is appropriate or not. The physical body (especially female) is one of constant improvement, a degradation of all that is seen as ‘not feminine’ enough, a special hiding-place created for the bodily excretions, such as urine, feces, spit, menstrual blood, snot and pus. Which can seem a bit odd, because women are still also so often seen as the body she inhabits and nothing more. But the tampon has to be hidden, there is only joint pissing if one has to go somewhere where there is no other alternative.
And I’m kind of riding on top of all this. While often being accused of not being especially feminine (when did I even say I was!?) and not really that bothered by periods (especially after the arrival of the MoonCup, everyone should have one!) for a number of reasons, I still find pissplay hard.

Submission is hard. It is not easy, even when one could pretend it is. It is about merging and meeting desires on terms and conditions that sometimes can be ever so changing. I could say that communication is everything, but when everything has been communicated then? What is there left? When engaging in piss-play I want to trust, and I do. But my brain keep on giving me smart, little comments, worrying about things I should not, because he will take of it. He knows and does it, always. So how can I get in to a frame of mind? Is this because I feel like I loose something when it happens? Is this about the fronts and the layers?


Fronts and layers…yes.  When sitting squatting, fully dressed, being told to piss, it goes against something strong in me, something that makes me not even want to be in the same room as someone else while they are taking a piss otherwise. I want to be squeaky clean in a way, I like order. I like concepts that are tangible within that framework. In a messy room, my thinking patterns becomes fucked up, in clothes that are not what I usually would pick I feel trapped. As a creature of habit and control, I yearn to be picked in to pieces and maybe even put back again. That is where the layers come in. How many layers can one reach? Doll once spoke of people as being onions, multi layered and always changing. But when does one start to cry as the onion is dismantled? Strangely enough, I can often brush off the humiliating feeling, I am so focused on that I know that I might get clean. It is easier to rip a front than to strip layer after layer.

All of this makes me sound like I don’t like watersports. And while there is a certain truth about that I don’t fetishize the piss nor the tactility  associated with it, I yearn to be dismantled in that way that I think I can see how piss would. And that is something I never thought I would say.
And the deeper he goes, the deeper I want him to push me And in the end, I might cry. Out of relief, happiness and the feeling of safety.

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