Category Archives: fetish

Random good stuff

It feels great to be posting properly here again, and there are still more stuff coming up from Shibaricon. Also, when there is time, I would love to be able to post some of the leftovers I’ve not posted yet, such as more of the adventures from Tokyo earlier this year. Yeah, better late than never, right?

But in the meantime, here is some random stuff I found which I think is really interesting and worth checking out. First of all, how many people is there out there who sing kinky folkmusic? Dear pervert, this is Chastity; two great artists who has some great tracks up their sleeve:

Then, when I was visiting the amazing city of San Francisco, I got to very briefly meet some of the members of  San Francisco girls of Leather (SFgoL). Ok, so it was in a dark parking lot, but everyone was very well behaved. Then, just a week later I got to meet a lovely girl in Sweden who had been a part of this group. And now, they are on the cover to S.F Guardian with a huge article  that is so well written. Good kink/leather activism and solidarity at its best as well, hugely inspiring.

Then, there is also an event coming up in Dublin. Twisted Leprechaun! The first of its kind in Europe, inspired by Shibaricon, will take place the 10th-11th of September, just outside Dublin, Ireland. Just registered and the schedule for presenters looks awesome, with talent both from Europe and from the States and Canada.



The leather boots

A audio-memory resurfacing: a loud bang as two boots are hitting the surface of a stage. And the effect: a trembling traveling through my body, eyes zooming in on the black leather, they boots that become so much bigger in the mind.

A couple of weeks later, on another continent and another venue, with other perverts. Boots again, leatherboots on a man whom I know can be a mean bastard. I trust him to be absolutely nasty when he an. We are sitting on the floor and Zahara is being instructed on how to polish his boots. Bootblacking itself is perhaps not a thing of mine, but more the thought of loosing oneself in a task to produce a meticulous result, and doing it for someone. the eyes are drawn to the more and more shiny surface of the boots, their potential and stability. Boots are grounding, leather boots evenmore so, allowing the foot to rest against the ground, to move smooth and steady, to stomp, to kick, to walk. It is the action the boots enable, and the person who is wearing them become a possibility to act.
For all high-heel fetishizes out there: I’m sorry bu it is really not my thing. As an element of bondage and aesthetic, sure, but if I bottom/submit to someone and wearing heels, unless they say otherwise, I take them off. They are a liability in play, unless, again, that is the point. Same with when I dom. If I play physically, I don’t trust myself enough or my balance when wearing them. I want feet either bare or firmly placed, a stance that is capable or willing to move in what ever way is necessary. That freedom my friend, for me, does not come in heels. And yes, I’m pretty fucking good at wearing and walking in heels. But who ever came up with the thought that high heels are empowering/dominant must have never had to wear a couple for more than 12 hours. Although these ones are quite wonderful.


Boots on the other hand. Any kind of. Docs, Undergrounds, riding boots such as Königs, Cavallo, Pikeur or even better; properly used old school ones. Then there is the ones which makes you salivate just thinking about them,Corcoran, Wesco, et cetera. Laced up tightly, clean lines. Or the stealth ones, boots which almost disappears onto the person, so discrete but still so potent. Hugging the feet perfectly.

Picture found at Stompers Boots.

Trousers tucked in, or resting on top. A dress or a skirt, with a hint of lace from the petticoat contrasting the raw leather. A kilt, flowing movements of the fabric and then the stillness, the firm cut of a wellfitted boot.

It is in the end of the evening and my energylevels are completely down to zero. have eaten two cupcakes for dinner, drunk silly amounts of water, three awesome playsessions and steered off an idiot or two. A friend is getting off in one corner, his shoulders and hips tense, undulating with that frenetic movement of someone in such a state of pleasure that any other movement that does not seek to enhance that pleasure is impossible. I’m rather happy, contended, like a relaxed animal, a bit vulnerable in the tiredness and relaxation. If approached, I would expose my neck freely, surrender. Does that state of mind show? Perhaps it does because suddenly he has gripped me and thrown my body to the floor,the mind follows a second after. A faint smile and that kind of glint in the eyes. This is not going to be pretty. Earlier he had shouted at me to keep my fucking head down when he was flogging, now he does not say a single word. Just the glint in the eyes, the focus and then a stomp of his foot, right next to my head. It is a shining entity of it own when it is upclose like this. A threat and a promise. I’m pulled, pushed, pressed against the ground, he is moving my body where ever he wants it, and I can only try to follow, the best as I can. When he drags me over the floor, I keep up enough to not get a carpet-burn. Light kicks, the sole of his boot pressing down my arm, as he pulls my hand upwards. A knee compressing my chest. Stomps, fast and fluid movements. Some kind of tempo that is building up. In the end, I’m lying face down, with my arms underneath, almost bracing myself, I don’t want it to end, never do. Slowly opening my eyes, there they are, the black leather boots, shining, tucked into the cammo trousers and further up; that glint in his eyes. And a boot against the chest or the face, somewhere, somehow; that is just perfect.


London Festival of the Art of Japanese Bondage- Part II

Dear reader; I am so sorry for the delay with the updates on this blog.  This summer has been amazing, but I was caught in a net of writer’s block and lazyness.

As the Sunday evening came, so did the main-party. Thanks to Clover and Dave I was provided with  an obi, holding together the kimono I wore.It was also Dave who kindly tied said obi It was indeed one of the most comfortable outfits I ever worn to a party, which just shows that it was not a real kimono… All in all, it was not a genuine kimono nor a ‘genuine’ look, but it was very comfortable to run around in that outfit.

By Echo Photograph

Bunny and I met, her looking gorgeous as always. We wanted to play during the evening, and as the first show started we were already up on the mezzanine, but when Dasniya Sommer went on stage, we took a break to stand and watch a mesmerizing dance between two people. Sommer’srope-partner was wrapped up in a piece of fur, creating beautiful contrast to Sommer, who was naked, if one disregard her amazing haircolour, which matched the color of her pubic hair (attention to details indeed.

The fur and the music made me think of Russia for some reason, but speaking to Sommer a bit later, she said that it was more alluding to animals at play. The double suspension, in which her partner was first suspended and then she joined in was magical and very different from many other shows seen before.  The shows throughout the evening had those unique qualities that made my both cry and laugh, never becoming bored. But as any party, there was a lot of socializing going on, making me miss a performance every now and then.

Shadow did one amazing show again, and with her signature of strong, playful session while still remaining in full control, maintaining the energy from the beginning to the end, using her body as well as the rope to shift the balance of her gorgeous rope-bunny.
It was indeed an evening that both showed the skills of the riggers but also of the rope-models.

The show by Mistress Amrita was one which took us to a interesting place where there was sea, and mermaids and nets, the performers enclosed in a big plastic bag, giving them a sphere where we could see them and they could see us but still a small layer of plastic was between the audience and the performers, giving it even more of a otherworldly feeling and maybe also pushing buttons on voyerism and exhibitionism. Who is actually being watched?

The mermaid was released from a net,suspended, taken down, transformed into a human, to then be pushed head first into water. This piece was so well thought out, with music, outfits, ropes and props taken in to account.

Boykitten,  did a dramatic and powerful selfsuspension in ballet-boots At one point he started to thrash around testing the ropes to the limit and pushing his own body and in the second after, complete control and stillness.  Very impressive and also one of the youngest (the youngest one?) on stage during the weekend.

The highlight was Kinoko’s performance. He had no music, and it was like you were watching private play between two persons. I’ve never been in a room with a couple of hundred people and it been so silent as it was during his performance. When he hit with tiny bamboorods on the top of her feet, you heard the audience draw their breath, and you heard every squeel from Arisa as she was placed in positions I did not know was possible. There was a complete trust, and I can really recommend to view the video. Sensual, emotional, painful, perfect.

Two other performances, both spellbinding and intense in their own right, was still working on very different levels.  Nawashi Murakawa drew us in to a world which felt like travelling through history, to the japanese country side, him walking with two gorgeous female prisoners with ropes around their necks.

Please press play for music similar to the one used in Nawashi Murakawa’s performance.
Hypnotic to say at least, and it really gave the audience something completely else.  The music, the rope-artistry, scenography, it all came together and made complete sense, creating a dream.

Contrasting that was Esinem and Electric Fairy, who did a school-themed suspension scene, with even the music fitting perfectly. (Queen and Pink Floyd to mention a few).E.F was the naughty girl caught perving over her teacher, who then discovers masses of rope in her bag, some sex toys and then an apple. Suitable punishment followed. Esinem always effects you as a viewer, I’ve never seen a show or play by him and not felt it. He and E.F oozes of chemistry and his ropework  is fast, precise and in his sadism there is so much care shining through that they both radiate.

When the shows were all over around 3 o’ clock in the morning the play and party still continued and I only had about 3 hours of sleep before heading back for a final day of related activity.  Let’s hope that post wont be taking as long for me to write as this one.


I’m pushed down on my knees, endorphins flowing so fast I can hear a buzz in my ears. He has traced the gun slowly over my body, and now I can feel the cold metal at the back of my neck. Two minutes ago, I still knew that it was not real, it could not be, he would not do it. He would…not..

But there is doubt now, an that doubt has transformed in to fear, and the fear makes me believe that it is just a matter of a fraction of a second before his hand will tense slightly to pull the trigger. But I can’t do anything about it, I can’t stand up, all of my defences are down, shackled or held in uncomfortable positions. The metal handcuffs make every movement into a struggle. I never want to leave this place. I feel like I am never going to leave, that this space is the last that I will inhabit…. And that realization makes everything perfect, as I wait for his next move.

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.

Congratulations to Norway and some other important matters

First of all:

About a year ago, perves in Sweden were not to be considered sick anymore.
Now, it is Norways turn:

The Norwegian Directorate of Health has decided that certain diagnostic codes are now invalid in Norway, thus changing the Norwegian version of the international diagnoses register. (ICD-10)
The following diagnoses are taken out: fetishism, fetishistic transvestism, sadomasochism, multiple disorders of sexual preference, and transvestism.
– In our opinion there is no basis, neither in today’s societal norms nor in professional health thinking, to classify these diagnostic groups as disease, says head of the Health Directorate Bjorn-Inge Larsen. By excluding the use of these codes in Norway the Directorate wishes to contribute to the weakening of a general opinion that certain sexual preferences, sexual identities and gender expressions may be seen as states of illness.

The really interesting article can be found here

Congratulations Norway! The activism has given result, and joined Denmark and Sweden as being countries where you can be a healthy perv.

For those of you who need more proof of how stupidity reigns the world with weird methods, read this excellent wallraff article on how to ‘cure’ gay men. Amongst many things that will make you gay is your (neglecting or too neglecting) parents, Freemasons, sexual abuse or just in general not being in touch with oneself. I’m just telling you, if you had happened to have missed that.
To read more about exgay movement, Ex-gay watch and Beyond Ex-gay is a good place to start.
I also wrote a bit about the possibilities of a cross-over between ex-gay and ex-bdsm and how it could be manifested. That you can read about here.

One writer that always makes me feel something is Penny Red. She writes so eloquently and passionately about politics, feminism and a whole lot more that I go all mushy and sometimes teary-eyed. Writers like her are needed, voices like hers are needed.
Three of her latest pieces resonated strongly within me, one on the misogyny and racism hidden in the debate over the veil , one about trans-activism and also, very appropriately slamming the  Comment is Free-article by Simon Jenkins who is ‘defending‘ the pope (cause that ex-nazi, priest-peadophilia cover-upper needs sooooooo much defending…) in this excellent post ‘Does Simon Jenkins shit in the woods?’

That’s all for now folks.

Great things ahead

New week, new horizons, a good feeling. I spent the weekend with friends, drinking to much alcohol, sleeping not very much, queuing 5 o’clock in the morning,   getting to know new, beautiful people, being flogged and then tied up in a rope-suspension. Will write a bit more about that later.

Now, first of all, if you are based in London or reasonable vincinity, or even far away and would not mind travelling for something special, you might want to check this out:

The event is the so called ‘illegitimate lovechild’, stemming from the San Francisco version with the same name, and I have a feeling it will be frigging awesome.
As fetish-clubs in London are awesome, a new club certainly must have something else and I think it is here that Kinky Salon will succeed. Not strictly a fetish club, but rather a playful, hedonist, sexy, queer space that encourages outrageous behaviour and creativity that is not directly associated with the usual dresscode of fetish-clubs, this might be exactly what you need.
The next party is on March 13, 2010, from 9 pm-4 pm and this is what they say about what is awaiting you who decide to go:

“Prepare yourself to have your inner child corrupted at the Toybox for Misfit Toys!

In honour of our first Kinky Salon endeavour, and the playful environment we hope to create, we’d like to corrupt your inner child at the Toybox for Misfit Toys!

“Come, naughty children, go fetch your warm gingerbread
and into the Dark Woods of Bed Time Stories, shall we tread…
Past pubescent candy bushes and gooey gumdrop vales,
Down moist, heaving slopes and past slippery, wet dales!
Where Beautiful Princesses dream in deep slumber
of being lavished upon by not one, but three Princes, in number!

Where Little Miss Muffet, that cheeky young tart
stuck a thumb up Jack Horner and gave him a start!
(and BTW- what the f*ck is a Tuffet?)

And yes, it’s quite true, (but long ago from the books since cut)
that the Mad Hatter had a thing for Alice’s perky, round butt-
He spanked her so firmly with his small, gloved hand,
it did wake the Jabberwocky from Slythy Tove Land!
And Snow White, that prude who just LOVED to sing
got herself tied up and lashed good, with a dragonfly wing
(by  Evil Witch & Puss-In-Boots …a Faux Queen and Faux King)

How about poor Rapunzel, pestered by that weird, pervert Gnome- all hairy?
Or, all the positions possible with 3 Bears and a girl ?
(Ponder that, yeah, it’s just scary…)

And of course all our favorite, the one with the Wolf
who had his head lopped off,  a-Trisket a-trasket
by Miss Thang with a huge knife she kept hid in her basket!
‘..all the better to chop your frickin head off, Mr. BEEEYOTCH!’”

I’m so going.
Another event you don’t want to miss is the London Festival of the Art of Japanese Bondage (don’t try to say that fast and many times!). This is an event during easter (2-5 april, 2010) and with loads of workshops and shows, by those who are amongst the rope-savviest people in the world.
Will bump these events more in future as well.