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In two words…actually, yes.

Tiny or small dick bashing has been a staple of the bdsm scene for years and particularly in the arena of phone erotica. That’s not my issue. But, the one that does loom (or perhaps I should say doesn’t) is, as one gets older, paucity of priapic power. Limp dickness.

Now we have our pills we can pop. And I must say they work and I shall add that they leave you feeling odd enough that I’m sure my widow will get a big settlement when we find out in a few years that these phallus engorgement dream drugs make you grow an ovary that then explodes resulting in assuming room temperature. But that’s all for the class action lawsuit.

From the onset of this issue I have been intensely aroused psychologically by the myriad feelings it (or lack of itness) has aroused.

Perhaps the live action apotheosis of EDH (see the title of the post dear kinksters) is to be using your flaccid member to hump the back end of a huge black dildo inserted into my little stripper turned waitress, Kelly, while Kelly verbally degrades you. It’s kind of a white trash rant but it’s still pretty hot.

The aural equivalent is more dangerous. Phone tauntologist Domina Stern. Imagine your therapist chatting amiably with you as she thoroughly gets to know both you and your darkest fears. Then she takes that knowledge and unleashes it on you in a charming, teasing and emotionally brutal manner. The lovely lass had been kind enough to read my blog and had been very gracious in her assessment. However, when it came time for “play time”, she cut deeply. And it was very arousing and deeply troubling. I think I want her to make me cry.

I usually can keep all of this a step beyond “me”. Compartmentalized twisted crazy shit, then back to the con and hustle. Domina Stern, who lurks on Nite Flirt, may be the one to open me up and take me to a deeper level of ?

Of course, all of this is fictional and I am a guy who loves his wife and truly wants his recovery to progress. I write this for my pleasure and perhaps a helping hand to one of you.

A greatest hit from the vaults of my lifetime of winning weirdness.

When in the midst of a campaign for the state legislature down this way, it probably wasn’t the best idea to put together a party with two coked out hookers, two fat cat drunk oilies and…..wait for it….a member of the media. But that’s how we roll in the Llano Estacado if it seems like a good idea at the time.

The ladies in question and I had partied about a week before and as a lover of dysfunctional women of all stripes I needed to share with my friends. The two oil field dudes were donors to my campaign and long time golfing and drinking buddies and the media guy was just a freak who was always fun to have around. He was like the guys who covered FDR back in the day….I could’ve been in my wheelchair snorting coke off one of the hooker’s asses and he would’ve just let it go uncovered…as long as he could participate.

One of the hookers was a delicious, thin little brunette who I believe said she had a little Choctaw in her, just like me and…she had a small hump on one of her shoulders. First time she got naked and I saw it I prepared to fixate on it. Fixate I did…and it seemed to enhance her appeal. I didn’t get where that came from and still don’t but she was sexy.

We had the ladies, the substances and booze and it was about a month before the general election. As the ladies were changing we all agreed that this was a stupid thing to be doing and then cackled like frat boys on ’shrooms.

The ladies came out and we drank and did a few other things and eventually they dived down on one another. The media guy muttered a heartfelt thanks to Jesus, removed his glasses and leapt into the mix, licking and suckling for all he was worth. We all participated with gusto and we rolled out of there not too long before the West Texas sun started up out of the plains. I never saw my little Richard III/Igor lady again but I’ve always reconsidered what makes for beauty ever since and have a much broader canvas to work with in my libido. Bless those kinky lasses, my donors, the pervy media guy and all of you too. Peace to us all, my brothers and sisters.

Hello fellow travelers and also to the occasional pervert and freak. (I mean that with love…we are a unique little tribe) Road trip over the weekend and my schedule changed up at the last minute  and I didn’t have the chance to see the Kiwi goddess, Princess Aphrodite. Also failed to hook up with a delightful punk nerd sweetie who is retiring from stripping and many of her self-destructive ways. We’ve never really had a play party of bdsm sick shit together, but I suspect we’d have a certain chemistry.

I’m at a relatively low ebb of needing to act out. Usually I would have had something lip-smackingly twisted to share after this past weekend but the high point was fondling a few knives and examining some marinades at Williams-Sonoma. Sorry to disappoint but it feels pretty good in here. Peace to us all my brothers and sisters.

Christopher Guest is a lucky bastard. I’m amazed at the sensual force certain women hit me with. I’m watching TV and I usually mute commercials. Since I’m in the ad agency biz…I sometimes need to insulate myself from the concept-pitch-creative madness of what I do day in day out……but there she was.

I can’t think of another woman on the face of the earth who has aged into such amazing hotness. Jamie was a tad strong-featured for my tastes when she was younger. However she hooked me with her spunk, obvious intelligence while the glorious boobage of “Trading Sapces” made her a freeze-frame icon for a generation of harmless pervs like myself.

In “A Fish Called Wanda” I first marveled at her more than holding her own with Kline and Cleese and then the thought ambled through my brainpan…is she hotter than she used to be? When she did “True Lies” again….marvelous deadpan comic timing. And we get to the transformation/seduction scene where she rips off part of her dress to transform herself into a femme fatale. I so wanted her….and not in a nice way.

And then there she is pitching yogurt. Hair’s a little gray, wearing cute specs…sensible Mom clothing but her sexiness just oozes off the screen. I have standards and refuse to use a yogurt commercial as a springboard for masturbatory riffs of wonder…but…oh, my God …are we ever graced with a lovely, talented sexy lass in Miss Jamie.

I apologize for a lack of carnal mutterings…I just like her, simply put.

As I allegedly get “saner” I may need to more and more access my former several decades of bad craziness for fodder. I was heading to a certain Southwestern U.S. community where I’d had numerous bouts of fun with my little Domme-In-A-Thong Stacy. For old times sake I tried to lure her out of retirement to join me for a marketing seminar and then on to twisted strangeosity. (it should become a word, damn it.) It got me to thinking of a peak experience I’d had with her and the stunning Lady Lydia. So from Max Fisch reviews, enjoy.

For the second straight Christmas, I had an exceptional yuletide session with Lady Lydia of Seattle. This time, I had a friend who wanted to witness the session. We’d played around a bit with bdsm and she seemed like a natural. I asked Lady Lydia if my friend could be our studio audience and Lydia was completely comfortable with her watching. Little did I know she’d be incorporated in how things unfolded.

Lydia arrived at my hotel room and we ordered a bottle of wine so the three of us could chat about the scene and become comfortable with one another. I had difficulty getting the cork out and Lydia came to my rescue. Is there no end to her skills?
Lydia changed into a stunning corset and panties and garter belt. Couple that with her glorious mane of red hair and I was once again, happy to be where I was. My friend also changed into some lingerie, poured herself more wine and prepared to see me “disciplined”.

After having me strip, Lydia tied me to one of the chairs in the room. Then she produced a roll of kite string and reshaped my cock and balls into some sort of red, swollen, twisted bit of flesh that looked like Picasso had drawn them. I didn’t know my little man bits could get into that particular painful state. She followed that with nipple clips tied to a rope tied to my cock and balls so if I pulled one way to get some relief, the other end would tug and cause pain.

She produced a number of candles and gave me a thorough “private parts waxing” that was mostly painful but a bit erotic. Following that she produced little plastic clothespins with teeth. She now encouraged my friend to join us and help her attach the clips to my balls and cock. These little suckers hurt. I didn’t realize how much until they started taking them off and the blood rushed back into the various spots. However Lydia and my friend rubbed the spots where the clips were eventually removed and that caused more pain and erotic stirrings.

After being released I was led to the bed and had my legs tied in such a way that my so far untouched butt would be easily exposed. My friend curled up on the bed beside us to watch as Lady Lydia took me.

And take me she did. First with a small dildo and then with her latex clad hand. I have never been so furiously ass-boinked in my entire life. I begged her to stop. Lydia laughed. My friend laughed. And Lydia kept taking me.
And oh yes,,,she reported my prostate as being in good shape. I knew you’d want to know.

During the session, Lydia chatted amiably with my friend, teased and taunted me and charmed both of us. She is lovely, intelligent and sweetly, calmly evil. It was a hot time and it left me with my legs shaking for quite some time afterwards. My lady friend is now inspired to redouble her efforts in learning more on dominating me. So thank you Lady Lydia, thank you.

She is, of course, the love child of Mick Jagger and David Bowie. (I’d like to think that’s original, but I think I’ve read it before. If not, nice turn of phrase, COG!) I think it was her domme-esque turn in “Edward II” that first began my, by now, full-scale enthrallment to Big Red.

I can’t recall the last time someone commanded the screen so effortlessly. You simply cannot take your eyes off of her. An intuitive understanding of the camera mixed with that delicious androgynous grace and strength. Although “Michael Clayton” seemed to smack of a John Wayne/True Grit moment. Hey kid, here’s the Oscar for all that other great shit and yes…we all know that this particular effort is vaguely half-assed but collectively..your career deserves it.

We want to fuck her and have her fuck us, wielding whatever tools please her majesterial weirdness. She takes her boyfriend home to her long-time whatever Diaghilev-like mentor, bud or cuckolded voyeur. In this world of p.c. obsessiveness about conduct, she accesses an attitude that comes from my Southern roots and is a suitable world view. Fuck all y’all is the phrase. I bow to the grand dame of Hot Odd.

Sunday smiles after a number of slammed, over the top days in Dallas. Listening to the Catalyst podcast, an emergent church site, that has strains of tantalizingly real faith flowing through me as I wrestle with my bdsm, freakazoid obsessions.

Where to begin? First off, the Celtics and Mavericks game kicked major steroid-injected ass. KG is the hardest working man in hoops. I have to agree with dickhead Mike Lupica who observed you don’t appreciate Garnett until you see him in person. He works every single possession, at both ends of the court.

Great wine shop, Crush. Up on Knox, methinks. Sharp wine-wisdom dude and a Pinot, “Four Graces”, that proves Oregon puts out something other than rain-soaked, spineless liberals.

Hotel ZaZa, trendily shallow on a scale that appeals to one of my ADD-addled consumeristic, what’s currently hot persuasion. I personally think shallow is an art form and ZaZa delivers. It inspired my little Chi O Norwegian angel to strip down to her Chico’s purple long coat and pointy heals and get obscenely freaky. She’d had enough wine that she unpuckered as I gleefully wiggled my tongue up her ass. She showed me a little urethra love with a Q-tip (that’s unsafe kiddies.. don’t do it..unless you’re wine-buzzed and don’t give a shit) and brought her slender finger into my man-cave which led me to a Jesus shout out, re-access my Navy master’s degree in profanity, body spasming orgasm that absolutely transported me to that little meadow of wonder that makes sex so eye-poppingly cool.

Fast break finish (In honor of my Celtics)-Charmingly coquettish comment from Jennifer LeMonde which left me with the same gee-whiz arched eyebrows that I had as I watched Jason Kidd dish on the fast break. She sooo frightens me….in a drool of anticipation way…And CoCo (Nite Flirt goddess) spinning a cuckold fantasy that gave me a taste of her in a way I wasn’t expecting. She takes you down a delightfully sluttish, sinful road…I salute her..and sick shit in general. It gives me hope. OK..back to recovery..maybe.

I am actually in a groove where I am mostly in real recovery from my sexual addiction. And this is why I want to be an addiction therapist/pastor/counselor at some point. So I can step across the room, grab the poor suffering schlub by the neck and slam him/her up against the wall, nuzzle my head up to his or her ear and whisper…”Do you have any idea how fucking painful and horrific this whole process will be. Your life will feel at times as if you are devoid of hope. One of the few illusions of fun and joy you had through your acting out will be taken away and you will be plunged into a black hole, that eventually lifts into a gray, mindless, numbed-out land called….recovery.”

It’s really that much fun, folks. Not only have I reduced sexual weirdness, I’ve also chosen to reduce my booze intake to a glass of wine a week, at most. Why couldn’t I at least be a 17th century Jesuit priest so I could at least hoist a musket and get to kill someone or many someones as part of my Jesuitical conversion process that spread so much love and joy….

Alcohol triggers my sexual obsessions so after one glass of red last night, this morning I am vibrating with the need to have naughty bits of business done unto me. It led to many brief online sighs this a.m. while alternating NPR and White Hinterlands…love this gal……so before I jump into the shower and re-enroll in the Recovery Shit Brigade I thought I’d do a shout out to all the lasses who led me to the aforementioned sighs…

Mistress Alicia of NYC. Hot new web site. I had one phone session with her and her evil intelligence seeps down the line. Penny Flame…succubus sweetie of Kink.com.. Isobel Wren who is appearing on Kink.com and is elevating her schoolgirl innocence into the realm of submissive icon for the early 21st century…a Nite Flirt girl, Come to CoCo, is brilliant. Voice, mind and after one call a while back I am fearful and excited about being ensnared in her witty charm and my twisted needs. Ms. Jennifer LeMonde, former domme at Rapture and also the star of a new web site that makes me want to be in the presence of someone who would be more vicious than I could handle. And since I’m headed to Big D next week for the Mavericks and Celtics, I sooooo(think the intonation of Dr. Cox on “Scrubs”) want to impale myself again on the sounds of Domina Athena.

Quick sidebar that I hope is not too intrusive. The day after I had my sounds experience with the drop dead gorgeous, I drool just thinking of her lady in question…I was having a little lunch at ‘The It’s All Good Cafe” and noticed her walking her dog…She is stylish, leggy and breathtaking….as for the dog…I just don’t remember..

Recovery…there are moments of emotional and spiritual peace and tiny victory dances and something that is simply more connected to the real and the now. Just not this particular morning.

Peace to us all my brothers and sisters.

I’m a live action kind of guy. While we should all god bless porn for it being there to get us through the arid times, in person freakdom carries a carnal blessing that only could come from a leather-clad nun in provacative pumps..

This review took a lot of time. I recently had a session with New Zealand lovely Princess Aphrodite and I had to ponder what had transpired before I could do our time together justice.

I know you hear this a lot, but the photos on Her website truly don’t do Her justice. There’s a coquettish, oh-my-God-I-want-Her quality that discombobulated me from the get go. She’s a damned hot Mama.

And as a controlling, courtly, and mostly veiled Alpha male…I usually top from the bottom and pretty much orchestrate any encounter I have….that was not to be with the Princess. From our first few e-mails She had certain protocols She wanted. This was to be Her ballgame, Her rules and it threw me a tad. It’s not what I typically go for, but I’m also like Davy going into the Alamo…what the hell…. I’ll step inside and see what happens.

On to the session, it was more corporal than I thought I would have liked and unbelievably sensual although Her caresses were few and far between. We did some foot worship which I don’t typically care two hoots for and I was down with those a tad east of Down Under sweet tootsies. Breath play, a little bondage here and there and some sensory deprivation. My leather Angel left me alone for a time…

I’m going to call it a mind fuck in the best sense of the phrase and perhaps my most profound experience of subspace. Even though I’m immensely charming, I’m at heart a distant, cold bastard. Princess Aphrodite connected to something deep within and I very simply would have loved to have been held by Her for quite some time after our session. And that’s so far from me I’m still kind of stuck in mid-jaw dropdom at my feelings.

She is a treasure and I hope She appreciates this review. Peace to us all, my brothers and sisters.

I am a fan of enormous proportions of things being inserted down my urethra (commonly referred to as a pee-hole which I find a little tacky, but I digress) and wiggled about a bit! Of all the bdsm activities I’ve indulged in, that is the one that gave me a focused zen clarity, the likes of which I’ve never known.

I first discovered this sensation in early rites of masturbatory passage, when I inserted a Q-tip into my tiny “forbidden zone”. What led me there, I’ll never know, but a little pain, a lot of erotic intensity and ooh, I was hooked. Later I learned that there is the danger of infection, of course, and the little cotton swab could come loose and be lodged in your urethra. I’d like to be in the ER to see the doctor suppress a smirk when you try to explain that one.

My first sounds experience was with the lovely Domina Athena in Dallas. Holy fuck wads of the onrushing hordes of multiple male orgasms….that was incredible. First, she is unbelievably beautiful, but secondly, the invasion of your privates with a shiny steel rod is the most invasive, all-consuming physical fuck and simultaneous mind fuck imaginable. As the rods get bigger, the mixture of pain and pleasure in your cock is hallucinatory without the peyote buttons. Which taste like poop, or so I’ve been told….tee hee…

Ok, that’s another story for another time that mixes a cast party for “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, a band of cool Kiowas and a pick-up Native American Church moment in my garage….That’s how we roll in the Llano Estacado.

Back to Mistress Coraline and sounds. Mistress Coraline is my long distance crush of the early 21st century. She’s a domme at Rapture in NYC. Fiery red mane and the glasses. The glasses perched on that aristocratic little nose….. That goes back to my Amy Chua, intellectual hottie blog recently…that look of the wanton, hot young professor or attorney is catnip to my twitching sick fuck loins…woo hoo!

I sprang for one of her videos that show her displaying her skills with sounds. Couple that with the voice and that face and that look and….our plans to hit a U.S. Open in NYC in the next couple of years may have been moved up to 2008. I’m envisioning it…great tennis and a surgical steel rod being inserted into my cock by this young lady…and maybe throw in an Obama win and….I could finish the upcoming year sated.

Peace to us all my brothers and sisters….