Tag Archives: smoking

Eight Sex Fetishes I Won’t Be Trying

1) Scat: No, not singing nonsense in a Jazz club – I mean “scat” as in Coprophilia. Now, I’m open to new experiences and (even more useful in this context) I have no sense of smell, but I still won’t be trying this fetish.  Smearing the bedroom/myself/my lover in number twos, is not my idea of sexy (or romantic). Sticky, ugly and full of germs, human poo should either be up someone’s bottom, or down someone’s toilet. Followed by bleach. In my view the only person who should enjoy playing with poo is Christopher Robin (a joke that is funnier said aloud – try it). Never, NEVER, Google “scat” in Images, with “SafeSearch” off.

2) Water Sports: Imagine “scat” but with wee. My objections against this fetish are much the same as those against scat – but the Christopher Robin joke becomes less funny and more disturbing.

3) Bondage: Many people love to be tied up for sex but I’m not so sure. What if I get an itch? The moment I get tied up I will start worrying about getting an itch and that will make it happen, I know it. And I have the World’s smallest nostrils, so I can’t be gagged. If I tie my boyfriend up, it means I will have to do all the work during sex and that seems a little unfair – I already do all of the housework in here. So no bondage for me, unless he wants to tie me up and do a bit of Hoovering.

4) Spanking/ BDSM: I love sex, I really, really do. But at no point during an energetic bout of sex have I stopped and thought “You know what would make this more fun? Nipple clamps!”. Honestly, WTF? Pleasure and pain are linked, I know, but I’d still rather concentrate on the pleasure. I don’t even like it when my partner accidentally leans on my hair and pulls it. I’m like “OW! That hurt, you idiot!”, which isn’t at all sexy. Getting spanked before sex would annoy me, because it is illogical to be spanked for being “naughty” and then do something naughty. Getting spanked after sex would be a waste of time. And dangerous, because I’d be smoking.

5) Erotic asphyxiation: Basically means being strangled during sex. This is supposed to make orgasms more intense and stronger. Maybe I’m doing sex wrong but I don’t think I’d like my orgasms to be any more powerful than they are now – my head might explode. Added to that is the consideration that my boyfriend (who normally has a very good memory and observational skills) might be so distracted by his own orgasm that he forgets to stop strangling me, before I die. Being “out of breath” after sex = good, but being “blue in the face” = bad.

6) Splosh: This fetish is a definite no-no for me, because it is basically about wasting food, which is just wrong. Also, one of the great things about sex is that it is non-fattening, so why does some idiot have to come along and suggest  involving cake? Like all other fetishes that involve smearing yourself/others in something – it is just too messy. Ugh. And too much hard work, unless you have a broad-minded cleaning lady. Finally, think of chocolate gateaux… How on Earth could something as delicious as that be improved by adding the taste of genitals?

7) Foot/Shoe Fetish: I once put a video of my feet on YouTube, because I have an amazing ability to spread my toes very wide. One of the comments said “What r u some kind of ape?”, which was funny, but I also got offers to feature in foot porn. I didn’t take them up on it. I really can’t see anything sexy about feet and much as I admire my boyfriend’s boots and trainers, they’re hardly the stuff of wild erotic fantasy. As for me – I’m not the sort of woman who wears “bedroom shoes”, I’m more the sort of woman who wear flip-flops for seven months of the year and trainers for the other five. Also, I have the hairy toes of a Hobbit.

8) Ageplay: I am 22 years older than my beloved, so “pretending” that I am older than him would be redundant. I prefer “forgetting” about it  in the bedroom, if possible, and so does he.  On the other hand, I don’t think I can forget it for long enough to call him “Daddy” without bursting into laughter. In fact, whatever our ages were, I couldn’t imagine using that word in a sexual context… My Dad was a grumpy old git, not Keanu Reeves.

So, I guess I’m like ice-cream – just naturally Vanilla. There are other sexual things I won’t try as well, but I’ll save them for another time. If you’re good.

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I’ve Corrupted A Kitten

I have a confession to make – a confession so bad that you may want to pour yourself a strong drink before reading it. No, honestly. I have done something dreadfully bad and my only defence is that I didn’t mean to do it… But when Judgement Day comes that may not be enough to spare my soul from burning in Hell forever. You see, I’ve corrupted a kitten.

It started out innocently enough. Like most sensible cat owners, I decided to let my growing kitten enjoy the outside world. To me the idea of an “indoor cat” is just wrong… Cats are independent creatures, hunters, explorers. Our garden is full of fun, mice, trees and other cats to hang out with – so (once he’d had his shots and been “doctored”) I took my kitten, Zuul, outside a few times and (being aware that he was a tad vulnerable) stayed with him.

But I am not just a responsible cat owner, I’m also a responsible smoker. In other words, I do not smoke indoors. This led to me making the worst (and most irresponsible) decision of my life – the very decision that has possibly damned me forever. I decided to combine trips into the garden with my kitten, with trips into the garden for a cigarette.

It was cute when he used to hang out on the step with me and sniff around the dropped ash. It was funny when he tried to bat at the cigarette and miaowed, as I stood there blowing smoke rings. It was endearing how he started to stand on the fence, positioning himself downwind of me, so that the smoke I blew out would waft straight into his face…

And then it hit me. I’d taught my kitten to smoke.

It’s true – I have turned my kitten from a little black and white ball of  innocent fluff into a three-cigarettes-a-day (I don’t smoke much) nicotine addict, with smelly fur and a monkey on his back. God help me.

He stares at the packet. He cries to go out and then cries more if I’m not smoking. He climbs onto my lap and shoves his head into my mouth, if I’ve had a cigarette without him. Poor Zuul, he is the most corrupt kitten on Earth and it is all my fault.

Judge me harshly if you must but understand that you will never judge me as harshly as I judge myself.