Tag Archives: public

Seawank

Good news, everyone! Not only are you now reading this in Professor Farnsworth‘s voice, but also my computer is working again! You may not have realised that it wasn’t working, but of course it’s hard to tell you on here that I can’t really make any blog posts when I can’t really make any blog posts. Sure, technically I could blog from my phone, but ew, no.

Anyway, I’m back, though honestly still likely to be intermittent as this summer has really caught me in a hands-off sort of mood.

Although, that’s not always the case.

You see, at the weekend I went to the beach. There were a bunch of us, Crush included of course, and we had a great time being ridiculous and summery. We swam, we bought fish and chips, we doused ourselves in sun cream, we ribbed each other, we built sandcastles, we collected the world’s tiniest shells (that aren’t outright sand, clever clogs) and we dug a giant hole.

In the process of building said giant hole, I became absolutely head to toe covered in sand. There’s probably a fetish for that, because there’s a fetish for everything. In any case, there was no way I could get changed back into my clothes like that, so I headed for the waves for the third time that day.

This time, because it was getting late, none of my friends would come with me. Fine, I thought. I’ll enjoy myself anyway. The sunshine was starting to cool and the lifeguards (what luxury!) had just headed back indoors. The only people even in the sea besides me were paddling and that just doesn’t count.

At my depth, just deep enough that I could comfortably put my feet down if I wanted, I was alone. The people in the breaking waves were far away, the people on the beach even further. Suddenly, a naughty thought overcame me. No-one could see what I was up to. It’d be ages before I was back in the sea again and even then I wouldn’t be alone.

Fuck it, I thought, I’m trying a seawank.

Why not? A bit odd, maybe. The sea was cold and British and not the most romantic of notions. I’d come from a group of my friends and would be going back right after. People could see me, though not what I was up to with the water so dark and deep, and I could see people. But why not? It’d be interesting, exciting, adventurous, though probably not much of a success.

So I slipped my Special-K-red swimming costume aside and found my clitoris with my right hand, the other one keeping me vertically afloat and just bobbing off the bottom now and then. To onlookers, I was just having a very lazy swim.

As I say, it was cold, though it was the warmest water of the day. It was also unusual and even a little uncomfortable, so it took a little while to get my engines going, as it were. I could try and make it sound erotic (and in a way, it was). Heck, I’ve made zombie sex sound erotic, so I’m convinced I could do it. But, though there’s something erotic about daring and, even uncomfortable, adventure, it was more fun. Frivolous. A bit of (not so) innocent fun.

Why not wank in the sea? A guy might leave unwanted substances in the water for the other (zero) swimmers, but my juices would be there whether I was coming, ahem, or going. No harm done. I came to a satisfying, though not mindblowing, orgasm and I felt incredibly content with myself. Like a child with a secret. A secret they tell everyone on the Internet.

Once I’d adjusted my cozzie, I tipped myself back and floated for a while. With my friends around earlier there’d been too much horseplay just to float, eyes closed. I’d have ended up with a dunking or a face full of seaweed. But now I could float and slowly drift, with the sun beating through my closed eyelids, turning my world into one of peachy-yellow warmth and weightlessness.

I grew up by the sea and I’m too wise not to open my eyes every now and again and check I wasn’t drifting out, but in the minutes at a time that I floated there, I felt supremely peaceful. I felt my body stretch and relax and revelled in my senses much more than during the supposedly more sensual bit of self-pleasure. By the time I decided to come back to the shore, it was like a beautiful non-religious religious experience. I was appreciating life.

I came out of the water feeling powerful, free, peaceful. I wish I could say it was the seawank that did it, but I think it certainly helped set me up for it. The daring, the childish glee, that laid the basis. It’s something I’d never have done if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but I’m glad I had the opportunity. I recommend it, if you’re careful and you go in with no expectations.

Plus, that’s another masturbation location to add to my (short) list. Dear diary, things I’ve done: had a wank in the sea. ♦

Consent, Kink and Community

♦ I mentioned recently that I’d been to the Bristol Alternative and Burlesque Fair and had a few qualms with the compering of the event. Now (especially as the compère himself left a comment and seems like a really nice guy), I don’t want to badmouth what must be a very hard job that I likely couldn’t do, but I want to set out what it was I had a problem with and why.

Because (although I didn’t like his style anyway) it isn’t about personal taste, though it may be about personal ethics. It’s about something which I feel has big implications for the kink community and the people, whether part of that community or not, who were there. And because, though not everyone may agree with me, hopefully raising these qualms might get people to examine these issues.

The compère had what seemed like a pretty tough job to get the crowd going (I myself am practically allergic to audience participation), but I wasn’t that impressed. I mentioned “cheap “saucy” humour, being patronising, and displaying a seeming ignorance of informed consent” in my earlier post and it seems I even cleverly put them in order of importance too!

Though I didn’t like the humour and tone, that’s just my taste. Just because I don’t really like the “Phwoar! I love a bit of cock!” sort of attitude to sex, doesn’t mean much (though I do wonder to what extent the “saucy postcard” mentality might hold back wider acceptance of sexuality, but that’s a topic for another time) and no-one need pander to me more than anyone else. I also personally don’t think than audience really needs to be told to applaud when a woman takes her clothes off. Isn’t that second nature? But again, it’s likely a rhetorical trick that just didn’t land well with me.

No, it’s the consent stuff that really bothers me.

The early parts involved saying hello to people you didn’t know next to you and paying them a forced compliment (already too un-British for me). The problems, though, started with getting everyone to stand up (I was hovering near the seating area at the time) and turn to face to their right. Then the compère instructed the audience to give the person in front of them a small spank. Now, from my poor vantage point (and the fact I was quite busy cringing), I couldn’t tell you how many people did this, but that’s not the point. Did anyone know what they were getting into when they stood up?

Look, I’m not trying to sound the prude here. Nothing wrong with spanking, nothing wrong with public spanking. I like both myself (and got a twinge just writing the latter). But none of these people consented (or rather communicated consent: for all I know they were fine with it, but consent has to be communicated somehow) to even being touched, let alone being spanked. As I said to Crush at the time, my response to the person behind me would have been “You fucking touch me…”.

Later (by this time my friends and I were at a table), we were told that each table should get someone up onto it on hands and knees. No-one at our table, even the hardened kinksters, were having any of it and it’s at least good to see that, general cajoling to everyone aside, when only about three tables produced participants, no issue was made of it. We were then told that the aim was to spank the volunteers as a table and whichever table produced the most moaning (oh, so hard to fake) would get a prize.  Again, none of the volunteers OR the people supposed to spank them knew this when they were called to be involved. Sure, I suspect no fuss would have been made of anyone backing out, but that’s not really how healthy consent works.

Now, this might not seem like a lot to get angry about, but consent is paramount in all things, especially in the realm of kink. And consent isn’t just volunteering. No. To be true consent, consent must be informed. To be good kink, kink must be negotiated. It doesn’t have to be long and involved and stuffy, but people (whether being done to or doing to or both) should know what they’re getting into, boundaries should be made clear and consent should be given enthusiastically with clear ways to withdraw that consent (such as safe words).

A hypothetical person in that line of unknowing spankees had no way in the circumstances to be informed, give enthusiastic consent to what could be a complete stranger, or indeed withdraw that consent in the time between the instruction and the incoming spank. Am I the only one that thinks this dodgy?

Not only this, but this was a mixed fetish and non-fetish event. They carefully made sure to split the fetish stalls off from the alternative/burlesque ones, so some concern for the muggles must have been in the planning somewhere. But there was no mention of any fetish play, no matter how light and innocent, in the programme of events as far as I saw. Surely it’s people’s right to decide what they see and don’t see?

What sort of message are we giving off to non-kinksters, who thanks to bad press and bad books might have a warped idea of BDSM anyway, of public play among complete strangers with no communication and no consent? These spaces are a perhaps rare opportunity for our kinky community to speak for itself to people who might otherwise not get to hear us (and to teach good kink practice), shouldn’t we be a little more careful about how we use that voice?

I’d certainly love to know your thoughts on this, kinky or not. ♦

Fractal’s Fantasies #3 – Summer Shower

♦ This is Fractal’s third in a series of posts of diary entries from the little book of fantasies that we keep. His earlier entries are:

‘X’ and Sexy-Grr!

And my series consists, so far, of:

Punishment in Black, Doctors and Nurses and Tease 

♦ I decided to make it up to you after my constant sexual teasing and I know exactly how to do it. We are alone in a secluded part of a forest. You are wearing simple summer clothes, perhaps a summer dress held onto your body only by the strings that are tied at the shoulders. The day is warm with light, summer showers expected later and a cooling breeze, not cold, blows gently through the trees.

When we reach a glade filled with flowers, I call out, gently, and you turn to smile at me, the glitter in your eyes revealing your dazzling beauty to me. As the sun’s rays shine through your hair, I run my hand down and kiss you. As I do this, I subtly undo the straps on your dress.

The dress falls around you to the ground and you feel the cooling breeze on your now naked skin. I kiss you deeply as my hands thrust up to fondle your breasts. Your hands are already busy removing my top and, after sating their desire to touch my skin, your fingers begin work on removing my trousers. I, on the other hand, feel my way down your back to your buttocks, my fingers tease along your anus before stroking your thighs.

When we are both fully naked, I pull you down with me to lie on the soft grass and rest you down, I pull the hair band from your hair and it lies beneath your head like a dark pillow. I kiss you again softly on the lips, then between the breasts then the navel and finally on the mound as I pull a flower from its bed. I break the petals off one by one and let them fall from my fingertips onto your body.

I repeat this over and over several times while telling you throughout how much you mean to me and how heavenly you are, stopping this to remind you I love you with my heart and soul. I whisper gently into your ear as I begin to pleasure your clitoris with my fingertips. You moan slightly and look at me with wide-eyed longing as your skin blushes slightly on your cheeks and you call my name gently through gasping breaths.

When you are ready, I slowly enter you and begin to thrust. We thrust our bodies together and we approach. Just as we do, you roll me onto my back and are atop me. You continue to push down and ride my sex as the gentle, cooling rain comes down, drenching us slowly. As we lie there, thrusting, the twigs and thorns on the ground scratch my back as they must have done yours, adding to the pleasure. I begin to pleasure your breasts, dampened with the summer rain.

As we are there, you lean back and rest your hands onto the ground with your vulva thrust forward, pushing down more and more, striving to have me deeper and deeper within you. I repeat over how much I love you as my hands slide down your breasts to your mound and stroke it firmly. Occasionally, I bring my fingers to rest on your clitoris as we thrust. Finally, we climax together and we stay there a moment, gazing at our wet bodies and into each other’s eyes. After a short while, we dry ourselves off and return home, having kept our clothes safe from the rain. ♦

♦ Fractal’s 4th fantasy diary post is called Tomboy and mine is here. ♦