Stuffies
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You guys, SO much happened this weekend!
So on Friday night I found myself in an (unfortunately) common bind of not knowing what the hell to do with myself over the weekend. Then I was reminded of certain kinky goings-on and went without much hope of anything happening. Instead, I had no less than three cherries busted! In the order of demolition:
1. I had a violet wand used on me for the first time. For those who’ve never heard of a violet wand, it’s like what Nicola Tesla would use to masturbate with, and the boy that used it on me had colored hair and wore a sexy purple formal vest. The only way it could have set off more of my steampunk geek buttons is if we’d then retired to have sex in a dirigible.
2. I licked Hershey’s syrup off of a beautiful girl.
3. I got flogged and discovered to my embarrassment that flogging makes me want to cry like a little girl. Probably the first time in my career of asking people to whack me on purpose that I’ve ever really needed aftercare.
I promise that I will write at length about these things when my eyelids aren’t about to slide shut from exhaustion. In not-exactly current news:
4. The writer of I, Asshole has started a blog where she tries out Victorian recipes. It’s called The Queen’s Scullery, which I think is basically the best name for a Victorian recipe blog ever. It also hasn’t been updated in a while, which leaves me in suspense of the kind only foodies can understand: will the strawberries sink?
5. The New York Times mixed up feederism and fat acceptance in a review of the TV show Huge, sending a gay gainer blog a hell of a lot of traffic and inspiring Big Fat Blog to demand a retraction. I’d like to maybe do a KinkOnTap show where I talk about why so many people think fetish is scary and if it’s ever possible for feederism and fat acceptance to ever get along, but
6. I’ve been writing my head off, and usually for money. Also I put together a crockpot version of Queen’s Scullery stock and the kitchen is still such a wreck I’m surprised my housemates haven’t yet kicked me out of the house for negligence.
7. I wasn’t going to try to go out and see any 4th of July fireworks, only to discover I could see them pretty well through a gap in the trees near my house.
How about you, readers and lovers? Did you do anything involving cooking, kinking, or the unexpected this past weekend?
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Have you ever had a sex/food/mess scene? Where you smush food all around and fuck and stuff? Would that be part of your kink?
Anonymous
For me personally? No. Being *in* the food, for me, is besides the point: I get excited from the eating itself, and its effects on the body of person I’m feeding. Fucking someone in a bathtub full of pasta would just be kind of icky, but I think there’s another fetish called sploshing that’s more up your alley.
(Though come to think of it, Halo did eat pieces of chocolate off my tummy once—does that count?)
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Plus Size Erotica: You’re Doing It Wrong
If you like to read or write about sex on the internet, there’s a good chance you’ve heard about Ravenous Romance. I don’t actually know much about their performance as a company, but when I heard they had put out a new novel featuring food and a plus size woman I was all “yay!!!”—until I realized I was reading about it on weepingcock. It’s an LJ community where people post the best worst porn they can find.
Ravenous Romance’s description for Handsome and Petal sounds like the next hot show on the Food Network, but in reality it’s some of the stickiest, schmoopiest stuff I’ve ever seen. It might even give you a yeast infection:“Lily, my Petal,” Brody said.
She caressed his cheek, which showed a wonderfully scruffy layer of five o’clock shadow.
“Yes, Handsome?”
“You’re more beautiful than a plate of homemade brownies, hotter than hot fudge, more sinful than cinnamon.” Lily blushed. His cock ached in response to the redness on her cheeks. Brody imagined similar color rising on other destinations across her gloriously sexy plus-size form.”The poster, arionhunter, comments, And now, it’s time for sex. Food sex. Involving what else but whipped cream? (Once, just once, I want to see a man’s “meat” covered in A1 sauce.)As he watched her movements, feeling like he was floating on a giant cake, she raised a candy cane to her plump lips and teasingly performed oral sex on it. Then Lily hooked the cane around Brody’s straining cock and pulled his thickness into her mouth.
‘Hunter explains the symbolism behind this gesture: Y’see, the really fun part about this is that as a kid, every Christmas I was told the story of how the candy cane symbolizes Jesus. I can’t wait for my Sunday School teachers to add the part about how “the hard end of the cane symbolizes Jesus’s erect penis, ready to be fellatiated, then perform frottage.”I have nothing more to say. -
A Conversation About Fetishes
Sploshing image via Time Out New York.
The four of us were sitting in the living room, editing a comedy skit about fat acceptance, when the topic of fetishes came up. And, naturally, everyone began to name the strangest fetishes they had ever heard of for fun. Since we’d already been talking about fat chicks, the first girl told with wonder how she’d heard about a fetish where big women would jump on top of little tiny men. “Not big like we are, I mean these 400 pound women jumping on top of these 150 pound men in a bed!”
”Squashing,” I said. There was a whole forum dedicated to it on my favorite pervy website, though it wasn’t my thing.
“And there’s this other one with food,” said my theatre friend who had so kindly let me stay at her house.
“Sploshing,” I said. “It’s British.”
Crap. Thank you for visiting the Museum of Sex. About this time a little voice in the back of my mind was going Shut up, shut up, shut up! Any minute now one of them would turn to me and demand to know how I knew all this stuff and my cover as a normal person would be blown.
“And there’s this other fetish”, the first girl went on in hushed tones, “where they tie the woman to a chair or something, she can’t even walk, and the man will feed her to make her fatter.”
“Feederism,” I said, unable to resist getting in the last word. “Sometimes it goes the other way too,” I added, in interests of gender equality. “Sometimes the girl feeds the man.”
There was an awed silence from the other girls as they contemplated this, the most impressively strange of all fetishes yet named. My theatre friend said, in a tone of confusion, that she didn’t know how the world kept going when it was full of people that were like this. And yet it does.
“Yeah, then you learn it’s always been like this,” one of the other girls said in a tone of worldly wisdom.
