Sex party fatigue

About 2 months ago I went to my third sex party. I won’t say where or which party, but they’re pretty famous for organising exclusive sex parties in the UK and elsewhere with a strong emphasis them being women-led.

The very first sex party I went to, I went with a gentleman who was a veteran of the scene and had been to a number of these parties. I thought he’d be the perfect person to show me the ropes. As it turns out, this wasn’t the case and his lack of curiosity and excitement dampened my first party. I spent most of the night by myself or talking to couples and enjoying the large jacuzzi. Needless to say, it wasn’t what I was expecting. 

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The obligatory mask

However, I decided to give it another go and booked my second party, this time outside of London and with a man I knew well but had never been to a party before. The second was a slight improvement on the first. I felt far less nervous and was able to enjoy myself and have sex in front of other people in a play room for the first time. We never got involved with anyone else there, we simply played together and socialised, hardly the out and out orgy I was expecting.

I took a break from the parties for a while after that, left the scene and when I was ready, returned with a new attitude. I realised what I enjoyed most was socialising with equally naughty people, more than having sex at a party.

I was still curious to see if I’d be third time lucky and booked the same party as before, again with a guy who’d never been to a party before. What I quickly started to find was that, by attending these parties you’re not just carrying the weight of your own expectations on your shoulders, but also that of your date. They want to get the most out of the experience and it became clear that he was interested in us both joining other couples.

I took a far more relaxed view that if it happened, it happened and if not, the two of us playing together would be equally as fun. But he took the view that this was something we could do any time and that since we were at a party, we should join in with others.

We briefly played with another woman, but I began to realise, as a crowd started to gather, that I didn’t enjoy being watched. This may sound like a ridiculous thing to say when you’ve signed up to a sex party, but up until this point I didn’t quite realise how uncomfortable it made me feel to have a couple sitting opposite me on a sofa, watching me the whole time or a group of people 10-15 standing over me as I’m being tied up for rope bondage. I found I couldn’t really relax and get into it because I was conscious of their gaze. I felt like I had to perform, when all I wanted to do was get lost in the moment and enjoy myself.

After this party. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go to any more sex parties. Clearly, I much preferred my sex in private and after 3 parties I’d succumb to sex party fatigue because the truth was, I just wasn’t enjoying it.

Then a friend of mine asked me if I’d like to try a party in London she attends regularly. They’re a well-known sex party organiser, famous for their dungeons. I kept saying no until finally I gave in. What sold it for me was that they had not only the infamous dungeon but also a dance floor and bring your own booze.

Knowing this, I felt the pressure and expectations of having to go to a sex party and have sex, lift. I know many of you might be thinking, well why not just go to a regular nightclub then? I’ve thought that myself and the difference is the attitude and the atmosphere. There’s nothing like being around like-minded people who all share similar interests and desires. The conversations I’ve had at sex parties range from anything from what they do for a living to the kinkiest kinds of sex imaginable and I love that.

So, next Saturday I’ll be hoping my sex party fatigue comes to an end and I find myself enjoying this new party. But I’ll be sure to tell you all about it either way!

 

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Shibari adventures – My Initiation

‘Shibari.’ I first heard this word just under a year ago at a party. I started chatting to a beautiful Italian woman who, when I asked what she did, told me she was a ‘shibari expert ‘.

Immediately intrigued, I couldn’t stop asking questions. What was it? How long had she been doing it? Did it hurt? Did she do the tying or did she prefer to be tied? I knew absolutely nothing about shibari and so when she offered to show me more, I was too scared to say yes. Japanese rope bondage seemed so far out of my comfort zone and with a complete stranger too. But I went straight home and started reading up about it (and began to regret turning her offer down).

Shibari in Japanese means “to tie” and also known as Kinbaku, or “tight binding”. This ancient art form became popular around 1600 in Japan but was used from around 1400 as a method of imprisonment.

rope marks

Rope marks (picture is author’s own)

Back then I was just starting out on my BDSM/kink journey and I wasn’t quite ready for it until I was approached recently by a man who was keen to introduce me to it. He had many years experience practicing Shibari and I made sure to check out his credentials. He’d been to and continued to go to classes including those at a place called Anatomie in London. I was keen that my first time with rope bondage was with someone who knew that they were doing.

I wanted to experience what it felt like to be tied up and he was keen for someone to practice on so, I became his rope bunny. We have met twice now and both times I’ve greatly enjoyed it, mainly because it was less sexual and more sensual.

During our first encounter he brought with him a large cloth bag with his rope collection and 2 pairs of scissors. Out came a heaving coloured pile of ropes in reds, pinks, purples and browns all of different lengths and thickness. Different ropes were used for different parts of the body, he explained.

coloured ropes

Rope bondage

He started off by showing me his dominance by forcing my hands behind my back and pushing me down on my knees. He gathered his rope together as I kneeled in front of him and when he was ready he pulled me up, spun me around and flipped me face down, bend over the edge of the bed. A series of firm spanks with his hand followed.

I then found myself blindfolded and for the rest of the experience I just allowed myself to be moved and positioned by him. Not being able to see what he was doing heightened my senses and made me really focus on the feel of the rope against me skin, the pressure as it grew tighter, the slight burn when it was pulled. Then came the ache of my muscles as they were moved into position or tied in ways they’d never been before and held there. The more I relaxed into it and didn’t struggle the better it became.

The feeling of of being helpless was both exhilarating and scary and something I’m keen to learn more and more about. The next step for me, I feel is to start taking classes and learn it in a safe and secure environment because ultimately I’d love to see myself rigged up.

 

When he tells you he’s…polyamorous

I was laying in bed with my primal Dom when he casually slips into the conversation that he’s polyamorous. We’d chatted a great deal before we finally met and slept together and this never came up. Now all I can think about is whether I’d have chosen to go ahead and sleep with this man if I’d known about it before. I’d then have had a choice as to whether it was something I wanted to be involved in.

poly

The truth is, I know very little about polyandry. With the exception of a Louis Theroux documentary it’s not something I’ve had an experience with. But now that the issue has come up, I’m keen to learn more about it to decide whether I want to continue, even if it’s only us sleeping together at present. 

What I do know is that to be polyamorous you’re usually in a sexual or romantic relationship with someone who also has other sexual partners. This is different from an open relationship, although from what I’ve read so far, the two seem to blur a little.

The bigger question I have though, is how much of my time and energy do I commit to something that was essentially thrust upon me? I felt annoyed when he first told me and I’ve spent some time trying to decide whether that’s because he didn’t tell me earlier or the thought of having to share him.  He asked if I got jealous easily and I said yes. I’ve only ever been in long-term monogamous relationships and I’ve never had to share. I’m not sure I have the temperament to be in a polyamorous relationship as I’d imagine being possessive is frowned upon. Nor can I see myself sharing easily.

Having said that, I do like the idea of being able to love and enjoy sexual relations with multiple people at the same time. I’ve never been keen on the idea of marriage precisely because I felt that one person my entire life couldn’t possibly fulfil me.

I’m keen to hear and learn about other people’s experiences of polyandry. Are you in or have you ever been in a polyandrous relationship. What advice would you give to someone in the early stages like myself? Do feel free to leave comments below or contact me directly.

The Erotic Journal Challenge Week 14 – Realization

I’ve been meaning to do this for some time, but with the Bank Holiday here, I’ve finally found the time to start the Erotic Journal Challenge hosted by Bridget Writes.
For those that don’t know about the challenge, Bridget posts a topic or question each week that encourages you to tap into your own sensuality and eroticism and answer the prompts however you see fit whether that’s with a story, poem etc. you get the idea. Once you’re done you post a link on her blog.

erotic journal challenge

#EroticJournalChallenge #eroticjournalchallenge

For this week, my first week taking part, it seems fitting to start with ‘realization’ and the prompt to, “write about a time when you realized something about your sexuality.”

There have been a few stand out moments of realization when it comes to my sexuality, one of which led to the eventual creation of this blog, as well as smaller ones that you only appreciate looking back on.

But the one that came to mind first was actually a false realization, the mistaken belief that I might be asexual. This was around 2012 when I came across an article in the Guardian about a number of young people who described themselves as ‘asexual’. This was a word I’d only ever heard used to describe plants, so my curiosity was immediately aroused.

For those who don’t know already, ‘asexuality’ describes the absence of sexual desire, not, as some mistakenly think, the suppression of it, which is celibacy. 1% of the population describes themselves as asexual.

The article’s headline read, ‘in a society obsessed with sex, it’s hard if you have no sexual desire at all. Some are searching for a new form of intimacy’.

It was the word ‘intimacy’ that really stood out for me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was craving intimacy, and not necessarily the sexual kind.

They spoke to Bryony a biology student from Manchester who felt unable to join in on the conversations involving sex and sexual attractiveness. But the overwhelming and recurrent theme was loneliness. There seemed to be a real desire to form meaningful relationships that didn’t involve sex and at that time, this was something I was deeply craving. I’d left University and my small but intimate friendship group where we were able to talk to each other about everything and I was missing that.

This coupled with the fact that I’d started a course of anti-depressants for panic attacks, meant that my libido was almost non-existent and I really began to wonder if I was asexual. My sexual desire seemed to have deserted me. I had lost all interest in sexual activity and I now realize I had confused this lack of interest with the fact that many asexuals don’t find anyone sexually attractive. At the time I had no idea that there was a link between a low libido and taking anti-depressants.

It took me a while but I soon realized two things; one, how closely my moods were linked to my sexual desires, something up until that point I’d never really considered. When I was feeling low my desires waned or disappeared. For a long time my low moods became the norm.

The second realization came when I reconnected with an old university flame who unexpectedly reignited my sexual desires through sexting, something I’d never done before. It wasn’t that I was asexual, it was that I had been deeply lonely and unhappy and lacked an outlet for expressing my sexual desires. The sexting gave me that.

Looking back now it seems almost laughable. Here I am writing about having once thought I was asexual on my very own sex blog. I’ve always loved words. Sexting, erotica and now this blog have helped me realize the power they have to excite and stimulate. Once I discovered that, there was no stopping me.

Of course there have been other realizations that came later, my bisexuality and my love of kink being just two of them. But the one I’ve just described has probably been the one that made me realize the most about myself.

Lets Talk about Gags & Pegs

This is the second visit to my primal don in as many weeks. Each time I see him, he pushes me further and further out of my sexual comfort zone. I let him because he is far more experienced in the world of BDSM than I am and I’m keen to learn.

This way why, when he suggested gagging me with rope and using pegs on me, I agreed. I love nipple play. It’s one of the quickest ways to get me in the period and I’ve been keen for a while to use nipple clamps. My primal dom said there was no need for those fancy nipple clamps, good old fashioned clothes pegs would do just as well.

The pegs were attached directly to my nipples. Even laying down I could feel the weight of them tugging at my nipples. It started off as a sharp pain that became duller and duller as he began to use rope to gag me with.

Like the pegs this was the first time I’ve been gagged with rope. I’ve had hands over my mouth and knickers in their but never rope tided so tightly that I begin to drool and bite down.

The problem is, with the gag so tight I’m unable to speak and therefore to use my safe word when he decides to gently squeeze the pegs on my nipples. I feel a white hot pain shoot through both boobs and I attempt to push his hands away but he thinks I’m play fighting and tries to restrain me. It’s not until I start shacking my head and trying to get up that he reads my reaction and quickly removes the pegs. I have rather large nipples and still the pegs have managed to break the skin on both nipples.

My dom knows what to do and starts aftercare. He covers me with his bed sheets, strokes and cuddles me until I stop shaking. He brings me tea and orders me food and when I’m ready we talk through what had just happened.

I realise that this is as much a learning curve for him, as it is for me. As a new partner he is still learning to reading situations and discover where my boundaries lay and this experience made me realise more than ever, how important communication is between sub and dom.

I know my own body and he doesn’t yet. I know my nipples are incredibly sensitive and probably need less pinching and squeezing. Because these garden pegs aren’t adjustable, they aren’t as flexible and the pressure is, I’d imagine, greater.

Even with his experience mistakes can happen and for me this is all part of exploring the world of BDSM. Needless to say I won’t be using pegs again however, I haven’t given up on nipple play and may just be heading out to buy some proper nipple clamps as I finish this

Meeting a ‘Primal’ Dom

The deeper I delve into the world of kink and BDSM, the more I learn and the more I discover about myself. Even as I write this I know what a massive cliché that sounds. But this decision to open myself up to exploring my sexuality has only happened very recently.

Restraints

Author’s own image

It was also one of the reasons why I wanted to start this blog. BDSM and kink can seem daunting for an outsider. It certainly was for me. By writing about it I thought I could help others thinking of doing the same, whilst also seeking advice, support and guidance from those that are far more experienced.

This world even seemed to have it’s own vocabulary, so when I met a man who described himself as a ‘primal dom’ I had to go away and look it up. I discovered, without realising it, that many of my previous lovers exhibited similar animalistic tendencies.

According to Kinky a ‘Primal Dom’ is someone who enjoys primal play:

Primal play is a style of BDSM that focuses on raw feelings and actions that are evoked by natural impulses and urges. Social norms and niceties are discarded for a very unfiltered self. The civilized shell gives way to emotions and sexual desire that ranges from happiness, joy, playfulness, silliness, sadness, and grief. It is arguable that one cannot be fully primal out of prioritizing safety and comfort. However, primal play allows the submissive who loves to be fully dominated to experience their fantasy. This practice involves using the kink tools we were born with: nails, hair, teeth, and skin. Primal play is based around the concept of retreating back to the primitive animal persona, where labels and protocols don’t apply. Wrestling, pulling hair back, biting, and growling are some of the many things that fit into this style of BDSM.

As a primal dom, I’m his sub primal prey. At first I bulked at this notion of being someone’s ‘prey’ but when I thought about it, I remembered how in nature, prey don’t just give themselves up to being eaten, they fight back, they run. I liked this idea of not giving in, of being pursued and my dom almost having to prove himself worthy. If he’s going to dom me, he has to show he can and I in return will put up a fight.

So far he’s supported me through this whole experience and is keen for me to know that he’ll take care of everything I need and all I need do is simply do as I’m told. I don’t have to think up scenarios or positions, he has it covered. As someone who used to have a job where she had to be in control at all times, give orders and be in charge of the safety and well-being of others, to give that up is liberating and I feel as if my stress level have decreased massively.  Having said that, I never feel as if I’ve lost control. I can stop things at any time and he obeys. There’s something incredibly instinctual about this kind of sex. Add this to my primal dom’s love of rope and I found I gave myself up completely to him. 

Inside all of us somewhere there is an inner darkness, a need to explore the shadows. Most never dare. With my primal dom I get to do that, I get to feel as if I’m going places that are taboo and sit just on the border of societal acceptability.

If you’re interested in reading more then I found this article illuminating: What does it mean to be primal?

Kinkly website: Definition of primal

Erotic Literature Review – Wetlands by Charlotte Roche

I’ve decided to kick off my first ever erotic reads book review here on The Secret World of Cydney, with a taboo-busting work that heavily divided readers and critics when it was released in 2009.

Wetlands by Charlotte Roche

Wetlands by Charlotte Roche (image is my own)

Wetlands by Charlotte Roach opens with a discussion of haemorrhoids and lets face it, who doesn’t love a good chat about haemorrhoids and the perils of attempting anal sex with them? With such a provocative opening, it’s fair to say that the book continues in the vain. There’s very little the narrator, Helen Memel, won’t talk about. After all, you’ve got to give brownie points to a woman who, “can come with just a cock up my ass, not being touched anywhere else.” If sex chat and body fluid talk makes you squeamish then this certainly isn’t the book for you.

What it is, is a novel that sets about exposing the intimacies of the human body and all its bodily functions. It’s about a woman exploring sex and what it means to her all from a hospital bed, whilst simultaneously trying to reunite her divorced parents.

We quickly discover the reason for her stint in hospital, an anal lesion caused by her ‘modern shaving regime’. She jokes that as a result of her legion, she’ll ‘never be an ass model,’ and wonders what she has to eat ‘to help the skin of your ass grow? Mackerel?’ Roche is incredibly witty and there were so many lines throughout the novel that I couldn’t help laughing out loud at.

At times the witty and playful gives way to the slightly bizarre, the case in point being the significance of the avocado on the front cover of the book. Rest assured these aren’t the kinds of avocados you’ll want to eat. We learn that besides sex, growing avocados is one of the narrator’s hobbies. Why avocado growing? Well to use them as organic dildos of course! That’s right, she uses the avocado seed as a dildo.

In fact the novel is littered with references to fruit and veg, from the cauliflower like haemorrhoids, the avocado dildo to the fruit and veg seller she meets who requests to shave her. It’s here that she makes one of the more serious points in the novel, our ‘modern shaving regime’ and the obsession we have with a hairless, childlike bodies. The narrator isn’t exempt from this either. What she does say is that,

“I think that, if men want shaved women, they should take over the shaving. Don’t saddle the women with all the work. In the absence of men, women wouldn’t care about how hairy they were/. The best arrangement I can imagine would be for men and women to shave each other in whatever way they find most pleasing.”

The narrator sets about revealing how we’ve become trained to fear and loathe our bodies and their natural smells and functions. So much so that,

“Most people have just been alienated from their bodies and trained to think that anything natural stinks and anything artificial smells nice.”

Wetlands makes full use of the senses to bring us back in touch with our bodies.  Language is used in the novel in a raw, unfiltered way to describe everything from her having sex and cunnilingus on her period, to her homemade tampons, visiting brothels, shitting and tasting and smelling her own vagina. The later she justifies by saying,

“There’s no way I can spread my legs for some guy – to get thoroughly eaten out, for instance – without knowing myself how everything looks, tastes and smells down there. “

She makes the interesting observation that by and large, men see more of a woman than a woman does because the vagina especially is hidden out of view.

Roche is right about the distaste and revulsion women feel towards their own bodies and it’s bodily fluids. Nor can I think of any work of fiction that deals with this kind of subject matter in the way she does.

The negative reaction to the novel proves Roche’s point about how uncomfortable we feel as a society discussing the most intimate workings of our bodies, especially women’s bodies. I feel as if we’re only really now starting to talk about periods, for example.

If you’re looking for a novel with complex plotting and an intricately woven storyline. Wetlands isn’t for you. What it is, is a character study of one woman, Helen and her obsessions. It’s refreshing to read a novel that’s so uninhibited. It really is unlike anything else I’ve ever read.

I can see why it was labelled as ‘controversial’ and that concerns me. That a novel should be labelled as such because it seeks to explore the female body and female sexuality in all it’s explicit intimacy shows have far we still need to go when discussing such topics. After all, men have been writing about their body and bodily functions since the dawn of time.

It is daring and at times you do want to look at anything but the words on the page and for that reason, this is a book well worth reading.

Wetlands by Charlotte Roche. Translated by Tim Mohr. Published by Fourth Estate. 2009.

A link to the publisher can be found here: Wetlands by Charlotte Roche – publisher