Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Fetish Rewrite XII

When that “Orange Is the New Black” role play isn’t quite what you had in mind...

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Formative Kink Epic Fail: “Buck Rogers in the 25th Century”

A hero lost out of time in a future world of uniformed women, space amazons, and hot alien queens? I should have been there for Buck Rogers in the 25th Century from the very first moment...

Not exactly “Devil’s Planet,” is it?

Unfortunately, that was pretty much representative of this show’s kink charge—or lack thereof. And like Sam on Bewitched, the female lead, Erin Gray’s Col. Wilma Deering, was so relentlessly wholesome, she was actually named after your grandmother. Then again, if I had picked up on that Pride Flag armband back when I was a kid...

...it still probably wouldn’t have made any difference, because I wouldn’t have known what it was then anyway. But even the guest stars had an almost absurdly future-girl-next-door quality. I had a real crush on Markie Post back in the Night Court days, for instance, but here?

This was like watching an adult version of my best friend’s kid sister. Or seeing a failed attempt at making “disco wholesome” (or maybe “roller disco wholesome”) a fetish. Even caught up in the rages of puberty, I would have felt guilty having a single vanilla sexual—let alone kinky—thought about her. I mean, this show even managed to make Julie Newmar unappealing.

Granted, Pamela Hensley’s recurring villainess Princess Ardala made some effort to inject an actual “femme fatale” boost into the proceedings.

Unlike on Gerry Anderson’s UFO, however, the costume designers here did not serve this character (or kink) well. Not unless the Hollywood-CIA complex’s mind-control rays were somehow targeting her perm and, ah, other assets.

In the end, only Nancy DeCarl’s Sherese, a two-episode guest star, came the closest to delivering an actual kink charge to my adolescence. If only because somehow, shockingly, the producers actually allowed her to wear a semi-Dommely leather outfit rather than bright spandex or future showgirl kitsch, even if the outfit did have so many giant eyelets (really, they were like gauges in a hipster’s earlobes) and dangly fringes that she would have looked more at home on the stage of the Grand Ole Space Opry rather than plotting to kill a city with Frank Gorshin. Still, I remember her well, and she was the Domme of My Young DreamsTM for about three-and-a-half weeks or so.

Even including those two episodes with Sherese, however, this show was hard for me to watch even as a teenager with puberty rooting for it. Too serious when it need to be goofy, too goofy when it needed to be serious, and with actual episode titles like “Vegas in Space” and, I kid you not, “Space Vampire,” Buck Rogers was the first television sci-fi I did not watch religiously. And even when I did, and Princess Ardala managed to spark the beginnings of a kinky mindset in me, I always remembered that her wicked obsession was this guy:

Yes, the biggest problem—and formative kink blocker—of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century was Buck Rogers himself. Gil Gerard was like Roger Moore to William Shatner’s Sean Connery, at least for television sci-fi heroes. In fact, the whole character felt like a unholy cross between James T. Kirk and Engelbert Humperdinck. I mean, Gil Gerard even sang the Rupert Holmes semi-hit “Answering Machine” on the old Mike Douglas Show! (Seriously. He did. I remember watching it with my grandmother, who fortunately was not named Wilma.)

How could anyone fall for this guy, I wondered even then, let alone actually risk galactic warfare just to possess him as her hu-manly boy-toy? Even for a space empress with alien ways of thinking, it was just too much suspension of disbelief for me, even at that young an age. And to this day, I have yet to figure it out.

Or forgive this show for squandering so many formative kink opportunities...

[Addendum here.]

Friday, May 20, 2016

My Photo-Manipping Past

I used to make Femdom hypnofetish “photo-manips,” back in the day on Inraptured and a long-ago Yahoo group run by a certain “hypno-witch”:

Some worked well as extremely short stories, and the text wound up collected as Succubus 2.0. Like this one:

Others really needed the photo to work, and were left to age gracefully on my various hard drives:

Still others were flat-out goofs, just done for a laugh:

Maybe I’ll do more of these again, at some point...

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Elust #82

Elust 82 Header
Photo courtesy of Teachers Have Sex

Welcome to Elust #82 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #83 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Take Me

How Do I Love Thee:On Comparing Relationships

Asking all the questions...



~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

I Manage My Expectations

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Maybe I'm not a pervert after all
Bad Excuses
Engaging with Sexuality: A Personal Perspecti
I wish there were more porn
Cock Size: Does it matter?
Blue is not a "boy color."

Erotic Non-Fiction

Watching My Wife With Another Man Story
Afternoon Cunnilingus & Birthday Sofa Sex
Why You Should Shave Your Partner
Oct 2014 Session - Mistress Claire
Two Days Later
Roping a cougarling
Divining Rods
Dorabella's pink-velvet spanner

Erotic Fiction

Puppy Love
Quick & Dirty
She Says My Voice Changes for Her
THE BLINDFOLD - fear of the unknown
U is for undress...
Stay Baby…Stay.
kink of the week--glasses

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Slutfest Reflection
Love and Fairness
V is for........
My heart turns blacker: the new rules


Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Blast from the Fetish Video Past
The whole person approach to Submission
Down on my knees
Dominant Doppelgangers, Dominant Opposites
Four eyes
BDSM and Depression: Therapy or Self-Harm?


Eden, Revisited: A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Stepping Stones
Centering Disabled Characters in My Erotica


ELust Site Badge

Friday, May 13, 2016

“The Boys at the Barracks Will Never Believe This”

I may be a kinkster of a certain age, but not quite this certain of an age...

Then again, I think the Heyse house just found its next Bad Movie Night—and my wife and I our next role play.

Assuming either of us can keep a straight face for more than a minute or two, of course.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Formative Kink: Gerry Anderson’s “UFO”

In the future world of 1980, Earth’s first line of defense against alien invaders was a moonbase crewed by shapely women in purple wigs and silver catsuits.

Worked for me then. Works for me now. Especially given how the alien invaders also slipped into some rather B&D-ish looks.

I remember this show first airing here in America sometime around 1971 or so. And given my then-steady diet of afternoon Star Trek repeats, Lost in Space repeats, Land of the Giants repeats, and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea repeats—each episode of which I’d already seen many times over by this point—UFO was like a fresh canister of oxygen popped in the space suit of my childhood. Not only did it air in the early evening, it was broadcast on a station out of Pittsburgh instead of somewhere in West Virginia, both of which made the show inherently more legitimate in my young mind. And best of all, it was new.

In some episodes, those shapely women seemed like support staff. But in others, they seemed to be in charge. And in still others, one of them (waify little Lt. Gay Ellis) actually was in charge. You can probably guess which episodes played into my formative kinkiness the most.

Even beyond the women-in-charge and the pseudo-catsuit-uniform aspects, this show was full of amazingness. A secret military organization with an underground base beneath a movie studio, run by a commander who poses as a movie executive and whose entire office is an elevator to that secret underground base? Even today, that’s just cool, to the point you don’t even care whether or not it actually makes any sense. Speaking of which, how about those special uniforms the crew of the secret Skydiver submarine wore?

Rewatching the whole series a few years ago, I was amazed how well so much of it still held up four decades later. The production design remains stylish enough to match anything that came before or since. The special effects are obvious models, yet you can’t help but be charmed. Even the astronaut lost on the Moon who stumbles against a mountainside—and pushes said "mountain" back several inches across the set—is kind of endearing. And the theme song really is, as James Lileks puts it, “The Grooviest Organ in the Solar System.”

Of course, this was not a perfect show, even at the time. The writing and the acting could be clunky. (It was the first live-action series from a guy who made his name with puppets, after all.) The Moonbase Interceptors only carried one shot, for some reason. And the second-in-command (the guy behind the desk in that picture above) had something of an Austin Powers vibe, which is even stronger today. Watching the series again, I half-expected to hear “Yeah, baby!” whenever they took out an incoming UFO. Even so, it was an oasis of new sci-fi during a very dry time.

And it played into my developing kinkiness very well indeed.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Our Favorite Couple Porn

Finding porn that my wife and I can enjoy together has generally been a frustrating endeavor, and not in the good way. Clips that work for me usually leave her cold, and vice versa. Hits have been few and far between for us over the years.

The Hysterical Literature series by Clayton Cubitt, however, is just one hit after another. “Our favorite couple porn,” my wife calls it, and rightly so. But then how surprising is it that two kinky writers click with videos of women trying to give a dramatic reading while being stimulated by a never-seen Magic Wand?

Bret Easton Ellis has never sounded so good.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Blast from the Fetish Video Past II

Back in the VHS cassette days...

...the resolution of the Supreme Administrator of the Other World Kingdom was not exactly Hi-Def.

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Formative Kink: “You Better Run”

If Heart gave me a long-term, sometimes subtle fantasy kink life, Pat Benatar’s video for “You Better Run” was not only an overt dose of concentrated FemDomme-ish attitude but also possibly the very first POV “confrontation fetish” clip ever:

The first time I saw this on MTV—back in the Cable TV Stone Age when the “M” still stood for “Music”—it was the same kind of sit-still-and-gape experience as watching “Devil’s Planet” for the first time, or even discovering Julie Newmar’s Catwoman. No other Pat Benatar song or video (or even Pat Benatar herself) ever had this effect on me. That straight-jacket-and-boots album cover for Get Nervous did cause some early stirrings of Maledom switchhood, though mostly, I just pictured her somehow escaping and then taking a twisted yet therapeutic revenge on my idealistic and naive medical intern.

“You Better Run” put my budding inner kinkster in the corner while mocking me about how much I still wanted to come out and play. Maybe it was the belt, or the heels, or the could-almost-convince-yourself-they-were-leather-in-standard-definition pants. Or maybe it was that short, tough-girl haircut, or that knowing little sneer. Or the lyrics. Or the eye contact (something taken so for granted in fetish clips today) and that accusatory finger stabbing out at me. Or just the whole, multifetish experience that my early teenage brain could barely process.

And Lord knows I tried, keeping MTV on the background whether or not my mother was around, and somehow hearing, even in another room, when this video came up on the rotation again. I was like a dog recognizing the family car all the way down the street, or the sound of a cabinet opening in the downstairs kitchen. Because I wanted to run, and then be caught, and then be put in my place and forcefully made to pay for how I had somehow done Pat Benatar wrong.

I still do, too.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Fetish Rewrite VIII

“Safeword abuse. Chastity breaking-and-exiting. Oh, I’m picking this one up just on principle.”

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

That Bastard Alan Alda

If you’re a man of a certain age, you remember him being everywhere when you were growing up, that bastard Alan Alda.

He was the role model, we were instructed. The sensitive man. The man in touch with and able to express his own feelings. The man concerned with the needs and wants of the woman in his life. You couldn’t be a boy growing up in the 1970s and not be aware of him. He was a one-man cultural brainwashing machine where the 1950s had needed the Cleavers, Ozzie and Harriet, and Robert Young on Father Knows Best to even begin matching his awesome power.

And how could we impressionable young boys caught in the hormonal maelstroms of puberty not take him to heart? On M*A*S*H alone, he got the gorgeous Swedish nurse Inga, played by a young and breath-taking Mariette Hartley. Even Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan eventually succumbed to his sexual soft power. True, the North Koreans were shelling the abandoned hut where the two had taken refuge, but we all knew the earth had been moving long before then. Any appearance to the contrary was just bad editing.

Throw in a divorced mother and a feminist-activist older sister, and I really didn’t stand a chance against the paradigm shift that was that bastard Alan Alda. Captain Kirk did provide a valiant counterpoint, but he was in repeats. Alan Alda, on the other hand, was already writing and directing his own movies. And even now, I’ll take Betsy’s Wedding over Star Trek V any day.

There’s nothing wrong with a man being in touch with and able to express his own feelings, of course. Or being concerned with the needs and wants of the woman in his life. Dom or vanilla, those are good things. And if Alan Alda had simply left it at that, a generation of men might have turned out differently—and likely better, too. But Alan Alda did far more, and rather insidiously as well.

That bastard.

I finally realized this a few years ago, when I found myself, in my forties, not only on the verge of a 24/7 kink relationship for the first time but also trying to make a final peace with the Dom side of my switchhood, which until then had always been the annoying, uncertain little brother to my older, stronger submissive side. Because the real hang-up I faced at the time wasn’t that I didn’t want that type of power and control over my wife/lover/friend/partner and potential slave/property. For all sorts of reasons (good and bad, valid and misguided), I did want it, and very much so. (My wife and I are both switches, after all, and it was very different time, both for us and our marriage.) No, the real hang-up I faced was that I thought I shouldn’t want it, not like this, not 24/7, with consent given once and once only and all the control over at least the sexual part of our lives then resting in my hands alone. Even worse, I kept thinking that she shouldn’t really want it, either. And I can trace that mindset straight back to that long-ago bastard Alan Alda.

See, back in the days I’m talking about, Alan Alda was not the wonderfully villainous character-actor most people know him as today, not unless he was taking the piss out of some culturally approved joke-butt, like Frank Burns or Charles Emerson Winchester III. Back then, Alan Alda wasn’t just aware of and accommodating to a woman’s needs and desires. He elevated them above his own. Hell, he buried his own wants and needs in favor of hers. It wasn’t about correcting the mistakes of the past and bringing balance to a relationship. It was about throwing an existing imbalance off in the opposite direction entirely. Because as long was she was getting the gentle love and quiet understanding that we budding new-men-in-the-making were instructed that she longed for, well, that was not only all that Alan Alda asked for, it was all he could ask for. The point was to be what she needed and to be happy with whatever you got from her in return, even if that wasn’t what you really wanted or needed. Anything else was wrong, old, unenlightened, or Frank Burns.

And as far as her needs, well, God forbid she might actually want him to grab her throat, tear her clothes off, bind her wrists, and ravage her forcefully on some creaky cot just a few miles short of some future DMZ.

Or that he might want to do that as well, and not just because she wanted him to. (Service Top, thy name is Master Sir Alan Alda.)

For a very specific generation, Alan Alda encouraged the submissive men (even if they weren’t naturally submissive), shamed the dominant men, and really messed up we switches in the between. Sure, he broke with that one-size-fits-all programming of a certain stereotypical masculinity, but he replaced it with an equally restrictive, equally unyielding set of blinders. What men and women wanted—and worse, were supposed to want—were every bit as one-dimensional as what had come before. All that had changed was which side was supposed to not ask for what they wanted and needed in return, because what they really wanted and needed was wrong, and no woman could ever actually want that, either. Or so Alan Alda taught us.

Before I even knew my future wife existed, Alan Alda managed to convince me that she couldn’t possibly mean what she said about how she really wanted me to treat her in private, or how the balance of power in our relationship should be re-balanced at that point in time—especially after her being the Dominant one for so many years previous. I would have been able to hear and believe what she actually wanted from me, at that time, much earlier without Alan Alda. And I would have been more open with her, not to mention with myself, about what I really wanted from her, and jumped into the new dynamic then and there.

Because it’s what we both wanted, back then, despite everything that bastard Alan Alda taught me.

Even if it all did crash and burn within a few months. (My fault, mostly. See the mention of “misguided” reasons above.)

And even if a few years later, my wife wound up owning my each and every orgasm, and in total control of our sex life, 24/7, with my own pleasure and satisfaction portioned out strictly at her whim.

Just like Alan Alda, that wonderful bastard, taught me it should be.