Jilling Off » Reality

Blind

Jill — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 09:39:52 +0000

Tonight someone I had been talking to online rang me to tell me he was coming over, to leave the front door ajar for him and to wait on a chair with my panties around my ankles and a vibe on my clit. So I did.

He played with me, had me suck his cock while I came from the vibrator a couple of times, then fucked me on my bedroom floor, ordering me to tell him every time I orgasmed, which I did half a dozen times, spasming around his cock while he grabbed my breasts hard.

Then he used my computer to go online and search for someone else to fuck me while he watches next time, as I sucked his cock. He fucked me again, so hard it felt like the room was shaking, and came all over my tits, ordering me not to wash it off until the morning. He left me lying on the bed still blindfolded, reminding me that I wouldn’t recognise him if I saw him on the street.

Tonight was really fantastic.

Choked

Jill — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 05:23:09 +0000

I ask him to tie me up and he does, swift knots expertly tied. He’s done this before. He takes my nipple in his mouth, sucking greedily, then pulls back and slaps my breast hard. I moan in pleasure, writhing under his body as he smacks me again and again, then shoves his fingers hard into my cunt. I come almost instantly, tremours shaking me all over, but he keeps going, working his fingers inside me, kissing me roughly, watching me twist and groan underneath him. He pulls his fingers out and abruptly slaps me on my cunt, laughing at my obvious pleasure.

“I love the way your pussy responds to me,” he says, kissing me again, beard rough on my face and neck and breasts. One hand pulls my legs apart again, and his fingers slide across my clit so that I come again. The other hand locks around my neck, choking me. I close my eyes and give in to the pleasure, surrendering completely to his control. I can no longer tell how many fingers he has in me or how many times I’ve come. Everything is just a blur of wave after wave of climaxes. This is exactly how I’ve always wanted it to be.

the ‘y’ makes all the difference

Jill — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 10:30:18 +0000

There’s been so much talk lately about what rape is, and who does it, and about the sanctity of rape victims, and how they often get violated again in the court process, so it’s both strange and gratifying to tell a story to your friends and have them state “that’s kind of rapey” even before you offer up all the excuses that you have – that you didn’t say no – although you could hardly breathe, let alone speak, that you’d told him you liked it rough, that you said you enjoyed being dominated, and your entire filthy persona – not to mention the enthusiasm that you’d greated him with earlier in the night. Because yes, you love to suck cock, but you don’t love it when a guy repeatedly shoves your head down. You _really_ don’t love it when he asks if you’re awake, and when you reply, he sits on your chest, pinning you to the bed, shoving his cock down your throat, grasping your head so tight that you can hardly move it, even when you gag, and your mouth fills with vomit, and he just thrusts harder and harder. And you feel helpless and hopeless, and you remember all your rape fantasies, and think that well yeah, maybe this is what you’re asking for, and you just try to make him finish quicker so that he’ll stop. And then, when he’s done, and you know you’re about to start crying, that’s when you curl into him so you can pretend it’s okay, that this was somemthing you wanted to do.

Yes yes yes yes yes!

Jill — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 13:09:58 +0000

Tangible

Jill — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 14:27:29 +0000

There is something immensely satisfying about having muscles that ache from having them up in the air as a boy thrusts into you, pounds his cock into you so hard that your head is pushed back off the pillows and slips between the bars of your headboard. He tells you that he wants to fuck you from behind so you get on your knees and he pushes deep, deep inside of you. He asks if you want to ride him so you can watch him looking up at you in awe. But really, what you want is him pushing down on you again, covering your body with his, filling your world, filling up your head as he fills your cunt. You haven’t been fucked this hard for a very long time and it is fantastic, to lie back, to watch him do all the work, to feel your whole body shake. The slap of his body against yours makes your vision go blurry and you run your fingernails down his back and when he speeds up, faster and faster, you twist his nipples so that he comes, groaning, moaning, so much louder and more tangible than previous partners.

And the buildup was so simple, so direct, and yet you still got tingles when his hands went around your waist. There are no complications here, if we exclude your emotional baggage, so yes, the thrill of the chase may be missing, but this might actually grow into something that’s real, something you can keep and not have to return at the end of each night. And if it doesn’t, there’s no harm done, and a damn good fucking had.

Afternoon delight

Jill — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 12:53:23 +0000

A friend and I are in the lounge trying to decide where we want to have dinner that day, and I realise that I need to ask the boy that I am living with now, the boy who who shares my bed most nights, so I head to his room at the back of the house. He’s working on his computer as normal, so when we’ve finished our discussion I put my arms around him and kiss him on the forehead like I often do. I’m still overwhelmed that he exists, that I can touch him at almost any time, so I slide one hand down to his crotch, and start stroking his crotch, lightly. So often he’d push my hand away and tell me that I was “being naughty” but today he responds, spinning around to kiss me, and seconds later I am on my knees in front of him with his cock in my mouth while his ICQ messages bing away without him responding. Groaning with pleasure he opens the drawer where he keeps the condoms, and asks me if I want him inside me. I lie back eagerly on the floor – he is yet to buy a bed – and pull off my underpants, fingering myself. He grabs my breasts under my tshirt with one hand while carefully guiding himself into me. His cock is so big we have to take it slow at first, and it feels almost as if he is splitting me in two when he starts to thrust harder. But I love this feeling, I love his weight on top of me, I love the carpet beneath me, the curve of his shoulder blades, his close-clipped hair. I love him, and so when he is fucking me I am sure that he loves me too. But then I remember my friend in the other room, and I think that I should go back to her. I half sit up, laughing through our kisses that I was only supposed to take a minute. “You’re not going anywhere” he says, and he pushes me back down to the floor. We fuck more, but the prozac he takes makes it hard for him to come, and I start hurting, so I take him in my mouth again, as he jerks himself off. He comes across my tits, wipes me clean, and goes back to work. I return to my friend, face flushed.

Echo

Jill — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 15:15:29 +0000

And we are public servants. And our footsteps echo wherever we tread. And there is a building between you and I and coffee, and it’s new, so naturally, we would walk through it.

I can’t remember whether this was before or after I had hooked up with you at your desk. All I can remember is that the building was there, that it was brand new, that it was empty and sparkling and shining white.

And of course, memories come flooding back to me. We had already hooked up. I had already established that you could make me come. And that’s why I felt the way I did, that in that giant big empty atrium, we should have fucked. Hard and fast, instantly, you thrusting into me. Me, still seeking to gain the upper hand, pushing back against you, but imagine the crowds if they knew I was listnening? Why work as a foreign army when they could still rush us and take it all?

brass knuckles

Jill — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 12:51:02 +0000

for whatever reason, we went to fist-bump tonight, and as your hand hit mine, I felt the impact of chunky metal. “I”m sorry about the ring,” you said, and I looked at you, and looked at the ring and all it symbolises and laughed and laughed and laughed. You had the grace to laugh as well, and to say “in all non-ironic forms as well, I’m sorry about the ring”. That was really sweet.

Lending a hand

Jill — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 09:33:39 +0000

Because it was New Year’s, and because we were in a beach town, my friend’s house was full of people so it was only fair that I offered to share the sofa bed that I was sleeping on. Two other guys crashed out on the floor, one on a bean bag, and the guy that hadn’t been giving me the eye all night rolled his sleeping bag out next to mine.

Because it was New Year’s, and because we were in a beach town, it was far too hot to sleep. I heard the breathing of the boys in the room slow down, and one started snoring, but I was pretty sure that the boy next to me wasn’t asleep. I was also pretty sure that his hand was snaking over to my side of the bed, softly drawing circles on my back. Was it on purpose? Was he really touching me? Did I want this to happen with the other boys in the room, or even at all?

I wanted to be sure, so pretending to stretch, I wriggled a little closer to his side of the bed. The hand stroking me was now unmistakeable. I rolled over and took his hand. There was a minute’s pause, a realisation that this was something that was happening before he started to stroke my arm again, and I reached out to touch him as well. His hands slipped up under my tshirt, found me braless, squeezed my breasts. I tugged lightly at his nipples, my arm grazing the top of his boxer shorts. I wasn’t sure how far he wanted this to go but he moved my hand down and I felt how hard his cock already was. His body went stiff as I took it in my hands, and then shook with the effort of keeping totally silent as my hand moved faster and faster. I could feel how much he was straining as he came in my hands, shaking and almost choking from trying not to cry out. I kissed him on his forehead, wiped my hand off on his shorts, rolled over and went to sleep. It was New Year’s, after all.

365

Jill — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 09:28:04 +0000

Has it been a year? How can it have been a year when it still seems like yesterday? I remember everything, of course I do even though the first time we tried to blame it on the alcohol, on the zombies, of course. I remember knees up against each other, under the table, and I remember them from months before that occasion which I thought was a fluke in the system, because yes, I had those thoughts for you but there was no way that you could ever feel the same. And yet, that night, it was there. It wasn’t just knees under the table, or the flirting in our conversation. It was our hands locking in the street as we stumbled from bar to bar, and yes, that could have been that we were drunk, that we were stumbly, but it felt like more than that, and so in the taxi on the way home, when we were far more cuddled up than we should have been, and our hands were still inexpicitly intwined, our eyes met, our heads tipped, our mouths moved together – and we stopped. We paused before we kissed, and we both shook our heads, and we both went “umm, nah” and we sent each other text messages blaming it on the zombie cocktails, shaking it off, saying it wasn’t even a thing at all and we didn’t even need to worry about it.

And then the next day we were both home hungover and you asked me if I wanted to come over and hang out, all casual like, and apologised if that sounded weird because you didn’t mean it to be.. I was too hungover to leave the house so you showed up at mine carrying kebabs and coffee. Of course by that stage you knew that I drank lattes because all we did every day was try and find any excuse to meet up together. We called it boredom at work but it was of course and oh so stupidly an attraction to each other that drew us multiple times a day to that tiny little cafe. But this, this was different.I was deliberatey still in my pyjamas, the thought of dressing up for you terrified me as much as the idea that you could even return the palest fraction of my feelings for you. And yet, you were there, you were so close. It was ridiculous. I made small talk about how drunk we were, trying to skip over the subtext, and yet when I tried to show you some pictures on my laptop, I intended to hand the computer over to you but you came and sat on the couch right next to me, thighs up against mine again, and you were totally in my space, in my world and all I could hear and smell and taste and touch was your presence right there against me and I was totally thrown.

That was the Friday. Or the Thursday? On the Saturday, you were at my house again, and that is a whole new story again.

Conditioning

Jill — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 02:36:19 +0000

I absolutely understand the point of this video but I can’t say that it doesn’t arouse me as well, and that’s kind of fucked up.

never be anything more

Jill — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 03:05:10 +0000

Sometimes it is so fucking hard to ignore how much i fucking want you inside of me, fucking me, taking me, making me lose control.

I know you prefer to play the sub, but you, on top of me, holding me down, pinning me to the bed, hands held above my head, cock thrusting into me, dominate me like that, please. Make me come half a dozen times with your fingers, lick me to orgasm more and again and again. Treat me like I am your dirty little fucktoy, because of course, I am, I could never be anything more.

Both hands

Jill — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:40:51 +0000

Your hand burning into my thigh as I drive along the street and you tell me to let you know if it’s too distracting. I keep my eyes on the road but I can still feel it on me months later. Your fingers tracing across my skin, holding me against you, flicking across my clit, thrusting in and out of me and I buck and I moan and i grab at you as I come again and again. Our hands entwined in secret, hidden behind the backs of others, holding each other steady in silent streets. The wedding ring that shines too brightly, that’s always visible, your fingers in my mouth, the taste of me on your skin, the touch still burnt into me.

Assume the position

Jill — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 01:30:36 +0000

It would be too easy to write about sex web sites, but yesterday I came across these mesmerizing animated gifs and I couldn’t help but share them. I’ll put them under a cut though just in case you’re dumb enough to be reading this at work.

These are from Sex Info 101. What’s your favourite position? These are some of mine:

Courtesy of SexInfo101.com.

And who can forget the classic:

Courtesy of SexInfo101.com.

I think it’s pretty clear that I am a lazy lover.

I’m not going to give blowjobs anymore

Jill — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 03:01:13 +0000

Now that I have your attention i am probably lying. but i think i will wait until asked before i do it again. i have been sucking a lot of cock lately and while normally i like to do it because i know i am good at it, i feel like my willingness to volunteer to go down is being taken for granted. perhaps if i abstain i will get some good dirty talk again. or perhaps some more head for me.

Not yours

Jill — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 11:40:30 +0000

I hide my nervousness by talking too much. It’s not my house. It’s not you that I’m with. It’s a stranger, a stranger’s apartment, and that would be okay if your touch wasn’t still burnt into my skin from a couple of days before. When he kisses me, he is soft, his hands slow, like he thinks we have all the time in the world, rather than the fast, frantic furious pace that you and I work at. He won’t be checking his watch the way that you do. He won’t be leaving me alone to go back to be with someone else, but still, my mind is not on the blow job at hand. It doesn’t feel right but I pretend to push past that. I gave myself a pep talk into the mirror in the bar after he had started holding my hand, and I give myself another one while I wait for him to come out of the bathroom. I can do this. I need to do this. And he is lovely, and he is delicate, and he is tender, but he is not you.

The pool

Jill — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 10:42:32 +0000

The kitchen in this Ponsonby house has featured in home magazines before, but no one at this party is commenting on the architecture because we’re too busy dancing. Someone is playing a mix of bhangra, old hip hop and M.I.A, and we’re waving our hands in the air like we just don’t care. It’s hot, sweaty and noisy, which is just the way we want it to be. The pill I swallowed happily before has started to work its magic on me and I’m in love with every one of the friends and strangers around me.

But it’s hot, sweat dripping off me, so I duck out to the balcony to get some fresh air. That’s where I spot beneath me the pool, glittering with the combination of moon and the cabana spot lights. I need to be in that water right now. Need it. Right now. So I push through the people milling around on the balcony, trot down the deck stairs, unhook the childproof fence with a little bit of a struggle. The champagne doesn’t make mechanics much easier.

Now standing by the pool, I’m suddenly aware that there is a whole balcony full of people, and I don’t have my togs, but the water is beckoning and the urge is too strong to stop me. I step into the shadows and peel off my shirt and skirt, and, pausing for a second to think it through, my bra and panties. I consider the depth, and dive in.

I have never felt anything like this before. The total body immersion, the water kissing my skin, the instant cooling – I feel like I could stay underwater forever. But of course I can’t, my body floats to the surface before I am ready. I gasp in the night air, twisting onto my back. I can see my nipples stiffening with the chill, and the water swirling around my cunt seems playful. When I pull my head out of the water, switching into doggy-paddling, I suddenly realise that I have an audience. There is a round of applause from the balcony. A whole line of people are watching me. Giggling, I wave, and flip, diving down into a handstand. I might as well give them a show. The feeling of water rushing past me is incredible, so I swim as far as I can underwater, and then languidly swim a couple of lengths. I have cooled down now, and in fact, I’m getting a little bit cold. I hear the sound of the gate lifting, and surfacing again, I realise there is now a man standing beside the pool, holding out a towel.

“I thought you might want this,” he says, smiling. I’ve seen him before, I think he is friends of the host’s brother. He’s cute, and I am cold, so I smile back, and swim to the pool ladder, and clamber out doing my best Wild Things impression. I stand up tall like it ain’t no thing to be standing there naked, and reach for the towel. He steps forward and wraps it around me. “There you are, Ma’am,” he says. “Wow, full service,” I reply, “are you going to wash my back for me now too?” “Sure,” he says, eagerly, so I decide to call his bluff, and walk to the cabana.

The bathroom here is like the ones in the house, ludicrously expensive, marble everywhere and no doubt it’s Italian tapware. I feel a little ridiculous leaning into the shower as I flip on the tap and water springs from two heads, but I drop my towel and climb in anyway. He is close behind me, undressing himself at a leisurely pace. The warm water gushes down on me, and I am overwhelmed with sensations again, the pill I took still working its magic. I shut my eyes to tilt my face into the water, and I hear him step into the shower behind me.

He is standing so close that I can hear his breath over the roar of the non-efficient water flow, and despite the heat and steam, my skin goosebumps in anticipation. He reaches around me to grab the shower gel, and starts to lather up my shoulders. His hands are soft and smooth, and he runs them slowly down my arms, I can feel my spine unclenching at his touch. The sponge travels around in circles, meandering around my back, dipping down to just above my ass, grazing the sides of my breasts. He leans down to gently soap up my ankles, my knees, my thighs, so slowly, so delicately, time is standing still. He washes every inch of my legs, and straightens up to cover my back again, stroking harder this time, the intensity growing. I feel like I’m going to faint so I put my arms out to lean against the shower wall. He takes this as his invitation to run his hands around and cup my breasts, and I arch my back with pleasure, moaning softly.

His fingers swirl around my nipples, and I feel his tongue kiss the back of my neck. His body is up against mine now, and I feel his cock growing hard. I try to turn around to touch it, to touch him, but he moves my hand back onto the wall. “It’s not your turn yet,” he laughs in my ear. His left hand grabs my breast harder, while his right slides down across my stomach, parting my legs, and pushing against my slit. I gasp as he runs a finger around my clit, and push back against his body. “I haven’t cleaned all of you yet,” he says, unhooking the hand shower, and turning me around to face him. Kneeling down, he kisses my labia, pushing them open with his tongue. As I clutch at the walls and at his head to steady myself, he begins to lap at me, tongue flicking backwards and forwards, side to side. The water falling across my face sparkles like diamonds, and I feel like fairies are running away with parts of my body. The light in the bathroom gets brighter and brighter as he works his tongue around, my breath is coming in big half gasps, and then it’s like an explosion of sensation and light, and water, and air.

When I’m finally able to float back down and open my eyes again, he’s standing face to face with me. “I’m going to kiss you now” he says, eagerly, and I open my mouth to him. But it’s a trick, because as soon as our mouths are locked together, lips melting into lips, he takes the shower jet and aims it at my freshly tongue-fucked pussy, The pulsating jet is too much for my lucky vulnerable clitoris to handle, and I collapse in another orgasm, moaning much much louder this time. He’s there to catch me this time, and we cling together. He takes my hand down to his cock. and I stroke him to a climax while his fingers rub between my legs again, hoping for three strikes in a row. This last orgasm is less intense but knowing that we came together staring into each other’s eyes made it all the more satisfying. We stay in the shower until we notice our skin getting pruney, dry each other off, and get dressed. When we step outside the cabana, we’re treated to another round of applause. I think he deserved it all.

On Human Bondage

Jill — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 10:44:27 +0000

I once had a friend who did sex work who always told me that I would make a fantastic dominatrix. The idea intrigued me, and I had some extra time over Auckland Anniversary Weekend, so I decided to plan out a treat for a gentleman caller.

Half the fun for me (well, maybe a 20th of it at least) was in the preparation. Knowing that he’d mentioned having his cock tied up, I discovered that CBT is not just Computer-Based Training, or indeed Cognitive Behaviour Therapy – it can all be Cock & Ball Torture. You learn something new every day! I managed to find this extremely NSFW step-by-step pictorial guide though, which came in handy (almost literally) before I had a chance to do the full routine on an earlier occasion when I was squeezing someone’s balls and was a little alarmed about how separate and jumpy-aparty each ball in its sack is. And the ballholder didn’t seem to have any problems with it either. Anatomy is strange.

Another area that I had to prepare myself in was my outfit. Obviously a corset, a riding crop and ridiculous platform heels would all be in order, but because I felt like I was playing a role, I added in a wig and a mask.

I laid out all the tools that I would be working with – scarves around the bed posts, a coil of cord for the CBT (and a pair of nail scissors in case it all went horribly wrong and needed to be cut off in a hurry), a blindfold, feathers, an ice bucket, a pot of hot tea, some feathers, my vibrator, some lube and there would have been a box of latex gloves if I hadn’t decided that that would just be creepy.

Then I put on my serious face, and set up a playlist to reflect my sternness. The gentleman caller arrived late, in need of punishment already, obviously, to find me angrily thwacking my riding crop across my gloved palms. He said “I’m going to like this” and I told him to shut his fucking mouth, stepped away from his kiss and ordered him to take off his clothes.

As soon as he was naked, already half hard, with me loving that I was still fully if somewhat ridiculously dressed, reinforcing my power, I smacked him really lightly on the ass, sat down on my bed, spread my legs and told him to eat my fucking pussy. He dived right in gleefully, and as I was pushed back on the bed, I realised the problem with the wig and the mask, because I constantly had to readjust them. Meanwhile his tongue curling around my clit, slipping around my cunt was starting to make me feel like I was losing control of the situation, even though I was holding his head fast in place, so I declared that he was enjoying it too much, and pulled him to his feet, then pushed him onto the bed.

He didn’t even pretend to struggle as I spread his arms to tie them apart, but he was intrigued when I looped the cord around his cock and balls, doubled it back around the ball base and then separated the two out. I licked his balls lightly in lieu of tying proper knots, and then decided that he was enjoying the sight of me working on his cock a little bit too much so it was on with the blindfold.

By this stage since he couldn’t see anymore, I figured it’d be more comfortable (and no doubt a fuck of a lot more safe) if I took off my shoes, so he got to hear the traumatic thuds of the platforms hitting the carpet below the bed. I was absolutely loving having him under my control. A couple of quick flicks of the crop – first to my own hand to get the good cracking sound, and then the lightest whisper of it across his legs had him tremble a little bit, so I upped the game.

I had never realised that an ice cube could be so entertaining, but as I dragged it up and down his legs and across his chest, he twitched and twitched, almost squealing. It was fantastic and I couldn’t help but start to giggle. To make it up to him a little bit, I took the ice cub in my mouth to cool it down, and then wrapped my lips around his shaft, giving his whole cock a quick suck, before I took a mouthful of warm tea and repeated the exercise.

I did a couple more passes around his body, alternating hands with lube on his cock, feathers and ice across his skin, before I knelt over him and allowed him to take my nipple in his mouth. He sucked as if his life depended on it, so I took my breast away, and turned my vibrator on, holding it to his balls, moving it along his cock and down t press on the perineum. By that stage, his blindfold was coming off, so when I declared that I may as well just use the vibe on myself instead of him, he could pin open my legs so he could watch everything I did to make myself come. In fact I came twice, loving that he was loving the show but was frustrated in his lack of ability to take part in it.

After I got my breath back, I noticed that his hand up against the headboard was turning purple. Oh fuck! I scrambled to untie it, and figured I might as well untie the other hand as well. I was having a hell of a time maintaining Fierce Face anyway, because really, I just wanted to be kissing him and having him finger-fuck me and eat me out half a dozen times.

Naturally, it turns out that he didn’t even see the wig which I abandoned halfway through the session. To quote “when I came in the door, I saw breasts, the mask and the riding crop and that’s all, I was so excited”. He didn’t notice the playlist either until we were cuddling and ‘Closer’ by NIN came up. Mogwai was my more subtle way of setting a scary mood.

I had fun trying out being a Dominatrix-Lite, and he had fun, so now I’m wondering when it’s going to be my time to receive someone else’s roleplay.

Things left undone

Jill — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 12:27:31 +0000

Me as a hardcore sub
Photographs or records other than hurried pxts from the bathrooms of our work
The toilets in a bar
Bringing in an anonymous third party
Spankings delivered sharply to me
Anal play
Waking up with you

I know this is by no means a exhaustive list. And I know I’ll have to complete it with someone who isn’t you. Sigh.

Top or bottom bunk?

Jill — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 12:20:24 +0000

Recently, Giant wrote that he was surprised that I have tendencies towards being dominated. I can get where he’s coming from – outwardly I’m a bossy, in control woman (I do PR for a living) but seriously, if you’re ordering minions, printers, caterers and stupid clients around all day, don’t you think that you’d want to come home and be able to switch off totally too?

That is of course the superficial level of domination/sublimation, but unfortunately anything to do with sex has to go deeper. I like to think that I am amongst strong feminist women, so the idea that I want to be dominated and degraded does really not sit well with me as a feminist. I know there’s a difference between fantasy and reality though, and this is where I’m especially grateful to Dan Savage for explaining it so clearly:

Like many fetishes, his cuckold thing is most likely a subconscious erotic response to a sexually charged fear. While most of us learn to live with and occasionally conquer our fears without eroticizing them, a number of us respond to sexual fears or traumas by incorporating them into our erotic imaginations. Think of women—hip, together, progressive, feminist women—who act out rape fantasies; think of the homos—hip, together, out homos—who dress up like soldiers, cops, firemen and other stereotypically violent homophobic types.

So women fear rape, yet some develop a fetish for it. Gay men fear violent homophobes, yet some dress up like violent homophobes. And what do many straight men fear? Being cheated on, of course, and dealing with that particular brand of sexual humiliation.

So yeah, I think if I was imagining people grabbing me the way they did when I was 12, if I was fantasizing about leather jerkins and tattoos on bare chests,then that would be really troublesome. If I want someone to pull my hair, call me a dirty slut and maybe spank me a little, I’m okay with that.