fetishists have a place they can call home in the Capital
Domaine Esemar is a modest estate tucked into the hills outside
of Albany. There is nothing about this quaint little house
that hints to the deviance of its owner, Master R. Inside,
paintings cover the living room walls. A quiet fire burns
for heat, and empty wine bottles line the mantle. A massive
old dog snuffles against his master and his guests; a cat
is curled, indifferent, on a couch pillow. There are books
strewn about, and magazines, and the sheet music of Béla Bartók
for piano. The only clue, at first glance, that this is a
BDSM chateau of world renown is the open-hinged lock on the
door that leads to the dungeon.
That, and the slave girl, Lips, standing naked in the living
room, bound in crisscrossing rope, her hands tied to her thighs.
Mistress Collette, La Domaine’s head mistress, feeds the slave
Lips says she has been coming to the chateau for eight months.
She lives in Boston, and works in a lab researching stem cells.
She has always known that her kink is bondage and submission.
As a child, she would play cops and robbers with her cousins.
She would be the damsel in distress, tied to a chair for hours
at a time. She loved it, squirming against her restraints.
family is really Christian,” Lips says. “I always thought
that submission was a very biblical concept. There is this
verse in the Bible about wives submitting to their husbands,
that their bodies belong to their husbands. And husbands’
bodies belong to their wives. I would read that over and over
The only serious concern Lips had about submission was not
the act itself, but finding the right person, or people, to
submit to. It is an issue, she says, of trust. That is why
she drives from Boston to Albany, for Master R and Collette,
she says. She is a lucky slave.
Collette leaves the end of the banana hanging from Lips’ mouth.
She struggles to finish it without her hands, but the banana
drops to the floor.
Collette begins to reach down, then stops.
the banana off the floor, slave,” she orders. Lips demurs,
considers the dirty floor, but then obeys.
mistress,” she says, getting down on her knees.
In one of the more famous photos by Barbara Nitke, R rests,
supine, in the lap of The Madame. She is cradling him in a
pose dripping of maternalism. We see little of the environment.
R has a gag over his mouth. The Madame’s long, black hair
counterbalances the whiteness of their skin. It is powerfully
intimate, the kind of image that characterizes the at-times
gentle brilliance of Nitke, a photographer who forged her
fame as a shooter of porn box covers and from her careful
studies of the perverse, often violent, world of BDSM. Arthur
Danto, the longtime art critic for The Nation magazine,
called the photo, R boasts, “the best Madonna and Child in
It was through Nitke that Collette first met R.
In 2001, Nitke filed a lawsuit against the federal government,
decrying the “chilling effect” of the Communications Decency
Act. Along with her co-plaintiffs, the National Coalition
for Sexual Freedom, Nitke challenged the wide-reaching law,
which makes it a felony to put obscene materials on the Internet.
Anyone who “knowingly uses . . . any interactive computer
service to display in a manner available to a person under
18 years of age, any comment, request, suggestion, proposal,
image, or other communication that, in context, depicts or
describes, in terms patently offensive as measured by contemporary
community standards, sexual or excretory activities or
organs,” the act reads, has committed a crime [emphasis added].
By that standard, the people in a sleepy, small town in Missouri
could be used as a benchmark with which to judge the obscenity
of New York City-based Nitke’s more sexually charged work—if
it was to appear on the Internet. CDA wasn’t constitutional,
Nitke argued, and she wanted to challenge it.
Collette, a promising domina in the city, was married to one
of the lawyers in the case, John Wirenius.
was a hopeless lack of funds,” Collette says. Wirenius and
the other lawyers involved were working pro bono, and the
case was earmarked for the Supreme Court. The transcript alone
would cost $25,000. “We needed money.”
So she began to organize a fundraiser. “And I got a phone
call from Barbara. She was like, ‘Do you know La Domaine Esemar?’
” Collette says. “Know it? It’s just the Holy Grail!”
La Domaine Esemar was very exclusive, she remembered thinking.
Only the great dominas and dominants, and most skilled submissives,
were ever invited to visit. People would travel from the world
over. It was (and still is) one of the few chateaus where
Belle Du Jour, the Grand Dame of BDSM, would ply her skills.
Master R, Nitke told Collette, wanted to auction a couple’s
weekend for the fundraiser, but he wanted to speak with her
first, and to invite her to a party. Collette was thrilled.
She met with R, and the two of them bonded immediately. She
soon moved into the chateau.
Nitke eventually lost her case. A federal appeals panel ruled
that that the CDA was, in fact, constitutional and that Nitke
had no right to “send obscenity over the Internet to children.”
It was a bitter loss, but not terribly surprising to Collette.
is a lack of open communication about sexuality in our culture.
There is a fear of persecution,” she says. The climate in
this country is so confusing: We glorify vacuous sexuality
in our media, yet we chastise and condemn sexually adventurous
adults, shunning and persecuting people with kinks or unpopular
sexual persuasions. For BDSM fetishists, there is a real fear
of “coming out.” It can mean losing loved ones, respect and
It is much like being gay in the 1950s, R offers.
have people who have such a hard time admitting to themselves
that they are into this,” he says. “We get people calling
all the time who are 50, 60, 70 years old. They have been
fighting this their whole lives. They have been told they
is why people can’t sleep at night,” Collette adds. “This
is why they abuse their bodies, with overeating and drugs,
to take away the feeling. Just numb ourselves so completely.
Isolate ourselves so completely.”
that is crazy. That is a crazy, crazy way to live,” she says.
“This is sanity.”
R remembers the 76-year-old who came to him early in his career.
The old man brought with him the hairbrush that his aunt had
used to spank him with when he was a child. He was distraught
over what he wanted, but after R was done with him, the old
man was relieved.
week or so, we get a call like that,” he says. “They are so
afraid of what is in them. Because of this prejudice.”
For people like himself and Collette, who openly work in the
BDSM field, and make their livings from it, R says, this prejudice
could also mean ruin or prison.
have had situations down there with women who couldn’t orgasm.
They haven’t had an orgasm their whole lives. And I can see
they are so turned on, and so horny that if I were to put
my tongue against them, they would explode. And I can’t do
that. That’s wrong. The answers they would get. It would change
their lives.” But he can’t, he says, because that would be
The laws delineating what is and isn’t prostitution appear
to be so arbitrary, Collette says, “If I use a strap-on to
penetrate a client, is that prostitution? What if it were
a master with a strap-on strapped to him? What about oral
penetration? We would love to have a very clear line about
what we can and what we can’t do. We want to be law-abiding
citizens; we just need to know what the laws are.”
don’t engage in acts of prostitution,” R says, “By New York
state statute, we don’t even go near them. We just don’t take
people have said, what they have down there,” Collette says,
pointing to the dungeon door, “has been the best sex of their
lives. So go figure. What is sex?”
La Domaine’s dungeon is filled with a boggling collection
of BDSM toys, or as Collette would correct, tools. R has spent
years gathering the implements of his trade, devices to torture
and restrain—whips, dildos, clamps, chains, hoists, stocks,
cuffs, spreader bars, gas masks, ball gags, a head box, a
St. Andrew’s cross, an examination chair, bondage chair, massage
table, cage, whipping post, and on and on.
R holds out a leather strap from the Louisiana Correctional
Facility at Angola. It has a wooden handle, with two thick,
wide leather straps hanging more than two feet long. A former
corrections officer gave R this tool, telling him that the
prisoners made them and that “the bubbas used them on the
prisoners.” Now, R, Collette or one of the couples who rent
the dungeon for an evening, will use this strap on the naked
flesh of a willing slave or submissive. The irony of a tool
of oppression transformed into a tool of expression is not
lost on R.
The brutality in that strap can now be offered, Collette says,
with as much love as humanly possible.
abuse yourself. Don’t let your boss or other people abuse
you,” she says. “Come here, and let us abuse you.”
Upstairs, another section of rope has been tied to Lips, wrapped
around her breasts and across her nipples, pulling in viscously.
She asks R for a glass of water.
want me to get you water, slave?” he chides.
Coming back from the kitchen, he sets a bowl of water on the
ground for her. She bends and drinks.
R sits and admires the bondage work.
is very pretty,” he says, now whispering.
Lips comes to him and rests her head in his lap.
you a lucky slave?”
master,” she whispers back.
is having evil thoughts. Nasty, nasty thoughts,” R says. He
takes hold of the ropes running across Lips’ lower back and
tugs them gently, pulling them tight against the inside of
her ass and along her clit. Over and over. Lips moans, whimpers,
and kisses R’s lap.
there something you want slave?” R asks.
master,” she groans.
Woman in the Mirror
class teaches everyday women to find their sexy side—and shake
like to believe I clean up nicely—I just don’t do so very
often. I spend the bulk of my days in the boys’ club that
is the Metroland editorial room, kicked back in my
chair, looking less-than-my-best in old sneakers, my favorite
hoodie and an unkempt ponytail. Over the past 27 years I have
developed an aversion to the term “high maintenance,” a love
for well-worn jeans and a bit of a sailor’s mouth.
So, it was with serious suspicious that I registered for my
four-week session of “Exotic Dance for the Everyday Woman,”
which purported to be “for women of all ages and sizes,” and
about “finding your own inner-beauty and grace, and transforming
it into sensual movement.” After all, “exotic dance” is, by
definition, “exotic,” meaning “strikingly unusual; foreign;
alien,” all things that directly contradict the “everyday.”
I figured that the women who signed up for this class must,
by their very nature, be exotic. I concluded (logically) that
they would all be statuesque, trained dancers with smoky eyes,
tight tummies and thick curls tumbling down their backs. These
would be the kind of women that inspire the likes of Michelangelo
to immortalize the perfect curve of breast and hip in stone.
They would certainly not have to run out and buy a pair of
clearance heels on their way to class like I did.
It’s not that I am, or ever was, a tomboy. I will always revel
in a good bubble bath. I am on an eternal quest to find the
perfect lip gloss. Growing up, I loved the ruffles and lace,
the sparkle and glamour at least as much as the next girl.
I held a sort of reverential awe for the flat, glossy cardboard
box my mother kept in the linen closet. Under that marbled
lid lay the most impressive prepackaged sampling of makeup
a little girl could dream up. And, at the center—I can still
smell it—cheap and waxy, and ringed by 400 garish shades of
eye shadow: a tiny pot of whorishly scarlet lipstick.
On very special days I would pick out the perfect dress, wrap
scarves around my neck, my hair, my arms (more scarves equals
more glamour), maybe top the ensemble off with a pair of too-big
sunglasses. Then, teetering to the dresser in borrowed heels,
I would smear a thick swath of cherry red over my lips and
pucker into the mirror. And I would be beautiful. Too young
to know a thing about being “sexy” or “hot,” this beauty was
about pure, unabashed confidence—about standing in front of
a mirror, arms outstretched, and thinking, now that
is what a woman’s supposed to look like!
Despite the fact that I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend
who thinks I’m beautiful at breakfast, and as confident as
I’d like to think I am, it’s been a long time since I looked
at myself like that. I don’t fit into my favorite college
jeans anymore. An old comment about my broken nose nags me
to this day. I’m quicker to point out 10 things I don’t like
about my appearance than five things I do. And I was about
to walk into a “stripper class” full of porn-star Rockettes
who claimed to be “everyday women.” I felt more everyday with
When I got to Lorraine Michaels Dance Center, I was sandwiched
in the sign-in line between two well-acquainted couples who
were taking Intermediate Ballroom together. I muttered my
name and “exotic dancing” under my breath to a woman with
a huge binder, hoped no one had heard me, and marveled that
this was actually my job. My bubbling instructor, Miss Stephanie,
greeted me at the classroom door and ushered me inside. Thankfully,
my classmates were not strippers-in-training. They were just
as everyday as I was, clumped with doe-eyed awkwardness throughout
the mirrored room in mismatched sweats, ringed by piles of
coats and capsized pumps.
A few were college friends, brash, giggly, and eager. There
were a number of young professional women who, I found out
later, were in various stages of love and separation. Some
were there with friends. One came on a dare, one on a whim—she’d
flipped through the Knowledge Network schedule intending to
register for an instructional course on becoming a notary
public and ended up here. There was even a bold trio of divorced
sisters, all grandmothers, who had signed up to celebrate
the youngest’s 50th birthday. Most had never even been to
a strip club.
And then there was Miss Stephanie. Short and plump, Miss Stephanie
has been teaching exotic dancing for two years (she learned
at Lorraine Michaels), is fluent in the Mohawk language, and
is pursuing her master’s degree in cultural anthropology.
She is saccharine sweet with a baby-doll laugh, and watching
her dance would make anyone with a pulse salivate. Under the
cheery and encouraging direction of Miss Stephanie, with her
R&B boom box and her constant interjections of “good work
girls!” and “that’s hot!,” our anxieties and insecurities
dissolved away. For one hour a week, we traded school books,
professional courtesies, haunting criticisms and lost loves
for dips, swivels, shimmies and buttsmacks.
Week one, we learned the basic moves, and how to loosen-up—our
hips, our shoulders, our chests—and get used to the idea that
we could be sexy, facing a room full of strangers and our
own reflections plastered on four walls. Week two we were
learning to strut and shimmy, combine the basics, and dip
and swivel our way to the floor. By week three everyone was
tossing a confident “I’m here for exotic dancing” at the woman
with the binder, eagerly throwing off their coats and strapping
on their heels to polish the basic moves and learn floor routines.
And week four—week four was like a different class of women.
The music started, and we slipped into our moves with comfortable
confidence. Hair tossed, hips swirled, hands skimmed over
breasts and thighs. We gyrated our way to the floor, shimmied
and sweat, eyes locked with our audience—our own reflection.
“Damn we look good!” laughed one woman, “Hell, yeah we do!”
shot back another. By the time we lined up for a spin at pole
and chair dancing, former strangers were laughing, whistling
and catcalling each other.
During a brief discussion after our last class, one young
woman, a few months into exotic dancing, said she’d realized
that “you have to feel confident and sexy with yourself before
you can be confident and sexy with someone else.” A new dancer,
salesperson by day, raved, “I’ve encountered a lot of men
and women in my life. I’ve been to a lot of sales seminars
and empowerment seminars and educational seminars, and I think,
of all of them, this has been the most bolstering thing I’ve
ever done. . . . I’ve learned so much. It was all about me,
and it was all good. I’m coming back!” Her enthusiasm was
echoed by every classmate; women were already signing up to
continue perfecting their exotic basics, or to adventure into
sessions of pole or chair dancing.
class” was never about learning to strip. It was never even
about learning to dance “for your honey,” as Miss Stephanie
would say (though that can be a spicy, added bonus). It was
about learning how to see yourself as sexy—how to be confident.
It was about learning to look in the mirror again, grown-up
and aware of your imperfections, and think, now that
is what a woman is supposed to look like.
Michaels Dance Center (69 Fuller Road, Albany) offers multiple
four-week sessions of Exotic Dance. For more information,
to popular legend, Santa Anna’s lust won out over his duty—and
shaped the history of our country
President Richard M. Nixon’s favorite songs to play on piano
was the Confederate anthem “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” It’s
doubtful, though, that Tricky Dick knew the salacious story
of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna’s ill-fated fling with
Emily Morgan, a beautiful mixed-race slave girl and the subject
of the song, just before the decisive 1836 Battle of San Jacinto.
The tryst turned out to be the fornication that forged a nation—the
Republic of Texas, and a hard lesson, so to speak, for Santa
Anna in what can go wrong when a general makes love, not war.
The tale begins with the Texan war of independence with Mexico,
which broke out in October 1835 following years of rising
tensions between Anglo-American settlers and Santa Anna’s
Mexican government over issues such as slavery, which Mexico
had outlawed but the settlers wanted to establish in Texas,
the Texans’ desire for autonomy, and President Andrew Jackson’s
An Anglo settler, James Morgan, had emigrated from Philadelphia
to Texas in 1830, bringing with him a mulatto slave girl,
Emily (whose actual name, some historians say, was Emily West),
whom he had designated as an indentured servant to circumvent
the Mexican anti-slavery law (this was a standard practice
among slaveholding settlers at the time). Accounts portray
her as having finely chiseled features, coal black hair, and
the kind of golden complexion often described as “high yellow.”
Her owner had a plantation at New Washington near the mouth
of the San Jacinto River and, having supplied Gen. Sam Houston’s
men with food, had been made a colonel in Houston’s Army of
After annihilating the 189 defenders of the Alamo on March
6, 1836, following a costly 13-day siege, and then massacring
342 Texan prisoners of war at Goliad on March 27, Santa Anna’s
troops reached the coast near San Jacinto by mid-April. The
enemy’s advance forced Col. Morgan to retreat from New Washington,
leaving Emily to coordinate the provisioning of Houston’s
men. She was captured by Mexican soldiers at Morgan’s Point
on April 15, and soon caught the eye of the notoriously randy
general. Santa Anna already had a wife back in Old Mexico
as well as a teenage bride in San Antonio, but the biracial
beauty was now his prize of war, and by the night of April
18, Emily was in Santa Anna’s silk tent.
Meanwhile, Texan scouts had learned the whereabouts and size
of the Mexican army. Houston knew he had to strike quickly
before Santa Anna received reinforcements. On April 20, Santa
Anna’s 1,250 men took fortified positions at San Jacinto,
a sea-level plain of 3 square miles bordered by a marsh and
the San Jacinto River. Houston’s roughly 800 men encamped
three-quarters of a mile away, behind a rise and some woods.
The first day’s action consisted only of a minor artillery
duel, and in the evening Santa Anna retired with his mistress.
The next morning, Houston took a spyglass and climbed a tall
pine to reconnoiter. On observing Emily making a champagne
breakfast for the general, he is reported to have said, “I
hope that slave girl makes him neglect his business, and keeps
him in bed all day.” He then ordered an afternoon attack.
As the amorously distracted Santa Anna had neither dispatched
scouts nor posted sentries, Houston’s forces achieved tactical
surprise, drawing near the Mexican lines before the alarm
was sounded. At 4:30, the Spanish cry went up, “The enemy!
They come! They come!” while the Anglos famously shouted “Remember
the Alamo!” as they charged, but Emily detained Santa Anna
in his tent until it was too late. Inflicting severe causalities,
the Texans routed the leaderless Mexicans in just 18 minutes
with minimal losses. Houston’s troops captured Santa Anna,
disguised in a common soldier’s uniform, the following day.
For her part in winning Texas’s independence, James Morgan
gave Emily her freedom and a passport to New York. Texas itself
became a sovereign nation until being annexed by the United
States in 1845.
The juicy story behind San Jacinto was pretty much forgotten
until 1956, when the University of Oklahoma published an 1842
account of the Texas Revolution by an English scientist, William
Bollart, describing Emily’s role in the battle. The year before
the University of Oklahoma paper, Mitch Miller had a hit with
“The Yellow Rose of Texas,” which is most likely how Richard
Nixon came to play it on piano.
note: Many of the details of this legend are matters of dispute
alert: Below are what our editorial staff thought were some
of the most interesting answers to the questions in this year’s
Metroland sex survey. While we did omit answers that even
we found offensive (and we’re pretty open-minded), some of
the responses printed here are sexually explicit and may not
be suitable for all readers.
Describe the circumstances of the best sex you’ve ever
Summer night, full moon, warm breeze. Buck naked laying on
a blanket on my front lawn. Wife in reverse cowgirl position,
riding wild on me with the moon illuminating her whole body.
In my bedroom at my parents’ house. I had on this really hot
outfit and I decided to give him his very own lap dance.
Sex, Chinese food, more sex, Supersize Me, sex while
watching it, more Chinese, lots more sex.
With my best friend.
Me flat on my back, legs spread. My wife, wearing the hottest
red lingerie ever constructed, doing me with a strap-on while
giving me a simultaneous blow/hand job. I was transported
into a new universe.
Boys don’t compare to the sex I have with myself.
After months of sexual text messaging, some heated phone calls,
and a flight to California, I had the best sex ever with my
now-fiancée as soon as we closed the door to our hotel in
Sitting at a picnic table in the park, looking into his eyes
and all of a sudden him picking me up onto the table and taking
my pants off. He just started pounding the kitty with my tata’s
bouncing in his view; it was beautiful.
one fulfilled sexual fantasy.
my wife being fucked from behind while she is sucking off
a second guy, then me joining in.
I was able to have a threesome with my current guy and a girl
I had a crush on, can’t get any better than that!
My next door neighbor’s wife in my pool.
I didn’t have sex until adulthood, so I never did that making-out,
hand-job, blow-job thing everyone does when they are kids.
So when I finally got to make out in a car and receive a BJ,
it was a total fantasy come true. I even got the police knocking
on the window. I was 32.
Performed oral sex on my girlfriend after she had sex with
Being “the girl” while dressed pretty with her on top wearing
Fully clothed with shoes, quick and aggressive.
Having him urinate all over me while I was on all fours in
Getting a blow job by two women.
After moving into a new apartment, I discovered that my sexy,
funny neighbor not only loved sex but also loved to please
me repeatedly. I never knew so many orgasms were possible!
fantasy of yours would you most like to enact?
with someone other than my wife.
It would involve me being tied into submission, and having
my guy bite me.
Sex in a public place.
Anything to do with food.
I tend to be dominant in sex. I have never been with a woman
who dominates the sex, controls what we do and talks dirty.
I want to wear a corset and garter under a long coat to my
boyfriend’s office and straddle him in his chair. I have to
work out how to get past security without having to remove
I’m very vanilla—I just want to be tied up, or do it in the
elevator or stairwell of my apartment.
Anal gang bang.
A play date with another sissy while dressed in frilly pink
I would like to have a threesome with my coworker and her
Having sex with a lot of people watching. I would love to
put on a show.
My boss blowing me a few times a week for a year.
Having a woman fuck me up the ass with her vibrator.
fantasy of yours is best kept a fantasy?
getting it from my guy while going down on another guy.
I wanted my tax professor in law school out in Michigan to
bend me over his desk and spank me while reciting the Internal
Sex in public places.
See my wife do another guy.
Having him shit on my stomach. I want to feel the warmth but
the smell might be bad.
the worst situation sex has gotten you into?
my girlfriend, now wife, while her mother stood at her apartment
Woman’s husband coming home in a fit of rage.
Deciding whether to stay with my boyfriend after he got his
girl “friend” pregnant.
My one one-night stand turned out to be engaged, and her fiancée
delivered food from my favorite restaurant. I didn’t know
how to cook back then and had to settle for fast food for
My first marriage.
Marriage. And divorce.
I had an angry mob of fake blonds in a purple pick-up chase
the most inappropriate sexual situation you’ve ever been in?
an affair for six months.
Sex with a coworker.
I was sleeping with a married man.
Nearly getting caught by her husband.
Caught having sex in bathroom by her kids.
Naked with my first wife’s sister. No harm, no foul, but just
Sleeping with someone while in love with someone else.
Giving a guy head in an alley while his girlfriend was about
10 yards away in the house.
I slept with my boss’s wife. I got a call from my boss telling
me he knew that I had slept with his spouse and to not bother
coming back to work. That was awkward.
Had sex on a pull-out couch while one of my in-laws was sleeping
next to us.
An ex-boyfriend of mine wanted me to poop in a diaper so he
could rub his dick in it.
I guess that would be doing my ex’s mom after we split.
I was taking a shower at my girlfriend’s house and all of
sudden the lights turned off, and a female who I thought was
my girlfriend gave me the best blow job I ever had. After
she left I heard the front door open and my girlfriend shout,
“Honey, I’m home.” It turned out it was her mother in the
shower. We have never talked about the incident, but every
now and then she flicks her tongue at me from across the room.
the best come-on you’ve ever heard?
words, just “that look” from an attractive, confident woman.
husband is at work till nine, wanna do my butt?”
band kicks ass.”
go someplace and fuck?”
baby can I paint your toenails?”
tie, want to use it on me?”
face or mine?”
I am done with my drink, I am going home and you are coming
wanna cum on your face.”
baby, I’m bored.”
about you cheat tonight?”
A guy walked right up to me at club, took out his keys, started
twisting one on my arm and asked, “Am I turning you on?”
you can’t duck it, fuck it.”
never done a young Democrat before.”
family is short and we need tall genes.” (I’m 6’5”)
got a TV.”
you were a squirrel would you suck on my nuts?”
you trim your mustache?”
face or mine?”
the oddest thing you’ve ever thought about while having sex?
When will this be over?
My last husband.
Whether or not Hillary Clinton is going to be elected.
The landing gear system on a B-29 heavy bomber.
Being forced to dress pretty, then fellate and accept gay
My dog’s untimely demise.
your craziest sex story that your friends still don’t believe?
I went down on my guy once while he was driving home. I’m
such a safety freak.
The mothers of three of my daughter’s friends propositioned
me on Halloween night a month after my wife left me.
My boyfriend and I were having sex, and I broke our handcuffs.
They don’t think it’s possible.
Sex with seven females in five days.
Some of my friends still probably don’t believe that I had
sex on a weight bench at this guy’s house I had just met.
He was a friend of my boyfriend, and we snuck off to have
sex in his exercise room.
us your best story about getting caught in the act
highway trooper caught me playing with a dildo at rest stop.
My son caught me (his dad) with my boyfriend while camping.
My mom caught us and my ex walked all the way home with the
condom on his dick.
The apartment had no back door.
One of the guy’s friends walked in on us and, instead of leaving,
he stayed to tell us what everyone was doing outside.
On my knees sucking hard, someone walking to the sink to wash
is your most common source for new fantasies and new ideas
of what to do in bed?
look at Penthouse and Playboy—a lot.
Start with porn, add imagination.
Memories of my ex, typically involving Twister, handcuffs
and massage oil.
Animal Planet or National Geographic.
My own little twisted mind!!!!
Erotic fiction, either in books or online.
the minimum sexual activity that counts as cheating?
a non-contact orgasm in front of someone who is not your spouse
Kissing is fine, but anything involving licking, sucking,
or plain ol’ sex is cheating.
Going on a date.
Manual masturbation by the other person.
I would have to say that anything aside from kissing is definitely
cheating. Kissing is tricky, but anything other then that
is no doubt.
Any activity that you would hide from your significant other.
It’s only cheating if you get caught.
you have an “arrangement” with a long-term partner that allows
for sex with others under limited circumstances, what are
careful about who they are having sex with, wear protection,
and do it when I am not around!
No repeats, no exes, safe sex, I can’t use my cock, processing
Oral sex only.
I get to watch.
Even those that say it’s OK, don’t mean it.
As long as my penis doesn’t enter anyone’s mouth, ass or pussy,
she says I can do whatever I want.
The person is famous.
He has to use protection and he has to come home.
there a sensual pleasure that you would choose over sex if
forced to give up one or the other?
Oral, love getting it, love giving it. Sometimes I think it
is better than sex, ‘cause you can still use your fingers
which can replace a penis any day!
Eating chocolate or pussy.
your most embarrassing masturbation story?
by my mother like 20 times.
Father walking in on my jerking it to porn as Mighty Mighty
Bosstones blasted on the stereo.
My mother caught me jerking off while I had a banana up my
ass. Honest to God true story!!!
My mom found the stains on the mattress—while I was standing
My law school roommate thought I was crying and busted into
I got part of a banana stuck in me and had to go to the hospital.
I was just about to cum and my cousin walked in and saw me
masturbating with her panties. What embarrassed me most was
that I couldn’t stop. I continued until I was done.
My mom read my diary entry about masturbating and then proceeded
to tell everyone in my family what I had written
I farted and came at the same time . . . WOW!
us about the best sexual surprise you’ve ever had.
with midlife ladies is much better than I thought it would
be when I was younger.
First girlfriend. Longtime best friend. We had talked about
it but never did it. She was afraid because I was a virgin,
and I never saw it coming.
My girlfriend gave me a blow job. When I came, it was a huge
orgasm. She leaned over and kissed me and gave my cum back
to me. It was the most erotic moment I’ve ever experienced!
A drive by blow job first thing in the morning.
My girlfriend was not that good in the sack. I married her
anyway because I love her and now she is a tiger in bed.
My boyfriend loves to go down on me.
Him turning me over and sticking his face in my ass. I didn’t
expect it then and I love it now.
A student nurse let me eat her pussy when I was in the hospital
with a broken leg.
us about a dream come true that went bad.
hid the crazy until we started living together.
Regular weekly blow jobs . . . that stopped.
There was a guy I wanted and finally he came onto me and I
was so excited. However when it finally came time for us to
have sex, he was just awful! I was so disappointed!
I don’t dream anymore. That shit’s for the birds.
the strangest place you’ve had sex?
Arcade office in Crossgates.
My neighbor’s backyard.
Blow job in church parking lot . . . lots of confessions.
In the front seat of a Mustang driving from Miami to Orlando.
The amphitheater at my old grade school.
A restroom onboard Amtrak’s Maple Leaf .
The Capitol building steps.
An Adult book store on Halloween night.
Bombers. (Sorry Matt.)
Cabin porch at a Lake George resort.
My mom’s garage.
In a post office.
Pressed up against ice machine in a Saratoga bar.
the strangest place you’ve masturbated?
Public school bathroom.
Department store fitting room.
Washington Park, next to the fountain.
At my desk while on a conference call.
A friend’s shower.
A doctor’s office.
Fishing boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
I walked into work with my little vibrator already inside
of me and the remote in my pocket.
In the car while I was waiting for someone to come back out
of the store.
When I was about 13, I rubbed one out watching TV with my
your favorite sex toy?
wife’s vibrator with clit stimulator.
The Happy Bunny, that toy is a girl’s best friend!
The DVD player.
My lover’s belt.
your favorite sex toy that wasn’t intended to be a sex toy?
A sticky lint roller.
Red, white, and blue Popsicle (till it melted).
Banana, but a lot of foods are good.
The top of the liquor bottle.
Toilet paper roll.
sexual discovery has changed your life?
woman’s ability to deep throat and lick my balls, all from
behind while I’m standing. Right before orgasm she inserts
a toy or her finger in my anus.
I can actually please a girl and my guy at the same time,
which I never thought I could do.
I like to be spanked.
My wife doing me with toys.
I like to be peed on!!!!
The joys of eating pussy.
How much he loves getting his ass chewed out.
Bondage changed my world.
is your favorite kink, and why does that turn you on?
in between my shoulder blades makes me melt every time. Just
like a cat!
Rough play, I like power dynamics.
Spanking—it heightens all the senses and you never know if
the next time the person touches you if it will be a slap
or a caress.
A girl who smells like a girl.
Sexual submission. Wearing little-girl style satin party dresses,
petticoats, and diapers; I love being pretty and vulnerable.
Sniffing panties to extract her embedded pheromones.
Licking ass, because it seems taboo.
Asphyxiation, I know that it is dangerous, but I trust my
lover so much that it’s a rush to put myself completely in
Being whipped. I like being vulnerable and submissive.
I love licking the sweat off of his balls after a long day
the most unusual thing you do to get yourself in the mood?
Put on a pair of boots.
Read car magazines.
I’m always in the mood. That can be a real problem at times!!!
Rub my nipples with panties.
Stare at myself in the mirror and look at my tattoos.
I put on my black ankle socks and my sexy outfit and I’m ready
your most embarrassing inhibition?
the time I don’t even like pussy.
My inhibitions are all legit.
I like wearing and sniffing panties when I masturbate.
I simply cannot perform on top. I love sex, but I have to
be the receiver.
your best story about watching or being watched?
my daughter be fully pleasured by a large male stripper at
her birthday party.
Being watched over a balcony while having sex in the courtyard
My first wife’s sister—we taught her everything we knew.
Showing my johnson to my ex’s mother in a discreet way.
Lived in a boarding house one summer. My room was next to
the bathroom. I could stand on my dresser and move the drop
down ceiling and peer down into the bathroom to see girls
peeing, showering or having sex.
One of my exes used to watch me masturbate for no reason.
He wouldn’t touch me during or after, he just wanted to watch.
My female neighbor, who is married, masturbates every Friday
at 9 PM on her patio. I heard moaning coming from the neighbor’s
so I peeked over, thinking it had something to do with security.
She looked right at me and continued. I was embarrassed. I
wasn’t sure if she saw me so I said, “Hi” to make sure. She
smiled, said “hi” back, and continued, so I watched and have
watched every Friday night since.
would improve your sex life?
Just being more open in our relationship.
More variety in acts, not partners.
Everyone having a large cock and knowing how to use it.
A partner who is willing to try anything at anytime and would
not judge me.
the best response you’ve gotten to delivering challenging,
unexpected news to a potential sex partner (e.g., you’re HIV
positive, married, or passing for a different gender)?
married and was being aggressively hit on by an acquaintance.
I let it go on for quite a while and neglected to tell her
I was married until we were just about to seal the deal and
my conscience got the better of me. Her response to my telling
here was that she was, too. Both of us had been hiding it
from the other.
that’s OK, we can work around it.”
Support and honesty.
I never had to deliver news like that.
would your utopian sexual society look like?
Clothing optional, all the time, everywhere.
No unrequited love.
Me and a bunch of Irish redheads in a castle drinking whiskey.
People would stop pretending that men have a greater sex drive
Pure monogamy and honesty.
Like good bisexual, transgendered porn.
Way more hot chicks and not so many douchebags rolling around.
Filled with big beautiful women that look like schoolteachers
during the day but are freaks at night.