Happy New Year!

Hello, my lovelies! I have been shamefully neglectful of you all lately. I have been spending my time not being Etta Stark these last few months. I am a bunch of people these days. Occasionally, I am even myself.

But now I'm back! From Outer Space! And you find me here with that sad look upon my face.

You should have changed that stupid lock. You should have made me leave the key.

I am resolving, right here, right now, to be Etta Stark more often in 2016. I will finish the three books I have on the go. I will blog more often. Heaven knows, you people deserve to hear me twatting on about inconsequential bollocks.

Pictured: Bollocks.

Happy New Year, everybody! You know what? We should hang out more.

Affairs. Is Everyone At It?

I was at my parents' house earlier today doing a bit of IT Support for my dad. Over tea and chocolate digestives, Dad mentioned that Mum has recently been demonstrating an impressive knowledge of cricket while they've been satisfying their current addiction for watching every single TV quiz programme ever.

My dad is massively into cricket. My mum isn't. But clearly having been married to a cricket fan for almost five decades has caused a certain amount of cricketing knowledge to seep into my mother's consciousness through some kind of osmosis.

Note for my American readership: Cricket is a bit like baseball.
But with more wickets, "Howzats?" and "Silly Mid On"s.
And stopping for tea, obviously.

I didn't say that, though. Because apparently, when I see a line that shouldn't be crossed, I like to leap across that line with gay abandon. What response did I give to one of my parents saying that the other one knew more about cricket than they realised? I said: "Maybe Mum's having an affair?"

(I would like to say at this point that my mum was actually part of this conversation. I mean there's lines and there's lines.)

My reasoning was that if someone shows an interest in a subject that they've never shown an interest in before, there must be an ulterior motive, hmm? My mum's response was, entirely reasonably, "And when would I have time for this affair? I certainly haven't noticed it happening." My dad mused that if Mum was having an affair then doing so with a professional cricketer would be pretty impressive.

I blame Mumsnet. I have spent far too much time recently reading Mumsnet talkboards. If you spend any time at all on the Relationships board, it's very easy to come to the conclusion that all men are lying, adulterous arseholes. This mistrust permeates the whole of Mumsnet. If anyone so much as suggests that their "DH" has started showing a fondness for Mint Choc Chip ice cream when he has always previously preferred Rum and Raisin, mumsnetters will immediately cry "Leave the Bastard! He's been lying to you! He obviously has a secret life you don't know about!". It's the middle-class equivalent of Jeremy Kyle every day.

Adulterer.

I don't really think there's any extra-marital hanky-panky going on in my parents' marriage. They have been dating for fifty-four years and still quite obviously fancy one another like crazy. If I were an only child, I could claim that the reason that I have never managed to maintain a long-term relationship is because of the ludicrously high standard of coupley bliss presented to me by my parents. Obviously, I could never possibly hope to achieve that so there is no point in trying. Unfortunately, my two siblings' happy long-term marriages throw a bit of a spanner into that particular hypothesis.

I blogged about the Ashley Madison data leak a couple of months ago. There's cold hard statistics which demonstrate that - at least as far as this particular "Adultery R Us" website was concerned - intent to play away is largely a male pursuit. Actual heterosexual infidelity is probably more a 50/50 thing, though.

According to this webpage which I just googled, roughly 30% to 60% of all married individuals will engage in infidelity at some point during their marriage. Jesus, really? Is that likely? That's fucking massive. Clearly, my research has been minimal. I would hope that was some kind of biased survey because otherwise I have to consider the idea that of my five closest friends (and their five partners), it's statistically probably that maybe three of them have fucked someone else since whenever it was I turned up in my best dress on their special day, toasted their happiness and enjoyed their wedding breakfast catering.

I want some reassurance here. I've never been married. I absolutely never intend to get married. I'm forty-one years old so I reckon I've dodged that particular bullet. But I want to believe that the married couples I know are doing it properly. I got all teared up during the Groom's speech at your wedding, you bastards. Don't tell me those warm fuzzy feelings were based on lies.

I honestly can't imagine that there is a woman on earth I could love as much as you.
But, you know, if I DO get a better offer, I'm totally gonna go for it.

Clearly whatever other people choose to do with their marriages is no concern of mine. That said, I am probably going to re-activate my online dating account in the next few weeks. I do worry that within my target age bracket of 35 to 55 year olds, there are going to people who, despite saying that they are divorced or separated, are actually still living with partners who have no idea that their partners are cruising for a bit of spanky, extramarital fun without their significant other's consent.

And while I might be absolutely OK with open polyamorous relationships, I have no intention of inadvertently becoming the Other Woman in someone else's exclusive relationship. What percentage of those extra-marital affair statistics involve people who had no idea that they were fucking somebody else's current partner?

I guess if I do start dating again, I shall have to rely on my 'gut instinct'. I'm wary of relying on any of my internal organs when it comes to judging another individual's honesty. And I'm pretty sure my 'gut' isn't really up to the task. It does a fine job of transferring food to my digestive system. I have no problems with its performance on that score. Ascertaining whether relative strangers are on the level? That might be a bit of an ask.

"He's a wrong 'un."

So, reassure me, readers. Tell me that everyone in an exclusive monogamous relationship remains entirely faithful to their partner. And the only married people fucking outside of the conjugal bedroom are fully on-board polygamists who have all read The Ethical Slut and are happy to discuss their extra-marital relationships with their spouses over tea and biscuits.

It might not be true but, fuck it, that's the world I want to live in.

Book Review - Tell Me by Ashe Barker

Want to know more about the book review star rating system? Or find out what other books I've reviewed? Check out this page here.

Tell Me

A friend recommended that I read Ashe Barker's modern-day Yorkshire-based BDSM romance Tell Me. "You'll love it," she told me. "There's loads of tea-drinking in it."

She wasn't being sarcastic, by the way. I really do love me some tea-drinking. I've blogged about it and everything.

Tell Me's heroine Thea is equally fond of a cuppa and the fact that she favours Earl Grey as her blend of choice endears her to me still further. Earl Grey is the King Of Teas (or, I guess more accurately, the Earl of Teas) and is suitable for any beverage drinking occasion. Especially pre- and post-BDSM spanking scenarios. Tea-drinking tends to feature in my real-life spanking experiences a lot - largely because it suits the occasion so much better than, say, a big ol' load of alcohol. Something that Twinings weirdly never seem to mention it in its advertising.

Just been spanked? Have a brew.

This book isn't all about the tea-drinking, of course (although I counted over a dozen separate Earl Grey-sipping incidents, so if you are as attracted to the tea-drinking aspects as I am, you won't be disappointed).

The book's heroine, Thea has a been enjoying a mutually satisfying BDSM relationship with her Dom, Tony diMarco during their frequent rendez-vous at a local Kink Club. The arrangement suits Thea very well as the private anonymous club allows her to keep the submissive side of herself entirely separate from the rest of her life.

Thea's private, public and professional life coincide when she is temporarily seconded to provide business expertise to another company and discovers that the CEO to whom she'll be reporting is none other than her sexy, very dominant playfellow, Tony. This initially sends her into a tailspin as she struggles to reconcile the very different aspects of her personality. That of being both an intelligent, successful businesswoman and also the sort of person who likes to submit to being tied up and punished.

The new situation is just as much a surprise for Tony but he handles the whole thing in a far more relaxed fashion. He is very keen to take things with Thea to the next level and - via kinky spankings, tea-making and generally being bloody lovely - persuades Thea to embark on a romantic relationship outside of the confines of their BDSM club.

While they are busy redefining the parameters of their relationship, Thea and Tony are also sorting out the various corporate challenges that face them at Something-Or-Other Industries. I found the business-side aspects the least engaging part of the book, to be honest. It's Ashe Barker's fault for making all the legal and HR aspects of the business so realistic. I've only recently managed to escape the world of Office-based employment. Corporate meetings in boardrooms do nothing for me.

First Item on the Agenda: Getting some more effective blinds.

The relationship between Thea and Tony is just wonderful, though. They are both beautifully drawn characters. Tony may be a high-powered Leader of Industry and a stern spanky Dominant but he's clearly a lovely bloke with not a whiff of Christian Grey-style dickishness about him. And Thea is great. There's always a risk when writing characters who embrace their submissive side that you can end up with a heroine who comes across as a bit weak and doormat-y. There's no chance of that here. For all her fears and reservations, Thea is a strong, confident, intelligent woman who is professionally at the top of her game. And, despite a few wobbles, she is clever enough to realise that her D/s relationship with Tony makes her a stronger - rather than a weaker - person.

Oh, and did I mention the BDSM scenes in Tell Me are very hot? And delightfully frequent?

Thea knew what he wanted, and that he would continue to punish her poor throbbing bottom until he was satisfied all resistance had gone. She concentrated on not not tightening her muscles, working to accept all that he offered.

The blows all melted into one. Her bottom was on fire, her thighs too as he dropped stroke after sizzling stroke on her unprotected skin. She would inspect later, but knew her backside must be bright crimson. The pain was relentless, building, growing, spreading, consuming her. Thea sobbed and screamed behind the gag.

The couple provide a united front dealing with their developing romantic and business relationship tackling corporate malpractice, industrial sabotage and a very nasty Revenge Porn incident. Even during their trickier moments, there is no doubt that these two people belong together.

Thea and Tony's mutually supportive and utterly kinky relationship made me feel all warm inside. And I'm pretty sure that wasn't just down to the piping hot mug of Earl Grey I was sipping while reading it.

Saturday Spankings - "The 4 D’s of domestic discipline - disobedience, disrespect, dishonesty and dangerous behavior"

Like Saturdays? Like Spanking? Well, you're in luck.

Fearsome

It's Saturday and that means it's another weekly excursion into the world of corporal punishment. This weekly bloghop is orchestrated by the fearsome Headmistress Blake. You don't want to mess with this lady. She has a paddle-shaped tardy board and everything.

This week's Saturday Spanking snippet is Corbin's Bend-themed. This because the release of the fourth season of the multi-author spanking community series is almost upon  us.

Sadly, you are just slightly too late to pre-order the fourth season. (Unless of course, you already have. In which case, well done you! You are all kinds of sorted.) However, you don't have long to wait for some Corbin's Bend Season Four Spanky action. Ruth Staunton's The Man She Wanted is on sale next Wednesday 28th October.

Ruth Staunton's previous Corbin's Bend book Learning to Live Again was absolutely delightful. I am really looking forward to reading her next contribution to the Corbin's Bend series.

My contribution to the Corbin's Bend oeuvre (yes, I did just use the word 'oeuvre' unironically and quite possibly incorrectly*, there) was Season Two's East End Girl.

Available for purchase NOW!
Actually, it's been available for bloody ages. What on earth have you been waiting for?

Logan Barrett is an old-fashioned kind of guy. He comes from a family where Domestic Discipline is the norm and has moved to Corbin's Bend in the hopes of finding the sweet, compliant, submissive woman of his dreams. Instead, he runs into loud-mouthed, opinionated, sweary Londoner, Kirsty Beale.

Logan has attempted a Domestic Discipline-based relationship in the past. It didn't end well.

Talking about Caitlin was still a painful subject. She'd seemed to be everything Logan had ever wanted in a girl - demure, well-mannered, thoughtful. When Logan had suggested that they try domestic discipline within their relationship she had agreed to give it a try. 

They had read domestic discipline websites together and put rules in place; Logan was anxious that Caitlin wasn’t agreeing to anything that she didn’t feel comfortable with and yet the domestic discipline aspect never really worked. On the occasions when Logan had punished Caitlin, rather than the punishment signaling the end of the matter, it had triggered resentful looks and a bad feeling from Caitlin that would last for days. 

During their conversations she had agreed to accept a spanking if she broke one of their main rules relating to the 4 D’s of domestic discipline - disobedience, disrespect, dishonesty, or dangerous behavior and yet whenever the time had come to administer punishments, Caitlin treated him as though he were a monster. Things had come to a head when he had admitted that inflicting pain on her turned him on. 

That was the final straw as far as Caitlin was concerned, she'd had a hard enough time accepting the spankings as it was, when she found out that administering them was a sexual turn-on for Logan, she had ended the relationship.

Do things work out better for Logan this time once he starts dating Kirsty? Well, yeah, obviously they do. It would be a bloody miserable book otherwise. 

Check out Corbin's Bend Season Four's contribution to the Saturday Spanking bloghop below. And check out everybody else while you're at it. Because they are all awesome.

Don't Tell The Children.

Spanky romantic relationships don't happen in a vacuum. Many of my fellow spanky romance writers are happily married wives with a clutch of dependent offspring.

I imagine that maintaining an enthusiastic and abundant sex life is a tricky thing when you have a herd of tiny unreliable sleepers about the place at the best of times. Does this get a whole lot trickier when there's spank-based kinkery involved?

Spanking is loud. I live in an apartment block and worry that my neighbours may have been occasionally subjected to the resoundingly loud noise of a visiting gentleman's hand repeatedly hitting my arse. I do hope not. I never hear what my neighbours are up to. I hope this is because the building is well sound-proofed. Of course, it could just be that all my neighbours are terribly, terribly quiet and I am the inadvertent kinky Nightmare Neighbour from Hell.

"Hand spankings, paddlings, canings, whippings. It went on for hours.
Honestly we had to turn the volume on the television right down so we could listen in properly."

I am a parent, too, of course. Not that I have to worry about my daughter overhearing my spanking shenanigans. She's an adult. Although she nominally lives at the same address as me, even when she's not at university she generally has better places to be. I do have to warn her when popping home unexpectedly might be a bit awkward. "You're not planning to come round next Thursday are you? No particular reason."

She knows I've been dating and she seems to be pretty happy about it. I imagine she thinks it's vanilla sex that I don't want interrupting, though. And while nobody wants to walk in and find their middle-aged mum sexing it up with a gentleman friend, I kind of think it would be worse if she came home unexpectedly and found me tied to the dining room table on the receiving end of a severe caning. Which is why I always bolt the door. Just in case.

I appreciate that locking your children out of the house isn't really a workable option when they are school-age or younger. As a single parent, I got round this by having no sex at all for a decade and a half and only finally embraced the kinky BDSM lifestyle once my daughter had buggered off to live in a different county. I don't recommend this approach, by the way.

Parents have sex. It's allowed. I have a younger sibling which means my mum and dad must have had sex at least once since I was born. It's possible that they have had sex more than once since 1974. They clearly still fancy one another. I am not going to consider it though because parents + sex = ewwwww. Nope. Not even going to think about it.

I do accept that this isn't a healthy attitude on my part. Not only do parents have sex. Frequently they have sex for reasons other than making babies.

Babette Cole's wonderful book Mummy Laid An Egg explains exactly where babies come from. It's written for children and brilliantly - while also explaining about penises and vaginas and sperm and whatnot - tells small people that Mummy and Daddy also have sex for fun. Here are some ways mummies and daddies fit together:
And while I'm delighted that kids who read this book might grow up thinking that skateboard sex, clown sex, helium balloon sex and space hopper sex are a natural part of adult interpersonal relationships, it sadly doesn't cover the option that sometimes a man and a woman who love each other very much may choose to hit one another with sturdy implements and leave a week's worth of bruises.

So, how do you manage it, kinky parents? Does every one-hour child-free window mean a quick sprint to the spanky toy bag so that you can fit in a swift bit of paddling/nipple-clamping/*insert kinky fetish-ing here* before you have to go and pick the kids up from Scouts? Do you just shrug it off if one of your offspring wanders into your bedroom at 11pm and sees Mum bent over Dad's lap with her knickers round her knees? "Go back to bed, Riley. I'm busy inspecting Mummy's bottom. It's a Grown-Up thing."

Recently, Reddit had a thread about "Things You Don't Want Your Children To Know About You". One of the responses was "That daddy and I don't go to 'dinner parties', we hit up swing clubs."

I assume they're talking about swinging rather than swing jazz, here.
Doesn't look much like a sex club, though.

Do kids need to know about their parents' sex lives? Probably not. But do young people need to know as much as possible about sex? Abso-fucking-lutely. I have always had an open dialogue with my daughter about sex, contraception, only doing things that you're OK with and never ever letting people slut-shame you. I know a frankly ridiculous amount about my daughter's sex life. I am delighted that she is she so open about it with me. She probably knows more about my sex life than is usual in these circumstances. Although she does get the vanilla PG version, to be fair.

Maybe I'm just getting the vanilla version of my daughter's sex life. That's fine. I go to munches regularly. I live in a university town so we get a lot of students attending. My daughter's university is only forty-five minutes drive from here. I have a friend who is one of the organisers for munches in my daughter's University town. He's mentioned that they they get a lot of students there too, and, for all I know, my kid might be a munch regular, I'm fine with that. If she does have a kinky side, I hope she doesn't wait until she's forty before she embraces it. As long as we're not attending the same munches or BDSM sex clubs as one another, it's fine.

Sooner or later, every parent has to have the "Where do babies come from?" conversation. And, you know what, you don't get to have it once and then wash your hands of it. You have the "Where do babies come from?" conversation frequently over many years in a variety of age-appropriate ways. And when you have a nineteen year old daughter, the conversation largely consists of you saying "Here, have all these condoms. Please don't make me a Grandma just yet."

I'm just not sure when spanking, caning, nipple clamps, butt plugs and bondage should be brought into the discussion. I don't think it was covered in any of the books I read. Parenting is a bloody tricky business.

Pansexuality

I have been discussing, elsewhere on the web, the concept of Pansexuality.

Nothing to do with this guy.

It was on a fairly vanilla non-kinky forum, and the main question was "So how is being pansexual any different from being bisexual?"

I identify as bisexual and am pretty ignorant regarding pansexuality so I thought it a pretty fair (and very interesting) question.

And as far as I understand it (and please correct me if I am wrong. I would love to discuss this with someone with a better understanding of these things than me), there isn't much difference between bisexuality and pansexuality. A lot of it is down to semantics. Using the prefix "bi-" when referring to one's sexuality suggests an acceptance that one's sex is one of a limited number of options. Two options. You're male or you're female. Tick the fucking box.

Life, love, sex and gender are more complicated than that. Potential lovers could be trans, intersex or just downright refuse to align themselves to one particular gender. (Or they could be asexual, of course. Personally, I couldn't date an asexual person. I am a as-much-as-possible-sexual. It wouldn't be fair on either of us.)

Pansexuals seem to want to establish themselves as more accepting than people of other sexualities. It's a fair point I guess. Except, no it really isn't. I have done a bit of reading and it seems that "willingness to date transgender people" seems to be a pretty key point in people who identify as pansexual. Surely that carries with it an assumption that anyone who calls themselves heterosexual, homosexual or bisexual aren't OK with dating anyone transgender? When did that get decided? Did I miss another memo?

I consider myself bisexual because I am really not that bothered whether someone has a vagina or a penis. They could be entirely smooth down there like a Ken doll and that would be fine if they were interesting and funny and really into spanking.

I'm not saying this is a thing of mine, by the way.

Not only that, I actually think that everyone's at least a tiny bit bisexual. There are six billion people on the planet. Those of you who have met your "other half" probably did so at school or university or work. You probably managed to meet someone within a hundred miles of wherever you were in any case. If you subscribe to the idea that there is only one person in the world for you, you were pretty bloody lucky. I imagine that even the most loved-up of you committed, exclusive, monogamous types probably realise that there are a thousand or so people on this planet that you could have loved just as much. You don't need to go looking for them because what you have is pretty damned special. But you know, as much as you might consider yourself heterosexual or homosexual, there's got to be a chance that at least one of those thousand or so hypothetical lovers is a different sex to the one you were expecting.

One of these people wold be perfect for you.

I would potentially be up for dating someone who was transgender. It hasn't really come up so far. Although, I did have a trans woman contact me on OKCupid a few months ago. She was eighteen years old. I don't normally reply to people who are quite so far out of my preferred age range but I was intrigued by her profile picture. She had photoshopped her nose out of all existence. I checked out the rest of her pictures and about two thirds of them had big smeary blurry splodges in the middle of her face where her nose should have been. The other third showed a perfectly attractive teenage girl with an entirely reasonable nose. So, feeling all mumsy, I messaged her telling her that she didn't need to photoshop her pictures like that and that she looked lovely. (And mentioned that, by the way, she was waaay too young for me but, you know, good luck with everything. Because you know, I may be everything-sexual but I definitely don't date people younger than my daughter,) When she responded telling me she was trans, I did have a bit of a panic that my well-meaning "Just be happy with who you are!" comments were a bit insensitive.

Obviously, I think that people should be able to identify their sexuality any way they damn well please. What's the alternative? Some kind of "Sexuality Police"?

Sexuality Police

That said, there was an involuntary eye-roll when I came across the term "Demisexual". Demisexuals apparently consider an emotional attachment more important than a sexual one. Well, bully for you. That's not a sexual preference, that's a lifestyle choice. Do self-proclaimed demisexuals really think that heterosexuals and homosexuals just go around fucking people of the opposite or their own sex indiscriminately?

So, what should I be calling myself? Because as far as I can see, both 'bisexual' and 'pansexual' seem to be appropriate. Fetlife offers 'pansexual' as an option in its fairly comprehensive drop-down list. But if I decide to be pan- rather than bi- in my sexual preferences then I have removed myself from the LGBT in-group and everyone knows that's a pretty cool group to be hovering round the fringes of.

I think when it comes down to it, I have to decide what's really important in my life. And what's most important to me is being a total, fucking grammar pedant.

You see, the prefixes hetero and homo derive from Ancient Greek. (Heteros meaning 'other' and Homos meaning 'same'.) Pan (meaning 'all) is also Greek in origin.

Bi, on the other hand, is Latin. The equivalent Greek prefix is Di.

I have, therefore, decided to consider myself Disexual. For smug dictionary-based reasons. Happy to shag anyone who is as fascinated by the etymology of words as I am. I shall be emailing Fetlife and asking them to update their drop-down list forthwith.

This, apparently, is my sexuality.

Saturday Spankings - "Hand me the cane"

Saturday Spankings. Ensuring weekend spankings since ... ooh ... ages ago.

Happy spankurday fellow spank fans! Today's snippet comes from a short story that I wrote last year as part of the End of Summer Spanks Blog Hop.

It's a school-based story. As was requested by the Blog Hop organisers. I appreciate it might be a bit cheeky recycling it here but I just created a Free Short Stories page (Look! the link is right up there! Directly below the word "thinking" on my screen) so please, just humour me.

Philippa has just started a new job as a History teacher at the exclusive St Neots school. Obviously, being the twenty-first century, corporal punishment is no longer administered to the school's pupils. Philippa, however, is more than usually interested in the canes that were used on recalcitrant backsides in times gone by. Luckily, her boss seems so share her fascination.

Old School Discipline

“Do you know why I came down to the library earlier?”

“No,” said Philippa.

“After expressly telling you to shut the doors properly earlier, you managed to leave not just one but both of them ajar after you left your room. I found it impossible to work with the doors banging and came down to tell you of it.”

Embarrassment flooded her face. What an idiot she was. She had completely forgotten what he had told her about the doors. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“Well, what with that and touching historic artefacts without permission, I believe you have a punishment coming. Do you agree?”

Philippa stared at the tall, gorgeous, domineering man in front of her and, terrified as she was, felt like all her Christmases had come at once.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

“Hand me the cane, Philippa.” 

You can read the full story here.

And remember to check out the rest of this week's awesome Saturday Spankers:

#Piggate: Does it really matter where the Prime Minister once “put a private part of his anatomy”?

So, the big question on everyone's lips today (and for the next day or so until people get bored of it or it gets roundly disproved) is: Did British Prime Minister David Cameron once face-fuck a dead pig?

Cameron not-fucking a not-dead pig

It's not the sort of question one expects to have to ask, but there you go. Allegations have been made. Anyone now not imagining the Prime Minister's cum face as he wanks off into the mouth of dead pig has got more self-restraint than me, quite frankly.

The dead-pig-face-fucking incident supposedly took place during Cameron's Oxford university days as part of an initiation rite in order to join the exclusive Piers Gaveston Society, a men-only dining club named after the supposed lover of Edward II. A society which is all about the debauchery. Sex, drugs, cross-dressing and, apparently sticking one's dick into once-living creatures.

Sources are claiming that Cameron was never a member of 'Piers Gav' (as it is referred to by the sort of twunts who join exclusive dining clubs for white upper-class wankers). Even if that's true it doesn't disprove the incident. Maybe he failed the initiation test. Maybe the PM's dead-pig-face-fucking skills aren't all that. Although, it's hard to imagine how one might mess up a task like that. Failing to finish, maybe?

Similar sort of incident from Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror episode "The National Anthem".
Brooker has said he didn't know anything about the supposed incident before writing this. And actually seems proper freaked out that all his horrible Black Mirror predictions are going to come true.

Leaving aside the issue of whether this is true of not (and it probably isn't true), is it a big deal that David Cameron may have stuck his todger in the mouth of a dead pig during an evening of youthful exuberance? Obviously, shagging dead people isn't on. Nor is shagging live animals. Dead animals, though - well there's no law against it, is there? Does the dead pig care whether it's going to end up being made into cat food or acting as a receptacle for the future Prime Minister's bollock yogurt?

From a vegetarian point of view, I'm probably against it. But is it really worse than, for example, going balls deep in a dish of sherry trifle? Or wanking into the hummus? Haven't we all done something like that in our University days?

I'm not really excusing it. But as far as the exploits of the cuntish leader of the cuntish Conservative party goes, hypothetical dead-pig-face-fucking comes a long way down in the list of Things That Are Really Cunty.

(I did consider trying not to swear too much in this blog post and then remembered that I would be talking about the Conservative party and that not using the 'c' word repeatedly would be impossible.)

Whether or not Cameron managed to get into Piers Gav, it is a matter of public record that he was a member of the Bullingdon Club - an equally twattish Oxford rich-boy wank-fest.

Back row, second from left: Prime Minister, David Cameron
Front row, right (seated): Mayor of London, Boris Johnson.
Full line up. Back row (left to right): cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt
Front row (left to right): cunt, cunt, cunt

Alongside their reputation for smashing places up for shits 'n' giggles, this is a society whose initiation rites included burning a fifty pound note in front of a beggar. Compared to that kind of Grade A Cuntery, performing sex acts on a dead pig's head seems positively delightful.

And we know that about Cameron. The British electorate still saw fit to elect his party back into office so that they could carry out their comprehensive 'Austerity' measures of screwing the poor, the disadvantaged and the disabled into the ground while pandering to the Super-Rich wankfucks that they went to school with. Because that's what the Conservative party does. Honestly, apart from the hilarity factor, I don't give a shiny shit what David Cameron chooses to do with his penis.

As a pervert, I will defend every man's right to stick his dick into whatever will give him pleasure. As long as nobody is being abused or taken advantage of in the process, obviously. 

Hey, if this is your thing, you go for it, sunshine.

I had a look on FetLife earlier to see if there were any "Face-fucking Dead Pigs" groups. FetLife fetish lists being very much the equivalent of Rule 34 of the internet. If you can imagine it, then there's probably a FetLife group enthusiastically espousing its pleasures. No luck on the dead pig thing, though. There were "Having Sex with Food" groups, sure and another one where people liked to imagine (literally) spit-roasting "Human Pigs". But as far as sticking your willy into the mouth of a dead pig goes, apparently David Cameron is on his own.

Not that I'm saying this is an actual fetish of Cameron's. Although if it is, then jolly well own it, man, for goodness sakes. Face-fuck dead pigs because you want to. Not because the Big Boys told you to.

Unless this story develops into something far more unsavoury, the dead-pig-fucking aspect of this story will probably more-or-less kinda blow over for David "Pig Fucker" Cameron. There were other aspects to this allegation including drug-taking (which is not a big deal) and his knowledge of Ashcroft's non-dom tax status (which really is).

I'm sure my final point is being made right now all over the internet, but it deserves saying again. David Cameron (allegedly) fucking a dead pig, didn't hurt anybody. However, his party's current policies of slashing benefits including Disability Living Allowance are dangerously hurting many, many vulnerable adults and children right now. It doesn't matter how many dead pigs Cameron may or may not have stuck his penis into during his privileged years at Oxford University, it is what he is doing right now that makes him a wanker of the highest order.

Sex Machine (Get Up, Stay on the Scene)

In the Coen brothers' movie Burn after Reading, there is a scene in which George Clooney takes Frances McDormand into his basement and shows her a very singular chair which he has constructed, having seen similar things for sale in "gentleman's magazines" for twelve hundred dollars.


"I'm lookin' at this thing," he tells her "and I think, 'You gotta be kiddin' me.' I'm a hobbyist. Thing's basically nothing but speed rails. I figure I'd go down to Home Depot and whip this up myself for a hundred bucks."

He switches on the device and shows his creation in all its glory. The repurposed car seat rocks back and forth and in the the crotch level gap in the seat, a shiny pink dildo pops up and down like a penis-shaped whack-a-mole.

"Oh my god," says McDormand with an expression that could be very easily be interpreted as a the sort of shock, horror and general freaked-out-ness most of us would feel when being presented with a home-made fuck chair at the end of a first date. Turns out she's not as freaked out as you might think, though. "That's fantastic," she says in an awed whisper.

It's funny because it's so ludicrous. The Clooney-Fuck-o-Matic is the least sexy thing possible. My toaster is more erotic. It's like the bit in Withnail and I, when Ralph Brown says that his friend's sister got a doll that wees itself for Christmas so he and his friend have decided to go to into business selling dolls that shit themselves. It's the deranged ramblings of a stoner who has no idea how the toy industry works.

Except that dolls who poop themselves are totally a thing. Have been for years. Withnail writer/director Bruce Robinson should be claiming some kind of royalties.

I bet Viz's "Daddy, I've done a poo-poo" unique collectors doll is now readily available on QVC these days, as well.

So it should come as no surprise to find out that mechanised sex machines aren't just something that were dreamt up by Joel and Ethan Coen for the purposes of making their characters look like hilariously deviant weirdos.

Mechanical fucking devices are available for your purchasing pleasure right now!

The LoveBotz Maestro Multi-Faceted Sex Machine is available on UberKinky for the bargain price of £399.99. Unlike the fictional Clooney fuckomatic, you don't even get a comfy chair. Just something that looks like a cross between a meat slicer and a mangle with a hastily added dildo on the front.

LoveBotz!

"The Maestro Multi-Faceted Sex Machine was designed with precision craftsmanship and extreme attention to detail. This premium sex machine from LoveBotz comes with an adjustable speed of 90 to 300 RPM so you get to choose the perfect thrusting speed for the occasion. Easy to assemble and easy to use, you can adjust the Maestro’s height, angle, stroke speed and thrusting depth."

I can choose the thrusting speed, angle and depth? You're spoiling me. I'll take two!

If your budget is ever so slightly larger, you might want to consider the F-Machine Pro 2 Fucking Machine. Available to purchase for £549.99.

It seems impossible that anything could look less sexy than the LoveBotz but you know, I think the F-Machine has managed it. The designers clearly considered 'functionality' more important than 'looking in any way attractive'.

F-Machine!

Nice to know it's a Pro machine, though. I'd hate to be penetrated by some kind of amateur device. I'm not sure who would be constructing amateur fucking devices. It sounds like something Scrapheap Challenge would take on in between constructing hovercrafts and trebuchets. Of course that show totally faked everything. If there had been a "fucking machine" episode, the teams would have just "happened" across some handily placed engines, rotating wheely things and realistic looking nine inch dildos in their initial scrapheap recce.

(I love that show by the way. They were all dressed like they were part of some futuristic dystopian nightmare. I was happy to imagine that society, as we know it, had completely broken and the last few humans were having to scour the wreckage in order to produce a hastily cobbled together mechanised scooter. Or a Fuckbot, naturally.)

But back to the F-Machine Pro 2 Fucking Machine.

"F-Machine GEN2… the F they say is for FUN! Looking for an automatic self-propelled fucking machine? You’ve come to the right spot. This virtually silent beast is the Bentley of the sex toy world, are you ready to give it a go? The F-Machine is an extremely versatile sex machine which comes with an adjustable thrust rod that can thrust anywhere from 0 to 240rpm. This thrust rod is compatible with any Doc Johnson Vac U Lock dildo of your choice. Its adjustable thrust depth of 1-6 inches allows you to choose how deep you want to go."

Self-propelled! Thrust rod! Vac U Lock Dildo! Need I say more? I hope not, because words are kind of failing me at the moment.

I may be looking at this penetration business all wrong because, honestly, these contraptions are doing nothing for me. It's not like I feel one has to get another human being involved in one's sexual pleasure. My orgasms were mostly self-generated for a couple of decades before I rediscovered the joys of dating. Tried and tested purely organic methods usually sufficed. Although I have no objection to employing a vibrator or a magic wand for the purposes of really, really enjoying a bit of "me" time.

I don't know what it is, though, point me in the direction of a mechanised "thrusting" apparatus and I'm strangely reluctant to bend over and offer up my delicate lady areas. I'm probably missing out.

Tried and Tested Organic Method

Sexual pleasure is all very well, but I find, being a massive spanking pervert, any kind of sexual shenanigans are a secondary consideration. Being bent over and repeatedly hit on the arse with stuff will always trump clitoral stimulation and 'thrusting'-based pleasures when I'm planning my 'perfect evening'.

Is there a mechanised robotic device designed with the zealous spankee in mind? Of course there is.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to the Spanker Machine. A snip at £76.

Spanker Machine!

"The Domestic spanking Machine: Your new Adult Toy. Make your fantasies come true with Spanker Machine! The domestic spanking machine for your erotic games. Very easy to use and mount. 10 strike intensity positions. Different angles of impact."

I know what you're thinking: "Why the fuck would I want to purchase something which appears to be a camera lens attached to some meccano?" Well, hold your horses there spanko-sceptics, maybe you should check out the video before you leap to any conclusions.


Um... yeah. OK. It's not much of a spanking is it? Do you think the thong-clad model in the video would have even been aware  that there was a spanking taking place if it wasn't for the slight slappy noises and, you know, the fact she was being paid to be there?

The Spanker Machine is only suitable for spanking implements which weigh less than 100 grams. Funnily enough, I haven't weighed all the implements in my gentleman friend's collection but, you know what? I reckon all the best stuff would be unsuitably heavy for robo-spanking purposes.

Give it a decade or so and I'm sure all manner of realistic lifelike sex 'n' spanky robots will be available for sale at your local B&Q. Until then, I am happy to forego being penetrated and beaten by clunky-looking mechanised devices in favour of, well just not being penetrated and beaten by clunky-looking mechanised devices.

If I can be on the receiving end of such things from a nice, funny and delightfully sadistic human being instead, that's just a massive bonus.

World Beard Day

Today - as I am sure each and every one of you is aware - is World Beard Day. All across the planet, people are hosting Beard-themed celebrations, street parties and orgies. Probably. I don't know. I don't get out much, to be honest.

I want to like this. But it looks kind of grimy, don't you think?

I do like a beard though. I point this out so frequently to my current gentleman friend that it's quite possible he thinks I'm only dating him for his facial furniture.

Everyone looks better with a beard don't they? (Well, all men anyway. I don't think it's a particularly good look for me. Which is annoying because the amount of hair that I tweezer out of my face to avoid looking like Brian Blessed would be enough to knit a small hearthrug by the end of the week.)

Actor Rowan Atkinson (Mr Bean, Johnny English and the self-parodying Ron Anderson in The Tall Guy) for instance, is nobody's idea of a heart-throb. Yet Lord Blackadder was eminently shaggable, It's amazing what a ruff, earring, codpiece and - of course - an elegantly shaped beard will do for a man.

Yes I did just objectify Rowan Atkinson. I am a monster.

So in celebration of World Beard Day, let's look at some of the very best kind of beards.

The Shipwreck Beard

In much the same way that all dogs are only one step away from reverting back to wolves, all men are a short skip and a jump from becoming shaggy, grunting primitives. And one of the first indications that a man has lost touch with the civilising effects of society, is the growth of a massive shaggy beard.

Think Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Or The Count of Monte Cristo after years of imprisonment in the Chateau D'If. At the beginning of each episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus, a crazy-eyed man in rags with wild hair and an even wilder beard would stagger onto the screen and gasp "It's..." When the end of civilisation is upon us, all men will look like that, probably.

The Supervillain Beard

So, how can you tell if you're dating a supervillain? If he lives in a heavily guarded lair inside a volcano, that's probably your first clue. A maniacal laugh is another giveaway. Also a repeated desire to take over the world and make all lesser mortals submit to his will. But if you're still not sure, then check out his facial hair. If he's sporting a teeny tiny immaculately groomed goatee or similar, then yup, you're probably dating a supervillain.

The God Beard

You how you how you can tell for sure that beards are totally awesome? Because God, himself, chooses to sport one. At least in his 'Father' and 'Son' manifestations. Harder to tell with the 'Holy Ghost' because that's rather more ineffable. So it stands to reason that all other all-knowing, all-powerful God-type figures need to sport a similarly beatific bit of facial topiary. Can you imagine a clean-shaven Father Christmas? Or Gandalf? Or Dumbledore? It'd be ludicrous.

I do love the fact that beards have become cool again. I reckon we can thank Movember for that. Lots of cool young things decided to grow facial hair as a 'risk looking slightly stupid' dare in aid of men's health charities only to find when they got to the end of the month, they could look in the mirror and think "You know what? I am totally rocking this look."

And now we are living in an exciting new era of furry chinned footballers, models and popular beat combos. Sure, people might get all sniffy and declare that it's a hipster fad. But, fuck it, I rather like hipsters. I enjoy seeing a young lad heading off to Sainsbury's on a unicycle with a well-tended beard, a pocket-watch and a fedora. So there.

It's funny to think that in 2008, the iconic sex manual The Joy of Sex was updated and the original bearded guy in the illustrations updated with a smooth chinned replacement. Seven years on and I think we are all agreed that beards are the sexiest things ever, right?

Bring back beardy Joy of Sex guy, I say! I am going to start a campaign to have him reinstated by World Beard Day 2016.

Nose sniffing. A common precursor to sex.

In fact that's not enough. I also think that by this time next year, everyone should have a beard. Even me. I'll start working on it now.

This is pretty much what I look like when I haven't plucked for a few days, anyway.

Ashley Madison subscribers: Victims, Scapegoats or Irredeemable Cuntmonkeys?

I can't help feeling a bit sorry for all the people whose Ashley Madison user details were released publicly. Not that sorry because it's hard to have a tremendous amount of sympathy for someone who looks at a website subtitled "Life is short. Have an affair" and decides "Yup. That's exactly the sort of thing I'm looking for."

Stay classy, Ashley Madison.

I'm all for open relationships and polyamory and whatnot. There's absolutely no reason why a married person shouldn't be on the look out for another sexual partner if that what's been discussed and decided upon and everybody's honest with each other and on the same page. But that's not what Ashley Madison was all about. It was very much a discreet service aimed at people wanting to get their end away without all the tedious business of their other halves finding out.

It's not on, quite frankly. It's not only behaving like a shitbag, it's behaving like a shitbag to the one person you have specifically made legally binding promises not to be a shitbag to.

"I promise not to be a shitbag."

But here's where my little bit of sympathy comes in. If you are trawling the internet for extra-marital sexy shag times, then your spouse deserves to know about it. But, really, does anyone else need to know? Is it anyone else's business that you at some point at least contemplated infidelity?

I haven't had an extra-marital affair (never being married may have something to do with that) but I have, at various points in my life, done some pretty shitty things. And outside of the people who were directly affected by my shitty behaviour, I don't think it is anyone else's business.

When personal privacy issues hit the headlines, people are quick to say "If you've got nothing to hide  then you have nothing to worry about."

Why shouldn't I have something to hide? Hasn't everyone got the right to have something to hide?

For example, I have an account on FetLife. I'm sure most of my readership are familiar with FetLife, even if you're not active users. You're a pretty kinky bunch. To anyone unfamiliar with the site it's basically 'Facebook for Perverts'. Users befriend other users, join groups, participate in discussions and - if they are so inclined - put up a bunch of photos of themselves enjoying their preferred fetishes. Should a bunch of hackers decide to publish user data from that site I am sure that could be embarrassing for lots of people.

Although, given that you don't have to give any Real Life details when you sign up to FetLife, maybe not.

The UK website Mumsnet.com was recently the victim of a Denial of Service Attack by a hacker who also posted 3000 subscribers' usernames and passwords to his Twitter account. I am a frequent lurker and occasional poster on Mumsnet. Although my username didnt appear on the published list I was freaked out enough to quickly change my password details on every other significant online account where I had used the same password. (Yes, I used the same password for everything. Yes, I am an idiot.)

The Mumsnet Hacker's motivations aren't entirely clear yet but he seems to have a very personal grudge against the site. Given that a lot of women in abusive relationships seek advice in the Relationships part of the talkboard and invariably receive supportive and sensitive advice on how to escape, it's very easy to at least hazard a guess why there might be men out there with a grudge against the site. Abusers are very quick to blame anyone else for the consequences of their actions.

Releasing Mumsnet user details probably wasn't intended to shame Mumsnet subscribers. It was intended to decrease user's confidence in using the site. And must have been terrifying to anyone who was trying to stay 'under the radar' because of abusive partners or family members with whom they are no longer in contact.

But there's nowt intrinsically embarrassing about being part of the UK's biggest and best parenting website. Albeit the website whose talkboards introduced its readers to the concept of penis beakers, being euphemistically taken "up the Oxo tower" and understanding the incontrovertible link between Centre Parcs and anal sex.

Oxo Tower, London. Draw your own conclusions.

On the other hand, publishing the details of subscribers to Ashley Madison is all about the shaming. Over thirty million people now have some serious explaining to do.

Men around the world (and it is mostly men, as will be explained in a bit) now have to potentially claw back any kind of trust in their marriages by claiming that they "joined by accident" or were set up or joined in a moment of madness but never, ever met up with any women as a result of subscribing.

And to be fair, most of them probably didn't get their end away. The ratio of men to women on that site was hugely imbalanced. There were over 31 million male members at the time of the hack. And only five and a half million female members. That's a ratio of roughly six men to every one woman.

But wait, it gets worse for our would-be male adulterers. It turns out that a staggeringly high percentage of those female members didn't exist in the first place. According to this article, most female user accounts were not active. The site was full of men contacting women who simply were not there, because the accounts have been activated and never used or, largely, because the accounts had been faked by Ashley Madison staff members in order to give the impression that there was a sizeable database of women readily available for unsatisfied husbands' instant sexual gratification.

Whatever next? It's like finding out that all those "Horny Housewives In Your Area NOW" advert pop ups aren't on the level, either.

What does this mean, though? Obviously there are women willing to start relationships with married men. Heterosexual extra-marital affairs wouldn't exist if there weren't. Are most men up for it really and only the lucky few who encounter a like-minded female able to act on their impulses? Is the world full of monogamous men who remain so because they never get the opportunity not to be monogamous?

I think it might be the approach to cheating that is key here. Women cheat. But signing up to "Adultery R Us" websites is a pretty clinical way to go about it. I don't want to get all "The Rules" about this, but maybe women are more emotional than men when it comes to fucking around in other husbands' beds. It's one thing to be in an unhappy marriage where you can't or won't leave your spouse and then find yourself becoming attracted to the much-more-exciting-than-your-husband bloke from accounts. "Getting swept away" by something "you didn't mean to happen" is a pretty tried and tired excuse for marital infidelity. Deciding to sign up for a website in order to facilitate philandering is something else entirely. Maybe women prefer to cheat in a more old-fashioned Chatting-To-The-Charming-Dad-At-The-Under-7s-Football-Match way. "I didn't mean it to happen! He was nice and sweet and funny and I literally couldn't be arsed to finish things with my husband first like a decent person."

Soccer Dads. They're irresistible.

Is that better or worse than cold-bloodedly signing up to a site like Ashley Madison? Well I don't know. Like I said, I've never been married myself. But I'm given to understand that once one enters into an exclusive monogamous marital arrangement, then fucking other people is pretty much a deal-breaker.

You can check if any of your loved one's details are on the Ashley Madison database here. I really hope that none of my readership have had to deal with finding out their husbands were fully paid-up members of Ashley Madison.

If they are on there, maybe someone used their e-mail address as part of a typo-related accident, or maybe someone decided to set their account up for a laugh, or maybe they signed up in a 'moment of madness' but didn't meet anyone through Ashley Madison and certainly, definitely didn't shag anyone.

Just bear in mind, if it's that last one, then it's entirely believable they didn't fuck anyone. The odds were entirely not in their favour. But it probably wasn't because of any lack of trying on their part.