I don’t do choking any more. Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, it turns out that something I have loved for many years is far less safe than I realised. It’s too much risk. I’m not going to order you not to do choking play, but I will tell you that this breath play article by Jay Wiseman is worth a read – it gave me useful information in a way that genuinely changed my mind. As I’ve said to a couple of dudes since I stopped being comfortable with choking: “sorry to be a buzzkill, but we’re gonna need to do something different.” I’m no medical expert, so I don’t think it’s my job to explain the detail of the risks involved with choking and asphyxiation, and I wouldn’t expect you to trust me as a source on that anyway, but here’s what I am an expert in: making shit horny! Instead of scolding you for enjoying this particular kink (I enjoyed it myself for a very long time), I’m going to share some safer alternatives to choking. Activities that – for me – capture a similar vibe to being choked or having my breath restricted, but without the underlying dangers.
Guest blog: No sex please, we’re bigots
Last week a transgender woman in Thornaby was sent to prison because someone she had been intimate with reported her, after the fact, for sexual assault, claiming that he would never have consented to what they did if he knew her trans status. In the UK, there are laws about consent and deception, and most often these laws are used to prosecute people who lied about things like STI status. Jenby is here to give her take on this case: did this woman ever actually lie? Is there a legal distinction between failing to disclose something and actively lying about it? And what impact will the judgment have for trans women in the UK?
Skilful seduction (do not shatter)
“Do you want to make some plans with me?” he asks, all casually playful, as if his name hadn’t just splashed into her inbox like a life ring tossed to a drowning woman. She grasps at it, as if he alone can save her (he cannot). He offers a selection of activities, and each shines bright with promise – a bike ride, a show, dinner, conversations about the book recommendations they’ve been swapping. Plus, of course, sex. She ponders which to pick, knowing the sex will be on offer no matter what they do beforehand, and even though she’s poor in spirit she’s now rich in possibilities. She replies swiftly – picks a fun activity, gives him her availability, then adds: “I am not sure about the sex. I’m feeling very… [big black box of horror that it’s probably best we don’t open] right now. In theory I like the idea though, can we play it by ear?”.
For the friend who wants to help but doesn’t know how
“I wish I could take it away,” he says. My friend who doesn’t know what to do with my sad feelings. He tells me, with sincerity: “I wish I could take some of this away for you.”
“Stop or I’ll come.”
I’m riding his cock. It’s the end of a very long night, and he’s built up plenty of spunk. Not only do I really want that spunk, I also really want to come myself. So just before I hop onto his dick, he hands me one of the toys that I wish every guy I banged had in his bedside drawer: a Doxy. Grinding my clit against it while his rock-solid thickness stretches out my cunt is a proper treat, and combined with the porn that I chose, which is playing in the corner of the bedroom, I’m sure I’ll come in no time.
Doxy posts
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