I love a good hike, and I’m also a fan of shorts, so stinging nettles hover somewhere close to the top of my ‘irritating nemesis’ list, alongside barbed wire and people who let their dogs off the lead then shout ‘DON’T WORRY, HE’S VERY FRIENDLY’ when the little prick comes bounding towards me all full of teeth. It would never in a million years have occurred to me that stinging nettles could be sexy. But, as with so many topics, incredible guest blogger and queen of unusual kinks Jenby is here to show that actually, stinging nettles can be very fucking sexy indeed…

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This fabulous story is written and read by Sundial. This is part 3 in a multi-part series. You can check out part 1 ‘a mouth and a cunt full of cock’ here. And part 2 ‘just for a moment’ here.

Coffee on the terrace, we had such luck with the weather. All blue skies and wheeling seagulls calling to each other, the smell of the sea at the bottom of the hill wafting to us on the light breeze. It felt summery and warm. And we were silent, just being. I was still reeling, still hot and wet with a dizzying ache of emptiness, of denial teasing inside me. With your nails, you stroked the backs of my fingers where they rested on the table. Ohh, and even that light touch sent electricity coursing through me. I thought I might explode with lust.

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When I was in my late twenties I used to write blog posts about bullshit societal expectations of women at that age. How we were expected to be slim, ‘feminine‘, hairless, petite and sweet-smelling (especially in the ‘cunt‘ region). Then, for a brief period in my thirties I was nagged to be one thing above all others (PREGNANT!). Now that I’ve sailed past childbearing age without even a cursory click on a ClearBlue ad or video about IVF, the sales messages have settled into a comfortable, familiar horrorshow of content for the ‘older’ lady. And they seem pretty united in bad news: I’ve got far too much skin everywhere, and my face is falling off.

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In response to a very bitter post I spat out recently, quite a few people asked me if I’d heard of ‘kintsugi‘ – the Japanese art of repairing broken things with gold. The idea is that, by gilding the cracks, you can see what something has survived and it becomes more beautiful. It’s a very cool concept, and yes I have heard of it. Stuart even used it in an illustration many years ago about heartbreak, which I’m using for this piece today too. But no matter how gorgeous the idea, I am not in the headspace right now to repair myself with gold. To observe the shattered pile of dust which used to be my self-worth and note with detachment that, some day, it’ll make a lovely pot.

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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.

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