A tip of my black fedora to...

A woman at this week’s yoga who didn’t catch my eye as rather pluck it clean out of the socket. Easily in her sixties, with long white hair and a great figure: just terrifically, unbelieveably, attractive. We have absolutely no choice about growing old, but we can choose to do it well. And when one finds oneself in the presence of such a talent as this, what can you do but admire it? Tanto di cappello, signora. Davvero.

Fetish furniture that’s worth having

Odd, it’s only just occurred to me, that the appeal of the Poltrona Frau Regina sofa is in its marvellously fetishistic design. I mean, take a look at the holes in the back, there’s space there to pass through quite a lot of rope, no? Enough space to tie down quite a lot of imagination for quite a lot of time. Imagine having your Slave tie your ankles behind the wings, with your torso roped so hard inside it’s hard to breath. Exactly, just what I was thinking: wouldn’t it be luvverly... Of course, it’s upholstered in leather. Rubber ought to be optional, but most likely isn’t. Still, the dedicated rubberist ought to have no scruples in asking, there’s no harm in asking is there? By the way, regina is the Italian for queen. Someone’s private joke, perhaps?

Bar lick

A fantasy I have long nurtured...

I’m with my love in a bar near home. Just after dropping our daughter off at nursery school, the place is crowded with mothers. Including me, there are just three other men in the bar, so crowded that you have to step carefully around the people just to get to the counter. There’s scarcely the space to raise an elbow. We queue, for cappuccini and brioches and I start to eat mine.

The thing with the brioche is that while you know it’s filled with custard, you don’t know quite where the filling happens to be in the one you’re eating.

I’m about a third of the way into it when a smooth yellow plume of custard gouts out onto my face. I can feel the cool filling on my chin and sense it slowly folding down, ready to land on my lapel. My reaction is to tilt my head far back to stop the custard falling off my face, for a sweet moment I recall doing the same thing an hour before, chuckling with delight as my love rode me to her early morning orgasm. My, the thoughts we have shared in the past. So it happens, there is a thought that we are sharing Right Now.

She reaches up to my face, brushing her fingers over my eyes to close them in one of her favourite gestures: depriving me of my sight so that I may more deeply feel her touch. I yield, smiling like a fool as I guess what she has in mind: she’s going to lick me clean in front of all these nice people. She pulls her hand away and I stand motionless, waiting for her next move, feeling her shine her sexiness on me. People around us have already started to notice something strange about us. Good.

My mind wanders off to the times when I've licked my semen off her face, when I’ve gathered it in to my mouth and shared it with her. When I’ve sucked it hard off her arse. When I’ve made sure she had no choice but to swallow it whole, the times when I’ve wiped it off her with a finger or spread it over her with the loving sweep of my hand. And now we have Custard As Metaphor and the tables are turned on me. My word, I do love her so.

Coming soon. What’s been going on here?

‘You’re looking sparky. I'd never have thought that a simple visit to the bathroom could perk someone up like that.’

Quite, just that it wasn’t such a simple visit, was it? Anyhow, fuckwit you could never think that. That, and quite a lot else, to be honest, in your nice smart chinos and button-down shirt, bugger you. And how much I'd like to be around to see that happen.

Finally out of there. Dizzy with self-pleasure and boredom, but happy to know a couple of things more about her life. Pulling out her mobile, texting her boyfriend ‘Darling, I know now why I love so much about you. Be with me tonight so I can tell you in person?'

Notes for the Post-It Tango

In the summer I had written on the erotic potential of office supplies. I apologise to anyone who’s been holding their breath in the meantime.

Of course, a tango...

Ah, taking one's time, such a treat. Let's face it, you’re both worth it and just jumping into bed like a pair of crazed raccoons is boring, anyway. Here follow some suggestions for joining up the dots in your minds, before you join up the ones in your bodies.

The tango. Not just a dance for a couple of people but a dance for a couple. She can drive him as much as he can drive her, but for it to work, the dancers need to know each other. So we have a couple, a block of notes and the play of their imaginations. Your lover writes out the message - perhaps only a single word - and reaches out to place it on you. Think of the delight of the weight of their fingers as they press onto you, gliding over you to leave their notes.

What are the varieties of Post-Its? Well, colour and size: the bigger the note, the greater the space for the heavy marker pen, the more emphatic the message? Small notes are by comparison whispered hints. What does repositioning mean? ‘You don‘t know me well enough, here is where you should have put it.’ ‘You’re being too timid, I want to feel you closer.’ Consider the significance of location: kiss me here/pay attention to this part of me. It’s a brilliantly simple idea. The following are some modest suggestions as to how you might take the idea for a long walk in the woods...

Exchange
Passing the same note back and forward, if the note is big enough, annotating it as you go. Each passsage of the note is accompanied by... kisses, caresses, licks and nips.

Palimpsest
The body’s own messages gradually superimposed by words. Spaces reused, time and again, gradually accumulating a meaning richer beyond the single messages that they once hosted. Writing on each other, tracing round the note before peeling it off again and passing it back?

Seduction shortcut
You write what you want your lover to do, and fix the note to yourself where you want it done. Simple.

Storytelling
Sentences and idea are attached at random. Once you’re quite covered with the notes, your take turns to read the story off each other. Perhaps a well-organised orgy could feature a couple of models who wander among the guests, inviting each to leave their own message. Each participant has their own colour of note, the messages on the notes themselves are enriched by the knowledge of who left them.

Retro-BDSM
Partcipants are pierced with rings, all over their bodies. Instead of sticking self-adhesive notes, they take turns to tie those classic reinforced cardboard luggage labels onto each other. Of course, the messages themselves are written with a fountain pen. Bodies are gradually clothed by a hand-tied suit of card; think of the growing teasing sensations as the notes gradually accumulate with every movement matched to a note, slyly pulling at your skin.

Wedding anniversary
A couple celebrate their wedding anniversary with a tando Each shaved smooth, they tango.... at the end, they’re photographed, festooned by the notes: an anniversary double portrait.

Well, that's the ideas that have occurred to far; new idea swill appear as and when they suggest themselves.