It seems to work. Tried it first attached above the ankles. This certainly improved response for her and also increased her juiciness. We think it also improved her muscle tone.
Then we tried it attached at the small of her back. Worked again this time too, although she says it felt a little different. Still better response, tighter, more juicy. Difference might have been down to position.
Going to keep experimenting with this one; it's certainly the best toy we've tried yet.
Yes, it's possible, but requires that you perforate both eardrums first. This has the minor side effect that you become deaf, but this does have the benefit that when she says, "Stop that now, I'm sore!" you won't be able to hear her.
Good luck.
Beware that when you go swimming your head will fill with water and you will drown.
May we, Brandynsoda, second that vote of thanks to northeastcoupleuk, and say that we enjoyed meeting up with geordiecouple and Lynx and Minx!
Hope we can do it again sometime!
Brandy now back from France and Switzerland. We'll certainly try to get to the social, and will play it by ear for the club!
Probably didn't give enough detail in the original posting: The electrodes supplied with the SlightestTouch are 5cm diameter, so they cover a lot of territory.
We'll be trying one of these gizmos out in a few days, so we'll post the results.
Soda had testicular cancer a couple of years ago, apparently caused by scarring on his vas deferens during his vasectomy about 15 years ago. Result, like Hitler, he now only has one. It felt in-different for Brandy afterwards, but hasn't caused any problems.
He used to work as a product development specialist for a medical company involved in sexual medical devices, and early on in his career, on seeing a pair of plastic 'eggs' all sterilised for implanting (Prosthetic balls!) made the mistake of remarking 'God, they're bigger than mine', to which the surgeon replied, 'Yes, they're bigger than his were, but most folks choose the largest size out of vanity - cant really understand why as it tends to shorten the working length of the penis.'
Is there any correlation between the size of the balls and the size of the owner's brain?
Not sure if you are getting much response yet.. looks quiet on the forum. Presumably looking to meet somewhere in Sunderland and go on to Club F? B&S might come and will send you a mail separately. Depends on who's going to be there!
Would have loved to have been there, but that's the very night Soda goes to collect Brandy at Ncle Airport on her return from Switzerland.
Hope you have fun!
This love things been around a long whlie. The Greeks have four words for love of people (as opposed to sex or ice-cream or chocolate)
They are: Philos, Storge, Eros and Agape.
Philos is the love we have for friends; companionship and comradeship. It is difficult to have a one sided philos, but if found it usually takes the form of hero-worship.
Storge is the love we usually have for our children, a desire to nurture and protect, and implies a parent-child relationship.
Eros is the physical love we are probably talking about here, and is often just another word for lust. Nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't need to be returned for us to feel it. It has little lasting value if not augmented by one of the other kinds of love.
Agape is a selfless love for one's fellow creatures; the sort of thing Jesus Christ is said to have practiced, or Ghandhi.
Funny, Constance, but it could be that she is suffering from a bloke who is economical with da truth....
Love is certainly not rationally explicable. And there are definitely different strokes for different folks. Jealousy is not about love; it's about ownership. The US polyamorists talk about 'Compersion' the pleasure we gets from watching those we love giving and receiving pleasure with each other.
We are big fans of love, and swing because we love each other. At a recent Greedy girls night we saw a young woman getting gang-banged by a series of eager single males, and she was having a very noisy and enjoyable time getting so much vigourous sex. Afterwards we watched her make love with her husband. This was different, quieter but passionate and tender; love in contrast to sex.
Yes, of course it's true.
Especially Asparagus, onions, garlic, fish, and of course, curry.
You would not believe how important it is to smell and taste right when seeking to find someone with whom to have sex. Just about as vital as sight and touch!
The breathing in unison
Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other...
(TS Eliot - A dedication to my wife)
Has anyone tried out the SlightestTouch gizmo from the US of A? It's a small electrostim gadget that has electrodes that are placed above the inside of the ankles which are supposed to stimulate the acupuncture meridians for a woman's use (not for men, and not for BDSM either!).
It is supposed to hold the user on a pre-orgasmic plateau, ready to be triggered off by, as the name implies, 'the slightest touch'.
If it works... wow. Can't believe anyone has had success with it - otherwise, why keep it a secret!
We have ET 312, but this can't be said to be the same thing as the claims for this toy!
Whilst we're here, anybody out there heard of 'Compersion'? Not a toy but a word US 'polyamorists' use to describe the pleasure they get from seeing their loved ones giving and receiving pleasure with others.
There's a word for everything in Californi cation a!
Spy
You are a spy
In the dark house of love
Revealing your secrets to no-one
There’s nobody here
With whom you’ll share trust;
In spying, it takes one to know one.
You have your cause
For which you will fight
And wrestle with love, undercover
Abusing their trust
Indulging your lust
Leaving nothing that they can recover.
Your enemy’s truth
So nothing you say
Or do is ever consistent
With the way that you feel
Or the way that you are
Your cover is ever persistent.
But what may be clear
To those who hold dear
A notion of you that is false,
Is you shall not reveal
How they might appeal
Or partner you in life’s waltz
You won’t be led a dance
To the old doublecross
Of your enemy’s deepest desire
And you will not succumb
You think intimacies numb
As moths in the flame die in fire.
Your identity’s secret
You won’t give your name
To do so would cede all your power
For you have been trained
To conceal who you are
And to wrench out their heart in an hour
You are a spy
In the cold house of love
Dissembling and claiming you love me
And plotting the steps
You will take whilst I sleep
To take your advantage above me.
Spy
You are a spy
In the dark house of love
Revealing your secrets to no-one
There’s nobody here
With whom you’ll share trust;
In spying, it takes one to know one.
You have your cause
For which you will fight
And wrestle with love, undercover
Abusing their trust
Indulging your lust
Leaving nothing that they can recover.
Your enemy’s truth
So nothing you say
Or do is ever consistent
With the way that you feel
Or the way that you are
Your cover is ever persistent.
But what may be clear
To those who hold dear
A notion of you that is false,
Is you shall not reveal
How they might appeal
Or partner you in life’s waltz
You won’t be led a dance
To the old doublecross
Of your enemy’s deepest desire
And you will not succumb
You think intimacies numb
As moths in the flame die in fire.
Your identity’s secret
You won’t give your name
To do so would cede all your power
For you have been trained
To conceal who you are
And to wrench out their heart in an hour
You are a spy
In the cold house of love
Dissembling and claiming you love me
And plotting the steps
You will take whilst I sleep
To take your advantage above me.
All at Sea
You were an octopus
When we first came together
Too many arms and legs
Drawing me in
To the soft core of your body
To feed
Your all-consuming
Desire
That was years ago
Now, you’re a crab
Still too many arms and legs
Manipulating me away
Hard shelled claws tearing me
To feed
Your all-consuming
Derision
How, where we once enjoyed symbiosis,
Now, has there been metamorphosis?
Where once you prayed for me daily
Why, now, am I your daily prey?
Now, having converted you from lover into wife
How has this converted me into mere pond-life?
And what was I
That I am no longer?
What have I become
That you armour yourself
Against me?
Or have you just tired
Of the same old fishy smell?
Advice to the shy.
I couldn’t always talk to folk; I used to be so shy
I couldn’t ask a lass for a poke - not even in my eye.
But my life’s been an adventure from the day I went to work
When my boss said, “Glad they sent yer, the last bloke was a
I found that I’d be working in an old converted church
Where appliances were lurking for medical research.
The job was hardly spicy in fact it banished lust
The temperature was icy as ‘In God we trussed’
But me workmates took me drinking and I’m telling you no joke
The drinking set me thinking that I was a bolder bloke.
Very soon I gave the lasses much more than the eye
If you get my meaning, it was ‘fish and finger pie’.
I moved on to a factory where working was a chore
But it was full of lasses who all came back for more
In no time I’d earned a name for very canny shagging
I gave such satisfaction, lasses said my piping needs no lagging.
They told me other lads would try to fool them with a sock
Inside their jeans where I have always filled up mine with cock.
Where lasses hope to find a thing to make them all say ‘Gosh!’
They’re often disappointed by a pair they’re asked to wash.
I have to say it’s made my day and made some happy nights
To find out I’ve been blessed with what delivers such delights
And now I am experienced, I’ll give you some advice:
Big genitals can help a shy bloke... but on lasses they’re not nice!
Please, just stop trying to analyse me!
Don’t cut me up:
I wasn’t complete
I was hoping that you and I might just meet.
I’m only half-human -
But then, so are you
And to make a whole human;
Well, we have to screw.
Let’s not dissect words, nor analyse thought
It’s only your brain that suggests that we ought.
Move closer, whilst, gently, I fondle your tits
And later I’ll please all your other bits.
No, don’t cut me up. Please, don’t deconstruct.
We’ll never be whole until we have fucked.
Sexual Politics
Remember how we talked about political lesbians?
The ones, we said, were lesbians for political reasons
Rather than political for lesbian reasons?
And then I said; “How sad.
How out of touch with their bodies they must be!â€
And you agreed.
I thought we had agreed because you knew
That sexual love cannot be fuelled by politics
Any more than it can be by money,
Or status, or power, or materialism.
And that the satisfaction of desire
Is a personal - not a party - responsibility.
So why do you expect me to perform?
Sexual love cannot be made conditional;
Does not depend on politics, nor deeds,
Nor even promises fulfilled.
Sex may thrive, but never love
When it is made conditional.
And why have you lost the excitement
Of delight in our physical love?
Without the prejudice of grudges borne?
Only by releasing material gravities
Can we rise above the numb mundane
Without the weight of baggage materialism carries.
Remember how we once loved
Unweighed down by dross?
Each of us excited by the other’s passion?
It’s all still there, I promise you
Beneath the load of politics
Passion still struggles under the burden of ideas.
Remember these, and then forget
Political conditions;
Forget me, forget yourself,
We shall rediscover one another:
The me I love to be when I am with
The you you love to be when you’re with me.
How ironic that the glue which bound us first
Has been destroyed by problems it could mend
If recognising its power
And accepting it unconditionally
We could neither be frigid for political reasons
Nor could we be political, for we wouldn’t be frigid at all
Muses
Muses, sadly, all must learn
That artists have their lives to earn
As a consequence of which
A muse’s portion is not rich.
An artist treats his woman bad;
He makes her sad, he drives her mad
To make the woman bite him back
Lest he forgets what he may lack.
Artists don’t have much to say
When contentment rules the day,
They only go and strut their stuff
When their women cry “Enough!â€
And those who thought that they’d inspire
With beauty, kindling arts desire
Find as woman succeeds the girl
It’s grit in the oyster makes the pearl.
Devices and Desires
You have told me,
God knows how often, you have told me,
How much you cannot stand...
My beard around the basin;
My guitars around the living room;
My clothes around the bedroom.
And I have heard
God knows how often, I have heard
How much you don’t want
Me around anymore.
I don’t tell you
God knows how often, I don’t tell you
How much I don’t mind
The way you slurp your tea in the morning;
The dross of life you perpetually dump on me;
The mumbles you offer me as conversation.
And I have tried
God knows how often, I have tried
To show you
These foolish things don’t matter.
We don’t talk
God knows how often, we don’t talk
About love anymore.
How I love all the little things about you.
How you’d love me,
If it weren’t for all the little things about me.
This has happened,
God knows how often, this has happened,
To people falling out
Of love before.
They don’t see,
God knows how often, they don’t see,
How all the things she thinks she wouldn’t miss
If he were gone
Would be what she would miss
If he were gone.
Her love is eroded,
God knows how often, her love is eroded,
By all the pettifogging little faults
He has.
She never saw as problems, until now;
God knows how often, she never saw as problems, until now;
The symptoms of an overwhelming imperfection,
That cannot be forgiven.
The symptoms of an underlying condition,
That separates him from her.
He remains in love,
God knows how often, he remains in love,
Breaking off the brittlenesses;
Forgetting irritations.
His love is blind,
God knows how often, his love is blind,
Looking the other way
From minor wounds.
He treasures the little of herself
She has left him.
His love survives,
God knows how often, his love survives,
Wanting only to be with her.
And she, only wanting better.
Satisfaction,
God knows how often, satisfaction,
Always numbs him.
Always eludes her.
Coffee Frustration Blues
I go down to the kitchen
To get myself a drink
Go put on the kettle
And the sugar by the sink
Reach a mug down from the cupboard
And I’m waiting for the steam
It’s the ritual of coffee
A familiar little dream
At last the kettle boils
And I reach out for the tin
When the lid is off I see that
There isn’t any in.
Then it makes me think of
The way you were last night
I wanted to make love with you
But you just put out the light.
The Leprachaun’s Lust song
There’s a kind of little Irishman they call a Leprachaun
He’s a horny little beast, at least, he’s beastly with his horn,
But you won’t find him in Ireland ‘cause all of them have gorn
And all of them are emigrés , so hear one sing, forlorn:
I’m a horny little bugger and I’m living down your street
I’ll be up against my window when I hear your passing feet
Wid your pretty little titties and your bum thats round and sweet
For a horny little bugger, well, the sight of you’s a treat
But you will never see me for I keep right out of sight
And you will never know how I would shag you all the night
But I know you’d never fancy me because I look a fright
So I guess I’ll have to learn to live with lust you won’t requite.
I was in the supermarket doing shopping for the week
When a dark haired woman caught my eye, so bad I couldn’t speak
But if I could have talked to her, I knowed that I’d be busted
I’d have told her how her body was the thing for which I lusted
With her great big wobbly arse and her skin as fine as custard
Bet she had a fleshy pussy and the tits as hot as mustard
I think I would have told her how I’d take her from behind
And how much she would like it when we start to bump and grind.
And there’s another woman I see walking round the park
How I wish that she’d encounter me there in the hours of dark
She’s an ugly little face like mine I know could be transfigured
If a fuck won’t make her beautiful, well, bugger me; I’m jiggered!
Singing diddly, diddly, diddly me, I’ll diddly, diddly you
And after we have diddled, well I’ll tell you what I’ll do
Well, I’ll creep into your ear and then I’ll fill you up with lust
And your life will be a source of glee till you crumble into dust.
Assassin
‘Love you’ said
Sinking hotspring knife
Deep
Within
Herbody
Contorted;
Gasp
Herface
Trickle
Blood
Hermatrix
Move;
Knife
Herwithin.
Little:
Die
Herbeat.
Flutter;
Muscle
Hersmile
Wound;
Wider.
When I speak of you
I must use a different voice
In case
You should come
Tripping back down my words
To infect me Once more.
Parasitic Symbiosis
Naturally
Like a suckerfish to the whale
I want to kiss your thous
And warm, secret places
To imbibe the milk
Of human kindness
From your breasts.
To eat the fruits of passion
From between your thighs
To taste the prawns that lurk
Between your teeth.
To clean you
Like a suckerfish to a whale
A bird preening
A cat washing
A fly, combing his brushfeet
And just as
Naturally.
Bee or not bee
I live to pollenate, fertilise
The fragrant moment
Hung on air in dusty dryness
Carried fleetingly like smoke in stillness.
This incense carpets my senses
As buzzing urgency
Dances out my quest
Not scent, nor colour, only sun.
Taking sweetness
Giving fruitfulness
My driven purpose;
To share; disclose.
This will; not my own
My brothers too follow
My dance
As I theirs.
My Queen is many
In each incarnation her hunger
Feeds me
My brothers, my children.
The fertile seed continues
My sons shall seek the flower
Driven by the same dance
To satisfy their Queen.
This winter, my empty husk shall blow away.
All life is fuel to burn
All memories are ash
Hung on the heat of the moment
Fallen onto the sheet.
Past desire
Shall burn no more.
The pregnant pause
Drained in fullness.
Dirty with dreams,
I fly
As the wind
Breathes.
We've got two, one marketed commercially and the other we made ourselves. We found that for complete comfort it can be helpful to add a sort of hammock to the swing, otherwise you can get webbing burns, but having said this, its a really great way of getting into, and staying in, wacky positions, and it takes a lot less effort to get a really fast rhythm going for a long time. If you have got past the champion gymnast stage it can be just the help you need to get back there, plus it can add possibilities for light bondage!
Beware, however, of putting too much weight on the swing and especially be sure that your ceiling fixing is strong enough to take the forces. Between us Brandy and Soda Weigh around twenty stone, but it's not always subjected to both our full weights, especially when we use two swings together (ours are bolted to our roof ridge, but we're still worried about 'bringing the house down!')
We'd like to try the VX1 or the US Sybian machine (for Brandy), but are into a lot of different toys, most especially the SlighestTouch, the Hitachi Magic Wand, and the ET312 Electrostim.
Mods edit - removed avatar, no genital shots please
