Dolls of love

My partner (who, much to his surprise, is becoming a regular feature on this blog), asked me where I drew the line in terms of subject matter. I had to think about it. Snuff. The Donkey Punch. Drinking games. Anything involving gimp masks or Hillary Clinton. But then I started writing about love dolls, and you know, perhaps I should have drawn the line earlier.

I mean, some things are beyond parody. I know the internet is a meeting place for weirdos, a world where you can justify your off-colour fantasies because there’s always someone more depraved than you. But really, love dolls. It doesn’t sound that bad does it? Just sad lonely men whacking off to a plastic doll. But, my goodness, there is a whole industry out there catering to their needs. And not just to the Japanese, who as ever, seem to have cornered the market in good clean fun with a dishwasher-proof vagina.

You can buy thin dolls, fat dolls, dead dolls (‘sleeping Kunika’ is a hit). You can swap their heads around when you’re bored, change their eyeballs, add a penis if you’re feeling adventurous. Some men recycle their own pubic hair from the bathroom floor and stick it on their dolls.

You can even buy the torso on its own. I mean, what’s so wrong with masturbation? That’s cheap, convenient and safe too. I can just about imagine why some men would want to sleep with a silicone woman. After all, they're always available and they won't disparage their micropenis or Star Trek habit. But a torso, with no head or legs? For $1,299?

Despite the existence of one lone male silicone doll (‘Charlie’), love dolls are for men. I’m not going to go into a misogyny rant. I won't tell you about the number of men on forums who justify being violent towards their dolls "because it’s better than beating up a woman". But here’s a lovely quote from Slade Fiero, who makes a living repairing old or abused dolls: "There's definitely people out there who shouldn't be in the gene pool. This is a way to keep people happy that shouldn't be having kids anyway."

Next week, How to grow the perfect tomato and Toddlers: the naughty step revolution.

Although Elton liked a good tarmacking...

Last night, my partner, who can’t spell, said that spelling, death and virginity can exist on a grey scale. He used himself, comas and anal sex as examples. Not all at once.

This is a classic disagreement between us: he asserts that where he thinks in complex nuance and subtle equivocation, I operate in black and white. He’s wrong.

Take the Cleveland Steamer. When I phoned him and explained what it was, he put the phone down in disgust. You see, black and white. Whereas I find it quite interesting.

The Cleveland Steamer, aka tarmacking, is from the coprophilia family of sexual activities.* It’s the act of defecating upon your partner’s chest and then (this is optional) smearing it on with your buttocks. Urban Dictionary demonstrates the usage in a wonderful sentence:
Although Elton liked a good tarmacking, he found it difficult to clean his congealed chest hair afterwards.

Yuck, right?

But then you’ve got the revenge Cleveland Steamer. Apparently, when a break-up is imminent, it is common, in some circles, to wait until your soon-to-be-ex is asleep, and then do the deed on their chest. Then you run away.

There’s something quite genius about the break-up Cleveland Steamer. It’s got a certain playground wit and charm about it. “You promised me babies and a ring but you lied! Now I’m going to do a big smelly poo on you!” What better way of saying up-yours to the person who’s wasted the best years of your life? So although I’m not advocating this for sexual kicks, because, frankly, scat doesn’t do it for me, the break-up Cleveland Steamer should never be dismissed outright.

* Readers of a sensitive disposition, look away now.

Bucocky, part three

Sometimes there are just some things you'd rather not know.
This is the answer to my previous question.
It's bukkake.
It is Japanese. It involves many men. And the Japanese word bukkakeru means 'to splash forcefully'. Wikipedia has kindly provided a diagram.

Bucocky, part two

I’m confused. A knowledgeable friend has informed me that I’ve spelt bucocky all wrong. Apparently, it’s a Japanese word, and is spelt something like bukoki.

I say something like, because there doesn’t seem to be any consensus in the internet community, usually so rigorous about such things.

Bukokki isn’t very popular, bukkoki does better but is also a small Nigerian hut, and Bukoki is a fine town in Uganda (they liked it so much they declined it, judging by the existence of Bukoka and Bukoko). Bucoki seems to be very popular in Eastern Europe. But the winner seems to be bucocky with 2100 google results. So I might be wrong, but I’m sticking with the earthier bucocky.

But, as an aside, aren’t the Oriental connotations of bukkoki brilliant? It could be a rather messy martial art, or part of a humiliation rite before suicide. “You have shamed our company. Now we will squirt semen over your face.” It takes it from a sordid act with hookers on crack in a motel room in Reno, Nevada, to the dark world of Japanese masochism, hygienic cruelty and small penises.

So my head says bucocky but my heart says bukkoki. Please, can you email me and tell me how it’s spelt? I like to get these things right.

Pillow talk

It’s been brought to my attention that I’ve been writing a lot about the less conventional side of human sexual behaviour. This was intentional.

There was a quick, unworthy thought there about generating extra traffic, until I realised the people who stumbled on this blog through google probably thought in pictures (graphics still pending).

But mainly, it’s because I monitored my conversation last week, and I realised how boring I was. I essentially talked about two things, the weather and food. Or how cold I was and how hungry I was. Third, fourth and fifth subject matters were myself. And what’s wrong with that? If I don’t talk about myself, who will? But it doesn’t mean you’ll want to listen.

Of course you could say the whole sex talk thing was just laziness. And boy am I lazy. But laziness is good for the soul. It makes you work harder, because you need to finish what you’re doing quickly to get back to doing nothing. You cut to the chase. You focus on the essentials. You deliver. What do most people use the internet for? Sex. So I’ll write about that. But what do I think about? Myself. So I’m torn. Sex or me. Me or sex. Me and sex? No.

I’m going to lie down and think about this.

Dirty Sanchez

It was an exciting weekend. Not only did I learn a new word, I also learnt about a new sexual position. It’s fascinating, the Dirty Sanchez. To the happy few who don’t know what it entails, I'll explain. As far as I understand it, you bugger your loved one, and then draw a moustache of poo on their face with your penis.

Now this begs several questions. Who on earth came up with this? Someone must have thought, after anal sex, “I know, now I’ll smear some faeces on my girlfriend. On her face. Then I’ll take a step back, and tell her she looks like Zorro. She’ll find this really erotic and give me a long blow-job to say thank you.”

And who agrees to partake in it? You’d have to be pretty stupid to go along with the Dirty Sanchez. I think it’s the ‘Dirty’ that gives it away. Even if you didn’t know what it meant, it just doesn’t sound very nice does it? It’s a bit like felching. If you had no idea what it involved, (and some would argue, even if you did), you just wouldn’t say yes.

If we’re not careful, it could pass into folklore and end up on one of those ‘Things to do before you’re thirty’ list, alongside climbing Mount Kilimanjaro and shagging Japanese twins. Threesomes never used to be common currency until they were added to The List.

But at least threesomes aren’t meant to be funny. Just fun. That’s the distinction you see. Sex and humour just don’t mix. It’s a bit like sex and food. If someone laughs at me during, or immediately after sex, I’ve learnt that’s not a good sign. So it’s lose-lose for the Dirty Sanchez I’m afraid: if you find it funny, you’re probably not much fun in bed.

Definitions

I learnt a new word this weekend. Bucocky. Apparently it’s really rude in America, but I refuse to believe that because it just sounds so silly. Like a posh word for rural rumpy-pumpy. “Let’s go and bucocky in mummy’s herb garden.” But no. It means: to ejaculate on a woman’s (or, presumably, a man’s) face. It’s so rude it trumps the c-word and the f-word. Allegedly.

Which is interesting. Because the connotations are of loose, demeaning sexual behaviour. But without going into a diatribe about how sex is just about power (because actually, sex can sometimes just be about sex), surely a sexual act between consenting adults cannot be ruder than the more Mediterranean motherfucker? I know I’d rather an irate motorist accuse me of having left-field sex with my partner, than sex, vanilla or not, with my mother.

And as for those who will argue that sperm on the face is inherently demeaning, well, maybe, but is it really more so than swallowing it? I suppose it’s messier. Maybe it’s like the bedroom equivalent of spitting in someone’s face: a big cultural no-no.

At the very least, it’s useful to know what the zeitgeist Meatloaf practice is: girls and boys, if you sleep with an American, that is what you don’t do for love.