Some Interesting Exposure

This may very well fall into a "Too Much Information" category, but keep your peepers peeled for an upcoming (ahem) 'revealing' exposure of of a certain moderately-well-known writer by the absolutely wonderful Shilo McCabe as part of her Sex Positive Photo Project.  You have been warned ....

M.Christian Teaches Sex Magic Manifesting Positive Life Energy Through Erotic Play

If you live anywhere near San Francisco here's your chance to attend my class, Sex Magic Manifesting Positive Life Energy Through Erotic Play, at the Citadel on Tuesday, March 8th, 2011, from 8:00PM to 10:00PM.  I'm really looking forward to this very fun event and can almost guarantee that a good time will be had by all!

Sex, without a doubt, is a powerful personal force: it has the ability to not only give tremendous pleasure but also lift us up beyond our normal selves, and sometimes even to higher states of consciousness. Whether through sex with a partner or via masturbation, this class will explore how sex can be used to explore sometimes hidden spiritual and sensual dimensions, grow as a sexual being, manifest positive life-changing energy, or simply have a lot of wonderfully erotic fun!


But sex also has its emotional risks as well, and participants will also learn how to protect themselves as they explore sex magic and deal with sometimes shocking revelations about who they are as a sexual being.

In addition to being a recognized master of erotica -- with over 300 short stories, nine collections, and six novels in print -- M.Christian has been in the San Francisco scene since the early 90s and has taught for QSM, The Center for Sex and Culture, San Francisco Sex Information, Janus, and has been a featured presented at The Floating World and many other venues. He is so kinky he doesn't even walk straight.

"All Tied Up" Bondage Article From Pornotopia - Now On Josie-whip.com

This is a kick: the great folks at the brand new Josie-whip site just put up my piece on sensual bondage, All Tied Up, from Pornotopia.  Check it out here ... and in the meantime here's a tease:

 

The old chestnut goes that while it's easy to catch a man, it's hard to keep him - well, hopefully, after this brief introduction to the art of sensuous bondage, some of you out there will not only know how to keep him, but also, should he slip loose, have him coming back for more.

It's hard to see how bondage gained its popularity - at least from an outsider's point of view. It's kind of like looking at an artichoke: many heads have been scratched pondering the first caveman (or cavewoman) who boiled the ugly thing then peeled away the barbed leaves for the tasty insides (let alone scrapping the leaves themselves). Bondage is much the same - getting pleasure out of being tied up?

But for those who've tried it, the allure of sensuous bondage is obvious: the emotional relief of being freed from all physical actions; the danger of being at the mercy of another person (and a female person at that!); and the physical sensation of being wrapped, held, immobilized - many people might turn up their noses at S/M, of what they see as "pain", but not the idea of being restrained and ministered to. You can't whip me but - yeah! - you can sure tie me up!

Like everything, there is a wrong way, a right way, and room for exploration in bondage. The wrong way is pretty obvious - your submissive is in pain (not the good kind) or suffers some kind of injury because of your bondage.

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Odd Balling (2)

Ladies and gentlemen (and all the folks between), here's a taste of my brand new Odd Balling column for the great folks at YNOT.  For the rest just click here. 

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YNOT – While the first two weeks in February ushered in the Chinese Year of the Golden Rabbit, they may as well have been called "The Week of the Transvestite Platypus" for all the outrageous, bizarre and just-plain-weird things that have popped up.

Not to insult transvestites, you understand ... or platypuses, for that matter.

Take, for instance, Asia News Network’s report that Thai airline PC Air will be offering flights featuring cabin staff with ... well, “staffs”: transsexual cabin crews.

"We are the first airline to hire all the genders. This has brought us a positive perception," airline spokesman Chuthathip Ratanasophon said — though no one has commented on what passengers are supposed to pull in case of emergency decompression.

Protection seems to be the obsession of the week, beginning with the theft of 726,000 condoms. As reported by Digital Spy, the rubbers vanished on the way from the manufacturer, Sagami Rubber Industries, to Japan.

"This has never happened to us before, and we are very perplexed,” Norinari Wakui of Sagami Rubber said about the theft. “We are not certain if it was of a premeditated nature."

While it is not YNOT.com’s business to offer investigative advice, we suggest the Japanese authorities keep an eye out for a shifty-looking character with a suspiciously bulging wallet.

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Watch Out For The Mysterious "M"

Okay, I know I can be a bit of a character but this is beyond 'meta:' my sweet friend Fulani recently sold a book of his kick-ass erotica to a certain publisher I work with, and whom I am rather partial to, and in celebration he wrote this very cool little piece ... guest starring someone you may recognize:

He first saw me at the art exhibition. Would have seen a lot of me, I guess, since I was one of the exhibits. He left his business card with the organizers. Fulani, it said. Just the one name, or nickname.

People said he was genuine, but reclusive. They said he lived in a suburban house with a workshop in the back garden and did most of his business online.

He was older than I’d thought, but puckish. He looked at me as if to say “I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

He read my stuff and said he wanted to introduce me to M. M would want to publish it.
Only thing was, I didn’t know who M was, and I’d only just met Fulani.

Fulani was supposed to be straight-up, a good reputation, a well-known figure on the fetish scene, a man of his word.

I told him I wanted to know more about his bona fides. He nodded. “You want to know I am who your friends say I am, that I’m not going to rip you off big time.” Also he noticed I was looking at the earthenware pot in the corner of the room. It contained a selection of canes and crops.

His outhouse had a big, heavy vintage flatbed press.

“I use it to make limited edition prints and books,” he explained as he tied my wrists to the top of the frame. “I could make a photo print of your journal and publish a hundred copies. But whether there’s a market for them in that format – that’s the question.”

I tested the bonds. They were tight. He knew his ropes. I made a sound that came out halfway between a purr and growl.

“My opinion is, as a new author you’re better off selling to a publisher who can move a lot of copies.” He unzipped my skirt and noticed for the first time that I hadn’t bothered with underwear. “Also,” he said, “my opinion is, you have a wonderful ass. I shall enjoy putting marks on it.” Judging by the way he ran his fingers over my ass cheeks, he’d noted that I had a few faded bruises on there. Tomas’s doing, from a couple of days previously.

He left me there while he went back to fetch the canes. It was a warm afternoon. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through an open window, mixed with the richer smell of printer’s ink. I planted my feet wide apart and tried to relax. He was probably five minutes. In my head it was about five hours: I was after all naked in a shed in a suburban garden, visible through the window, about to be marked up by a complete stranger.

It was that familiar, deliciously deviant feeling.

What can I say? He knew his stuff. Started gently and built up the sensation slowly, on the well-known principle that you can always go harder but can’t take back one that’s too hard. He began with a crop, then a longer, stiff riding whip that was moderately stingy. I wriggled. He chuckled. I started to get into the zone. He noticed my breathing changing, I think.

The cane he used was heavy, about as thick as his thumb. Made me present my ass. One stroke. I pulled against the cuffs, the sting of it reverberating through my body. He let me compose myself, slow down my breathing, present my ass again.

Six strokes. I felt all the little jumping, twitching, sizzling connections from ass to pussy to thighs belly spine back of neck and crawling into my brain. I felt fevered. I was ready for him to take me, then and there, in that position.

Instead he made me turn around, face out from the frame.

Through half-closed eyes I saw a wooden tray with pegs on it, and a length of string.

Pegs in two lines, starting at each collarbone and running across my breasts, towards my navel, then to just above my clit and a couple on the inside of each thigh.

“I’m sure you can figure this out,” he said, threading the string from each peg to the next in a long line. I was more interested in the sensations from the pegs on my breasts, my belly, my thighs.

“This process tends to make victims quite vocal,” he murmured. Victims, plural, I noticed. There was a ballgag in his hand. Then it was in my mouth and buckled tighter than was strictly comfortable. I did a lot of mmmph-mmmphing just for effect.

He seemed to enjoy the effect. When he brushed against me I could feel his erection pushing on my hip.

He left the pegs on for a quite a while. Assured me this would add to the effect.

Certainly made me breathe harder, trying to put myself in the right mental space to handle the sensations. Trying to still my body, not squirm, not move my hips the way they really wanted to move.

Fingers moved gently over my tits, belly, clit. No fair. I’m ready, just fuck me.

When he pulled the cord that yanked off the pegs it was a massive headrush. You’d think it should be painful, but the sensation just disconnected my head from my body and cushioned me in endorphins.

I was dazed, limp and hanging in the cuffs, eyes refusing to focus. The ringing in my ears was the echo of me squealing through the gag, I think. And all I could think to say was the one thing I wanted to happen. Uck ee oww. No consonants because the gag prevented them, but he got my meaning and fulfilled my wish. Spread me over the flatbed of the press, opened my legs. And yes, I was juiced up.

This guy was, I’d say, twenty years my senior. Back where I grew up, that could have made him old enough to be my father.

I’d figured that before I came here. Was it, unconsciously, why I’d chosen the over-the-knee socks, the short skirt and cropped top? The deviant schoolgirl look? Had I wanted the age-play aspect of this?

These were thoughts I only had afterwards, because he was long and vigorous, and twenty years older or not, he kept going a hell of a long time.

When I finally came round, got mind and body back together, he was looking though my handwritten journal again.

“Interesting stuff,” he remarked. “It’s like a renaissance of erotica, in the classical sense of the term.”

“Huh?”

“Renaissance: a re-awakening of artistic and intellectual inquiry into the world and the human condition. Never mind. Let’s just say it’s good.”

***

I rewrote a lot. Put entries in date order, changed names and some details to protect the guilty. Rephrased the whole thing in the third person, so I was a character in my own stories.

Here’s what the mysterious M said: “Great news, sweetie – the publisher loves your book. Please sign the attached contract.”

I could have been fucked sideways.

Actually, I was. Fulani did. It became our regular thing. Especially after I threatened to write another book that would be about him.

He knows I’m not joking. Says he’ll have to make sure I have enough material for it.