14 Jan 01

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Name That Fucker

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT! SEXUAL PERVERSION! DON'T READ IF YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO!

So the name of the game is Name That Fucker. It needs a better title, because it sounds like an endeavor where you give a moniker to someone who annoys you. If you think of any, lemme know.

Obviously I didn't invent this game. It's probably been around since the dawn of Homo Sapiens.

You begin on your knees, and with a pair of handcuffs. Furry ones are preferable, but if you don't have any, a scarf or duct tape or whatever turns you on will do. You need your wrists bound, purely for the thrill of it. It's best if you have a blindfold, but if you are playing spontaneously, a pillow, shirt, or the honor system will work. Bent over, on your knees, face down, ass in the air, be ready for your opponent to put things into you, which you have to identify by feel. Copious amounts of KY make the placing easier, but the naming harder. Don't be too eager to win; it's more fun the longer you're undecided.

If you have an array of sex toys, by all means use them, but once your opponent gets a good understanding of the sizes and shapes of things you can handle, don't be surprised to find out you've been penetrated by a shampoo bottle. Or a magic marker. Or any number of objects. Your opponent should be sure to pick things that can't injure you, things that are free of rough edges and such. And by all means, they should not use the open end of a bottle. It will get stuck.

Yes, my friend, I am kinky. More kinkier than that, but most of my friends know that already. I like to be bound and taken. I like to be exposed. I like to be photographed and filmed. I generally hate the photographs and films themselves and they usually wind up destroyed, but I love the idea of being on view, observed by an anonymous other.

Way back when I used to play in virtual reality, I used to arrange to have spectators hovering 100m or more over the rendezvous point, close enough to "hear" but far enough away not to be seen. Since we couldn't make our avatars have sex, there wasn't anything to see anyway. It was all dialog. Sometimes the partners knew, and sometimes they didn't. Sometimes I only had one partner, and sometimes several. I insisted they use an alias to protect their privacy, because you can never be sure who might stumble onto you out in the worlds.

Group Therapy was the logical extension of that. Members knew they might be observed for the porn thrill of it. I loved it, meeting in subterranean networks of catwalk and glass walls, fucking like bunnies over the bottomless void, while unseen voyeurs sat gasping up in the stands high above the land. Being penetrated in a variety of ways, on show, exposed, giving every detail of every touch and lick and thrust.

Too bad the group aspect didn't work out. I really wanted group sex, but more people wanted one on one, and my time got stretched very thin. I wound the project down and went back to hanging out at Ground Zero, being friendly. Heh, I was gonna get my group, with sex or without. Wink. 

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