Don't come near me with that thing...

I was struck by Virgin Slut's recent musings on anal sex.

The first thought that crossed my mind was that (he says, pulling on his cardigan and slippers) in my day, a virgin was someone who wouldn't let you get past "first base". Today that seems to include girls who let you plow the "Hersey Highway" whilst they engage in a spot of frigging... Mmm, nice... You go, girl...

Now, I'm not being judgemental here - VS is still a virgin and it would appear both she and her partners are having fun (and I'm all for that...). I think it's a great development. I genuinely hope every girl follows suit. Its just as Cicero might have said (but without his condemnation):

"O tempora! O mores!"

Secondly, it is striking how anal sex, as Belle de Jour put it, has become the new oral sex. Anal sex has for some time been very far from being the last remaining taboo, of course (the last time I checked, cannibalism and necrophilia were still struggling for acceptance...).

Everybody is at it. And enjoying it. It seems that what was once the preserve of a few pornographers in under-the-counter publications is now mainstream. It even makes it into a blockbuster movie, with Bridget Jones not only taking it up the "Gary" (Gary Glitter = shi... well, you get the picture) from Hugh Grant but also liking it enough to go back and do it again... Right there in your living room... With your parents watching...

Indeed, there are some signs that the status of anal sex as any kind of taboo is under attack. Even in the US (home of the most ridiculous attempts to legislate against what consenting adult choose to do behind closed doors), State laws against sodomy were struck down by the Supreme Court in 2003. Hooray for that.

Finally, I was worried by "Two Way Street..." in that she insisted on reciprocal anal play with her partner: "...any guy who is not willing to have his own arse violated is certainly not going to violate mine". Gulp...

My first experiences with anal sex were with escorts who (other than a spot of rather pleasant rimming), are happy to leave my chocolate starfish well alone, thank you. However, what to do if my wife one day pulls out a 10" strap-on and asks me to bend over? I am totally "banged to rights" - I do it to her, (well, sadly not with 10" in my case), so by any notion of human justice, she can do it to me.

Or not.

Sorry, but I'm not going there...

Ever...

It's not natural... ;-)

Publish and be damned II

With apposite timing, this article dropped into my mailbox at work today. Originally written by the erudite Tim Price, who writes extremely well on investment themes, particularly hedge funds, it sums up some of my thoughts from yesterday... If he objects to me repeating it here, I will happily remove it... I have not credited his firm in case that it causes some bizarre regulatory issue (though it recommends no investment).

______________________________________________

In a show of solidarity with the workshy Trots who have withheld their labour at the BBC, today's commentary is also a repeat. It was originally published on August 10, 2004.

They live in a high-octane world. What they do is risky. They're grotesquely overpaid, they have few scruples, and their influence on the markets is out of all proportion to their true size. They're fast, extremely short-termist and utterly unregulated.

Yes, they're journalists writing about hedge funds.

Speculative features on hedge funds continue to surge in popularity. Once the preserve of rich sophisticates, hedge fund articles have mushroomed from a niche position in speculative publications into blanket coverage across ordinary newspapers. Some commentators believe that with such explosive growth in the sector, problems are inevitable.

"These guys are opportunistic," says hedge fund manager Peter Madeupname. "They are constantly on the search for new commissions, and they have very little discipline."

Hedge fund journalists can and do employ a wide range of cliches. By and large, they engage in high speed, computer-aided jeremiads to take advantage of the gullibility of buyers. These strategies have certainly worked in the past: since 2000, column inches devoted to hedge funds have increased by 153% per annum versus minus 78% for pieces on conventional assets. Is the flood of journalists into this space tantamount to a gold rush? Certainly, hedge fund journalists tend to move in herds and crowd out more traditional commentary.

Recent wild swings in investor pessimism have been attributed in part to the speculative features of hedge fund journalists. Hedge fund journalists have a market impact way beyond their true numbers, mainly because they write so much - some commentators believe they account for half the financial commentary in tabloid publications - and also because they often employ hyperbole, a strategy which magnifies the impact of their articles. "Apocalyptic death march of blood-letting horror", as William Facile for the New York Times recently wrote, on the performance of the HFR Market Neutral Index, which reported a monthly loss of 0.03%.

Some journalists have suggested that hedge fund managers boil babies in acid. Others, that hedge funds represent an unfair challenge to traditional fund managers, in that they offer the possibility, however slight, of a positive return.

Meanwhile, competition among hedge fund journalists is increasing as more and more pieces are created. There are particular concerns about the way hedge fund journalism is now packaged and sold to retail consumers. Some editors are buying senior pieces which are relatively stable but many are buying more junior pieces which are often haphazardly constructed and of dubious worth. There are now as many as 8,000 critical articles circulating in the marketplace, not all of them commissioned by Forbes, compared with just 15 ten years ago. That's making it ever more difficult for hedge fund journalists to find an edge, and forcing them to use ever riskier high speed strategies to get their features into print. In a rumour-driven market beset by supply, some editors are even returning commissioned pieces.

As new hedge fund journalists spring up to fill apparently insatiable retail demand and as competition among them increases, the risk of less reputable or just plain untalented hedge fund journalists entering the field rises. As things stand, hedge fund journalists are unregulated. Some commentators suggest that planned regulation of hedge fund journalists simply won't work. In Europe, where there appears to be a greater appetite for hedge fund journalism, there is still a lack of the necessary skills to analyse them properly. A lot of interest in hedge funds by journalists is deemed to be superficial. Many analysts have also voiced concern at the massively derivative nature of hedge fund journalism.

The biggest users of questionable hedge fund journalism are BusinessWeek, Forbes, the New York Times, the New York Post and Bunty Magazine. These entities now have about 80% of their overall column inches in shoddy hedge fund journalism and this is expected to rise to 100% in coming years."

Tim Price

Enjoy...

Publish and be damned...

I have had cause to be exposed to journalists recently. A deal that I have been working on has gotten some column inches. I have been required to brief the slavering hordes of Fleet Street to further the aims of my client.

It frightens me when they write on a topic that I understand. Journalists don't even remotely understand the issues. They don't portray both sides of the story. They manuipulate the facts to sensationalise the piece. They make no pretence at even bothering to get to the truth behind the headlines (or, given that "truth" is often a relative viewpoint, even look at the story from more than one angle). They are consumed by jealousy of anyone richer, more famous or more successful than themselves (basically anyone...). They filter the facts through a whole set of personal and political biases. Well, that explains the Guardian, then...

I have, naturally, used the slipshod, dissolute nature of financial journalists to my advantage...

Now, I do not find any of this, in itself, worrying at all - I have achieved what I wanted and distorted the truth to help ensure that my client can succeed. No-one (apart from the few financiers on the other side - who can afford it) will be harmed.

But think of the wider implications. I read the papers avidly. I read them for the financial news, obviously, but most of that I discount because I know what is really going on... But it is the current affairs - this is where I get my world view... What if, as Thomas Jefferson said,

"Advertisements... contain the only truths to be relied on in a newspaper."?

Then again, he had little respect for my profession:
"Banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies."

It is of deep concern to me that the rest of the newspaper could be as poorly researched as what they write on financial markets:

"How is the world ruled and how do wars start? Diplomats tell lies to journalists and then believe what they read."
Karl Kraus

How much of what we read is crap? How much is distilled down to a soundbite or headline that is designed to catch our attention but leaves truth and honesty far behind?

So I'll leave any budding journalists out there with this thought:

"The recipe for perpetual ignorance is: be satisfied with your opinions and content with your knowledge."
Elbert Hubbard.

Enjoy...

Why did you marry your wife?

Love.

Next?

Actually, a recent comment, which I promised to answer, asked:

Hi, I have been browsing through your blog, and I haven't had a chance to read all of your past blog entries, so I am not sure if you already answered this question, but, when you descibe your wife I often wonder what originally attracted you to her? You seem very sexually free, and she very sexually controlled at times. What gives? Sorry, if you think this question is too personal!

Too personal? I've talked about sticking my willy in my wife's bottom - I think I can handle a bit of emotional analysis...

I sort of answered that here: Surviving a sexless marriage.

And no, this isn't going to be an RTFM post - as this blog has got longer, it has become more difficult to keep up. I noticed that I repeated one of my own jokes the other day - how wank is that?.

To save you looking it up, I married my wife for two reasons: firstly, I love her at a deep emotional level and secondly, because there was powerful physical attraction (both remain undiminished as far as I'm concerned, BTW). Nevertheless, your question is valid - there was for a long time a deep incompatibility between us sexually. My sexual needs (particularly in terms of kink) seemed to rise quickly and plateau. My wife's were apparently on a parabolic course, rising initially with mine but then fading away, gently at first but then dwindling to almost nothing. This happened after marriage. Hence my stark choice - to be faithful and sexless, unfaithful and fulfilled sexually or challenge the status quo to achieve fufillment in the marital bed. It took me a bit of time to realise that the first option was not for me - my fidelity was rock solid for years. The second option seemed nice initially but I could see in it the seeds of destruction for the ones I loved. So I settled on the third - but it is not always easy...

Marriage has it's downsides though - take my Mother-in-Law (please).

Ah, the last resort - you know I'm running short on material when a mother-in-law joke comes out...

A man, his wife, and mother-in-law went on vacation to the Holy Land.

While they were there the mother-in-law passed away. The undertaker told them, "You can have her shipped home for £5,000, or you can bury her here in the Holy Land for £150."

The man thought about it and told him he would just have her shipped home. The undertaker asked, "Why?" Why would you spend £5,000 to ship your mother-in-law home, when it would be wonderful to spend only £150?"

The man said, "A man died 2,000 years ago, he was buried here and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can't take that chance."

Enjoy...

Election 2005 II...

Yes, I know you come here for the sex, dear reader, but I write for me. Don't worry, I'll be back to sex soon (not for you but because it obsesses me)...

Well, we have another Labour government. However, it has the weakest mandate of any majority parliament in modern history. Just 36% of the vote and 22% of the electorate put the government in power (the Conservatives polled 33%). Unfair? Perhaps, but I will not rail against the UK's “first past the post” electoral system - it has delivered remarkable stability in the country, whereas proportional representation would have lead to decades of paralysis and political fighting, IMHO. It brings to mind the words of Winston Churchill,

“Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all
the others...”

Though Winston also said,

"The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter."

So what have we got? Tony Blair, memorably once termed “the strangest Tory ever sold” by The Economist, is in with a vastly reduced majority - inflicting on him the “bloody nose” that media commentators had demanded the electorate inflict on him. “Hooray”, his critics may say. Blair's principle mistake in office has been to take to heart a single Marxist maxim (except, unsurprisingly, it was taken from Groucho not Karl...),

“The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that, you've got it made.”

The British people have become sick of him as a result. Where does Blair's insincerity come from?

To understand the obsession for spin, tyrannical control of the party and a decided flexibility when it comes to political principle, it is necessary to understand the New Labour that Tony has created. When he took over the party, it was at the extreme left of British politics (though moving toward the centre). It still clung to “Clause 4” - the commitment to take the whole economy into public ownership (ah, at last, the other Marx brother...) - which had to go. He had to unify the party behind a combination of Seventies, old-world, "one nation" Tory policies (yes, Conservative policies), rephrased for the Nineties, and a tacit acceptance of the "hated" Thatcherite restructuring that had already re-envigorated the economy. To regain the centre ground (where the bulk of voters live), it was necessary to hijack the natural ground of the Tories. He was also pragmatic enough to realise that Thatcher's reforms had been essential and should not be undone - it was their presentation that needed to be changed to make them palatable to the electorate. It is not surprising that in reaching out unashamedly to the left, right and centre, he had some problems appearing sincere...

So, I don't like him, I don't like New Labour. The Labour Party is in power with a vastly reduced majority (albeit with a far from ringing mandate). So what's the problem? Well, Labour has been long on rhetoric and short on action for two terms - initiatives are launched and relaunched as though they are new policies but are subtle reworkings of the old - principally due to the need to keep this unholy alliance of disparate political views stable (to ensure his own re-election). Now that he will stand down, he has the chance to push through some real action - reform of the delivery of public services to ensure better productivity (particularly the NHS), democratic reform of the House of Lords, tackling the pensions crisis, dealing with disability welfare. These are issues that a Conservative government will never be able to address, as it needs the "caring" Labour Party to deal with these issues in a cold-hearted, brutal way.

However, we have crippled the Blair's ability to deliver on any of those thorny issues. We are in for more fudge and obfuscation. As Alexis de Toqueville once noted

"Democracy is like a raft. You never sink, but your feet are always wet."

So, to summarise this election in the words of a little known American politician, Dick Tuck, who after losing an election remarked:

"The people have spoken. The bastards."

Enjoy...

Election 2005....

A topical post for today, as the British people - proud of their ancient tradition of democratic government - stay at home in a wave of apathy and watch Footballers' Wives on TV.

The Labour Party today announced that it is changing its emblem from a red rose to a condom because it more accurately reflects the government's political stance.

A spokesman said. "Condoms allow inflation, halt production, prevent the next generation developing, protect a bunch of pricks, and give you a sense of security while you're actually being screwed. We think that you're stupid enough not to notice that, for once, we are being honest."

Asked why they were ditching the rose emblem that had served New Labour so well, he replied, "The rose was appropriate. As everyone knows, it smells sweet and looks attractive but when you look beneath there's just a bunch of pricks. However, since we no longer look attractive, the condom is now a more accurate metaphor."

Lest you think that I hate the Labour Party (I do), I should also add that I find almost any politician intolerable...

As I've said before, my view is a little like the Groucho Marx comment that he "wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have him as a member" - I think any politician prepared to do what it takes to get elected is totally unsuitable for high office (Mr Blair is a prime example...).

If you want to know my politics, I am resolutely centerist (and therefore to the left of Blair) on most social issues but with a strong libertarian tendency (small government is good, given what I think of politicians). When it comes to economic policy, I am somewhat to the right of Genghis Khan.

So, Labour are wrecking the economy. The Conservatives are a bunch of bigots. The Liberals, the least libertarian, will have us in a control economy before Charles Kennedy sobers up. Not much of a choice... Even the smaller parties are shit - UKIP are little Englanders, the Greens are loony, BNP fascist...

Enjoy...

Probationary test...

Part I - Gross Moral Turpitude
Part II - The Interview
Part III - Dictation

Part IV - Probationary test

I worked the vibrator around her pussy as my fingers gently teased her tight brown hole. Cathy pushed back and moaned. I knew she liked this, she liked to have her arse played with while we fucked. She liked anal sex more than any other woman than I have known. I flicked my tongue over her anus, feeling her sphincter loosen to my ministrations. She was close to coming again.

“Now, Miss Minx, I want to see how you can take the pressures of the job.” I slipped my cock deep inside her pussy and my thumb pressed past the tight muscle into her rectum. She pushed back hard.

“God, yes. Fuck me…”

I grabbed hold of her bound wrists as leverage and began to pound away. This was going to be hard and fast. That was how she wanted it. That was how I wanted it. Her head was bucking, her hair flicking backwards and forwards – she came again: her anus suckling on my thumb deliciously; her pussy rippling around my tightly-sheathed cock.

I led her over to the bed and lay her down onto her back, trapping her hands behind her. I put her head over the edge of the bed and stood over her. I waved my dick over her face, slapping her cheeks with my penis. "Taste your juices..." I said and pressed my cock in her mouth. The angle of her head allowed me to slide my cock deep into her mouth and down her throat. She sucked hungrily. "I love fucking your face, Miss Minx. This is how you will spend much of your time with me... You want that, don't you?" She couldn't answer but I could feel her thrust her hips up as I rubbed her clit. I took that as assent.

I joined her on the bed and slid her towards me. I put her ankles on my shoulders and thrust deep inside her. We screwed hard again while I called her “my fuck-slut”. I bent her double and whispered in her ear that I was now going to fuck her arse.

“No, please, Mr. S! I’ve never done that before, not even with my boyfriend…” How she kept a straight face when she said that, I’ll never know…

“Miss Minx. Total obedience and flexibility, remember… You do want the job, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir...”

“So, you want me to fuck you in the arse, my little slut.” She loved it when we talked dirty...

“Yes, sir.”

“So tell me…”

“Please fuck my arse, sir…” she smiled sweetly...

With that I pressed my glans against her soft, puckered anus. It relaxed to let me in to the lubed and velvety interior.

“You’re a filthy little whore, aren’t you my dear?…”

“Yes, sir – fuck me…”

“You’re my filthy little whore, aren’t you?…”

“Always... Now fuck me hard, please, sir - I want you to come.”

I pistoned into her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she issued a low, gutteral moan. I orgasmed hard, with my cock buried deep in her arse, my tongue in her mouth.

It was a great way to start the evening.

Enjoy…

Dictation...

Part I - Gross Moral Turpitude
Part II - The Interview

Part III - Dictation

“Mr. S., I think that we need to de-stress you. Let me help.” Cathy walked seductively towards me, her hips swaying. She sucked her index finger coquettishly.

She slid between my thighs and replaced her finger with my cock. Fuck, that felt good... All that anticipation, all that temptation - rock hard in her mouth. Her head bobbed, her saliva dribbled... She gazed deep into my eyes. I could feel the pressure rising. “How does that feel, sir?”

I unknotted my tie and slid the silk around her wrists - pulling them tight together as she held my penis in her hand and mouth. Her grip tightened in anticipation.

“Very good, Miss Minx,” I replied. “But I think I need examine your credentials more closely. Sit on the sofa. Have you dressed appropriately? I need my staff well dressed at all times. Hitch up your skirt... I need to see. Higher...”

Cathy was wearing stockings and suspenders on her long, long legs. It was my turn to get between her thighs, which parted for me. I kissed her hungrily, our tongues jousting, nibbling her lips. My hands gripped her breasts - she pushed her chest out (she liked her breasts to be treated a little too roughly for my tastes). I slipped down to taste her - I pulled her black lace thong aside and my fingers found her wetness. I lapped and probed at her engorged lips until I felt the familiar contractions and she bucked so hard it was all I could do to keep two fingers buried deep inside her curled up onto her g-spot.

“Mmm,” she murmured quietly.

“I'm very disappointed in you, Miss Minx. I think you should realise that, whilst I expect - no, demand - that you get full job satisfaction, you have neglected my needs. You need to be punished.”

“Oh please, no...” She said, winking.

# Don't try this sort of stuff with an escort unless you know her very well... #

I undid her hands and stood her up by the sofa. I then tied her hands (note: allow her to hold one end, so that merely by letting go, she frees herself) behind her back. I bent her over the back of the sofa. Slap. She recoiled (I'd never played like this with her).

“I didn't hear a thank you...” I said.

“Thank you, sir - can I have another?” Hmm... Slap on the other cheek. “Mmm - thank you”

I reached out and grabbed a condom a vibe and some lube from her “bag of tricks”.

“This is not the only form of punishment for you tonight. I am going to fuck you hard, Miss Minx. I will also fuck your arse. Do you understand, Miss Minx?”

“Yes Mr. S. I deserve it. I am your whore to do what you want with.”

With that I slid the vibe into her pussy and began to work lube into her anus.

To be continued...