Nowadays we are – or have to pretend to be – rather blasé about sexual perversions. In days gone by, such outrageously obscene perversions such as naked string-length comparison, donkey-basting or even full-frontal accountancy would only be spoken of by consenting adults, and then only in a whisper during the darkest hours of the television schedules.
I – for one (but occasionally two when the wind is in an opportune direction) – believe that something has been lost by this descent into a rather flip frankness about matters of both the rude and naughty. Although – I hasten to add – it is much preferable to the manner in which matters of extreme moistness were condemned out of hand in days of yore.
What people get up to, or even down to, in the privacy of their own bedroom, dungeon, tupping shed or even lawyer sty is of no concern of anyone else. Nor is it the business of anyone not involved as to what goes on in an extreme sexual perversion field or orgy stadium, providing all are there of their own free will and have all the necessary costumes, materials, lotions, restraining devices and spare batteries they may need.
I suppose what has been lost – to (what’s left of) my mind anyway – is that rather lovely sense of the sordid us deviants would feel as we dressed up in our leather stockbroker outfits, or slithered into our rubber extreme cake-decorating fetish gear, for a night down at the local place of naughtiness, or for the weekly vicarage coffee morning.
These days, it seems even the most brain-dead of celebrities will openly admit to a desire to lick fleshly-whipped cream off a suitably bound and restrained assistant supermarket manager, or to fondle the moist or dangly bits of a well-seasoned scuba diver. It seems merely to garner yet more publicity from a complicit media pandering to a public seemingly in a state of permanent faux outrage.
Consequently, all this fashionable perversion and extreme naughtiness by the fashionable does – in an ironically perverse way – make all seem… well, a bit mundane, frankly. Sometimes it makes me feel like giving it all up and taking up a brand new hobby such as deep-water stamp collecting, knitting double-glazing salesmen or grouting wallabies.
A tale from the From the LFITW archive
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