I'm back, sorry, folks!

Hey, it's been a while. I'm sorry, but it's the nature of the beast when it comes to the industry that I work in that December doesn't happen for me. The decks are cleared, the diary torn up and friends are apologised to later on, but December is definitely out the window. Add to that a recent bereavement and it's been quite some time since I was able to sit down to this.

What's happened since? A second boxing day vanilla fling with an older woman. It's the second year this has happened and she admitted she was looking forward to it. The last two times have been drunken things, but this was the first real experience I've had of the NSA thing. We both knew each other, both single (well, she's waiting on her divorce and has been for nearly two years) and both are kinda compatible between the sheets, so we arranged wine, music and a jaunt round to mine.

And it was great, fun and there are no regrets. She called it her 'Christmas treat' and afterwards we left with fond farewells. But It was still a bit strange. The arrangements were made by phone and by facebook, and very satisfactory they were too, but seemed a bit staid, a bit clinical. Still good though, but I think that might take a wee bit of getting used to.

Anyhoo, other events have included quitting smoking and the aforementioned bereavement which, frankly I'd rather not go into here, being outside of the parameters of the blog. But it's not entirely irrelevant to the post so bear with me.

I was in the gym the other day, partly out of taking my mind off the cravings, partly out of frustration at the bereavement and I'd hit the treadmill pretty hard. I upped the kph, hit a good whack on the gradient and fired up the iPod. Sometime about 20 minutes into the session, the music is pumping and I hit what is known as 'the zone'. And euphoria kicks in.

Up until then it was painful, lungs burning, legs cramping and then, out of no-where the endorphins kick in. Suddenly it's lighter than air, it's like (ahem) walking on sunshine and, while it's still the same body, it now becomes easy. I can handle anything that's thrown at me. This goes on for a good 15 minutes longer than I would normally do and when I come off, I'm in a mess, legs cramping, shuddering, glowing but feeling alive.

I'd never really realised why people want to get spanked, but there and then, it clicked. I've referred to my gym sessions as 'beastings', often undertaken after a heavy night on the beer. It's been a punishment thing, thinking the likes of, 'oh right, ''Yeah, I'll go to the party, just for a bit sure'', well, that's another 10 minutes!'. It was fundamentally masochistic behavior, but directed in a positive manner. (dropped 2 stone since this time last year, boom!)

I'm not saying I'll be taking it up in the bedroom anytime soon, but the insight was fantastic, and hopefully will take me into a better, more informed place.

And I promise it won't be so long til the next time.

I recall, not so long ago, being out of a night. I was telling a story, to a mixed crowd, that happened to my brother in the Belfast branch of Wetherspoons. He came down the stairs, pale as a sheet. I asked him what had happened. He was in the toilets, using the urinal, when a fella came up to the urinal beside him.

'Here, mate!' the randomer said. 'Have you ever shat in yer bird's mouth? It's fuckin' great!'

I mean, how do you respond to that? Feeling Sinister does not approve of coprophila. I don't even know if that's how it's spelt, but I'm not going to check on google. I can happily leave the whole bodily fluid thing to the Germans.

My brother, to his credit, said, 'nah' and moved on. But as I told this story someone went to say something, then decided not to. I noticed and pulled him up on it.

'I know what you were going to say.'

'Who?'

I whispered into his ear. It was someone, who I didn't know he knew, who turned out to be into, 'tarmaccing'. We had a wee giggle, small world and all that stuff. But it got me to thinking.

I have nothing but admiration for those who put full face pictures up here. I don't think I can right now. I'm not even sure this site is for me. But in the same way, I can't help but think, there are pubs, there are rooms where, over a bottle of wine or three girls compare notes. And, if they do, then the consensus is going to be that I'm a pervy, dark fella, who loves the dirty talk.

The Meal

Did I mention I was into food as well? I think that, fundamentally, I'm a sensualist. There's nothing that pleases me more than a great meal. I've been enraptured by a dish of seared scallops, cauliflower puree and a spring roll, stuffed full of pork cheek and black pudding. I buckle at the knees for fois gras. A perfectly executed hamburger and chips and you are mine. So I've been considering the perfect, pre-session seduction meal.

Aperitif. Sake, served warm. Body temperature sake will produce a nice, giggly drunk. Perfect for removing the inhibitions and preparing for the treats to follow.

Starter. Scallops, grilled, served with a Laphroihg and Haggis cream. Yes, it's rich. Yes, it's decadent. And I'm not interested in a woman who counts the calories. An healthy physical appetite often translates into a healthy sexual appetite and a girl who skips starters is a big black mark in my book. I'm no huge advocate of the aphrodisiac qualities of shellfish, but there is something primal in the taste, the texture. I might not even serve this with cutlery.

Main. Spaghetti Alla Puttanesca. It translates as, 'The Whore's Spaghetti'. Garlic, capers, anchovies and tomato. Originally served in the brothels of Italy, it's strongly flavoured, (which doesn't really matter if you both eat the same thing.) and provides lots of energy. Which will hopefully be required in the very near future. Plus the name adds a certain amount of frisson.

Dessert. Mille Feuille, with ameretto cream and strawberries. It's simple. Ever tried to eat puff pastry with any amount of dignity? It can't be done. Top this all off with a decent pinot noir and I think we've got the perfect start to a very interesting evening.

And your first task? Do the dishes...

On music and standing up...

So, I never did see her. I'd secured tickets to the Anna Calvi gig and she flaked out some time in the afternoon. ifyourfeelingsinster does not like flaking out, especially on a first date situation. It's not a sexy trait.

The excuse she gave was that she was out partying all night and had just got home. Now I like to party myself, nothing wrong with that at all, but please, give me a bit of credit. So I went to the gig alone. I ran into some friends, made the peace with someone I fell out with years ago and had an utter ball. I also ran into a girl who I spanked so hard she couldn't sit down the next day, but that's by the by.

When the music started it was amazing - a mid point between Edith Piaf and PJ Harvey - and I was raging, because that would have been perfect first date music. It made a bee-line to the groin and there was no way after seeing that that the night was going to end up in separate taxis. It would have ended in seriously animalistic sex, some bruises and a shared breakfast in the local greasy spoon.

And that's got me thinking about the sex music. I've shared houses for the past 12 years and it's common courtesy to fire up a few tunes in the bedroom to mask the grunts and groans. And occasional slap.

I once danced the dance as old as time while Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of War of the Worlds played in the background. I can recall the click and the hiss of the hipster girl's dansette as the record was not turned over, due to distractions. I remember seeing my first ever real life set of boobies, as Oh Yeah by Ash was on the stereo. (I didn't get anything more that night, she was acting like a pornstar, then informed me that she'd never did this before, it wasn't her and I had to cuddle.)

Me, if given the choice, I favour Post Rock, no lyrics, no distractions, but Grace by Jeff Buckley is another good choice. Serge Gainsbourg or Leonard Cohen for the really filthy girls and any other time, it's lady's choice. I recall bringing a girl back who was a 'big U2 fan'. All my U2 was pre-All That You Can't Leave behind. (Infact, it was mostly pre-Joshua Tree, except for Achtung Baby, which is required.) and it kinda fizzled out after that.

I remember in my student days, I met a girl. We were flirting and PJ Harvey was in the background. She looked at me, I looked at her and she bit her bottom lip. Now, This is Love is one of the most stridently sexual songs I know. It took me 3 weeks but I finally found her in my bed. After the dust settled, she said to me, 'Remember when PJ was playing, that lyric, 'I just want to sit here and watch you undress'?

'That's what I was thinking. I want to kiss you.' I thought, 'hey we've been kissing all night'. Then pulled the sheets up and lowered herself.

Then I was taken.

On bruises...

I don't know if you are familiar with Vice Magazine's Dos and Don'ts. If you are you are probably a hipster. That's alright. I share some hipsterish qualities. I have all of Broken Social Scene's records on vinyl. I went to Primavera once. But why do you have to look like such dicks? Anyway, I digress.

One of the pictures was of these two hot, hipster, New York girls, fringes, boy pants, band T-shirts. Bands you have never heard of because you are not as hot as these two women. Then they highlight the clear, 'restraint' bruises on their wrists.

"This is why these girls are hot.' the commentary adds.

I've laid down my own fair share of bedroom bruises in my time. One of the biggest thrills of my life was the first time a girl sent the picture of her bum to me, with the caption, 'Yummy, more please.' It's happened since. That discrete bruise, the one that they catch you looking at. They look back, knowing. Then you both know. There's a look, a laugh, a wee smirk. And you leave it at that. You know.

I had a similar experience. A chance meeting at a gig, some chat about music, a return to my lair, the dance as old as time itself, the next morning. Then, once she's bundled away like a precious package, I decide to hit the gym. Now my gym is in the middle of a hotel, so there are many multi-national guests.

I ended up sharing a sauna with two young ladies of Nordic extraction. They kept looking at me and giggling, talking in their own language.

'Of course they're flirting with me.' I think. 'I've just had a great night of sex, they can smell the pheremones.'

Then I leave, and hit the shower. I look in the mirror and then, I see. Midway between nipple and collarbone there's a plainly discernible bite mark, teeth and all. I knew exactly then, when I got it. And I felt more than a bit sexy.

And three weeks later she texts me. Seeing her later on today.

First post proper.

I mean, how do you broach the subject? You've met, you've maybe went home and nature has taken its course, in a dance as old as time itself. You've had the safe little movie date where you don't really have to talk, you've had the expensive dinner date and that glorious little night where the both of you get utterly cunted on booze, giggle the night away and get chucked out of the bar because it's well after kicking out time and the bouncer is pissed off. You stagger home, fumble and pass out, leaving the door open for some lovely, woozy hangover sex. But, at the risk of sounding too Sex and the City how do you tell the latest what exactly you're into? (I'm not typing this out, sat on my bed in my pants, by the way.)

I once had a great one night stand. I was visiting friends and due back back home two days later when a girl lured me back to hers. I was lost in an unknown city and she said there was wine in the fridge, I could crash at hers and there were people coming back for a party. Yes, there was wine. Yes I crashed at hers. But for some reason no-one else showed... After the first session she said, 'the thing I hate about these one night stands (nice touch, the parameters have been set) is that you can't really get kinky'. Oh yeah? It was then that I realised that girls who keep scarves tied onto their headboard don't do it for decoration.

I've seen more blatant examples since - a pair of handcuffs attached to the bedpost isn't really isn't the subtlest of comments to be making when choosing the accessories for your sleeping quarters, but it can swing both ways. Summer before last I met a girl, we dated briefly, she said, post-coitus, 'my friend said she met this guy, wanted to tie her up, I'd never be into that.' Maybe she knew, somewhere deep down, that that was my thing. And setting boundaries is perfectly acceptable. We drifted apart, although I think it had little to do with that. She had ex-issues, I had my own problems, but less than six months later she was engaged.

The nicest surprise was with a long term girlfriend. It was DVD night, Takeaway food and a bottle of nice wine, my flatmate out working late that night and the house to ourselves. Two DVDs, getting to pick one each and curled up on the sofa. My choice was first. I found out she'd never seen Heathers. For shame, I'd eat off my left arm to meet Winona in the early 90's. She was an Edward Scissorhands fan and I knew she'd go mad for it. Then her choice. Secretary. I'd never seen it.

Well. That was me. Hard on for most of the film. Then when the credits rolled, she looked up. Gave me a filthy look. Then presented herself across my lap, in the style of Lee with her ineffective boyfriend. Hiked her skirt up, pulled down her tights. She never liked wearing knickers.

She was into S&M and bible studies...

Hi, hello, very new here.

First up, to any B&S fans who might have logged in by accident, sorry. I too am a huge fan, but this is less about the bible studies and more about the S&M. This will be a little portal into my online (and possibly real-time) exploration of the world of submission and domination. And before you start, yes I am aware that it's different from S&M. Permit me to explain.

I'm in my early 30s, a music fan in the alternative/indie mold and on the surface a productive member of society who maybe drinks too much, but is easy going and laid back. Beneath that exterior lies more and more layers of easy going laid-backness until you open the bedroom door. And firmly shut and lock it again. My past two serious relationships and several flings have opened a Pantera's Box of women who like to be controlled. Bruises and bites. And the occasional set of handcuffs.

This is not for me a 'lifestyle' thing. When looking for a woman, I choose the strong-willed, the formidable and generally tend to be very passive in public and romantic life. In the bedroom however, away from prying eyes that changes. Maybe it's my job in the service industry, being at the beck and call. Maybe it was being exposed to Catherine Deneuve in Belle Du Jour at a vital point in my adolescence. Or you could blame Depeche Mode.

I've been dipping my toes in recently. I've started reading a few blogs and following some naughty ladies (on Twitter, not real time. That's just wrong) and it's fascinating. I'm currently single, with no real eye on anyone and, with time a thundering on, thinking of making the most of the present.

The blog title? It's the subtly that I love. I think a little black dress with stockings underneath is sexier than any amount of latex and leather. The good girl gone bad. Smiles and sunshine on the outside and a bottom drawer full of items you'd pray your parents never see. It's that dichotomy there, the sort of girl you'd take to see your parents, while she's wearing the finest, sauciest underwear known to humanity.

I can blame my first girlfriend for this. English. 18. Fellow fresher at a large, Northern English city. Catholic public schoolgirl. But with an insatiable sexual appetite that was explored in her room in an all-girl hall ran by nuns. Her public school education threw up a variety of kinks, including some girl on girl exploration in the dorms and her background threw up an enormous amount of (shared) Catholic guilt. Spankings were a regular part of foreplay and, in the words of the Divine Comedy we both found new games to play.

I'd never raise a hand to a girl in anger. It's part of how I've been brought up. But there's something deeply primal in the arching of the back and the grunt that comes out on the delivery of a well placed slap to the bottom. There was a phase in my life when I thought I might be submissive (something I can indulge in from time to time, with the right partner) but my main thrill comes from being in charge. A willing girl, cuffs behind her back, ready to go, to take, to be taken. Seeing just exactly how many orgasms we can coax out of each other. Bruised bottoms and wrists.

I'm hoping to keep this updated as much as possible. Fantasies, true stories and tales from the frontline of exploring the dark side.

Stay bad