Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite

In the eighties, impending lovers would concern themselves with HIV; in the nineties it was herpes; this decade saw a resurgence of syphilis. All that is history, because from now on, romantic fear will be of bugs.

Bedbugs, to be accurate, which have found a foothold in beds all over the country and are looking to make a home in a mattress near you. Really near you.

(Ohio is allegedly bedbug central, but that's sure to be New York elitists blaming innocent Midwesterners to divert attention.)

Consider this quote from a University of Kentucky study:

95% of U.S. pest management companies surveyed said they had 'encountered a bedbug infestation in the past year'.

Quoted from this Business Week article which neatly summarizes the problem. [link]

We'll look back on the last thirty years as a golden age, a period of insect-free sleep and fearless lying on perfect strangers' beds. Back then, careful folks would insist on blood tests to prove sex-worthiness; from now on they'll want a pest inspector's report.

Chat-up lines will morph, too. Men will sidle up to women in bars and whisper in their ears:

Hey honey, my place got sprayed today. Wanna come back and smell the DDT?

As the New York Times notes, there is no chemical that can reliably kill our new wee bedmates on a large scale. So I'd say it's back to sex on hard surfaces, like bathroom vanity units and hoods of cars. I guess it could be worse.






Bottoms Up, Nibblers!


Pic of lady bedbug from here [link]

Dungeon for Rent

The huge number of industrial buildings offered for lease got me thinking the other day. My small Floridian town is suffering from unemployment and idiotic government as much as any place, but there's enough money around for this idea: A Dungeon for Rent.

BDSM (bondage and discipline, submission and sadomasochism) verges on being mainstream thesedays. I presume it's the natural progression from the pornocization of society, but whatever I might think about that isn't going to stop me from making some jink from people's kink.

Big industrial buildings lend themselves to creatively designed dungeons. Mine would be decorated in black, mostly, of course, with blood-red highlights. Lighting would be cheap, as candles are the dungeonmaster's illumination of choice. There would be rooms with various kinds of whipping posts, crosses mostly, with simple shackles and chains for the primitive players. Special rooms with suspension devices are likely to be popular too. You can bring your own gags, crops and whips, or, for a fee, I'll provide you with rental punishment and restraint equipment.

As with the Japanese Love Hotels (some of which I understand now come with dungeons for rent) discretion would be the name of the game. Players in couples or groups would be kept apart by time or wall. And separate entrances and exits would keep them that way.

At Wombat's Dungeon World, no-one need know you like your love hog-tied and gagged in a dark, dripping den of depravity.





Delicious photo from here. The English are big into Dungeon Life, apparently. [link]

Fang Bangers

Let's take things to the extreme.



As an example of sexual biters, Fang Bangers are in a class of their own. The Urban Dictionary sinks their teeth into a definition or two:

A sub-sect of gothic vampire culture, consisting of mostly, but not limited to, blacks and latinos.

They are characterized by custom fangs, theatrical contact lenses. Their form of dress consists of hip-hop/raver/fetish gear, all black or UV responsive.

Vampires are chic. The Twilight books and movie, and HBO's True Blood are evidence that the bloody link between lust and biting might be fanciful, but connects with a lot of people.

Much is happening here. There is the anthropomorphization of bats. Then there is the notion of blood as convenience food. Add to that the willingness of BYTs* to be a part of this ghoulish world, and we have a bite-based social group verging on the popular.

I fear however that Fang Bangers will only ever be a minority of women, more's the pity. What more to say about them? They're sexy folks who can't get by without a regular infusion of biting and bonking. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Next post I'll examine more mainstream bangers, those who perhaps don't seek sustenance from their partners' bodily fluids.



*Beautiful Young Things

Biting Part 1, Biting Part 3.

Bite Me. Please.

Consider the following statement:

Oh, man, I tell you, once we were alone she turned into an animal. An animal!

What starts with a kiss can lead to a nibble. A nibble can turn into a bite. And a bite can lead....well who knows where a bite can lead, because at that point the beast is uncaged, and the primal takes over.

A tacit agreement exists between consenting adults, that, during sex, the usual polite artifice of civilized people can be tossed aside. Turning into an animal is a good thing, viz: the above statement. We want our sex to be fundamental, so we can access the very deepest urges.

Pain - giving and receiving - is a part of our psyche. A little pain goes a long way towards heightening the pleasure of sex, especially I think for women. Even the thought of a little pain is a turn-on for lots of you, although how many admit to it is a question.

Male cats bite during sex. Bats do it. And I am led to believe there are creatures called vampires who are nourished by it. So this is Biting Week at K&B. I invite your participation.

Biting Part 2, Biting Part 3.