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]

I think she made a pass at me.

Slightly old-fashioned, the expression 'making a pass' at an object of desire deserves greater currency. I like it. A comeback is in order.

Making a pass is subtle and discrete, a couple of characteristics missing from the hookup culture.

Compare and contrast;

So, friend-with-benes, do you wanna have sex?

with;

{whispered in her ear} Your legs look gorgeous in that skirt. Let's explore this further in my hotel room.

The point about a pass is that, while it is discrete, intent is never in doubt. The message is clear to both parties - at least in theory.

Those skilled in making passes make certain the belusted knows what the passer is thinking. Trouble is that there are so many amateurs out there making a hash of it. The worst of these is the Passive-Aggressive Pass, in which a pass is made backhandedly or at a distance. Underconfident men or women afraid of rejection make this kind of non-pass. They cobble together a series of hints, or beg. Begging and hinting do not constitute a pass. The accomplished passer puts himself or herself right out there. They are saying I want you without reservation.

Also, proximity is critical in pass culture. You should be close enough to smell each other.

THE RULES OF THE PASS:

A pass must be made face to face, or mouth to ear.

A pass must be clear to both parties.

A pass ideally results in sex within the day.

A pass correctly executed is always accepted as a compliment.

A pass rejected must be so honoured, but does not prevent further attempts.

A pass, once completed, resets, meaning it's a one-shot event. There are no pass credits.







Thanks to 30ty for the inspiration.[link]

Photo from here [link]

Edited for specificity. And speeeling.

Stockings and Gum

War is no excuse for abandoning sex. That was the attitude of many folks during World War 2, especially the American boys based in the UK preparing for D-Day. And who can blame them? The 1.5 million guys who arrived between July 1943 and June 1944 knew they were training to take back Europe from the Nazis, and it wasn't likely to be fun.

Knowing you might be dead in a few months is a decent spur to taking advantage of the moment, I'd say.

The poor old Brits had been deprived of much since 1939. Relying on convoys of goods from North America, their food and fuel were rationed and luxuries were like gold - expensive and rare. So when the robust lads began arriving from Stateside in 1942, they were like people from another world.

Time Magazine described it thus:

The Americans, bursting into an England gone drab and gray and plagued with shortages of everything after four years of war, were nothing if not jaunty. Residents of Somerset still remember G.I.s tossing chocolate bars and gum out of passing trucks to goggle-eyed children. According to a popular gag, so much American chewing gum had been tossed in the fountains of London's Trafalgar Square that the pigeons there were laying rubber eggs.

"Hi ya, cutie" was the universal greeting called out to females from 15 to 50. "They took all the girls," mutters one British war veteran who on the whole liked the Americans. And indeed the walls outside American barracks were lined every night with panting couples twined in a last embrace before bed check. William D. Kendall, who represented the town of Grantham, complained in Parliament that "it is unfit for a woman to walk unescorted" there because of the "unconcealed immorality" of the G.I.s. Others of course had a different opinion; some 60,000 British women eventually became American war brides. [link]


Another view:

Conditions were harsh in Britain in the early 1940s and there was also an undercurrent of unease...especially amongst British men, who resented the attraction of GIs, with their ready supply of nylons and cigarettes, amongst British women. The artist Beryl Cook, who was a young woman at the time confirmed this in an interview to the BBC in the late 1970s. I can't find the transcript of the interview, but from memory it was words to the effect of, 'food was scarce, but we supplemented our income by a little impromptu whoring with the GIs - we all did it'. Many of these liaisons were love matches rather than merely commercial transactions though, as the thousands of marriages between US servicemen and British women (the GI brides) is evidence of. [link]

Hi ya, cutie. No wonder they were referred to as "Oversexed, overpaid and over here."

Try getting laid with a pair of stockings and a packet of Marlboro Lights today.

Get a Room

You're out having a few drinks, someone across the room catches your eye, and before long you're talking. Soon enough the magic pot of sexual chemistry is bubbling away and biology takes over. It's why singles (and cheaters) go out, for just this moment.

Nature's signal to move somewhere more private is when someone yells out "Get a room!" As a guy, I can tell you this is a badge of honour, a bolster to one's sex-ego. That phrase says "Goal!" with witnesses.

But where to go to keep the juice going? Your place? My place? A motel? The Marriott? All have problems. The chandeliers are being cleaned at my place. Apparently your place is hosting your brother and his buddies on leave from the Navy. Motel lighting will ruin even the most ardent amorous mood. Hotels are dumbly expensive for a tryst.

If we were in Japan, we would go to the closest love hotel. These brilliant places reflect the wonderfully pragmatic and chicly crowded Japanese urban culture. People have sex during the day. People need a venue for such assignations. Ergo, the Love Hotel.

As a business model, it's a winner, but I wonder if it would play in the US?

All you ever want to know about how to patronize a love hotel.