Looners

You know, it's awful. I fancy myself a student of sexual experience, but then something comes along and convinces me that I know nothing. Apparently, balloon fetishists are everywhere. In fact, you can do an experiment. Go out on the street, find a dead cat, find a small crowd of people, and swing the dead cat in the middle of the small crowd of people. One of the people you hit is probably a balloon fetishist. Helpful hint: it'll be the person who most shrinks from the cat's claws (in which case he's a non-popper) or the person who doesn't shrink from the claws at all (he's a popper). Apparently, a fairly well known porn star, whom you see here, is the looners' poster boy. His name is Buster Steve. Buster, get it? Apparently the smell and feel of latex are the hot buttons for the looner crowd, but I reckon it varies. It always varies.


Anyway, my initial impulse, upon being brought face-to-face with my monumental ignorance of much of the sexual universe, is always to retreat to my bedroom and drink red wine and beat off until I forget my troubles ivory tower and limit my sexual research to book learning. But then my irrepressible libido academic discipline kicks in, and I resolve to resume my first-hand explorations of the sordid underbellies of sexual experience. There are as many kinks as there are stars in the sky (out in the country, that is, not in, say, Manhattan), and while I may not be able to observe and/or experience all of them, I'm going to give my utmost to the pursuit. To that end, feel free to refer people (male people) with unusual sexual practices to me. If you or a friend has an undeniable attraction to, say, Mardi Gras beads, I want to know about it. I probably even have some lying around somewhere, and they're the cheap plastic sort, so if they get, say, sticky, it's pretty easy to clean or replace them. That is just an example, mind you, I'm fairly open minded, and I'm willing to study just about any fetish. (Before I kermit in the opposite direction screaming "Ewwwwww!") I was going to end this entry by proclaiming, "Bring me your sordid underbellies!" but on second thought, not so much. Just send an email.