February 2006

My Darlings,

A hard drive—I’m speaking in the computer, not sexual, sense—is today what a file cabinet was not so long ago. Which makes hard-drive technology unsurpassingly efficient—we can travel the world with file cabinets the size of a 12-inch laptop. Hard drives are also terrifyingly tenuous when they suffer a meltdown, as mine did last month. Because I skipped through life with an attitude of it “could never happen to me,” I hadn’t backed up a single document, photo, piece of music, bookmark, financial record, or any other stuff of my computer life. If my wardrobe had been on my computer, I’d be naked right now.

Among the lost items were scores of letters I had received from you by e-mail and initial research I’d done on behalf of your queries. All that (sadly and frustratingly) is lost now but—going back to my file cabinet—I see that all is not lost. For, thank the panty gods, many of you practice the old-fashioned art of hand writing your letters. I have file folders fat with your beautiful hand-written letters. I have saved every one, plus all photos and sweet gifts you have sent.

I spent today, this unseasonably warm Sunday, reading a couple hundred letters, letters of worry (“I’ve heard of men wearing cock rings, but does anyone but me wear a ring that opens his anal passage for display?”), of desire (“My ultimate wish, Queen Jane, is to wear your ring on my gonads as a symbol of your ownership of my manhood.”), of lyrical passages (“My dangling slave-balls leapt in their velvet purse when I read your latest column.”), and of worthy suggestions (“Give your lover an enema, for the best suffering is enema suffering.”)

Although I have used many hand-written letters in these columns, I admit to too often overlooking these in favor of e-mail correspondence which, when I need clarification or additional details, lends itself so easily to two-way communication.

Today, though, in reading all of these delicious letters of yours I’ve realized that I’ve missed the pleasure of lounging in my nightgown ’til the afternoon, snuggling up with a mountain of letters and carafe of hot tea. The computer offers the advantage of two-way correspondence, yes. But it falls short of much else: examining the envelopes to see where you’re from, checking out your handwriting and choice of paper, noting whether you scented the paper before sending it, and, of course, reading and re-reading your words. (You do turn me on, sweet angels.) Besides being satisfying in a sexual way (oh so), I found the process quite romantic. Below are a few hand-written letters I’ve chosen to share with you this month.

He’s Looking for Training by Man-Hating Lesbians
Dear Jane, Ma’am,

Since my youth, I’ve adored and worshipped girls. I’ve always been shy and in awe of their beauty and intelligence. I secretly masturbate to stories, pictures, and my own fantasies of being used, abused, and even tortured by pretty, cruel, selfish girls. Of course, I’ve kept all this to myself for fear of being called a pervert.

Now, years later, a buddy of mine from work tells me a story as we have a drink in a bar. He confided that at twelve years of age he was sexually abused by two women. Two man-haters—lesbians, I assume—who made him strip naked, lick their toilet and drink their piss. He says they whipped him, squeezes his balls, and slapped his dick. They also scolded him, telling him all men are pigs because of the way they use women.

They intended to “train” him, he said, and ruin him for life with women. I was shocked by his confession—and, of course, excited as all get-out. I shook my head, acted appalled, and kept his story to myself.

Now, at 52, I have fantasies about lesbian man-haters using me! It plays in so well with my already masochistic, submissive personality.

Fantasy is okay . . . reality is not so easy. I know I would be afraid to be exposed to two female strangers like that. Still, I wonder if I should try to experience it once in a lifetime. Either I’d love it OR I’d cure myself and just forget this fantasy.

I’m a grey-haired, slender man, quiet, not exciting. So maybe my unattractiveness will not allow me to meet such women (hence, keeping me out of trouble). So . . . maybe it’s best if I just continue to stand naked in front of my mirror, watching my boyish body as I play with myself and “sperm” to my fantasies. Safer, huh?

With respect & worship, Beautiful Lady,
M.P. in Toledo, Ohio

Dear You Haven’t Yet Lived,

C’mon, naughty boy, go for it. Think outside the small world of your mirror, dominant hand, and Toledo. The great thing about the world today is that, via the Internet, we can experience pretty much anything we want.

I agree that fantasy is safer, but a walk on the wild side—even if you take this walk just one time in your life—is worth years of living inside your head. Go to Google and look for a local B&D party to attend. Or do a search for lesbian dominatrices in your area (yes, there are such things). Be clear about what you want . . . two lesbians, toilet cleaning, cock slapping, or whatever it is. Tell the dominatrix that it’s your first time hiring a pro, that you don’t know your pain threshold and that the idea behind the scenario is to receive erotic humiliation, punishment, and training to atone for all the abuse men have given women.

Go for it, doll. But if you think that by doing this, sweetheart, you’ll be “cured” of this fantasy, then you’ll be disappointed. For your fantasy will not ever be “cured,” only become even more irresistible.

Longs to be Paraded in His Girdle by His Mom-in-Law
Dear Jane,

I’ve been cross-dressing for over 40 years and no one knows except at the two lingerie shops I frequent. I’m really into long-line bras, open-bottom girdles, hose, and heels. The ladies at the shop have fitted me, allowed me to try things on, and help me with my fetish.

My problem is that I really want to be feminized by an older woman, specifically my mother-in-law. My dream is to be made totally a woman by her, disciplined, humiliated, paraded in front of her same-age friends, etc.

My other problem is that I really want to fuck her, too. She’s not much to look at but the thought of being between her legs, pumping like crazy, is almost more than I can bear.

I also realize that if I could make all this come true, she’d force me to be her slave forever, to buy her silence. Then I’d truly be submissive and, I’m afraid, she wouldn’t let me fuck her anymore. Advice?

Unrequited Longing in Louisiana

Dear Anguished Angel,

You’ve given a sublime new twist on the idea of the interfering mother-in-law in that you want yours to interfere. How I wish she could know what goes through her daughter’s husband’s nasty little mind as you two sit across the table over the ham at Easter dinner. Curious that you’ve chosen the safest person in your world to fantasize about instead of considering the daring move of telling your wife about your secret life. . . .

How adorable, darling, that you have this whole relationship worked out, down to your bitchy, unremitting mother-in-law refusing you sex as the ultimate punishment.

Actually, the true ultimate punishment is keeping a lid on this fantasy—which you’d best do if you want your life to stay intact.

My advice? Given that after 40 years you’re unlikely to come out of the lingerie closet, do this: Buy yourself some tight-fitting teeny-weeny little panties and over them wear an especially tight-fitting open-bottom girdle. This vise-fitting getup will squeeze your willful cock as tightly as your no-nonsense mom-in-law would before she parades you in front of her sewing circle. Enjoy your sweet suffering, darling, never let her (or her daughter) know you covet her, and pass the ham like a good son-in-law.

Mini-Blind Exhibitionism
Dear Jane,

I’m a 38-year-old male and I like to dress up sexy and drive around or open my mini-blinds and let people look in and see me. I like to tease, usually dressed up in black mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels, and a tight blouse with a 36C stuffed bra.

I am shaved completely. I love smooth, soft skin. I have a lot of clothes for dressing. Is there something wrong with me or not? I’ve always wished I could find a female who would enjoy it or maybe play dress-up with me.

Oklahoma

Sweet Kinky Okie,

Please, darling, stay out of the window. You see, flaunting yourself through the blinds is not a consensual sexual expression and your neighbors might complain about your behavior to the local police. Driving in your car while dressed is a bit safer in that it affords you some anonymity.

No, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you and there’s nothing wrong with your wanting (and needing) to satisfy yourself sexually—which you derive not just from cross-dressing, but from exhibitionism as well.

I hear loneliness in your letter and I feel for you. I wish I could conjure up a partner for you. It’s scary to get out there and find someone, but I’m a firm believer that there’s a lid for every pot. Try meeting women through other activities you like and then, once you get to know and feel safe with a special woman, gently and gradually share your sexual proclivities with her. Until then, sexy doll, please keep your blinds closed.

He’s Suited Up and Ready to Go
Dear Jane,

The letter in your column signed Blue Balls hit home for me. In my quest for sexy undergarments, I found a company that makes underwear called display suits, and display is what they do. I have a “suit” with two steel rings. One ring is a cock ring that goes around the base of my cock and balls.

The other ring is slightly large and is positioned between my ass cheeks. This ring fits around my asshole, holding it open and displaying it. My wife likes me to wear this suit when I masturbate for her. I lie on my back with my legs spread and my knees to my chest. This puts my spread asshole in full view.

My wife remains fully clothed, in a business suit, hose, heels, with her hair pulled back, very professional-woman looking. As I begin to play with my cock and balls, she takes one of her dildos and fucks me in the ass. This makes me feel very submissive and vulnerable. The intensity gets me very hard. She continues to fuck me and as I am just about to climax, my beautiful wife moves close to my cock so she can see me spurt loads of white cum for her. It’s very intense and I give her a big load.

I’ve heard of cock rings. But ass rings? What do you think of this, Jane?

Wisconsin William

Wisconsin Wanker,

Penis suits I knew of, but ass suits—that was a new one for me. After reading your exciting letter, I was eager to get to the bottom of these devices.

I couldn’t find the company you refer to or a “suit” exactly like the one you describe. (If your, or anyone, can tell me the name of this company, I’d love to know.) As I was looking, though, I stumbled across erosboutique.org, which sells all manner of ass spreaders. The first I saw was the “Proctoscope” ($59), which spreads the back passage a little less than an inch. What it lacks in circumference is made up for by its roto-rooter length: eight inches of cold, hard stainless steel.

In the world of ass spreaders, I quickly discovered that the Proctoscope is baby stuff. . . The “Extreme Ass Spreader” ($145) takes up seven inches of anal real estate and spreads that orifice four inches (“For a good look inside,” says the copy on the site). Lordy. That’s big enough for a rodent to scamper up. The “Rectal Jumbo Opener” ($135) is like a bullet train: it juts up ye olde ass twelve inches and opens the tunnel it’s passing through three and a half inches. If any of you buy these devices, then by all means also invest in “The Ass Launcher” ($28) which helps slide lube into the ass. And, because travel into the dark wouldn’t be any fun without it, get the “Laryngoscope” ($78), a device with a light at the tip that you use to view places in this world most of us wouldn’t dare explore.

A wee bit light-headed but far more educated, I left erosboutique and clicked on a link to a site called koalaswim.com, which is obviously geared to gay guys but which was more my speed and completely turned me on.

I found some sexy little nothings more in line with what you describe, Wisconsin Wanker. First, though, I want to tell you all about the “Pool Boy” swim suit (I’d use it for sex play, discreetly at the pool or in the bedroom). It’s a full-back bikini with a slightly ruffled edge. The front is a skimpy little pouch for the family jewels and the sides tie (and—oops!—untie) seductively, as your mistress desires.

Best of all the yummy-sexy goodies on this site was the “Anal Warrior” ($30) and it was very nearly what you describe in your letter . . . It’s comprised of a sheer white pouch that holds the shaft up; both shaft and balls slip into the pouch (and back out of it. . . .). The sides tie with g-string ties (yum) and – the coup de grace -- a large metal ring over the anal passage creates a gateway to nirvana in my little softly and playfully dominant world. The stainless steel crowd may be fascinated with speculums and such, but give me a sheer panty with a metal ring in it and a sweet lover and I will be happily occupied for hours.

Oh. You ask what I think of your kink, naughty boy . . . After swooning as I have, do you still need me to tell you, sexy doll?

Jane Vargas holds a Ph.D. in Human Sexuality and can be found on the Internet at www.xtratalk.com. Ask for Jane’s advice on any aspect of fetish sexuality by e-mailing her at jane@xtratalk.com or writing to her at Leg Show. “Advice to Boys Who Need It Bad” is a registered trademark of X-traordinary Talk! Please note that Jane’s advice is from the viewpoint of a caring, softly dominant woman; it is not intended to replace professional therapy. All questions are “real,” although may be edited for length.

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