Exhibitionism

Shuttered Lens has asked The Photographer and myself whether we would be interested in being photographed for his upcoming book, I think I said "yes!" before the question was even finished.

I am, at heart, a bit of a show-off. This is filed in BDSM-speak as being an "exhibitionist" which makes it sound a bit more sophisticated and a little less gratuitously self-centered. Exhibitionism, when medicalised, is also known charmingly as Lady Godiva Syndrome, although realistically it only becomes a psychological problem when it interferes with daily life, when someone needs to do it rather than enjoys doing it. For me, it is a fetish. Would that all perverted activities were as easily separated from insanity in the minds of the medical establishment.

Where does it come from, this drive? Pure vanity, could be a reasonable answer: I like being looked at, being paid attention to - it makes me feel special and beautiful. But it's not simply that. There's a validation of what is being looked at, people are paying attention because they like what they see, and that is a confidence boost. Vanity needs a mirror, I suppose. The lens of a camera or other people's eyes. There is a thrill to being watched, but only under certain circumstances.

I'm a very specific exhibitionist: the thought of flashing in a public park full of people does nothing for me except turn my mind to raincoats and goose pimples. Although a discrete show of the top of a stocking to my partner in a secluded part of the same park is different. I enjoy being naked and semi-naked in kinky clubs and skimpily dressed in vanilla ones, because these are spaces where there is a shared understanding and approval of what I am doing. Not so subversive, after all, then. And perhaps not precisely an exhibitionist? There's an issue of consent. Not mine, but that of the onlooker. In a public place, revealing naked flesh to those who have not consented to witness it is at best a little coarse, at worse could potentially be triggering, although this might apply more to men exposing themselves to women.

When done for sexual gratification, the prohibition and the risk of being caught can be part of the attraction, although not for me, the thought of being naked in public where "normal" (excuse the quotation marks) people could see me is quite alarming. I would not feel safe - which is at the heart of my anxiety. Like fairground rides, the thrill is only made possible when fear is married with an assurance of safety.

Thin skinned

I've been thinking a little about how the things I enjoy in BDSM fit in with my personality. As my relationships develop, I've noticed the odd clash here and there, but more often I've found a real release, a depth and intensity of pleasure and pure joy that comes from something feeling extremely right. When I sit down and try and untangle why it feels so good, I come up with a few conundrums. Obviously, there is the this-hurts-but-feels-fantastic endorphin rush of pain/impact play, but the interesting parts come when I try and reason out what is going on in my head, rather than on my skin.

I sometimes wonder if my submission is more of a deliberate rebellion against those parts of me I don't like or am afraid of, rather than only an extension of my desire. Put it another way, I identify as a submissive, rather than a bottom because I like the powerplay, the D/s and the emotional and psychological dynamics as well as being tied up and hit with sticks. Which in and of itself is a release - I know that I desire pain play more when I'm upset or tense, not only does it help beat the blues (literally) it also re-affirms the connection between myself and my partner, and later there are marks to show that connection. Red lines and bruises that demonstrate pain withstood, both emotional and physical. Being hurt makes me feel strong.

Here's a good example. I can sometimes get a little anxious. I especially get nervous about negative feedback, about senses of not being good enough and generally can over-react to criticism. I worry about failure. Being submissive allows me to explore these anxieties whilst at the same time being protected from them. As an owned slave, I belong to The Photographer, he protects and looks after me and keeps me safe. This keeps these worries at bay and when we play I am able to escape from these pressures. He reassures me, even when I do something wrong, and the release (and relief) is very powerful. I would never suggest that BDSM is a form of or substitute for therapy, but I don't have "problems" so much as I have a personality - like everyone else I have buttons to be pushed, areas that I find harder to deal with, and therefore areas that are more sensitive, more responsive. Erogenous zones for the mind.

Forthcoming attractions

The Photographer and I have been having a little review of our joint game plan for co-subbing, which has turned up all sorts of interesting and interesting-for-the-wrong-reasons asides. We have waded through a fair number of notes which seem to have no point to them, or which are terribly vague and ambiguous along the lines of "oh, I couldn't possibly tell you what my super secret plans are for that would ruin my mystique." Which is all very well once all parties have agreed to what they do and don't want to do, but a little difficult as a starting position for negotiation. There is also some general silliness over those who respond to a profile which clearly states we are a couple, and both want to be involved, with messages that contain the warning phrase "I'm straight, but" which is usually a forerunner that segues into "I'd like to fuck the female part of the equation". Sorry, wrong tree to be barking up.

New people bring up new activities, naturally turns into thoughts on what kit we need to buy or get our hands on. There have been some lovely notes flying round from Reining In, an experienced lifestyle Dom, on the subject of foot sizes for pony boots and dress sizes for harnesses, which feels a little like Fashion Wheel for the BDSM generation and is exciting to the girl in me who loves dressing up, and the woman in me who likes being stroked, petted then tied up in tight leather. We've scheduled a meet up for mid-March and he seems like a fun and down-to-earth person: jokes about dogs sulking because the new kennel has not been built for them and a frankness over what types of play are on offer and what is not has made him seem like a breath of fresh air.

Other purveyors of crisp oxygen are Mixed Doubles who we are due to meet at Antichrist this weekend for some yet-to-be-determined activity. We've chatted a few times and they have a reassuring air of being extremely comfortable and confident in what they do and a genuine sense of really, really enjoying it. So whilst we have not exactly laid out word for word what we want to do I feel safe putting myself (and himself) into their hands. And finally, we are still in touch with Food of Love, a Mf couple looking to put together a troupe of slaves, and whilst a second round of drinks is certainly on the cards we are not quite sure where we might go from there, but the fact that they are people with whom you can share a drink and a conversation makes for a good start.

The way things are

Things have started to reach an even keel, or something approaching it. At least I feel as if rather than reaching out into the unknown, I'm now pursuing definite areas of interest. The Photographer and I have a firm relationship, within it we are fM although the odd burst of Fm does occur if my switch is flipped. We also have, I'm happy to say, a strong bond outside of play which as helped develop our powerplay into something more than the odd visit to a hotel now and then. Not that that wasn't a welcome distraction from the day to day, of course, but there is a lot to be said for strength of connection, of attachment. Well, I'll say it - of commitment. Because that is what the decision to be someone's slave is, surely? I am committed to him. It's not something that can be turned on or off as and when or a role to be adopted for a few hours that then I can then shrug off as easily as taking off my coat. I am his, I do not only play at being his. There is also an onus on him, on his decision to have me as his slave, the responsibility to me which that brings.

Which brings with it a series of quirks and conditions. Not least the fact that we are both seeing other people, and so our lives are curiously balanced, with time spent away and the needs of each relationship being considered. Which we work through as we go on, communication between ourselves and our partners, little touches and messages to check that everything is still OK, that worries are being dealt with as and when they arise and not left to fester. There is a certain amount of mental juggling that goes on, especially where D/s is concerned, given that I am submissive in both of my main relationships yet they are both happening in specific and different spaces.

We are not 24/7 in the sense that I do not look to him to make every single choice about my life, and neither of us are especially interested in that aspect but there is a certain amount of creep as time goes on. At first, there was a definite boundary. When we were alone together, and especially when we were playing I would wait for him to make the first move, defer to him, look to please him. When we were in public, I wouldn't do this. Now there is a grey area. A way of leaning into him whilst on the tube, him holding me tight, leaving little crescent moons from his nails on the back of my hand. I am conscious of being his more and more, and when I bring it to mind, it makes me smile. It is a powerful thing, being owned: comforting and safe, reassuring and also extremely erotic.

Breathe easy

I've always been a little wary of breathplay, given the level of associated risk, but I am now certain of its attractions. Controlled breathing is something I've always used in the past to calm myself down, to get me to focus on one thing or another so I certainly associate it with stronger and clearer ways of thinking and behaving. This makes whatever is being done during or straight after these moments very intense.

I'm kissing The Photographer, when he puts his hand around my neck, and the other around my nose. His lips form a seal, and I can't breathe. At first I relax into the sensation, playing with his tongue and sinking into a very comfortable (and strangely comforting) submissive space. Like being wrapped up in heavy blankets, all the world shut out and far away. He breathes out into my mouth, and I inhale. It is a fine and delicate moment. The exhalations contain some oxygen, but not enough, the lower mix and warmed air combined with the intimacy of it all serves to push me further under. I suck his tongue a little, eager for the continued kiss. I don't want him to let go of me, I don't want to stop being quite so physically dependent, to need him for breath itself is a powerful feeling and I'm high with it. Light headed.

I start to buck, unconsciously. He doesn't let go straight away and the physical panic of my struggling body becomes a genuine panic, I can't breathe. My lungs are full, ribcage extended, I can't take any more of his air into my mouth. I have a desperate need to breathe out. But I remain connected to him, unwilling to move away first: he is in control, he will decide when he wants to let go. When he does I am lost for a few seconds, panting as I recover, then overcome with a need to be very close to him, to try and reform that fragile bond of patterned breathing, his mouth to my mouth, recycled air and firm hands. I'm grinning. So we do it again. And again.

Climax in context

Following on from these musings on the female orgasm, I've been thinking about my own. The writer makes a good point about how desire is situated in the mind and that bodies are very sensitive to mood and location. Like her, I find it reasonably (although not very, I must admit) easy to orgasm by myself, but harder with a partner. It isn't about pure mechanical sensation - and it is certainly not about need. A recent experiment on just how long I could go without having an orgasm collapsed after a mere 36 hours, although for a woman who masturbates twice a day, I consider that a substantial achievement, and the orgasm that I did have after the delay tactics was very powerful. Self-denial is not a strong point, however, and I think that for a longer time period I might require some outside input, but that's for another day.

There are places and situations where I find it harder to orgasm, in public certainly and I have yet to come in a club, for example. Newness plays a part, I suppose, so new partners and new places can also put me on guard. I can be a creature of habit, when I masturbate I almost always in a specific place (my bed) and I need to be on my front, legs slightly spread. I am also right handed in this act and only this. I have, in the past, been able to orgasm on my back but this is a rarity and usually caused by being unable to turn onto my front.

Certain frames of mind make it easy for me to orgasm, and others make it nigh on impossible, regardless of the type and quality of physical stimulation. When I am topping The Photographer I can press his face to my cunt where he can lick my clit and bring me to very spectacular, body-shaking orgasm. I am totally relaxed, totally in control and the only thing there is for me to do is lie back and enjoy the sensation. In a sense the way in which I use him is similar to the experience of masturbation, except with the added bonus of less effort combined with the joy of uncertainty: whilst I am in charge of the experience I don't direct every single motion of his tongue so unlike when I play with myself the stimulation is slightly unpredictable, which further allows me to get carried away.

So that's the easy orgasm-with-partner. Now the more difficult one. As a submissive and slave, my pleasure is orientated towards that of my partner, I focus on what they want, what pleases them and what turns them on. Their responses are primary, mine secondary. From this I derive pleasure (emotional as well as physical) but not climax, especially given that a lot of the activities are themselves less likely to bring me to orgasm such as penetrative sex and blowjobs. I get horny, and I get wet, in short I get ready to orgasm, but don't. Which in and of itself is a pleasing submissive response, and I always have a touch of guilt on those rare moments when for one reason or another, I orgasm before they do.

Certain sorts of play also affect my ability to orgasm. Although I enjoy pain play, especially flogging and particularly flogging on areas such as the cunt and arse which make me very stimulated I do not climax, I feel like I might do, at any moment, and the pleasure builds until it is too frustrating, too sore or I am just too tired to continue. I hold my body in a taut beam of tense muscle, to no avail. Part of this is the complexity of the stimulation, I think, the balance of pleasure and pain is a little too much to be able to ease into orgasm, although another aspect might be that because I never have reached orgasm this way I do not believe I can, therefore I am unable to. The same block is probably there with respect to penetrative orgasm, something The Photographer and I are working on - even with clitoral stimulation I have never been able to come with him inside me, whilst on my back or side. We're still trying though. Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Things to do, places to go

My responses and reactions surprise me sometimes. I know that there are a number of different submissive states that I go into, depending on where I am, what is being done to me and what general mood I am in. For example, if I am in a club the exhibitionist in me in conscious of the audience and likes to play along, I show off a little, I guess. The play tends to be more physical than emotional: my body revels in the attention and I get a good strong endorphin and adrenaline rush giving a definite "high". Mummification or any form of serious sensory deprivation and bondage makes me feel floaty, calm and almost melting into my body.

However, nothing is guaranteed, and the littlest things will suddenly make for a big change of direction, as a rule I tend to go with them, if only to see where I end up. After he had cut me out of serious quantities of pallet wrap, and I had time to come to, I started to play with The Photographer's cock, both of us laid on our sides, my body curled around his back. He casually mentioned that the position we were in made him feel a bit out of control, and that was enough to flick the switch and for me to start to top him. The mummification had made me feel horny, and whilst within the bonds I felt completely submissive, a total possession, once out the boundaries of the world widened very quickly.

Knight of Wands and I have been playing around with different power roles and states of being. Recently we've moved from animal play through to something a little more human, toying with captives and prisoners. Like the animal, it allows for plenty of chains, cuffs, clips and thoughts of cages. All the good "c" words. Like the animal, these are more active and aggressive types of submission, where I get to push out and he gets to stop me. And like the animal, I find myself channelled into strange places with the barest of touches. The feel of cold glass against my back, tied up in a ball, makes me buck and whimper. I hate the cold, being cold makes me uncomfortable, and sensations like ice or chilled water are both shocking and painfully unpleasant. In another mood, I might have continued to lie there, enduring the cold, hoping it would go away. But not that time, I move away at the same time as lashing out. Catching us both by surprise, and offering the opportunity for punishment.

Whenever something like this happens, I always reflect and wonder whether what I did could be constituted as being bratty. I don't actively decide to act out or to stubbornly resist, I find myself in places and enjoy the feeling of following them to their natural course, rather than trying to provoke a response. Although I enjoy planning, once I am in a scene there is very little conscious decision making. Which is part of the joy, and the thrill, in letting go and never being quite sure where I'm going to land.

Made-up violence

I cracked a smile over a recent comment from Knight of Wands: "hmmm, I appear to like violence with my sex." He then went on to blame me for this revelation, giving me a sudden flashback to a shower cubicle in University halls in my teens, when a boyfriend pushed my face hard against the cold white tile and held my arm behind my back, fucking me hard. I remember the realisation well. The turning point, the moment when I found that there was something more to sex, that action got my blood and my mind, racing, changing my outlook from occasional interest to active desire. Sex became fun, passionate and exciting. All of the things that it was supposed to be (well, all those things that society had led me to believe it was).

I like violence with my sex. Simple enough statement. And true, although perhaps there are nuances. I like the threat of violence also, fear and I also like the memory of violence. Running hands over bruises and red lines, feeling the secondary sensation that is a memento of skin and bone. I also like depictions of violence, in vanilla or BDSM contexts, films, television or books. I enjoy psychological violence - emotional turmoil and the sense of being pushed down, of being made lesser and helpless.

It is, of course, all "pretend" violence, or is it? I don't enjoy reading about abusive relationships, about cruelty in the real world, about people suffering or anything of that ilk. But the same words, the same actions put into a different context, an actress performing a rape scene, a writer describing the assault upon his imagined protagonist, porn depicting beatings and torture. Those all work for me. Mentally, there is a barrier. A very healthy one, I imagine. My mind enjoys violence that it can contextualise, manipulate and daydream about. Violence that is performative, an action that is not real, but created for the purpose of entertainment and also (in the case of BDSM porn) sexual excitement.

During play, there is a balance between the real and the unreal. The physical aspects of BDSM are "real" in that pain hurts, damage is being done. However the knowledge that at any point I could use a safeword and everything would stop means that in a certain sense the violence is self-inflicted. There is an odd head-space that is required to be in the moment: to fear the violence that is being done to me, to enjoy it and to hate it, to want it to stop, to need it to continue and also to know, deep down, that I am in control at that point where I am revelling in being controlled. Contrary and complex, yet at the same time easy to get into, a mood I slip into naturally, more naturally than attempting to be aroused by vanilla sex.

BDSM in a poly context

Polyamory rubs up against BDSM, and not always in a good way. On the plus side, it enables my partners and I to explore different types of relationships; to enjoy a depth of feeling, both emotional and physical; to have a structured and well-nourished context for play with ongoing scenes. On the minus side, a lot of poly works by balancing the needs and demands of each person, treating your relationship with them as different, because everyone is different, but a universe to itself: the time I spend with one partner is time spent with just them, it is their time, our time.

Except it isn't. Not quite. Not a hundred percent. All poly relationships create knock-on effects: partner A can't see partner B if he's with partner C. BDSM relationships compound this, adding layers of complexity that also give excitement and sexual thrills but overthrow the idea that each individual relationship grouping can grow and develop into anything. It can't. At least, it can't for me. I am The Photographer's slave: this means I belong to him, and this makes me enormously happy and content, the protocol (only he gets to use my cunt, he has to agree to any other relationships or play that I might engage in) that we have developed supports the relationship, makes me feel more like his which makes me more happy and more content. I'm emphasising this because it's important to make clear that denial is a powerful source of stimulus and something I've agreed to, it's not a punishment.

This is fine for play, because limits on what I might do in a club or in a one-off meetings are part of setting the context for a scene, for what precisely I (and whoever I'm playing with) want to do. And I like that, because I like clarity, especially from those I don't know very well. Understanding which boundaries will and won't be explored allows me to enjoy what is being done all the more: I know that I will be pushed, but I also know that my hard limits will be respected. Part of my hard limits are those set by myself and The Photographer. However, relationships are different. By "relationship" I mean an ongoing partnership which has other, non-BDSM factors involved, it's not just a frequent-flier for play (lovely as that is), but something with the potential for a wider emotional and day-to-day context. So whilst restrictions might work well for me (being denied something you are never going to do or want to do is hardly denial) it places contraints on what my other partners might want to do which limits their remits as a Dom. Which also affects my ability to serve them as a sub. This is the situation I'm contemplating with regards to Knight of Wands.

I am never entirely his, I can't be. He discussed that whilst he is enjoying exploring the power of being able to do almost anything, there is always that aspect of almost that reminds him his control is not absolute, even within the confines of any given scene. At the moment, there are no immediate issues, mostly because Knight of Wands and I have only recently started to explore, although the bedrock is already resent because we were friends beforehand. There is already an existing relationship. We've talked about it, and given that this was always going to be the case with any other relationship I developed, it's not a case of him feeling cheated, but it is a limit on our exploration. On the other hand, one could view it as an excuse to dive into other waters not yet tested and tried, and that's what we are trying to do.

It is just not possible to please all the people all the time: you can't have your cake and eat it, however it must be possible to at least pick off the icing and nibble at that.

Suck

As much as I hate to admit it (and I do hate admitting it) I am not perfect. This winds me up in and of itself, having always been one of those annoying swotty high achievers at school, and priding myself on being able to do anything well if I set my mind to it. It is especially bothersome in a BDSM context. Sexual anxiety for submissives is performance anxiety - the need to do well, to be wanted, to be appreciated for being pleasing, satisfying and enjoyable. So finding out that something is below par is upsetting not just on a personal pride level, but it frustrates my own desire to submit, to serve.

I'm lying next to The Photographer, I'm clicking my jaw back into place after injuring myself slightly in some over-enthusiastic cock worship, having my arms and legs tied together made me slightly unbalanced. I'm feeling a bit lost, I definitely failed to make an impact: I couldn't feel a lot of response in him whilst I was licking and sucking, and whilst he is generally quiet, this isn't the first time I've got the sense that he just isn't getting much out of it. We talk about it:

"I've had some very good blowjobs in the past..."
"But not from me?"
"No."

Right then. I'm not very good at giving head. So it would seem. I've never had any bad reports before now, although no-one has ever thrown a parade either: it's possible that previous (mostly vanilla) boyfriends have just been so delighted that a girl wanted to suck their cock that quality didn't enter into it. And of course, in past relationships technique was never quite so frankly discussed. I'm glad he was honest. I'm also gutted. After all, what is the point of a slave who can't give a decent blowjob, and what else am I bad at? He is supportive, and reassuring, as always, calming me down as I begin to get upset. Physical performance is important to me, the thought of perhaps being "bad in bed" is like being thought of as "stupid" or "unwanted". It's also concerning as I like giving head, It's a very subby sensation, and I like the taste and feel of him in my mouth.

It's a few days later and I've been mulling it over, worrying at it like a sore tooth. We've spoken a few times since and have devised a practical solution to what is, after all, a practical problem. I'm going to spend some quality time kneeling naked between his legs whilst he uses my mouth, guides me with his voice and hands to create whatever sensations he likes best. It's a win win situation.

Mummy

The Photographer has a lot of black clingfilm. It's actually pallet wrap, so it's stronger and thicker. I love plastic, the smooth almost wet feel of it and the way it sticks to contours and skin. Mummification is something I do not get to do nearly often enough, so when I am given the opportunity it is nice to be given the time to relish it. Preparation is important, the house is warm and I've laid out on the bed everything that he asked for: wrap, thinner tape for the face, a ball gag, scissors and a book. I sit down, naked, on the edge of the bed and he slowly tapes up my eyes. Each band presses tighter than the last, and I can feel my cunt get wet with the anticipation of how it will be when my entire body is bound. He fastens the gag around my head and then tapes over it. There's a chill that runs down the back of my neck - I've never been this constricted before, there is just a tiny gap under my nose for me to breathe. I play with the gag in my mouth, feeling the saliva start to flow and enjoying the press of my wet lips against the tape.

He binds me in stages. Head. Then torso, he binds my hands to my side and smooths the wrap down around my neck. He lifts up my legs, holding them tight together and binds them tight, then placing me on the bed he finally encases my feet. I'm complete. Finished. Perfect. A shiny, black cocoon, snug within myself. I am calm, content, riding a wave of slow, warm arousal which builds, but not aggressively: there is no desperate need to come right now instead a comforting, ongoing appreciation of pleasure, like dreaming. He lies next to me and starts to read. I take a deep breath and allow myself to fall into myself.

Time is passing, but I can't tell how long or how much. It's measured in the flick of his turning pages. I have long ceased to become a person, I am an object experiencing sensation: the press of his leg on top of me, the occasional touch, which makes me arch up into it, moaning against the gag, enjoying every tiny inch of my constriction. I keep still, for the most part, allowing myself to float in what is almost a light trance state. I am swimming deep within my own body, little actions become huge - my breath and heartbeat are both incredibly loud, the feel of the saliva gathering in my mouth, making me swallow, is an enormous action. I am making noises, little moans, part of me wants to hum, there's an almost childish pleasure in this inactivity, toying with myself I slow my breathing down, and the world slows with me. There is nothing in the universe except for us two: my mind, encased in my body, all of which belongs to him, I have no will and no worry, I exist just in this moment, and it is extraordinary. I am extraordinarily happy.

Munch bunch

I haven't been to a lot of munches. Whilst I really enjoy going out clubbing or meeting up with small groups of kinky friends the slightly artificial group dynamic of a munch really phases me, somehow. It's perhaps the air of an extended family get together, full of people you have heard of but never met: people who are you are connected to in name, but who you don't know. I used to be very shy, I've worked hard to overcome it, and the bits I haven't managed to quite get rid of, I have painted over with bravado. New people is one of the areas that I need a lot of bravado for. And the London Munch is a big munch, so there were lots of new people. It's interesting the areas that I feel lacking in confidence and those that I don't - naked in the middle of a club, fine, more than fine, fantastic, but talking to strangers? Perhaps because my mother warned me of the latter but not the former.

When The Photographer and I arrived, the room was already filling up, so we took a deep breath and a big slurp of gin (dutch courage in lieu of any actual courage) and then took a good twenty minutes or so of staring hard at the bar before we went to actually speak to someone. That someone was the very charming Painted Lady, whose fantastic tattoos, straight talking: "oh, I'm not sure I could top a couple, but you both make me want to!" (flattery will get you everywhere) and penchant for showing off her nipple piercings ensured we got off to a very good start. I have some hope that we will meet again, as exploring bisexuality and group play is one of my belated resolutions for the year. As the numbers swelled, I recognised a few people I knew from round about, Switching Sides turned up and some members of The Collective were there and we had a brief catch up, and I began to feel a lot more calm and at home.

What was really pleasant was the range of folk there - all sorts of shapes, sizes and ages, and there were a few newcomers as well as familiar faces by the end, but everyone was chatting. Quite loudly. Which meant that it was a bit hard to have a long conversation with anyone, which was a shame, because we had arranged to meet Mixed Doubles, a poly family of Doms and switches who we had been in contact with via our joint profile. Although we only managed to talk briefly, we were both very taken with their level-headed and honest attitude to kink, they obviously really enjoy it, and really know their stuff (as well as almost everyone in the room) and they also seemed keen to do something with us in the future so we are attempting to set up a date, possibly a club night as in-house play is a little difficult to co-ordinate.

I was musing idly about how munches fare against the Internet for garnering potential partners, and although it is easier to contact a lot of people online and you have access to a much wider range of folk and fetishes (all handily searchable, and available for spell checking), I think that the signal-to-noise ratio is much lower at a munch and it is certainly a very safe environment to sound someone out. All in all, we felt we came away having socialised and had fun despite shyness (a win for both of us) and with a list of potential people, and therefore activities for the future, which is a definite success