› andrea@altsexcolumn.com
Dear Andrea:
I have always enjoyed having women walk all over me with lots of stomach stomping. Shoes, boots, or barefoot, this is something that I crave daily. Now my problem is that after doing this for most of my life, I just can’t seem to find women who are cruel enough. I try to select women who are 200-plus pounds, but even they leave me needing more (though it hurts like hell). I know my body can’t take much more, but I enjoy it. I just can’t get stomped hard enough. Am I out of control?
Love,
Stomp Me
Dear Stompy:
Dude.
I’d say you were a bit out of control if I believed any of this had ever escaped the realm of fantasy and stomped its way into the harsh light of day. You "try to select" women over 200 pounds, do you? From what pool of eager applicants would you be selecting them? And why would the cruelty quotient of the available pool be diminishing?
The only way you could regularly fulfill this fantasy is by engaging professionals, not that there’s anything wrong with that. There’s no shortage of large women (or reasonable facsimiles of women) who would be willing to do this for you as cruelly as desired. If that is how you’ve been scratching your itch and it really is getting harder to scratch, then you may indeed have some sort of satiety problem. If so, you’ll have to do what anyone else who’s built up too much of a tolerance to alcohol or heroin or any other abusable substance does: cut way down or quit it until you can indulge at a reasonable dosage again.
This isn’t harmless. So if you’re really doing it and not just flapping your face, I suggest that you keep an eye on how much weight you’re taking and where. I can’t believe that a gentleman with your proclivities has never heard Kirsty MacColl’s "In These Shoes?," a song that pulls off the not-inconsiderable trick of being both seductive and hilarious:
"Oh," he said.
"Won’t you walk up and down my spine,
It makes me feel strangely alive."
I said, "In these shoes?
I doubt you’d survive."
Love,
Andrea
Dear Andrea:
I’m 21 and female and have always felt kind of indifferent about sex. I can enjoy it OK. I get horny as much as other people my age, as far as I can tell. It just isn’t that interesting to me.
I thought maybe I was gay, but I’ve experimented with women and nothing changed. Then recently I watched the movie Secretary, and it was like a revelation! I want the kind of relationship portrayed in that film — loving but desperately kinky. Do you think it is possible for BDSM to be an inbuilt kind of sexual preference, as unchangeable as homosexuality? And what happens if you suggest it to a boyfriend who hasn’t expressed any previous interest in it? I don’t want to scare anyone off.
Love,
Take a Letter
Dear Letter:
Indeed, but neither do you want to commit the sin of false advertising — passing yourself off as normal so as not to frighten the boat or rock the horses or whatever, only to send a man off screaming when you finally get around to telling him what you’re really after. It’s far less comfortable and a hell of a lot more work just to try to find a compatible fellow kink in the first place, but trust me here — it’s worth it.
As for kink as an inborn tendency like (most) homosexuality: Oh, hell yes, I think it’s possible. We all know people who’ve gone freaky for a while because it seemed for whatever reason to be the thing to do and then reverted, but for every trendoid there’s an earnest freak who can remember being the kid who always wanted to be the captive princess or the cowboy tied to the fence by wild Indians and was never all that enthusiastic about being rescued when the time came. I believe a lot of people can enjoy a little role play or think it’s fun to get tied up prettily and tickled or teased, but people can enjoy a little of all kinds of things. If you see something like Secretary and feel the deep and unmistakable thwang of a chord being struck way deep in your soul, I think you can trust that that cord was there all along awaiting striking.
I can’t help wondering just how many such strikings that movie is singularly responsible for. I thought it was sizzling hot myself, but I think the writer and producers have a lot to answer for. I get the feeling there were a lot of people, young women in particular but not exclusively, who were just going about their lives, la la la, and then James Spader bent Maggie Gyllenhaal over that desk, and thwang! They’ll never be the same.
Love,
Andrea
Andrea is home with the kids and going stir-crazy. Write her a letter! Ask her a question! Send her your tedious e-mail forwards! On second thought, don’t do that. Just ask her a question.