SEX POSITIVITY

For years, mainstream porn told us desire was a visual sport. Big lighting rigs. Bigger egos. Bodies so oiled they could double as slip ‘n slides. But in the past few years, there’s been a quiet (and very hot) revolution: erotic audio. No pixelated thrusting. No distracting hotel bedspreads. Just a voice in your ear telling you exactly what they want to do to you—and somehow, that’s sexier than a thousand slow-motion money shots.

Some people think sex should always be spontaneous, hot, and dripping with cinematic passion. Those people either haven’t been in a long-term relationship or are lying to themselves. For the rest of us, there’s maintenance sex—the unsexy-sounding but surprisingly romantic practice of keeping your physical connection alive, even when life’s not giving you the 90s music video energy.

If you’ve been lurking in polyamory forums or accidentally stumbled into the “ethical non-monogamy” corner of Instagram, you’ve probably heard the word compersion. It’s described as the warm, fizzy joy you feel when your partner is happy with someone else—a sort of jealousy-free bliss state.

There’s a moment, if you’ve ever tried it, that sticks. Your partner’s head tipped back, someone else’s hands on their hips, the room humming with heat—and instead of jealousy, you feel… electric. It’s not rage, not betrayal. It’s something else entirely. For some, watching a partner have sex is nightmare fuel. For others, it’s the fantasy they replay in traffic, at work, or in the shower. It’s the erotic Venn diagram where voyeurism, trust, and an almost psychedelic level of

There are sex fantasies that flirt with boundaries — and then there are the ones that flirt with death. Literally. Autassassinophilia, often whispered about in the darker corners of kink forums or slathered over erotic thrillers, is the paraphilia where sexual arousal is tied to the fantasy of being killed. Usually during sex. Sometimes by a lover. Sometimes by “fate.” It’s not about wanting to die — it’s about the exquisite, terrifying edge of almost.

Somewhere between the spank and the safe word, you felt it: not just arousal, but recognition. Something about this kink doesn’t just turn you on — it touches a nerve. And maybe, when the scene is over, there’s a kind of emotional hangover you can’t quite explain. It’s a common whisper in kink circles, often delivered half as a joke, half as a confession: “Wait… what if I’m into this because I’m messed up?”

There’s a moment, suspended in silence, where the rope cinches just right — not too tight, not too slack — and suddenly, your brain quiets. You’re not in a dungeon. You’re not at a play party. You’re somewhere between breath and stillness. You are held. This isn’t about sex. This is about somatics. And for more and more kink-curious folks, especially those navigating trauma or neurodivergence, rope bondage is becoming less about eroticism and more about regulation.

There’s a difference between telling someone you want to die inside them after the second date… and meaning it. But in the post-situationship, therapy-speak-saturated dating world, the line between radical vulnerability and emotional warfare can get slippery fast. Enter the confusion: Are they slime-loving? Or are they love bombing? Let’s dissect the goo.

There’s the scene — the crescendo of it all. The sting, the surrender, the surrender to the sting. A perfectly tied bow of power and trust, looped in sweat and safe words. You come down from the ceiling, literally or not, and something in you goes, oh, that was everything.

There’s a strange kind of grief that follows a BDSM breakup. Not just heartbreak — un-collaring. The sudden absence of structure, rhythm, ritual. The quiet. The aftercare that doesn’t come.

There’s a moment — usually somewhere between being told to "be a good slut" on the second date and being ordered to kneel in someone’s apartment that still smells like a vape convention — when you pause and wonder: Is this erotic power play, or is this person just a narcissist with a Pinterest rope board? Welcome to the confusing, libidinal minefield of dating someone with what we’ll call a Dom Complex.

There’s a specific kind of spiritual vertigo that happens the first time you try to have vanilla sex after getting out of a BDSM relationship. You’re lying there, maybe making out, maybe someone’s fumbling with your bra clasp like it’s the Da Vinci Code, and your brain goes: Wait. This? Is it?

There’s a special kind of emotional masochism that comes with falling for the first person who introduces you to kink. One minute you’re nervously Googling “what does subspace feel like,” the next you’re on all fours in a collar you swore you’d never wear, moaning into a ball gag and thinking: holy shit, this person knows parts of me I didn’t even know existed. And then — they leave.

There’s something deeply erotic about the in-between. Not quite naked, not fully clothed. Not exactly dirty, not totally clean. The halfway zones where sexuality feels like a suggestion, or a secret.

The internet’s latest kink obsession is called gooning—and it’s a whole new beast. No, it’s not just edging (though people often use them like they’re the same). Gooning is masturbation reimagined as a trance, a ritual, a sensory highway to nowhere. It's primal, repetitive, and weirdly communal.

There’s no delicate way to say this: Tinder’s not built for collar negotiations. And Hinge doesn’t understand what “Switch, but not your toy” means. If your libido’s wired to rope tension, authority play, or orgasm denial — you’re gonna need a better ecosystem.

We used to associate unicorns with Lisa Frank trapper keepers and sparkly gel pens. Now? They're front and center in kink rituals, erotic power exchange, and ultra-curated sex fantasy. Welcome to the strange, symbolic, glitter-dusted world of unicorn submission—where innocence isn’t just performative, it’s weaponized.

If you’ve ever scrolled weird porn at 2am and landed on a tentacle video, you probably had one of two reactions: absolute confusion… or a curious little thrill. Welcome to the slippery, inky world of tentacle fetish—where submission isn’t just psychological, it’s multi-limbed.

There’s something undeniably hot about a creature that could roast you alive—but chooses not to. A creature who’s not just dangerous, but ancient. A being who’s watched empires burn, and still knows how to make you beg. Welcome to the dragon fetish, where myth, submission, and monster kink melt together in one big, scaly, firelit fantasy.

Long before centaurs became a Tumblr meme or a monster smut subgenre on Amazon, they galloped through mythology as wild, violent, hypersexual beings. Half-man, half-horse. Fully chaos. But somewhere between Dionysian murals and 2010s Kindle erotica, the centaur became something else: a fantasy kink. A fetish object. A myth you can get off to. This is the not-so-gentle history of centaur erotica—from Greco-Roman thirst to modern-day teratophilia.

You finally got the ticket. Maybe it’s KiKat Club in Berlin, Milk & Honey in Prague, or Klub Verboten in London. Maybe you’re about to descend into a latex-slicked basement at Insomnia, or you're heading to a woodsy villa outside Paris where phones are banned and orgasms are promised. Either way: you need to pack like you’ve done this before—even if your safe word is still TBD.

Europe’s fetish tourism landscape is like a carefully staggered pill—some doses elegant, some explosive, all unapologetically erotic. Whether you’re after Bon Vivant BDSM luxury or sweaty sex parties in warehouses, this is where leather meets latte culture meets total abandon.

Tucked away in the German town of Nordhausen, Der Gutshof isn’t a hotel — it’s a five-star fantasy with a latex sheen. It’s what happens when someone takes the sex dungeon out of the basement and gives it 170 square meters, mood lighting, and underfloor heating.

If sex is power, then financial domination is capitalism’s filthy side hustle. No touching, no nudity, no mutual climax required — just one person (the “paypig”) sending money to another (the “Domme”), because it gets them off.

In case you missed it, it’s 2025 and digital sex work is getting strangled out of existence in Europe. Sweden just outlawed the sale of “live sexual content” online, meaning yes — doing a private cam session in your bedroom now gets filed under prostitution. The UK isn’t far behind, aiming to criminalize “websites that facilitate sex work.”

Here are 5 books that make navigating Non Monogamy feel a little less like emotional bumper cars and a little more like a brave, messy, beautiful act of self-awareness.

Everyone in the adult industry is talking about Sweden's decision to "ban" OnlyFans. Photo: Pixabay Sweden just became the first country...

Tantra massage gets a lot of side-eye — mostly from people who confuse it with some sketchy “full-body release” ad on Craigslist. But behind the incense, slow strokes, and questionable marketing lies something a lot deeper (and, honestly, weirder in a good way). It’s time to separate the sacred from the sleazy and call bullshit on the biggest myths.

Will Germany go for the Nordic Model of Sex Work laws? We're going through the current state in the country and Europe.

Pegging is no longer niche. As more couples explore anal play — and more men realize how good prostate stimulation can feel — the demand for real, practical info is growing. And whether you're wearing the strap or receiving it, position is everything. It’s the difference between “interesting experiment” and “life-changing orgasm.” The right angle can help with comfort, control, emotional connection, and most importantly: access to the prostate. Here’s your complete guide t

If sounding is the shallow end of urethral kink, advanced urethral play is where things start to get serious. Precision, patience, and a deep tolerance for vulnerability — both physical and psychological — are essential. This isn’t your average tease-and-denial. This is edge play, magnified.

Once whispered about or confined to the fringes of porn, anal pleasure for men is entering the cultural mainstream. And not just for queer men — straight men, cis men, and couples of all configurations are rethinking what goes where, who does what, and why it’s worth talking about.

Bondage is one of the oldest and most enduring expressions of kink. It’s the art of restraint — physical, psychological, and often deeply intimate. Whether you’re tying someone up, getting tied, or just thinking about the idea of surrender, bondage offers an intense blend of power play, sensuality, and trust.

At first, OnlyFans seemed like a place for nudes and thirst traps. But underneath the subscription models and tip menus, a quiet revolution was happening — one that changed kink, forever.

There’s something about the sound of nylon zippers in the dark. Something about the sweat, the stillness, the way your body sticks to someone else’s under layers of synthetic insulation. Welcome to the sleeping bag fetish — a growing niche where outdoor gear meets erotic entrapment. It’s part camping fantasy, part bondage-adjacent, and laced with a very particular type of nostalgia: bunk beds, summer heat, first crushes, forest hookups, and the subtle terror of getting caught

A stiletto heel slowly sinks into a ripe peach. The skin bursts. Juice runs. Somewhere, someone is watching — and getting off. This is the world of crush fetish — a kink where sexual arousal comes from watching or performing the act of crushing objects (or, controversially, once-living things) with the feet. It’s part sensory play, part domination, and part destruction-as-desire.

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of standing in line for your first sex party, holding a bottle of lube in one hand and your entire nervous system in the other. You’ve read the Reddit threads. You’ve triple-checked the dress code. You’ve convinced yourself (and your group chat) that this will be empowering, fun, transcendent. But mostly, you feel like throwing up in your mesh harness.

The music fades, the Uber's too bright, your skin is still buzzing. Maybe you’re back at someone’s flat. Maybe it’s someone you know. Maybe it’s someone you don’t. The night is blurring into morning and suddenly you’re naked, wrapped around another body that’s hot but far away. You want to come. You’re trying to come. But it’s not happening — again. And you know exactly why.

You’re at a warehouse party, three floors deep in fog machine residue and someone else’s cigarette smoke. Someone passes you a bump. K. You take it — it’s fine. You’re floating. Music feels like blood. Touch feels like a memory. There’s a body pressed against yours, and suddenly, you’re fucking — or trying to.

There’s a specific kind of silence that happens mid-hookup when someone tries to dirty talk and fails. You’re in it, it’s hot, it’s sweaty — and suddenly they whisper, “You like that, huh?” in the same voice they use to ask if you want oat milk in your coffee. Mood = dead. Dirty talk is one of the most misunderstood forms of sex communication. People either overdo it with porn-scripted absurdity or avoid it entirely out of fear they’ll sound like a sentient Reddit comment. Bu

You don’t just walk into a BDSM dungeon. You get vetted. You write a letter to a Pro Dominatrix you've done a long research on. You obsessively re-read the dungeon rules. You Google “what to expect in a BDSM session” at 3AM like you’re cramming for a test you can’t name. And when you finally do show up — palms sweaty, boots buffed — you realize the rules aren't the scary part. The scary part is how much it makes sense.

You’re halfway into a rope workshop at some dusty warehouse in Bushwick or Peckham or Berlin and realize — wait — everyone here is neurodivergent. Or if they’re not, they’re at least trauma-informed, sensory-aware, and casually dropping relatable acronyms between scenes.

If you’ve ever thought your body had undiscovered nerve endings, or fantasized about getting off from the inside out — welcome to the rabbit hole (or rather, the urethra) of sounding. It’s one of the kink world’s whispered-about fetishes, but for those who know how to wield it? It’s the stuff of full-body, blackout-level pleasure.

Let’s talk brains. Because the science behind why being ignored turns some people on is freaky — and kind of poetic.

Safety Isn’t Boring—You’re Just Addicted to Chaos. You say you want a stable partner.But when someone texts back on time, listens, respects your boundaries, and doesn’t trigger panic in your gut?You’re suddenly “not sure there’s a spark.” Here’s the uncomfortable truth: if you’ve been conditioned to equate unpredictability with love, real emotional safety won’t feel sexy at first. It’ll feel… confusing. Foreign. Maybe even suspicious. But here’s the reframe: that confusion is

Forget wax seals and leather scrolls—BDSM contracts aren’t just props from “Fifty Shades.” When you’re building a long-distance power exchange, a good contract is less about kink cosplay and more about psychological infrastructure.

Let’s be real: getting ghosted is usually a straight shot to spiraling. You check your phone. You reread the message you sent. Maybe it was too much? Maybe not enough? Maybe they died? But what if I told you that for some, that deafening silence is the turn-on? Welcome to the uncomfortable, oddly hot world of the ignore fetish.

There’s a whole economy out there fueled by used panties, feet pics, and yes—even dick ratings. Welcome to the underground gig life of todays content creation, where pretty much any nook in the internet isn’t just visible—it’s profitable.

You imagine whips. You imagine latex. You imagine a dungeon filled with panting strangers and the smell of candle wax and sweat. What you don’t imagine? A pub on a Tuesday. A soda water in your hand. And someone explaining rope safety over nachos.

Just because you’re managing your submissive from a thousand kilometers away doesn’t mean they get to act like a brat without consequences. In fact, when a D/s contract is broken remotely—when there’s no paddle within reach, no eye-roll to meet in person—it calls for a very different kind of dominance. Less leather and chains, more strategy and psychological chess.