SEX POSITIVITY

You might cry mid-sentence. You might get weirdly calm and then shake for three hours afterwards. Someone you pegged as “safe” might turn into a mini pundit. Someone you thought was hopeless might surprise you with a blunt little “ok—what do you need from me?”

Nobody wakes up and decides, casually, to let the spark die. It slips away in boring little moments: the dishes that somehow become “her thing,” the way you half-listen while your thumb keeps scrolling, the assumption that love is a possession instead of a practice.

The performance of masculinity is exhausting. The constant expectation to initiate, decide, lead, chase, and pretend you have all the answers gets old around the same time you realize nobody actually wants a leader, they want someone who won't waste their time. A dominant woman doesn't need you to perform. She needs you present, responsive, and willing to let her set the temperature. That's not emasculation, that's liberation with better orgasms.

Traditional “alpha” dynamics are mostly just a man cosplaying as a CEO while you do the unpaid internship: feelings, planning, foreplay, and the emotional OSHA compliance. He “leads” the way an overgrown toddler “leads” a supermarket sprint—loudly, badly, and toward something dumb.

Austin's reputation as a cultural crossroads extends well beyond its legendary music venues and food truck courts. The city's nightlife ecosystem includes a distinctive strip club scene that operates at the intersection of performance art, entertainment, and late-night culture. These venues represent a particular facet of Austin's broader entertainment landscape—one that reflects the city's historically permissive attitude toward creative expression and adult entertainment.

You're craving something that makes your pulse spike in a way that Netflix and flogging can't quite deliver anymore. Welcome to the next level: where BDSM stops being a checklist and starts feeling like actual psychological warfare (the consensual kind, obviously). These aren't your beginner's "tie me up and spank me" games. These are the mind-fucks, the endurance tests, the scenarios that blur the line between pain and transcendence until you can't remember which one you sig

We’re here for the people who find mainstream “premium” boring—who want pleasure objects that belong in a vitrine, not a bedside drawer. The kind of things you insure. The kind of things that come with a concierge, not a charging cable.

This is the part you've been waiting for. The actual words to use when your submissive has just come and their brain is screaming "abort mission." This script assumes: You've negotiated this beforehand. You're both in a consensual power exchange dynamic. The submissive has a safeword and knows how to use it, You're operating within a BDSM safety framework

Somehow we're still trapped in this weird cultural hangover where toys are either shameful secrets or aggressive lifestyle accessories that scream "I'M EMPOWERED NOW." So let's kill these myths. Not with sanitized health-class energy, but with the same bluntness you'd use explaining why your friend's terrible ex wasn't actually that great in bed.

Your first sex toy feels like a commitment. You're standing in front of a wall of silicone or scrolling through pages of products that all claim to be "life-changing," and your brain is screaming that you're about to make the wrong choice. That you'll buy something too big, too weird, too intimidating. That it'll sit in a drawer and silently judge you for wasting money on plastic you'll never use.

“How to make her orgasm” isn’t a single move. It’s a sequence. A bunch of small, (maybe even) unglamorous decisions you make while you’re sweaty and slightly insecure and trying not to cramp your hand.

You've been together long enough that you know exactly how they take their coffee, which side of the bed they prefer, and the specific sigh they make when they're annoyed but pretending they're not. You're comfortable. You're solid. And somewhere along the way, sex became something you think about doing rather than something you actually... do.

There's something undeniably cinematic about watching someone smoke. The slow drag, the exhale curling through dim light, the ember glowing in a dark room, it's pure visual poetry. And if you've ever found yourself weirdly transfixed by that moment in a film where the protagonist lights up after sex, congratulations: you might have a touch of capnolagnia.

This is your no-nonsense, slightly cheeky guide to foods that increase libido naturally, how to eat them, and why sharing them might quietly heal your relationship in the process.

It’s not science. It’s not law. It’s a timing guideline for emotional pacing.

There’s something painfully human about wanting to be someone’s “first.” Not their actual first (awkward, sometimes painful, and usually wrapped up before you’ve even found a rhythm), but the myth of it. The reset button. The clean white-shirt version of desire where nobody’s jaded yet and every touch lands like a plot twist.

Sugar dating is often misunderstood because people use the term to describe very different relationship styles. Some see it as intentional dating with clearer expectations. Others assume it is purely transactional. The truth is usually somewhere in the middle, and it depends on what two adults mutually agree to.

Watching someone else have sex, or just exist in a sexual context, is one of the oldest kinks in the book. The problem? Most people think "voyeurism" means creeping on strangers through windows or secretly filming people without consent. That's not voyeurism. That's a crime.

Language is the sharpest weapon in the bedroom. Not handcuffs. Not impact toys. Not even psychological games. Words: delivered at the right moment with the right amount of venom: can dismantle someone faster than any physical act. That's the uncomfortable truth about consensual degradation: it works because it targets the ego, not the body.

A thing nobody tells you when you move in together and realise you're not in sync, sexually: your libidos aren’t “mismatched.” Your nervous systems are. And cohabitation is basically a full-time stress test where the smallest daily frictions (tone, chores, calendars, his mom visiting) can quietly murder desire without leaving fingerprints.

Welcome to Small Penis Humiliation, the kink where the biggest egos get the smallest treatment. The shame-dopamine loop is real. When a dominant partner weaponizes words about size, the brain lights up like a slot machine. Humiliation triggers arousal, which triggers more humiliation, which triggers deeper arousal. For men conditioned to equate their worth with their performance, being told they can't perform is the ultimate mind-fuck.

I'm forty-five years old. I work in finance. High-stakes stuff. Mergers. Acquisitions. Numbers that could buy a small island. I live in the suburbs. Nice house. Good schools. My wife makes killer lasagna. My kids think I'm some kind of superhero because I wear a suit and fly to Europe for work.

There's a myth that submission equals weakness. That handing over control means you're fundamentally broken, needy, or unable to function in the adult world. It's noise, and it's wrong.

Here's a little guide form your friend who's read way too many microbiology papers at 3 AM: your vagina is supposed to smell and taste like a vagina, which, when healthy, is not a strong odour, that's doing exactly what it's designed to do.

This piece isn’t Sex 101. It’s a strategy brief for high-performer pleasers: build arousal like a system, treat the vulva as biological engineering, and stop confusing intensity with effectiveness.

Selling feet pics is real work, and it can be surprisingly lucrative. Whether you're looking to supplement your income or turn it into something more substantial, the foot content market is thriving. But like any online hustle, it comes with risks, and knowing how to protect yourself is everything.

Your coffee tastes like dishwater. That scene you had Saturday night, the one that felt like ascending to another dimension, now feels like it happened to someone else. You're not sad, exactly. You're just... hollow. Empty. Like someone scooped out your insides and replaced them with static.

It may seem unusual that waiting or holding back can be exciting, particularly in the context of intimacy. However, many people and groups find meaning and interest in sexual denial, including the consensual use of a chastity cage.

Let's talk about the rapidly shrinking elephant. Ozempic, Wegovy, and their GLP-1 siblings have become the pharmaceutical darlings of 2025, promising weight loss without the misery of kale smoothies and soul-crushing gym sessions. But there's a side effect no one put on the Instagram ads: these drugs are fundamentally rewiring how we experience pleasure. And yes, that includes sex.

Stop thinking about the clitoris as a button and start thinking about the brain as the motherboard. Most men approach female arousal like they're debugging a poorly coded app, just keep pressing buttons until something lights up. That's not how it works. Female arousal isn't about "getting her in the mood." It's about removing the obstacles to her arousal. The brick walls. The traffic cones. The mental laundry list that starts with "did I respond to that email" and ends with

Words are foreplay. They're the difference between fumbling in the dark and orchestrating something that leaves marks on the memory. Dirty talk isn't about reciting porn dialogue, it's about psychological precision wrapped in heat. It's erotic communication that bypasses the body and goes straight for the brain.

Sex isn't (preferably) a 100-meter sprint. It's a high-stakes endurance set: long, sweaty, and if you tap out before the main event, you've fundamentally misunderstood the assignment. But let's be honest: premature ejaculation isn't a moral failing. It's just bad wiring, fixable with some mechanical updates and a bit of nervous system recalibration.

Words go deeper than most toys in your drawer. A well-placed phrase can reduce someone to a puddle faster than any rope or paddle, and the beauty is, you don't need gear, a dungeon, or even privacy. Just timing, delivery, and a tongue sharp enough to make someone rethink their entire existence.

Most people think they know how to use their hands. They're wrong. Fingering isn't just "sticking fingers in and hoping for the best", it's a technical skill that requires actual knowledge of anatomy, rhythm, and the ability to read feedback that isn't always verbal. Think of it as playing an instrument that doesn't come with sheet music.

3 AM has a specific texture: dry mouth, dim screen light, and the sudden conviction that your body is a design problem you could solve with what’s already in your drawers. Not “horny” in the sentimental sense. Horny in the way a bored engineer gets horny for a prototype. The market does not need your help. Sex toys are already high-tech, art-directed, and aggressively competent: app-controlled, air-pulsing, heating, rotating, ergonomic, and sterile enough to survive a corpora

Public humiliation is where etiquette gets weaponized. It lives at the intersection of performance art and nervous-system chemistry: a controlled leak of status, composure, and self-image—performed under lights so flattering they feel cruel. The best versions don’t rely on obvious spectacle; they rely on social friction and psychological exposure, the kind that makes a room full of rich strangers suddenly feel like a jury.

A whip crack is auditory foreplay with teeth: a micro-second that turns a room from chatty to obedient. The crack lands like a command. And yes, it’s also a sonic boom. Not metaphorically. Literally. The business end of your whip goes supersonic and the air complains loudly. This isn’t a beginner pep-talk. This is professional-level reality: if you can’t control mechanics of power—distance, timing, kinetic energy transfer—don’t pick up the whip and point it at a human. You’re

If you've spent more than three months in Berlin, you've heard someone wax poetic about Vabali. The Balinese-themed wellness temple tucked into the Moabit wasteland, where stressed-out consultants, burned-out techno DJs, and polyamorous product managers all go to forget they have a LinkedIn profile. It's the city's worst-kept secret, a sprawling FKK (Freikörperkultur) spa where you're required to strip down, soak in saltwater pools, and learn the most German lesson imaginable

Steal these scenarios, customize the scripts, and make them yours. Whether you’re looking for a subtle verbal sting or full-blown physical objectification, this is your blueprint for finally turning off your overactive brain through the art of the 'lesser-than'

You’ve seen the small brown bottles at the sex shop. You’ve clocked the discreet hand-offs in dark rooms. Maybe you’ve already tasted that sharp, chemical sweetness cutting clean through bass and sweat—the unmistakable signature of an olfactory indulgence that’s equal parts erotic and industrial.

So you got past the door at KitKat. Congratulations, you're dressed appropriately, the bouncer didn't hate your vibe, and you're now standing inside one of Berlin's most infamous sex-positive clubs. But here's the thing: getting in was the easy part. Not being that guy once you're inside? That's the actual test.

CNC (Consensual Non-Consent) is the kink that makes otherwise competent adults suddenly forget how words work. Because on the surface it looks like “ignoring consent,” and culturally we (correctly) treat that as radioactive.

Handcuffs. Restraints. Toys. Cold metal you can feel. Textured leather that holds you without guessing. BDSM restraints aren’t a cute accessory; they’re a negotiated interruption. You stop moving, stop directing, stop narrating your life like it’s a productivity podcast. And in that forced stillness, something simple happens: the mental chatter has less room to run.

Spanking is one of those things everyone jokes about until it’s happening in real life and suddenly your hand is hovering mid-air like it’s waiting for HR approval. Not the sanitized “have you considered impact play?” TED Talk version. The real version: sweaty, loud, a little ridiculous, and—when it’s done right—so intimate it feels like you briefly moved into someone’s nervous system and paid rent.

Most couples who dip their toes into BDSM do it backwards: consume vibe-heavy content, buy one optimistic pair of cuffs, then try to improvise a scene with all the grace of a drunk giraffe. Communication happens after someone’s feelings get cooked or a limit gets stepped on. Shocking: this is not the vibe.

Nobody's here to lecture you. You're an adult, you've probably been around, and you definitely don't need another article written by someone who's never been inside a club past midnight telling you drugs are bad. We know.

Here’s a scene that plays out in therapists’ offices, locker rooms, boardrooms, and late-night Google spirals across the western world: a man who’s spent a decade leading, providing, staying “in control,” and being emotionally unshakeable suddenly finds himself fantasizing about… surrendering. About someone else making the decisions. About being told what to do.

Let's talk about the most neglected piece of equipment you own. You detail your car. You update your phone. You probably spend an embarrassing amount of money on eating out. But your testicles? The actual hormone-producing, pleasure-sensing, evolutionary crown jewels hanging between your legs? You treat them like that junk drawer in your kitchen, occasionally acknowledged, mostly ignored, never properly maintained.

Let's start with the fantasy. Because it's a good one. She walks into a bar, your wife, your partner, the woman you chose, and every head turns. You're watching from across the room, drink in hand, as some guy with better hair than you tries his luck. She laughs at his joke. Touches his arm. And here's the twist: you're not jealous. You're thrilled.

Let’s talk about the Good Boy thrill—that specific, deep-seated masculine craving to be approved of in the most primal way possible. The gold star. The head pat. The low, pleased voice that says you’re doing it right and you’re wanted for it.