In my real kinky life, one of my favourite things is strap-on play. I love it, it’s fucking awesome! My boy gets fucked all the damned time, to the point where if I’m allowing him to do the fucking, it’s a treat. ;)

But I was thinking about it this morning (I do that sometimes. I just hang out, pondering kink. I’m very strange.) and it occurred to me that strap-on play is, by it’s very nature, a political act. Bear with me here, because I’m possibly about to make no sense.

See, the thing about girls, is… Well, we have a hole. Yes, that was very blunt, wasn’t it? We have a hole. An absence. An empty space. And it seems to me that a lot of guys, and hell, a lot of girls too, seem to think that because we have this lack of matter between our legs, that must mean that we, as people are fundamentally lacking something that men have. Something more substantive than a mere protrusion of flesh. They somehow believe, on a subconscious level, that we’re empty without a man to fill us up and make us whole, entire human beings. I mean, no wonder chicks are always leaking their lame-ass emotions all over the place, right? How can we help it when we have nothing plugging up that goddamned hole?

Pfft. What a giant, steaming crock of shit.

I hesitate to call strap-on play a feminist issue, because that’s a flawed assessment all by itself. And feminists would hate the notion that in order to be in control and the master of your own sexuality, you need a fake cock. I agree with that by the way, I am living proof that this is not the case. But all the same, strap-on play does have the glorious properties of placing the dude on the back foot. Letting him know that yes, we can stretch you out and stuff you full if we like, and hey, how do you like it, being treated like a sloppy spunk-container? Every hole’s a goal, amIright? :P

The power of strap-on play to me, is not the ten inch black rubber dick jutting out obscenely over my panties. It’s the turning of tables from a very masculine point of view. Meeting him on his own level. I can achieve the same thing with my fingers, but that’d wreck my nail polish so fuck that. The fake penis is incidental to the power-shift, when a guy learns that he is now expected to be the passive receptacle of an extension of my body. He’s the one who’s ’empty’ and should be filled up. He’s the one who clearly needs to be fucked.