More Thoughts On Breasts

Breasts. Boobs. Tits. Norks. Baps. Paps. Gazongas. Knockers. Chest. Bosom. Bust. Decolletage. Hooters. Headlights. Cleavage. Sweater puppies. Poppadoodles. Jugs. Tatty bojangles. Funbags, Bazookas. Breasticles…

There’s no point pretending we don’t love them. We like to look at them, hell, we often end up talking to them!

But why? What is it about them that we find so appealing? We’re hard wired to like them, be attracted to them. It’s an evolved behaviour. And it’s no surprise when you know what they’re for…

Breastfeeding, right? Wrong. Well, not completely wrong, but mostly.

All mammals have breasts, but they mature during pregnancy just in time for the breastfeeding. Those of you who’ve been pregnant will be familiar with the way your breasts enlarge and change during pregnancy as they prepare for the job ahead. In all other mammals, that’s the first time breasts develop. They don’t develop as secondary sexual characteristics in puberty. So why do we, exclusively in the animal kingdom, have them from puberty onward? The answer is simple: All other primates, from monkeys on, use their bottoms to indicate sexual maturity and fertility. Which is easy if you’re on all fours (yes please), but not if you’re upright on two legs going about your day-to-day. When you stand up and face me like that, I can’t see your bottom anymore. (Believe me, this upsets me.)

So when pre-humans like Australopithecus afarensis stood up and started wandering around Lake Turkana (see, I know what I’m talking about), they needed another indicator of female sexual maturity. What better than something that mimics the shape and feel of the pre-existing indicator: her bottom? Except something right there in front of us that flushes when you’re aroused?

Humans evolved breasts as a secondary sexual characteristic because men can’t see women’s bottoms well enough.

So, controversially, apart from the few years that you’re feeding our children, breasts are, in fact, there for men. For us to see, to admire, to desire you.

May I take this opportunity to say thank you, and then raise my eyes back to your face.

The Original Thoughts On Breasts

© Charles Rochester 2015


Thoughts On Hubris

Hubris. The arrogance that offends the gods and is usually punished by nemesis.

We’ve all done it. Think we know best, even when others around us have time and again shown us the evidence that we’re wrong. Being wrong isn’t a problem. Walking knowingly into situations that will harm us is, however, plain stupid.

Doing it without a shield, without a safety net is inviting nemesis. If you’re lucky enough to have a shield, you should do all you can to keep it.

How can you keep your shield, your Knight? Put simply: don’t treat them like shit. Nurture those who care, not those who offer cheap attention. Nurture those who value you, instead of those who’d use you. Don’t tell them they have no right to be hurt, then play the injured party when they do something similar to you, but less.

Don’t feign hurt because they try to be supportive. Don’t wilfully misinterpret their words as negative, as “digs” just because you know, deep down, that you deserve those “digs” and scorn rather than the care and support they offer.

No White Knight will ever be the instrument of nemesis. But only a fool would continue to offer care, protection and a safety net to someone who takes them for granted, lies to them, repeatedly shows them they’re unimportant, strings them along, leaves them in confusion and fails to take responsibility for their behaviour.

But that nemesis will come. They know that already. It will come from within you, and because of your own actions.

Your own refusal to accept responsibility, to blame others, to accuse them of your own wrongdoings, will lead you to fail again and again, because you’ll never learn your lesson. But one day, you will wake, and you will realise what you’ve become. And that there will be no one who values you to stand with you.

And who will you have to blame then? Who’ll believe your hollow excuses?

Thoughts On Ownership – “Mine”

Mine. “My…

In the world of D/s the possessive pronoun takes on an additional and very personal meaning. The expression becomes one not of identifying an association: “my girlfriend/ boyfriend”, but one of ownership. Particularly when it’s used with certain loaded descriptors: “my girl“, “my good girl“, “My Baby“, come to mind.

Between two it’s an expression of dominance, love, care as well as ownership.

In the open (on a Twitter timeline, for instance) there are other ways that it can be used. A few of my followers use it as a term of address “My Sir/my sub“, these are people who are openly in exclusive relationships, and that’s entirely appropriate: a term of affection.

Sometimes those in relationships choose to use it in private only, the discretion of their privacy being more important that the open, public expression.

Sometimes, though, it is used by those not in relationships yet or at the start of them, but effectively used in the same way. Other times those who are eager to own someone will use it to dip their toe in the water, so to speak, to try and create an impression through repetition either to the object of desire or to crowd others out. Either are pretty underhand, but easy to see coming.

In D/s, you can only belong to one Dom at a time, and only reasonably care fully for one sub at a time also.

When I see the personal pronouns being bandied around as general terms, used as a term of address to a girl who hasn’t given you her submission, it’s also being used as an exclusive term, but in the sense that the user is trying to exclude others. To try to “alpha male” or intimidate them out of the way. “She’s mine, back off“.

I find this deeply inappropriate and disrespectful.

The beauty of D/s is to free a sub from her emotional, psychological, social bounds. To liberate her from society’s expectations and conditioning. The possession she offers when she submits, the responsibility her Dom accepts, the physical bonds he may use to restrain her, all exist to facilitate her personal freedom and self-realisation.

So I don’t believe a man should express ownership over a girl unless she’s explicitly offered him that status. It may be that you’d like that status, and like to discourage others from seeking it, but it must be her choice, not yours.
Unless you have agreed that such a possession – ultimately something private and supremely personal – is something you both wish others to know, you’re being indiscreet, too. It’s the sort of thing even I wouldn’t say or ask to say after half a year of priority. Crucially, it’s so innocuous, a passing “My…” that the person you’re laying a claim of ownership over won’t mention it, won’t say “Hang on, you don’t own me…” because they might rationalise it as a slip of the tongue or nothing significant, and why make a fuss?

But it’s a subtle sophisticated game, get away with it once and you’ll start to do it more and more. The repeated claim becoming the norm, others backing off, the claimed sub getting used to the term…

I would argue, in fact I have argued, that anyone claiming ownership before it’s been explicity offered and accepted, is not Dominant, but bossy, arrogant, presumptive, entirely unsuitable.

Other men will easily spot this game, perhaps because we’ve shamefully played it ourselves in the past before we grew out of it, but often – unless they’ve been caught out by it before – even very clever and self-possessed women won’t see it. Worse, they might have been told about it and still not see it. Thinking that the “My…” is just a throwaway, doesn’t-mean-anything-but-is-a-nice-sentiment comment. That’s the trap.

Then there are girls who will themselves misinterpret your claim of possession, feel that she holds a privileged position, someone you led to believe you’d guide and mentor, only to find that she is just another Twitter account you sometimes call “My girl

Then there’s the more ephemeral matter of devaluing the term through overuse. Like the people who say “I love you” a dozen times a day. The term loses its value, loses the ability to elicit the emotional response it’s intended to generate.

So before you use the term “My- “, ask yourself if they really are yours. If that status has been specifically offered. If the claim is reasonable, or if you’re showboating, or just being blindly inappropriate.

And if someone uses the term on you, in a public space, ask yourself why. Because it is never throwaway, never without intent.

When I say “Mine,” I do it privately. I’m accepting ownership of responsibility for you, I’m accepting your submission. Above all, it’s a promise that you come first: because you’re Mine.

And when you reply “Yours…” It elicits in me the same response. A deep emotional reaction, an irresistible pull on our bond. Smile.
It’s a special term. One felt deeply by those for whom it means something. If you are the Dom you say you are, you should know better than to bandy terms of ownership around on Twitter so freely.

© Charles Rochester 2015

Thoughts On Bottoms

Leg-man, Tit-man, Bum-man. I’ve said it before, they just sound like the crap superheroes of kink. I’ve always been a bit derisory about men who describe themselves with one of these. It seems to suggest that a girl is a collection of parts, rather than a wonderful, complete, fully realised human. And suggests that the man is focussed on his own gratification, not focussed on the owner of the leg, tit or bum. Commonplace among the ordinaries, but I think something we strive to grow beyond.

If I’m pushed, I always say I’m a mind-man, because that’s the part of a woman that makes her who she is, it’s the part of her that’s the most attractive, sexy, incredible part. That’s the part of a woman I want to take over.

Of course, I’d be lying if I pretended that I don’t find legs, breasts and bottoms utterly transfixing. Each different, each parts of a whole that’s so much greater than their sum.

With that little disclaimer out of the way, I’m going to talk about bottoms…

A beautiful bottom will inspire in me a rather broad range of desires, thoughts, emotions. Just watching a girl, naked, walking, crawling, watching her bottom, the way her body moves with a feline curl that draws the eye from her waist to her knees. Who couldn’t be entranced by the centre of that movement? Who wouldn’t have those thoughts and desires come to mind?

The desire to reach for her bottom, to touch it, stroke it, hold it in my hands can become unquenchable. Except…

Fighting for space in my head with the craving to reach for her bottom, is a second, no less powerful urge. It’s the one to put her over my lap, to hold her head down, raise her bottom up, and bring my hand to meet it. Hard. Fast. Again. Again. Making the skin I admire so much turn from pink to red.

And where does that lead my mind? Any spanked bottom needs to be soothed, needs to be stroked again, kissed, licked. She’s submitted to my will, she needs to be rewarded. Her wonderful bottom deserves to tended. She needs to understand she’s pleased me. My tongue on her skin, my lips tenderly kissing her bottom. Showing her bottom just how much I feel for it. A feeling not unlike a romantic love for what it has just endured for me.

She needs to understand the other feelings I have for it, too. Not just romantically, or for spanking, but the passion, the desire I feel for it. That I want to take all the pleasure I can from it, and give her all the pleasure she can survive. Holding the cheeks of her bottom and pushing my tongue inside her, kissing her bottom no less deeply than her mouth, licking her bottom no less thoroughly than her cunt.

Every part of her should be turned to her pleasure. Her bottom, her beautiful transcendent bottom can show her that.

And yes, the other thought in there, competing with all the others, the feeling and the sight of her bottom accepting my cock. Allowing it inside, welcoming it. Whether I’m slowly, gently easing it into her, or shoving it hard, pulling her hips back roughly to meet me, knocking the breath from her…

All those competing thoughts, desires, emotions, all crashing in at once just on the sight of her. No wonder in the moment I’m lost for words.

(And, yes, of course I’m going to write about legs and breasts.)

© Charles Rochester 2015

Thoughts On Trust

Trust. I like that people say you “win” someone’s trust. It makes it clear it’s a prize, something to cherish, be proud of.

You can’t accept the submission of a girl if she doesn’t trust you. Why not? Because if she doesn’t trust you, she shouldn’t offer her submission in the first place.

Trust in this sense is vital. It’s the trust that you won’t ignore her boundaries, that you will make her the centre, the focus of what you’re doing with her and to her. It’s a trust not only about what you will do, but what you won’t do. So if you’ve already ignored those boundaries once, however trivially, how do you expect her to trust you to recognise her important boundaries and not to breach them?

Trust is (or should be) hard earned and easily lost. Being trusted by someone is a privilege not to be abused. I trust rarely. That’s not because I’m naturally suspicious, or cynical. The opposite. It’s because when I trust, it’s total. If I trust someone then I will accept what they tell me as the absolute truth, even in the face of things that might appear to suggest I shouldn’t. Certainly in the face of comments by others that I don’t trust. And I’ll do that because they’ve shown me they can be trusted, and I’ve never seen them break the trust of another, either.

But in the past once fractured, that trust shatters just as completely and is harder to rebuild than it was to establish in the first place. In fact, I can’t think of an example from my life of someone who’s regained my trust after breaking it.

It’s why I respect truth. It’s why I say that a lie is always more harmful than a painful truth it’s supposed to conceal.

There’s only one way you can win someone’s trust: Be consistent. Do what you say you’ll do. Don’t tell them you can do something if you can’t follow through. Show them you have the strength to keep your promises, whatever comes. Show your words have substance, that they’re more than just comforting vibrations in the air that pass at the speed of sound, said to achieve your immediate goals but never to be regarded again.

There are many ways to lose someone’s trust. If I make a promise, I keep it. If I didn’t how would you or anyone else ever trust my promises again? It’s not just about the person I made the promise to, either. If I want you to trust me, but you know I broke a promise to someone else, then how could you trust my promises to you? And it doesn’t matter how trivial the promise was. Arguably the more trivial the easier it is to keep, so if I break it then how will it be when a promise is hard to keep?

NaughtyTwitter runs on trust. Who do you talk to, who do you flirt with, who do you meet, who do you play with, who do you DM pictures to…

By and large, because we’re all here to express ourselves we respect each other’s privacy. But if (as one of my followers described recently) you forward on photos of people or blab about what you or they say or do, how can you possibly be trusted again? Ever. By Anyone.

If you’re indiscreet how would anyone tell you a secret?

I see people do things on twitter (and elsewhere) almost everyday that fatally harm their ability ever to be trusted by me. I find it incomprehensible that someone would trust someone that they know to have broken someone else’s confidence, overstepped boundaries, broken a promise they made, or been indiscreet. Of course we all have different tolerances, and vive la difference. But if it all comes unstuck, make sure you have a safe harbour, a pair of arms to surround you, someone you can rely on.

Someone you can trust.

Read also Thoughts On Lying

Thoughts On Lying

The lie is always more damaging than the fact it hides.

It’s a simple truth, but one that escapes the liar. What they don’t realise is the discovery of a lie, even a small one, casts doubt on everything else that has been said.

Liars are always found out in the end. You can’t sustain a lie for ever, something will always slip out. If you’d lied about something you did, then eventually you’ll make a reference that doesn’t fit with everything else you’ve said. If you’ve lied about your nature, sooner or later you’ll revert to type, become frustrated or angry instead of being supportive, for instance.

There’s a simple truth here, universally accepted: If someone lies to you, betrays you, cheats on you just once… They’ll do it again. It’s just a matter of time.

If you’re a liar, watch out, you’ll be rumbled. And you can’t talk your way out of it for ever.

Of course, by then it may be too late for the person you’ve lied to.

For a less reactive post, read Thoughts On Trust

Thoughts On Branding (Relax, It’s Not What You Think!)

I’m slowly putting together a new clinic. I consider it my second most important endeavour of the year. And apart from trying to contrive a way to call the new clinic DsOsteopathy (all suggestions for how I can do this greatly welcomed), my idle thoughts naturally turn to branding.

I confess, branding isn’t my approach. Or at least I don’t think of it as branding, but I suspect my old colleagues in the blood-sucking ad industry would. It’s about how I want to present myself, the impression I want people to have of me even before they’ve met me, spoken to me or been to the clinic. Which is exactly what branding is about. An image for your service.

In osteopathy you have, broadly speaking, two types of clinic: the traditional, reliable been here forever image invoked by an old (but well presented) building, oak panels, rich colours, thick frames on the pictures, wooden desk… Or the high tech glass and chrome of the forward looking uber-modern, young. White, bright, sterile.

What you can’t do is behave in a way that clashes with your presentation. People may not be able to put their finger on it, but if there’s a clash, patients will find it hard to trust. It’s the saying-one-thing-but-doing-another dichotomy.

This presentation begins when a patient first sees your name, your ad, your card. It carries a logo. It’s like a Twitter avi. Which led me to think, what do these things say about us on NaughtyTwitter?

In the world of branding certain things are taken as given: colour and content convey a certain message. For once in the ad world, those colours and contents follow what we already think about them rather than trying to form our opinion. A logo doesn’t have time to form your opinion about *it*, it has to tap into our existing ideas to form an opinion about the thing it represents.

And so it is with avis.

The most interesting thing about the NaughtyTwitter avi is it hasn’t been put there by a professional. You chose it yourself. You might have given a little thought to how you wanted to present yourself, or you might have thought “Hey, I like that picture, I’ll use it.” Either way it invokes in you something that you identify with, so it’s a surprisingly good indicator of how you see yourself. (Cock avis take note: you’re telling us you’re a cock!)

But what do these covers tell us about the book? I’m far too chivalrous to use the avis of girls as examples, so all the below are the menfolk.


Very few of us have words or letters in our avis. By and large we see ourselves with an image. Rarely is it our face, the anonymity of the forum being paramount. Me, for professional reasons, many for personal ones. It’s often a suit, something that’s almost a corporate image for us. Some include a flash of individuality in that suit: a pocket square, a tie… Invoking an overall image, but putting a bit of yourself in it.

I rarely wear a suit, my work outfit is a clinic coat. Great, nice and individual, but likely to attract those with a medical malpractice fetish. Which is no bad thing, but I wouldn’t want to put off everyone else! I got lucky. My first #sinfulsunday went down very well, conveyed well how I see myself, so that became my avi. My previous one was a gold tie in an Eldridge knot. I chose it to show that corporate image, but with an unusual and difficult knot, just to place myself apart from the crowd. Again, rather how I see myself.


This is the main one I think, and most interesting particularly as Twitter seems to want to make the avis in the timeline smaller and smaller. But colour is a minefield. You want to stand out, but you don’t want to be cheap.

If you look at corporate logos, you’ll see a clear trend for what colours convey. Of course, these corporate logos are very self consciously designed so they are about how they want us to see them. Ours are less contrived, they’re about how we see ourselves…

Red, for instance can be exciting, but might also be quite aggressive. Think Virgin, RedBull. Exciting is good, but aggressive? Hardly the way a Dom would wish to present himself. Not surprising then that red rarely features large.

Orange denotes cheap, no frills, focus on the most basic. Think B&Q. Sure you’ll stand out but who wants to be seen as the PoundShop option? The unsophisticated, the same basic formula applied to everyone, the don’t-care-about-the-customer-just-the-bottom line option? Think EasyJet, seemed like a good idea when you booked, but no one ever got off an EasyJet flight without wishing they’d flown with a better airline instead!

Blue tends to be seen as unexciting but dependable and authoritative. Thinks Boots The Chemist, IBM. For many that’s absolutely how they see themselves, and blue comes up far more often than the cheap or fiery colours.

But if red, orange or blue is how you see yourself, that’s what you’ll have chosen.

Green comes up rarely, which is more of a surprise. It generates a feeling of health and wellbeing, which is what we all seek in our relationships. But perhaps not the feeling we all have about those early months.

Silvers, Greys, Blacks. By a large margin these monochrome colours dominate (pun absolutely intended). I don’t credit that dreadful author with the awareness for choosing “Grey” as her character name deliberately, but it was a good choice. These colours reinforce power, trust, and respect.

But if we’re all going to go monochrome, we’re back to content. A clear distinction of shape to catch the eye as the ladies of twitter scroll through the timeline, hoping to catch sight of *us*.

Strong, powerful hand grasping a black rope to enhance your pleasure, anyone? Not really suitable for a clinic, though.

Thoughts On Priority

The White Knight stands over his priority. He may warn her of danger he thinks may be ahead, she hears him, he trusts her judgement, but still stands by to protect her – hoping that he’s wrong but there to keep her safe if he’s right. Nothing changes that.

I’m not polyamorous. But I prefer myself and my priority to have the freedom to express ourselves as we choose. When you’re not in an exclusive relationship you have a few choices. The first is whether all those you meet with and play with are the same to you, no one ‘special’. Or whether there’s someone who is more important that the others, someone who takes priority.

Either of these are perfectly reasonable choices to make. I prefer to have someone I can make a priority, someone who’s needs comes above the needs of others. Someone who gets special consideration, holds a privileged position.

When you have an exclusive relationship, that privileged position is clear and obvious. How you show them they’re your priority is well defined. When you’re not in an exclusive relationship, it is less so. So it’s more important to understand what that priority means to avoid misunderstandings and assumptions that your priority may not share.

For some, it’s about you (as a couple) inviting others to join you – you can’t play unless you’re both there. For others it’s about seeking permission from your priority before you play. For others it’s just about showing, in the little ways, that they’re your priority wherever you are, whoever you’re with and whatever you’re doing. That’s likely to involve some sacrifices of passing whimsy, but that’s how you show it. And if you can’t make those little sacrifices of passing whimsy, then clearly, they’re no priority.

The more minimal the requirement, the more important it becomes to define it, and to stick to it. Because – quite simply – if the other person can’t see that they’re your priority, then they’ll decide they’re not really.

You may each think you show the other, or that the other will instinctively understand, but if you’re not showing them in the way they need, then trouble lies ahead. That’s why communication is so important. You need to listen to each other, and understand. Not fail to listen. That, too, will show them they’re not really a priority.

Much of it of course isn’t a choice: Are you the person they wake up thinking about? Are you their first [private] “good morning”? Are you their last [private] “goodnight”? Do you feel an urge to talk to them or to someone else, do you leave their messages hanging, unread, while you come on and offline chatting away to someone else? Because if your urge is to talk to someone else to the exclusion of them, then they’re going to realise they’re not your priority. Not because you’re being mean, or deceitful, just because of where your urge lies. If you feel no need to pick up their messages, that shows them very quickly how important you are to them.

But those are, in the grand scheme of things, trivial. The much more important things is how you both handle the times you’re with other people. But if they don’t make you their priority in those little things, how will you feel they might make you their priority when it matters?

Do you lie to them? Because if you do, then you do have an understanding that what you’re doing denies them their priority.

I like unprotected sex. I’ve had a vasectomy, so birth control isn’t an issue. While it’s perfectly alright for me to make risk assessments about the people I play with for me, it’s not okay to make those risk assessments for someone else. So if you’re not exclusive, you have two choices. Either tell each other everything you do with someone else, who it was, when it was so that your priority can make their own minds up about whether the person you’ve had unprotected sex with is safe, or don’t have unprotected sex with anyone but your priority. I prefer the second option. Yes, it requires a level of sacrifice if your whim is to have unprotected sex with someone else, but that’s no sacrifice if your priority is, in fact, a priority. No one who’s ever been my priority has felt differently.

Of course, you’d never know, would you? Which is why if you feel you’re not a priority from the small things you do know about, then red flags fly.

Priority is important. It has to mean something beyond the words being said. It has to be shown and it has to be seen. If I were your priority, then that has to be about things you do for me, how you act toward me, privileges you keep for me. It’s not about knowing you can rely on me, run to me, that I know you better than anyone else. Those are things I do for you.

We all have red lines, though, don’t we? I have mine. I think they’re pretty minimal…

  1. Never lie to me, however hurtful you think the truth might be, the lie will hurt more.
  2. Need only me. However much you want others, need only me.
  3. Accept what I give, whatever that is in the manner I intend it; my care, my protection, my love, my advice, my demand for your orgasms…
  4. Preserve *our* ability to express ourselves together unprotected, without concern or hinderance.

Surely that’s not too much? And if it is, I’m not your priority.

© Charles Rochester 2015

Thoughts On Perspectives

We all see things a little differently. Wouldn’t it be boring if we didn’t!

I read a blog this morning from Head In Books. She describes the pernicious effect of music and TV on the young minds of children, who learn the words for things before they even know about the things themselves.

But she also writes about the cultural impact of Disney using Beauty And The Beast as her example…

Beauty and the Beast? I’d like it more if it was a prince who had to demonstrate how he learned to value inner beauty by marrying some hideously mutlitated crone who was rendered back to gorgeousness by his true love’s kiss.

This got me thinking about perspectives. I know Beauty And The Beast is about a girl learning that beauty is only skin deep and it’s character that truly matters, but I never really watched it that way. (or read it, of course, long before Disney got it’s glossy hands on it.)

I always saw it as a man who had been a bit of a bastard, realising the mistakes he’d made and, by caring for a girl, loving her he ultimately finds redemption in having that love returned, despite the ugliness of his past.

I think that’s a hugely positive message for boys. You can always change, you can always be better, and that it only takes the heart of one girl to change your life.

I’m much better person than I used to be. I’m not perfect, I’m still working on that, but each day there are lessons that I can apply, that help me improve. And that it doesn’t matter if I messed up before, so long as I learn those lessons and don’t mess up again.

I did a thing as a teenager that I still cringe inside when I think about. I hate that I did it. I’ll never do it again. Only once in the last 30 years has anyone mentioned it, partly because I learned (and partly because to anyone else it was trivial – no one got hurt, it wasn’t “bad”, just cringey).

It’s only from my perspective that what I did was bad. Just as I have a minority perspective on the lessons from Beauty And The Beast. That’s one of the lessons, though. We see things differently, and it’s important to know how.

But I’m a better person for the lessons of my life. Parts of the beast have been slain. Some parts of the beast remain, but they work for me now.

© Charles Rochester 2015