Charlie J Forrest

Yes I know I’m mis-using the word sublime, and I’m not going to imply that anything around the porn protests of the last week has actually featured terrifying and imposing landscapes but the title was too good not to use.

Along with hundreds of other people I went to Westminster last friday in order to take part in the mass demonstration in protest of the new ATVOD regulations. This not being my first rodeo I was prepped for more or less anything (water, check; food, check; thermal long-johns, check). But this was perhaps a little overly cautious as a very civilised time was had and it was all over in about an hour and a half (again not entirely surprising, as I say, not my first rodeo).

The highlights, aside from seeing lovely people I hadn’t caught up with in months (you know who you are 😉 ), for me at least was the speeches, which did a brilliant job. They were articulate, to the point and really brought home how damaging the new regulations are.

The seriousness of this was somewhat undermined by a dutch woman who shouted something about “Freedom of porn; whoo!” before exposing her breasts to the crowd. I’m not saying I object to that per-se, but it was an uncomfortable contrast to the concerns raised by the speakers. Things kind of got a bit worse than with the much hyped (and derided) mass face-sitting. It was at this point that the dozens of press (who up to then had been flocking like vultures around anyone who looked even vaguely like they were about to squat down) finally got the money shots they’d been waiting for.

I know that the media is a double-edged sword, and that by having something that people could ‘point-to’ the protest inevitably got more media coverage than it would have otherwise, but it was an uncomfortable shift of tone, a serious issue regarding state censorship and lack of democratic process and freedom of speech transformed into a guffawing gimic worthy of Eurotrash.

I was feeling a bit despondent. Until I watched Channel 4 News and saw the inimitable Pandora Blake being interviewed, not just a talking head at the protest, but full on adversarial discussion, in the studio. It was a delight to watch as suddenly the actual issues and actual intelligent discussion had a national platform.

So yes, sublime to ridiculous, and back again.

The Yellow Room is in the public domain and available via scribd.com amongst other places.

The Yellow Room is a piece of ‘classic’ Victorian spanking erotica. And let me be quite clear, I don’t mean that this is spanking erotica set in the Victorian period, but actual filth written by an actual Victorian in a (then) contemporary setting. I feel the need to assert this quite strongly at the fore because I found myself doubting this several times during the reading, although to the best of my research abilities (Google lets me down a little) it is definitely a period piece.

The reason why I’m so surprised by this is probably one of the biggest bits of praise I can give this story in that it is superbly written and utterly, gloriously filthy. The writer doesn’t give in to the temptation of the time to hide everything behind mountains of adverbs and paragraph long sentences (Dickens, I’m looking at you!), but in a stripped down style that, nevertheless, carries with it enough of a sense of place and flavour to really rank it alongside the best modern Victoriana erotica.

The other big plus point is that it is gloriously, unashamedly, filthy! I shall resist the urge to go into a blow-by-blow of the acts depicted but it doesn’t shy away from watersports, severe corporal punishment, and of course lots of sex. It also includes a slightly surreal obsession with hymens in common with other contemporary pieces such as Fanny Hill.

An utterly delightful story (novella I think although e-readers make it hard to judge) and well worth a look. Highly recommended.

I haven’t published anything in a while. That’s not to say I’ve not been writing, I’ve got several stories out for consideration by publishers and am still beavering away at the novel I keep promising to write. But it’s probably also fair to say that I’ve been struggling with a bit of writers’ block.

It’s not the plot, or the dialogue. It’s not setting the scene or conjuring atmosphere, at the moment it seems to be one thing that’s holding me back:

How do you describe the indescribable? How to you put into words more articulate than “Ungh!” the feelings that come from being hopelessly and instantly turned on by a word, a person, a feeling, a smell, a sensation?

I feel like I’m grappling with the fundamental impossibility of erotica, of expressing something that simply is and the words just come out wrong. It feels like I’m gluing back together the pieces of a mug, in the vague hope of remembering the taste of coffee.

EDIT: Innocent Loverboy has kindlypointed me towards a post he wrote following an Eroticon 2013 workshop on this very topic.

I’m going to be very good and not rant about what’s actually pissing me off at the moment and instead expound on a more sinister and worthwhile target, the new ATVOD regulations.

I’ve had the following conversation, with slight variations, numerous times:

“Charlie, you’re a feminist right?” a person says.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of porn?” they ask.

“I think it’s bloody marvelous,” I say.

“But isn’t it horribly objectifying and degrading to women?” they ask.

“Well, yes, some of it is, but that’s not really the stuff I watch. I’m far more interested in the people doing interesting things rather than the mainstream stuff which is by and large garbage.”

“Well, ok, but the majority of it is pretty bad though, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but what’s your point?”

The conversation usually splits into two camps, the “it’s all awful and demeaning and should be banned,” camp and the “well surely the emphasis should be on encouraging fringe productions and educating children on what porn really is and how it differs from sex,” camp.

Yes if you read the above sentence quickly there’s ‘Band Camp’ and ‘Sex Camp’ in there.

My standpoint has always been that by calling for bans on pornography you’re decrying a medium. This makes no sense, it’s like taking umbrage at “Snog Marry Avoid” or “Skyline” and suggesting that we should ban television or cinema. It’s just a medium and, like so many others, yes there is a lot of shit on it. But the issue should be about regulating the shit. And when I say regulating I’m talking about things like ensuring performers  are properly treated, paid and have recourse against malpractice. Not lecturing people on how many knuckles they can insert into another consenting person. You see the medium is defensible because it offers the freedom of expression that sees all sorts of weird and wonderful things being made, many of which revel in female sexuality as more than being a submissive and passive receptacle for men.

But the new regulations are a step towards changing that. As has been noted by so many others, the new restrictions disproportionately affect the role of women in porn most notably banning face-sitting and female ejaculation. In addition the restrictions on BDSM activities and fisting aim a savage swipe at other non-mainstream porn productions. In effect what these regulations are doing is enshrining in law the unpleasant, aggressive, violent and abusive depictions favoured by mainstream porn as being ‘RIGHT’ and other things as being ‘WRONG’.

At which point the entire argument I’ve had so many times starts to unravel. If these laws are allowed to stand and are accepted as the norm, then it’s a much simpler argument to head for more severe restrictions on all pornography.

Fringe pornography is a lynchpin and, in my view, a cornerstone of sexual self-expression, these new regulations, therefore, represent nothing but an all-out assault on the right of people to have their own sexual identity.

The following content is not acceptable on all Video on Demand (VoD) services as of 1st December 2014:

• Fists, of any sort, ever. Except in scenes clearly depicting ‘Rocky’ re-enactment role-play scenarios, provided oversized soft gloves are worn at all times.
• “Sploshing”, or any other misuse of foodstuffs (because seriously guys, that’s just a bit icky, and, you know, your grandmother would have a lot to say about it. You know they went through rationing right? So that’s downright disrespectful).
• Smiling (including but not limited to grinning, winking, and verbal laughter).
• Any non-historically accurate use of implements or language (tawsing is acceptable if set in  pre 1980s Scottish public school and providing that all written materials uses the traditional spelling “taws”).
• Any sex act involving more than one fat person (look, we’ll let you have one provided you make a weird statement/fetish about it, but two or more just… yeesh! Besides it’s not like you’ll be able to see what’s going on anyway).
• Any depiction of tea-making not in accordance with ISO-3103 (anyone putting the milk in first will be shot on sight!).
• Anything involving kittens (seriously, why would you even need to ask that? What the hell is wrong with you people?).
• Any reference to the works, life, or existence of Danny Dier except where such reference is transient and trifling.
• Trifle.
• Any rope bondage not explicitly set on a tall ship and featuring traditional knots (as a guide the Ashley book of knots is acceptable).
• Any depictions that bear a striking resemblance to the censor’s mum.
• Urethral sound-checking (is this a thing? I don’t think this is a thing… is it?).
• Anything else that turns me on might offend or deprave members of the public.

Unsure what i’m talking about?  Plethora of very talented and lovely folks have the lowdown:

Miles Jackman (Obscenity Lawyer)

Girl on the Net

Pandora Blake

Backlash

I feel like I’m a bit behind the boat on this rant. There probably won’t be much new ground to cover, but it’s been bugging the living crap out of me for a while now. I just want to say:

What the hell society?

What the fucking hell?!?

Yes I know the beauty myth and unreasonable expectations of physical perfection aren’t exactly news; and I’ve always known at least in principle that these things affect a huge proportion of people (if I were to put a number to it I’d guess at about 100%). But my knowledge of this was always a little academic. Perhaps it comes from talking the talk too much, but I’d somehow managed to give myself the impression that because everyone talks so venomously about society’s unrealistic expectations that we had collectively chosen to ignore them.

But the chink in the armour was already there in my own self-image. I’ve always been overweight, and had (possibly) related feelings of guilt, shame and general unworthiness. But that was ok, because I was fat. I mean distorted body images happened to normal people right? In my case it was justified. But everyone else, all the good-looking people, they looked at the ripped bodies and skinny waists on posters and laughed at the foolishness of it all right?

I was wrong. I was wrong in a way that’s only really become clear to me in the last year or so of talking to people and realising how insidious, how pervasive this crippling idea of physical imperfection is.

I don’t have any answers, but I think I can see the real scale of the problem now at least.

I’m way behind on this one, but that’s ok. I’m mad as hell! And I’m running to catch up!

I can probably count the number of hours’ sleep I had this weekend without running out fingers.

It all began on Saturday morning with a horrifically early start from London to catch the first train of the day up to Manchester for the fun of Smut Manchester.

The conference was hidden down many a dark corridor at the Manchester Conference centre, one might almost think they were trying to hide us? Once arrived it was a delight to see so many faces, many familiar, some unfamiliar and grab some much-needed caffeine before things kicked off.

Ashley Lister gave a very fun workshop on erotic poetry. The kind of workshop that really breaks down a potentially intimidating subject and gets you thinking that you probably should give it a try. Here’s my attempt at a Quintain:

I took part in the erotica reading slam with an extract from my chastity play collection Keyholder Kink. I think my performance went down ok, at the very least it’s easier to assume the audience was laughing with me rather than at me… It was also a joy to be sharing the stage with a plethora of very talented writers (yay, reflected glory!), even if the menacing presence of a paddle wielding Zak Kier did keep everyone ruthlessly on schedule.

Speaking of which Zak gave an excellent workshop on different types of hitty things with a small selection of painful implements (a good number of which ended up being tried out by some very enthusiastic participants at the back of the room). It all got a tiny bit over-exciting, but what can I say, you take a room full of sexy, eager kinky people and hand out spanking implements, what on earth do you expect to happen?

A similar level of eager participation also greeted Cara Sutra’s workshop in which she demonstrated her beginners bondage kit. A more thorough review will be coming up in the near future (courtesy of the Kinky Brits podcast), but for the time being I’ll leave you with a couple of photos of some of the participants:

Yours truly was asked to demonstrate some of the myriad possibilities involving the rope in the kit (a lovely smooth, soft number with a surprising amount of spring in it). And after rigging a chest harness and lead on JB Miller (and parading her slightly unceremoniously around the room… such fun!), Melissa MacFarlane of Voluptasse volunteered for a quick and fun Karada:

It was an interesting and fun challenge being only able to work with one length as it forced me to really think about what is necessary to make a tie work, look good but not necessarily use huge amounts of rope with lots of body wraps and cinches etc. I had a few people compliment me afterwords (including Mr Lister… which kind of made me squee) so I guess my nerves weren’t showing too badly, although I think the gleeful enthusiasm of the volunteers really made the performance (thanks guys; you rock!).

There were other workshops including reviewing sex toys, co-authoring (how to make or break a friendship) and of course more smutty readings than you can shake a paddle at (including the joyful sight of Slave Nano being chased around the room by a paddle wielding Zak).

The evening saw three fo the Kinky Brits retiring to out hotel room and donning onesies for a podcast recording (which will be posted on the website as soon as I get around to editing the damned thing), followed by meeting up again with the Smutty attendees for an evening Chinese.

Utterly exhausting, but tremendous fun.

And that was just the Saturday…

Girl on the Net is running a pretty cool competition and, being the organised sort of chap I am, here is my eleventh hour submission:

“I hate the term Rope Bunny.”

“Really?” I said.

One of the fun things with any hobby is getting a slightly mixed up and new vocabulary, words that roll off the tongue like a secret code; packed with meaning for insiders but baffling to whoever’s sitting behind you on the DLR.

At an early rope event I recall one person, whilst being brought down from a suspension gabbling at the rigger, “I can’t put that one down yet it’s still in a futu-momo!”

One of the terms frequently used is “Bunny” to refer to the person being tied (alternatives are sub, bottom, rope bottom, victim etc but all having their own connotations). I quite liked it because in my mind it conjured images of something light cheerful and bouncy, which is something that speaks to the playful side that I see demonstrated so regularly in rope play. Combine that with the fact that it didn’t automatically come with connotations of D/s or S&M it seemed a good specific tool.

“Bunnies are what a magician pulls out of his hat; something placid, limp and unresisting,” said the other half of this conversation.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said.

And here si the trouble of words. Language is communication and it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that it’s like an encrypted signal, you cipher your thoughts or feelings into a word, communicate that and assume the recipient will decipher it the same way. I’m reliably informed that most people who study linguistics get to the point of shaking their heads in despair and wondering how anyone ever manages to get anything across to anyone else… ever!

So what could I use instead? What single word sums up something playful, lively and bouncy? What word embodies agency, independence and life?

Rope Hare?

Rope Kitten?

Rope Gazelle?

Rope Meerkat?

…

…

“Rope dolphin?”