Free Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult by Jurgen von Stuka Page A

understand it, but even going back decades to much of writer John Willie's material and his publication, Bizarre ; the connection between male TV's and self-bondage is very common and prevalent in erotic literature. He seldom dealt with females impersonating men, but I suspect that subject was often just in the background somewhere.       Years after Willie, Victor Victoria , a film about a woman impersonating a man who was a female impersonator, set down some previously untouched aspects of this kind of sexual fascination. So, the idea that a woman can and will have singular sex while fantasizing that she is a man is not so strange.
           So, how does this work for me? When the question was first asked, I was pretty sure that I didn't want to elaborate orally or in writing, but as this event progressed, I found that I had a great deal in common with a lot of people and that sharing the experience, if only in writing, was useful and enlightening. For lesbians, dressing as a man is often very exciting in itself. Anyone who tries to tell you that it is NOT a sexual experience may be ignoring the truth, but whatever. I get excited just putting on the male clothing I will wear. My sessions, if I have enough time, tend to run about an hour, more or less. I put on a jock strap with a moderate-sized silicon package in it, a pair of rugged work boots and athletic socks, men's jeans, work gloves, a breast binder to reduce and mostly hide my breasts and a rough wool work shirt. I often pull on a woolen watch cap to hide my hair. This is, as silly as it sounds here; all very important to the plan I have in mind.
           I do not, as a rule, wear any female clothing as it tends to detract from the feeling I want to create. I have also acquired a good collection of male gear. I have a full set of fire-fighter apparel, begged or bought at considerable expense. I have a pilot's flight suit, and, less unusual, a man's black tie tuxedo which I do wear from time to time and get compliments galore about. I own perhaps five too many men's Speedo swim suits. Still, I must restate that I am not, as far as I know, a lesbian or bisexual. Perhaps this is just denial, but I deeply crave and appreciate a man's presence and affection. Nevertheless, for SB, the switch seems essential.
           As I get ready for the SB session, I am doing a lot of planning in my head. The plan will determine if I get further dressed or bind myself in just the jock strap and T shirt. Either way, it is going to work for me, so it is just a matter of what I feel like at the time. Once I am dressed, the actual bondage comes into play. I may imagine that I am now the man in the clothes I am wearing and that my sexual equipment is actually male. While I cannot emulate having a real cock and balls, I can apply a variety of torments to my own equipment, imagining that it is a man's sex. Thus, the pair of rings through my labia and another through my clit become, in my mind, a steel band around my cock and balls. A leash hooked to my clit ring becomes a leash connected to my cock ring and has the same imaginary impact.
           I realize that this is very deep psychological material. It will make no sense to anyone who isn't on the same track and there is probably a long list of the neuroses that this may be symptomatic of, but I can only say that it works for me and has worked for the years I have been doing it.
           Getting back to the scene. I will be perhaps tied to a bedpost or overhead hook, with my arms raised over my head, more rope around my legs and ankles and cruelly gagged. Then perhaps after a few minutes, if I have any clothes on at all, I am slowly stripped of everything but the jock. The breast binder is gone, replaced by a few yards of rope wound around my upper body, leaving me in jock strap, work boots and socks only. I am brutally tormented by my captor, usually a sexy construction worker, a prison cellmate or woman vampire