Thursday, 6 February 2014


I'm not one for labels.

There are some who place value on a designer brand whereas I will happily slouch my way around Matalan or Primark placing value on the fact I can get two tops for a fiver.

Similarly, there are those who place value on a personal brand, a categorisation of the self, an all encompassing heading for their lifestyle choice. It could be political, familial, or professional but as this is the Boudoir I shall dwell on the sexual.

Maybe it's a sign of the times, perhaps it is good that we are all so much more enlightened these days, but the proliferation of sexual labels sometimes has me bewildered. I have to go and look things up. I read a post and think "I don't want to offend you but I don't even know what that is." When I was growing up you were either straight, queer or pervy. That was it. I liked the Rocky Horror Picture Show so I knew which camp I fell into and all was well.

Of course we have all moved on since the 1970s and now when I peruse the internet, reading bios, checking out blogs, I find that there are multitudes of sexual labels, covering everything from polyamorous transgendered  feminist spoon lickers to omnisexual fur positive cream cheese activists. (To further complicate matters some labelists prefer their own pronouns and get really upset if you drop a "he" or "she"bomb into the conversation. This is a tough as I am only labelled "human" and tend to make gender assumptions based on someone having either tits or a beard. Having both makes things terribly confusing but does provide ample opportunity for outraged tweeting, so at least somebody is having fun.)

Admittedly these subdivisions are less common than the all-pervasive Sub and Dom labels which have sprouted up online like dandelions on a lawn. I can see that a label is a convenient shorthand for selecting like minded companions but at the same time it's very restrictive. It's self limiting and, for me at any rate, dull. How uninspired to only like one variety of interaction from the vast selection available. Rejecting "vanilla" and forgetting that spicy is indeed a wonderful thing but works best in contrast. Vindaloo every day is hot stuff but you'll soon crave a sorbet, possibly around your ringpiece.

To return to an earlier blog theme, I blame 50 Shades of Shite and easily accessed generic "kink" on the internet. It replaces imagination in the unimaginative. Look at the Twitter Dom avatar uniform, for example. (Suits and ties are not the only fruit.) And don't get me started on all the boring submissive pics. (Shaven minges and visible ribs are not the only body type.) It can all feel so joyless at times which is a shame as the reality where I'm concerned has much more laughter and silliness in it.

As for me, I shall continue to resist being labelled. Other than as a grumpy old rat bag and cynic, of course.

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