The Nature of being Hyper-Sexual



4777f765d7b29309c803c9e81e3917da.jpgWhen I was younger, I used to be paranoid about high my sex drive was. Even after my hormonal spurt, well into my twenties, I was thinking a lot about the sexual nature of things.

I’d be at a cafe, observing people like some sort of alien, not for anything sexual, just because people in general fascinate me, but then I’d think about the type of things people would be interested in sexually. Is that tired looking mum into BDSM? What kind of things does she enjoy sexually? Are her and her hubby really enjoying themselves, how do they communicate sexually? Is that man happy with his wife or does he spend his free time wanking to another male over cam? Are these people shaven, trimmed, what, brain, what?!


This all ties into my overactive imagination. But I used to worry that it was all wrong, that I was perverted or addicted or one of those alarming big words – SEXUAL ADDICTION!


In my later years, and since being with my kitten, I don’t think like that as much. It’s not so much about sex that I think of when I look at people, but more about their happiness. I think this is partly because I came from a destructive relationship and I worry about anyone in that state, even if it isn’t my business or problem.


And beyond thinking about their happiness, I do occasionally think about the sex lives of others. I can’t help it. It’s the pervert in me but it’s not a personal thing, like I am not honing in on a particular aspect and jerking off in my mind’s eye, I am more curious as to how people behave and why they behave the way they do.


I still worry about my hypersexual nature. It comes and goes and comes and goes. Usually I take it out on my kitten, sometimes myself, if kitten is tired or unavailable, sometimes I just write.


My blog is – think of it like a bottle of wine, with the cork standing between reality and fantasy. Sometimes I let the bottle air out a bit, revealing my darkest desires to you, the reader, and sometimes I seal it before it spreads like wildfire and I’m just some transformed beast constantly fucking out my innermost desires.


In summary, if you have a hyper sexual nature, it’s not a bad thing. I think you’ll find it’s more human nature than addiction. More curiosity than impulse.


As always, if you are frustrated about it and need to vent any anxieties, feel free to reach me at, so in the dark light of the morning, I can tell you that it’s all perfectly natural and you aren’t the only one sometimes worrying. I do it too.



The Senses of a Daddy



Do you ever just look at someone, maybe in your Facebook list of friends, maybe overheard in a restaurant, maybe even a family member, and think that you feel something within them that you felt as you began your journey?

Sometimes I sense that.

If homosexual (and hetero) people alike have this thing called Gaydar (admittedly useful and something I feel too) that goes off once in a while, can we assume that such a thing exists as BDSM Radar?

Terrible name, I know. It’s not catchy, it just falls off the tongue,  stumbling much like my adolescent self did trying to impress a lady. But I feel that such a thing exists.

And it’s not that I spend my plaza shopping staring at a lady, drooling and thinking “Yes, she likes this concept”, it comes through an encounter, body language, dialogue – it’s almost supernatural.

Men I have a tougher time reading. You’d think that’d be pretty simple. Maybe they hide it better? Maybe they aren’t as in tune with their emotions as some lades are? Who knows? Not me.

You’d think you could sense a Dominant personality and sometimes I can.

To be honest I haven’t flexed my muscles regarding reading men. So I am out of practice.

On the other hand, I sometimes get a sensation when around certain ladies. And within interacting with them, I can feel something. The biggest thing I recognise is a baby girl presence. Maybe it’s the Daddy in me, maybe it’s as simple as the fact that I’ve done a lot of research, talked to a lot of people in my time of learning. But I always get this thought that lingers.

I usually boil it down to me being silly, or a pervert. That’s the ol’ catholic guilt happening.

I mean, I’m not fantasising about the women I have a sense on, I just get this sense within myself, like the weird need to help and/or nurture in a friendly chat.

But then, maybe that isn’t BDSM Radar. Maybe that’s just me, wanting to help in any way I can. I mean, if being Daddy is part of my persona, then it stands to reason that helping people is in my biological make up.

In any case, sometimes I get a sense of what may be hiding behind someone’s eyes. Am I wrong? There’s always room for error with a thing like this. Hell, I could be mistaken. But whatever the feeling I get, it’s strong and fills me with an urge to comfort.

Sometimes The Animal Wins

Were we always meant to be perverted?

We have our humanity, yes, and a moral code. The sexual predators are the ones that – for whatever reason – don’t and that’s what separates us from them. But is the line sometimes blurred? Do we make up for our animalistic thoughts by weighing it on the scale opposite from the scale that represents all the good we do in our lives?

Maybe I’m over tired. Maybe I’m onto something, maybe I am talking out of my ass here. Sometimes I look at, say, a waitress at a restaurant I’m dining in. I’ll notice everything from the light of her eyes, how she smiles to the way her breasts curve behind her work uniform. I’ll think about her as she passes me and serves the others. I’ll think about the colour of her panties and whether she is shaven or not. It will twist something in my stomach.

I could be sitting across from a woman while out another night. Her legs could be parted ever so slightly, revealing…what? a hint of the colour of her panties? More of her thigh?

I don’t go out into the night to be a womaniser. I was raised by a conservative mother. My family is mostly full of women. I have nothing but respect for women and yeah, when I feel my gaze is looking at the curves of a lady’s ass, I look away. I feel bad. I’m not always looking, you know, but it happens. And I never mean to.

Which is interesting. It’s like I’m waking up out of a dream. Like the animal takes over and despite my humanity, my own moral code and my family full of women, it wants to know about these women. It has a curiosity. An appetite. A sexual hunger.

She could be a woman just working at the grocery store, tattoos up her arm, long luscious brunette hair. And I think: Is SHE submissive? Does she go home at night and browse these blogs? How many times does she masturbate? What kinks is she into?

It’s not something I think with every woman I look at it, let me clear that one up. It’s just sometimes it happens. Sometimes I gaze when I don’t mean to. Sometimes I think when I don’t mean to. Sometimes, for a moment, it feels like ten minutes but in fact it is a few seconds, the animal wins.

And when the moment passes, I’m back to my old self. I’m head over heels for my submissive. I have no desire whatsoever to gaze upon other women. I retain my humanity and my moral code.

So: Were we always meant to be perverted? Does anyone else identify with my thoughts or am I just a sleazy womanising man? Because if that’s my story arc in this saga called life, that’s kind of disappointing. I thought I was better than that.

O Sweet Voyeurism!

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You know..I’ve got to thank you guys for putting up with my rambles. It’s really refreshing to know there are people out there that are squirming to my words, even when I write A LOT. This is going to be a different post. I hope you like it but if I stray too much from the general theme of the blog, please speak up.

Tonight – at least in Australia – I want to talk about Voyeurism. Because It’s something that has been a recurring theme in my life, this I’ll tell you now. From Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and Rear Window to my adventures as a teenager.

It came to my mind again while I was sitting here just lurking on the pages of the people that enjoy my ramblings. I’m sitting in the lounge room in the dark, just thinking as one tends to do. Then a light shines up through the crack in the blinds, probably coming from the house across the street. But what’s interesting is that my mind jumps to the image of a bedroom window, the blinds slightly open, enough for me to peer through…and when I do, this woman, she’s peeling off her panties and revealing her bare ass to me. And the light of her bedroom bounces off those delicious curves of her ass.

And then I got to thinking. My bedroom window can be easily seen into from the opposite side of the street. I sleep naked every night, I am often naked in my home. Has there been a time where a person has caught the curves of my ass? Or my cock stiffening in the morning, as it tends to do? Do I venture with them into their dreams — or their showers?

Do I…Dominate their mind?

No, this thought has little to do with BDSM but the connecting thread here is my animal. All it took was the light to shine through the blind and my mind jumped to that. What is that? Boiling it off to perversion is too easy. It has to be something deeper than that?

What would I do if this woman caught me undressing in my bedroom? What would I say if she was collecting her mail the same time I was and our eyes met? The thought being —  I know you saw. 

O, such a delicious thought to wrap up the night.