And despite what certain seminal 1960s rock bands would have us believe, even if one tries and tries one does not always get what one needs, either. That's if you can figure out what it is that you need in the first place.

One thing I've identified as a need is that somehow I am going to have to get over my massive entrenched prudishness - the source of all my perversion - if I'm going to satisfy said perversion. This is a potentially complex matter as in getting rid of the prudishiness, will I not also vanquish the perviness that made it necessary in the first place? I don't know, I'm not a psychiatrist and unlike everyone else I don't even play one on the internet - I'm just extraordinarily self-involved.

As even talking about what I want in any detail is confoundingly difficult that's probably step one towards getting what I need: the kind of in-depth analysis or at least description of one's own sexual mores that Bitchy Jones has no trouble with, and which - cloak of anonymity and unknown audience and all - I find almost impossible to engage in while sober.

 About the most graphic conversation about sex I've had in absolutely years which didn't centre on the humourous fuck-up version of events was with a friend who shares my enthusiasm for women's genitals in roughly the same visceral way (before anyone gets confused; I'm bisexual. I'm also technically polyamorous and a sub, and I detest having to explain these things). After our free and frank discussion (she is one of my best friends, possibly the closest friend I have) I had a mild freak-out about the level of openness involved and felt somewhat giddy. I am not good at openness.

Being as I love to hide behind masks (check out my username. If you understand what it means - well, you'll see how much I love them), I've tried to address in fiction some of my more major hot points, and the effort of putting the honest reactions onto the page wore me out and made me too nervous to get it right. Even those half-truths make me flush when I re-read them.

I've mentioned the blood fetish already. It is the centre of my interest, but other things keep on piquing my interest; a gay friend of mine told me about how he'd once been "fucked so hard that I pissed a bit, fortunately the guy was into it".

And that intrigued me, because I quite like that as a measure of how intense things are. I'm not overly thrilled by piss itself, but I'm not as revolted by it as I'd thought. "Not as revolted by it as I'd thought" is a reccurring theme, and I blame J. Bean for this. Alright, I am finding his continual insistence on SS&C extremely galling, but his description of men being ordered to piss themselves ... that was a bit of an electric shock to the system. I also strongly suspect that straight or lesbian BDSM clubs aren't going to be as keen on that as gay BDSM clubs. To which I say: bloody gay men, stealing all the fun!

I have yet to find anyone who wants to cut and be cut, rather than simply agreeing to, maybe, because they think it'll make me happy. Nice though it is that someone, anyone, would like a fat angry butch girl to be happy as a result of their ministrations, I want someone who is enjoying themselves as much as I am. I want mutual bloodshed of mutual impact. I want someone else to be shuddering and sweating and high as I am, as enthusiastic about smearing their blood over my face as I am about bleeding onto them. Preferably someone without, say, syphilis or the like.

It's difficult to describe the feeling of seeing bloodshed in terms that make sense to anyone else. I know my nostrils flare. I know thinking about it on me makes my pupils dilate. I know the smell of blood and the taste of it both disgust and exhilarate me. And I know just how much of a fucking nutbag my friends think I am for it.

I cannot conceive of how they'd take if I admitted that I also harbour a fantasy of existing somewhere between uniformed bodyguard and junkyard dog. That I want to wear a collar. That I like feeling someone's hands close around my throat while they stare into my eyes.

When Bitchy Jones talks about male submission she talks about strength and nobility and the captured warrior ideal. And that's what I'd like; is it really my fault that I'm female? Am I not allowed to be submissive and strong? Why not?