Best of 2017: Your Guide To The Latest Trends In Fetishism
Sniffing panties, eating crayons – we all have some kind of sexual peccadillo, whether we admit to it or not. One friend of a friend of Ten Towers likes nothing more than sticking his man rod into a Yorkshire pudding and eating it afterwards. How modern. How Bear Grylls.
Personally, I’m rather vanilla when it comes to perversions. Sit me down with a box set and a bottle of merlot and I’m yours – perverted in a different way. The perversions that follow here are a bit different, too. People are animals.
We’ve all been to those family parties when a ballon or three suddenly bursts and everybody jumps. But a burst balloon to you and me is an orgasm to others. Meet the “looners”, a secret sexual subset who get their saucy kicks from the popping of party balloons and the exquisite anticipation thereof. Christmas round Gran’s will never be the same again.
FANNY FARTS R FABULOUS (APPARENTLY)
Yes, fanny farts happen: get over it! As committed feminists here at Ten Towers, we are all for the passing of wind through one’s front pud, but have you ever heard of “the queef collective”? The underground group of like-minded front-trump fans willing to pay top dollar to watch women queef? Oh yes. In fact, 15 seconds of totally above- board NSFW research on the internet turned up one specialist hooker who lives “in and around Birmingham” and claims she can “whistle Dixie” through her talented foo foo. See, Britain really has got talent!
EVERY HOLE’S A GOAL
Ooh, there are some mucky buggers out there. Take those turned on by nasophilia: the love of shoving one’s pee pee up a lady’s nostrils. It’s true! Sucking, f*cking, licking and worshipping a lady’s nose is an actual, two-nostril, breathing thing. Pass a tissue, there’s a love.
One fashion director of a highly regarded menswear biannual (not this one) told us about a strange relationship that blossomed between him and a middle-aged “average chap” he met in a pub. “I call him Go-Fetch,” says the well-dressed front- row fixture, “because that’s what he likes to do.” It goes something like this: fashion director says, “Fetch me the Financial Times NOW!” Mr Average walks away. And then Mr Average returns. The fashion director barks, “Now fetch me a copy of the new Fantastic Man!” Mr Average leaves once more and brings back a copy of the new Fantastic Man. So what does Mr Average get from this vanilla exchange? “God knows,” says our fashion friend, “but I get any publication, in any language, absolutely free!” Odd indeed.
THE CULT OF YAKULT
“Won’t be long – just off to buy some yoghurt!” says the man in the shirt and tie you’ve never known the name of but you think he probably works in accounts. But that normal-looking man isn’t buying yoghurt to eat. Oh no. He’s buying it to smear. Welcome to the very strange world of yiaourtiphilia, aka “sexual arousal from yoghurt”. Apparently, many a gentleman and a fair few ladies, too, like to do nothing more than cover their down-below bits in strawberry-flavoured Yakult to achieve an unbeatable, keep-fit-style orgasmic high. Wave goodbye to thrush and have fun all at the same time. Quite clever, really.
MIND THE GAP
“Whoops, there I go again. Honestly, I see some stairs and I just fall down them – I’m forever in plaster, me!” Welcome to the noisy and dangerous world of climacophilia, or the act of becoming aroused by falling down stairs. Yes, climacophiliacs are a group of perma-fractured friends of A&E who love to throw themselves down the odd escalator to achieve a sexual high. Gordon only knows what they’d make of those escalators at north London Tube station Angel, which, with a vertical rise of 27 metres (OH, BABY, JA!), plus a length of 60 metres (RIDE THIS BITCH HARD, MAMA), are the longest (MORE! MORE!) on the underground (OOOOH! YAAAAA! THAT’S RIGHT. BIG NAUGHTY BOY HAS BEEN SICK IN CLEAN PANTIES). Or something like that.
IT’S PERFECTLY ARMLESS…
Ever played statues at school? You know, the game where those who move just an inch are out of the game and the one who stands still the longest wins? John Booth at our school loved it – like, really, really loved it and wanted to play it all the time. Was he perhaps experiencing his first sexual frisson with the little-known perversion of agalmatophilia – the “sexual attraction to statues, mannequins and dolls”? This filthy appreciation of marble was first witnessed in “1877, when a gardener was caught trying to have sex with a statue of the Venus de Milo”. Blimey. Watch where you’re shoving your hoe there, Jethro!
ET PHONE HOME
We’re not sure where this came from – possibly one of those weirdos who look like they’re wearing Vetements (but they’re not) and hang around Forbidden Planet – but one new fetish on the scene for men and women, reports Vice, involves what looks like an alien’s dildo – the brilliantly named “ovipositor” – being inserted into one’s bot bot or fan fan. The alien dildo then lays wet eggs made from gelatine into “the cavity of your choice”. These eggs melt and the trickling sensation of sloppy “alien cum” feels “next-level amazing”.
THE HAIR-GEL JIZZERS
Word reaches Ten Towers of a new perversion involving hair gel. Spotted in a basement backroom in London’s Vauxhall, one fashion friend witnessed two “handsome men, about 30” walking into the gay-sex back room and, 15 minutes later, walking out again. “Then they both stood at the bar and pulled something out of their rucksacks.” What, we asked. What? “That cheap blue hair gel you can only buy in corner shops. Then they started combing it through their hair.” How odd – why? “Well, when they were in the backroom, various men had jizzed in their hair and they liked the idea of combing it through with hair gel. Extra-sticky, I guess.” Oh Em God! How weird. What would Mr Sassoon say?
Not all buzzing noises emanating from a gentleman’s pocket are the sound of a mobile phone on vibrate, you know. News reaches this hive that a rare and very specialised perversion known as melissophilia is on the rise among men. A conjunction of the Greek for honeybee and love, melissophilia is the painful art of having bees sting your willy bits. According to fans, a sting on your bell end and/or ball bag is painful at first, yet the resulting swelling increases the sensitivity, and therefore the sexual orgasm, to hitherto-unknown levels of ecstasy. What a buzz that must be.
Illustration by Charles Jeffrey
Taken from Issue 46 of 10 Men, REBEL HEART, on newsstands now.