Pervert’s Library

By Jack Rinella
Published in 2004 by Greenery Press

Just when I was ready to give up on ever reading a well-written BDSM book I happened to pluck this little gem from my collection. Unlike most of the Greenery Press’ writers, Rinella writes in a clear concise style. Better still, rather than rambling about fantasies he has, he incorporates the experiences of others into his narrative and uses those experiences to explain things he’s already discussed or introduce new ideas.

If you are unfamiliar with the Greenery Press’ Toybag Guides, they are small pocket-sized books devoted to BDSM topics. Though Rinella spends most of his discussion on the most common of all clamps, clothespins, he also discusses other styles of clamps discussing their utility and limitations.

I can only think of two things he fails to discuss about clamps. First, in his listing of clamps used in play, he does not discuss sheet metal clamps. This may be due to the fact that they are less commonly used in play or it may be because they are comparatively more dangerous than the other clamps he discusses (a concern he could hardly be faulted for having). That he simply is unaware of them, while possible, seems unlikely.

While some people enjoy modifying their play clothespins with small nails or other objects to increase their bite, I personally have never found the reward worth the effort. That Rinella didn’t mention this bothers me not at all. However, I was surprised that he didn’t mention that clothespins can be taken apart and reversed for a different sensation. For those who love trivia, folks in the motion picture industry refer to a clothespin as a “C47” and a reversed clothespin as a “C74.” (Full credit for that tidbit of knowledge belongs to Hardy Haberman (Myspace link) for that bit of knowledge.)

Despite this book’s short length, I enjoyed it and it will remain a handy reference for years to come.

by M.R. Strict
Published in 2004 by Greenery Press

Klysmaphilia or enema play is one of those topics that embarrasses most people to talk about, much less express an interest in. Given that, Greenery Press’ book devoted to the topic would seem a very worthwhile effort towards expanding everyone’s comfort and familiarity with the topic. Or at least, that’s what I thought prior to reading the book. Simply put, this book is shitty. It pains me to have to say that (for one thing I bristle at the bad pun) but that description is both succinct and apt.

One consistently annoying thing about BDSM books in general, and Greenery Press titles in particular, is a writing style that uses fantasy scenes interspersed in between matter of fact discussion. Having endured more of these books than anyone really ought, I have come to the conclusion that most BDSM books would not find a publisher if they were written about any other topic. Books about even such potentially mundane topics as gardening, cooking, and sewing are generally written better than even the best BDSM book. It is so bad that I own any number of books that I would be embarrassed to have the coroner find on my bookshelf not because they are dirty but simply because they are poorly written.

But I digress. The most astonishing part about Intimate Invasions is that even though it clocks in at about 140 pages, there are perhaps 20 that contain useful information. Without the awful fantasy sequences this book might have been a good fit for Greenery Press’ “Toybag Guide” series. But even that might be a stretch since even those 20 pages are not reliable because M.R. Strict’s knowledge and advice seems suspect. As bad as the factual sections are, the fantasy sequences are even worse.

Just how bad is this book? It is so bad that I would put more faith in the advice from any number of 1970s enema guides marketed by the same companies that specialized enema themed pornography. Even though they often recommend such potentially dangerous practices as giving wine enemas, they tend to demonstrate a greater passion and knowledge of their subject.

I hope that another BDSM publisher and/or author will devote a book to this worthwhile topic. They certainly will have no trouble writing something better than this

by Deborah Addington
Published in 2006 by Greenery Press

I’m not sure what to make of this book’s appearance in print. On the one hand, it’s good that a publisher with the stature of Greenery Press finally went on the record and published a resource about play piercing. Yet for some reason, I can’t help but envision a self-serving politician hoisting this book in front of the cameras of a media all too eager to play along about the latest menace to our children. Even though we’re all responsible for our own behavior, I also can’t help but worry that the book might inspire someone who doesn’t know what they are doing to try play piercing on someone too trusting and result in a bad play experience or worse.

Play piercing is one of my favorite play activities. While there is a great deal of medical literature and accepted medical practices devoted to similar practices such as phlebotomy, play piercing is an art and not a science. There aren’t lots of controlled studies dedicated to following how different piercing techniques affect the body, how piercing bottoms react to such things. Nor is there a central agency to receive trouble reports when play piercing goes awry.

Though there is little doubt that experience is imminently valuable about learning how to do something like play piercing, all of that experience is anecdotal. Just because I stuck a needle in the Nether Region A on subs x, y, and z and nothing bad happened to them, it’s a big stretch to say that sticking a needle in Nether Region A is “safe.” For one thing, I don’t think that play piercing is safe.

It’s my considered opinion that if you want to enjoy BDSM but only when it’s safe, you’ve got the wrong sexual hobby. Most everything BDSM doesn’t meet any reasonable definition of “safe” either physically or emotionally. That’s okay – just because something isn’t safe doesn’t mean one has to be reckless and exercising caution isn’t a bad thing.

If nothing else, Play Piercing will prove to be a good resource for those interested in play piercing, because it will stand as a handy reference for basic questions about the most common questions and techniques about play piercing. The book also suggests a few more advanced play piercing techniques and ideas that can expand the play of even the most experienced play piercing fan. The sections devoted to the joys of blood play are also of interest.

Still I can’t write about this book without mentioning a few minor things that bugged me as I read through the pages. One thing in particular was Addington’s use of the term “skinsuit” to describe the skin. I don’t know if it was intended to be clever, cute, or both, but it distracted from the text.

In another section where she was discussing consuming (drinking) blood, she attempts to come across as a blood epicurean and makes silly preposterous claims about how one’s diet affects the taste of their blood. She claims that people who eat fish often taste fishy, frequent fried food lovers taste like gravy, and so on. While I don’t know if Addington is trying to be sincere or exercising literary license with these claims, I am reminded of the folly of relying on anecdotal evidence to make claims of fact. It seems likely that one’s impression about the flavor of blood is based on their expectations than anything else.

At any rate, sometimes I imagine conducting a double blind study of the taste of blood and diet. A vision complete with lab workers in white coats holding clipboards handing small samples to volunteers and asking them to report their impressions of the taste. Sometimes, I imagine a crimson Pepsi Challenge where perverted volunteers like myself are surprised to find that they prefer the taste of Miss Eats McDonald’s Every Day. Then again, I’m a little strange.

While I wouldn’t say that reading this book will serve as a substitute for learning about play piercing by doing and observing, anyone interested in play piercing regardless of their level of experience will find this book a good investment of time and money.

by Jay Wiseman
Published in 1996 by Greenery Press

I remember back in the 1980s there was a commercial for an instructional break dancing video. The break dancing fad was already on the wane by the time the video marketers decided to shamelessly capitalize on it, but that mattered little as the video’s target audience was clearly middle class parents, rarely the avant-garde of anything

The fashions and set design of the commercial clearly showed the influence of “street” culture. But these weren’t the frightening urban streets of Harlem’s slums; instead these were the cul-de-sacs of suburbia. What really resonates in my consciousness was the cheery announcer allaying the fears of parents everywhere with the promise that the video offered “the safe way to break.” You know the fun is over and mediocrity has set in when something is safe enough to sell to the middle-aged middle class.

Naturally, you may be wondering what that has to do with an introductory book on sadomasochism. On the surface, not much. But after reading SM 101: A Realistic Introduction, I couldn’t help but be reminded of how something seemingly relegated to our cultural fringes could be commodified into something “safe” and not so frightening that everyone can embrace it.

Doing so was not Wiseman’s stated objective. In the introduction, he states that his purpose in writing the book is to give readers as much education about S/M sex as one might expect from an introductory college course. He does a very good job of this, but something is missing. Or more to the point, there’s just too much of something.

After finishing and contemplating the work, I initially wondered if Wiseman didn’t have a safety fetish that borders on the pathological. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing in and of itself. Surely we all want to avoid injuring our lovers even as we do evil, sadistic things to them. Likewise no matter how outré someone’s fantasies are, no reasonable person wants their fantasy fulfillment to end with a maiming. It would surely be irresponsible, at best, to offer instruction on S/M and not take pains to make sure the advice didn’t includes lots of information about safety.

It should be hard to fault the book for including too much of an emphasis on safety, yet I can’t help but think there is a natural tension between that which is safe and that which is fun. That isn’t to say that safe and fun are mutually exclusive; while every person clearly has a threshold where being endangered can only be perceived as a terrifying fear, lots of people experience some amount of fear or awareness of danger as excitement or fun. Were that not the case there would be no lines at roller coasters or horror movies. Likewise, S/M should be fun. If it isn’t, what’s the point in doing it?

While debate about what exactly S/M is, and is not, will never reach unanimity, without doubt a large part of it involves exploring, both physically and psychologically, the darker places of our consciousness. If S/M is completely safe is it any fun? Is it still even S/M? I think the answer to both questions is clearly no.

That’s what troubles me about this book’s excessive emphasis on safety: I don’t think that its overemphasis was intended for someone interested in learning about S/M. Instead, I get the feeling that Wiseman obsessed about safety to allay the arguments of those who claim S/M is abuse. The trouble is, not only are critics of S/M unlikely to read this book in the first place, they are also unlikely to persuaded that S/M isn’t abuse no matter how safe and consensual it is.

Despite this criticism, this book is still a wonderful resource for someone interested in learning about S/M, and to be fair, much of the safety information (e.g. safe calls) is essential advice that one would be foolish to not observe. Wiseman writes in an affable conversation style that is clear and avoids the fictionalized interludes that drag down many books of this type. While some of the information about using the internet as a resource is out of date, given the way that the internet has changed since the last revision, this was inevitable and forgivable.

If Wiseman revises this book again (this is the second edition) and focuses on the novice S/M audience - instead of the vanilla audience he’ll never convince anyway - he will have written a book that will remain essential reading for S/M novices for generations to come. Even if Wiseman doesn’t revise the book, flaws and all, for those wanting to learn about S/M the book is worthwhile.

By William A. Henkin and Sybil Holiday
Published in 1996 by Daedalus Publishing Company

This book’s table of contents left me wary because it devotes 150 pages to what the authors refer to as a “safety manual”. I am firmly of the opinion that if you think BDSM has to be “safe” you probably should find a different sexual outlet. That isn’t to say that I think it is okay to be reckless when you play. Far from it. I think that we all have to recognize that BDSM is an inherently risky activity that demands we each take personal responsibility for when we play. To be clear, I don’t think that the only risks are physical.

In fact, I think that the physical risks are the least severe. It is the emotional risks that we take when we play that are the most extreme. These risks aren’t the sole purview of bottoms (or submissives or bottoms or whatever the Hell it is someone chooses to call themselves. I could write a lengthy rant about how silly we can be about terminology. Someday I just may…) Indeed, tops (or dominants…same rant…) also take just as much emotional risk when we play.

Luckily despite my initial worries the discussions of playing safely aren’t heavy handed. Instead, they serve as brief introductions to the sorts of play they describe. Sometimes, these discussions seem too brief. However if these types of play were all covered in the depth they demand, the book would be so long it would be too intimidating for all but the most dedicated reader to pick up.

Also important to remember that BDSM is ultimately not something that one learns from a book but instead is only learned from practice and experience. (I should add that this process of learning is ongoing. The most dangerous sorts of people are those that maintain they have nothing left to learn.) This is a point the authors make more than once by cautioning anyone interested in such play to learn from someone with lots of experience.

Another refreshing thing about this book is the total absence of fictional fantasy sequences from its pages. I have no idea why such fantasy scenes take up so much of the space of most BDSM how-to books as their inclusion detracts rather than enhances.

Unfortunately, even though this book avoids the annoying fantasy sequences it does include another flaw that rears its head all too often in BDSM books: new age spirituality. Even though I don’t personally have much use for spirituality I recognize that there is a time and a place for it; I’m just dumbfounded why anyone believes that time and place to be inside a book about how to beat people.

BDSM spirituality almost invariably manifests itself in one of two ways, Wicca/paganism or Indian mysticism (Tantra). Most published BDSM books come from California and have the Indian bent confirming yet another hippie-dippy California stereotype. Locally, most “spiritual” practitioners I know seem to be of the Wicca/Pagan/mother earth/bridge troll persuasion. Just once I would love to hear someone report that while they were “flying” in the middle of a scene they felt closer to, oh I dunno, Isis. I’d settle for a report of an out of body experience where someone tongued Satan’s asshole. Alas, I suspect that I will remain forever disappointed.

But I digress, despite the predictable embrace of spirituality, Consensual Sadomasochism is an excellent introductory book for those wanting to explore BDSM and those interested in learning more would be well served by reading it.

P.S. Some of you poor misguided people out there are under the impression that activities involving consent are “consentual.” Those of you who are sticklers for spelling and grammatical accuracy (aka “grammar Nazis” like myself) are already well aware that there is no such word as “consentual” and cringe upon seeing it. The word is properly spelled consensual. Learn it, love it, live it.

By Dr. Kurt Donsbach
Published in 1983 by The International Institute of Natural Health Sciences, Inc.

I know I am different from most people, but the first thing I wondered when I read this book’s title was whether I could trust a book with such a grammatically awkward title. (I can’t.) Actually, that was the second thing I wondered. The first thing I wondered was if (and how) the book would handle the delicate discussion of the simple joys of having a finger up your ass.

As much as I might like to claim otherwise, I honestly was not terribly surprised that the book did not discuss the joy of manual stimulation of the prostrate with a finger or other object. I would have been more surprised if it had, and you could have knocked me over with a feather if it had delved into the obscure subject of prostate milking.

Thanks to the fine folks at quackwatch.org, I was able to learn everything I wanted to know about the storied career of Dr. Donsbach. I personally am quite skeptical of alternative medicine, but even alternative medicine’s advocates would be well advised to be suspicious of the likes of Dr. Donsbach.

Even if I wasn’t able to read the quackwatch.org article, it takes little time for even a layperson like me to determine that Dr. Donsbach’s medical advice isn’t to be trusted as he devotes the book’s first half to outlandish and unsupportable claims about the restorative properties of nutrition as it relates to prostate health.

The most entertaining portion of this book is Dr. Donsbach’s “Liver-Kidney-Bowel Cleansing Fast.” Unless you enjoy scat play, I can’t imagine that anyone would ever attempt to follow this particular program.

Even though absolutely nothing in this book seems factually reliable, I did enjoy it thoroughly. However, it was the same sense of enjoyment that I derive from driving by a car wreck.