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Pleasure Planet 101: Guilty Pleasures Anyone?

As always, I must start my post with a shout out to my ManHandlers! You guys are the best followers EVAH! Thanks for hanging tight and helping to make this blog a success. Ever click you offer, every time you share our link, every time you buy one of our books, you make what we do so worthwhile. Thank you! With that in mind, here’s your bi-weekly (that’s twice a month, right?) ManHandler pic. Enjoy!

Now for the, uh, meat of the post. Heh. Yeah, I couldn’t help that. Sorry. Sort of. Okay, not really. We at Darker Temptations are talking about the ideal Pleasure Planet this go round. I have the distinct disadvantage of showing up after Sabrina Garie. Her post is absolutely brilliant and I wish I’d written it. Since I didn’t, I’m afraid I’m going to be reiterating some of her ideas.

What would a pleasure planet be for you? For your significant other? Spouse? Best friend? Lover? The answer is likely different for everyone I listed. One thing I can say with authority, though, is that pleasure of some sort would be involved. It’s the level we take that pleasure to that defines us as individuals. For me, the pleasure would be distinctly sexual. Yep, I said it. If I’m going to sign up for pleasure, I need — and expect — more than a foot rub. I want full-blown (again? yeah, I went there again), hard-bodied, nearly-physically-impossible, full-body orgasms involved. You know, the toe-curling kind we write about. I could go on, but we’d delve into the arena of TMI so fast you’d have whiplash and I’d be blushing until the next inauguration. Not something I’m ready to do at this point. For one night with Sam Bond? Hell, yes. For a blog post? Uh-uh.

Anyhoo, the idea is that pleasure is involved. Let’s assume, for the sake of this blog, that we’re talking about sexual pleasure. Every person would arrive to the Pleasure Planet with different expectations. For some, they’d be content with a massage while they were hand-fed prime fruit. Others would expect a St. Andrew’s cross, restraints, latex and whips. There are levels of pleasure in between the extremes that would satisfy any craving one might have.

What about body types? Again, you’d have every type represented, from super slender and athletic to robust and buxom women. Men would be skinny and funny or muscular, religiously hung and primally skilled. Yeah, there’s the edge of that TMI thing. Okay, so back to body types. Everyone has a “type” they prefer. No one should be mocked for what they declare as sexually appealing. I’m 6’1″ and not super thin anymore. Am I unappealing? To some, yes. To other, no. It’s all about the fantasies you’ve cultivated based on everything from upbringing to culture to secret fetishes.

So what about location? Temperature? Beaches or mountainous? Cuisine served? Seasons? You see where I’m going with this. Everyone has different ideas about what flips that switch for them. No one is right and absolutely no one is wrong. Period. Okay, if you involve minors, unwilling partners or barnyard animals, you’re wrong on so many levels I can’t even go there. But for those of us playing on the field I’ve drafted, you’re not going to meet with any flack. A menage does it for you? More power to you. Being totally dominated tips you over the edge? Hell, go for it. And if you want seven women and twenty men in bed with you? Go for it. And good luck. Four men with long hair, huge…hands and training in the Kama Sutra and Tantric sex? Oh, shit. Is it hot in here? No? Then I’m blushing. God, I hope the next inauguration is soon.*

*No political reference intended.*

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