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Fetish May 5, 2008

Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
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Is there anything more sexy than a man with a leg in plaster? Two legs would be showing off, but one cast leg, with satisfactorily revealed shin and calf, sported by a handsome, hobbling brute, makes for a fine figure of a man. I’m not sure if women pull off the look with equal panache. They probably do. But it is a sad realisation to appreciate, finally, that what really does it for you, as your hormones bob about springily with the vigour of the freshly awakened, is a man with a broken leg. How am I to achieve this look with the Russian? I can’t start pushing him down stairs as that would be rude and even if he agreed to satisfy my lust for plaster of Paris, how would we explain to the authorities – we’d be hard-pushed to keep cosmetic domestic violence secret in this cheesecloth house – that, yes, we understood it was violent misconduct in a way but we were two consenting adults in private and what has the world come to when you can’t even allow yourself an occasional minor fetish and, huh, I don’t go blabbing to the authorities when I hear the neighbours screaming, although, admittedly, that is sometimes from wild delight – honestly, I’ve heard rumours about this female orgasm business but it sounds terrifying in the flesh or, rather, through the ceiling – and, and… So I won’t resort to violence on my other half.

Anyway, I think the cast-lust is just a one-day affair. The sun’s out in Berlin for the first time since the wall came down and people are exposing bits of flesh right on cue. But today was a medical day and as I strode back into the world of the healthy, with reawakened joy at being alive and not being told I had twenty minutes to live – it was only ears, mind you – a fetish-creating hormone bubbled to the fore just as a man hobbled out of the same medical complex, beaming with handsomity and being helped by an equally handsome though unlame friend, with a freshly plastered leg. I think what clinched it for me, on the woof front, was the handicap borne with pride. It was a badge of honour. A membership card to Men’r’us. The offending (though not to me) leg must have got into this state, after all, during a game of football. Or a motor-bike accident. Or, oh no, drunken violence (perhaps at the hands of a girlfriend/wife who had pushed him down the stairs because she so fancied men in casts). I deleted all these images and fetishes and got back to living in the land of the able-bodied.

Going to the doctor’s was, as ever, total heaven. No. Untotal heaven. It would be total heaven if I could speak properly and understand what was said to me. Being only semi-communicative makes the process imperfect. But then it also adds a little frisson of excitement. I get to play the dumb bimbo. And that gets me talked down to by the person in authority. Which, let’s face it, is probably another fetish. I suppose I shall only truly reach paradise on earth when the Russian has a broken leg and is dressed up as a doctor telling me off for not looking after my health and prescribing me ear-drops.

“So vot’s your trouble?” asked the Frau-Doktor and I tried to set off on my ill-rehearsed spiel. Broken ear. Occasional dizziness. Goo. Itch. I’d learnt all the words and everything. Only, bugger me backwards, in my stage-fright, I forgot to mention that I was probably as deaf as a post too but had got used to it and so wasn’t sure.

She looked into my ears. I worried she would discover that my innards were one great yawning chasm. That I was a Tardis-made-man. There’s already plenty of me on the outside but, inside, there’s even more room for silence and emptiness. She barked intelligence on my normal-actually innards to her assistant who managed to be more of a bimbo than me, even with the gift of language.

The odd thing is the word for dizziness in German is Schwindel. Which also means swindle. I told myself not to get distracted beforehand but when I said to her I get the occasional Schwindel, she asked me what sort of Schwindel I meant – I’m not sure I could describe a type of dizziness in English, to be fair – and I let myself drift off and think about people pick-pocketing me, or the tax office deliberately miscalculating my tax or someone nicking the 50p pieces from my gas meter and stared back blankly at her. “Herr Inberlin,” she said, coinciding with my inner BiB, who nudged me awake from a comfy corner he’d found in the Tardis with a, “BiB, wake up, you fat fuck.” She told me I could get my balance back and avoid my dizziness with a few simple but mad-seeming exercises – sit on bed, head back, then lean your head to the side and allow yourself to fall in that direction – and then examined my nose, with some tweezers or other, and eyes by putting blinding – they make you not see. I don’t mean they’re magnificent – glasses on me and making me look this way and that before sending me off without so much as a follow-up appointment.

Every time I see a quack, I think, “This is it, BiB. Prepare yourself for The Big One.” A prescription for ear-drops and a discovery I fancy raspberries just isn’t the same.

Comments»

1. oyebilly - May 5, 2008

I used to take my washing to a launderette near the hospital. While waiting for my clothes to clean I used to nip into the pub next door for a pint (and then a half and a packet of peanuts while they were drying). The pub often had people with casts and the like, drinking pints through straws etc.

It was always interesting.

2. BiB - May 5, 2008

But did you instantly form a very short-lived indeed crush on ladies with one, and, I repeat, one, broken or cast-in-plaster-for-some-other-reason leg? That’s a nice image, of you scooting off to the pub as your things spun wetly and warmly around in metal drums, but did you get lonely?

3. ThePenguin - May 5, 2008

BiB, this being Germany, you can probably go to the Sozialgericht with the argument that having one’s partner’s leg put in a cast is essential to your sexual relationship and hence to your well-being and general health, and should be covered by your Krankenkasse, if it isn’t already, what with your Krankenkasse being a posh one who will probably even someone round to make the break.

4. bowleserised - May 5, 2008

Not that I enjoy knowing this, but there is a specialised branch of porn which is all about Japanese girls with plaster casts and bandages on. Can’t remember what it’s called.

And Billy, I remember going to visit a friend in the Royal London. We’d nip out (as well as you can nip out when you’re wheeling a hospital bed) onto the balcony so he could smoke, and we’d be surrounded by old men from the cardiac ward, having a fag and carrying their “morphine handbags”.

And then the next week? They wouldn’t be there.

5. suburbanlife - May 5, 2008

Well, the attractiveness quotient of a man with a cast on his limbs might depend upon the circumstances during which he was broken to pieces and cast into a semblance of himself, and needing attentions. Falling down stairs whilst drunk doesn’t quite count as so desirable; injuring himself while undergoing sweaty trials is on the other hand very sexy. yes, though, temporary disability does attract in a fetishy sort of way. G

6. oyebilly - May 6, 2008

I didn’t develop any crushes on them with broken limbs in the pub, but it wasn’t through lack of trying.

Besides, having to interrupt “can I buy you a drink?” with “Oh no, I think I need to rescue my clothes in case someone nicks them” is never alluring.

7. BiB - May 6, 2008

Billy, true. I think your romances were doomed from the beginning, what with you dashing off to rescue your smalls and them being too stricken to chase you round the corner, though if the story were a film starring Hugh Grant, with you as Hugh, there’d probably be a way. You could sit in the washeteria drinking coffee and eating an almond croissant, gazing at the spin cycle, and she’d hobble past, and then it’d start raining. Would you have coped with a Wet Wet Wet soundtrack to your romance, though? No, it’s all worked out for the best.

Suburban Life, yes, I agree wholly. Which might also be why I’m more inclined to fancy the gent with a leg rather than an arm. I know a leg could come about from violent conduct too, but I’d struggle very hard not to think a man with an arm had got into the sorry state because of applying his fist to somewhere it shouldn’t have been applied. Mind you, the first time I remember a cast it was on John Smith – that really was his name – at school when we were 9, and we all gave him our autographs, which suggests we’d gotten the adulation the wrong way round. I think we all thought he was very tough though (and he used to go to Spain on holiday, which meant he was as exotic as a pineapple to start with).

B., now that I am actually Berlin’s healthiest person, I want you to tell me, so that I can combine vice with goodness, that those men were no longer there because of nicotine’s miraculous restorative effects. Oh no. Or they smoked themselves dead? I think the single thing that would most improve the quality of my life would be the discovery that cigarettes are good for you. Then, once they could be made smoke- and odour-free, I’d smoke myself senseless. I’m sure I’ve told you that the ward I was on in a Russian hospital had a smoking room.

Pengers, I’m shuddering at the thought of the Krankenkasse employee in charge of inflicting fetish breaks. But you did remind me of the story of the woman who was going to have her benefits cut here because she refused to take up a job in a brothel. I wonder if it was even true or invented by the British press to remind people not to trust the Boche. I hope that part of your mission in Japan is to proselytise AGAINST the type of thing B. says your new adopted homeland is producing. I’ll send you a soapbox if you like.

8. ThePenguin - May 6, 2008

Can’t recall the exact details, but the having-ones-benefits-cut-for-not-working-in-a-brothel story has entered urban legend, the actual case was much more mundane, I’m sure KMS can come up with the details.

Bowleserised, your informational nugget is intriguing me, I shall keep my eyes peeled for further details you don’t want to know about. BiB, I am sure it is all just decoration and no actual limbs are harmed in the production thereof.

9. Marsha Klein - May 6, 2008

Did you know you can, quite legitimately, buy plaster bandage, even as a non-medical person. Craft shops sell it. I bought some last summer to make a fake plaster cast for someome else’s leg…
All you need to do is persuade the Russian to fall asleep (preferably wearing a pair of shorts) then whip out a bowl of warm water and your plaster bandage and you’re sorted. He’d need to sit still while it dried though.

10. BiB - May 6, 2008

Marsha, what a brilliant idea. My mind was so depraved and lustful that I clean forgot we could make the whole thing purely cosmetic. It could be a fake break. Mind you, I’d still probably need the person from my Krankenkasse (insurance folk) to come and apply the bandage. But why were you making a fake plaster cast for someone else’s leg? Was it also to do with a fetish? Do I need to alert your husband? (I have his phone number, remember.) Am I simply a late adopter of what is actually a bog-standard part of one’s sexual development?

Penguin, indeed. Perhaps the whole sorry tale is much less titillating than it at first sounds. And the Japanese appear to be much better (or worse, depending on your view) at this whole kink thing, as your f*ing stockings prove. Is the worn-underwear machine also a myth?

11. ThePenguin - May 6, 2008

Without checking my sources, I believe there were such things for a short but exciting period, but were deemed too pervy even for Japan. I have heard rumour that the trade has moved into seedy shops in back streets, but have not yet had sufficient cause to confirm fo myself. You can however still find machines vending unworn underwear (which are frequently mistaken for the aforesaid pre-owned product) as well other adult-orientated items.

12. Marsha Klein - May 6, 2008

It might have been my husband for whom I was making the plaster cast…but…it wasn’t. No, rather boringly and non-fetishtically, it was part of a fancy-dress outfit for Daisy.

13. ThePenguin - May 6, 2008

Not sure if Daisy has finally settled on a career, but there would be plenty of opportunities for her here in Tokyo.

(PS BiB, sorry I borked the link in my last comment)

14. Marsha Klein - May 6, 2008

Penguin, it’s one of Daisy’s ambitions to visit Tokyo and hang out around Harajuku. I think she’ll need to up her game outfit-wise, though – the competition’s pretty stiff as I remember.

15. ThePenguin - May 6, 2008

It’s certainly where Japan’s best hang out. If she makes it here, do tell her to drop me a line, Harajuku is one of my stomping grounds (for family and geographical reasons – I strolled most of the way over there this very afternoon – it’s not very often you will catch me dressed up like a Gothic Hello Kitty). I shall expect Daisy to impress me with her Gaelic though.

16. Sylvia - May 6, 2008

I’m a bit perplexed by this. Isn’t having a leg in plaster very inconvenient? No, sorry, can’t see the attraction at all, I’m afraid. I’m having a real lack of imagination moment, so it seems.

17. BiB - May 6, 2008

Sylvia, I suppose it wouldn’t be ideal, unless the admirer – me, in this case – happened to have an additional fetish for signing/writing on broken limbs, which I could make myself have, if need be. When the Russian eventually dresses up for me as a lame-but-strict doctor, I will write, “I find your lameness gorgeous,” on his gammy leg just as often as he commands.

Pengers, I used my magnificent powers of deduction to work out how to make your link look more neat and tidy. And while I have no desire to buy the used underwear EVEN of someone with a cast limb, I must say it would almost be tempting if they were purveyed in such a pretty vending-machine as the one not selling used underwear on your blog. But you mustn’t recommend naughty professions to Marsha’s daughter. Japan is clearly wreaking havoc on your moral compass.

Marsha, with every typed and read word, the clarity of my own naivete and others’ precociousness becomes ever more epiphanic. Even Daisy, who is 400 years younger than me, has got past the plaster stage. I need to go and bone up on my Freud – ooh er, matron – and work out how to become an adult. Mind you, it’s terrible now that the sun’s out and folk are scantily clad in parks. Whereas normally I would find that a very satisfactory state of affairs, now even the dishiest gent will leave me cold if he hasn’t got at least a bit of a limp.

18. Ed Ward - May 7, 2008

For what it’s worth, in a seedy corner of Tokyo I saw used panties machines, with the schoolgirl’s picture next to each specimen, in the doorways of porn shops seven years ago. Didn’t even get close enough to nab a look at the prices, though, since I was late for a remarkable noodle dinner with a renowned free-jazzist.

19. BiB - May 8, 2008

Ed, quite right too. I would never prioritise used panties over food. Come to think of it, there’s probably nothing I’d give used panties priorities over. And it would be a bad excuse for being late too, wouldn’t it? “Sorry I’m late. I got held up by a recalcitrant 50 yen coin at the used-panty machine.” Hopeless.

20. The Done Thing - May 8, 2008

I like puss. Does that have any relevance to this discussion?

21. IsarSteve - May 8, 2008

Done thing.. after reading your comment a full three times over, I’m still not sure what you mean..

do you mean Pussy? as in meowwwwwww?

or do you mean Pus? as in pimple?

I think I prefer not pass judgement on either…

22. The Done Thing - May 8, 2008

pus.

finger slipped.

still relevant?

23. BiB - May 9, 2008

Done Thing, it does, and counts as the most honest fetish-admission of the whole undulating and variegated discussion. Mind you, mustn’t it be difficult to satisfy?

Isar, there’s no denying it. It has him down as a kinky old bugger. Pussy-as-cat makes me think of Steve Martin. Whom I fancy almost completely.

24. IsarSteve - May 9, 2008

Bah! …. widerlich!!

THE Done Thing, does this mean you are a “pus pimple popper”?

Or are there even more disgusting things that can be done with…..

Please DON’T reply….

p.s. I’ve not gone all formal on you, just because I’m using “the” again. It’s just that “done thing” without the “the” sounds very “east of Hong Kong”, but come to think of it, they eat “puppy dogs tails” etc., there too!! so who knows… you’ve turned me off my dose of vanilla Topfencreme for today…

25. BiB - May 9, 2008

Isar, conquer your squeamishness. Mind you, there’s no denying that people make food+squeamishness associations. I was in a restaurant in this very city with my sister once who wanted the soup but, on discovery that it came with cream, wanted to know how the blob was going to be engineered in. I think I gave her a withering look and she ordered something else.

26. Castsandtoes - November 4, 2009

@bib – just stumbled on this post. As you can probably tell from my name I have a fetish for casted legs as well! I am a male so I prefer to see females in leg casts, however lately I have had this uncontrollable urge to be confined to a leg cast myself and have a woman just have her way with my helpless body! Check out my blog and feel free to send me an email if you would like to discuss further…

27. BiB - January 28, 2010

Castsandtoes, I fear I am not such an expert as you. For me, it was a fleeting, one-man fetish. But good luck pursuing yours!


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