Dear Bearded Confidant,

Once again I find myself in a quandary and seek solace in your counsel. A recent enjoyable romp in the bedroom with a new lover led to a rather startling discovery.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself, my back was arched, hips open and tilted up to make the most of the moment. I did not foresee what was to come next. My lover rapidly withdrew from my bum (no doubt to indulge his fetish of seeing what my rear end looks like after he had given it a good seeing to). In that instant, as though it had a life of its own, my bottom decided to involuntarily let one rip. Now, I understand that this was just a bit of wholesome air that found its way in during over-enthusiastic thrusting that was making its way out. Nonetheless, I was mortified! You will understand my consternation when instead of finding the mood killed as one would expect, my lover re-commenced congress with gusto and within moments, his hoarse cry and tell-tale rhythmic thrusts signalled that he had reached the point of no return.

I find it rather disconcerting that he enjoyed my involuntary loss of control. He continues to reminisce about it. Should I be worried? Are his fantasies normal or do I detect a note of unwholesomeness in them? Should I leave him? Please help!

Dear Gone with the Wind,

You raise a quite serious concern — is your lover's sudden eroticism of flatulence a "gateway fetish" to kinkier sexuality?  And your implied question is, "Where will it all end, and, ultimately, will it be a good thing?"  In my experience, the erotic horizon is approached incrementally — your current sexual attitudes, specific attractions, and audacity to explore new acts of mansex are undoubtedly not what they were a few years ago.  The problem is that an attempt to calculate kinkiness over time is somewhat futile, because kinkiness, like the experience of orgasm itself, transcends conventional standards of measurement.  How is one going to obtain an accurate assessment, much less an objective one?  We come of age into a man's world and our sexuality leaves us dumbfounded, forcing us to make more and more complicated decisions.  To have the world at our feet, we have to dip our toes into the water, and next thing we know we're rampantly foot fucking.  We unexpectedly find ourselves confronted with a flatulence fetish and ask the age-old question, "Where does the wind begin, and where does it all end?"  The true answer is that it never does end, and why should it?  May it blow you and me to new heights of ecstasy.  ;-)