As I’ve said numerous times, there are as many different ways to enjoy BDSM as there are people doing it. No two people are exactly alike in their wants and needs, and no two people will carry their desires out the same way.
There are certain things, though, that most people would believe to be inherent. For several years, I’ve believed that they were, but as with nearly everything now, I continue to question everything that I used to believe. That’s healthy for me. It’s good to revisit and explore.
The Certain Things would include:
- The dominant is in charge, the submissive is not.
- There are consequences for every action.
- Submission always entails a certain amount of service. The amount varies from relationship to relationship.
- Responsibility is shared equally, which makes communication that much more important. We are not mind-readers. Expressing yourself is the only sure way of making sure that your lines aren’t crossed, or are crossed with the utmost caution.
- It does not matter if your d/s is only in the bedroom; what matters is that you feel strongly enough about it to express it in your own way at your own pace.
- Anyone who tells you that you are doing it wrong is entitled to his or her opinion, but it doesn’t mean that you have to follow his or her rules.
I’m sure there are more, but that’s what’s in my head right now.
The one that I’ve been questioning recently is service.
Can you be a submissive that doesn’t do any routine service for a dominant, beyond what would be considered sexual? If not, does that just make you a bottom?
I’m a caretaker. When I’m in any sort of relationship, I want to do whatever I can to make sure that the other person in the relationship is happy, healthy and fulfilled. In my past d/s relationships, I’ve leaned heavily toward care-taking. With M, I took care of his home, helped him decorate it, and helped raise his daughters. With C, I took care of his finances, made sure he never missed family birthdays or occasions, and when his father passed away, I took over all of the legal issues that arose after. What I realized recently is that I’d have done those things without a d/s aspect to the relationship. It’s just who I am. They had absolutely nothing to do with being submissive to my partner and everything to do with caring about my partner.
So beyond sex, what would constitute service that I did provide?
Not much /shrug
So then my service to these two gentlemen -- what someone would term service anyway – was wholly sexual.
Does that make me a bottom?
No. It makes me a submissive who happens to get off lucky /wink
The things that I would typically do for a partner are not things that everyone would do for their partner. For other women, perhaps decorating a house or handling legal paperwork would be an act of submission, especially if they did not feel they excelled in these areas. For me – it was just me, being me.
I don’t think that makes me any less submissive. Had M asked me to change the oil in his truck, or had C asked me to have his dinner on the table at 5 pm every night, I’d have done these things for them. But they didn’t. I’d have taken on whatever they’d have thrown at me.
So maybe the difference is intent.
But I do know for a fact that not being service oriented (which frankly I don’t consider myself to be. I don’t have this deep *drive to serve, but when asked, I’ll do it gladly) doesn’t make one any less submissive. It just makes one differently submissive than someone else.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
How Much is Too Much?
How much is too much?
There’s “err on the side of caution” and there’s “everything in moderation” but really, where do the lines for caution and moderation lie?
I’m talking specifically about levels of submitting to someone, in case you weren’t sure.
I’ve met dominants that it’s taken me months to build up to my submission with. Giving a little at a time, testing the water so to speak, holding certain things back (not secretly, being very upfront about it) until I got more and more comfortable with them.
I’ve also met dominants that made me want to drop to my knees immediately, whether they invited me to or not (I’m pretty good at resisting that urge *wink)
And then I’ve met dominants that, with no amount of time, would I give much of myself to at all.
I have played with very few “dominants” in the scene that I didn’t belong to, or wasn’t on the way to belonging to anyway. In California I played with a lot of tops, and some men who actually were dominant to others, but just topping me (which was what I wanted at the time).
But this is a different time in my life than that was. I have very little desire to go to play parties like I did then, or big events, and play.(not that I’ve seen much of that in my area, anyway). For me right now, casual relationships are probably the best.
But never having had casual d/s relationships before, I’m not sure how to answer my original question.
How much (submission) is too much?
I found myself recently feeling very submissive to a friend of mine. It came on gradually, and I probably didn’t even consciously realize the levels were changing until it kinda smacked me in the face one morning.
Now, you know me. I’m going to revel in that feeling for awhile. I haven’t felt it in – I don’t even want to think of how long it’s been. It’s not something I was expecting, but there it was. I didn’t mention it to him at first. I didn’t really think there was a reason to. He’s dominant (rather he chooses to admit that seems to change day to day *wink) but he’s not at all involved in the lifestyle and probably would never be (bonus! lol). But it’s a topic of discussion quite often and I’ll be the first to admit that he’s inspired me to write a lot more than I would have been.
But there came a point, sometime in the last few weeks that it started to nag at me a little. Not much at first. But it grew just a little and I started feeling – weird. (I’d like to use a better word there, but I can’t find one, so weird will have to do). There are a couple different possibilities for the reason for that, and I haven’t quite narrowed it down yet. It could have been because I felt if he knew I felt that way, he’d be uncomfortable with it. It also could have been because it felt weird to be submissive to someone who doesn’t really identify as a dominant, and doesn’t understand completely what that submission means. It could also be that at this point in my life – when I’m just starting to think about really getting out there and meeting people again – that part of me is still a scared rabbit and wants to hide when it hits too close to home.
So I became really careful. I started being much more mindful of my words and my actions with him. That in and of itself is uncomfortable for me, and it felt even more so with him because it’s not what my subconscious wanted. And then I started feeling bad about being careful, thinking that maybe he’d take me hiding behind my sarcasm and my dark humor (where I hide when I’m being guarded) wrong, and think that he’d done something wrong, which he hadn’t really. Neither of us did. It’s just something that organically happened on my end. So I explained (or tried to explain) the reason that my demeanor had changed. But I think I pretty much did a lousy job of it.
So that makes me wonder.
How much (submission) is too much in that situation?
I just wrote this big post earlier today about being self-responsible and taking care of oneself. About how submissives don’t need “protection” if they’re worthwhile. And I believe that, heart and soul. But finding that line – between too much and not enough is tricky. And it’s going to be different for every man that I meet, for the rest of my life.
I throttled it back, hard for awhile. But I can feel myself relaxing a bit more now with him again, and I wonder if this time, I’ll find the line before it starts feeling – weird. I’m hoping so. Dominance and submission – in it’s most basic form – is a give and take. And if the submission isn’t invited, encouraged or even discussed in concrete terms – is it already too much? Maybe for me at this point, it’s just getting used to the casual aspects of this. As I said, I really don’t have much experience with that.
So how much is too much?
I’ll let you know when I find out /wink
There’s “err on the side of caution” and there’s “everything in moderation” but really, where do the lines for caution and moderation lie?
I’m talking specifically about levels of submitting to someone, in case you weren’t sure.
I’ve met dominants that it’s taken me months to build up to my submission with. Giving a little at a time, testing the water so to speak, holding certain things back (not secretly, being very upfront about it) until I got more and more comfortable with them.
I’ve also met dominants that made me want to drop to my knees immediately, whether they invited me to or not (I’m pretty good at resisting that urge *wink)
And then I’ve met dominants that, with no amount of time, would I give much of myself to at all.
I have played with very few “dominants” in the scene that I didn’t belong to, or wasn’t on the way to belonging to anyway. In California I played with a lot of tops, and some men who actually were dominant to others, but just topping me (which was what I wanted at the time).
But this is a different time in my life than that was. I have very little desire to go to play parties like I did then, or big events, and play.(not that I’ve seen much of that in my area, anyway). For me right now, casual relationships are probably the best.
But never having had casual d/s relationships before, I’m not sure how to answer my original question.
How much (submission) is too much?
I found myself recently feeling very submissive to a friend of mine. It came on gradually, and I probably didn’t even consciously realize the levels were changing until it kinda smacked me in the face one morning.
Now, you know me. I’m going to revel in that feeling for awhile. I haven’t felt it in – I don’t even want to think of how long it’s been. It’s not something I was expecting, but there it was. I didn’t mention it to him at first. I didn’t really think there was a reason to. He’s dominant (rather he chooses to admit that seems to change day to day *wink) but he’s not at all involved in the lifestyle and probably would never be (bonus! lol). But it’s a topic of discussion quite often and I’ll be the first to admit that he’s inspired me to write a lot more than I would have been.
But there came a point, sometime in the last few weeks that it started to nag at me a little. Not much at first. But it grew just a little and I started feeling – weird. (I’d like to use a better word there, but I can’t find one, so weird will have to do). There are a couple different possibilities for the reason for that, and I haven’t quite narrowed it down yet. It could have been because I felt if he knew I felt that way, he’d be uncomfortable with it. It also could have been because it felt weird to be submissive to someone who doesn’t really identify as a dominant, and doesn’t understand completely what that submission means. It could also be that at this point in my life – when I’m just starting to think about really getting out there and meeting people again – that part of me is still a scared rabbit and wants to hide when it hits too close to home.
So I became really careful. I started being much more mindful of my words and my actions with him. That in and of itself is uncomfortable for me, and it felt even more so with him because it’s not what my subconscious wanted. And then I started feeling bad about being careful, thinking that maybe he’d take me hiding behind my sarcasm and my dark humor (where I hide when I’m being guarded) wrong, and think that he’d done something wrong, which he hadn’t really. Neither of us did. It’s just something that organically happened on my end. So I explained (or tried to explain) the reason that my demeanor had changed. But I think I pretty much did a lousy job of it.
So that makes me wonder.
How much (submission) is too much in that situation?
I just wrote this big post earlier today about being self-responsible and taking care of oneself. About how submissives don’t need “protection” if they’re worthwhile. And I believe that, heart and soul. But finding that line – between too much and not enough is tricky. And it’s going to be different for every man that I meet, for the rest of my life.
I throttled it back, hard for awhile. But I can feel myself relaxing a bit more now with him again, and I wonder if this time, I’ll find the line before it starts feeling – weird. I’m hoping so. Dominance and submission – in it’s most basic form – is a give and take. And if the submission isn’t invited, encouraged or even discussed in concrete terms – is it already too much? Maybe for me at this point, it’s just getting used to the casual aspects of this. As I said, I really don’t have much experience with that.
So how much is too much?
I’ll let you know when I find out /wink
Compelled
Something came to mind for me this morning while I was getting ready to clean out candles jars in preparation to pour some later tonight.
Several years ago, when I started my candle/soap business, I always said that once it started to really feel like a job, I'd lose the business end of it. And I did. It started to feel more like work and less like fun, so I just stopped. I still make both candles and soap - and body butter and lotion - for myself and my friends and family. But selling it pro-actively isn't something I want to get into again.
My writing is the same way.
The story I quoted last night wasn't fun to write. It was work. I was very motivated to get it done, and I knew that I needed to write it. But it was a struggle from the first moment. The visuals and the ideas behind the story are very attractive to me. But writing it was just hard work. And I think it shows. It's just not one I'm very happy with.
In contrast, the story I quoted here was a lot of fun to write. It went quick, it was good, and writing it, fantasizing it through, was hot.
So why then do I feel compelled to continue with stories that aren't fun?
Beyond the typical Type-A, Anal-Retentive, Good Girl thing I have going on, I think it's just a piece of my brain that says "You started it, now you finish it."
Compelled is a good word for that. That's exactly what I feel when I struggle as I did.
I like the word compelled normally. I like the idea of feeling that I need to do something whether I want to or not. There is a serious sense of accomplishment that goes along with that, when it's finished. It's a matter of pride, I suppose.
But back to the fiction aspect....
I have a couple stories on my list to work on. One I just added last night after being inspired in a most interesting fashion. I may have to work on it tonight between candle pours...
Question is, are you ready for more? /grin
Several years ago, when I started my candle/soap business, I always said that once it started to really feel like a job, I'd lose the business end of it. And I did. It started to feel more like work and less like fun, so I just stopped. I still make both candles and soap - and body butter and lotion - for myself and my friends and family. But selling it pro-actively isn't something I want to get into again.
My writing is the same way.
The story I quoted last night wasn't fun to write. It was work. I was very motivated to get it done, and I knew that I needed to write it. But it was a struggle from the first moment. The visuals and the ideas behind the story are very attractive to me. But writing it was just hard work. And I think it shows. It's just not one I'm very happy with.
In contrast, the story I quoted here was a lot of fun to write. It went quick, it was good, and writing it, fantasizing it through, was hot.
So why then do I feel compelled to continue with stories that aren't fun?
Beyond the typical Type-A, Anal-Retentive, Good Girl thing I have going on, I think it's just a piece of my brain that says "You started it, now you finish it."
Compelled is a good word for that. That's exactly what I feel when I struggle as I did.
I like the word compelled normally. I like the idea of feeling that I need to do something whether I want to or not. There is a serious sense of accomplishment that goes along with that, when it's finished. It's a matter of pride, I suppose.
But back to the fiction aspect....
I have a couple stories on my list to work on. One I just added last night after being inspired in a most interesting fashion. I may have to work on it tonight between candle pours...
Question is, are you ready for more? /grin
CoP (Dun Dun Dun!)
I’ve written extensively about personal responsibility and it’s relationship to BDSM; how if you can’t take care of yourself, you aren’t cut out for the ‘lifestyle’.
And then, those three little words that make me cringe appear on my screen …..
Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!)
If you need a Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!), chances are you aren't ready for this lifestyle. If you are 'too trusting' chances are in all parts of your life you are a statistic waiting to happen. Why not work on those areas of your life first and develop the skill set necessary to trust your intuition and use common sense wisely?
I have never understood the whole Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!) thing. You have to be willing and able to take care of yourself before your submission to anyone means anything - to you included. Why would a man want a female submissive that trusts everyone immediately? He wouldn't feel remotely special about you giving him your trust. Believe it or not, there are many dominants in this lifestyle that get off on *that aspect of this. They want to be the ONE you TRUST.
Maybe I just don’t understand the Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!). Maybe it really isn’t a euphemism for ‘I have a dominant! Yay!’. Maybe it’s not about ‘I’m so desperate for dominant attention that if I just play weak and cute and needy, I’ll get it’. Maybe it’s really about more than someone not wanting to take care of themselves, and putting the responsibility for their life choices on someone else.
Nah.
Look, I’m sorry. I’m not here to coddle anyone. Not only do I not ascribe to the whole ‘Submissive With a Broken Wing’ syndrome, I also don’t think I have to be any more accepting of anyone else’s bullshit here or otherwise. BDSM is not an acronym for “We Take All Comers and Will Hug You”.
Fact of the matter is, if you can’t take care of yourself, stay home. Expecting anyone else to take care of you is narcissistic, rude and just plain annoying. Not only that, but it makes me say mean, evil things and... and…hmmm.... wait...
Maybe I need a Collar of Protection from the Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!) crowd….yea…that’s it….
/smirk
And then, those three little words that make me cringe appear on my screen …..
Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!)
If you need a Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!), chances are you aren't ready for this lifestyle. If you are 'too trusting' chances are in all parts of your life you are a statistic waiting to happen. Why not work on those areas of your life first and develop the skill set necessary to trust your intuition and use common sense wisely?
I have never understood the whole Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!) thing. You have to be willing and able to take care of yourself before your submission to anyone means anything - to you included. Why would a man want a female submissive that trusts everyone immediately? He wouldn't feel remotely special about you giving him your trust. Believe it or not, there are many dominants in this lifestyle that get off on *that aspect of this. They want to be the ONE you TRUST.
Maybe I just don’t understand the Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!). Maybe it really isn’t a euphemism for ‘I have a dominant! Yay!’. Maybe it’s not about ‘I’m so desperate for dominant attention that if I just play weak and cute and needy, I’ll get it’. Maybe it’s really about more than someone not wanting to take care of themselves, and putting the responsibility for their life choices on someone else.
Nah.
Look, I’m sorry. I’m not here to coddle anyone. Not only do I not ascribe to the whole ‘Submissive With a Broken Wing’ syndrome, I also don’t think I have to be any more accepting of anyone else’s bullshit here or otherwise. BDSM is not an acronym for “We Take All Comers and Will Hug You”.
Fact of the matter is, if you can’t take care of yourself, stay home. Expecting anyone else to take care of you is narcissistic, rude and just plain annoying. Not only that, but it makes me say mean, evil things and... and…hmmm.... wait...
Maybe I need a Collar of Protection from the Collar of Protection (dun dun dun!) crowd….yea…that’s it….
/smirk
Friday, March 30, 2007
After-Care This
After-care seems to be a hot topic lately. I’ll admit it. I chuckle a bit when I read these threads on email lists or messages boards about submissives who demand(demand! I tell you, demand!) a certain amount of after-care after a scene, or they label someone a bad dominant.
All right. I’ve been doing this for fourteen odd years. I’ve been bruised, cut with a whip, spanked to choking sobs, humiliated and caned to within an inch of a safeword. I’ve drifted in and out of subspace for hours at a time. I’ve nearly passed out. (Okay, I did pass out once but it wasn’t from the scene, it was cause I locked my knees *snicker).
There is only one scene – yes, one – that I can ever remember needing “after-care”. I’ve discussed the scene on here before. It put me in a bad place. The dominant in question (my dominant at the time) isn’t the one I wanted the after-care from either. I went to my friends. And what I needed from them was hugs, and I got it.
Sometimes I wonder if after-care for some people isn’t a euphemism for “I let you hurt me, now cuddle me or else!” No, that’s not true. I don’t wonder it. I know it is.
No, my experiences aren’t everyone’s experiences, and no – I can’t possibly know what someone else needs after a simple or an intense scene. But common sense tells me that if you can’t handle the drug, stay out of the chains.
There isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with after-care (I just know someone is going to misunderstand this). It’s not like I would (or have) shun(ned) a bit of cuddling and sweet whispers after a scene. But it’s not something that’s ever been so important to me that it’d make or break a scene or even a relationship.
And there isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with romanticizing BDSM if that’s your trip (and I’m pretty sure that’s what this demand for aftercare is about), either. There are so few hard and fast rules in the BDSM world, and pretty much everything is left open to interpretation.
I knew a couple in California that was the epitome of that. Long time married couple, got into d/s later in their marriage. He immediately became Super Romantic Dom! And she became sweet simpering sub girl. They were friends of ours, and as people I liked them. But for the love of all that’s holy, just because my ex M and I didn’t play that way doesn’t mean we were doing it wrong. Not every gets choked up when the collar goes on. Not everyone gets whimper-y when they kneel.
BDSM is about different things for different people. Accept that, or be gone.
Maybe I just get frustrated with people who feel the need to point and say “bad dom!” for things that other of us would consider normal or expected.
Just because he isn’t a match for your needs doesn’t make him evil. Just because she needs more than you want to give her doesn’t mean she’s needy, either. Everyone needs something different. Somewhere out there is the partner that will give it to you. Don’t settle.
And if you do settle, please don’t whine to us when he won’t wrap you up in a blanket and feed you cookies when he’s done beating the hell out of you.
All right. I’ve been doing this for fourteen odd years. I’ve been bruised, cut with a whip, spanked to choking sobs, humiliated and caned to within an inch of a safeword. I’ve drifted in and out of subspace for hours at a time. I’ve nearly passed out. (Okay, I did pass out once but it wasn’t from the scene, it was cause I locked my knees *snicker).
There is only one scene – yes, one – that I can ever remember needing “after-care”. I’ve discussed the scene on here before. It put me in a bad place. The dominant in question (my dominant at the time) isn’t the one I wanted the after-care from either. I went to my friends. And what I needed from them was hugs, and I got it.
Sometimes I wonder if after-care for some people isn’t a euphemism for “I let you hurt me, now cuddle me or else!” No, that’s not true. I don’t wonder it. I know it is.
No, my experiences aren’t everyone’s experiences, and no – I can’t possibly know what someone else needs after a simple or an intense scene. But common sense tells me that if you can’t handle the drug, stay out of the chains.
There isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with after-care (I just know someone is going to misunderstand this). It’s not like I would (or have) shun(ned) a bit of cuddling and sweet whispers after a scene. But it’s not something that’s ever been so important to me that it’d make or break a scene or even a relationship.
And there isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with romanticizing BDSM if that’s your trip (and I’m pretty sure that’s what this demand for aftercare is about), either. There are so few hard and fast rules in the BDSM world, and pretty much everything is left open to interpretation.
I knew a couple in California that was the epitome of that. Long time married couple, got into d/s later in their marriage. He immediately became Super Romantic Dom! And she became sweet simpering sub girl. They were friends of ours, and as people I liked them. But for the love of all that’s holy, just because my ex M and I didn’t play that way doesn’t mean we were doing it wrong. Not every gets choked up when the collar goes on. Not everyone gets whimper-y when they kneel.
BDSM is about different things for different people. Accept that, or be gone.
Maybe I just get frustrated with people who feel the need to point and say “bad dom!” for things that other of us would consider normal or expected.
Just because he isn’t a match for your needs doesn’t make him evil. Just because she needs more than you want to give her doesn’t mean she’s needy, either. Everyone needs something different. Somewhere out there is the partner that will give it to you. Don’t settle.
And if you do settle, please don’t whine to us when he won’t wrap you up in a blanket and feed you cookies when he’s done beating the hell out of you.
Someone Else's Skin
What is it that about role-play that makes some people run screaming, while others line up for it?
I realize that role-play covers a huge area of ground, but right now, I’m speaking generically. Plug in cop/criminal, nurse/patient, teacher/student…plug in whatever doesn’t make you run screaming *grin.
I don’t know many people that are so happy and content with their lives that they wouldn’t welcome a bit of escape. C’mon, admit it. It’s fun to take on a new persona on a short-term basis and be someone else. It’s fun to explore what you believe someone else’s reactions would be.
And sometimes, it’s fun to stop thinking about what *your own reactions would be in the same situation.
I think too fucking much. This isn’t news to anyone who has even a casual relationship with me. It’s something I’ve tried to control, tried to curb – but I’ve come to a point in my life where I’ve just accepted it for what it is.
So yea. I’m one of those people who welcomes role-play in my life.
I want to be the student and be disciplined by a teacher for wearing my skirts too short. I want to stutter and stammer and try to come up with an excuse, knowing full well that I won’t, and that I don’t have to.
I want to be daddy’s girl, and not be responsible for anything but making daddy happy. I want to enjoy negative attention for what it is in that kind of relationship – where even the negative attention has a positive outcome, because daddy cares and wants me to be better.
I want to be the cop who gets over-powered by the bad guy and gets her handcuffs taken away from her and used on her *grin
I want to be the whore, the concubine, the prisoner being interrogated. I want to be – someone else. Someone who doesn’t have to think.
Now, don’t get me wrong please. I’m happy with who I am. My over-thinking landed me a damn good job. I have a career, I have a nice home and a family that supports me and loves me. I’ve spent a great deal of the last three years working on myself, inside and out, and I’m more pleased with the outcome every day.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to trade positions with someone else once in awhile. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m satisfied with my life completely.
I think maybe role-play scares people sometimes because they think they’re going to be bad at it. As an over-achieving Type A, you’d think I’d see it the same way, but I really don’t.
I think maybe role-play makes people run screaming because they aren’t comfortable enough in their own skin, let alone someone else’s.
And I think – more than anything – that people run away from role-playing because it’s too much work.
Shame, that. A little hard work never hurt anyone – did it? Even if it was leading up to a really good fuck?
I realize that role-play covers a huge area of ground, but right now, I’m speaking generically. Plug in cop/criminal, nurse/patient, teacher/student…plug in whatever doesn’t make you run screaming *grin.
I don’t know many people that are so happy and content with their lives that they wouldn’t welcome a bit of escape. C’mon, admit it. It’s fun to take on a new persona on a short-term basis and be someone else. It’s fun to explore what you believe someone else’s reactions would be.
And sometimes, it’s fun to stop thinking about what *your own reactions would be in the same situation.
I think too fucking much. This isn’t news to anyone who has even a casual relationship with me. It’s something I’ve tried to control, tried to curb – but I’ve come to a point in my life where I’ve just accepted it for what it is.
So yea. I’m one of those people who welcomes role-play in my life.
I want to be the student and be disciplined by a teacher for wearing my skirts too short. I want to stutter and stammer and try to come up with an excuse, knowing full well that I won’t, and that I don’t have to.
I want to be daddy’s girl, and not be responsible for anything but making daddy happy. I want to enjoy negative attention for what it is in that kind of relationship – where even the negative attention has a positive outcome, because daddy cares and wants me to be better.
I want to be the cop who gets over-powered by the bad guy and gets her handcuffs taken away from her and used on her *grin
I want to be the whore, the concubine, the prisoner being interrogated. I want to be – someone else. Someone who doesn’t have to think.
Now, don’t get me wrong please. I’m happy with who I am. My over-thinking landed me a damn good job. I have a career, I have a nice home and a family that supports me and loves me. I’ve spent a great deal of the last three years working on myself, inside and out, and I’m more pleased with the outcome every day.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to trade positions with someone else once in awhile. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m satisfied with my life completely.
I think maybe role-play scares people sometimes because they think they’re going to be bad at it. As an over-achieving Type A, you’d think I’d see it the same way, but I really don’t.
I think maybe role-play makes people run screaming because they aren’t comfortable enough in their own skin, let alone someone else’s.
And I think – more than anything – that people run away from role-playing because it’s too much work.
Shame, that. A little hard work never hurt anyone – did it? Even if it was leading up to a really good fuck?
Silence?
There is a time for self-examination.
I had that time this week.
And then there is a time to be guided by forces that are much more fun.
So I said that I’d been writing another piece of fiction, and I hadn’t shared any of that with y’all. I’m not really happy with this particular piece. I’m not sure if it’s because I have little to no experience with the subject matter, or if I was tentative in writing it because I wasn’t sure if it’s intended audiences would understand it. I had a very specific place I had intended it to go, but it never did end up there.
The subject matter was two-fold. Gags, and expressing oneself in non-verbal ways. I think I covered the gag part all right (I usually do okay with the physical stuff I haven’t done. My imagination takes right over). The other part – the expression of desire without use of voice – well, I’m not sure I got that one. Why?
Look at my name, will you? Screamer. It’s there for a reason.
Okay, here’s an excerpt. Maybe this will help.
“You don’t have to know everything.” He set the glass down on the floor next to his chair. “Your intelligence and your wit are a huge turn on for me. But you don’t have to know everything.” He said again. “We all have thing to learn.” He stood up and walked toward me. He ran his finger down my cheek from my temple to the bandana. “It doesn’t hurt that you look like a total slut, sitting there in that chair with your cunt on display and bound up for me with a gag across your face.”
I felt my inner lips throb, as they always did when he started talking that way.
“It also doesn’t hurt that I can do this.” He reached down into the top of the sheath and pulled my left breast out. He pinched the nipple hard, and then let go. I moaned under the gag.
“… and you’d sit there and let me rather you were cuffed or not. Because ultimately, you like what I do to you. And you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, just to get what you want. Won’t you?”
I looked up at him and nodded.
“Nodding and shaking your head isn’t going to cut it. Dig deeper.” He reached down and pulled my right breast out, and pulled roughly on the nipple. I moaned again, arching my back up away from the chair. He smiled down at me menacingly. “Getting the idea now? Don’t tell me, bitch. Show me.”
He moved away from the chair, and stood behind the one he’d brought in from the kitchen. Even with my thigh spread apart in my own chair, I knew I was already soaking wet.
“I wasn’t sure, but the sight of you with that gag in your mouth makes my cock incredibly hard.” He leaned down and picked up his drink, sipping it, and looking at me intently. He set the glass on the seat of his chair and rubbed the front of his slacks, over his cock. I closed my eyes briefly and fluttered them open, moaning quietly beneath the cotton between my lips.
“You always ask for my cock in the best ways. You know just what to say to get it, too, don’t you? You know what I want to hear. You know I want to hear you beg. I want to hear the desperation in your voice, and the need.” He continued rubbing the front of his trousers almost absently. “And you know how much I love to hear you scream when you cum. But.” He stopped rubbing and caught my eye. “But, I think you’ve become far too reliant on that. It’s as if you know exactly what to say to elicit a specific response from me. I don’t doubt that you feel deeply what you ask for from me, but sometimes I wonder if you couldn’t need it just a bit more …”
He walked toward me again and without preamble, thrust his hand between my legs, gripping my pussy in his hand. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, crying out under the gag. But his other hand was instantly in my hair, pulling my head back forward right before he yanked his hand from between my thighs. “You want it now, don’t you?”
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. I fought the nod, but it happened anyway.
I don’t think I get it yet. Maybe someday I will.
If I find someone with the audacity to try and silence the Screamer, that is *wink
I had that time this week.
And then there is a time to be guided by forces that are much more fun.
So I said that I’d been writing another piece of fiction, and I hadn’t shared any of that with y’all. I’m not really happy with this particular piece. I’m not sure if it’s because I have little to no experience with the subject matter, or if I was tentative in writing it because I wasn’t sure if it’s intended audiences would understand it. I had a very specific place I had intended it to go, but it never did end up there.
The subject matter was two-fold. Gags, and expressing oneself in non-verbal ways. I think I covered the gag part all right (I usually do okay with the physical stuff I haven’t done. My imagination takes right over). The other part – the expression of desire without use of voice – well, I’m not sure I got that one. Why?
Look at my name, will you? Screamer. It’s there for a reason.
Okay, here’s an excerpt. Maybe this will help.
“You don’t have to know everything.” He set the glass down on the floor next to his chair. “Your intelligence and your wit are a huge turn on for me. But you don’t have to know everything.” He said again. “We all have thing to learn.” He stood up and walked toward me. He ran his finger down my cheek from my temple to the bandana. “It doesn’t hurt that you look like a total slut, sitting there in that chair with your cunt on display and bound up for me with a gag across your face.”
I felt my inner lips throb, as they always did when he started talking that way.
“It also doesn’t hurt that I can do this.” He reached down into the top of the sheath and pulled my left breast out. He pinched the nipple hard, and then let go. I moaned under the gag.
“… and you’d sit there and let me rather you were cuffed or not. Because ultimately, you like what I do to you. And you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, just to get what you want. Won’t you?”
I looked up at him and nodded.
“Nodding and shaking your head isn’t going to cut it. Dig deeper.” He reached down and pulled my right breast out, and pulled roughly on the nipple. I moaned again, arching my back up away from the chair. He smiled down at me menacingly. “Getting the idea now? Don’t tell me, bitch. Show me.”
He moved away from the chair, and stood behind the one he’d brought in from the kitchen. Even with my thigh spread apart in my own chair, I knew I was already soaking wet.
“I wasn’t sure, but the sight of you with that gag in your mouth makes my cock incredibly hard.” He leaned down and picked up his drink, sipping it, and looking at me intently. He set the glass on the seat of his chair and rubbed the front of his slacks, over his cock. I closed my eyes briefly and fluttered them open, moaning quietly beneath the cotton between my lips.
“You always ask for my cock in the best ways. You know just what to say to get it, too, don’t you? You know what I want to hear. You know I want to hear you beg. I want to hear the desperation in your voice, and the need.” He continued rubbing the front of his trousers almost absently. “And you know how much I love to hear you scream when you cum. But.” He stopped rubbing and caught my eye. “But, I think you’ve become far too reliant on that. It’s as if you know exactly what to say to elicit a specific response from me. I don’t doubt that you feel deeply what you ask for from me, but sometimes I wonder if you couldn’t need it just a bit more …”
He walked toward me again and without preamble, thrust his hand between my legs, gripping my pussy in his hand. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, crying out under the gag. But his other hand was instantly in my hair, pulling my head back forward right before he yanked his hand from between my thighs. “You want it now, don’t you?”
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. I fought the nod, but it happened anyway.
I don’t think I get it yet. Maybe someday I will.
If I find someone with the audacity to try and silence the Screamer, that is *wink
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Quick Explanation about Wonderful
I got an email about this blog, with a question. So I figured I'd answer it here and maybe drop a bit more clarity into the point.
The whole basis for the post wraps around "I don't have time for anyone who doesn't think I'm wonderful." So when I said this...
I overdo it. This isn’t news. I’m sometimes an intense and extreme person. When I believe in something, I can get carried away. When I want something, I typically don’t hold back. When I care about someone, I’m ready to do whatever I can do to make their lives easier.
What I meant was -- I'm done wasting time on people who don't give back to me as well as take what I have to offer (this has been a horrible habit of mine all my life. Typically I'd continue to drop energy into something *hoping it would start to come back. Thing is, unless you aren't getting it from nearly the beginning, you just aren't going to get it). I certainly didn't mean that I was angry, or that I was giving up and becoming a hermit.
Hope that clarifies.
The whole basis for the post wraps around "I don't have time for anyone who doesn't think I'm wonderful." So when I said this...
I overdo it. This isn’t news. I’m sometimes an intense and extreme person. When I believe in something, I can get carried away. When I want something, I typically don’t hold back. When I care about someone, I’m ready to do whatever I can do to make their lives easier.
What I meant was -- I'm done wasting time on people who don't give back to me as well as take what I have to offer (this has been a horrible habit of mine all my life. Typically I'd continue to drop energy into something *hoping it would start to come back. Thing is, unless you aren't getting it from nearly the beginning, you just aren't going to get it). I certainly didn't mean that I was angry, or that I was giving up and becoming a hermit.
Hope that clarifies.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Wonderful
Reading…hell, somewhere (I read so much on the web every day, I can’t remember where I see everything)… I saw this quote, and have adopted it as my philosophy of the week (I’m allowed to be a bit new age-y sometimes)
"I don't have time for anyone who doesn't think I'm wonderful."
*chuckle
I talked to C the other night when I got home from having my facial and massage. I called him for a change (I typically avoid doing that because I don’t want him getting any wrong ideas). It was probably the shortest and most productive phone call we’ve had since we separated two and a half years ago.
Why?
Because I didn’t give a damn.
That’s not to say I don’t care about him, I do. He’s always going to be my friend and we’re always going to have some small part of each other’s lives just because there’s 13 years of history there that can’t just be forgotten. No, I just didn’t give a damn what he wanted, needed, said. I called to find out where he was going to be this week (he’s out of the Navy, effective yesterday) so that we could wrap these papers up and I could finally be free of this headache they call divorce. I wasn’t worried about making anything easier for him, wasn’t worried about his fears or feelings about leaving the Navy. I just. Didn’t. Give a damn.
Why?
Because even though he ‘loves’ me and we’re friends, he doesn’t believe I’m all that wonderful. Not like *that.
And as such, he’s not entitled to anymore of my energy than I’d give a any friend. I didn’t offer to come help him fix up his dad’s house (which is where he’s headed – finally!). I didn’t offer to make the paper delivery easier for him. I didn’t offer to take care of a damn thing. And for me, that’s something new.
I overdo it. This isn’t news. I’m sometimes an intense and extreme person. When I believe in something, I can get carried away. When I want something, I typically don’t hold back. When I care about someone, I’m ready to do whatever I can do to make their lives easier. I am available, easy to talk to, easy to ask things of. I will bend over backwards to make someone else happy if I feel they’re a positive part of my life.
I turned a corner a couple weeks ago, though. And I’m holding back a bit more of that energy for myself.
‘bout time.
She said I feel stranded
And I can't tell anymore
If I'm coming or I'm going
It's not how I planned it
I've got a key to the door
But it just won't open
And I know, I know, I know
Part of me says let it go
That life happens for a reason
I don't, I don't, I don't
Because it never worked before
But this time, this time
“Just Feel Better” Santana
"I don't have time for anyone who doesn't think I'm wonderful."
*chuckle
I talked to C the other night when I got home from having my facial and massage. I called him for a change (I typically avoid doing that because I don’t want him getting any wrong ideas). It was probably the shortest and most productive phone call we’ve had since we separated two and a half years ago.
Why?
Because I didn’t give a damn.
That’s not to say I don’t care about him, I do. He’s always going to be my friend and we’re always going to have some small part of each other’s lives just because there’s 13 years of history there that can’t just be forgotten. No, I just didn’t give a damn what he wanted, needed, said. I called to find out where he was going to be this week (he’s out of the Navy, effective yesterday) so that we could wrap these papers up and I could finally be free of this headache they call divorce. I wasn’t worried about making anything easier for him, wasn’t worried about his fears or feelings about leaving the Navy. I just. Didn’t. Give a damn.
Why?
Because even though he ‘loves’ me and we’re friends, he doesn’t believe I’m all that wonderful. Not like *that.
And as such, he’s not entitled to anymore of my energy than I’d give a any friend. I didn’t offer to come help him fix up his dad’s house (which is where he’s headed – finally!). I didn’t offer to make the paper delivery easier for him. I didn’t offer to take care of a damn thing. And for me, that’s something new.
I overdo it. This isn’t news. I’m sometimes an intense and extreme person. When I believe in something, I can get carried away. When I want something, I typically don’t hold back. When I care about someone, I’m ready to do whatever I can do to make their lives easier. I am available, easy to talk to, easy to ask things of. I will bend over backwards to make someone else happy if I feel they’re a positive part of my life.
I turned a corner a couple weeks ago, though. And I’m holding back a bit more of that energy for myself.
‘bout time.
She said I feel stranded
And I can't tell anymore
If I'm coming or I'm going
It's not how I planned it
I've got a key to the door
But it just won't open
And I know, I know, I know
Part of me says let it go
That life happens for a reason
I don't, I don't, I don't
Because it never worked before
But this time, this time
“Just Feel Better” Santana
Saturday, March 24, 2007
...and when I'm inspried...
Fiction writing is a selfish pleasure. There’s no question about that. I’m not writing it for the good of anyone but myself. It’s not as if I’m writing to teach or to better a community of some sort. It’s not like it’s a gift to anyone.
Having said that, my fiction is always immeasurably better when I’ve been inspired by a conversation or an exchange of some sort; when I am writing for a specific person, or with a specific dialogue in mind. It’s fun to add nuances of other people to my fiction; their likes and dislikes, their fantasies and desires. Bringing someone else’s fantasies to fruition through my writing is one of my biggest pleasures. Maybe showing them a new path. Inspiring them to think outside of their own personal box. Or just flat out writing something they’ve expressed a desire to experience. Even then, I’m not doing it *for them. I’m doing it for me. Because it makes me feel incredibly good to have been given this gift of creativity to be able to do that.
That’s why muses are important for me. Not because I can’t write without one, and certainly not because I am not inspired by every day life on my own. But because I get some sort of erotic charge out of writing with someone in mind. At one time in my life, I had actually considered putting an advertisement on my website, inviting people to send me their fantasies, and letting me write them for them. I gave that a great deal of thought. And then realized that it wouldn’t be the same.
I like having a connection to the person that’s inspiring me. I’m not talking about being in a formal relationship or being in love or being formally “submissive” to them. But having a connection – friendship based, lust based, whatever. Writing for strangers would never give me that. It just wouldn’t work. I’d much rather prefer to hear from a friend that I’d made his cock hard from something I’d written for him, than to hear that from someone who just wanted some new jack-off material.
And before you ask, yes. I want to hear from people I know if I’ve made their cocks hard, their pussies wet, a fine layer of sweat form on their brow. I thrive on feedback – not only with my writing but in other areas of my life, too. (Contrary to popular belief, some women actually want to hear men moan and groan too you know!)
I’ve finished two pieces of fiction this week, and started a third that I hope to finish sometime tonight. This week has been really no different for me than most others as far as inspiration goes, and I can’t remember one remarkable event or moment that might have spurred me to write more. But when it rains, it pours with me.
And right now, the world couldn’t be more wet *grin
Having said that, my fiction is always immeasurably better when I’ve been inspired by a conversation or an exchange of some sort; when I am writing for a specific person, or with a specific dialogue in mind. It’s fun to add nuances of other people to my fiction; their likes and dislikes, their fantasies and desires. Bringing someone else’s fantasies to fruition through my writing is one of my biggest pleasures. Maybe showing them a new path. Inspiring them to think outside of their own personal box. Or just flat out writing something they’ve expressed a desire to experience. Even then, I’m not doing it *for them. I’m doing it for me. Because it makes me feel incredibly good to have been given this gift of creativity to be able to do that.
That’s why muses are important for me. Not because I can’t write without one, and certainly not because I am not inspired by every day life on my own. But because I get some sort of erotic charge out of writing with someone in mind. At one time in my life, I had actually considered putting an advertisement on my website, inviting people to send me their fantasies, and letting me write them for them. I gave that a great deal of thought. And then realized that it wouldn’t be the same.
I like having a connection to the person that’s inspiring me. I’m not talking about being in a formal relationship or being in love or being formally “submissive” to them. But having a connection – friendship based, lust based, whatever. Writing for strangers would never give me that. It just wouldn’t work. I’d much rather prefer to hear from a friend that I’d made his cock hard from something I’d written for him, than to hear that from someone who just wanted some new jack-off material.
And before you ask, yes. I want to hear from people I know if I’ve made their cocks hard, their pussies wet, a fine layer of sweat form on their brow. I thrive on feedback – not only with my writing but in other areas of my life, too. (Contrary to popular belief, some women actually want to hear men moan and groan too you know!)
I’ve finished two pieces of fiction this week, and started a third that I hope to finish sometime tonight. This week has been really no different for me than most others as far as inspiration goes, and I can’t remember one remarkable event or moment that might have spurred me to write more. But when it rains, it pours with me.
And right now, the world couldn’t be more wet *grin
Friday, March 23, 2007
Inspiration
Fiction inspiration comes from the damnedest places.... there I was, innocent as always (oh stop laughing), having a completely innocent (I said, stop laughing dammit) conversation with the Southern Gentleman, and boom - there was it. An idea that I hadn't really ever toyed with, but that sounded way too delicious not to write. So much so, that it went above all the others on my list.
When it hits, it must be written, despite the fact that I'm two margaritas into the evening....
I'm still writing, but this was too much fun not to share a bite....
I moaned at her, reaching for her head, but she pulled away and looked at you. “How many of your fingers does she take?” she asked you.
You cleared your throat and then answered softly. “Two mostly.”
“She’ll take three of mine.” She said confidently before burying her face in my cunt.
She was right; I took three as she sucked my clit hard. After my first orgasm, I stretched my arms above my head and found your leg. I rubbed your thigh softly as she continued to eat me, slowly twisting her fingers inside me, pushing me to cum on them again.
“Bitch.” That wasn’t Connie; that was you this time. As I started to come down off my second orgasm, I turned my head to look at you.
“What’s the matter, baby? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“You know what I want.”
Connie pulled her head up and rested it on my thigh, stroking my hip. “He wants to fuck.”
“He does, I’m sure.” I agreed. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Question is though…” I reached down and stroked Connie’s hair. “Who does he want to fuck?”
You stared at me and didn’t answer.
“He wants to fuck us both.” Connie said.
“I think you’re right.” I sat up and leaned down to kiss her. “Thing is, he’s not really in a position to fuck either of us.”
You growled loudly at me.
“No, he’s not. But we could fuck him.”
I nodded. “We’re going to have to, I think.”
When it hits, it must be written, despite the fact that I'm two margaritas into the evening....
I'm still writing, but this was too much fun not to share a bite....
I moaned at her, reaching for her head, but she pulled away and looked at you. “How many of your fingers does she take?” she asked you.
You cleared your throat and then answered softly. “Two mostly.”
“She’ll take three of mine.” She said confidently before burying her face in my cunt.
She was right; I took three as she sucked my clit hard. After my first orgasm, I stretched my arms above my head and found your leg. I rubbed your thigh softly as she continued to eat me, slowly twisting her fingers inside me, pushing me to cum on them again.
“Bitch.” That wasn’t Connie; that was you this time. As I started to come down off my second orgasm, I turned my head to look at you.
“What’s the matter, baby? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“You know what I want.”
Connie pulled her head up and rested it on my thigh, stroking my hip. “He wants to fuck.”
“He does, I’m sure.” I agreed. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Question is though…” I reached down and stroked Connie’s hair. “Who does he want to fuck?”
You stared at me and didn’t answer.
“He wants to fuck us both.” Connie said.
“I think you’re right.” I sat up and leaned down to kiss her. “Thing is, he’s not really in a position to fuck either of us.”
You growled loudly at me.
“No, he’s not. But we could fuck him.”
I nodded. “We’re going to have to, I think.”
Sugar and spice, hm?
I’ve made no big secret of the fact that occasionally, I like to ‘play’ younger. Younger can mean anything from my former alter-ego, Marie, who’s my thirteen year old ‘daddy’s girl’ – to a rowdy 17 year old (who is un-named) and needs to be taught a lesson or two by someone older. I’ve also made no secret of the fact that part of the reason I enjoy doing this is it’s like reclaiming innocence for a period of time. There’s more to it of course though. As with all things, the other reasons will typically come out in my writing when it’s time.
What brought this up for me today, though, is a small piece of a conversation I had last night. Pigtails were mentioned, as they have been in conversations with this person before, but usually it’s just an ‘lol’ kind of thing.
When I mentioned them last night, though, I wasn’t laughing. And I doubt that he was either.
When I was young, my mom kept our hair very short. It wasn’t until I was a senior in high school that my hair ever touched my shoulders. So as a kid, pigtails didn’t happen for me. And to be totally honest, I’ve never tried to put my hair up that way as an adult, either. I do wear it in a high ponytail a lot at home, but it’s almost always down otherwise.
I was thinking about it as I was walking up to bed last night. And I think I’m going to have to try it this weekend. I’m curious about how it will look. I’m curious about how it would feel. And I’m very curious about my reaction to seeing it in the mirror.
Yesterday, I treated myself to a facial and a massage, and tonight, my hair is getting treated to a deep condition when I get home. That means I can’t straighten it until tomorrow, but once that’s done, I think it’s pigtail time.
Now if I could just find a red and black plaid skirt that I like ……
What brought this up for me today, though, is a small piece of a conversation I had last night. Pigtails were mentioned, as they have been in conversations with this person before, but usually it’s just an ‘lol’ kind of thing.
When I mentioned them last night, though, I wasn’t laughing. And I doubt that he was either.
When I was young, my mom kept our hair very short. It wasn’t until I was a senior in high school that my hair ever touched my shoulders. So as a kid, pigtails didn’t happen for me. And to be totally honest, I’ve never tried to put my hair up that way as an adult, either. I do wear it in a high ponytail a lot at home, but it’s almost always down otherwise.
I was thinking about it as I was walking up to bed last night. And I think I’m going to have to try it this weekend. I’m curious about how it will look. I’m curious about how it would feel. And I’m very curious about my reaction to seeing it in the mirror.
Yesterday, I treated myself to a facial and a massage, and tonight, my hair is getting treated to a deep condition when I get home. That means I can’t straighten it until tomorrow, but once that’s done, I think it’s pigtail time.
Now if I could just find a red and black plaid skirt that I like ……
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Where are all the "Real Subs"?
It happens at least once a week.
You can almost smell it coming from the email or post title.
Someone got his head turned by a pretty young thing, and then got disappointed, and spouts off at all submissives everywhere: “Where are all the Real Subs?”
I almost laugh now when I read these. I never get offended anymore by them; more often than not, I feel a great deal of empathy for the author who, while acting like an ass, is really more hurt than anything else.
But no really – where are all the “Real Subs”?
First, I dislike the abbreviation for submissive, be that sub or the dreaded “subbie”. I’m not a phallic shaped piece of tin that floats at the bottom of the ocean for god’s sakes, I’m a woman. Secondly, I rarely use the mirror abbreviation for dominant either. Whether that’s because it makes the whole thing seem to casual, or if I’m just a formality whore I don’t know. But using those shortened words typically will put me on a different path from where I’d be if you used the extra couple of keystrokes.
When I first started exploring this lifestyle (another phrase I’m not fond of, but am forced to use upon occasion) 14 years ago in an AOL Chat room, I realized that this is what I’d been doing for most of my adult life. I just hadn’t had a name for it. There weren’t many of us them, maybe 100 in total that frequented the couple of rooms on AOL (and a smaller set on Prodigy and one on Compuserve as well). The online d/s community was in its toddler stage, having started on bulletin board systems on the east and west coast. Finally, us Midwesterners had a place to call home, too.
Now days, the online community is hundreds or even thousands of times bigger than it was then. For out of those 100 people then, there were some that could be called special cases. The married-but-looking people. The curious-but-not-ready people. The pretentious-with-no-experience people. Their numbers were small then. But when you multiply them by the hundreds (or maybe thousands) of current participants, you can see where the math is going to end up.
If there were 5 marrieds then, then are 50,000 marrieds now. 10 curious then, 100,000 curious now. See where I’m going?
The percentages haven’t gone up, but the numbers certainly have. And their voices have gotten louder with that rise.
I don’t call myself a “Real Sub(missive)”. I call myself Jill. I know what I want out of a relationship, and out of my life. I know what fulfills me and what gets me off. The words “real” and “true” when applied to any aspect of the BDSM lifestyle do nothing but isolate and anger people, me included. When I see an angry dominant (or on occasion and angry submissive) spout off about how all the people he or she meets online are fakes or wannabees, I just want to ask them ---
“What does it say about your choice of people to approach if all you’re finding are the rotten eggs?”
You can almost smell it coming from the email or post title.
Someone got his head turned by a pretty young thing, and then got disappointed, and spouts off at all submissives everywhere: “Where are all the Real Subs?”
I almost laugh now when I read these. I never get offended anymore by them; more often than not, I feel a great deal of empathy for the author who, while acting like an ass, is really more hurt than anything else.
But no really – where are all the “Real Subs”?
First, I dislike the abbreviation for submissive, be that sub or the dreaded “subbie”. I’m not a phallic shaped piece of tin that floats at the bottom of the ocean for god’s sakes, I’m a woman. Secondly, I rarely use the mirror abbreviation for dominant either. Whether that’s because it makes the whole thing seem to casual, or if I’m just a formality whore I don’t know. But using those shortened words typically will put me on a different path from where I’d be if you used the extra couple of keystrokes.
When I first started exploring this lifestyle (another phrase I’m not fond of, but am forced to use upon occasion) 14 years ago in an AOL Chat room, I realized that this is what I’d been doing for most of my adult life. I just hadn’t had a name for it. There weren’t many of us them, maybe 100 in total that frequented the couple of rooms on AOL (and a smaller set on Prodigy and one on Compuserve as well). The online d/s community was in its toddler stage, having started on bulletin board systems on the east and west coast. Finally, us Midwesterners had a place to call home, too.
Now days, the online community is hundreds or even thousands of times bigger than it was then. For out of those 100 people then, there were some that could be called special cases. The married-but-looking people. The curious-but-not-ready people. The pretentious-with-no-experience people. Their numbers were small then. But when you multiply them by the hundreds (or maybe thousands) of current participants, you can see where the math is going to end up.
If there were 5 marrieds then, then are 50,000 marrieds now. 10 curious then, 100,000 curious now. See where I’m going?
The percentages haven’t gone up, but the numbers certainly have. And their voices have gotten louder with that rise.
I don’t call myself a “Real Sub(missive)”. I call myself Jill. I know what I want out of a relationship, and out of my life. I know what fulfills me and what gets me off. The words “real” and “true” when applied to any aspect of the BDSM lifestyle do nothing but isolate and anger people, me included. When I see an angry dominant (or on occasion and angry submissive) spout off about how all the people he or she meets online are fakes or wannabees, I just want to ask them ---
“What does it say about your choice of people to approach if all you’re finding are the rotten eggs?”
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Slacker
I'm slacking again, aren't I? *sigh*
Creativity - and the drive to write - ebbs and flows with me. When my energy level is high for whatever reason, and I am driven - I write often and long missives. When my energy slips down - again for whatever reason, I write less. It's in those times that I write less that I really wish I could write. I have much to write *about. I just can't seem to get it done.
I started writing a piece of fiction last night. I'm not entirely sure what inspired it; I don't believe it comes from the same place that my last several have come from, but yet it's not a new source, either. It came from a phrase that popped into my head while I was at work yesterday. It wasn't on my big "to write!" list; but it's the only one that I seem compelled to give a voice to.
A small piece, since it's not nearly complete ....
"Anyone watching should be treated to the same show you’d put on for me. A passer-by may glance in and watch. Or not. Someone driving by may catch a glimpse of your ass in the air and your hands in your cunt. Or not. It doesn’t matter if no one sees you do it. Because you’ll be doing it for me, as if I were here, whether I am or not"
Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get back to it ....
Creativity - and the drive to write - ebbs and flows with me. When my energy level is high for whatever reason, and I am driven - I write often and long missives. When my energy slips down - again for whatever reason, I write less. It's in those times that I write less that I really wish I could write. I have much to write *about. I just can't seem to get it done.
I started writing a piece of fiction last night. I'm not entirely sure what inspired it; I don't believe it comes from the same place that my last several have come from, but yet it's not a new source, either. It came from a phrase that popped into my head while I was at work yesterday. It wasn't on my big "to write!" list; but it's the only one that I seem compelled to give a voice to.
A small piece, since it's not nearly complete ....
"Anyone watching should be treated to the same show you’d put on for me. A passer-by may glance in and watch. Or not. Someone driving by may catch a glimpse of your ass in the air and your hands in your cunt. Or not. It doesn’t matter if no one sees you do it. Because you’ll be doing it for me, as if I were here, whether I am or not"
Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get back to it ....
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
*argh*
I remembered last night why I quit reading BDSM Message boards....
"If he were a good dom, he'd have called when he said he would."
What?
"He should have asked if you had issues with punishment first."
What?
"Your submission is a precious gift and should be treasured."
WHAT? Do people really still buy into that shit? Gawd, has my ranting taught nothing over the last 14 years?
Personal. Responsibility. Period.
If he didn't call, maybe he had a reason, did you bother to ask?
Did you tell him you had issues with punishement or did you expect him to read your mind? Communications goes both ways, you know.
Submission is not a fucking gift. I don't know how many times I have to say that. If you're a submissive it's because you want to be. If you don't want to be, you're just playing a game to get what you want.
*screams in frustration*
I am not a "subbie". And I am certainly not your "sister". I am not a precious treasure to be put on a pedestal.
I am a woman who likes to submit. It's part of what gets me off. That's it. It's not a sisterhood or a cutesy trend. It's what it is.
Some days I read those boards and I'm glad I'm not diabetic or I'd be in a coma. Some days I read them and I just stare at the screen, open-mouthed, wondering where these cute little submission-bunnies came from.
And if there is an exterminator around....
"If he were a good dom, he'd have called when he said he would."
What?
"He should have asked if you had issues with punishment first."
What?
"Your submission is a precious gift and should be treasured."
WHAT? Do people really still buy into that shit? Gawd, has my ranting taught nothing over the last 14 years?
Personal. Responsibility. Period.
If he didn't call, maybe he had a reason, did you bother to ask?
Did you tell him you had issues with punishement or did you expect him to read your mind? Communications goes both ways, you know.
Submission is not a fucking gift. I don't know how many times I have to say that. If you're a submissive it's because you want to be. If you don't want to be, you're just playing a game to get what you want.
*screams in frustration*
I am not a "subbie". And I am certainly not your "sister". I am not a precious treasure to be put on a pedestal.
I am a woman who likes to submit. It's part of what gets me off. That's it. It's not a sisterhood or a cutesy trend. It's what it is.
Some days I read those boards and I'm glad I'm not diabetic or I'd be in a coma. Some days I read them and I just stare at the screen, open-mouthed, wondering where these cute little submission-bunnies came from.
And if there is an exterminator around....
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Age-old question
Another question posed on a message board I read, another question I found myself thinking about today and trying to come up with an articulate response to …
Does the age of the person you are submitting to matter to you?
If this question was asked of me ten years ago, my answer would have been absolutely yes.
Ask me today, and the answer is different. “Age is immaterial. Making me *want to submit to them is not.”
(Before I go any further, let me explain “want to submit”. There is a difference for me between submitting reactively, and submitting pro-actively. Reactively means – yes, I’d submit to them if they came up behind me, grabbed my hair and pushed me to my knees. Pro-actively suggests more that I would offer it to them.)
Over my last several posts, I’ve used C, M and R to represent the three men who’ve had the most impact in my life over the last ten years. For the purpose of this post, I will add a J to that list.
My first husband (who’s initial doesn’t appear on the list above) was 14 months older than I am. M is ten years older than me. C is 2 and a half years younger. R is 11 years older. J (who I wrote “The Tease” for, and with whom I had an odd semi-sorta relationship with) is 11 years younger than I am.
So basically, I’ve tried all the flavors *grin.
And to be honest, I have to say, as far as a relationship goes; there isn’t a hell of a lot of difference where age is concerned. As a matter of fact, it seems that those younger than I am (with the exception of R, who is almost always an exception) seem to be closer to what I would consider contemporaries.
This is not to say that I was not, or am not, attracted to men my own age (*gasp) or men who are slightly or more significantly older than myself – or, that I am *more attracted to men younger than myself. Again, age really seems to be no sort of boundary for me. It’s just that as far as my experience is concerned, age has never been *the issue, or even *a big issue.
Now this -- “Age is immaterial. Making me *want to submit to them is not.” – was my answer to the post in question. I posted it. And then I continued to consider it while I was eating dinner.
I have never “looked my age”. When I was 16, I passed for 19 (the legal drinking age in Iowa at the time.) When I was 19, I passed for 25. When I was 30, I passed for 21. And now, I can easily pass for 32-35 if I’m dressed appropriate to that age range. I am thankful for this, and as I have nothing to do with it (good genes I guess), I can only smile when someone guesses my age wrong. And if I put on “soccer mom” clothes, I can pass for my own age occasionally, too /wink.
Maybe this is why age matters so little to me. I certainly never feel my age. And I’ve known some younger men who’ve seemed to be my age or older in wisdom and/or personality. Chronological age has so little to do with who and what we *are. It only has to do with how long our bodies have been on this planet.
Does the age of the person you are submitting to matter to you?
If this question was asked of me ten years ago, my answer would have been absolutely yes.
Ask me today, and the answer is different. “Age is immaterial. Making me *want to submit to them is not.”
(Before I go any further, let me explain “want to submit”. There is a difference for me between submitting reactively, and submitting pro-actively. Reactively means – yes, I’d submit to them if they came up behind me, grabbed my hair and pushed me to my knees. Pro-actively suggests more that I would offer it to them.)
Over my last several posts, I’ve used C, M and R to represent the three men who’ve had the most impact in my life over the last ten years. For the purpose of this post, I will add a J to that list.
My first husband (who’s initial doesn’t appear on the list above) was 14 months older than I am. M is ten years older than me. C is 2 and a half years younger. R is 11 years older. J (who I wrote “The Tease” for, and with whom I had an odd semi-sorta relationship with) is 11 years younger than I am.
So basically, I’ve tried all the flavors *grin.
And to be honest, I have to say, as far as a relationship goes; there isn’t a hell of a lot of difference where age is concerned. As a matter of fact, it seems that those younger than I am (with the exception of R, who is almost always an exception) seem to be closer to what I would consider contemporaries.
This is not to say that I was not, or am not, attracted to men my own age (*gasp) or men who are slightly or more significantly older than myself – or, that I am *more attracted to men younger than myself. Again, age really seems to be no sort of boundary for me. It’s just that as far as my experience is concerned, age has never been *the issue, or even *a big issue.
Now this -- “Age is immaterial. Making me *want to submit to them is not.” – was my answer to the post in question. I posted it. And then I continued to consider it while I was eating dinner.
I have never “looked my age”. When I was 16, I passed for 19 (the legal drinking age in Iowa at the time.) When I was 19, I passed for 25. When I was 30, I passed for 21. And now, I can easily pass for 32-35 if I’m dressed appropriate to that age range. I am thankful for this, and as I have nothing to do with it (good genes I guess), I can only smile when someone guesses my age wrong. And if I put on “soccer mom” clothes, I can pass for my own age occasionally, too /wink.
Maybe this is why age matters so little to me. I certainly never feel my age. And I’ve known some younger men who’ve seemed to be my age or older in wisdom and/or personality. Chronological age has so little to do with who and what we *are. It only has to do with how long our bodies have been on this planet.
Monday, March 05, 2007
I make this look easy but...
People read my stories and think several things about me:
One, they decide I have a filthy mind. Okay, I’ll give you that one. That’s accurate.
Two, they think I’ve either done all of these things (sometimes true) or want to do them (mostly true, but not always).
Three, they think I’m writing a script about how I want a sexual encounter with *them to go. Not true.
If I wanted to write scripts, I’d be working for the porn industry – writing scripts.
My stories are just that – stories. They come from my fantasies, my conversations with people, my filthy little mind. Are they things I’d like to do? Mostly yes. But my writing about isn’t to fill your head with a script you’re supposed to follow; it’s telling you something that I’m interested in. Where you go with it after that is up to you. (the ‘you’ being – anyone who reads my stuff).
Sometimes, I think people are intimidated by the fact that I write erotica. C was *very much this way. Oh, not at first. At first, it’s hot to have a girlfriend/submissive who writes dirty stories. But after awhile I think that it begins to weigh on them that they have to try to live up to these people I write about.
Well guess what. No you don’t. I know *I certainly don’t.
Fiction is amazing. My mind gets to go anywhere it wants to. I get to do anything I want to do. I get to explore things that might scare me or scar me or terrorize me. I get to play with lighting and props and inconceivable scenarios.
I don’t want the people I share my work with to be overwhelmed by that filthy little mind they loved just a few weeks prior. If I get a sense of that from them, I’ve learned to simply stop sending it, and wait to see if they ask if there’s anything new.
I don’t think this applies to everyone I’ve shared my work with. But I know it did with C, and to some extent M as well.
Writing erotica is an awesome creative outlet for me. My greatest hope is that people I share it with enjoy it, take from it what excites or titillates them, and explore their own fantasies. Erotica shouldn’t just make you hot. It should open your mind to new possibilities and new experiences. I think this applies to my blogs here, too.
And just as in sex, if it’s not fun you are doing it wrong *smirk
One, they decide I have a filthy mind. Okay, I’ll give you that one. That’s accurate.
Two, they think I’ve either done all of these things (sometimes true) or want to do them (mostly true, but not always).
Three, they think I’m writing a script about how I want a sexual encounter with *them to go. Not true.
If I wanted to write scripts, I’d be working for the porn industry – writing scripts.
My stories are just that – stories. They come from my fantasies, my conversations with people, my filthy little mind. Are they things I’d like to do? Mostly yes. But my writing about isn’t to fill your head with a script you’re supposed to follow; it’s telling you something that I’m interested in. Where you go with it after that is up to you. (the ‘you’ being – anyone who reads my stuff).
Sometimes, I think people are intimidated by the fact that I write erotica. C was *very much this way. Oh, not at first. At first, it’s hot to have a girlfriend/submissive who writes dirty stories. But after awhile I think that it begins to weigh on them that they have to try to live up to these people I write about.
Well guess what. No you don’t. I know *I certainly don’t.
Fiction is amazing. My mind gets to go anywhere it wants to. I get to do anything I want to do. I get to explore things that might scare me or scar me or terrorize me. I get to play with lighting and props and inconceivable scenarios.
I don’t want the people I share my work with to be overwhelmed by that filthy little mind they loved just a few weeks prior. If I get a sense of that from them, I’ve learned to simply stop sending it, and wait to see if they ask if there’s anything new.
I don’t think this applies to everyone I’ve shared my work with. But I know it did with C, and to some extent M as well.
Writing erotica is an awesome creative outlet for me. My greatest hope is that people I share it with enjoy it, take from it what excites or titillates them, and explore their own fantasies. Erotica shouldn’t just make you hot. It should open your mind to new possibilities and new experiences. I think this applies to my blogs here, too.
And just as in sex, if it’s not fun you are doing it wrong *smirk
You can't get this at Toys R Us
I really do have to stop thinking and day dreaming so much. The list is back up to 7. *sigh
Anyway.
There’s a word (phrase?) I had listed next to the pet names topic, but I kind of decided I’d dedicate a whole post to it. Because it’s more than a word (or phrase). It’s a state of being. It’s a purpose. It’s an occupation.
It’s fucktoy.
It’s one thing to be called that (and, as Martha says (according to my mom, I don’t watch her) that’s a good thing!). It’s a whole other thing to be made to feel that way.
I’ve written before about being made to feel like an object during sex. Being ‘used’ (not in a mental way, in a physical way), being taken, being used to satiate someone’s desires at their basest level. I’ve tried to come up with reasons that that appeals to me in theory, but I haven’t been able to, at least not completely. I’m working through some of that here.
There are submissives who like to be called ‘pet’ (not puppy play, just being called a pet). It makes them feel warm and fuzzy (still not puppy play, I wasn’t kidding). Occasionally, I enjoy that feeling. It’s nice to have that affection interlaced with dominance at times.
But there’s something infinitely more intense about being a toy as opposed to a pet. Being something that someone takes out and plays with until they’re done. Something that is there for their amusement and satisfaction.
Maybe it relates to objectification, and losing ‘self’ in the equation. Maybe it’s the lack of having to do anything creative or active, just being there is enough to keep the person who’s using you to play with entertained, and your participation is not encouraged or required. Simply ‘be there and let me do what I want to you’-sorta thing.
I enjoy being an active participant in my life, especially in my sex life. I want to give as well as I get so to speak. I want the person I’m fucking to feel the same way. But sometimes, my mind is tired. Sometimes, if I’ve been writing extensively or if I’ve been working too hard – it’s nice to not *have to be the creative one. It’s nice to have someone else take that role, and not expect a damn thing from me except my obedience.
That may be part of this for me, though I know it’s not all of it.
All I know for sure is that it’s something I really want to be able to play with. Maybe from both sides *grin.
Anyway.
There’s a word (phrase?) I had listed next to the pet names topic, but I kind of decided I’d dedicate a whole post to it. Because it’s more than a word (or phrase). It’s a state of being. It’s a purpose. It’s an occupation.
It’s fucktoy.
It’s one thing to be called that (and, as Martha says (according to my mom, I don’t watch her) that’s a good thing!). It’s a whole other thing to be made to feel that way.
I’ve written before about being made to feel like an object during sex. Being ‘used’ (not in a mental way, in a physical way), being taken, being used to satiate someone’s desires at their basest level. I’ve tried to come up with reasons that that appeals to me in theory, but I haven’t been able to, at least not completely. I’m working through some of that here.
There are submissives who like to be called ‘pet’ (not puppy play, just being called a pet). It makes them feel warm and fuzzy (still not puppy play, I wasn’t kidding). Occasionally, I enjoy that feeling. It’s nice to have that affection interlaced with dominance at times.
But there’s something infinitely more intense about being a toy as opposed to a pet. Being something that someone takes out and plays with until they’re done. Something that is there for their amusement and satisfaction.
Maybe it relates to objectification, and losing ‘self’ in the equation. Maybe it’s the lack of having to do anything creative or active, just being there is enough to keep the person who’s using you to play with entertained, and your participation is not encouraged or required. Simply ‘be there and let me do what I want to you’-sorta thing.
I enjoy being an active participant in my life, especially in my sex life. I want to give as well as I get so to speak. I want the person I’m fucking to feel the same way. But sometimes, my mind is tired. Sometimes, if I’ve been writing extensively or if I’ve been working too hard – it’s nice to not *have to be the creative one. It’s nice to have someone else take that role, and not expect a damn thing from me except my obedience.
That may be part of this for me, though I know it’s not all of it.
All I know for sure is that it’s something I really want to be able to play with. Maybe from both sides *grin.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Other Side of the Bed (so to speak)
Okay, now that I have the preamble out of the way, I can get down to the topic that I really wanted to talk about: sexual dominance – mine, not yours.
For the first several years of my sexual life, I was completely and utterly submissive in bed. This was before I’d heard of d/s, and before I’d met anyone that I’d really call ‘a dominant’. It’s just the way I was – for whatever reason. If my lover held me down, bit me, whispered nasty names, told me to beg – yea, it was gonna be a good time, and all was right with the world. Play rough, and you’ll get me going very quickly.
It wasn’t really until I’d met M that I’d even considered that there *were other options as far as sex was concerned. Well, I knew they were there, I just didn’t think I would enjoy them.
But, I was wrong.
It’s a completely different experience than being sexually submissive, and truth be told, being submissive – or at least not dominant – is my normal mode and my favorite. But every once in awhile, it’s nice to take the reins and watch his eyes as you tell him exactly what belongs to you and what you intend to do with it.
Pretty out of character for a woman who self-identifies as a submissive, eh? But really – is it?
I guess in the strictest sense, it is. I’ve known an awful lot of submissives and/or slaves in my time that I just could *not see acting this way at all. And then again I’ve met a lot that I could see.
Is there a big difference between being sexually aggressive and sexually dominant? Not as much as you might think. So, if you have a dominant who likes his submissives to be sexually aggressive, are you really crossing any lines? Or, are you serving his needs in the way he desires?
And if you *are serving his needs, and you aren’t getting anything out of it (shame on you!), then how can it be un-submissive?
Okay, that’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot of unanswered questions that I can’t answer for you. I can answer them for myself though.
Yesterday, I wrote about being “bad”. That’s being sexually aggressive in the dictionary definition. I want what I want when I want it. Am I always like that? No. But there are times when I am past the point of worrying about protocols and caring about how my actions are perceived. As I said in my previous post, if I were not in a relationship with someone who had specifically told me ‘Don’t DO that’ then I’d likely at least test the boundaries of it to see what his reaction to it was. If they were favorable, then all bets would be off and he’d likely end up tied to the bed with me using his cock as a toy *grin
A few years back, I wrote a story called “The Tease”. This was a vanilla story, written for someone I was semi-involved with at the time that was completely vanilla. At the beginning of the story, rope is threatened but never used, and the female in the story basically just tells him some rules about laying still then goes to town, teasing him mercilessly for an extended period of time. It was really the first time I had explored anything like this in my fiction and it was very enjoyable to write. He didn’t take to the story as I had hoped he would (actually, he didn’t comment on it at all, which for me when I’m writing for someone specifically isn’t encouraging). So, I began to think that maybe it wasn’t so vanilla after all, and that maybe this actually was being sexually dominant rather than just ‘fun play sex’.
I’ve given the story to a couple of other people who have at least a mild interest in kink and they both enjoyed it. I actually have another set up to write in this vein, but with a few other and different twists to it. It’s a part of myself I’d like to explore, and haven’t really gotten to, in flesh or words – except with M. There’s making a move, and then there’s taking over. Moves I can make. Taking over is relatively new to me.
I wonder if saying ‘hurt me’ to someone who’s fucking you is considered sexually dominant… *grin
For the first several years of my sexual life, I was completely and utterly submissive in bed. This was before I’d heard of d/s, and before I’d met anyone that I’d really call ‘a dominant’. It’s just the way I was – for whatever reason. If my lover held me down, bit me, whispered nasty names, told me to beg – yea, it was gonna be a good time, and all was right with the world. Play rough, and you’ll get me going very quickly.
It wasn’t really until I’d met M that I’d even considered that there *were other options as far as sex was concerned. Well, I knew they were there, I just didn’t think I would enjoy them.
But, I was wrong.
It’s a completely different experience than being sexually submissive, and truth be told, being submissive – or at least not dominant – is my normal mode and my favorite. But every once in awhile, it’s nice to take the reins and watch his eyes as you tell him exactly what belongs to you and what you intend to do with it.
Pretty out of character for a woman who self-identifies as a submissive, eh? But really – is it?
I guess in the strictest sense, it is. I’ve known an awful lot of submissives and/or slaves in my time that I just could *not see acting this way at all. And then again I’ve met a lot that I could see.
Is there a big difference between being sexually aggressive and sexually dominant? Not as much as you might think. So, if you have a dominant who likes his submissives to be sexually aggressive, are you really crossing any lines? Or, are you serving his needs in the way he desires?
And if you *are serving his needs, and you aren’t getting anything out of it (shame on you!), then how can it be un-submissive?
Okay, that’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot of unanswered questions that I can’t answer for you. I can answer them for myself though.
Yesterday, I wrote about being “bad”. That’s being sexually aggressive in the dictionary definition. I want what I want when I want it. Am I always like that? No. But there are times when I am past the point of worrying about protocols and caring about how my actions are perceived. As I said in my previous post, if I were not in a relationship with someone who had specifically told me ‘Don’t DO that’ then I’d likely at least test the boundaries of it to see what his reaction to it was. If they were favorable, then all bets would be off and he’d likely end up tied to the bed with me using his cock as a toy *grin
A few years back, I wrote a story called “The Tease”. This was a vanilla story, written for someone I was semi-involved with at the time that was completely vanilla. At the beginning of the story, rope is threatened but never used, and the female in the story basically just tells him some rules about laying still then goes to town, teasing him mercilessly for an extended period of time. It was really the first time I had explored anything like this in my fiction and it was very enjoyable to write. He didn’t take to the story as I had hoped he would (actually, he didn’t comment on it at all, which for me when I’m writing for someone specifically isn’t encouraging). So, I began to think that maybe it wasn’t so vanilla after all, and that maybe this actually was being sexually dominant rather than just ‘fun play sex’.
I’ve given the story to a couple of other people who have at least a mild interest in kink and they both enjoyed it. I actually have another set up to write in this vein, but with a few other and different twists to it. It’s a part of myself I’d like to explore, and haven’t really gotten to, in flesh or words – except with M. There’s making a move, and then there’s taking over. Moves I can make. Taking over is relatively new to me.
I wonder if saying ‘hurt me’ to someone who’s fucking you is considered sexually dominant… *grin
I am not less because...
So yesterday, I wrote about being flexible. And last night while I was watching TV, another thought occurred to me (which, by the way, is not helping the number of topics on my list go down at all).
There are dominants. There are submissives. And there are switches.
In many parts of the community, switches are looked down upon. C felt much the same way about switches as he did about bisexuals – ‘they need to make up their mind’.
This bothers me.
Why do I care? Well, because technically, I am a switch. I do occasionally enjoy topping women (as in tying them up and beating them *grin) and I occasionally enjoying being sexually dominant. (You’ll do it until I tell to you stop. Now get busy!). I don’t really enjoy topping (tying up and beating) men (and no, I don’t know why I just don’t). I’m not a switch in the purest sense of the word. But I can spin on a dime if the feeling overtakes me.
If you believe as I do that life is a series of adventures and experiences – and you believe that pleasure can come from more than one place – why would anyone turn their nose up at a person who can get it from either end of the whip?
It’s that kind of purist attitude that makes dealing with the community as a whole intolerable for me.
You must pick a side. You must be ‘Safe, Sane and Consensual’ (oh yes, because I want to live my life by an advertising slogan *eyeroll). You must follow this rule and that rule and …
See where I’m going here?
Am I less a submissive because I occasionally like to redden the ass of a female who asks me to? (Not that I’ve been asked in a long time, but hey – I haven’t been anywhere to be asked, either). Am I less a submissive because when I happen upon a man who has a yen to submit to me between the sheets, I indulge him (and me) in that?
And if I am, do I really give a rat’s ass?
In this world, you accept yourself and you adapt yourself accordingly. If you don’t, you’re setting yourself up for a world of disappointment. And frankly there are enough ways to be disappointed. Why add on more?
*If I were in a serious relationship and during the course of that relationship it was decided that I, as a submissive, wasn’t going to top anyone or be sexually dominant – and I agreed to it, because the relationship was more important to me – then okay. That’s situational. It’s agreed upon. But for someone to say – to us unattached females who enjoy exploring all of our kinks – that we are less submissive because we like to ‘play’ is just – well it’s not nice. So stop it.
(This little rant brought to you by another topic on my list, and this is the pre-amble for it, just so that I can be clear about where I’m going with that one)
There are dominants. There are submissives. And there are switches.
In many parts of the community, switches are looked down upon. C felt much the same way about switches as he did about bisexuals – ‘they need to make up their mind’.
This bothers me.
Why do I care? Well, because technically, I am a switch. I do occasionally enjoy topping women (as in tying them up and beating them *grin) and I occasionally enjoying being sexually dominant. (You’ll do it until I tell to you stop. Now get busy!). I don’t really enjoy topping (tying up and beating) men (and no, I don’t know why I just don’t). I’m not a switch in the purest sense of the word. But I can spin on a dime if the feeling overtakes me.
If you believe as I do that life is a series of adventures and experiences – and you believe that pleasure can come from more than one place – why would anyone turn their nose up at a person who can get it from either end of the whip?
It’s that kind of purist attitude that makes dealing with the community as a whole intolerable for me.
You must pick a side. You must be ‘Safe, Sane and Consensual’ (oh yes, because I want to live my life by an advertising slogan *eyeroll). You must follow this rule and that rule and …
See where I’m going here?
Am I less a submissive because I occasionally like to redden the ass of a female who asks me to? (Not that I’ve been asked in a long time, but hey – I haven’t been anywhere to be asked, either). Am I less a submissive because when I happen upon a man who has a yen to submit to me between the sheets, I indulge him (and me) in that?
And if I am, do I really give a rat’s ass?
In this world, you accept yourself and you adapt yourself accordingly. If you don’t, you’re setting yourself up for a world of disappointment. And frankly there are enough ways to be disappointed. Why add on more?
*If I were in a serious relationship and during the course of that relationship it was decided that I, as a submissive, wasn’t going to top anyone or be sexually dominant – and I agreed to it, because the relationship was more important to me – then okay. That’s situational. It’s agreed upon. But for someone to say – to us unattached females who enjoy exploring all of our kinks – that we are less submissive because we like to ‘play’ is just – well it’s not nice. So stop it.
(This little rant brought to you by another topic on my list, and this is the pre-amble for it, just so that I can be clear about where I’m going with that one)
Saturday, March 03, 2007
What's in a name (again) for him?
So, I’ve written two posts recently about pet names, and how I react to them.
I figured, in the interest of fairness and all, that I should turn the tables a little and talk about pet names for men.
Let’s start with the dominants, shall we? (I’m sure they’ll all appreciate being first on the list, because of course, then think they are /wink)
C. was my first dominant. C preferred ‘Master’. It took me quite awhile to move from Sir to Master with him, just because of my own newbie hang-ups. I did eventually get past it, and used it as easily as I did his name.
M. was my second serious dominant. M didn’t mind Master, but he preferred M’lord. Now, writing or typing M’lord is a lot easier than saying it, but after a short period of time, I did find myself saying it easily. I still think it’s a mouthful, but hey – who am I to argue, right? M also had ‘Daddy’ on occasion. And because we switched, he also had ‘boy’. (You think *you’re confused? Try living it.)
Between M. and C again, there was my friend R, who sort of adopted me while I was ‘looking’ for a new dominant. I just called R ‘Sir’ most of the time. I may have called him Master a time or two, but it wasn’t really the dynamic between us.
I played a lot in San Jose and San Francisco during that time. I never called anyone anything but ‘Sir’ during those two years.
Enter C. again, and ‘Master’ again.
Typically, Sir works for me. It’s something I use in every-day language anyway, and while it does mean something quite different when I say it to someone I feel submissive to, it rolls easily off the tongue and it works. I think most dominants are all right with that, too.
But if they aren’t, and they don’t directly tell you what they like to be called, what do you call them? Or do you ask?
I didn’t ask M or C. They told me what they preferred. I didn’t ask R; it was just a natural thing with us (still is to some extent).
So with someone new, who doesn’t offer up an option, I wonder occasionally what to do.
I do see a very strong distinction between ‘Sir’ and ‘Master’. ‘Master’ denotes at least an agreement of some sort of ‘relationship’, be it a casual thing or otherwise. ‘Sir’ is pretty generic, and while I wouldn’t call half the dominants I’ve met in this life ‘Sir’, the ones I respect I certainly would.
There are times for formal, and times for not formal. And in those formal times, if ‘Sir’ is appropriate, is something else *more appropriate?
I guess you ask. Or wait to be told. Or just smile and nod a lot *grin
I figured, in the interest of fairness and all, that I should turn the tables a little and talk about pet names for men.
Let’s start with the dominants, shall we? (I’m sure they’ll all appreciate being first on the list, because of course, then think they are /wink)
C. was my first dominant. C preferred ‘Master’. It took me quite awhile to move from Sir to Master with him, just because of my own newbie hang-ups. I did eventually get past it, and used it as easily as I did his name.
M. was my second serious dominant. M didn’t mind Master, but he preferred M’lord. Now, writing or typing M’lord is a lot easier than saying it, but after a short period of time, I did find myself saying it easily. I still think it’s a mouthful, but hey – who am I to argue, right? M also had ‘Daddy’ on occasion. And because we switched, he also had ‘boy’. (You think *you’re confused? Try living it.)
Between M. and C again, there was my friend R, who sort of adopted me while I was ‘looking’ for a new dominant. I just called R ‘Sir’ most of the time. I may have called him Master a time or two, but it wasn’t really the dynamic between us.
I played a lot in San Jose and San Francisco during that time. I never called anyone anything but ‘Sir’ during those two years.
Enter C. again, and ‘Master’ again.
Typically, Sir works for me. It’s something I use in every-day language anyway, and while it does mean something quite different when I say it to someone I feel submissive to, it rolls easily off the tongue and it works. I think most dominants are all right with that, too.
But if they aren’t, and they don’t directly tell you what they like to be called, what do you call them? Or do you ask?
I didn’t ask M or C. They told me what they preferred. I didn’t ask R; it was just a natural thing with us (still is to some extent).
So with someone new, who doesn’t offer up an option, I wonder occasionally what to do.
I do see a very strong distinction between ‘Sir’ and ‘Master’. ‘Master’ denotes at least an agreement of some sort of ‘relationship’, be it a casual thing or otherwise. ‘Sir’ is pretty generic, and while I wouldn’t call half the dominants I’ve met in this life ‘Sir’, the ones I respect I certainly would.
There are times for formal, and times for not formal. And in those formal times, if ‘Sir’ is appropriate, is something else *more appropriate?
I guess you ask. Or wait to be told. Or just smile and nod a lot *grin
Bad. Very, Very Bad.
“I am not evil; I am angelically challenged. “
I’ve been actually reading two bdsm message boards lately. I’m not sure why, except that maybe it’s my way of working myself back into the ‘community’ without actually having to get involved with groups of people offline /wink. (Not because people scare me, but because bdsm groups seem to typically dissolve into drama and I’m trying to limit the drama in my life)
Or maybe I just missed it. Yea, that’s probably it.
Anyway, there’s a bit of confusion it seems over the phrase ‘bad girl’. I have my own take on this. It’s probably not yours, but that’s all right. We all get our own, ain’t that cool?
I would quote Mae West here, but the quote has almost become trite these days, especially amongst kinky folks. But the fact is, that when I am a bad girl, I am very, very good at it.
There’s a big difference, in my opinion, between a bad girl and a brat. A brat is seeking ‘any’ attention from the dominant in his/her life. She’s (and yes, I do use female for submissive, sue me, it’s my own perspective) acting ‘out’.
A bad girl, in my mind though, isn’t acting out anything. She’s letting her inner naughtiness come to the forefront and she’s behaving accordingly, despite what the more stoic members of the ‘community’ might think she should do (sit and wait for your dominant to tell you what to do sexually! HA!).
Is a bad girl seeking attention? Sure she is. But she’s not seeking just ‘any’ attention. She’s seeking sexual attention. She’s looking for a good sound fucking and she aims to get it. She’s going to seduce; she’s going to tempt; she’s going to tease; she’s going to provoke. She’s going to do whatever it takes to bring out that animal out of her partner that she aches to feel. She wants what she wants; she is wanton and wiley and wicked. And she intends to make sure that her needs get met, regardless the cost.
Is this submissive behavior? /shrug It’s female behavior – it’s the behavior of a female who has *owned her sexuality and frankly, if what you’re really looking for is a meek little girl who’ll only act like a slut when you tell her to, you should probably not be looking for me.
If you’re in any kind of a sexual relationship, regardless of the labels you put on it, don’t you aim to get your needs met, and meet your partner’s needs? How could this be a bad thing?
Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to sit over there ---> and wait for you to come to me with your hard cock. /nod
Pfffft. On what planet?
What’s bad girl behavior?
Let’s put on this brand new piece of lingerie we bought (without permission!) last week and be standing in the kitchen doorway when he gets home. If we’re very lucky, he’ll simply bend us over the kitchen counter and push the thong aside.
Let’s wake him up by sucking his cock and make him late for work.
Let’s invade the shower when he’s already late for work *grin
Let’s not wear panties under our skirt and lean over and whisper that to him in the middle of dinner out.
Let’s lean over and play with his cock while he’s driving home from that dinner.
Getting a picture yet? I knew you would.
I guess I can sorta see how some dominants might find this behavior unacceptable.
But I certainly can’t see how any man would *grin.
I’ve been actually reading two bdsm message boards lately. I’m not sure why, except that maybe it’s my way of working myself back into the ‘community’ without actually having to get involved with groups of people offline /wink. (Not because people scare me, but because bdsm groups seem to typically dissolve into drama and I’m trying to limit the drama in my life)
Or maybe I just missed it. Yea, that’s probably it.
Anyway, there’s a bit of confusion it seems over the phrase ‘bad girl’. I have my own take on this. It’s probably not yours, but that’s all right. We all get our own, ain’t that cool?
I would quote Mae West here, but the quote has almost become trite these days, especially amongst kinky folks. But the fact is, that when I am a bad girl, I am very, very good at it.
There’s a big difference, in my opinion, between a bad girl and a brat. A brat is seeking ‘any’ attention from the dominant in his/her life. She’s (and yes, I do use female for submissive, sue me, it’s my own perspective) acting ‘out’.
A bad girl, in my mind though, isn’t acting out anything. She’s letting her inner naughtiness come to the forefront and she’s behaving accordingly, despite what the more stoic members of the ‘community’ might think she should do (sit and wait for your dominant to tell you what to do sexually! HA!).
Is a bad girl seeking attention? Sure she is. But she’s not seeking just ‘any’ attention. She’s seeking sexual attention. She’s looking for a good sound fucking and she aims to get it. She’s going to seduce; she’s going to tempt; she’s going to tease; she’s going to provoke. She’s going to do whatever it takes to bring out that animal out of her partner that she aches to feel. She wants what she wants; she is wanton and wiley and wicked. And she intends to make sure that her needs get met, regardless the cost.
Is this submissive behavior? /shrug It’s female behavior – it’s the behavior of a female who has *owned her sexuality and frankly, if what you’re really looking for is a meek little girl who’ll only act like a slut when you tell her to, you should probably not be looking for me.
If you’re in any kind of a sexual relationship, regardless of the labels you put on it, don’t you aim to get your needs met, and meet your partner’s needs? How could this be a bad thing?
Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to sit over there ---> and wait for you to come to me with your hard cock. /nod
Pfffft. On what planet?
What’s bad girl behavior?
Let’s put on this brand new piece of lingerie we bought (without permission!) last week and be standing in the kitchen doorway when he gets home. If we’re very lucky, he’ll simply bend us over the kitchen counter and push the thong aside.
Let’s wake him up by sucking his cock and make him late for work.
Let’s invade the shower when he’s already late for work *grin
Let’s not wear panties under our skirt and lean over and whisper that to him in the middle of dinner out.
Let’s lean over and play with his cock while he’s driving home from that dinner.
Getting a picture yet? I knew you would.
I guess I can sorta see how some dominants might find this behavior unacceptable.
But I certainly can’t see how any man would *grin.
Flexible
I think sometimes that we see things too rigidly. We expect them to be one way, or for a person to want one thing, when in fact things can change mid-stream and we tend to realize that they’ve changed, or that that change is okay.
Let’s step back a few days to “Princess”. If someone I’m talking with calls me Princess, in my mind I’m thinking that they want a very certain reaction to it. Typically, I have no problem having that reaction (especially to names or words that naturally bring it about), but occasionally, I’ll be off in one direction far enough that it takes a bit more to bring me back to that certain kind of ‘space’.
In my mind, though, I’m kinda biting my nails, because if I don’t immediately slide into the role I’ve been given, I feel like it’s going to be a disappointment to the other person. (This works with family and employment as well, not just kink. If my boss offers me an opportunity to say – work on a new project, and I don’t immediately get excited about said project…same thing).
What I fail to remember sometimes is that we’re all flexible. At least, the people I would want to associate with are.
So Princess didn’t work. How about we try “bitch” instead?
At the time that these names and situations and headspaces were being toyed with, I was in total smart-ass space. (Yea, no one ever sees that coming, right?). So in reality I was closer to “little bitch” than I was “Princess”. It was a much smoother slide for me to make. And I made it easily.
But in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking that he’d changed up his dialogue for me, because I didn’t slip into ‘innocent girl’ mode, and that that is really what he wanted.
Did he, though? I mean, yes, that was my assumption because I took him at face value, but the fact is, people *are flexible, and their wants/needs/desires aren’t nearly as rigid as I always think they’re going to be.
And I wonder why I think that. Are mine that way?
I thought about this last night while I was straightening my hair. And no, they really aren’t. Used to be that I could switch (top to bottom, bottom to top) at the drop of a hat. Because I haven’t played a whole lot with that in the last several years, I don’t know for sure that I’d still be able to do it, but I’m guessing that I could easily if I were inspired to.
Plan changes don’t typically upset me unless it was something that I was *really looking forward to.
But I can also see why I think the way I do. C. is this way. He was continuously concerned (needlessly, I might add) that I was going to be upset if any plans we made were turned upside down by the Navy. As a Navy wife, I expected no less. And frankly it got pretty fucking irritating to listen to him say repeatedly that we couldn’t do this or we couldn’t do that because we didn’t know a boat schedule; or to have him add a caveat onto the end of every ‘loosely made’ play with ‘I can’t promise…’
Well, no shit. You’re in the Navy and you’re at their mercy. I know this, you know this. I’m a grown woman, I don’t need to be told every twenty minutes.
But I guess maybe that’s where I picked up this little mind thing. I wish he’d take it back, I don’t want it anymore.
Okay, so people (including me) are flexible. Things can change in the middle of a conversation and people can typically easily go with the flow.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m so fascinated with pet names to begin with. Each of them evokes a completely different mind-space for me, and I really do enjoy someone flipping those switches around.
Let’s step back a few days to “Princess”. If someone I’m talking with calls me Princess, in my mind I’m thinking that they want a very certain reaction to it. Typically, I have no problem having that reaction (especially to names or words that naturally bring it about), but occasionally, I’ll be off in one direction far enough that it takes a bit more to bring me back to that certain kind of ‘space’.
In my mind, though, I’m kinda biting my nails, because if I don’t immediately slide into the role I’ve been given, I feel like it’s going to be a disappointment to the other person. (This works with family and employment as well, not just kink. If my boss offers me an opportunity to say – work on a new project, and I don’t immediately get excited about said project…same thing).
What I fail to remember sometimes is that we’re all flexible. At least, the people I would want to associate with are.
So Princess didn’t work. How about we try “bitch” instead?
At the time that these names and situations and headspaces were being toyed with, I was in total smart-ass space. (Yea, no one ever sees that coming, right?). So in reality I was closer to “little bitch” than I was “Princess”. It was a much smoother slide for me to make. And I made it easily.
But in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking that he’d changed up his dialogue for me, because I didn’t slip into ‘innocent girl’ mode, and that that is really what he wanted.
Did he, though? I mean, yes, that was my assumption because I took him at face value, but the fact is, people *are flexible, and their wants/needs/desires aren’t nearly as rigid as I always think they’re going to be.
And I wonder why I think that. Are mine that way?
I thought about this last night while I was straightening my hair. And no, they really aren’t. Used to be that I could switch (top to bottom, bottom to top) at the drop of a hat. Because I haven’t played a whole lot with that in the last several years, I don’t know for sure that I’d still be able to do it, but I’m guessing that I could easily if I were inspired to.
Plan changes don’t typically upset me unless it was something that I was *really looking forward to.
But I can also see why I think the way I do. C. is this way. He was continuously concerned (needlessly, I might add) that I was going to be upset if any plans we made were turned upside down by the Navy. As a Navy wife, I expected no less. And frankly it got pretty fucking irritating to listen to him say repeatedly that we couldn’t do this or we couldn’t do that because we didn’t know a boat schedule; or to have him add a caveat onto the end of every ‘loosely made’ play with ‘I can’t promise…’
Well, no shit. You’re in the Navy and you’re at their mercy. I know this, you know this. I’m a grown woman, I don’t need to be told every twenty minutes.
But I guess maybe that’s where I picked up this little mind thing. I wish he’d take it back, I don’t want it anymore.
Okay, so people (including me) are flexible. Things can change in the middle of a conversation and people can typically easily go with the flow.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m so fascinated with pet names to begin with. Each of them evokes a completely different mind-space for me, and I really do enjoy someone flipping those switches around.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Clothes make the ...
... girl weak in the knees.
I was teasing the Southern Gentleman today about men’s clothing. It got me to re-thinking the whole thing about preferences in this area, though.
I wrote a story several months ago called “The Suit”. The story started off from an idea I had in my head about who and what the Southern Gentleman was (this idea and picture has changed a lot over the last several months but much of that remains), and was about a woman who submits to a man who, while he removes her clothes slowly over several hours, remains completely dressed in a regal suit and tie the entire time. It was a story about perception, and what we believe to be true about people just from their outward appearances, and how we are many times wrong in those assumptions.
Anyway, at the base of it, is the idea that submitting in that way to a man in a suit – the dirtier the submission the better – was something that would keep your mind on edge, because it was unexpected. Also at the base was the power that a well-fitting suit seems to exude.
I wonder then what it is about men dressed in certain articles of clothing affects me the way it does.
A man in a well-fitting suit, especially a black one, will make my heart pound if I find him attractive. The same can be said though for a man in a flannel shirt (especially if he’s wearing one of those thermal undershirts under it – hubba hubba) and a good pair of jeans.
And I’m admitted several times on here to having a definite turn on to a man wearing boots.
And then there’s the whole cowboy thing….
So none of this is fetish for me – because these turn-ons are so varied and different.
And yet each of them have the ability to make me weak in the knees in their own right.
So is it the clothes themselves, or is it our perception of what the clothes stand for, and what we feel we *know about the person from the way they are dressed?
Using the suit as an example, I would perceive at first glance someone dressed in this way as a powerful business man. The power would definitely attract me, but so would the idea that his mind was just as filthy as mine (if I knew it) and that even dressed as immaculately as he was, he could make me beg for him and want every bit of him that I could not see under the suit. Maybe it’s a partial mindfuck.
Then you look at the cowboy. The rope-swinging, horse-wrangling, hat-tipping loner on the range. I don’t think I need to explain why I find that hot *grin.
The flannel shirt and jeans? Casual, and Masculine to the extreme. Same with the boots. I love the way men *smell. I can’t help it.
So maybe it is 90 percent simple perception – and what we believe we know about someone by the clothes they wear.
Yes, I think too much. It’s who I am /smirk.
I was teasing the Southern Gentleman today about men’s clothing. It got me to re-thinking the whole thing about preferences in this area, though.
I wrote a story several months ago called “The Suit”. The story started off from an idea I had in my head about who and what the Southern Gentleman was (this idea and picture has changed a lot over the last several months but much of that remains), and was about a woman who submits to a man who, while he removes her clothes slowly over several hours, remains completely dressed in a regal suit and tie the entire time. It was a story about perception, and what we believe to be true about people just from their outward appearances, and how we are many times wrong in those assumptions.
Anyway, at the base of it, is the idea that submitting in that way to a man in a suit – the dirtier the submission the better – was something that would keep your mind on edge, because it was unexpected. Also at the base was the power that a well-fitting suit seems to exude.
I wonder then what it is about men dressed in certain articles of clothing affects me the way it does.
A man in a well-fitting suit, especially a black one, will make my heart pound if I find him attractive. The same can be said though for a man in a flannel shirt (especially if he’s wearing one of those thermal undershirts under it – hubba hubba) and a good pair of jeans.
And I’m admitted several times on here to having a definite turn on to a man wearing boots.
And then there’s the whole cowboy thing….
So none of this is fetish for me – because these turn-ons are so varied and different.
And yet each of them have the ability to make me weak in the knees in their own right.
So is it the clothes themselves, or is it our perception of what the clothes stand for, and what we feel we *know about the person from the way they are dressed?
Using the suit as an example, I would perceive at first glance someone dressed in this way as a powerful business man. The power would definitely attract me, but so would the idea that his mind was just as filthy as mine (if I knew it) and that even dressed as immaculately as he was, he could make me beg for him and want every bit of him that I could not see under the suit. Maybe it’s a partial mindfuck.
Then you look at the cowboy. The rope-swinging, horse-wrangling, hat-tipping loner on the range. I don’t think I need to explain why I find that hot *grin.
The flannel shirt and jeans? Casual, and Masculine to the extreme. Same with the boots. I love the way men *smell. I can’t help it.
So maybe it is 90 percent simple perception – and what we believe we know about someone by the clothes they wear.
Yes, I think too much. It’s who I am /smirk.
Controlled Force
Okay. My list keeps getting longer instead of shorter, so I’m going to go back to something I started toward last night and never really got to.
‘Controlled Force’
(This does relate in some way to my descriptions last night in Hurt vs. Harm, so you may want to backtrack…)
I started off last night writing about anger in a scene and how it’s so taboo to so much of the quote-unquote BDSM community at large. And largely, these people are probably right. Uncontrolled anger, rage, temper really don’t have any place in a scene (for me).
But working off frustration, letting yourself go enough to feel a bit of that emotion come up in you – these things definitely do fit into a scene for me, if it’s with someone that I know and trust.
For so many submissives – especially new ones – who come into the ‘lifestyle’ – they’re looking for someone they can trust – someone to take care of them(no, not financially (well mostly) and no, not like they’re a child, but someone who will be firm but gentle, you get the idea).
While I will admit to occasionally want that – as I said in my last post – to be taken care of rather than be the caretaker – the Caretaker is my typical position. Doing things for the dominant – be that cooking dinner, organizing his schedule or blowing him under his desk – is pretty much what got me into the scene in the first place (second place maybe…*grin).
If part of taking care of a dominant is being bent over the kitchen counter and fucked hard and roughly because he’s had a frustrating day at work – how is that not fulfilling what I’m looking for?
If part of what he needs is to push me up against a wall face first and feeling him rip and tear what I’m wearing so that he can get some frustration relieved isn’t part of what I need, what is it?
Controlled force then, to me, is putting myself into someone’s hands and knowing that yes – they do have some tension to work off, and yes – I am going to be the focus of that tension for a period of time. Controlled force means that I trust him to be in control of the angry part of himself enough not to do any serious damage to me, but that he uses his “force” to get through those frustrations just the same.
I say all this having been married to someone with one of the *worst tempers I have ever been witness to – and no, something like this certainly would *not have been welcome in that relationship (my first husband btw, not the recent one) because after being around him long enough I knew without a doubt that when he was even a little angry there was no way in hell I could trust him. But I’ve met very few men like that in my life (thank you!) and most of them, I could have trusted with something like this.
Which is all fine and good, but the problem isn’t typically on my part. It’s on theirs.
My recent ex repeatedly refused to even discuss anything like this. Why? Because he did not trust himself. And frankly, that’s a good thing to be able to admit to yourself and your partner. I believed him when he said he couldn’t do it.
With my ex-partner M, we did play with this to some extent, and because he was extremely empathic, it worked very well for us on the few occasions we tried it.
This is not something you do the first weekend you meet someone. And this is certainly not something you do with someone that you do not have a deep, abiding trust in.
But it can work, and does work. And it’s not something that should simply be tossed aside because it’s not “politically correct”
(*waits for the bdsm police to come take away my toys)
To tie this in with last night….
“Controlled Force” is not all about anger or frustration. Sometimes, it’s about fantasies that involve force. There are men – even some seasoned dominant-types – that hesitate when using anything that can be construed as ‘force’. It’s easy to get tangled up in the whole hurt vs. harm thing, and intellectually I can accept and understand that.
But sometimes…just sometimes…some of us *like to be pushed up against a wall or bent over the nearest piece of furniture and taken just because you want to take us.
Just keep that in mind /wink.
‘Controlled Force’
(This does relate in some way to my descriptions last night in Hurt vs. Harm, so you may want to backtrack…)
I started off last night writing about anger in a scene and how it’s so taboo to so much of the quote-unquote BDSM community at large. And largely, these people are probably right. Uncontrolled anger, rage, temper really don’t have any place in a scene (for me).
But working off frustration, letting yourself go enough to feel a bit of that emotion come up in you – these things definitely do fit into a scene for me, if it’s with someone that I know and trust.
For so many submissives – especially new ones – who come into the ‘lifestyle’ – they’re looking for someone they can trust – someone to take care of them(no, not financially (well mostly) and no, not like they’re a child, but someone who will be firm but gentle, you get the idea).
While I will admit to occasionally want that – as I said in my last post – to be taken care of rather than be the caretaker – the Caretaker is my typical position. Doing things for the dominant – be that cooking dinner, organizing his schedule or blowing him under his desk – is pretty much what got me into the scene in the first place (second place maybe…*grin).
If part of taking care of a dominant is being bent over the kitchen counter and fucked hard and roughly because he’s had a frustrating day at work – how is that not fulfilling what I’m looking for?
If part of what he needs is to push me up against a wall face first and feeling him rip and tear what I’m wearing so that he can get some frustration relieved isn’t part of what I need, what is it?
Controlled force then, to me, is putting myself into someone’s hands and knowing that yes – they do have some tension to work off, and yes – I am going to be the focus of that tension for a period of time. Controlled force means that I trust him to be in control of the angry part of himself enough not to do any serious damage to me, but that he uses his “force” to get through those frustrations just the same.
I say all this having been married to someone with one of the *worst tempers I have ever been witness to – and no, something like this certainly would *not have been welcome in that relationship (my first husband btw, not the recent one) because after being around him long enough I knew without a doubt that when he was even a little angry there was no way in hell I could trust him. But I’ve met very few men like that in my life (thank you!) and most of them, I could have trusted with something like this.
Which is all fine and good, but the problem isn’t typically on my part. It’s on theirs.
My recent ex repeatedly refused to even discuss anything like this. Why? Because he did not trust himself. And frankly, that’s a good thing to be able to admit to yourself and your partner. I believed him when he said he couldn’t do it.
With my ex-partner M, we did play with this to some extent, and because he was extremely empathic, it worked very well for us on the few occasions we tried it.
This is not something you do the first weekend you meet someone. And this is certainly not something you do with someone that you do not have a deep, abiding trust in.
But it can work, and does work. And it’s not something that should simply be tossed aside because it’s not “politically correct”
(*waits for the bdsm police to come take away my toys)
To tie this in with last night….
“Controlled Force” is not all about anger or frustration. Sometimes, it’s about fantasies that involve force. There are men – even some seasoned dominant-types – that hesitate when using anything that can be construed as ‘force’. It’s easy to get tangled up in the whole hurt vs. harm thing, and intellectually I can accept and understand that.
But sometimes…just sometimes…some of us *like to be pushed up against a wall or bent over the nearest piece of furniture and taken just because you want to take us.
Just keep that in mind /wink.
Princess
I’ve written about pet names before. Probably more than once. But this is an ever-evolving topic for me, so you’ll just have to suffer through it again.
A year or more ago, I had a friend that inspired eight great pieces of writing for me. There was a definite sexual tension with this man (I met him last year, along with his girlfriend. I didn’t feel the tension, but I did feel a great deal of affection for him, and still do), and in our conversations and exploring different kinks, he came up with a nickname for me.
He called me princess.
Whether it was due to the sexual tension already present, or just due to the connotations of what the name symbolized (age play, we’ll come back to that in a soon-to-be post cause it’s on my list anyway), I don’t know. But what I do know is that I had a strong reaction to it each time he typed it, or spoke it to me. You know. One of those physical kind of reactions, kind of like hitting the peak on a roller coaster and going over the other side. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that feeling? *grin)
The “Muse” phase of our relationship didn’t really last all that long for many and varied reasons that don’t really rate any airtime here, but our friendship has continued. When I met him finally last fall, in a quiet moment when we were talking, he very softly called me “princess” and I laughed and said “none of that!” to him. It’s more like a joke between us now I think, and it’s actually a very cute thing.
I didn’t really think anymore about it after that. It was something that was between he and I, and it wasn’t like I went looking for someone else who’d call me that, or asked anyone to.
But someone did. Someone with whom I have a similar though not the same kind of relationship with now. Someone who does inspire quite a bit of my writing lately, and who I do consider to be a good and trusted friend, with strong interests in kink. I’ve referred to him in the past as the Southern Gentleman, and I think he enjoyed that little title, so I’ll use it here as well.
One night when the Gentleman and I were talking, I related to him the story above about the name. I think I made a little joke about it.
And then awhile later, he called me that.
And I got back on the roller coaster again.
I’m pretty sure my reaction was apparent by what I may – or may not have – said afterward, and the Gentleman admitted awhile later that he’d been hesitant to use it, thinking that it was just a “thing” between my former muse and I. And before that moment, if you’d have asked me straight out, I’d probably have agreed with that.
But we were both wrong.
“Princess” evokes an innocence from me that I don’t have much of anymore. (“I’d trade wisdom back in for innocence….Ben Jelen, ‘Slow Down’). It completely removes the need for me to be rational and wise. It allows me to be taken care of, rather than being the caretaker.
As I said, I had assumed that the pet name had so much effect on me because of the relationship I had with my former muse, but as it turns out, that wasn’t completely the case. Now, the fact that I have a similar relationship with the Gentleman may indeed have some impact on it (no, I wouldn’t get on the roller coaster if some smart-ass in the bank line called me a princess!) as well, or it may not.
I’m kind of guessing it has at least a moderate effect though.
Regardless of that, I was a bit in awe of his ‘ease of use’ with that word with me, and my reaction to it. Still am. And thinking about it now, after having seen it come up on my IM screen just last night from him, and remembering my vivid reaction to it, I’m smiling.
It’s funny how you think, when a relationship changes or ends, that you’re never going to get those specific feelings back. And maybe you never really do. But you can get similar, or even better ones to replace them, and not have the residue of an ‘ending’ hanging over them.
And how incredibly fired up one simple word can make me. *grin
Hm. This post so did not go where I intended it to go (yet again!). The original topic will have to stay on my list *smirk
A year or more ago, I had a friend that inspired eight great pieces of writing for me. There was a definite sexual tension with this man (I met him last year, along with his girlfriend. I didn’t feel the tension, but I did feel a great deal of affection for him, and still do), and in our conversations and exploring different kinks, he came up with a nickname for me.
He called me princess.
Whether it was due to the sexual tension already present, or just due to the connotations of what the name symbolized (age play, we’ll come back to that in a soon-to-be post cause it’s on my list anyway), I don’t know. But what I do know is that I had a strong reaction to it each time he typed it, or spoke it to me. You know. One of those physical kind of reactions, kind of like hitting the peak on a roller coaster and going over the other side. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that feeling? *grin)
The “Muse” phase of our relationship didn’t really last all that long for many and varied reasons that don’t really rate any airtime here, but our friendship has continued. When I met him finally last fall, in a quiet moment when we were talking, he very softly called me “princess” and I laughed and said “none of that!” to him. It’s more like a joke between us now I think, and it’s actually a very cute thing.
I didn’t really think anymore about it after that. It was something that was between he and I, and it wasn’t like I went looking for someone else who’d call me that, or asked anyone to.
But someone did. Someone with whom I have a similar though not the same kind of relationship with now. Someone who does inspire quite a bit of my writing lately, and who I do consider to be a good and trusted friend, with strong interests in kink. I’ve referred to him in the past as the Southern Gentleman, and I think he enjoyed that little title, so I’ll use it here as well.
One night when the Gentleman and I were talking, I related to him the story above about the name. I think I made a little joke about it.
And then awhile later, he called me that.
And I got back on the roller coaster again.
I’m pretty sure my reaction was apparent by what I may – or may not have – said afterward, and the Gentleman admitted awhile later that he’d been hesitant to use it, thinking that it was just a “thing” between my former muse and I. And before that moment, if you’d have asked me straight out, I’d probably have agreed with that.
But we were both wrong.
“Princess” evokes an innocence from me that I don’t have much of anymore. (“I’d trade wisdom back in for innocence….Ben Jelen, ‘Slow Down’). It completely removes the need for me to be rational and wise. It allows me to be taken care of, rather than being the caretaker.
As I said, I had assumed that the pet name had so much effect on me because of the relationship I had with my former muse, but as it turns out, that wasn’t completely the case. Now, the fact that I have a similar relationship with the Gentleman may indeed have some impact on it (no, I wouldn’t get on the roller coaster if some smart-ass in the bank line called me a princess!) as well, or it may not.
I’m kind of guessing it has at least a moderate effect though.
Regardless of that, I was a bit in awe of his ‘ease of use’ with that word with me, and my reaction to it. Still am. And thinking about it now, after having seen it come up on my IM screen just last night from him, and remembering my vivid reaction to it, I’m smiling.
It’s funny how you think, when a relationship changes or ends, that you’re never going to get those specific feelings back. And maybe you never really do. But you can get similar, or even better ones to replace them, and not have the residue of an ‘ending’ hanging over them.
And how incredibly fired up one simple word can make me. *grin
Hm. This post so did not go where I intended it to go (yet again!). The original topic will have to stay on my list *smirk
Sometimes, more is more
Awhile ago, I went on a little lingerie binge. Not a big one, I only bought a few pieces, but they were very special pieces and not cheap; the kind of pieces I’d be proud to put on and wear for someone else with the intent of seducing them, or letting them seduce me.
My taste in lingerie is different than it used to be. One of the pieces I bought is even a very light pink with subtle pin-striping and trimmed in black. A few years ago, just it being even remotely pink would have made me shudder. But I’ve come back around lately to realizing that there is a difference between feminine-sexy and slutty, and there are occasions where feminine definitely is going to be more appropriate.
Another difference is that these are two outfits leave a bit more to the imagination then things I’d have bought to wear for my ex. For him, the sluttier and the more “almost naked” I was, the better. But I’ve also come around to the fact in the last couple years that sometimes, less isn’t more – more is more. And that sometimes, the allusion to sex is more important than the blatant exposure. Not always of course. The completely whorish outfits still hold a certain appeal for me, and I do have a few well-selected ones left that aren’t too big yet.
I had to run some errands today, and stopped into my favorite department store to pick up a few things. Browsing through the clearance rack, I came across a black velvet tuxedo style jacket – fitted – with a black satin lapel. I imagine if I pair that with the pink pin-stripe number and perhaps a short black skirt, I’m going to get exactly what I have coming to me someday ...
If I’m lucky /wink.
My taste in lingerie is different than it used to be. One of the pieces I bought is even a very light pink with subtle pin-striping and trimmed in black. A few years ago, just it being even remotely pink would have made me shudder. But I’ve come back around lately to realizing that there is a difference between feminine-sexy and slutty, and there are occasions where feminine definitely is going to be more appropriate.
Another difference is that these are two outfits leave a bit more to the imagination then things I’d have bought to wear for my ex. For him, the sluttier and the more “almost naked” I was, the better. But I’ve also come around to the fact in the last couple years that sometimes, less isn’t more – more is more. And that sometimes, the allusion to sex is more important than the blatant exposure. Not always of course. The completely whorish outfits still hold a certain appeal for me, and I do have a few well-selected ones left that aren’t too big yet.
I had to run some errands today, and stopped into my favorite department store to pick up a few things. Browsing through the clearance rack, I came across a black velvet tuxedo style jacket – fitted – with a black satin lapel. I imagine if I pair that with the pink pin-stripe number and perhaps a short black skirt, I’m going to get exactly what I have coming to me someday ...
If I’m lucky /wink.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
