Of Deep Topics and The Need to Write
I’m looking at my running list of topics (Didn’t I tell y’all once that I’m anal retentive? Well, I am.), and I’m thinking about them. Some of them are pretty edgy – even for me. Nothing new to the realm of BDSM mind you. But things that wouldn’t normally come up in day-to-day conversation either. At least, not in our house.
I talked to C. today. He’s excited about how much I’ve been writing, and looks forward to the envelopes that will be arriving, taking my words across the ocean to him. Not only will it provide a diversion from his 12 hour days, but it’ll give him some new insight into the girl he left at home. At least, I hope it will.
Something opened up in me a couple weeks ago. Something that’s been dark for far too long. I’m not sure what forced it open – or steamed it open – or unlocked it – but something is new and different, and it’s allowed me to talk about things here – publicly – that I wouldn’t have talked about in private before. Blessing or curse? I haven’t decided yet.
I have a suspicion what’s caused this outpouring. It has to do with finally – FINALLY – letting go of a wall that I put up five years ago, blocking any and all “potentials” from my line of sight. I got tired of asking for things that never materialized (BDSM related, old relationship), and tired of being promised things that never happened, so I just *stopped* asking and listening to promises. The wall remained, even after C and I got back together and subsequently got married. Rebuilding of faith in myself? Additional trust in my partner? Dunno. But I’m not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
Writing is what I do. It’s my creative outlet. Yes, soap and candles and the like are also creative, as is the stenciling I’ve been doing on some wooden plaques for our master bathroom (I couldn’t find anything I liked that matched). But writing is passion for me. I write in my head all the time. I fall asleep crafting stories (most of which never get written, because I don’t write them down (I *am* trying to go to sleep)). I write essays in my head while I’m driving. It’s not 24/7, but it’s as close to anything has ever come for me.
I used to want to write.
Now I need to write. The volume of this blogger has increased dramatically over the last few weeks, and I imagine it will continue this way until I’ve either run out of topics, or run out of steam, whichever comes first. The exploration of these topics – some new, some old – is something that I feel a strong need to do.
I’m taking you along for the ride. Well, if you want to go that is.
But lock the door and put on your seatbelt. We haven’t even hit the curves yet.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
When He Gets Mean…
I get weak in the knees…..
The growl gets me every time.
The words that sound as if they’re being pushed out at the lowest pitch and from the bottom of his throat.
Bad words.
Dirty words.
Mean words.
His hand in my hair, pulling me – or, holding me in one place unable to move.
My arm quickly jerked behind my back by my wrist, seemingly out of nowhere.
Teeth.
He makes me say things I don’t want to say.
He makes me do things I don’t want to do.
He makes me ask – or beg – for things I don’t want.
He won’t stop when I ask him to.
Just my asking seems to spur him on.
When he’s mean.
I like him when he’s mean.
He has my full attention when he’s mean.
Nothing exists but him, not even the room we’re in.
His eyes – if I can manage to pry mine open – are all I see.
In the back of my mind, I hear the words “fight, escape, break free”
But it’s a tiny voice that whispers those words
Instead, it’s the screaming one inside my head that I listen to
The one that says “Don’t let this end. Not yet.”
I get weak in the knees…..
The growl gets me every time.
The words that sound as if they’re being pushed out at the lowest pitch and from the bottom of his throat.
Bad words.
Dirty words.
Mean words.
His hand in my hair, pulling me – or, holding me in one place unable to move.
My arm quickly jerked behind my back by my wrist, seemingly out of nowhere.
Teeth.
He makes me say things I don’t want to say.
He makes me do things I don’t want to do.
He makes me ask – or beg – for things I don’t want.
He won’t stop when I ask him to.
Just my asking seems to spur him on.
When he’s mean.
I like him when he’s mean.
He has my full attention when he’s mean.
Nothing exists but him, not even the room we’re in.
His eyes – if I can manage to pry mine open – are all I see.
In the back of my mind, I hear the words “fight, escape, break free”
But it’s a tiny voice that whispers those words
Instead, it’s the screaming one inside my head that I listen to
The one that says “Don’t let this end. Not yet.”
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Belts
Suspicions about why I’m drawn to the use of them.
I’m going to tell you a little story before I get to the main jist of this.
Back in Cheyenne, in ’96, after C and I had broken up, and I had met M., M. came for a visit. C, whom I had remained friends with, wanted to meet him during the visit. I was suspicious of that, but agreed nonetheless. On M’s first full night there, we all went out and had some drinks (and dinner, I think) and all went well. A few nights later, C. brought his little grill and some elk steaks over, and we all spent the evening together. Call me naive, but I thought things were going rather well.
Later in the evening, we were sitting around the TV, playing Tetris on Nintendo, and I – being my usual silly self – made some comment (and for the life of me, I have no idea what I said or why), and after I said it, C gave me the “evil eye. When there was no reaction from M, C stood up and took his belt off.
Okay, could it BE anymore awkward? I’m in a room with my current dominant and my former dominant – and my former dominant wants to smack my ass with his belt. M said nothing. The room was really quiet, until I finally told C to sit down. We all laughed it off. Eventually, M went back to California, and a day or so later, C and I conversation about the belt incident. C had very strong reservations about M being my dominant. He said that one reason was because M made no gesture whatsoever when the belt came off. C said it had been some sort of ‘test’ and that M had failed with flying colors. (I’m going to interject here that C and I had some *serious* unresolved feelings between us at this point, and we both knew it, but we weren’t admitting it).
As it turns out, he was right. Although not immediately, the reaction that M had (or lack thereof) did show itself in other ways in my relationship with him when I moved to California to be with him.
Here it is, years later. The unresolved feelings between C and I are now (as far as I know) all resolved, and we’re together and as happy as we can be when we’re umpteen thousand miles apart.
And yet, I can still see him taking that belt off. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can feel the way I felt in my living room that evening (well, minus the “I’m-so-in-love-with-my-new-dominant-I’ll-overlook-his-weirdness” thing).
How did I feel? Excited. Frightened. Pissed off (because he knew better than to do that with my new dominant in the room, but he did it anyway, and put me in an awkward position). Defiant. Did I mention excited?
We had never – well, we still have never – played with The Belt. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned any of this to him, and when he reads this, it’ll probably be the first he hears of it.
Did I have any fantasies about being spanked with a belt before that? Not conscious ones. Have I ever been hit with a belt? Not that I can recall. I’ve been threatened with one (coincidently, by M, a few years after this incident) but it was an empty threat.
Frankly, the idea of C hitting me with his belt for some infraction (real or imagined) scares the crap out of me, but gives me that tingly “I really wanna try that” feeling, too.
There’s something about a belt – it’s not as personal as a hand, and it’s not as contrived (I don’t like that word for this, but I can’t think of another) as a paddle or crop. It’s something that nearly everyone has one of in their house. It’s significantly male to me. Its leather, but it’s not scene-related. It’s a normal, every day piece of clothing that could yield some devastating painful reminders on my ass. It looks and feels like punishment.
We’ll get back to why I like the idea of punishment later….
Suspicions about why I’m drawn to the use of them.
I’m going to tell you a little story before I get to the main jist of this.
Back in Cheyenne, in ’96, after C and I had broken up, and I had met M., M. came for a visit. C, whom I had remained friends with, wanted to meet him during the visit. I was suspicious of that, but agreed nonetheless. On M’s first full night there, we all went out and had some drinks (and dinner, I think) and all went well. A few nights later, C. brought his little grill and some elk steaks over, and we all spent the evening together. Call me naive, but I thought things were going rather well.
Later in the evening, we were sitting around the TV, playing Tetris on Nintendo, and I – being my usual silly self – made some comment (and for the life of me, I have no idea what I said or why), and after I said it, C gave me the “evil eye. When there was no reaction from M, C stood up and took his belt off.
Okay, could it BE anymore awkward? I’m in a room with my current dominant and my former dominant – and my former dominant wants to smack my ass with his belt. M said nothing. The room was really quiet, until I finally told C to sit down. We all laughed it off. Eventually, M went back to California, and a day or so later, C and I conversation about the belt incident. C had very strong reservations about M being my dominant. He said that one reason was because M made no gesture whatsoever when the belt came off. C said it had been some sort of ‘test’ and that M had failed with flying colors. (I’m going to interject here that C and I had some *serious* unresolved feelings between us at this point, and we both knew it, but we weren’t admitting it).
As it turns out, he was right. Although not immediately, the reaction that M had (or lack thereof) did show itself in other ways in my relationship with him when I moved to California to be with him.
Here it is, years later. The unresolved feelings between C and I are now (as far as I know) all resolved, and we’re together and as happy as we can be when we’re umpteen thousand miles apart.
And yet, I can still see him taking that belt off. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can feel the way I felt in my living room that evening (well, minus the “I’m-so-in-love-with-my-new-dominant-I’ll-overlook-his-weirdness” thing).
How did I feel? Excited. Frightened. Pissed off (because he knew better than to do that with my new dominant in the room, but he did it anyway, and put me in an awkward position). Defiant. Did I mention excited?
We had never – well, we still have never – played with The Belt. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned any of this to him, and when he reads this, it’ll probably be the first he hears of it.
Did I have any fantasies about being spanked with a belt before that? Not conscious ones. Have I ever been hit with a belt? Not that I can recall. I’ve been threatened with one (coincidently, by M, a few years after this incident) but it was an empty threat.
Frankly, the idea of C hitting me with his belt for some infraction (real or imagined) scares the crap out of me, but gives me that tingly “I really wanna try that” feeling, too.
There’s something about a belt – it’s not as personal as a hand, and it’s not as contrived (I don’t like that word for this, but I can’t think of another) as a paddle or crop. It’s something that nearly everyone has one of in their house. It’s significantly male to me. Its leather, but it’s not scene-related. It’s a normal, every day piece of clothing that could yield some devastating painful reminders on my ass. It looks and feels like punishment.
We’ll get back to why I like the idea of punishment later….
I created 2 new email discussions to go along with StrictlyDs and StrictlySM tonight. StrictlyMs (for master or mistress and slave relationships) and StrictlySpank (for relationships that involve spanking or paddling - discipline, punishment, play, etc).
It's obvious my brain is in overdrive lately.
It's obvious my brain is in overdrive lately.
Let’s talk about food for a minute.
Sometimes y’all get a little more than you bargained for when you come here, don’t ya?
Most people don’t have problems with food. Others have problems like allergies, side-effects and the like.
Me? My problem with food is that I feel guilty eating it.
I’ve always been heavy. My father is heavy. My aunt is very heavy. My grandmother was no small person, either.
I’m not sure why, but my Mom always had an issue with my weight. I think that maybe if she hadn’t, my head wouldn’t be so fucked up about it now. I’ve always felt “inappropriate” because of my weight. Because if I was okay the way I was, my mother wouldn’t have been trying to change me, would she? (And for the record, I love my mother dearly, and have no angry or unresolved feelings about this with her. I’m past that. I don’t blame her for my weight, or the problems I have in my life because of the weight.)
When I was younger, it felt like every bite I ate was watched. Mom would sometimes give me a stern look, or even yell at me for eating something she thought I shouldn’t. Consequently, I learned how to hide what I ate. I learned how to hide food, to eat in private, to enjoy those “stolen treats” more than any meal I’d eat sitting at a table. The food I ate secretly was what I enjoyed. Meals were just to cover and pretend to be “a good girl.” I remember loving it when she worked part-time sometimes, because I could come home from school and devour half a package of Oreos before she got there. And I did sometimes, even knowing that she’d come home and find them gone and yell at me. Maybe it was defiance or rebellion.
I’ve carried that stupid ass trait into adulthood. I *still* have a tendency to eat in private, although I’m not nearly as psycho about it as I used to be. And I don’t hide food anymore.
But I still have the guilt. And that’s what I’m working on right now: The guilt from eating, and the feeling “inappropriate” because I’m overweight.
The last few days, I’ve just tried eating only when I’m hungry, and only what sounds good. If nothing does, I keep looking until something does – or – munch on some pretzels until something does.
As far as how I feel about being “inappropriate”, that’s taking a little more work. But I am working on it.
Sometimes y’all get a little more than you bargained for when you come here, don’t ya?
Most people don’t have problems with food. Others have problems like allergies, side-effects and the like.
Me? My problem with food is that I feel guilty eating it.
I’ve always been heavy. My father is heavy. My aunt is very heavy. My grandmother was no small person, either.
I’m not sure why, but my Mom always had an issue with my weight. I think that maybe if she hadn’t, my head wouldn’t be so fucked up about it now. I’ve always felt “inappropriate” because of my weight. Because if I was okay the way I was, my mother wouldn’t have been trying to change me, would she? (And for the record, I love my mother dearly, and have no angry or unresolved feelings about this with her. I’m past that. I don’t blame her for my weight, or the problems I have in my life because of the weight.)
When I was younger, it felt like every bite I ate was watched. Mom would sometimes give me a stern look, or even yell at me for eating something she thought I shouldn’t. Consequently, I learned how to hide what I ate. I learned how to hide food, to eat in private, to enjoy those “stolen treats” more than any meal I’d eat sitting at a table. The food I ate secretly was what I enjoyed. Meals were just to cover and pretend to be “a good girl.” I remember loving it when she worked part-time sometimes, because I could come home from school and devour half a package of Oreos before she got there. And I did sometimes, even knowing that she’d come home and find them gone and yell at me. Maybe it was defiance or rebellion.
I’ve carried that stupid ass trait into adulthood. I *still* have a tendency to eat in private, although I’m not nearly as psycho about it as I used to be. And I don’t hide food anymore.
But I still have the guilt. And that’s what I’m working on right now: The guilt from eating, and the feeling “inappropriate” because I’m overweight.
The last few days, I’ve just tried eating only when I’m hungry, and only what sounds good. If nothing does, I keep looking until something does – or – munch on some pretzels until something does.
As far as how I feel about being “inappropriate”, that’s taking a little more work. But I am working on it.
Vague?
Expressing Needs, by someone who hates being needy.
I can quote my husband many times: “Could you BE anymore vague?”
He says that to me a lot (though, I’ll wager a guess he’s not saying it now, with all the writing I’ve been doing lately). When I tell him I want or need something, I don’t make myself as clear as I could, giving him examples and such. I didn’t know why that was for a long time. I tried to be clear. I tried to give examples. I tried to define just what it is I was wanting and/or needing.
But the fact is that I wasn’t. And why? Because I hate needing anything. I hate feeling “needy” – and needing something and needy go hand in hand in my head.
M drilled the word “need” out of me. For four years, he didn’t want to hear that word. Not from his lips, not from mine. It was taboo. And it’s stayed that way for me, because I haven’t found the little button in my head to push to say that it’s okay to need something again.
Truth is, though, that I’m a human being. And all human beings have needs. Some things that we think we need are really wants in disguise, but there are things that we need in our lives – that make us feel like…well, us.
I think, too, that there’s a difference between “survival” needs, and “well-being” needs. Survival needs are things like food and water. Well-being needs are things like love, companionship, and a good sound thrashing now and then (whoops – did I say that out loud?). Both of these things are important to us – one physically, one emotionally.
Are our emotional needs less important than our physical ones? Or, is it just easier for us to spell out own physical needs, because those are something we have “no control” over. “I have to have fluids to drink. Human bodies are built that way.” Whereas, if we say “I have to have love in my life. Human beings are built that way” it’s seen as something of a weakness – an emotional hole that begs to be filled – a requirement or demand another person in our lives?
Regardless of all that trivia, the fact remains that I – Screamer_Girl – have trouble expressing my needs in a clear and direct manner to my dominant. I’ve begun the process of sorting out the wants, needs, desires and curiosities from each other. It’s a lengthy process, but I’m dissecting each thing as it comes down the pipe. Is this something I want to do? Need in my life? Am curious about? Is it something I’ve done before with C? With someone else? Is it something I’ve written about? Dreamed about? Fantasized about? What about it appeals or repels me? Is it something that makes me hot? Makes me feel more vulnerable? Makes me feel more submissive? Does it hit the “Top ten ways to make Screamer scream” list? Does it make me feel giddy? Guilty? Abnormal? Am I willing to put myself on the line to ask for it? Is it worth getting into a heavy discussion over? Is it worth the pain of being rejected for? Ridiculed for?(*note, C has never ridiculed me for anything I’ve asked for) To be clear with C, I need to be able to be clear with ME. That’s not as easy as it sounds.
(If you’re asking yourself why I’m writing this, it’s because I know I can’t possibly be the only submissive that feels like this.)
In all that I’ve written the last week or so, I feel like I’ve started to break through that. I’m not there yet, but I’m at least on my way. I’m going to write an essay for C that explains to him what it is that I *do* need. I started working on it, but it’s not nearly done. Writing in the blogger has certainly helped me along though. I find that if I pick a topic, and stay true to it through a dissertation, that I can pull my own desires from that, while still writing about other parts of it.
For someone who’s as verbose and long-winded as I am, you’d think I’d be better at this.
Expressing Needs, by someone who hates being needy.
I can quote my husband many times: “Could you BE anymore vague?”
He says that to me a lot (though, I’ll wager a guess he’s not saying it now, with all the writing I’ve been doing lately). When I tell him I want or need something, I don’t make myself as clear as I could, giving him examples and such. I didn’t know why that was for a long time. I tried to be clear. I tried to give examples. I tried to define just what it is I was wanting and/or needing.
But the fact is that I wasn’t. And why? Because I hate needing anything. I hate feeling “needy” – and needing something and needy go hand in hand in my head.
M drilled the word “need” out of me. For four years, he didn’t want to hear that word. Not from his lips, not from mine. It was taboo. And it’s stayed that way for me, because I haven’t found the little button in my head to push to say that it’s okay to need something again.
Truth is, though, that I’m a human being. And all human beings have needs. Some things that we think we need are really wants in disguise, but there are things that we need in our lives – that make us feel like…well, us.
I think, too, that there’s a difference between “survival” needs, and “well-being” needs. Survival needs are things like food and water. Well-being needs are things like love, companionship, and a good sound thrashing now and then (whoops – did I say that out loud?). Both of these things are important to us – one physically, one emotionally.
Are our emotional needs less important than our physical ones? Or, is it just easier for us to spell out own physical needs, because those are something we have “no control” over. “I have to have fluids to drink. Human bodies are built that way.” Whereas, if we say “I have to have love in my life. Human beings are built that way” it’s seen as something of a weakness – an emotional hole that begs to be filled – a requirement or demand another person in our lives?
Regardless of all that trivia, the fact remains that I – Screamer_Girl – have trouble expressing my needs in a clear and direct manner to my dominant. I’ve begun the process of sorting out the wants, needs, desires and curiosities from each other. It’s a lengthy process, but I’m dissecting each thing as it comes down the pipe. Is this something I want to do? Need in my life? Am curious about? Is it something I’ve done before with C? With someone else? Is it something I’ve written about? Dreamed about? Fantasized about? What about it appeals or repels me? Is it something that makes me hot? Makes me feel more vulnerable? Makes me feel more submissive? Does it hit the “Top ten ways to make Screamer scream” list? Does it make me feel giddy? Guilty? Abnormal? Am I willing to put myself on the line to ask for it? Is it worth getting into a heavy discussion over? Is it worth the pain of being rejected for? Ridiculed for?(*note, C has never ridiculed me for anything I’ve asked for) To be clear with C, I need to be able to be clear with ME. That’s not as easy as it sounds.
(If you’re asking yourself why I’m writing this, it’s because I know I can’t possibly be the only submissive that feels like this.)
In all that I’ve written the last week or so, I feel like I’ve started to break through that. I’m not there yet, but I’m at least on my way. I’m going to write an essay for C that explains to him what it is that I *do* need. I started working on it, but it’s not nearly done. Writing in the blogger has certainly helped me along though. I find that if I pick a topic, and stay true to it through a dissertation, that I can pull my own desires from that, while still writing about other parts of it.
For someone who’s as verbose and long-winded as I am, you’d think I’d be better at this.
Collars
Or…What’s this around my neck?
(posted also on Screamer's Rants Raves and -isms)
Just to be clear, before I start. I don’t have a “regulation” BDSM collar. I haven’t had one in either of my relationships with C. We never had a “collaring ceremony” either time. We don’t discuss collars, except for me to say to him occasionally that I’d love to have another leather one, just for occasional wear.
I do, however, wear an old Army dog tag of his around my neck. I’ve worn it since a few weeks after we got back together. He didn’t give it to me, I asked for it. It was hanging on a nail by the door of his apartment. It hasn’t come off (except for metal detectors at the airport) since then. I wear it as a reminder of him. When I start missing him, I’ll reach down and pull it out of my shirt, and “hug” it with my fist. It’s a sentimental thing.
When we were together before, he bought me a gorgeous necklace; a faery standing on a purple glass heart. It was to be considered my “collar”. I can still hear the sound of the box it came in (with the necklace inside), slamming down on the wooden kitchen table when we broke up. He didn’t ask for it back; I gave it to him because I thought – at the time – in my deluded AOL-taught D/s manner – that that was what I was supposed to do. I was angry with him – for what I perceived at the time was the shattering of my dreams, and for not loving me enough. After several weeks, he gave it back to me, and told me that it had been a gift. Before I left for California, we had a well-intended, but odd “un-collaring”, where I put the necklace on, and he took it off me (presumably, for the last time). I took it with me to California, and it hung on my rearview mirror for a long time, before I finally took it down when it started to bother M. After I took it down, I kept it in its original box in my dresser. I didn’t wear it again until after M and I had broken up, and I went to my first munch solo. I wore it then as a symbol of my independence. I still have it. I’ve worn it a few times since C and I got back together, but it no longer symbolizes a collar to me. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry that the man I love gave to me when we were young, in love, and not quite ready for the ds relationship we knew we wanted to have.
With M., I had a real “ds trappings” collar. Beautiful piece, made by CJ in Denver (CL-70 on the page). I loved that collar, and everything I thought it symbolized. It was my first “real” one. I helped pick it out, and I wore it out of the store. M put it on me, with CJ standing right there. It was a heady, romantic experience. When M. and I broke up, I hung onto the collar for awhile. I finally, after about 2 months, cleansed it of my essence (with a spiritual ceremony), and sent it back to him. I expected a “thank you”, or at least an acknowledgement. I got neither. That epitomized the entire relationship for me. I knew then that what I believed to be true about him had been false from the beginning.
Collaring seems to be an online phenomenon. In all the research I’ve done over the years, I’ve never found a reference for it anywhere else (except online). (If anyone has a living, breathing reference to where a collaring was done before the invention of the internet, please let me know). A collar, then, is a piece of metal or leather worn around the throat for the purposes of fashion, bondage or animal play. The act of “collaring”, however, has grown in gigantic proportions over the internet, in chat rooms, in discussion groups and at munches and parties. “I can’t talk to you, I’m collared”, etc. In IRC, you are supposed to put {dominant’s name or initial here} after your name. On AOL, you’re supposed to put mention in your profile that you’re “collared” to so-and-so. And on email lists, invariably an introduction will feature a line such as “I’ve been collared to MrHeManDominant for six months”. (I’m not saying anything is wrong with this, by the way. I’m just stating what I’ve observed in nearly 10 years of online BDSM interaction.)
Inasmuch it seems, a collar is a symbol, rather than a bondage toy. It symbolizes a committed relationship between two or more people. People get all up in arms about whether a collar is more important than a wedding or engagement ring. So I decided (after my long-winded introduction up there – lol) to give my views on this subject.
I like having something around my neck. I love turtlenecks for this reason. I love those velvet chokers you used to be able to buy at Claire’s. I love those silver “V” necklaces (which is actually called a collar necklace, too – or a sweetheart necklace), too. (I just bought a new one in Cheyenne, after having given the one that M. bought me years ago away). I even like a hand around my neck sometimes. Since I like leather, it seems only natural that I’d like to have a leather collar as well.
I can pretty much say, though, that unless the collar has a d-ring in the front onto which you can attach a leash, it’s not really anything more than a fashion statement for me. If C can reach up and grab that d-ring, and yank me around – then yes – it becomes more of a ds item, and less of an accessory. Again, a collar is a symbol. If the people involved buy a leather or metal collar for the express purpose of showing a commitment, then that’s what it will symbolize.
I see all these “collaring ceremony” websites out on the ‘net. I wonder if the people involved in these elaborate ceremonies are still together. Have they made it past six months? Did they factor a reality into their romantic gesture of “loving d/s”? Or, did they – as so many before them – get caught up in the pomp and circumstance and forget all about sick children and broken-down cars? I worry about people who don’t live in this reality.
Okay, before you start sending me nasty email, no – I don’t believe its all hooey. But some of it is.
I didn’t get collared to my dominant. I married him. I wouldn’t have married him if my commitment to a ds relationship hadn’t been strong, because that’s what brought us together in the first place. There really wasn’t any need for a collaring “ceremony” for us. We had all that covered on our own. When on IRC, yes – I have the little {C} behind my name, for clarity sake. But you’ll rarely if ever see me use the phrase “collared submissive” in reference to myself. I’m not offended by it, or against using it. I feel everyone has to do what their hearts (and heads – egads – always use your head!) tell them to do. But know what it is, going in. Know that it’s not “old guard leather” and it’s not passed down from generations of “European D/s houses” (which, frankly, I’m very skeptical about). It’s the symbol that you and your partner decide it is. And frankly, that’s all it is.
Or…What’s this around my neck?
(posted also on Screamer's Rants Raves and -isms)
Just to be clear, before I start. I don’t have a “regulation” BDSM collar. I haven’t had one in either of my relationships with C. We never had a “collaring ceremony” either time. We don’t discuss collars, except for me to say to him occasionally that I’d love to have another leather one, just for occasional wear.
I do, however, wear an old Army dog tag of his around my neck. I’ve worn it since a few weeks after we got back together. He didn’t give it to me, I asked for it. It was hanging on a nail by the door of his apartment. It hasn’t come off (except for metal detectors at the airport) since then. I wear it as a reminder of him. When I start missing him, I’ll reach down and pull it out of my shirt, and “hug” it with my fist. It’s a sentimental thing.
When we were together before, he bought me a gorgeous necklace; a faery standing on a purple glass heart. It was to be considered my “collar”. I can still hear the sound of the box it came in (with the necklace inside), slamming down on the wooden kitchen table when we broke up. He didn’t ask for it back; I gave it to him because I thought – at the time – in my deluded AOL-taught D/s manner – that that was what I was supposed to do. I was angry with him – for what I perceived at the time was the shattering of my dreams, and for not loving me enough. After several weeks, he gave it back to me, and told me that it had been a gift. Before I left for California, we had a well-intended, but odd “un-collaring”, where I put the necklace on, and he took it off me (presumably, for the last time). I took it with me to California, and it hung on my rearview mirror for a long time, before I finally took it down when it started to bother M. After I took it down, I kept it in its original box in my dresser. I didn’t wear it again until after M and I had broken up, and I went to my first munch solo. I wore it then as a symbol of my independence. I still have it. I’ve worn it a few times since C and I got back together, but it no longer symbolizes a collar to me. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry that the man I love gave to me when we were young, in love, and not quite ready for the ds relationship we knew we wanted to have.
With M., I had a real “ds trappings” collar. Beautiful piece, made by CJ in Denver (CL-70 on the page). I loved that collar, and everything I thought it symbolized. It was my first “real” one. I helped pick it out, and I wore it out of the store. M put it on me, with CJ standing right there. It was a heady, romantic experience. When M. and I broke up, I hung onto the collar for awhile. I finally, after about 2 months, cleansed it of my essence (with a spiritual ceremony), and sent it back to him. I expected a “thank you”, or at least an acknowledgement. I got neither. That epitomized the entire relationship for me. I knew then that what I believed to be true about him had been false from the beginning.
Collaring seems to be an online phenomenon. In all the research I’ve done over the years, I’ve never found a reference for it anywhere else (except online). (If anyone has a living, breathing reference to where a collaring was done before the invention of the internet, please let me know). A collar, then, is a piece of metal or leather worn around the throat for the purposes of fashion, bondage or animal play. The act of “collaring”, however, has grown in gigantic proportions over the internet, in chat rooms, in discussion groups and at munches and parties. “I can’t talk to you, I’m collared”, etc. In IRC, you are supposed to put {dominant’s name or initial here} after your name. On AOL, you’re supposed to put mention in your profile that you’re “collared” to so-and-so. And on email lists, invariably an introduction will feature a line such as “I’ve been collared to MrHeManDominant for six months”. (I’m not saying anything is wrong with this, by the way. I’m just stating what I’ve observed in nearly 10 years of online BDSM interaction.)
Inasmuch it seems, a collar is a symbol, rather than a bondage toy. It symbolizes a committed relationship between two or more people. People get all up in arms about whether a collar is more important than a wedding or engagement ring. So I decided (after my long-winded introduction up there – lol) to give my views on this subject.
I like having something around my neck. I love turtlenecks for this reason. I love those velvet chokers you used to be able to buy at Claire’s. I love those silver “V” necklaces (which is actually called a collar necklace, too – or a sweetheart necklace), too. (I just bought a new one in Cheyenne, after having given the one that M. bought me years ago away). I even like a hand around my neck sometimes. Since I like leather, it seems only natural that I’d like to have a leather collar as well.
I can pretty much say, though, that unless the collar has a d-ring in the front onto which you can attach a leash, it’s not really anything more than a fashion statement for me. If C can reach up and grab that d-ring, and yank me around – then yes – it becomes more of a ds item, and less of an accessory. Again, a collar is a symbol. If the people involved buy a leather or metal collar for the express purpose of showing a commitment, then that’s what it will symbolize.
I see all these “collaring ceremony” websites out on the ‘net. I wonder if the people involved in these elaborate ceremonies are still together. Have they made it past six months? Did they factor a reality into their romantic gesture of “loving d/s”? Or, did they – as so many before them – get caught up in the pomp and circumstance and forget all about sick children and broken-down cars? I worry about people who don’t live in this reality.
Okay, before you start sending me nasty email, no – I don’t believe its all hooey. But some of it is.
I didn’t get collared to my dominant. I married him. I wouldn’t have married him if my commitment to a ds relationship hadn’t been strong, because that’s what brought us together in the first place. There really wasn’t any need for a collaring “ceremony” for us. We had all that covered on our own. When on IRC, yes – I have the little {C} behind my name, for clarity sake. But you’ll rarely if ever see me use the phrase “collared submissive” in reference to myself. I’m not offended by it, or against using it. I feel everyone has to do what their hearts (and heads – egads – always use your head!) tell them to do. But know what it is, going in. Know that it’s not “old guard leather” and it’s not passed down from generations of “European D/s houses” (which, frankly, I’m very skeptical about). It’s the symbol that you and your partner decide it is. And frankly, that’s all it is.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Pain…
…hurts
Question posed by my wise friend on StrictlySM yesterday:
Why do you want to receive pain?
Want is such a strong word…..
But, I suppose, an accurate one. C and I don’t do a lot of SM. We did, for awhile, when we first got back together, but (as you’ve heard me go on about ad naseum), our time and circumstances lately prevent much of anything in that realm anymore. Do I miss it? Truthfully? Yea, sometimes.
I’m not a masochist. For awhile, I believed I was. I truly thought that I “got off” on pain. But after some self-examination, and experiences, I can truthfully say – that’s not it.
Between the time that I was with M, and before C and I got back together, I went a little wild. I started attending some play parties and groups up in the San Jose and San Francisco areas, and started to play with some different people. I started playing with a man I’ll call G., who became a very good friend to me. Even without realizing it (him – or me), he helped me come to the realization that I am not a pain slut – and what it is about pain that does beckon to me sometimes.
Pain hurts. Pain causes me to focus on the moment, and to be able to stop letting other thoughts cloud my mind. Frankly, it takes every ounce of energy I have to “live through” the pain, and it doesn’t leave any room for worrying about my family, the dishes that need to be done, the bills that need to be paid, or how I feel about how fat my thighs are. I’m not even remotely concerned about how I look naked – if my hair is messed up – if I cleaned out the dishwasher. I don’t have time to think about how worried my mother is, how infantile my sister is, or if my Dad is taking his diabetes seriously. All I can focus on is the pain, and getting through it. I have one of those minds that never shuts up. There is always something that needs to be done, and always something I feel guilty for not getting accomplished. During those minutes of painful play in a scene, my focus is on survival. And after the scene – at least until the next day – my mind is beautifully clear and not at all busy with the minutiae of daily life.
Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do. As a child, and even into my early twenties, I allowed myself to be conditioned to believe that crying was a sign of weakness and emotional immaturity. It’s got to be a pretty big deal for me to let myself do that. (Funny side note here – for humor’s sake – C and I have discussed several times how he wants to be able to make me cry during a scene. The night before he left on deployment, we were sitting on the bed, and I was – you guessed it – crying. I looked at him and said “Well, you always say you want to make me cry.” And he said “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”)(Also, I’ve always wondered, without asking, why C wanted to make me cry. I mean, I wondered if it was an emotional turn on, or a physical one. I don’t have an answer for that yet, but since I’m sending this to him, maybe I’ll have one for you later.) Crying makes you vulnerable. It shows an emotion that – if you’re like me – you don’t share with just anyone and you don’t share often. There’s a wall that has to be removed to make me share that with someone. Pain will (at least temporarily) sometimes take that wall out.
Expect me to come back to rambling about this at some future date. I believe there’s more to it, but that’s all I have right now.
…hurts
Question posed by my wise friend on StrictlySM yesterday:
Why do you want to receive pain?
Want is such a strong word…..
But, I suppose, an accurate one. C and I don’t do a lot of SM. We did, for awhile, when we first got back together, but (as you’ve heard me go on about ad naseum), our time and circumstances lately prevent much of anything in that realm anymore. Do I miss it? Truthfully? Yea, sometimes.
I’m not a masochist. For awhile, I believed I was. I truly thought that I “got off” on pain. But after some self-examination, and experiences, I can truthfully say – that’s not it.
Between the time that I was with M, and before C and I got back together, I went a little wild. I started attending some play parties and groups up in the San Jose and San Francisco areas, and started to play with some different people. I started playing with a man I’ll call G., who became a very good friend to me. Even without realizing it (him – or me), he helped me come to the realization that I am not a pain slut – and what it is about pain that does beckon to me sometimes.
Pain hurts. Pain causes me to focus on the moment, and to be able to stop letting other thoughts cloud my mind. Frankly, it takes every ounce of energy I have to “live through” the pain, and it doesn’t leave any room for worrying about my family, the dishes that need to be done, the bills that need to be paid, or how I feel about how fat my thighs are. I’m not even remotely concerned about how I look naked – if my hair is messed up – if I cleaned out the dishwasher. I don’t have time to think about how worried my mother is, how infantile my sister is, or if my Dad is taking his diabetes seriously. All I can focus on is the pain, and getting through it. I have one of those minds that never shuts up. There is always something that needs to be done, and always something I feel guilty for not getting accomplished. During those minutes of painful play in a scene, my focus is on survival. And after the scene – at least until the next day – my mind is beautifully clear and not at all busy with the minutiae of daily life.
Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do. As a child, and even into my early twenties, I allowed myself to be conditioned to believe that crying was a sign of weakness and emotional immaturity. It’s got to be a pretty big deal for me to let myself do that. (Funny side note here – for humor’s sake – C and I have discussed several times how he wants to be able to make me cry during a scene. The night before he left on deployment, we were sitting on the bed, and I was – you guessed it – crying. I looked at him and said “Well, you always say you want to make me cry.” And he said “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”)(Also, I’ve always wondered, without asking, why C wanted to make me cry. I mean, I wondered if it was an emotional turn on, or a physical one. I don’t have an answer for that yet, but since I’m sending this to him, maybe I’ll have one for you later.) Crying makes you vulnerable. It shows an emotion that – if you’re like me – you don’t share with just anyone and you don’t share often. There’s a wall that has to be removed to make me share that with someone. Pain will (at least temporarily) sometimes take that wall out.
Expect me to come back to rambling about this at some future date. I believe there’s more to it, but that’s all I have right now.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Back to the Self-Image thing for a minute
Okay, so the last several days, I’ve spent a great deal of time writing about ds. If you’re thinking I’ve abandoned my self-image work, I haven’t. I’ve just been cautiously (and probably subconsciously) diverting myself from that focus, to let some of what I’ve learned, and am reading, sink in.
I’m reading the book Learning Curves by Michele Weston. There is no “cure-all” for bad self-image, but Michele is doing a pretty good job in getting me to recognize some things. I’ve read, and now re-read the chapter on acceptance. It’s difficult to read. And even more difficult to do. But I’m going to keep reading it and meditating on it until I get at least a hint that something is changing.
The one common theme between this book, and the other one I’ve been reading Well Rounded , is that it’s impossible to be completely happy if you continue to put your life on hold until “I’ve lost the weight”. I’ve spent my whole life doing that off and on. So I’m working on that little piece of information, as I shuffle through all my ds thoughts.
Much more – on both fronts – to come.
Okay, so the last several days, I’ve spent a great deal of time writing about ds. If you’re thinking I’ve abandoned my self-image work, I haven’t. I’ve just been cautiously (and probably subconsciously) diverting myself from that focus, to let some of what I’ve learned, and am reading, sink in.
I’m reading the book Learning Curves by Michele Weston. There is no “cure-all” for bad self-image, but Michele is doing a pretty good job in getting me to recognize some things. I’ve read, and now re-read the chapter on acceptance. It’s difficult to read. And even more difficult to do. But I’m going to keep reading it and meditating on it until I get at least a hint that something is changing.
The one common theme between this book, and the other one I’ve been reading Well Rounded , is that it’s impossible to be completely happy if you continue to put your life on hold until “I’ve lost the weight”. I’ve spent my whole life doing that off and on. So I’m working on that little piece of information, as I shuffle through all my ds thoughts.
Much more – on both fronts – to come.
Role-Play
or, how it’s nice to be someone else for awhile
I love my life. I have a great husband, a (mostly) wonderful family, and terrific friends. I’m in relatively good health and sound of mind (mwahaha). I don’t need for anything materially, and there’s rarely something I want that I can’t find a way to get (again, materially).
But sometimes, it’s nice to have a change.
For that reason, role-playing really appeals to me. Now, BDSM people did not invent role-play. People have been doing role-play as long as they’ve been having sex. Husband to wife: “Put on that low cut dress, and sit in the bar. I’ll come in and pick you up like we’re strangers.” Wife to husband: “Just once, for me. Wear the towel and pretend to be Tarzan, please?”
However, BDSM people (I’m using a generic, generalized form here just because it’s simpler. You can feel free to substitute “some BDSM people” or “some freaks of nature” or whatever.) do put role-play to good use, for a number of reasons. (I’m going to list the ones that I know. But you knew that, didn’t you?)
1. Role-play makes some forms of play easier for one or both parties: i.e., the naughty school girl and the rigid professor, if the dominant feels a need to ‘punish’ the submissive.
2. Role-play allows some people to escape their responsibilities as an adult for a period of time i.e., age-play.
3. Role-play allows some people to be more/less aggressive: i.e., prisoner/interrogator or the “dark parking garage” scenario.
4. Role-play allows some people to be…well, not people: i.e., Pony or puppy play.
5. Role-play is a way for some people of suspending belief: i.e., the sex-god. The femme fatale, the hero, the French maid…etc.
(And I know there are more. Drop me a comment and tell me your reasons.)
All but number 4 appeal to me, at various times, for various reasons. (I want to address age-play, but that deserves its own post, so I’ll save that for later). I have no interest in pretending to be a dog or a pony. I’ve seen pony play, most notably at BR’98, and it was beautiful to watch, but I really don’t find it all that…titillating…for myself. I like the idea of “play” punishment in role-play. I like the idea of the whole “dark parking garage” thing (I’ve mentioned that before. Maybe it deserves its own post, too). I actually bought a french maid’s outfit this year and we…Uhhh…made use of it once before C. left. I like the idea of a lot of the things I listed above.
Two things, though: Time, and headspace. Without the time to, it’s too easy to have things go badly. And without the proper headspace (i.e., if we are stressed out, tired and generally cranky), well, there’s really no point in starting it, even if it is planned. Time and headspace are at a premium in this house. Which makes it difficult. Which makes it frustrating. Which makes me impatient.
Hm. Can I role-play a patient person?
I like the idea of giving up responsibility for awhile (age-play). I like the idea of fighting back (dark parking garage, prisoner/interrogator). I like the idea of being someone else for awhile (french maid). I like all these things because sometimes, I get tired of being the one who's always got everything done -- who always takes care of the minutiae, who always does as she's supposed to do.
I probably have higher expectations of myself than anyone has of me. Regardless, though, role-play allows me to step back from those expectations, and just "be in the moment" for awhile.
I like that.
or, how it’s nice to be someone else for awhile
I love my life. I have a great husband, a (mostly) wonderful family, and terrific friends. I’m in relatively good health and sound of mind (mwahaha). I don’t need for anything materially, and there’s rarely something I want that I can’t find a way to get (again, materially).
But sometimes, it’s nice to have a change.
For that reason, role-playing really appeals to me. Now, BDSM people did not invent role-play. People have been doing role-play as long as they’ve been having sex. Husband to wife: “Put on that low cut dress, and sit in the bar. I’ll come in and pick you up like we’re strangers.” Wife to husband: “Just once, for me. Wear the towel and pretend to be Tarzan, please?”
However, BDSM people (I’m using a generic, generalized form here just because it’s simpler. You can feel free to substitute “some BDSM people” or “some freaks of nature” or whatever.) do put role-play to good use, for a number of reasons. (I’m going to list the ones that I know. But you knew that, didn’t you?)
1. Role-play makes some forms of play easier for one or both parties: i.e., the naughty school girl and the rigid professor, if the dominant feels a need to ‘punish’ the submissive.
2. Role-play allows some people to escape their responsibilities as an adult for a period of time i.e., age-play.
3. Role-play allows some people to be more/less aggressive: i.e., prisoner/interrogator or the “dark parking garage” scenario.
4. Role-play allows some people to be…well, not people: i.e., Pony or puppy play.
5. Role-play is a way for some people of suspending belief: i.e., the sex-god. The femme fatale, the hero, the French maid…etc.
(And I know there are more. Drop me a comment and tell me your reasons.)
All but number 4 appeal to me, at various times, for various reasons. (I want to address age-play, but that deserves its own post, so I’ll save that for later). I have no interest in pretending to be a dog or a pony. I’ve seen pony play, most notably at BR’98, and it was beautiful to watch, but I really don’t find it all that…titillating…for myself. I like the idea of “play” punishment in role-play. I like the idea of the whole “dark parking garage” thing (I’ve mentioned that before. Maybe it deserves its own post, too). I actually bought a french maid’s outfit this year and we…Uhhh…made use of it once before C. left. I like the idea of a lot of the things I listed above.
Two things, though: Time, and headspace. Without the time to, it’s too easy to have things go badly. And without the proper headspace (i.e., if we are stressed out, tired and generally cranky), well, there’s really no point in starting it, even if it is planned. Time and headspace are at a premium in this house. Which makes it difficult. Which makes it frustrating. Which makes me impatient.
Hm. Can I role-play a patient person?
I like the idea of giving up responsibility for awhile (age-play). I like the idea of fighting back (dark parking garage, prisoner/interrogator). I like the idea of being someone else for awhile (french maid). I like all these things because sometimes, I get tired of being the one who's always got everything done -- who always takes care of the minutiae, who always does as she's supposed to do.
I probably have higher expectations of myself than anyone has of me. Regardless, though, role-play allows me to step back from those expectations, and just "be in the moment" for awhile.
I like that.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
“I HATE THAT”
Or, Limits and Lines
As I said earlier, I was thinking about my need/want/desire/curiosity thing last night, and it occurred to me that I’d missed a very big part of that.
What I don’t need, don’t want, don’t desire and am not curious about. And what to do when things come up that challenge that – for instance, something that C would be interested in (as a want, desire or curiosity) and gives me the big ol’ squick (squick is an internet word, meaning something along the lines of “grosses me out” or “heebie-jeebies”). And additionally, things that I hate .
If there’s something that I don’t need, and C does, he’ll get it. His needs being met are paramount to my needs being met. If we don’t meet each other’s basic needs, we have no business being together.
If there’s something I don’t want, and C does, chances are he’ll get it. His wants are important to me.
If there’s something that I don’t desire, and C does, chances are we’ll try it. And evaluate it afterwards.
If there’s something that I’m not curious about, and C is, we’ll discuss it, and decide if it’s a desire, a want, or a non-issue. (See the pattern here?)
Impromptu Rant Warning
Thing is, though, that even though the illusion of ds to the outsider (and even to the newcomers, and occasionally to people who’ve been around for awhile) is that his (the dominant) needs/wants/wishes and desires are important, and mine only become important when they match his. No, seriously. People actually say that. (If you are one who does, I’ll only apologize for my sarcasm here). People rarely stay where there needs are not eventually and at least occasionally met. If you’re staying in a relationship and are content with your decision to stay, you have needs being met. Maybe not the surface ones – but at least *some*.
End Impromptu Rant – Proceed Normally
The only point not covered in the above 4 points (above the rant) is the I hate that! option. And yes, there are some of those. Both in ds and in life. I hate the fact that my husband is deployed right now and not home with me. I hate it, but I can live with it. It’s not a limit. It’s not a line that can’t be crossed. It’s the way our life is structured, and I knew that when I married him.
So what about the stuff we hate, and can’t live with?
In many, many relationships – we call those “deal-breakers”. As in, “I love you, but I can’t do that. See ya.” I’ve had some of those, in past relationships. In BDSM, they’re most times called “limits”. But that word is carelessly mis-used in the online (and probably off-line) communities these days. For instance, say you have a ball gag fear. When you meet DomlyOne, you tell him ball gags are a limit. But he really likes ball gags. So slowly, he introduces gags to you, and eventually, you can tolerate them. And eventually, you can tolerate a ball gag, too. Was that really a limit? Or was it just a “I don’t desire/want that!” thing?
You can hate something, and still be willing to do it. Up until a year or so ago, I hated hand spankings. I have horrible memories attached to hand spankings, as well as paddles and fucking full-size boat oars (but that’s another story entirely). It wasn’t a limit for me. It wasn’t really even a line. It was just something I didn’t like. This was something that C. really enjoyed; I’d almost say “needed”. So, as in the ball gag example above, we worked up to it.
Guess what? I don’t hate it anymore. I’d almost go so far as to say that spankings/paddlings are a “want” for me.
Limits, for me, are things that morally or spiritually go against my beliefs. Messing with animals, children, relatives. Playing with excrement. Very basic things that I’m safe in saying that I’d never change my mind on. This goes beyond “I hate that.”
Confused? I hope not. Review. You have needs. Wants. Desires. Curiosities. Your partner has each of these, too. You have things you hate. So does your partner. You have limits, in regards to your health, safety and mental esteem. So does your partner. See? Defining each thing at its own level, in my opinion, is pretty important. The more thought you put into your own feelings about something, the more logically you can discuss it with your partner when he or you decide it’s time to bring it up. And the better your chances of getting those needs/wants/desires and curiosities satisfied.
Or, Limits and Lines
As I said earlier, I was thinking about my need/want/desire/curiosity thing last night, and it occurred to me that I’d missed a very big part of that.
What I don’t need, don’t want, don’t desire and am not curious about. And what to do when things come up that challenge that – for instance, something that C would be interested in (as a want, desire or curiosity) and gives me the big ol’ squick (squick is an internet word, meaning something along the lines of “grosses me out” or “heebie-jeebies”). And additionally, things that I hate .
If there’s something that I don’t need, and C does, he’ll get it. His needs being met are paramount to my needs being met. If we don’t meet each other’s basic needs, we have no business being together.
If there’s something I don’t want, and C does, chances are he’ll get it. His wants are important to me.
If there’s something that I don’t desire, and C does, chances are we’ll try it. And evaluate it afterwards.
If there’s something that I’m not curious about, and C is, we’ll discuss it, and decide if it’s a desire, a want, or a non-issue. (See the pattern here?)
Impromptu Rant Warning
Thing is, though, that even though the illusion of ds to the outsider (and even to the newcomers, and occasionally to people who’ve been around for awhile) is that his (the dominant) needs/wants/wishes and desires are important, and mine only become important when they match his. No, seriously. People actually say that. (If you are one who does, I’ll only apologize for my sarcasm here). People rarely stay where there needs are not eventually and at least occasionally met. If you’re staying in a relationship and are content with your decision to stay, you have needs being met. Maybe not the surface ones – but at least *some*.
End Impromptu Rant – Proceed Normally
The only point not covered in the above 4 points (above the rant) is the I hate that! option. And yes, there are some of those. Both in ds and in life. I hate the fact that my husband is deployed right now and not home with me. I hate it, but I can live with it. It’s not a limit. It’s not a line that can’t be crossed. It’s the way our life is structured, and I knew that when I married him.
So what about the stuff we hate, and can’t live with?
In many, many relationships – we call those “deal-breakers”. As in, “I love you, but I can’t do that. See ya.” I’ve had some of those, in past relationships. In BDSM, they’re most times called “limits”. But that word is carelessly mis-used in the online (and probably off-line) communities these days. For instance, say you have a ball gag fear. When you meet DomlyOne, you tell him ball gags are a limit. But he really likes ball gags. So slowly, he introduces gags to you, and eventually, you can tolerate them. And eventually, you can tolerate a ball gag, too. Was that really a limit? Or was it just a “I don’t desire/want that!” thing?
You can hate something, and still be willing to do it. Up until a year or so ago, I hated hand spankings. I have horrible memories attached to hand spankings, as well as paddles and fucking full-size boat oars (but that’s another story entirely). It wasn’t a limit for me. It wasn’t really even a line. It was just something I didn’t like. This was something that C. really enjoyed; I’d almost say “needed”. So, as in the ball gag example above, we worked up to it.
Guess what? I don’t hate it anymore. I’d almost go so far as to say that spankings/paddlings are a “want” for me.
Limits, for me, are things that morally or spiritually go against my beliefs. Messing with animals, children, relatives. Playing with excrement. Very basic things that I’m safe in saying that I’d never change my mind on. This goes beyond “I hate that.”
Confused? I hope not. Review. You have needs. Wants. Desires. Curiosities. Your partner has each of these, too. You have things you hate. So does your partner. You have limits, in regards to your health, safety and mental esteem. So does your partner. See? Defining each thing at its own level, in my opinion, is pretty important. The more thought you put into your own feelings about something, the more logically you can discuss it with your partner when he or you decide it’s time to bring it up. And the better your chances of getting those needs/wants/desires and curiosities satisfied.
Escape
And not of the Pina Colada Variety
I haven’t played EQ (see March archive, or Everquest ) since Thursday. Matter of fact, I shut down both computers (took my “mule” out of the bazaar, too) on Friday, and just – didn’t play.
I realized during my “clouded moonlight meditation” last night that I’ve been using EQ as an escape from reality. Frankly, I think most of the people who play EQ do that. And there’s nothing wrong with it, provided you acknowledge it, and don’t abuse it.
There have been times I’ve abused it. I’ll admit that. It’s nice to not have to remember that my husband is gone, and won’t be home anytime soon – that my family is still having sadness that my grandfather died – that my sister is still the wicked witch of the Midwest – but eventually, you have to shut the computer off. Course, now that I realize what I’ve been doing – living in the fantasy world of Norrath as my lil wood elf druid, I’ll likely not be doing it so much anymore. Which is fine. Gives me more time to get some other things accomplished.
My energy levels have changed over the last month or so. I’ve spent more time working on the house – on my soap and candle projects – on other little artsy-crafty projects for the house – than I normally do. And I’ve been writing more – here, included. Whatever push I needed, evidently I got.
It’s all good.
And not of the Pina Colada Variety
I haven’t played EQ (see March archive, or Everquest ) since Thursday. Matter of fact, I shut down both computers (took my “mule” out of the bazaar, too) on Friday, and just – didn’t play.
I realized during my “clouded moonlight meditation” last night that I’ve been using EQ as an escape from reality. Frankly, I think most of the people who play EQ do that. And there’s nothing wrong with it, provided you acknowledge it, and don’t abuse it.
There have been times I’ve abused it. I’ll admit that. It’s nice to not have to remember that my husband is gone, and won’t be home anytime soon – that my family is still having sadness that my grandfather died – that my sister is still the wicked witch of the Midwest – but eventually, you have to shut the computer off. Course, now that I realize what I’ve been doing – living in the fantasy world of Norrath as my lil wood elf druid, I’ll likely not be doing it so much anymore. Which is fine. Gives me more time to get some other things accomplished.
My energy levels have changed over the last month or so. I’ve spent more time working on the house – on my soap and candle projects – on other little artsy-crafty projects for the house – than I normally do. And I’ve been writing more – here, included. Whatever push I needed, evidently I got.
It’s all good.
After I signed this blasted box off last night, I went out and stood on my little patio. Had Tina Malia's "Shores of Avalon" CD playing (This is an awesome CD, by the way. The music is stuck in my head), and looked up at the cloud covered moon. Very nice. Till the idiot with the mosquito-sounding car came home and ruined the ambiance.
Anyway, while I was standing out there, I was thinking. I spent an hour writing the little need/want/desire/curiosity post, but never got anywhere near the don't need/don't want/don't desire/not curious part of it. In ds, these are all important things, too.
I have a Family Support Group meeting for the boat today, but I'll be back later to discuss that side of the equation.
Anyway, while I was standing out there, I was thinking. I spent an hour writing the little need/want/desire/curiosity post, but never got anywhere near the don't need/don't want/don't desire/not curious part of it. In ds, these are all important things, too.
I have a Family Support Group meeting for the boat today, but I'll be back later to discuss that side of the equation.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
Let’s talk about the word “need”, and the difference between wants, needs and desires.(And before I start, I’m not talking about basic human needs like food and water here)
And of course, I speak only for myself. As always. Thank goodness.
My own quickie definitions of these words (in a practical BDSM sense):
A need, to me, is something that I’ve done (or had done to me), and it’s become so important to me feeling fulfilled in my relationship, that I require it on a regular, semi-regular or at least occasional basis. (example: domination)
A want to me is something that I’ve either a) done and liked and would like to continue to do (but won’t feel unfulfilled if I don’t), or b) something I’ve thought about/written about/discussed with C. to the extent that I’m ready to embark on discovering it. (example: spanking, slapping, bondage)
A desire to me is something that I’ve either read about, talked with someone about, or thought about casually – and have decided is worth further explanation and experimentation. (example: mock-rape scenes, sensory deprivation)
I’ve got this list of stuff I want to write about here. Tonight, as I was looking through it, I was trying to put each of them into one of those three categories. I had trouble doing that, so I had to add a fourth category:
A curiosity to me is something I might have read about or discussed, but haven’t experienced/haven’t thought about enough to know if I want to do it. (example: humiliation, certain kinds of role-playing)
I actually had, though, the difference between wants/needs/desires as a topic, so that’s the direction I’m going right now. I’ll come back to those examples at a later date.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, I tend to analyze everything – sometimes, analyzing it to death (isn’t that right, Sir? lol). I think about things, and think and think and think. I do tons of research on everything I think I might want to do before I even take it to anyone else for discussion. I drive the world around me nutso sometimes with it. But it’s how I work, and I’ve stopped trying to apologize for it, although I have taken steps to try to be much more spontaneous as well. It will usually take me quite awhile moving from step-to-step above (from a curiosity to a desire, then to a want). I’ll read about it. I’ll write about it. And then I’ll sit on it until it becomes comfortable enough for me to actually talk about it with C.
Good example: Humiliation has been a curiosity with me for many years. I’ve seen some incredible scenes where humiliation was used in such a way that made my insides go to mush. I’ve also heard some horror stories of it’s being mis-used (“don’t try this at home” lol) or being used in a negative way. It’s also something that I’ve spent so much time dwelling on, because frankly, I spent a good part of my life being humiliated (non-consensually) about my weight and such. But there is something about it that does intrigue me, so I keep it in there, in the back of my mind, and revisit it every so often.
For something to move from a “curiosity” to a “desire”, I’ve had to at least come to a point where I’m ready to discuss it with C.
For something to move from a “desire” to a “want”, C and I had to have discussed it, and come to the conclusion that we are ready to try to slide it into our lives, on a trial run basis.
And I’m not sure what moves something from a “want” to a “need”. Beyond deciding that whatever-it-is has become an inherent part of me.
And of course, I speak only for myself. As always. Thank goodness.
My own quickie definitions of these words (in a practical BDSM sense):
A need, to me, is something that I’ve done (or had done to me), and it’s become so important to me feeling fulfilled in my relationship, that I require it on a regular, semi-regular or at least occasional basis. (example: domination)
A want to me is something that I’ve either a) done and liked and would like to continue to do (but won’t feel unfulfilled if I don’t), or b) something I’ve thought about/written about/discussed with C. to the extent that I’m ready to embark on discovering it. (example: spanking, slapping, bondage)
A desire to me is something that I’ve either read about, talked with someone about, or thought about casually – and have decided is worth further explanation and experimentation. (example: mock-rape scenes, sensory deprivation)
I’ve got this list of stuff I want to write about here. Tonight, as I was looking through it, I was trying to put each of them into one of those three categories. I had trouble doing that, so I had to add a fourth category:
A curiosity to me is something I might have read about or discussed, but haven’t experienced/haven’t thought about enough to know if I want to do it. (example: humiliation, certain kinds of role-playing)
I actually had, though, the difference between wants/needs/desires as a topic, so that’s the direction I’m going right now. I’ll come back to those examples at a later date.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, I tend to analyze everything – sometimes, analyzing it to death (isn’t that right, Sir? lol). I think about things, and think and think and think. I do tons of research on everything I think I might want to do before I even take it to anyone else for discussion. I drive the world around me nutso sometimes with it. But it’s how I work, and I’ve stopped trying to apologize for it, although I have taken steps to try to be much more spontaneous as well. It will usually take me quite awhile moving from step-to-step above (from a curiosity to a desire, then to a want). I’ll read about it. I’ll write about it. And then I’ll sit on it until it becomes comfortable enough for me to actually talk about it with C.
Good example: Humiliation has been a curiosity with me for many years. I’ve seen some incredible scenes where humiliation was used in such a way that made my insides go to mush. I’ve also heard some horror stories of it’s being mis-used (“don’t try this at home” lol) or being used in a negative way. It’s also something that I’ve spent so much time dwelling on, because frankly, I spent a good part of my life being humiliated (non-consensually) about my weight and such. But there is something about it that does intrigue me, so I keep it in there, in the back of my mind, and revisit it every so often.
For something to move from a “curiosity” to a “desire”, I’ve had to at least come to a point where I’m ready to discuss it with C.
For something to move from a “desire” to a “want”, C and I had to have discussed it, and come to the conclusion that we are ready to try to slide it into our lives, on a trial run basis.
And I’m not sure what moves something from a “want” to a “need”. Beyond deciding that whatever-it-is has become an inherent part of me.
Well, at one point a few months back, I went on and on about spanking (see the March archives and expect that I’ll be back to talking about this again quite soon), I thought maybe it was time to talk about another one of my hot-buttons, which also is a hand on a cheek – slapping.
Way back in 1996, when my friend Sherrie and I created what was then known as “CWDSS” (I think, or something like that) but is now known as Uncommon Ground , I saw a slapping demonstration. At the time, I was appalled and intrigued at the same time. I kept this to myself, not sharing it with C (who I was broken up with at the time, but still friends with) or my soon-to-be-dominant (small d intentional) M. As a matter of fact, I didn’t talk about it for a very long time after. I did think about it, though.
A few years later, I had the opportunity to witness the same couple (who had also moved to CA) practice this interesting activity again. And my reaction to it that time was less appalled, and more enthusiastic.
I talked to M about it. He poo-poo-ed it, for whatever fucking reason (there was *always* a reason), and my desire to try it went unsated for a few more years. A friend of mine in the SF area and I tried it – lightly – once – after M and I split up, but it didn’t push anything in me. I wanted to try it – again – with someone I was involved with.
When C and I got together months later, I mentioned it almost immediately when we started talking about new things we were interested in. A few weeks went by before he actually tried it – purposefully, I think, so I wouldn’t expect it. He had his hand on my throat (palm against my adam’s apple, lightly), and slapped me lightly a few times, across one cheek. (the hand on the throat thing I’ll get into later, but basically, whatever I write about slapping – my reactions and my emotions – it’s the same)
I damn near went to my knees. And not in a bad way.
The reaction – I believe, the activity – and the intensity of the relationship combined – was enormous for me. Little to nothing had made me feel that weak for years. I think both of us were pleased with the outcome.
Except – that it pretty much stopped there. I think he’s done it once – maybe two or three times since. We’ve talked about it. He knows it’s a hot button. I’m not sure if he doesn’t like doing it (which I seriously doubt it is), or if he doesn’t want it to become commonplace, or for me to expect it (which I guess is possible).
Regardless of why it is, it’s on my list of things to talk to him about when he gets home.
As I’m analyzing damn near everything in my life these days, I’ve been thinking about this. And wondering why it makes me feel the way it does.
I have a few ideas, the simplest one of which is that it’s “instant attitude adjustment” for me. Contrary to popular belief, all submissives who live with their dominants do not stay in that “heels and garters/fuck me anytime/I live only to serve” mindset 24/7. How the hell could you? There are groceries to buy, bills to pay, work to do, laundry to fold, families to deal with. I’m not always in the mindset that I devote my entire attention to C. Don’t get me wrong – he gets my attention when he asks for it. But for him to get the completely un-distracted Screamer, I need to either a) have a few minutes to decompress or b) have something happens quickly and out of the blue to take me there immediately. The slap accomplishes that instantly.
Before I go any further analyzing, let me share this with you – although doing so puts me at risk of you saying “she’s nuts” (ha ha – like you weren’t before, right?). I was in an abusive relationship in my early 20’s. It last six months, it ended badly (with me in a safe house and him in jail) and I did the whole counseling thing afterwards. I don’t think I have any lingering aftereffects from it. But you need to know that before I say this next part.
I do not equate violence with love. I once believed that I had to put UP with violence if I wanted to be loved, and I once believed that ‘he wouldn’t hit me if he didn’t love me so much’ (gad-fucking-zuks). Violence is the only means to an end for a man (or woman) who has no intellectual or emotional recourse. In other words, it’s for people who ain’t smart enough to do anything else.
Having said all that, I can tell you that in my case, face slapping is not S&M. It’s not the pain of it (fuck, it hurts when done hard). It’s the mental aspect of it (as it is with so many activities relating to BDSM) that kicks me into overdrive. It’s that “I can do this because you belong to me” thing. It’s that “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your attention so listen up” thing.
There are times that I crave that so much my body hurts. And then there are times when I don’t need it. And probably other times – at moments of high stress – where it might have a completely different effect on me altogether.
It’s very difficult – since I moved out here last summer – for C and I to have a whole lot of ds interaction at all, let alone time to devote to something major. He works long hours (and of course, now, he’s gone), and when he gets home, he’s exhausted and stressed (those dolphins – qualifying for the boat – are a hard road). I find myself recently being very distracted by the whole ds thing – wanting it, needing it – more than I was when we first moved down here. I know I’ve got a long wait (come on, December!), and I intend to put my time to good use between now and then.
So, how do I convey these needs to him, when he’s so far away? I send him these entries by snail-mail (Hi, baby)
It’s early. I’ve got more in me – lol. I’ll be back.
Way back in 1996, when my friend Sherrie and I created what was then known as “CWDSS” (I think, or something like that) but is now known as Uncommon Ground , I saw a slapping demonstration. At the time, I was appalled and intrigued at the same time. I kept this to myself, not sharing it with C (who I was broken up with at the time, but still friends with) or my soon-to-be-dominant (small d intentional) M. As a matter of fact, I didn’t talk about it for a very long time after. I did think about it, though.
A few years later, I had the opportunity to witness the same couple (who had also moved to CA) practice this interesting activity again. And my reaction to it that time was less appalled, and more enthusiastic.
I talked to M about it. He poo-poo-ed it, for whatever fucking reason (there was *always* a reason), and my desire to try it went unsated for a few more years. A friend of mine in the SF area and I tried it – lightly – once – after M and I split up, but it didn’t push anything in me. I wanted to try it – again – with someone I was involved with.
When C and I got together months later, I mentioned it almost immediately when we started talking about new things we were interested in. A few weeks went by before he actually tried it – purposefully, I think, so I wouldn’t expect it. He had his hand on my throat (palm against my adam’s apple, lightly), and slapped me lightly a few times, across one cheek. (the hand on the throat thing I’ll get into later, but basically, whatever I write about slapping – my reactions and my emotions – it’s the same)
I damn near went to my knees. And not in a bad way.
The reaction – I believe, the activity – and the intensity of the relationship combined – was enormous for me. Little to nothing had made me feel that weak for years. I think both of us were pleased with the outcome.
Except – that it pretty much stopped there. I think he’s done it once – maybe two or three times since. We’ve talked about it. He knows it’s a hot button. I’m not sure if he doesn’t like doing it (which I seriously doubt it is), or if he doesn’t want it to become commonplace, or for me to expect it (which I guess is possible).
Regardless of why it is, it’s on my list of things to talk to him about when he gets home.
As I’m analyzing damn near everything in my life these days, I’ve been thinking about this. And wondering why it makes me feel the way it does.
I have a few ideas, the simplest one of which is that it’s “instant attitude adjustment” for me. Contrary to popular belief, all submissives who live with their dominants do not stay in that “heels and garters/fuck me anytime/I live only to serve” mindset 24/7. How the hell could you? There are groceries to buy, bills to pay, work to do, laundry to fold, families to deal with. I’m not always in the mindset that I devote my entire attention to C. Don’t get me wrong – he gets my attention when he asks for it. But for him to get the completely un-distracted Screamer, I need to either a) have a few minutes to decompress or b) have something happens quickly and out of the blue to take me there immediately. The slap accomplishes that instantly.
Before I go any further analyzing, let me share this with you – although doing so puts me at risk of you saying “she’s nuts” (ha ha – like you weren’t before, right?). I was in an abusive relationship in my early 20’s. It last six months, it ended badly (with me in a safe house and him in jail) and I did the whole counseling thing afterwards. I don’t think I have any lingering aftereffects from it. But you need to know that before I say this next part.
I do not equate violence with love. I once believed that I had to put UP with violence if I wanted to be loved, and I once believed that ‘he wouldn’t hit me if he didn’t love me so much’ (gad-fucking-zuks). Violence is the only means to an end for a man (or woman) who has no intellectual or emotional recourse. In other words, it’s for people who ain’t smart enough to do anything else.
Having said all that, I can tell you that in my case, face slapping is not S&M. It’s not the pain of it (fuck, it hurts when done hard). It’s the mental aspect of it (as it is with so many activities relating to BDSM) that kicks me into overdrive. It’s that “I can do this because you belong to me” thing. It’s that “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your attention so listen up” thing.
There are times that I crave that so much my body hurts. And then there are times when I don’t need it. And probably other times – at moments of high stress – where it might have a completely different effect on me altogether.
It’s very difficult – since I moved out here last summer – for C and I to have a whole lot of ds interaction at all, let alone time to devote to something major. He works long hours (and of course, now, he’s gone), and when he gets home, he’s exhausted and stressed (those dolphins – qualifying for the boat – are a hard road). I find myself recently being very distracted by the whole ds thing – wanting it, needing it – more than I was when we first moved down here. I know I’ve got a long wait (come on, December!), and I intend to put my time to good use between now and then.
So, how do I convey these needs to him, when he’s so far away? I send him these entries by snail-mail (Hi, baby
It’s early. I’ve got more in me – lol. I’ll be back.
This is probably a lost cause, but I gotta try it.
I'm looking for a couple of old internet friends - people I met on AOL years ago. I'd like to say hello.
1. Naughti1 - last known email address was at tiac.net - male - first name starts with a V :)
2. WickedOne9 - last known email address was at aol.com - female - first name starts with a C :)
Know them? Are them? Email me, please
I'm looking for a couple of old internet friends - people I met on AOL years ago. I'd like to say hello.
1. Naughti1 - last known email address was at tiac.net - male - first name starts with a V :)
2. WickedOne9 - last known email address was at aol.com - female - first name starts with a C :)
Know them? Are them? Email me, please
Did some more website cruising today. Found a website for a bdsm channel (BDSM_Virginia), so I downloaded mIRC again and popped in. Man, mIRC has changed. I haven't spent any time in or on chat in AGES. Channels are the same, for the most part. But I signed on to check it out. I'll hang out awhile, see if any good topics come up.
Also found yet another of my essays, attributed to someone else, on a webpage. That just pisses me off. Sent an email. As always, if it's not fixed after two weeks, I'll report it to the web server. I hate that I have to do that at all.
More later.
Also found yet another of my essays, attributed to someone else, on a webpage. That just pisses me off. Sent an email. As always, if it's not fixed after two weeks, I'll report it to the web server. I hate that I have to do that at all.
More later.
Friday, September 05, 2003
More Reading Material
Another interesting site that I found (where I could actually quote quite a few things, but we'll start with just this one), was called "Firmly and Fondly", and it was strictly about domestic discipline relationships. While I don't nearly agree with everything on the website, the guy has got some incredible points, and some good quotes, including this one:
Fondly And Firmly/New
begin quote
Robin Skynner quotes a question to his wife and her response:
Why is it that you want us to go after you so hard and really pin you against the wall?
And she said, "Well, can't you see?" - Very impatiently - "can't you see? It's obvious. When you do that we come into our own. We don't have to worry. We can use our energy and aggression and be what we really are and not worry about whether you can take it or not. We become totally free."
end quote
Well no fucking shit.
Ever have one of those moments, where the obvious smacks you in the forehead?
I did. When I read that.
Another interesting site that I found (where I could actually quote quite a few things, but we'll start with just this one), was called "Firmly and Fondly", and it was strictly about domestic discipline relationships. While I don't nearly agree with everything on the website, the guy has got some incredible points, and some good quotes, including this one:
Fondly And Firmly/New
begin quote
Robin Skynner quotes a question to his wife and her response:
Why is it that you want us to go after you so hard and really pin you against the wall?
And she said, "Well, can't you see?" - Very impatiently - "can't you see? It's obvious. When you do that we come into our own. We don't have to worry. We can use our energy and aggression and be what we really are and not worry about whether you can take it or not. We become totally free."
end quote
Well no fucking shit.
Ever have one of those moments, where the obvious smacks you in the forehead?
I did. When I read that.
Reading Material
I didn't feel like playing EQ tonight. I don't really feel like watching TV. So as soon as I finish this post(s), I'm going back to my self-image studies.
While cruising around the internet tonight (actually looking at other bloggers on the 100 bloggers project), I found a couple of interesting websites, and pulled a couple of thought-provoking quotes off them, which I've also sent to C. to peruse.
From The Internal Enslavement FAQ
begin quote
"The Enslavement Hypothesis is that there are submissives who have an overwhelming need to be possessed by a dominant. Given the right environment, the submissive can be coaxed out from behind the protective walls she has built during her life and made to expose all of her Self to her Master. Among other things this requires that he creates an environment which is emotionally safe and in which her underlying character will be accepted, probably for the first time in her life. During this process, the bond between the submissive and her Master becomes sufficiently strong that she can no longer break it herself, and she has then been enslaved."
end quote
This took me somewhere. Somewhere cold (it was January, and it was Nebraska, for gawd's sakes), somewhere exciting (it was the first time I met C. face to face), somewhere scary (well, duh.). As we sat there that night, on the bed of a Motel6 room, eating Little Ceaser's (little seizures - heh) pizza, he told me that he was looking for a slave. At the time, the whole concept of "slave" alarmed me. Who, me? The President of our local NOW Chapter? The Feminist? A slave? HA! Laughable! Never happen. (Keep in mind, it was 1995)
This quote though... I think this is what he meant. This definition - and the definition I had in my head - are so far apart I can't even begin to put them together.
But if this is what he meant...shit.
META note: I did some work on the comment section tonight, so the comments you post will be attributed to the proper post now.
I didn't feel like playing EQ tonight. I don't really feel like watching TV. So as soon as I finish this post(s), I'm going back to my self-image studies.
While cruising around the internet tonight (actually looking at other bloggers on the 100 bloggers project
From The Internal Enslavement FAQ
begin quote
"The Enslavement Hypothesis is that there are submissives who have an overwhelming need to be possessed by a dominant. Given the right environment, the submissive can be coaxed out from behind the protective walls she has built during her life and made to expose all of her Self to her Master. Among other things this requires that he creates an environment which is emotionally safe and in which her underlying character will be accepted, probably for the first time in her life. During this process, the bond between the submissive and her Master becomes sufficiently strong that she can no longer break it herself, and she has then been enslaved."
end quote
This took me somewhere. Somewhere cold (it was January, and it was Nebraska, for gawd's sakes), somewhere exciting (it was the first time I met C. face to face), somewhere scary (well, duh.). As we sat there that night, on the bed of a Motel6 room, eating Little Ceaser's (little seizures - heh) pizza, he told me that he was looking for a slave. At the time, the whole concept of "slave" alarmed me. Who, me? The President of our local NOW Chapter? The Feminist? A slave? HA! Laughable! Never happen. (Keep in mind, it was 1995)
This quote though... I think this is what he meant. This definition - and the definition I had in my head - are so far apart I can't even begin to put them together.
But if this is what he meant...shit.
META note: I did some work on the comment section tonight, so the comments you post will be attributed to the proper post now.
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