Thursday, August 4, 2011

I Might Be Kinky

I've been traveling a bit lately for work. This creates an artificial cycle to my sexuality. Mostly I'm so busy that I just want sleep by the time I drag into the hotel at night, too few hours before the alarm is going to go off. I don't have much desire -- particularly early in the week -- and I don't use my work laptop for surfing personally. So I'm kind of cut off from anything sexual. It's a bizzarre sexual desert that I start coming out of while traveling home. By the time I come through the front door of my house, I feel like there is something major pent up and I need to play a bit.

So I play, and I reach out and explore for a few hours. I dress, I read, and I enjoy myself. It feels like relief from a short stint in chastity, expression released out of built-up need.

It feels good.

Oddly, I'm working closely with one of the most stunningly beautiful women I've ever known. She's my total opposite, though, on some critical points. Not only do we work together, but her views on religion and relationships make me not interested enough to even worry about what personal/professional distance is "respectful." Just not interested. She's very sweet, good at what she does, and -- in case I wasn't clear enough on this point -- mind-blowingly, drop-dead, heart-stoppingly beautiful. So being around her feels strange. Any whif that she might have an interest in any form of dominance would probably cause my brain to explode. As it is, I feel like my mind is under yet another layer of chastity.

Yes, it's strange.

But it's oddly nice. I work hard all week, then relax very thoroughly on the weekend and attend to my needs. I feel good about letting things out. It feels like a sexual vacation. It's been three weeks of this and things are about to change. I never would have predicted such a strange brew of feelings and sensations.

Maybe I'm kinky or something.

QL

Friday, July 1, 2011

Drama

I've been trying to figure out why "the lifestyle" is so rife with drama. Certain individuals don't talk to each other, cliques and groups form and exclude others, people get emotionally battered and bruised and occasionally badly hurt. Why? I think it boils down to two causes: bad decisions and bad actions.

Decisions regarding who we associate with, what we reveal and how quickly are key to our growth. Some people intuitively understand that, some don't stop to put themselves in our shoes. We can't control how they react and it's very hard to predict sometimes, but ultimately we make the decisions that start that sequence of events. Picking the wrong person for the wrong reasons seems to lead to a lot of drama. In hindsight we realize that we ignored alarms in our own mind, instinct overridden by rationalization so we could do what we thought we wanted to do at the time. Regret hurts, and it's easy to aim it at someone else.

The only way to make it worse is to act badly. Humility and looking honestly within ourselves for root cause is extraordinarily hard, and few people take the time and energy to do that. "How did I contribute to this" is all too often bypassed in knee-jerk pursuit of "look what they did to me." We accuse, we look for ways to hurt back, to punish. Unfortunately, this only compounds the regret and the knot is pulled tighter still.

Sadly, these negative feelings grow very well in a vacuum, better still in an echo chamber fed back to us, amplified by people who want to show that they are our friends. But it's not helping us. It's hurting everyone. The only way to address an issue is to sit down and talk with the other person. Get the assumptions out onto the table. Work out what hurts and why. Figure out where your common ground is and how you can help each other. But stop it from festering and make sure that nobody is hurting each other.

Children have a hard time with reconciliation and getting along in the long term. They see the short-term "solution" of cutting others out of their existence. I would hope, however, that as they grow towards adulthood they learn how to deal with those around them in a constructive way. Some do. Some do not.

Bad decisions and bad actions. All of it can be fixed as long as it is not compounded, held as sacred out of spite labeled as "principle." Drama is not necessary. Talking is... communicating is; forgiveness and understanding are. Paradoxically, drama is far, far more effort in the long term. So if a hand is extended, a good decision is to take it, at least tentatively. Most of us are far beyond the excuse of the playground, we're grown adults who have to live in a complex subculture within an complex culture in a very complex world. Simplicity is the best way to cope, to provide calm, warm, stable relationships.

But then... that's just my opinion.

QL

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Closure

I had a wonderful burrito Tuesday night at "our" favorite place. We dated for over a year, formed a bond, cared for each other. But we've been drifting for a long time, not able to find a foothold to move forward together and not ready to say goodbye. We agreed a while back to see other people. My people have been kinky, something she didn't understand and really wasn't curious about. Hers, I would guess, have been a lot like me, only no kink displayed or discussed, if even dreamed. I'm very happy that we were open about that.

It was inevitable that one of us would find someone to fill that void in our lives. She has. While I really am happy for her to have found a direction and found a companion, closure is hard. She tried very hard to make it less so, and I appreciate that. I gave her the few things of hers that had remained at my place and she did the same. I gave her one item that meant a lot to her and got a beaming smile at the meaning of the gesture. We'll see each other again, but it will be very different.

The questions in my head are calming because they don't matter anymore. She's a wonderful person, I've been lucky to have her in my life, and I'm already turning towards my own future and the possibilities it holds. I'm kinky and I need kinky people close to me. I know that where I end up on this path will be much more "me" than the path I just left. But that path had its charms and it was very good to me.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Quick Opinion Poll

Hypothetical situation... a thought experiment, if you will. You have to make a choice:

1. You get to enjoy a full set of sexual feelings and experiences, but there's a good chance you'll have cancer by the time you're 65.

2. You live with diminished urges and drive, but your chances of cancer are significantly lower, and there's a good chance you'll live to 80 or beyond.

Delayed choice or no choice is the same as selecting item 2.

What do you choose? Why? What are the impacts to your life? To those around you?

Just trying to stir up the pot a little. Please comment.

Thanks!
Quietlisten

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Out of Circulation

Is there anything sexier than long, soulful moans? How about being in a state that precludes movement? Pain that feels like it goes to the bone? Feelings of being in an altered mental state?

Given those definitions, I've been the sexiest man alive for the past week. Unfortunately, I have also been wracked with coughs, draggingly tired, and desperately downing hot fluids to replace the beige gunk that has been coming out of chest and sinus in improbable quantities. For some reason I have had no fever. The rest of the symptoms have been classic, and they match those displayed by one particular person at work. Yes, at work. Not home in bed, recovering, but at work. I'm not bitter, really.

At this point I'm tired of being tired, hacked off at coughing all the time, and ready to sound like someone is NOT specifically choking the life out of me when I answer the phone. I'm so over self-quarantine, cabin fevered into going out to get food just to go out. Just to make it clear how much I want to be past this, I'm looking forward to working tomorrow. I'd rather face the B.S. and plow through the piles of steaming stinking politics than spend another day face-to-the-pillow imagining my T-cells having foreign DNA for lunch, snacks, dinner, nightcaps, etc.

I'm ready to have my sexual confusion back, to be my usual not-quite-fitting-in self, to ponder how to move forward and how delightful and stupid BDSM social life is. I'm almost there, the caustic ring to this note will testify. And by next weekend I hope I'm back in form, or back in my usual form of form.

Viva kink! Viva... well... me. Again. Soon. Very, very soon.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

"Dominance"

I went to a "Femdom brunch" the other day. My intent was to meet new people with kinks slanting in roughly the same direction as mine. That's not a huge agenda; better to just go and see what happens, what I learn.

Eight people showed up, including me: five women and three guys. Of the five women, I'd characterize two as "trying so hard to be 'dominant' that it was all I could do to not laugh out loud," one as quiet but intense, and two were welcoming and friendly. This got me wondering about what I thought a "dominant woman" is. The two doing the "tough bitch" posturing are definitely NOT it.

Today it struck me that it's not so much "dominance" that I find initially attractive. It's more akin to leadership. That's a hard quality to nail down, but mostly in this case it means someone I WANT to follow. Out of the bazillion attributes that can make me want to follow a woman, its no surprise that trust and respect are at the top of the list. Another key ingredient for me is a true appreciation on her part for my overcoming my social training and ego in order to be her follower. I need her to WANT to lead, and to want to lead ME in particular. At that point, we have a mutual connection.

Once the dynamic is established, THEN she can use her position as leader to move me along in a direction she wants me to go. She can start to push buttons, make her role more specific, severe, exaggerated, or start pushing it into areas of life where it does not currently reside.

What amazes me about so many depictions of "female dominance" is that they focus first and sometimes exclusively on fetish and severity. These are wonderful flavors when built on a strong foundation of leadership, but are not worth a lot without that foundation. I was recently looking for internet information to share with a curious vanilla woman and found relatively little material that got quickly to that foundation that makes it all make sense.

This may all be obvious to anyone who is experienced in such relationships, but for someone looking to find his own relationship bliss, such little revelations add up over time. I'm not looking for a haughty bitch, but for a true leader who earns my trust and respect. If she earns those, then she has access to just about everything else.

QL

Sunday, January 30, 2011

More Experience

Yes, this post is a week late. Last week was The Perfect Storm at work, and I never got away from obligations -- granted some were very nice dinners, but they were business dinners -- before 9:30. I finally dragged in yesterday (Saturday) about 6:30 and was a zombie until crashing soon after for 10 hours.

But what I wanted to talk about was my experience last weekend. Yes, I got to play. :) As per my habit, I'm not going to give a play-by-play, but I did get to experience some wonderful things in a safe environment. I experienced light caning -- heavy enough to leave bruises but really not bad. I enjoyed a flogging by a number of implements including my new items. I REALLY liked the heavy, thuddy one a lot; it makes the whole body vibrate and transfers energy in a delicious way that I think could drive me into a really great subspace. I also was nipple clamped, clipped with insidious pins on body, arms, and ears. Oh, those ears hurt! I loved it all, especially her laugh when I squirmed a little.

The tone was very playful, like we were testing new things and chatting about it all a lot. I like that for learning. I felt like we were exploring what each of us liked and what was working for us. She was interested in what was happening in my head, as opposed to last time when she started by gagging me so I'd shut up. *grin* I never dove deep into subspace, just worked through with her what was going on. It felt very much like we were preparing for heavier play later.

The only thing that really "hurt" was the caning. On a couple of strokes I could feel the pain "burrowing" into me a little, but not much. Yes, the Dragon Tail stung, but in a wonderful way that I really liked. I would like to experience a harder flogging and a single-tail at some point. The attraction to the pain is not direct, but as a path to submission. I want to walk that path some more.

The icing on the cake was getting to sit and chat a bit afterwards. It's so much easier to submit to someone I know and respect, someone I care about and enjoy talking with. She's a wonderful person, not a pain delivery system. I'm looking forward to finding the overlap of our needs, then diving deeper into that space.

Again, more experience, and more happiness with it. I am still VERY hungry to explore, and I know that my method of selecting partners carefully and progressing relentlessly is right for me. I'm REALLY enjoying this.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Comments

Work continues to be a challenge, with too many people working too hard and a customer that individually only tangentially understands what we are doing on their behalf. The team hangs together and leans on each other quite well now, with some cracks occasionally showing; nothing major. It's easy to start to think of these folks as my friends. We're friendly and we care about each other.

Today something happened that made me "wake up" and think about how close I can really be with work at all. Somehow somebody brought up the case of a guy he had worked with years ago who got caught wearing one of his wife's dresses. You'd think he had murdered in cold blood, the disbelief and universal disgust that came over the group. Granted this is the "programmed" reaction that society so thoughtlessly imposes on almost everyone. And it was all in good fun to laugh at someone who wasn't there.

"Some men just have an... urge," said one guy in mock seriousness. Then laughter erupted in the room. I had been buried in a detailed task and had not been a part of the conversation for quite some time, so I just kept to what I was doing and ignored it all. But it made me feel vulnerable, frightened to ever be "found out."

The funny thing is that the afternoon before, Nikita had asked me to please wear heels because she liked what they did for my legs. She said I had nicer legs than many women and that heels suited me. She said I was hot, and I don't think she was just saying that.

So I know who my real friends are, and I know who wants me for me. The interesting thing is that this brings my job into clear focus, trims it to it's rightful place in my life. It's not my life, it's one component in the tapestry. The people I know there are nice folks, but they are not my friends.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Hair

I have a difficult relationship with hair, lost as I am in the no-man's-land of being "bald." But I'm not bald. I'd LIKE to be, but I'm not. I'm hairy as my cats, only with thick, coarse hair that grows at an unbelievable rate in patches and strands and grossly sparse manscapes. Men don't lose their hair, it just migrates towards gravity.

What has this to do with sex? Only that I shaved myself below the eyebrows on New Year's Eve as a way to kick off a kinky 2011. I planned to keep mostly hairless and wear more feminine fashions. But I'm finding that this doesn't work as well in reality as it did in my twisted and plotting mind. I knew it would take maintenance, but within eight hours I had stubble everywhere. Three days after my last full-body, perfectly-smooth, hour-to-get-everywhere denuding, I've generated a short mat of stubble that's between 1/8 inch and 1/4 inch. I haven't shaved my head in two days and now sport what I call my "hippy look."

Blah, blah, blah. What's all this about hair? Well, I had a fantasy in my head that I could entertain more feminine pursuits on occasion if I was smooth. I was willing to work at it. But I'm not willing to work this hard. This is an hour-a-day exercise and it simply isn't worth that. Nor is it worth going through this *scratch* conversion from *scratch* no hair to *scratch* full hair on a regular basis. This is a simple case of fantasy not living up to reality. More accurately, it's a case of fantasy being too expensive to maintain in reality.

Now that I have that equation in my head, I'll think about that fantasy more realistically. And as I approach other fantasies I'll be one experience closer to having reasonably accurate expectations about how it may translate into reality. That's not cynicism, that's pure mechanics. It will eventually help me break down barriers that I don't know how to break today.

But boy am I glad I gave it a go!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Heat...

I went to a lovely party on Saturday night. It was hosted by a local group of rope aficionados, the Knotley Crewe. A dear friend is a member, and I never would have forgiven myself if I had missed the chance to see her and get a huge hug. So I put on the closest approximation I have to fetish wear -- spandex cycling leggings and a turtle-neck tight technical shirt with my Doc Martens, all in black -- and headed down.

The place was hopping to the extent that I had to park on the street, a first for me. When I entered, I found a lot of people I knew, but an unusual number of people in street wear. Not sure what that was about, but... whatever. I watched some folks doing a suspension scene, grabbed a cookie, and floated around a bit.

I found Nikita in the back room with a victi... um... girl suspended except for a few toes. They were both smiling and having a wonderful time, so I quietly took a couch and watched. They moved to floor work for a while, and the girl seemed to fly for a bit. Then they started to untie everything and nearly hugged the space heater nearby. Other friends popped in and out, and I got my hug. :)

There was a "mass suspension" around 12:30, 13 people (including one rigger) flying from a purpose-built structure called The Cube. Nikita's fingerprints were all over that, and it was amazing to watch. The riggers and riggees received a round of applause while everyone was airborne. Nice.

The following night I had dinner with the woman who really introduced me first hand to true BDSM. She and her boyfriend had invited four people, but I was the only one who showed up. (I chalk that up to the predicted bad weather.) It was a wonderful meal, and I felt very at home, pampered.

Today I was milling around in my head about the differences between the experiences. The public play was overwhelming, impersonal, but full of opportunity to meet new people. The dinner was much more relaxed, comfortable, and open, but I already knew everyone there. My sense is that the hard work of finding what I want will come from sifting through the people at the public venue, figuring out who I click with, and working towards the personal dinner.

BDSM is extremely personal to me. It's not about getting hit by things or getting tied up. It IS about deep connection and trust and a kind of bonding that most of the world's population will never know. There are a lot of people who fake that, strike or get struck, get tied up or say "Yes, Sir." But how much richer that experience must be with people you have taken the time to get to know.

I'm trying to figure out where I want to go next in my journey. The things that have really gripped me emotionally so far are the D/s aspects. The pain was very, very interesting and the endurance athlete in me wants to go far, far deeper into that, but not senselessly. Mostly the experience was enjoyable because it was attached to the act of submitting to someone I care about and respect in scene and out. I want heavier play, much heavier. But I want it to be heavy emotionally as well as physically. That bond is beyond magic.

I want to play with fire... a candle now, campfire before long, bonfire when I'm ready, and eventually -- many, many years from now -- a pyre. I'm willing to get singed in the learning, but the warmth is irresistible and the alternative is too cold to even contemplate.

As I drove home from that wonderfully intimate dinner, the sleet was beginning to fall in earnest, the promised chill pressing in around me and making my path uncertain. I began to feel the weeks since I last played as a burden, a drain on my reserves. Winter survival is sometimes decided by a willingness to share body heat, and emotional survival for a sadomasochist can be decided by the very same thing: sharing the heat.

QL