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.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
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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.
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
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
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
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