I've been thinking a lot lately about what I care about. That's not the same as "what I want," but what drives me and makes me think and feel. There are some major quandaries that I've been trying to reconcile:
1) I love strong, confident, capable women... but I detest gruff and unsophisticated women who bark whims and take offense easily.
2) I love to support smart women, taking on a subordinate role to help them achieve worthwhile and well-thought-out goals... but I ruffle at having my identity or independence diminished to the point where the ONLY thing I am is an accessory.
This is a difficult dance: power exchange but not life-diminishing in effect, feminine dominance of the relationship without the need to simply flip maledom roles. The most wonderful sensation in the world is looking at a woman, being attracted to her (the person, not just physically), and feeling the "click" of the switch inside that makes me need to support her.
That "click" isn't just a nice-to-have occasional neat thing. It's not some adjunct aspect of sexual arousal. It's deep in the mind and it's wonderfully entwined with my identity. It IS sex. Anything she may want of me physically comes out of that feeling, otherwise it's a sad sham and sure to be short lived.
And she has to know that this power is hers. She has to know that it's earned, not just handed out to anyone. If that switch has been thrown in my brain, then she's beyond special.
Let's dance.
Friday, May 9, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Friday, January 17, 2014
Random Thoughts and Realizations
It's rather embarrassing how long I've been away from this blog. To issue my typical rejoinder when apologizing to kinky people: I should be flogged for it. Please. (ta-dum-dum)
My mind has been churning madly lately, and that means that both of my readers are bound to be sploodged with the kinky butter that results. So in no particular order, and with no regard to priority, here are some random thoughts from the past however-many months.
Just as penises come in many lengths, girths, and curves, there is lot of variation in the degree to which any given organ will change when erect. Some merely harden but don't grow more than a few percent from starting size. Others lengthen by four or six times their starting size. A friend once called these "showers" and "growers," respectively. Growers suffer horribly in a traditional chastity cage. Once little Dr. Banner starts to get angry, the poor cage hangs on for dear life. Castration by caged penile Hulkitude is a real possibility. I have personally never broken through (pardon the pun) that nuts-ripped-off barrier, particularly with involuntary nighttime erections.
Wearing the cage around is actually a very, very nice experience. It really does make a guy feel a sense of being controlled, a very real sexual dependence that feels simply warm and wonderful. Longer-term wear really is something that a guy can get accustomed to, but some activities make wear difficult. As a cyclist and a time trialist, I have to "lay across" the handlebars for hours at a time, my back flat and groin pressed into a very small space in the saddle. Beyond the fact that spandex shorts reveal everything down to freckles to everyone, the prospect of crushing myself into permanent falsetto is in no way erotic. I also don't want to give up a sport that is partly responsible for me being in good physical condition.
So I continue to play with short-term wear with hopes that I can share this with a wonderful partner before too long.
Oddly, fetish images -- favorites such as latex and leather and spandex -- maintained their attraction. But it was much more of an appreciation than pure lust. The fetish clothing simply amplified the resonance with the curves and the motion and the eyes and the pose.
I love that the attraction is much deeper than direct and momentary urges. I love that this feeling of helplessness to the beauty and charm of women is not just hard wired into me... it's part of my fundamental scaffolding.
I was extremely fortunate to be able to serve as a woman's maid for a short time. I would take my things over to her house, change into a simple cotton hotel maid's uniform and sensible shoes, then work for a while. With practice, I was able to vacuum her whole house efficiently, clean the kitchen, dust, and very occasionally do laundry, make beds, empty trash, and perform other chores. I enjoyed it because she was a spectacularly wonderful lady for whom I enjoyed working.
I have never bought into the traditional sissy maid fantasy, with the mincing and faux dusting and 6" heels. I particularly don't like the "forced" fantasy nor the punishment-for-minor-mistakes play. These feel selfish to me. I want to BE a servant to the Lady and her home, working for her very real comfort and leisure. I want us both to enjoy the strict power dynamic. And I want to feel the pleasure of EARNING my uniform, the privilege of wearing it, and my status as her servant.
We did experiment with more elaborate play. She held a dinner in her home with a friendly couple one night, and I was instructed to wear a more formal satin "English" style uniform. It was a tremendous success with both of us learning many lessons that evening. I am no cook, so my role was mostly serving at the table. I love that I got a rush out of serving, out of the silently dismissive thank-you glances as I re-filled glasses, being ignored in the conversation as I stood at attention in the corner, and the quiet cleaning up when everyone dropped their napkins on plate or floor and adjourned to the living room. It was later that I realized what an honor it was to be allowed to serve these good people, shamelessly displayed as a kinky decoration and treated as a servant.
My life is too busy to spend hours every week cleaning someone else's house, but I hope that I can find my way back into some sort of servant role again. The Lady has to be worth the effort, though, and she has to understand at least some of the psychology behind the kink. Some day.
Fortune piled upon fortune, the same woman who let me serve as her maid also enjoyed strap-on play. She taught me many things about hygene, preparation, and other key technical points. And the fact that she so enjoyed it made it worth learning. Up front I'm going to state that when done right, it really, really feels good.
The real benefits for me, though, were psychological. Not to revisit a refrain too many times in one post, but a strap-on can be a tool of unparalleled bonding. So many times in the popular kinky press, a strap-on is portrayed as a punishment or a humiliation to the man. Nonsense! While it does crash some gender barriers -- and good riddance to those -- it's just lovely, deep (preferably), moaning, squirming penetration. Whether it's face-down-ass-up power play or soulful eye staring while she pins your wrists to the bed, it's all a delightful change-up that mocks rigid gender differentiation. Between two people who care about each other, how can that be in any way bad.
Of the items I've discussed here so far, this one is probably the most powerful. The others are more about relating on an overall basis, while this one is a very intense and in-the-moment bonding experience. Having experienced it, I will say that it can be a wonderful expression of vulnerability and openness, and I hope it is part of any future serious sexual relationship I have.
All I have to say is... beware Hulkitude.
My mind has been churning madly lately, and that means that both of my readers are bound to be sploodged with the kinky butter that results. So in no particular order, and with no regard to priority, here are some random thoughts from the past however-many months.
Chastity
I still love the idea of chastity, but there are some caveats and issues to be addressed. First among these is the focus and purpose of the exercise. I see chastity play as an extension of an intimate relationship, a deepening of a caring bond. It's a way for bondage and sexual power dynamics to wander out into the "real world." The difficulties mostly revolve around the the male body and the device meant to entrap a particular part of that body.Just as penises come in many lengths, girths, and curves, there is lot of variation in the degree to which any given organ will change when erect. Some merely harden but don't grow more than a few percent from starting size. Others lengthen by four or six times their starting size. A friend once called these "showers" and "growers," respectively. Growers suffer horribly in a traditional chastity cage. Once little Dr. Banner starts to get angry, the poor cage hangs on for dear life. Castration by caged penile Hulkitude is a real possibility. I have personally never broken through (pardon the pun) that nuts-ripped-off barrier, particularly with involuntary nighttime erections.
Wearing the cage around is actually a very, very nice experience. It really does make a guy feel a sense of being controlled, a very real sexual dependence that feels simply warm and wonderful. Longer-term wear really is something that a guy can get accustomed to, but some activities make wear difficult. As a cyclist and a time trialist, I have to "lay across" the handlebars for hours at a time, my back flat and groin pressed into a very small space in the saddle. Beyond the fact that spandex shorts reveal everything down to freckles to everyone, the prospect of crushing myself into permanent falsetto is in no way erotic. I also don't want to give up a sport that is partly responsible for me being in good physical condition.
So I continue to play with short-term wear with hopes that I can share this with a wonderful partner before too long.
Femininity and The Female Form
Nothing in the universe is more attractive than the female form. Nothing. I used to think that this was a purely sexual drive, that it arose out of the short-term chemical-induced madness known as lust. But I had an experience that changed my viewpoint. A series of non-emergency medical tests over six months increased and decreased my testosterone levels several times. I went from monster to zero interest in any form of sex, then cycled again. (I'm at neither extreme now. Thank you for asking.) But even when I was at my lowest levels, I had an absolute fascination with the female form and feminine beauty. Curves and motion and eyes and pose still jumped out at me, resonating in my bones, not just in regions I'm accustomed to feeling such things.Oddly, fetish images -- favorites such as latex and leather and spandex -- maintained their attraction. But it was much more of an appreciation than pure lust. The fetish clothing simply amplified the resonance with the curves and the motion and the eyes and the pose.
I love that the attraction is much deeper than direct and momentary urges. I love that this feeling of helplessness to the beauty and charm of women is not just hard wired into me... it's part of my fundamental scaffolding.
Maid Service
I was extremely fortunate to be able to serve as a woman's maid for a short time. I would take my things over to her house, change into a simple cotton hotel maid's uniform and sensible shoes, then work for a while. With practice, I was able to vacuum her whole house efficiently, clean the kitchen, dust, and very occasionally do laundry, make beds, empty trash, and perform other chores. I enjoyed it because she was a spectacularly wonderful lady for whom I enjoyed working.
I have never bought into the traditional sissy maid fantasy, with the mincing and faux dusting and 6" heels. I particularly don't like the "forced" fantasy nor the punishment-for-minor-mistakes play. These feel selfish to me. I want to BE a servant to the Lady and her home, working for her very real comfort and leisure. I want us both to enjoy the strict power dynamic. And I want to feel the pleasure of EARNING my uniform, the privilege of wearing it, and my status as her servant.
We did experiment with more elaborate play. She held a dinner in her home with a friendly couple one night, and I was instructed to wear a more formal satin "English" style uniform. It was a tremendous success with both of us learning many lessons that evening. I am no cook, so my role was mostly serving at the table. I love that I got a rush out of serving, out of the silently dismissive thank-you glances as I re-filled glasses, being ignored in the conversation as I stood at attention in the corner, and the quiet cleaning up when everyone dropped their napkins on plate or floor and adjourned to the living room. It was later that I realized what an honor it was to be allowed to serve these good people, shamelessly displayed as a kinky decoration and treated as a servant.
My life is too busy to spend hours every week cleaning someone else's house, but I hope that I can find my way back into some sort of servant role again. The Lady has to be worth the effort, though, and she has to understand at least some of the psychology behind the kink. Some day.
Strap-on Play
Fortune piled upon fortune, the same woman who let me serve as her maid also enjoyed strap-on play. She taught me many things about hygene, preparation, and other key technical points. And the fact that she so enjoyed it made it worth learning. Up front I'm going to state that when done right, it really, really feels good.
The real benefits for me, though, were psychological. Not to revisit a refrain too many times in one post, but a strap-on can be a tool of unparalleled bonding. So many times in the popular kinky press, a strap-on is portrayed as a punishment or a humiliation to the man. Nonsense! While it does crash some gender barriers -- and good riddance to those -- it's just lovely, deep (preferably), moaning, squirming penetration. Whether it's face-down-ass-up power play or soulful eye staring while she pins your wrists to the bed, it's all a delightful change-up that mocks rigid gender differentiation. Between two people who care about each other, how can that be in any way bad.
Of the items I've discussed here so far, this one is probably the most powerful. The others are more about relating on an overall basis, while this one is a very intense and in-the-moment bonding experience. Having experienced it, I will say that it can be a wonderful expression of vulnerability and openness, and I hope it is part of any future serious sexual relationship I have.
Onward
I'm not sure if I'll get fully back into "the BDSM community" again. It had a very High School feel to it, and I never liked High School. But I have been feeling like it's time to connect with key people again, and to expand my circle of kinky acquaintances. It's not a hobby, it's part of who I am. And as busy and distracted as I've been the past months, I need to make room for this part of me.All I have to say is... beware Hulkitude.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Attractive
One of the things I like about the BDSM community is that its members tend to be a bit more socially open-minded than the norm. It certainly is not the case that "we are open minded and 'they' are not." There are plenty of supremacists of various stripes within "the community" and far too many who believe that they know the "one true way." The "typical person" is also more open minded than they are usually given credit for, even if it's in a whatever-floats-your-boat way.
There are still some things, though, that are still beyond the pale even for the most open of minds. The best example of this is the rigidity of gender roles. In a typical maledom couple, he is dressed in heavy and concealing clothing and provides for his alluring female submissive. In a typical femdom couple, he is dressed in some kind of heavy gear and provides for his alluring female dominant.
I get why women are alluring. Really, I do. Women are the standard of beauty upon which humanity evaluates all art and design, and that for very, very good reason. What I don't understand, though, is why women do not enjoy men in a physical sense, or tend not to do so in a way that anyone else will ever know. I have heard two arguments on this: 1) women care more about other aspects of men and discount their physical attractiveness, and 2) women need the positive social rewards of being attractive and want to preserve the one-sided equation in their favor.
Okay, now that I've pretty much pissed off every feminist on the planet, let me emphasize that these are not my personal beliefs, but when I express confusion on the topic, responses tend to fall into one of those two explanations. I'm not sure I buy either of them.
But, let me ask a few questions:
- Why is there no male analog to lingerie? Lingerie is designed to enhance a woman's body. The mere thought of trying to do that with a male body is openly laughed at in most social circles.
- Why are men expected to provide regardless of the power dynamic?
- Why is vulnerability considered bad in a man and good in a woman, even when the man is theoretically submissive to the woman? By "vulnerability," I mean both in dress (women wear heels, short skirts, and other items that look fantastic but are severely lacking in function and comfort) and in power (women tend to not have pockets and it's not odd for them to ask a man to hold her ID / money / etc.)
I've been called "gender fluid," mostly because my sexuality isn't all that rigidly defined. I LOVE to play with roles and expectations and plant high explosives at the base of social norms. This also means that I sometimes confuse people, because I don't operate off of the same script that so much of society takes for granted.
The other day I mentioned to a dear female friend that I had been out cycling that morning. She made a comment about happily imagining me in my spandex shorts. I suddenly felt like a sex object... and I really, really, really liked it. How wonderful to feel "packaged up" for a woman's enjoyment. It would have been wonderful to spend hours in some vulnerable and uncomfortable outfit that trussed, shaped, and displayed me to best advantage. How delicious it would be to have someone -- or a number of someones -- look me over directly, openly, and unashamed to be doing so.
I probably just melted some brains, or caused them to completely lose their indexing.
To be clear, I'm not talking about wholesale gender reversal, simply an opening of more channels for men to be pleasing to women. My own personal interest is in dominant women expanding their freedom of role and submissive men building a repertoire of visual and sexual appeal. There can never be a threat to the pole position that women hold in physical beauty, nor meaningful discount of the value of deferential men in sleek, pocketless clothes who surrender cash and keys to their dates. There is so much opportunity to play and experiment and try and enjoy without fear that ones identity will be destroyed forever.
I'm also not talking specifically about cross dressing, though it wouldn't hurt to lighten up on that topic, too. I'm wondering if there is more creativity in the minds and desires of women beyond tuxedos and boxer shorts.
I hope the unspoken barriers crumble sooner rather than later. I hope that people can learn to enjoy and be enjoyable in as many ways as possible without feeling threatened. I would love to see men and women enjoy each other in more and more ways. What could be wrong with that?
QL
There are still some things, though, that are still beyond the pale even for the most open of minds. The best example of this is the rigidity of gender roles. In a typical maledom couple, he is dressed in heavy and concealing clothing and provides for his alluring female submissive. In a typical femdom couple, he is dressed in some kind of heavy gear and provides for his alluring female dominant.
I get why women are alluring. Really, I do. Women are the standard of beauty upon which humanity evaluates all art and design, and that for very, very good reason. What I don't understand, though, is why women do not enjoy men in a physical sense, or tend not to do so in a way that anyone else will ever know. I have heard two arguments on this: 1) women care more about other aspects of men and discount their physical attractiveness, and 2) women need the positive social rewards of being attractive and want to preserve the one-sided equation in their favor.
Okay, now that I've pretty much pissed off every feminist on the planet, let me emphasize that these are not my personal beliefs, but when I express confusion on the topic, responses tend to fall into one of those two explanations. I'm not sure I buy either of them.
But, let me ask a few questions:
- Why is there no male analog to lingerie? Lingerie is designed to enhance a woman's body. The mere thought of trying to do that with a male body is openly laughed at in most social circles.
- Why are men expected to provide regardless of the power dynamic?
- Why is vulnerability considered bad in a man and good in a woman, even when the man is theoretically submissive to the woman? By "vulnerability," I mean both in dress (women wear heels, short skirts, and other items that look fantastic but are severely lacking in function and comfort) and in power (women tend to not have pockets and it's not odd for them to ask a man to hold her ID / money / etc.)
I've been called "gender fluid," mostly because my sexuality isn't all that rigidly defined. I LOVE to play with roles and expectations and plant high explosives at the base of social norms. This also means that I sometimes confuse people, because I don't operate off of the same script that so much of society takes for granted.
The other day I mentioned to a dear female friend that I had been out cycling that morning. She made a comment about happily imagining me in my spandex shorts. I suddenly felt like a sex object... and I really, really, really liked it. How wonderful to feel "packaged up" for a woman's enjoyment. It would have been wonderful to spend hours in some vulnerable and uncomfortable outfit that trussed, shaped, and displayed me to best advantage. How delicious it would be to have someone -- or a number of someones -- look me over directly, openly, and unashamed to be doing so.
I probably just melted some brains, or caused them to completely lose their indexing.
To be clear, I'm not talking about wholesale gender reversal, simply an opening of more channels for men to be pleasing to women. My own personal interest is in dominant women expanding their freedom of role and submissive men building a repertoire of visual and sexual appeal. There can never be a threat to the pole position that women hold in physical beauty, nor meaningful discount of the value of deferential men in sleek, pocketless clothes who surrender cash and keys to their dates. There is so much opportunity to play and experiment and try and enjoy without fear that ones identity will be destroyed forever.
I'm also not talking specifically about cross dressing, though it wouldn't hurt to lighten up on that topic, too. I'm wondering if there is more creativity in the minds and desires of women beyond tuxedos and boxer shorts.
I hope the unspoken barriers crumble sooner rather than later. I hope that people can learn to enjoy and be enjoyable in as many ways as possible without feeling threatened. I would love to see men and women enjoy each other in more and more ways. What could be wrong with that?
QL
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Creeping Chastity
No idea why, but I've been taken again with the idea of chastity. As usual, it manifests as a tool to deepen a power exchange relationship, and since I'm not in a long-term relationship at the moment, it has an odd feeling to it. Sexually wanting to be restricted from sexual wants is hyperbole and irony in one, oddness extreme.
I've been spending some time on the keysafe.org web site wondering if I want to build one of their elaborate key safes. It depends, I think, on whether I can develop a relationship with a woman worthy of that kind of deprivation. It has to MEAN something to both of us.
I never know where things are going to lead, but this is something that's burning in my brain at the moment. Fun to research, anyway, and as fun to contemplate emotionally. Difficulty is in sorting out the real people from the flakes. Oh, the fun of on line.
More to come, I suspect....
I've been spending some time on the keysafe.org web site wondering if I want to build one of their elaborate key safes. It depends, I think, on whether I can develop a relationship with a woman worthy of that kind of deprivation. It has to MEAN something to both of us.
I never know where things are going to lead, but this is something that's burning in my brain at the moment. Fun to research, anyway, and as fun to contemplate emotionally. Difficulty is in sorting out the real people from the flakes. Oh, the fun of on line.
More to come, I suspect....
Sunday, December 16, 2012
*yawn* *stretch*
I should probably be flogged for the amount of time that has passed since my last post. Okay, so that was obviously bait for Dommes, and I should probably be flogged for tossing out bait like that. Yes, it has been quite a while since last I posted, but having a lovely Domme in one's life and getting opportunities to play is fantastic, pushing things like blogs slightly away from the foreground of attention.
I'm not spending so much time with my wonderful lady friend as I was. Her tastes are evolving, growing in scope and scale, and my needs are kind of heading off in a different direction. We got together a couple of weeks ago over breakfast, and I was struck once again at how lucky we are to have found each other. We'll be friends for a long, long time even if the frequency of play has decreased from an unsustainable -- but oh-so-exciting -- crescendo through a good portion of this year. It has not been a flash-in-the-pan relationship, more a year of getting to know each other, pushing boundaries, doing things as friends, and playing... sometimes quite hard.
Now I'm in a place where work is front-and-center again. The apple cart that is the illusion of steady employment went all Thelma-and-Louise on me a few months back, and I'm in the midst of building a bigger and better cart filled with more and varied apples... on a different road entirely. This takes time, attention, effort, and energy, so I'm keeping my kinky mind engaged as I can. Going to BDSM events is kind of out of the question at the moment, but there are other ways to explore.
Chastity is back in my brain, though I have yet to work out how that can work for someone who cycles several times a week and runs five miles or more most days... while wearing spandex shorts. I mean: ow. But I have learned that having a wonderful woman rooting around in the brain is bliss, and nothing wedges into the synapses quite like control and denial of sexual relief. Desperation changes the game, shifts power, and overcomes fear with need. No idea where this will lead since a vast majority of dommes on line are fee-for-service, and many of those are actually men. I'm not a cynic, I'm just not stupid.
For now, though, I'm kicking back in skirt and heels very occasionally, reading and trying to keep up with the world through the window of my monitor, and working hard to become a bazillionaire so I can fund fantasies... or at least pay my mortgage.
Maybe I'll even keep this blog up again.
I'm not spending so much time with my wonderful lady friend as I was. Her tastes are evolving, growing in scope and scale, and my needs are kind of heading off in a different direction. We got together a couple of weeks ago over breakfast, and I was struck once again at how lucky we are to have found each other. We'll be friends for a long, long time even if the frequency of play has decreased from an unsustainable -- but oh-so-exciting -- crescendo through a good portion of this year. It has not been a flash-in-the-pan relationship, more a year of getting to know each other, pushing boundaries, doing things as friends, and playing... sometimes quite hard.
Now I'm in a place where work is front-and-center again. The apple cart that is the illusion of steady employment went all Thelma-and-Louise on me a few months back, and I'm in the midst of building a bigger and better cart filled with more and varied apples... on a different road entirely. This takes time, attention, effort, and energy, so I'm keeping my kinky mind engaged as I can. Going to BDSM events is kind of out of the question at the moment, but there are other ways to explore.
Chastity is back in my brain, though I have yet to work out how that can work for someone who cycles several times a week and runs five miles or more most days... while wearing spandex shorts. I mean: ow. But I have learned that having a wonderful woman rooting around in the brain is bliss, and nothing wedges into the synapses quite like control and denial of sexual relief. Desperation changes the game, shifts power, and overcomes fear with need. No idea where this will lead since a vast majority of dommes on line are fee-for-service, and many of those are actually men. I'm not a cynic, I'm just not stupid.
For now, though, I'm kicking back in skirt and heels very occasionally, reading and trying to keep up with the world through the window of my monitor, and working hard to become a bazillionaire so I can fund fantasies... or at least pay my mortgage.
Maybe I'll even keep this blog up again.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Dinner
What's the big deal about dinner, anyway? People eat. Stuff needs to be put on the table. It's normal and every-day mundane.
Or is it?
When kinky people are involved, the ordinary can take on facets and become wonderfully twisted in a fun-house version of reality. Emphasis on "fun." So, dinner...
As I've described in my posts over the past couple of months, I've met a lovely Domme who has spent the time to get to know me. Out of this has come trust, and a willingness by both of us to try new things. She has pushed my sub buttons, pushed my endurance and pain threshholds, and decided that it was time to push one of my fantasies out of my head and into the light of day. This is no small feat, as some of my thoughts -- even among kinky people -- stay buried and guarded.
She sent an e-mail asking if I was available on a specific night. Matter-of-factly, she mentioned that I would be serving dinner to her and another Domme friend. I've never been exposed to multiple people like that before. But it got better. The friend would be bringing a friend... a friend of the male persuasion... and I'd be serving all of them dressed as a maid.
I have no idea why I didn't hyperventilate and keel over. I don't DO public, even semi-public, and dressing is decidedly difficult territory for me. My femme wardrobe had been sitting almost forgotten in drawers and on hangars, forlorn for many months and years. But she wasn't asking if I would. She was stating it and verifying that I didn't have unbreakable plans that night.
I accepted the date.
The lead-up to the evening caused me to think carefully. There was no way I was going to let her down, and I stated early on that I wanted a clear path to "success." I couldn't figure out how I was going to measure "success," though, while dressed in a satin maid's uniform and serving food to a group that I mostly didn't know. So we talked about it. And we talked some more. I asked questions via e-mail. "Do I serve you first as the Mistress, or your guests because they are guests?" Finally, I put on my chastity device, packed my kinky things, and headed over to her house.
I put on my working uniform and cleaned the house for the visitors, vacuuming, dusting, preparing the kitchen and dining room. Then I changed into the formal serving uniform: classic black satin English maid's uniform complete with white petticoats that I bought from Versatile Fashions years ago. Then I realized that I forgot my good shoes. The low-heel ones would have to do. Why was I so upset at not having my higher heels? What was getting into me?
Mistress wanted me to wear a service collar that night, so she wrapped a thick and heavy leather-and-metal contraption around my neck and buckled it in place around the high neck of the dress.
I answered the door when the guests arrived -- and yes, I hid a bit from street view behind the kitchen door -- and was introduced. I took drink orders and went to fetch those while they began a tour of the house. My hand was shaking as I tried to scoop ice out of the freezer, so I concentrated on my task. I eventually pulled the orders together and delivered them and returned to heat the meal.
Fortunately, I didn't have to cook. Mistress -- in a move I can only describe as self defense -- had ordered takeout that had arrived about the time I did, so I was mostly heating things up. More drinks, everyone seated in the dining room, and my nerves finally started to settle down a little. Being busy really, really helped and I felt relieved as the second and third round of (mildly stiff) drinks were consumed. The guests acted as if nothing strange was going on at all, very likely expert coaching ahead of time. As kinky people, they adapted quickly. In fact, Mistress's friend made some very helpful suggestions that helped both of us through the thicket of protocol.
As I served dinner, I realized that I had mostly been invisible in the kitchen, but while dishing food and filling drinks I was very much on display. Nerves creeped back, and I focused on keeping it simple and doing what needed to be done. Once the main dish was served, I was able to retreat to the corner to stand attentively with my eyes lowered.
This was the first time all night that I didn't have something to do, so my mind -- and I know this will be a shocker to my frequent readers -- began to pull apart the situation and what I was feeling. The immediate sensation was a feeling of being "left out." This was part of what I wanted, to inhabit the world of the unnoticed servant for a while. They chatted on about kinksters, events, who was doing what to whom. Wild laughter broke out several times, and I had to control my emotions and NOT be part of the conversation. At first this felt lonely, but after a few minutes an odd sense of relief came over me. Too often I feel like I'm trying hard to fit into a conversation, to say and do what is expected. But now I didn't have that burden. I could scan the table occasionally and fetch a drink or just stand there. It felt oddly like relief. I relaxed and my brain finally spun down a bit.
I was in this meditative state with much of the earlier jitters and fears behind me when it was time to go outside. Yes, I said outside. In my satin maid's uniform. Smoking is a big fetish of Mistress's guests, but she doesn't allow smoking in her house. We had discussed this ahead of time, so I knew it was coming. We adjourned to the carport where I was taught to present and light cigarettes. They smoked and talked for some time and I stood ready to do whatever needed to be done. I'll admit that I was pretty much just resigned to whatever might happen. Mistress had parked her SUV where it blocked view from the road, and the carport lights were out, so I was "safe." They smoked a couple of cigarettes before it was time for play. The three of them adjourned to the bedroom, and I began the process of cleaning up.
Changed into the working uniform again -- and annoyed at the heavy and now-loose collar -- I began to clean up the dining room and kitchen... and the bath room... and started laundry. Yes, Mistress gave me a list of chores to do.
It was odd to be cleaning her house while they were having a sexual free-for-all in the back room. I had told her that I wasn't into watching, so she had me working throughout the rest of the house. I had purchased a small bell that they could use to call me to service. In the middle of washing a batch of dishes, I heard the "ring!" They needed towels. In the middle of mopping: "ring!" Hot water. Wiping the table: "ring!" Fresh drinks. Oddly, I enjoyed being called and given instructions. I'm not sure, but I think that's part of a submissive's "pay." I rather enjoyed the feeling of being called by a bell, of being interrupted from duties by more duties. Mistress and her guests seemed to enjoy it no end, too. It was the second time in the evening when I felt at home as a servant.
I could hear them frolicking in the back room, and it felt odd to be there-but-not-there. I enjoyed it, but felt oddly like I was supposed to not enjoy it. It was that old definition of what a "man" is getting in the way. I let the feeling pass and focused on what I enjoyed and let myself feel good about the experience.
By the time I finished cleaning up, I was exhausted. My eyes were drooping, my shoulders sagged, and my whole body said it was time to go home. Part of this was recent physical activity catching up with me, but I realized later that it was also probably sub drop. Years of repressed fantasies had been let out along with all of the complex feelings that came along with them. I felt elated, relieved, tired, and ready to call it a night.
I finished the last of the chores, presented as instructed to Mistress, and she took me into the play room. She took off the collar, unlocked the chastity device, and asked me how I was doing. We talked a little bit about the evening. I had felt odd standing exposed in front of the kitchen window at night, unable to see out but being visible to anyone outside. I felt like things had gone pretty well overall and hoped she was pleased. She was. And she told me how much she appreciated my service, but also my stretching as much as I had.
I finished changing and left them to their play. I have no idea what will happen next, but I do feel like the fear that I had all wrapped up in that particular fantasy has had a lot of the pressure let out of it. Nothing horrible happened, and a lot of nice things did. The guests were delightful and respectful and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. If anything, the experience makes it much easier to see myself in that fantasized role in reality. Only next time I'll remember to bring the high heels.
Up until now, I've refused to dress at any public venue. It just doesn't feel right to share that with people who see it as nothing more than a cheap thrill. Many in "the community" don't accept that it's a valid form of sexual expression, the supposedly open minded closing their minds. But among trusted friends, it didn't feel weird. It felt understood and okay, even if it wasn't their favorite cup of tea. (Excuse the hyperbole.)
I'm grateful to Mistress and her guests for the opportunity to do that. I hope they had a good time, and I'm sure we'll see each other another time. In the mean time, I continue to explore and play with Mistress and we continue to learn and enjoy each other.
What an amazing thing trust is. And how lucky I am to have it.
QL
Or is it?
When kinky people are involved, the ordinary can take on facets and become wonderfully twisted in a fun-house version of reality. Emphasis on "fun." So, dinner...
As I've described in my posts over the past couple of months, I've met a lovely Domme who has spent the time to get to know me. Out of this has come trust, and a willingness by both of us to try new things. She has pushed my sub buttons, pushed my endurance and pain threshholds, and decided that it was time to push one of my fantasies out of my head and into the light of day. This is no small feat, as some of my thoughts -- even among kinky people -- stay buried and guarded.
She sent an e-mail asking if I was available on a specific night. Matter-of-factly, she mentioned that I would be serving dinner to her and another Domme friend. I've never been exposed to multiple people like that before. But it got better. The friend would be bringing a friend... a friend of the male persuasion... and I'd be serving all of them dressed as a maid.
I have no idea why I didn't hyperventilate and keel over. I don't DO public, even semi-public, and dressing is decidedly difficult territory for me. My femme wardrobe had been sitting almost forgotten in drawers and on hangars, forlorn for many months and years. But she wasn't asking if I would. She was stating it and verifying that I didn't have unbreakable plans that night.
I accepted the date.
The lead-up to the evening caused me to think carefully. There was no way I was going to let her down, and I stated early on that I wanted a clear path to "success." I couldn't figure out how I was going to measure "success," though, while dressed in a satin maid's uniform and serving food to a group that I mostly didn't know. So we talked about it. And we talked some more. I asked questions via e-mail. "Do I serve you first as the Mistress, or your guests because they are guests?" Finally, I put on my chastity device, packed my kinky things, and headed over to her house.
I put on my working uniform and cleaned the house for the visitors, vacuuming, dusting, preparing the kitchen and dining room. Then I changed into the formal serving uniform: classic black satin English maid's uniform complete with white petticoats that I bought from Versatile Fashions years ago. Then I realized that I forgot my good shoes. The low-heel ones would have to do. Why was I so upset at not having my higher heels? What was getting into me?
Mistress wanted me to wear a service collar that night, so she wrapped a thick and heavy leather-and-metal contraption around my neck and buckled it in place around the high neck of the dress.
I answered the door when the guests arrived -- and yes, I hid a bit from street view behind the kitchen door -- and was introduced. I took drink orders and went to fetch those while they began a tour of the house. My hand was shaking as I tried to scoop ice out of the freezer, so I concentrated on my task. I eventually pulled the orders together and delivered them and returned to heat the meal.
Fortunately, I didn't have to cook. Mistress -- in a move I can only describe as self defense -- had ordered takeout that had arrived about the time I did, so I was mostly heating things up. More drinks, everyone seated in the dining room, and my nerves finally started to settle down a little. Being busy really, really helped and I felt relieved as the second and third round of (mildly stiff) drinks were consumed. The guests acted as if nothing strange was going on at all, very likely expert coaching ahead of time. As kinky people, they adapted quickly. In fact, Mistress's friend made some very helpful suggestions that helped both of us through the thicket of protocol.
As I served dinner, I realized that I had mostly been invisible in the kitchen, but while dishing food and filling drinks I was very much on display. Nerves creeped back, and I focused on keeping it simple and doing what needed to be done. Once the main dish was served, I was able to retreat to the corner to stand attentively with my eyes lowered.
This was the first time all night that I didn't have something to do, so my mind -- and I know this will be a shocker to my frequent readers -- began to pull apart the situation and what I was feeling. The immediate sensation was a feeling of being "left out." This was part of what I wanted, to inhabit the world of the unnoticed servant for a while. They chatted on about kinksters, events, who was doing what to whom. Wild laughter broke out several times, and I had to control my emotions and NOT be part of the conversation. At first this felt lonely, but after a few minutes an odd sense of relief came over me. Too often I feel like I'm trying hard to fit into a conversation, to say and do what is expected. But now I didn't have that burden. I could scan the table occasionally and fetch a drink or just stand there. It felt oddly like relief. I relaxed and my brain finally spun down a bit.
I was in this meditative state with much of the earlier jitters and fears behind me when it was time to go outside. Yes, I said outside. In my satin maid's uniform. Smoking is a big fetish of Mistress's guests, but she doesn't allow smoking in her house. We had discussed this ahead of time, so I knew it was coming. We adjourned to the carport where I was taught to present and light cigarettes. They smoked and talked for some time and I stood ready to do whatever needed to be done. I'll admit that I was pretty much just resigned to whatever might happen. Mistress had parked her SUV where it blocked view from the road, and the carport lights were out, so I was "safe." They smoked a couple of cigarettes before it was time for play. The three of them adjourned to the bedroom, and I began the process of cleaning up.
Changed into the working uniform again -- and annoyed at the heavy and now-loose collar -- I began to clean up the dining room and kitchen... and the bath room... and started laundry. Yes, Mistress gave me a list of chores to do.
It was odd to be cleaning her house while they were having a sexual free-for-all in the back room. I had told her that I wasn't into watching, so she had me working throughout the rest of the house. I had purchased a small bell that they could use to call me to service. In the middle of washing a batch of dishes, I heard the "ring!" They needed towels. In the middle of mopping: "ring!" Hot water. Wiping the table: "ring!" Fresh drinks. Oddly, I enjoyed being called and given instructions. I'm not sure, but I think that's part of a submissive's "pay." I rather enjoyed the feeling of being called by a bell, of being interrupted from duties by more duties. Mistress and her guests seemed to enjoy it no end, too. It was the second time in the evening when I felt at home as a servant.
I could hear them frolicking in the back room, and it felt odd to be there-but-not-there. I enjoyed it, but felt oddly like I was supposed to not enjoy it. It was that old definition of what a "man" is getting in the way. I let the feeling pass and focused on what I enjoyed and let myself feel good about the experience.
By the time I finished cleaning up, I was exhausted. My eyes were drooping, my shoulders sagged, and my whole body said it was time to go home. Part of this was recent physical activity catching up with me, but I realized later that it was also probably sub drop. Years of repressed fantasies had been let out along with all of the complex feelings that came along with them. I felt elated, relieved, tired, and ready to call it a night.
I finished the last of the chores, presented as instructed to Mistress, and she took me into the play room. She took off the collar, unlocked the chastity device, and asked me how I was doing. We talked a little bit about the evening. I had felt odd standing exposed in front of the kitchen window at night, unable to see out but being visible to anyone outside. I felt like things had gone pretty well overall and hoped she was pleased. She was. And she told me how much she appreciated my service, but also my stretching as much as I had.
I finished changing and left them to their play. I have no idea what will happen next, but I do feel like the fear that I had all wrapped up in that particular fantasy has had a lot of the pressure let out of it. Nothing horrible happened, and a lot of nice things did. The guests were delightful and respectful and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. If anything, the experience makes it much easier to see myself in that fantasized role in reality. Only next time I'll remember to bring the high heels.
Up until now, I've refused to dress at any public venue. It just doesn't feel right to share that with people who see it as nothing more than a cheap thrill. Many in "the community" don't accept that it's a valid form of sexual expression, the supposedly open minded closing their minds. But among trusted friends, it didn't feel weird. It felt understood and okay, even if it wasn't their favorite cup of tea. (Excuse the hyperbole.)
I'm grateful to Mistress and her guests for the opportunity to do that. I hope they had a good time, and I'm sure we'll see each other another time. In the mean time, I continue to explore and play with Mistress and we continue to learn and enjoy each other.
What an amazing thing trust is. And how lucky I am to have it.
QL
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