Unlimited Usage

“I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh God, as a woman I want to be dominated.  I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling in all that I am capable of doing but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding” — Anais Nin

Insomnia is a thorn in my side.  But on the bright side, it allows time for me to do other things for which I might normally not set time aside these days.  Like reading.  Blogging.   Replaying tv episodes in my mind.  Masturbating.

I always find masturbating to be somewhat like a cocktease, being that I want the cock but don’t have a steady supply readily accessible.   It feels like a cheat, and I know that in a sense my orgasms are wasted in these moments because it just feels like someone should be there to witness the artistry that is my body in its full release.    As I laid there in the moments after tonight, a few thoughts went through my head.  The first, and most amusing to me, was “one of these days these orgasms are going to give me a stroke”.  But the more relevant and blog-worthy were the ones that followed on its heels …

“God, when was the last time that I got laid?  Even more, when was the last time that I played?”

As for the first part, I’d rather quantify it in the matter of good lay vs. any lay.  The last time I got any lay?  In months, I can count on one hand.  The last time I had a good lay?  That would likely require hands, and feet.  Now this isn’t to say that I haven’t had a good orgasm in as many months, but I can’t recall the last time I had a good fuck.  Which is sad — crying penguins, everywhere.  If only Mother Teresa were still here to guide me on my mission towards the epic cervical raping, the long-sought deep dicking, the metaphorical fountain of youth (or jizz).

[But I digress, this is a bdsm blog, no?]

The last thing I could attribute to being a good fuck would have been a little over a year ago, when I found myself in Hawaii  on all fours with many very huge manly fingers buried deep inside my cunt.  I don’t know what it is about thick fingers on a man, but they just hit home (and my G-spot) every time.   I will admit I’m a fingerwatcher — when I meet a new man I absolutely check out his fingers, just not for a wedding band.  Most men I know have very thin fingers, which in their own right are completely functional and encourage the practice of ‘the more the merrier’ when it comes to finger fucking.  But there is something oddly erotic to me about feeling full to that point of discomfort, and then moments later finding out he only has three fingers in …. wait what?  Did you just say three?  I was pretty sure we were up to your elbow by now.

Going back to my story, I have many fond memories of that trip to Hawaii.  Gorgeous views, lush greens, the saltiness of the ocean water, and my vagina being raped repeatedly in a very delicious manner.  And the odd thing about it?  I was never much into being finger fucked before then.  Like masturbation it just always seemed like a Splenda version of sex — not nearly as sweet and likely to have some weird longterm side-effects.   But that man knew his hands, and he knew exactly how to make a woman feel like an object.  How to use her like she was his property, and take exactly what he wanted with little or no regard to opinion on the matter.  And in that, I became absolutely addicted to objectification and being finger fucked.

Now I know I have blogged before about objectification and how much I enjoy it, but I actually don’t have as much practical experience with it as I wish.   My partner prior to M .. well it was an interesting dynamic.  It had D/s, but only in bedroom scenarios, being that our primary bread-and-butter relationship was vanilla with kink-infusions from time to time.  That’s not to say that it didn’t work because for the most part it did, but it made it awkward for that type of interaction.  For instance, I was curled up on the couch playing on my DS and he came over to me, stating “I want you to give me head”.  I looked up at him for a moment before returning to my game, indicating “nah, don’t feel like it”.  He kept standing there, and said “well I want head, now”.  And I kept playing my game, saying in a sing-song voice “tooooo baaaaaad”.  Eventually he sighed and walked away, but fear not, because I did suck him off later that night — when I felt like it.

The difference in the situations?  I know it’s probably not obvious, but there was never any undertone of property in our dynamic.   If I knew my place and in that knew that it was my role to serve/please him, and in that give head in a moment’s notice then that whole scenario would have played out differently.  In fact, that entire scenario has played out differently based on that very simple principle.   I get off on being property, and in being viewed as an object.  Objectification doesn’t have to be primarily based on being a sexual object; you can also be a sexual tool, meaning that just as easily as being bound to a table and being fingerfucked you could be bound to a table and facefucked.  It’s not always about -my- orgasms bringing him pleasure, but also about him using me for his which brings me pleasure.  It’s a weird cycle that probably isn’t even really a cycle, but more like a game of Pong where it just goes back and forth, back and forth .. but maybe that is what makes it cyclical.

This post wasn’t designed to have some deep philosophical insight — I just was remembering really good orgasms and how much I miss being used like that.  Because isn’t that what most women want — to be claimed by a  man and fucked until they’re sore, then fucked some more, and beaten until even the air on their skin hurts, and then beaten some more.  And then when that’s all said and done, used even more?   Well okay, I guess that’s what -I- like.  I really should stop generalizing my tastes as being public opinion.

The Single Submissive And The Vanilla World

“Sexuality is not a leisure or a part-time activity.  It is a way of being.”  — Alexander Lowel

It seemed to me like even my attempts for some ‘me’ time over the last few weeks found me running around doing errands and spending time with people.  So when this weekend rolled around I decided to put my foot down and declare it an e-weekend — all things e, all day until Monday at 3pm.   It seemed like a brilliant plan, and for the most part was efficient in its execution.  Not only did I manage to write a few blogs, catch up on tv shows, watch a movie (High Fidelity, sparked by a quote in a profile I read and a movie I <3 immensely), and most importantly:  played lots of video games.

There was one wrench thrown into my entire plan:  lunch on Saturday.  I made plans a few weeks ago to catch up over lunch with some of my vanilla friends.   Even though a good proportion of my friends are kink friendly, there is some kind of karmic balance maintained that states I need a certain percentage of non-kink people in my life.  So I made myself up pretty and headed out for what I anticipated to be a nice, steady reminder of why I greatly prefer kink people over vanilla people.

Maybe that’s a little harsh to say.  Revision:  … a nice, steady reminder of why I greatly prefer kink people over vanilla mothers.  <–   (Better)

A common theme with my vanilla friends as of late has been that I should get married and/or have kids.  I think my friends have moved past the point of caring if I have a boyfriend so long as I procreate.  Everyone is all baby all the time, and it’s this mentality that everyone should conform to their ways.  “Just think, our babies can grow up together!”.  Umm no.  “But it’s such a fulfilling experience!”  So is eating a cheese sandwich and playing Killzone 2.   “Don’t you want to know what it’s like to hold a little piece of you in your arms?”  Here is where I normally would make a remark about cupping my breasts, but everyone knows they’re not “little”.

Once the whole baby part of the conversation is done they move on to my need to get a boyfriend and get married.  “Well don’t you feel lonely?”  Sometimes, but that’s what friends are for.  “Don’t you wish you had someone to share things with?” That’s what the internet is for, and again, friends.  “Don’t you ever feel you have … needs?”  Yeah .. there’s no correct answer to that one that doesn’t make you sound like a whore, so  you just shrug and ask how their baby’s poop schedule is going.  That usually distracts them efficiently.

Then the rest of the meal is spent with the mommies talking about their kids while you push food around your plate, contemplating if they would even notice if you stabbed the fork through your hand.

I just feel like I can’t relate to most of my vanilla friends anymore.  Other than a few of them online they’ve all paired off and started reproducing, and now it feels as if they are lost to me.  Another factor in the whole equation is that I had told each of these women about things with my drinking co-worker.  For some reason this has implanted in their brains that we are this great on/off couple.  There is no couple; they just have this crazy idea of something that isn’t there.  They each know both of us, and both agree that we would be “such a cute looking couple”.   I always shrug and just use the excuse of being “too similar”, but when I can’t explain how they get confused.  I can’t really say to them “two submissive personalities don’t mesh together well”; they just wouldn’t get it.

It’s not that I don’t want to date; I’m open to the idea of going on dates with people and getting to know them.  But what my friends fail to understand is that I have tastes that they are unaware of which complicate matters greatly.  When you bring D/s into the mix it makes things infinitely more complicated.  You can’t really turn to most vanilla people and say “well yes we get along great and share tons of common interests, but he just won’t take control and beat me until broken,  or fuck me until I’m raw and my insides bleed”.   I’m pretty sure saying either of those things would finalize the friendship in that moment, and as frustrating as my vanilla friends may be in their ignorance of my dating tastes, I still want to keep them in my life.  I just really don’t know how to deal with it at times.

With my kink friends I don’t really see similar issues.  Some are married, few have kids.  But there never seems to be this pressure to conform and join in on the reindeer games.  You want to be single?  Great!  You don’t want a relationship right now?  Great idea!  You should probably get laid or some play though, once in awhile, it’s only healthy — and that’s about the extent of the peer-pressure that I suffer from the kink community.  Which isn’t really pressure, it’s just common sense.

I guess dipping my toes on the other side of line is a necessary evil once in awhile; it reminds me of what things are like the every day world and just how well I don’t fit in with the picket fence life.  But I just really wish they’d lay off the babies, seriously.  It makes me just want to scream red, even if no one there would understand that.

What’s Old Is Still Old

“No woman truly knows what she is until she has worn a collar”  — Unknown

For some reason no matter how hard I try to escape the topic of “collars” or “collarings”, I find myself drawn back into them.  It’s like my dislike of cats and their inexplicable draw to me, unable to resist jumping into my lap and trying to woo me into petting them.

Typically I shove the cat off my lap and tell it to bug off.

However, being the type of person that likes a lively debate I always get sucked back into having the exact same conversation over and over .. and over again.

I don’t plan to be collared again.  Ever.  I have been twice .. three times?  Maybe four.  Considering most of them were online I’m having a hard time swallowing them counting as being ‘real’ since they never truly came to fruition.  One did, so I guess for argument’s sake we’ll say I’ve been “seriously collared” once.  And in that one situation it was great, but was it necessary?  We had a D/s dynamic, but it wasn’t a strong part of our relationship.  We were both agreeably bedroom kinksters, so the whole concept of being collared to him consisted of a pretty piece of jewelery around my neck and a form of symbolism indicating that we were exclusive to one another.  Did I need to be collared?  Not really.  And that’s pretty much the logic I’ve stuck to since then.

My first non-serious collar took place when I was 18, fresh-faced and new to the world of online bdsm and the people in it.  So when I spent about a week talking to the guy and he said to me “I’d like for you to wear my collar”, I had to actually ask him what a collar was.  I think he took advantage of my naiveity because though I cannot remember exactly how he described it, I know it certainly doesn’t jive with the definition that most people seem to carry.   So I said “sure!” et voilà.  And then I found out he was married, and that was  weird.  But since our dynamic was D/s and non-sexual, he insisted that his wife knew and was okay with it … I stuck around.  I think it lasted about 7 months, and then I called the whole deal off.  Guy was a liar, no big surprise.

After that I started to form more of a clue and had a better understanding about what collars were.  I went about a year with nothing major happening, then ended up getting collared to a guy who actually was a friend of mine.  Which seemed like a pretty good idea at the time, but then he got into a depression and things became complex.  He eventually decided he wasn’t good enough for me and let me out .. I think that was two weeks after it started.  I wasn’t really upset about it, just perplexed because I never really figured out what the hell happened there.  Then was my “serious collar”, which lasted a few years.  After that ended I think I went about three years without one, at which point non-serious #3 rolled around and only occurred because I was given an ultimatum and I chose the wrong way.  No surprise that one ended a few weeks later.

I’ve seen how collars can work and I’ve seen how they can blow up into a beautiful mess.   And I suppose my pessimistic-realist viewpoint on relationships as a whole has probably tainted my viewpoint on D/s relationships and their associated collars.  It’s not that I don’t think collars are good or that they don’t work, I just don’t see the need for them.

My last serious relationship lasted nearly four years and I was never collared to him.  Sure I had collars: pretty playful ones and sturdy functional ones.  And did I enjoy wearing them?  Absolutely!  There’s something fun about having one fastened around your neck and being dragged around by it.  I also found that wearing one put me into a particular mindset, not necessarily of a proprietary nature but at the very least a submissive one.

But do I feel the need for an online collar?  For a formal collaring ceremony?  Not really.  I work off the fundamental belief that if I am with someone, I am with them.  I don’t need a strap of leather around my neck or a fancy ceremony to make it more real.   I don’t believe that I need a collar to be owned, to be the property of someone.   So I don’t really understand all this need for me to fall into line with the community,  and to just suck it up and do it.

I tend to view collaring as being like getting married in traditional vanilla society.  It’s essentially just a piece of paper and an adornment to indicate to others that you’re off limit.  And I suppose a collaring is the same in the sense of it’s a piece of paper indicating you are the property of another along with an adornment to (a) remind you of this fact, and (b) to indicate to others that you are off limits.   But do you really need that official title, being “collared”?  I’ve belonged to people in the past, and in some cases had items to remind me of this fact (i.e. the ever-known anklet).  But was I collared to these people?  No.  Did it bother me?  No.  Did it bother them?  Sometimes.

It makes me wonder at times of my dislike at the idea of being collared stems back to my dislike of the idea of committing.  Because essentially that’s what it is — a higher level of commitment.  And my issues with commitment aren’t due to the fact that I want to remain free, entertain my options and have sex with many many people!  The simple fact of the matter is that I am a strict monogamist by nature, but I’m afraid of committing.   To anything.  Really.

Even plans for my weekend, I’ll generally say I -might- be there.  Or what I want for dinner that night –  I have to keep a few options available.

But obviously I have committed in the past, and obviously I will again in the future.  But I still don’t know if I feel like I would want go through the whole collaring process.  It seems like it’s been tainted for me, and in that it just doesn’t hold much appeal for me.  It’s not to say that I wouldn’t do it ever again, but I don’t feel this desire to do so.  Maybe if I got married I’d consider myself collared to my partner, if that makes any sense.

So essentially, put a ring on it and then you can put a collar around my neck.

Or, just keep getting the milk and own me for free.  And then drag me around by pretty functional collars and make me a very happy girl.

Informal Consent

“Silence betokens consent ” — Proverb

This weekend I saw an interesting turn in the otherwise normal interactions of some people I know in the community — one of my friends has this toy that is essentially a modified electric fly swatter that he converted into a toy that has been dubbed ‘The Zappy’.  It’s essentially the swatter with the entire handle portion removed and two bicycle spokes connected to the terminals with the tips sodered down to fine little nubs.  After years of declining the opportunity to experience Zappy in all of its fine glory I finally broke down on New Years and let a guy I know give me a few zaps.  I wouldn’t say that it was mild or I didn’t like it, but I didn’t really understand what all the hype was about.  I’ve seen girls scream and wiggle to try and get away from this black and silver contraption and I didn’t really find it all that bad.

On Sunday night a friend was threatening to use the Z-thing on another girl, who was tugging her dress around to make sure her skin stayed covered and kept saying ‘no no no no’.  Another girl walked into the room and told him to lay off of her, and my the friend replied “she can stop it by saying a safeword”.  This was pretty much the wrong thing to say and ended up resulting in a rant on behalf of the girl …

“Safewords are for use in a consenting play relationship between two people.  You two do not have that, so she shouldn’t have to safeword for her to get you to leave her alone.  Sometimes no means no.”

This of course started a whole joking banter about if no really ever does mean no (concensus was surprisingly ‘no’) but I guess it got the point across because he left her alone from then on.  Ironically I have said a similar thing to a few friends of mine over the last year or so about similar situations, being that my thoughts in seeing these things have always been that just because a person is a submissive/bottom/masochist and in the room does not mean you have a carte blanche to play with them or inflict pain.  You shouldn’t have to use a safeword with someone that you know in a casual way just because you can.  Safewords, at least for me, aren’t something to really joke about I guess.

I can’t claim to have much personal experience with being in that situation; generally if someone tries something with me and I don’t want it I tell them no while giving a serious look.  Over the years this has resulted in my having an image of being untouchable, which I suppose works fine in that context.  The one exception to this would probably have been new years when a girl happened along and thought it’d be a good idea to tickle me.  After about 30 seconds of it I called red and she seemed surprised.  I told her tickling is a no for me and to back off, so she left.  Point being that I never invited her to touch me;  she just assumed that since I was sprawled out with two other people that I must be open to others touching me.   Assumptions like that are something I absolutely hate.

I just don’t understand where the whole concept of ‘communal property’ came into being so common.  Why is it that just because you’re unattached it’s assume you’re willing to play with anyone/everyone?  If you were in a D/s/M/s/T/b/any relationship people wouldn’t just walk right up to you and start trying to smack you without consulting with your partner first.   So why is it that in the absence of you having a partner it’s just assumed that consent to play, even lightly, is not required?

I remember an issue coming up on FL a few months back in which things got out of control at a munch under similar circumstances.  The female was asked to assist in demonstrating something, and next thing she knew it was a full-on scene.  She didn’t say anything at the time but the situation bothered her enough and had happened to a few others at well.  The community was outraged and essentially blacklisted the person in question because “you don’t play without consent”.  Now I understand there’s a difference between a few zaps and scening, but at the same time is there really that huge of a difference?  Is one not just a milder form of the other?

To play devil’s advocate I know that said zapping friend would leave someone alone if they seriously told him not to do it anymore.   So if using that example makes him look bad then understand it’s not my intent; it was just the freshest in my mind.  But at the same time you have to acknowledge that the lady did have a point — you can’t make people use safewords if (a) you don’t have an agreed upon safeword, and (b) you’re not in an consented play relationship.  It’s just not SSC.

Another twist to this whole situation is the fact of safewords being viewed as a tool, that forcing someone to use a safeword means essentially that you win.  It’s not the point of safewords; they’re in place so that if the submissive/slave/bottom/whatever reaches the point that they physically or mentally cannot take any more they can call a scene to stop before irreparable damage occurs.  Not as a means of victory over someone else.  But I suppose that’s an entirely different blog topic of its own.

Crap

I didn’t realize my bio here was so outdated.  It’s worse than my fetlife profile.

I am such a lazy submissive when it comes to keeping things up to date.

Physical Stimulation

“I don’t discriminate – I’m an equal-opportunity hugger.  — Unknown”

It feels like this was a kink-filled weekend that spilled over into my Monday.  Not only did I attend a fet night on Saturday, but I -also- went to a munch on Monday night.  Crazy, I know!  It makes me wonder if this fulfills my self-imposed requirement of attending two kink events in 2010.  Because then this means I can safely return to isolation until next January.

One thing I have noticed is how common hugging is within the local community.  As I was explaining to someone I met tonight, when I first started out with the group I was pretty introverted (though probably more so now than then) but I definitely was not a hugger.   In fact I’d dare to say that even three years ago my hug comfort level would have been a one .. maybe a two if I stretched it out.  It’s not as if I was raised in a cold household where physical contact was very limited — my parents hugged my siblings and I often, and my father was always a fan of the forehead kiss.   My sister is a big hugger but my brother and I aren’t so much.  I think at times I just associate hugging as something that is a family thing, seeing as how I can’t really recall many situations in which I hugged other people unless it was moments of extreme grief or joy.

So last year I told myself I was going to work on my hugging tolerance level.  I’ve always been a fan of the quick hug, which would be of a medium pressure and is quickly completed by using the universal completion sign of a pat on the person’s back.  But times were changing, and improvements needed to be made.  Besides, I was determined to prove that I could actually hug people without feeling weird.  I equated it to being like trying to learn any useful skill — practice makes perfect.

By summer I would say that my HTL was probably around a two or three, and by the fall it had progressed to about a four.  And now, in 2010 I think I’m somewhere around a five.   The scale of course works as 1 to 10, which means I’m about half way along the path towards being a hugging guru.  Tonight I was talking with a friend about the scale, and we were trying to determine where some people fit into it.  In the end it was decided that no one we know is anything above an eight, as being that high on the scale would make you the type of person that would hug random strangers on the subway.  You might also be the type to hug random people in checkout lines, and possibly also the person who gets a lot of random visits from nice doctors who give you pretty pills.  Well maybe not the last part, but you’d definitely be the type of person who cannot resist giving hugs to anyone and everyone, any time of the day.  Though it would make you a very happy member of society, it probably wouldn’t lead to being a very functional one.

As I find myself being a five I’ve noticed that I’m not as hesitant to be the one to initiate hugs with people.  When it comes to someone I don’t really know that well and have not hugged in the past, I’ll still wait for them to initiate it.  But if you’ve given me a hug then I pretty much equate this to being  a carte blanche that I can hug you from now on.  I don’t randomly hug; usually just in a hello and/or goodbye context, both of which I believe are socially acceptable.

But despite all this progress I still feel like I’m behind the class when it comes to the kink community.  Many people hug many more people than I do, and with a higher frequency.  It sometimes feels like the bar has been set at a stupidly high level for one as short as me and who can’t jump very well.   One would think this would lead to feelings of inadequacy or failure, but on the contrary I’m actually okay with not measuring up in this aspect.  I’m happy with the progress I’ve made and with being at level five.  And maintaining this level requires a certain degree of hugging to occur, and it amuses me to see the shocked looks on some people’s faces when I’m the one to initiate them in a hug.

This concludes my analysis on the trendy thing known as ‘hugging’.  While I can’t say that I’m completely comfortable with engaging in physical contact with random strangers, at least I seem to be getting better at it with people I know well enough.  I’m also going to take this as a sign of decreased introversion, which makes it even more of a positive reinforcement.

Oh, and for the record I am an equal opportunity hugger — I do not discriminate between submissives and Dominants.  Though I find submissives tend to give the more fun-bouncy-squee-worthy types of hugs, and Dominants tend to give a firmer and more controlled embrace.   Always the scientist, is I.  Always analyzing, but it’s so fun!

Black and Blue

“An Englishman thinks he is moral when he is only uncomfortable.” — George Bernard Shaw

So, it has happened.

I attended my first fet night since 2003.  Why yes, you read that correctly.  2003.

I accept how sad this is and I’m working on it, trust me.  But regardless, I ended up going to a fet night as a last minute decision on Saturday night.  The event was named Black and Blue, and was a S.A.D.E. affair (Sir Alex Dark Event).  So I was dressed up in a pretty corset that made my bust look amazing, along with a skirt that made me self-conscious and boots that were anything but comfortable to wear for four straight hours.

But I did it, and though I wouldn’t say I would necessarily go back to that specific event it certainly has opened up the desire in me to go to more of events in general.  Step #512 in breaking out of my kink-shell.

On the drive to the event I ended up in an interesting conversation with a friend of mine.  The crowd that I flow with is a lot of younger people and I feel like the oddball a lot of the time being that I am a traditional monogamist, in the sense that I don’t engage in open/poly relationships.   I’ve tried it in the past, and I’ve just found it doesn’t suit my personality or my needs very well.  This isn’t saying I am against poly because I’m not; I’ve seen how it can work well for many people.  I’m just saying it doesn’t work well for -me-.

Anyway, since a large portion of people are poly-players or simply unattached there can be the occasional bout of spontaneous playing.  As I’ve mentioned before on numerous occasions I am what I would consider a private practioner, being that I’m not an exhibitionist nor am I a voyeur.  I’m not into public play or humiliation, however if you put me in a room alone with one person then it becomes a non-issue for me.  At least classifies my kink status.  Call me a bedroom player if you want, just keep in mind that I also play in the living room, the office, the kitchen, the car, while camping, etc.

There’s been a few times that people have noticed being in a play environment tends to make me uncomfortable, but I usually shrug it off pretty easily and just work under the umbrella excuse of ‘I am not a voyeur’.  That answer generally receives a nod and stops any questioning about my level of discomfort.  So some people I know are aware that people scening in front of me makes me uncomfortable, but I suppose they don’t really know why it makes me uncomfortable.  Even some of my closest friends don’t know why; they just accept it.

While I am not on the same level for humiliation and degredation as some Dominants I have known or been with, I can hold my own pretty well when someone pulls it out in the middle of a scene.  I’ve been in situations where I’ve been mortified and on the point of tears from it but I swallow it up and take it, my stubborn streak refusing to let me be broken.  When it comes to beatings I’ve been beaten so badly that I bled and could barely breathe because I was sobbing so hard, but again would be too stubborn to make it stop.  Hell there was once where I couldn’t even wear a bra for a good week because the cotton fabric hurt too much against the scabbed tissue.  The point of all this being that I have taken my share of heavy abuse along with the mild play, and I’ve always walked out of it unphased or without any real long-term damage.

However.

For some reason whenever I see someone being humiliated, or someone even being lightly spanked or flogged or anything of that nature, it just hits this raw nerve for me.  A trigger gets flicked somewhere and I suddenly find myself in a fight-or-flight state of mind.  I get supremely uncomfortable, and on a few occasions I guess even a little upset.  I’m generally pretty good at containing it except for one situation in which I was quite alright with my chest being welted and purple from my beating, but I saw a bruise starting to form on a friend’s thigh and I suddenly burst into tears.  It was weird and awkward, and was the first sign that I wasn’t cut out for voyeurism.

It puts me in a weird situation because I don’t want to be the person that says “well can you not play?  It makes me feel uncomfortable and as a natural trigger I can’t change it”, but on the other hand I don’t want to force myself to sit there and watch it.   Usually I can escape to another room so I don’t have to see it, but on the odd occasion I haven’t really had that option and have been stuck watching.  I generally just let my eyes glaze over and try to think about other things, and that works until someone does something to pull me out of my thoughts and back into reality.  Then the discomfort sets in, I feel weird, people start treating me different and meh.

I guess I worry there’s this perception that I’m some kind of prude because I don’t like watching people get beaten.  And the irony about the entire situation is it actually boils down to me watching being the trigger.  While at the event on Saturday there were a variety of play areas, and standing there you could hear people being beaten from a whole side of the room.  However I couldn’t actually see anything happening because of the density of the crowd, so it was fine for me.  There was a suspension demonstration on the stage that I watched and thoroughly enjoyed — up until the moment that the ropework was done and the beatings began, at which point I had to focus on socialization instead of watching people working their magic.  I could still hear it, but out of sight out of mind and everything is kosher.

I wish I could figure out exactly why my brain equates me being beaten as a good thing, but seeing someone else being beaten as a bad thing.  Perhaps if I could then it would make me a little less socially awkward in the kink community, especially if I plan to start attending more of these fet nights that have play parties associated with them.  Maybe if I brought a blindfold … granted that would probably make for some awkward movement and conversations.  With my luck I’d end up walking into the beatings, in which case it would probably be perfectly acceptable according to my brain since it’s me being hit and not someone else.

Sometimes I loathe being so quirky.  But I guess at least I’m trying.

A Flash of Rebellion

“A little rebellion now and then is a good thing.” — Thomas Jefferson

Well I started 2010 off on an interesting foot — by kissing a near stranger.

Actually I think ‘kissing’ would be an understatement, as it was more like kissing him followed by straddling his lap and cranking up the intensity.   After a quick message this afternoon asking ‘did I happen to kiss you last night?’ I received a humoured reply indicating ‘why yes, several times’.

…..

I’m a very old-fashioned girl in the sense that I believe in men making the first move, so the fact that I did so -repeatedly- strikes an odd note for me.  Especially since the man in question was a Dominant.  But I think it was the casual banter that we had been sharing online for the past few weeks, and the fact that he transferred that into real life.  And the fact that I was pretty tipsy probably didn’t hurt matters much.

It all seemed innocent enough; I was sitting on the couch in between two Doms.  We were all talking nice and I declared I was tired of sitting and laying down, draping my feet across one’s lap and curling up under the arm of the other.  At one point a girl came along and my feet became attacked, so I kicked, screamed and (eventually) called red.   We joked about how I was not his type (in reference to a remark I made last week about ‘eww collars’), and after debating it again he conceded maybe I was his type after all.  And that’s when I kissed him.

I still don’t know exactly why I did it other than it felt like the right thing to do at that time.  I don’t regret doing it, but the timing of it all strikes me as interesting.  I’m in what I feel is the final stages of getting over a guy that I find to be dangerous for my soul.  We get close, we shove each other away.  It’s up and down, and it’s sad because we do like each other, but I just can’t do it any more.   And I actually went on a date last week with a slightly kinky man and had a really good time.  We have a loosely arranged a date for the end of the month, so I guess time will tell on that one.  Point being that I am actually getting in the saddle and making decisions.  Executing actions, living instead of hypothesizing.   Oh, and dipping my toes into the kink scene a little bit at a time.

Signs You’ve Been Out of the Scene Too Long

e: I am going to beat you
e: IN THE BAD WAY
c: please?
c: oh
c: meanie

Blogging hiatus is (hopefully) almost over.  Seriously, I’ve just been stupid busy .. and likely will be until the holidays.  Then it will be blogapalooza!  All kink all the time!  Or … something like that.

Highlights:  fet night on Friday (yay!).  Date arranged over xmas break (yay!).

Lowlights:  Saturday is spend-time-with-your-vanilla-friends day.  No beats were had on mini-vac (boo!).  My fwb situation is just .. ugh.  I want to smack him IN A VERY BAD WAY.

Optimism:  at least we weren’t dating.

Oh speaking of which, I’m starting to wonder if I might be at the stage where I’m ready to entertain the idea of ‘dating’ someone.  And by ‘dating’ I mean the process of going on ‘dates’ and maybe entering a ‘relationship’ if things go good.

(that was all for you h, <3)

This has to be the most random post ever in this blog.  I blame it on fatigue, and being stressed or something.  God the holidays (and 10 work-free days) cannot come fast enough.

Intercontinental Perversions

“Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.” — Benjamin Disraeli

Time for another trip!!!

Mmmm, kinky friends with no hidden agendas are pure win.  Maybe if I’m a good girl I’ll get beats.