Winter has arrived, and with it a different flavour of kink. All thoughts of romping outdoors have been put to bed: pony frolics will have to wait. Wrapping up warm, and staying indoors are of course very compatible with a bedroom orientated lifestyle, and there is no better excuse to remain under the covers than being tied to the bed. No more worrying about hiding red stripes or bruises under little summery dresses, works of kinky art are hidden under coats, boots and scarves.
That said, the weather also has its downside. I have fairly poor circulation and so tend to get cold feet (literally, not metaphorically) and hands. Getting cold is always a concern of any play I engage in, and its something I have to be aware of, my fingers will quickly lose sensation and it will be hard to tell whether or not those ropes are too tight. Naked people in the house are always a cause to keep the heating a little higher, and now it needs an extra level of toasty warmness to contemplate being able to remain still or exposed for any length of time.
Low temperatures are a punishment for me, I dislike being cold. Not in the sense that I dislike the cane - that hurts, but cold does something different. I can just about appreciate the sensation of an ice-cube melting on warm skin, a light touch that doesn't linger. Or a short sharp shock like a blast of cold water from a shower hose. The classic torturer image of drenching a body suspended from cuffs and balancing on slippery wet tile has a fascination for me - I find it very attractive but I know that it would just be unpleasant. Not sexy, just cold, cold, cold. I'm shivering thinking about it, my skin reacting in sympathy with the numbing prickling of it all.
Unlike impact play where the sensation builds, increasing as skin turns pinker, cold turns me off, switches my senses down. I lose track of myself and disconnect from what is happening. Not in the light floating way of subspace, but in the gritted teeth, head down and get on with it, trip to the dentist sense. And not a kinky dentist at that. Just numbness, my body refusing to play, teeth chattering, miserable and fed up. All of this, of course, is probably appealing to some, but for me there is no masochistic pleasure in being cold, no adrenaline or euphoria. Just a need to be somewhere else, in the warm, hands cupped around a hot cup of tea, naked under a blanket, face flushed, collared and grinning.