It's been a while since I've had sex, I'll admit. And it's certainly been a longer while since I've been fucked (as a slight aside, but to complete the set, it's been years since I've made love, but that's a blogpost for another day). Dominants are not fucked, they fuck. Either cowgirl style on top or rocking a strap-on, I've become used to being the one in control of the motion, the depth and the hip action.
Over dinner with Technophilia, the new and unexpected boy on my horizons. We're discussing the plans for the rest of the night. Initially, we weren't going to meet up at all, which rather put me out, but fortunately the universe realigned itself and we managed to get together. I was reasonably determined to have sex with him, but equally slightly concerned about pushing things too far, too fast and "putting him off" for want of a better word. I told him as much, as we drank porn star martinis (the perverts cocktail of choice) and he pointed out - somewhat coyly, I felt - that he was here and hadn't run away yet.
Once again, in all our interactions, I got the strong impression of playfulness from him, the switch in him I guess, there was a balance still to be struck between us. Things could go either way, he pushes my own switch and I feel equally excited by the idea of pressing his face into the pillow as I do feeling his hand do the same to me. For the moment, however, he is more comfortable on top - it plays better into his experience and frankly, I have an amount of top fatigue right now. The idea of not taking charge is appealing. The idea of having some filthy sex as opposed to building a detailed scene is very appealing. We made a deal over our steak and red wine: he takes me home and he gets to do what he wants with me.
I like playing into other people's fantasies - whether it's as a top or a bottom - and his first request is a strip tease which lets me warm us both up. I finish straddling him, pushing him down on his back. I enjoy feeling his hands run over me, the appreciative noises and the little gasps and sighs as I smooth my fingers around his shoulders, back and slowly, very slowly kiss my way down his stomach towards the top of his jeans. I undo his belt buckle and start to play with his cock which is just as satisfying as I remember, then apply my mouth and tongue to the shaft and head. Immediately, I am conflicted. If there's one thing that screams "submission" in my mind, it's blowjobs. They neatly encapsulate almost all of my challenges with the idea of female submission, with my feelings of vulnerability around my own past acts of submission. My submissive self is a self not often seen these days and it's a part of me that is most easily hurt. I am not certain I want to submit to him. Bottom, yes. Fuck, absolutely. Allow myself to be taken, dear lord yes. But submission is a big thing, a huge exchange of trust and a reminder of many things - both good and bad. We're not at that stage.
But we are at the fucking stage, kinky fucking, certainly and with trappings of D/s - there are "thank you's" (from both sides, he's an appreciative recipient) along with question and response. The thing I realise is that I do want to suck his cock and I know he wants me to do it, which makes me want to do it more. But I'm also wary. not just for the things outlined above. Even when I was back in the land of the vanillas, blowjobs were never been a routine part of sex for me, my partners weren't that into them. Now my standing response is that I have people to do that for me. The truth is that giving head has underlying problems for me: physically I find it quite difficult, which is made more so when deep throating is involved and the recipient is quite so well endowed. Additionally, I worry about whether it's good enough - The Photographer was always quite vocally critical of my oral skills, citing previous partners expertise in the area. Though frankly, the more I think about that, the more I think that it was another of his psychological games, akin to the "I don't love you game" designed to make me feel bad and weak in order to control me.
So I have all these thoughts buzzing around my brain as my mouth makes contact with his cock and he thrusts, hand on my head and moans in squirming pleasure. That works. Just then, the sense of giving pleasure, the desire and drive to do so - akin to the desire to give pain. To hear him make those noises, to feel him get harder inside my mouth, the quickening of breath, the whisperings of desire. I grin. And continue.
Later, he flips me over and forces his mouth against my cunt. His tongue laps quickly, before my hand against his head slows him down to that gentle rolling boil that I find so pleasingly satisfying. I get wet, although frankly, I was pretty wet to start off with. I also know I'm not going to orgasm - we're too new, too uncertain in our nascent kinky exchanges for me to be able to accept orgasm easily yet. He doesn't stop though, and for the first time I understand the dominant factor in giving head (although many people have explained it to me, including Majeste and her wonderfully imperious demands to taste what is hers). This time, I really get it, mostly because I'm getting it. The build of pleasure becomes almost-pain as my body clenches and unclenches and doesn't quite get there. Again. And again. And again. Eventually, I wriggle away from under him.
Finally, after what is realistically a week of waiting. We fuck. Doggy style. Heavy and hard. There's a physical equivalent of a roar coming from somewhere deep in my cunt when he penetrates me - it's a wave of exertion, of pleasure and just the right amount of plain, brute force. He has a skilled confidence that takes me by surprise - although by now I'm not sure why I'm surprised. He fucks like he behaves in everything else: there's a superficial presentation of soft, slightlly cutesy coyness as he bites his lip, then a glint of something nasty as the thread of gleeful filth unspools in his mind and he takes charge. Not bullying or cajoling, but taking and taking pleasure in taking.
And I give. I let the sensations roll over me as we fuck, which translate easily into noises I'm only partly aware of making. I know that I moan. I'm almost certain I screamed a little (I certainly did in the morning when we fucked again because we ended up muffled and collapsed in pillows after he pointed out he had thin walls and neighbours). We don't so much fall asleep as part pass out, limbs wrapped around limbs. Resurfacing in the morning to start again. We lie around in bed, swapping notes and rummaging in his box of toys and as I see the anal vibes, the dildos and ball gag I wonder how he could have ever thought of himself as vanilla?
So now I'm home, digesting what has happened, partly sated, certainly wanting more, and very curious about where we might take this. For the moment, we are dancing and the music has not stopped. Equally, we have yet to really decide if we will continue. I'd like to, and said so plainly. We both agreed we were in similar places emotionally. Both of us are interested in where the next relationship will be and wanting it on some level, but both unsure whether we are ready for it, whether those things which hurt us in the past have properly healed enough to dive in once more.
Thoughts for another day. Right now, I'm enjoying that pleasing tiredness in my thighs and working out when we can next arrange another date.
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Saturday, 1 October 2011
Erotics and the perverted mind
Last night, together with a large number of The Tribe I headed over to Proud Cabaret for dinner and a show. I love the look and idea of this place: we all enjoyed ourselves getting ready into shimmying dresses, black tie and lots of corsetry. In the words of Ringmaster, we looked as if we were about to deliver the con of the century. Buoyed up on a wave of such group energy, I slunk along the streetlamp city streets, hearing my patent black heels clack on the pavement, swinging my hips and feeling good to be out after such a long break, it seemed.
On arrival, the Kit Kat Klub inspired stylings with plenty of candles and dark nooks (too dark as it turned out, to see what one was eating) were beautifully evocative and set the scene for what felt like a really good night out. The blonde compere sang beautifully, and whilst she lacked the devilish qualities of Alan Cumming, she had a good voice and a sense of showmanship. Sadly, she was pretty much the only one.
I am picky about my performance, I perform myself and I've seen quite a lot of cabaret and burlesque shows, so I like to think I have a reasonably well developed aesthetic but nothing here did anything for me, with the exception of the one male performer who gamely attempted to stand his own amidst a crowd of plastic barbie dolls. On a practical level, this was the most rushed set of performances I have ever seen. I am frankly surprised that the fan dancer didn't go up in flames given the speed she was twirling her feathers. There is nothing erotic about watching women, with fixed, painted monster grimaces fail to remove corsets in time, leaving themselves unco-ordinatedly undressed besides a pillar. The problem here is that part of the essence of the erotic is in giving people time to uncurl their imaginations. Like a well planned scene, you need to tease and tantalise - these things take time. The performance works because you hook the audience and reel them in slowly, letting them undress you in their minds before you have removed a single bit of clothing. Here, nothing was given any time to develop. From a pure performance point of view, the pacing was dreadful and mechanical. It felt like a production line of bras and pants strewn to the four corners of the room whilst the long suffering stage manager raced around collecting feather boas and piles of tulle. I'm not even going to discuss the "comedy" Russian ballerina. I left soon afterwards.
Then there was the pervert problem. As Ringmaster said, "it's for vanillas". And it was. The rest of the audience, including a large group of young men, seemed to be lapping it up. But for me, there was no sexuality present on stage that resonated with the things I find sexual. Take an obvious point first, I don't think that women taking off their corsets in front of people is particularly sexually arousing in and of itself. I'm probably a bit inured to it, frankly. The sight of a naked breast does not make me quiver or make me feel edgy or titillated. I've seen a lot of it. I've been a lot of it.
To go further, I'm a pervert. The naked human body does not automatically mean "sex" to me in the same way that a gas mask does. I find tears, humiliated blushes, screams of pain and drops of blood as hot as others might find stockings and suspenders. Don't get me wrong, I understand the appeal of stockings and suspenders and use them if I need to deliver that kind of look, but I also understand the appeal of army boots pressed against a naked back.
Now, I know that I was never going to get that kind of show from this kind of place. But I was hoping for a whisper of something sexual. Even just a hint that the performers were enjoying themselves would have been nice, or some indication that they were doing more than dancing whilst taking their clothes off. It takes more than a quick strip to make me wet, baby: you have to make me want you, to be you or to do awful, dreadful things to you.
You have to be erotic.
Eroticism is a story you are telling, a dirty little secret you are sharing with the audience. In many ways it's an intellectual pursuit, it's about the mind. It's often less about how you look or how many items of clothing you remove. Rather it's about how you do it and how you interact with the audience whilst you are doing it. You need to build a connection and play with the way you are being watched, controlling not just what you are doing but how people respond. You need to perform.
BDSM is similar in that it's a lot about context, the sexuality is about a shared agreement between the participants. Things are not quite what they seem, and the uncertainty, the things we don't know or can't see give us a thrill. We are enraptured by what is mysterious and crave to know more, see more, touch more. In a few week's time I'm going to be stage managing a show at the RVT with a group of burlesque performers who are mostly kinky and I'll be interested to see how they perform - I suspect that it will be quite different.
On arrival, the Kit Kat Klub inspired stylings with plenty of candles and dark nooks (too dark as it turned out, to see what one was eating) were beautifully evocative and set the scene for what felt like a really good night out. The blonde compere sang beautifully, and whilst she lacked the devilish qualities of Alan Cumming, she had a good voice and a sense of showmanship. Sadly, she was pretty much the only one.
I am picky about my performance, I perform myself and I've seen quite a lot of cabaret and burlesque shows, so I like to think I have a reasonably well developed aesthetic but nothing here did anything for me, with the exception of the one male performer who gamely attempted to stand his own amidst a crowd of plastic barbie dolls. On a practical level, this was the most rushed set of performances I have ever seen. I am frankly surprised that the fan dancer didn't go up in flames given the speed she was twirling her feathers. There is nothing erotic about watching women, with fixed, painted monster grimaces fail to remove corsets in time, leaving themselves unco-ordinatedly undressed besides a pillar. The problem here is that part of the essence of the erotic is in giving people time to uncurl their imaginations. Like a well planned scene, you need to tease and tantalise - these things take time. The performance works because you hook the audience and reel them in slowly, letting them undress you in their minds before you have removed a single bit of clothing. Here, nothing was given any time to develop. From a pure performance point of view, the pacing was dreadful and mechanical. It felt like a production line of bras and pants strewn to the four corners of the room whilst the long suffering stage manager raced around collecting feather boas and piles of tulle. I'm not even going to discuss the "comedy" Russian ballerina. I left soon afterwards.
Then there was the pervert problem. As Ringmaster said, "it's for vanillas". And it was. The rest of the audience, including a large group of young men, seemed to be lapping it up. But for me, there was no sexuality present on stage that resonated with the things I find sexual. Take an obvious point first, I don't think that women taking off their corsets in front of people is particularly sexually arousing in and of itself. I'm probably a bit inured to it, frankly. The sight of a naked breast does not make me quiver or make me feel edgy or titillated. I've seen a lot of it. I've been a lot of it.
To go further, I'm a pervert. The naked human body does not automatically mean "sex" to me in the same way that a gas mask does. I find tears, humiliated blushes, screams of pain and drops of blood as hot as others might find stockings and suspenders. Don't get me wrong, I understand the appeal of stockings and suspenders and use them if I need to deliver that kind of look, but I also understand the appeal of army boots pressed against a naked back.
Now, I know that I was never going to get that kind of show from this kind of place. But I was hoping for a whisper of something sexual. Even just a hint that the performers were enjoying themselves would have been nice, or some indication that they were doing more than dancing whilst taking their clothes off. It takes more than a quick strip to make me wet, baby: you have to make me want you, to be you or to do awful, dreadful things to you.
You have to be erotic.
Eroticism is a story you are telling, a dirty little secret you are sharing with the audience. In many ways it's an intellectual pursuit, it's about the mind. It's often less about how you look or how many items of clothing you remove. Rather it's about how you do it and how you interact with the audience whilst you are doing it. You need to build a connection and play with the way you are being watched, controlling not just what you are doing but how people respond. You need to perform.
BDSM is similar in that it's a lot about context, the sexuality is about a shared agreement between the participants. Things are not quite what they seem, and the uncertainty, the things we don't know or can't see give us a thrill. We are enraptured by what is mysterious and crave to know more, see more, touch more. In a few week's time I'm going to be stage managing a show at the RVT with a group of burlesque performers who are mostly kinky and I'll be interested to see how they perform - I suspect that it will be quite different.
Sunday, 25 September 2011
A moment of spontaneity
Friday night was not my finest moment. I was weighted down with a combination of illness, late and long working hours plus the knowledge that dinner with Mr Smith was precisely and only that: a meal and company.
Dinner with someone with whom you have effectively broken up with is never a pleasant situation, but in the curious way of BDSM and multiple relationships we still have a friendship and still have some dates in the diary for kinky activities. However, the heart of our connection is gone and that made me more mad, sad and annoying to be around than I might have otherwise thought. The knowledge that he was going home to his wife, that I was going home to myself made me feel lonely. Added to this, in one of those twists of fate I seem to trip over quite often, my decision to stop the D/s connection has actually made things better with his wife and his ability to see other casual lovers. Now, I have no interest in being either a casual lover nor his wife so there was little point in getting all dog in the manger over things but it certainly made me feel as if the universe was playing tricks.
So, feeling heavy hearted and in need of some diverting I checked OKCupid and replied to a few messages. Arriving home, it became clear that one of my responses was from someone quite close by. We arranged to meet the next day. If nothing else, it would give me something to do that wasn't connected with anything that had gone before, which was what I needed then and there.
I had no expectations. I had made no plans. I had nothing in my bag beyond my keys and purse. He arrived and we chatted, slowly, strangely, I warmed to him. His smell was right, his physicality had the right sort of shape for me to sit just so, arrange myself near him in a way that was pleasing and extremely comfortable and comforting to my animal hindbrain. We stayed for a drink. Then another. Then another. We talked about all the usual nerd dating things. Then we began talking kink, and things got even more interesting.
"I want to take you home, but I don't want to have sex with you."
I raise an eyebrow at a sentence I've never heard before. He's adamant, however. And his assertiveness is striking - an unseen thread of steel through this soft-lipped boy with the high cheekbones and giggly laugh. It flashes for a moment, in the way that desire does, rippling and turning the evening from a nice dinner that would see me home alone but well-flirted with into something else.
We went back to his house and lay on his sofa, kissing for hours like teenagers whilst watching True Blood and commenting on what we were watching. It felt intimate and familiar, yet I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such an easy ride, to be able to just hang about without feeling the need to do anything much. The knowledge that I wasn't going to embark on three or four hours of heavy play was both a relief and a source of slightly comedic consternation - after all, if we weren't here for sex, what were we here for?
To get to know me better.
I don't know what made him decide to say that, then and there. Something in what I said about my life, my partners, the scene has set him down that particular thought path. Or perhaps something in him, a desire clearly stated, to wait, to hold something back, to take time. The natural response of a pervert is to push - to tease out from people things they see they find difficult. So in that moment he stopped being just a boy from the internet and became a pervert.
We went to bed, and my theory was confirmed - he's a switch as well. After a pleasing amount of appreciative noises over my naked body we started to fool around a little and talked a lot. About sexual encounters past and hoped for, fantasies and desires, lovers long gone and recent heartbreaks. All the while he stroked me, running fingers and kisses up and down whichever piece of skin came to nearest contact with him. All throughout, he kept gently reminding me that we were not going to have sex - made all the more deliciously frustrating by the discovery that he had a large cock. Equally, his own obvious frustrations made me interested in the background to this self-denial. Eventually I announced my intention to orgasm, and he watched, still stroking my skin, pouring filth in my ear with a low whisper that made me gasp, shatteringly to a climax. He held me close. We fell asleep.
In the morning, he brought me tea in bed and we played around more - showing each other our particular tweaks and sensitivities. He took me by the hand and led me to the shower, I washed his hair and he pressed his fingers inside my cunt. We dried each other off and I got dressed and left with his phone number.
I am still wrapped up in that hazy cloud of sexuality made all the better by not concerning myself with what happens next. Yes, I would like to see him again. But also yes, I would like to take things slowly and without the need to assert myself in any particular role or power exchange with regards to him, or indeed anyone for rather a while.
Dinner with someone with whom you have effectively broken up with is never a pleasant situation, but in the curious way of BDSM and multiple relationships we still have a friendship and still have some dates in the diary for kinky activities. However, the heart of our connection is gone and that made me more mad, sad and annoying to be around than I might have otherwise thought. The knowledge that he was going home to his wife, that I was going home to myself made me feel lonely. Added to this, in one of those twists of fate I seem to trip over quite often, my decision to stop the D/s connection has actually made things better with his wife and his ability to see other casual lovers. Now, I have no interest in being either a casual lover nor his wife so there was little point in getting all dog in the manger over things but it certainly made me feel as if the universe was playing tricks.
So, feeling heavy hearted and in need of some diverting I checked OKCupid and replied to a few messages. Arriving home, it became clear that one of my responses was from someone quite close by. We arranged to meet the next day. If nothing else, it would give me something to do that wasn't connected with anything that had gone before, which was what I needed then and there.
I had no expectations. I had made no plans. I had nothing in my bag beyond my keys and purse. He arrived and we chatted, slowly, strangely, I warmed to him. His smell was right, his physicality had the right sort of shape for me to sit just so, arrange myself near him in a way that was pleasing and extremely comfortable and comforting to my animal hindbrain. We stayed for a drink. Then another. Then another. We talked about all the usual nerd dating things. Then we began talking kink, and things got even more interesting.
"I want to take you home, but I don't want to have sex with you."
I raise an eyebrow at a sentence I've never heard before. He's adamant, however. And his assertiveness is striking - an unseen thread of steel through this soft-lipped boy with the high cheekbones and giggly laugh. It flashes for a moment, in the way that desire does, rippling and turning the evening from a nice dinner that would see me home alone but well-flirted with into something else.
We went back to his house and lay on his sofa, kissing for hours like teenagers whilst watching True Blood and commenting on what we were watching. It felt intimate and familiar, yet I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such an easy ride, to be able to just hang about without feeling the need to do anything much. The knowledge that I wasn't going to embark on three or four hours of heavy play was both a relief and a source of slightly comedic consternation - after all, if we weren't here for sex, what were we here for?
To get to know me better.
I don't know what made him decide to say that, then and there. Something in what I said about my life, my partners, the scene has set him down that particular thought path. Or perhaps something in him, a desire clearly stated, to wait, to hold something back, to take time. The natural response of a pervert is to push - to tease out from people things they see they find difficult. So in that moment he stopped being just a boy from the internet and became a pervert.
We went to bed, and my theory was confirmed - he's a switch as well. After a pleasing amount of appreciative noises over my naked body we started to fool around a little and talked a lot. About sexual encounters past and hoped for, fantasies and desires, lovers long gone and recent heartbreaks. All the while he stroked me, running fingers and kisses up and down whichever piece of skin came to nearest contact with him. All throughout, he kept gently reminding me that we were not going to have sex - made all the more deliciously frustrating by the discovery that he had a large cock. Equally, his own obvious frustrations made me interested in the background to this self-denial. Eventually I announced my intention to orgasm, and he watched, still stroking my skin, pouring filth in my ear with a low whisper that made me gasp, shatteringly to a climax. He held me close. We fell asleep.
In the morning, he brought me tea in bed and we played around more - showing each other our particular tweaks and sensitivities. He took me by the hand and led me to the shower, I washed his hair and he pressed his fingers inside my cunt. We dried each other off and I got dressed and left with his phone number.
I am still wrapped up in that hazy cloud of sexuality made all the better by not concerning myself with what happens next. Yes, I would like to see him again. But also yes, I would like to take things slowly and without the need to assert myself in any particular role or power exchange with regards to him, or indeed anyone for rather a while.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Changes in circumstances
This month has seen a few changes in my life and lifestyle, and whilst I have been the instigator of most of them, they aren't exactly making me happy.
I started a new job which is exciting but involves very long hours resulting in little time during the week to go on dates, attend munches and by the time the weekend arrives I am rather tired. I'm hoping that this will settle down once I get to grips with everything, but for the moment, I am very much work rather than play - this has it's own attendant problems. I feel disconnected from the scene, especially given my prior levels of involvement and I miss people who I used to see more often. I'm in a more "formal" environment which means that the day-to-day perversity levels are lower and I am certainly in the deeper waters of the vanilla subculture - though that itself might give some useful and interesting insights.
Following on from my reduced social time, in some respects, is the change in my relationships. My partners colour a lot of what I do kinkwise, so I imagine it will come as no surprise that the lack of content on the blog has been driven by, well, a lack of content. I am, it appears, single, once more.
Mannequin, Fenrir and I had a good (though sad and somewhat wistful from my point of view) conversation a few weeks ago in which she was going to be exclusively his. I know that this is something she really wanted, and from what I hear on the kinky grapevine, she's well cared for and enjoying herself. I miss her, although at the same time there is a certain sense of relief - throughout our relationship there was a strain caused by the disconnect between what she wanted and what I was capable of delivering. Ultimately, she wanted a cis-male partner and all the strap-ons in the world will not change this fact. Writing that sentence felt strange, as if there was something to blame for one person's particular preference, which of course, there is not. And honestly, I like male bodies too, and enjoy having them around.
The strangeness is all in myself. It's not a fault of either of us, just the simple fact that having started down the road of D/s with her it has come to an end. All the feelings of ownership, control and self-worth deriving from that power exchange have stopped because of being unable to be the right kind of dominant person, and I wouldn't want to be that person, because that would mean not being me. It is a curious feeling. Wanting something is never reason or justification enough for it to be able to happen. Some things just don't work out. And that's life.
Which brings me on to Mr Smith. There have been various points in our relationship where it felt that the D/s was creating a difficult push/pull for him with respect to how we worked compared to his marriage and other lovers. D/s is a very different place to either of these things. We were not casual Friday night affairs, and neither was I ever going to be the most important woman in the world to him (that would be his wife). Those two poles were markers of where our relationship sits - somewhere in the middle, slightly uneasily.
On the one hand, he craves submissive satisfaction, the control and order that comes with a set of protocol, the firm guiding hand and the patient caring tones of one who owns. He would come to me and be placed outside of the world for an evening, be allowed to let go and bottom out and be put through his paces.
All of those things I was able to make time to deliver, but he was struggling in fulfilling his side of the deal. The things that I needed - the level of service I required from him once he was away from me. Now, these are important to me for a number of reasons - first they make it into a genuine relationship. We have contact outside of our play-dates, talk about our lives, share notes and thoughts, meet for coffee, lunches and similar. They are the surrounding elements that make me feel like a partner, rather than a pro domme. As I reminded him in the heat of an angry exchange - I have no problem with delivering a session in an allotted time and having no call upon him outside of that. But I require paying.
I want D/s relationships. This means that, as a dominant, there are things that the submissive must do for me. Not just kneeling and giving head, or doing all the kinky sex stuff that they want to do anyway. Things that are just for me. Day to day things that are embedded in their life and make me part of their world, just as they become part of mine. Now, this will; never be done "right" straight away - there's always going to be give and take. The training process involves an element of "getting better" and I had no expectations of instant perfection and enjoyed the correcting procedure. It was when things started to be forgotten, or half done, or rules were only part remembered that I began to get worried. Rather than supporting him, the training process became an additional stress - a thing that "didn't get done" and then was an extra weight in his busy and stressful life. And in my busy and stressful life. It was made worse, in many respects, by the fact that we are friends, so in tandem with this I was meeting him to try and help him resolve issues in his marriage - the stress of which, and the sexual absences within it I felt was contributing to his overall unhappiness and reliance on me.
This had the difficult effect of making me feel like part prostitute, part marriage counsellor. Again, all roles I can fulfill, but I'd like to be paid for them, really. What I wasn't getting were the things I needed, and constantly demanding them was making me feel angry towards him. In the end, we have decided to remove the D/s element from our relationship. I place no requirements or protocol on him, we see each other if and when we can and we do what we feel like when we do see each other. We fuck a lot, and it's good sex - but it's not particularly kinky and therefore for me, it is not deeply connected. And I miss that. I miss the intensity and the desire for intensity. I no longer look at him and think "mine" - though I do think "my friend" or "the boy I'm fucking"
I'm pleased with how amicable and straight-forward most of these parting conversations were - admittedly the situation with Mannequin and Fenrir was easier because it felt much more like a D/s handover, whereas with Mr Smith the lack of communication between his wife and myself means I have concerns over whether he is being adequately cared for outwith my patronage. I am also very conscious of theses absences in my life and the loneliness that this has created in me.
I'm working through it. Certainly the world is a calmer place, I'm not upset per se, and I've removed a lot of anxieties by having these conversations and changing these relationships. But I've also removed a lot of good stuff (admittedly, potential good stuff that wasn't working). And that makes my life much emptier. I'm trying to work out what I need to fill it.
I started a new job which is exciting but involves very long hours resulting in little time during the week to go on dates, attend munches and by the time the weekend arrives I am rather tired. I'm hoping that this will settle down once I get to grips with everything, but for the moment, I am very much work rather than play - this has it's own attendant problems. I feel disconnected from the scene, especially given my prior levels of involvement and I miss people who I used to see more often. I'm in a more "formal" environment which means that the day-to-day perversity levels are lower and I am certainly in the deeper waters of the vanilla subculture - though that itself might give some useful and interesting insights.
Following on from my reduced social time, in some respects, is the change in my relationships. My partners colour a lot of what I do kinkwise, so I imagine it will come as no surprise that the lack of content on the blog has been driven by, well, a lack of content. I am, it appears, single, once more.
Mannequin, Fenrir and I had a good (though sad and somewhat wistful from my point of view) conversation a few weeks ago in which she was going to be exclusively his. I know that this is something she really wanted, and from what I hear on the kinky grapevine, she's well cared for and enjoying herself. I miss her, although at the same time there is a certain sense of relief - throughout our relationship there was a strain caused by the disconnect between what she wanted and what I was capable of delivering. Ultimately, she wanted a cis-male partner and all the strap-ons in the world will not change this fact. Writing that sentence felt strange, as if there was something to blame for one person's particular preference, which of course, there is not. And honestly, I like male bodies too, and enjoy having them around.
The strangeness is all in myself. It's not a fault of either of us, just the simple fact that having started down the road of D/s with her it has come to an end. All the feelings of ownership, control and self-worth deriving from that power exchange have stopped because of being unable to be the right kind of dominant person, and I wouldn't want to be that person, because that would mean not being me. It is a curious feeling. Wanting something is never reason or justification enough for it to be able to happen. Some things just don't work out. And that's life.
Which brings me on to Mr Smith. There have been various points in our relationship where it felt that the D/s was creating a difficult push/pull for him with respect to how we worked compared to his marriage and other lovers. D/s is a very different place to either of these things. We were not casual Friday night affairs, and neither was I ever going to be the most important woman in the world to him (that would be his wife). Those two poles were markers of where our relationship sits - somewhere in the middle, slightly uneasily.
On the one hand, he craves submissive satisfaction, the control and order that comes with a set of protocol, the firm guiding hand and the patient caring tones of one who owns. He would come to me and be placed outside of the world for an evening, be allowed to let go and bottom out and be put through his paces.
All of those things I was able to make time to deliver, but he was struggling in fulfilling his side of the deal. The things that I needed - the level of service I required from him once he was away from me. Now, these are important to me for a number of reasons - first they make it into a genuine relationship. We have contact outside of our play-dates, talk about our lives, share notes and thoughts, meet for coffee, lunches and similar. They are the surrounding elements that make me feel like a partner, rather than a pro domme. As I reminded him in the heat of an angry exchange - I have no problem with delivering a session in an allotted time and having no call upon him outside of that. But I require paying.
I want D/s relationships. This means that, as a dominant, there are things that the submissive must do for me. Not just kneeling and giving head, or doing all the kinky sex stuff that they want to do anyway. Things that are just for me. Day to day things that are embedded in their life and make me part of their world, just as they become part of mine. Now, this will; never be done "right" straight away - there's always going to be give and take. The training process involves an element of "getting better" and I had no expectations of instant perfection and enjoyed the correcting procedure. It was when things started to be forgotten, or half done, or rules were only part remembered that I began to get worried. Rather than supporting him, the training process became an additional stress - a thing that "didn't get done" and then was an extra weight in his busy and stressful life. And in my busy and stressful life. It was made worse, in many respects, by the fact that we are friends, so in tandem with this I was meeting him to try and help him resolve issues in his marriage - the stress of which, and the sexual absences within it I felt was contributing to his overall unhappiness and reliance on me.
This had the difficult effect of making me feel like part prostitute, part marriage counsellor. Again, all roles I can fulfill, but I'd like to be paid for them, really. What I wasn't getting were the things I needed, and constantly demanding them was making me feel angry towards him. In the end, we have decided to remove the D/s element from our relationship. I place no requirements or protocol on him, we see each other if and when we can and we do what we feel like when we do see each other. We fuck a lot, and it's good sex - but it's not particularly kinky and therefore for me, it is not deeply connected. And I miss that. I miss the intensity and the desire for intensity. I no longer look at him and think "mine" - though I do think "my friend" or "the boy I'm fucking"
I'm pleased with how amicable and straight-forward most of these parting conversations were - admittedly the situation with Mannequin and Fenrir was easier because it felt much more like a D/s handover, whereas with Mr Smith the lack of communication between his wife and myself means I have concerns over whether he is being adequately cared for outwith my patronage. I am also very conscious of theses absences in my life and the loneliness that this has created in me.
I'm working through it. Certainly the world is a calmer place, I'm not upset per se, and I've removed a lot of anxieties by having these conversations and changing these relationships. But I've also removed a lot of good stuff (admittedly, potential good stuff that wasn't working). And that makes my life much emptier. I'm trying to work out what I need to fill it.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Where have all the single men gone?
Last night saw another of my (now almost famous) failed attempts to have an orgy in a sex club. I strongly suspect that this is pretty much the equivalent of being unable to arrange a piss up in a brewery. I put it down to two main factors - the first is about my feelings in sex clubs as opposed to play clubs, the second about attaining my personal sexual and aesthetic preference.
Take the sex club / play club distinction, fortunately this club (Kinky Salon London) is one of the better clubs that blur the lines between the two, so I feel comfortable exploring my "kink" for transactional vanilla sex here. I do struggle with "stranger sex" - I am dreadfully fascinated and turned on by it: it's something I keep coming to clubs like this to try and try again. I enjoy the liberation in the idea and the simplicity in bodies, fucking. To be able to let go, bottom out, tune everything else down to white noise and just experience the sensation of other people giving pleasure to me.
The venue is lovingly decorated and everyone has fun outfits and there are smiles all round. There's dungeon kit: experimentation and playfulness is encouraged and I certainly entertained myself by tying a friend of mine down onto a rocking horse rack. However, there was no denying that the majority of activity was fucking, and without the regimen offered by D/s protocol I can find myself somewhat at a loss in what to do, and more importantly, who to do it with. Given that, I'd rather set my stall on having a lot of "just sex" - perhaps scuppering myself with expectations. In retrospect I should have kept to my natural environment and packed a bunch of toys then loitered by the rack all night doing awful things to kinksters I knew.
I'm a female top and I find it relatively easy to secure female partners at an event like this. Quite aside from the fact that there are a few women at the club that I know (some of whom I first met at the ladies only hen night, and I've become friends with since) there are far more available, interested and openly "up for it" women than men. Case in point: I strap-on within a few minutes of the playroom opening and ask who wants to be fucked. A smiling woman shouts "me!" and I help her onto the bed, fucking her whilst her female partner licked her clit. The gasps and writhing was gratifying and I enjoyed creating those sensations, the transitory pleasure of it and the act of give and take.
I started to look around for another encounter, leading Mr Smith by the hand as we walked the room. My desire was for another man for a mFm threesome. As I looked around, I saw a lot of male/female couples and a lot of women but very, very few single men, fewer still that I was interested in. The most attractive men there (and being honest, I am exceptionally picky) were with their equally attractive female partners and became quickly "busy" either with another woman or another couple. And even had they not been already engaged - and quite a few seemed to have arrangements already in place -I am uncertain what the etiquette is for approaching a couple with the intent to only fuck one of them, but suspect it's probably rude.
This lack of men is proving to be an ongoing issue for myself and Mr Smith. We initially thought that one had been located - even briefed prior to arrival, but then he arrived with a girl in tow and whilst he seemed keen in general he left early to go to another party. I'm choosing not to take this personally. So eventually, after some pleasant chats with friends we left. And I'm left with a rather worrying thought.
With the notable exception of a small number of my friends: where are all the cute, kinky single men?
Talking to Mr Smith (a classic example of my woe; attractive and we're good match, however he is married and I have no intention of fucking with that) and looking around at munches, clubs and events and you would be forgiven for thinking that the scene was entirely populated by attractive young women in fetching outfits. Perhaps it is because they are the most noticeable, but I suspect that it is, in fact, that they are more comfortable making themselves noticed - whereas single men do not. Here are some of my more general thoughts on why. Another, more worrying thought was around how the scene, and indeed how society itself, reacts to the single man: note that I'm now moving on to more broader areas and not talking about that club night superficially which actually does a damn good job of standing head and shoulders above the behaviours and attitudes of many sex clubs.
There's been a lot of conversations about the different treatment and expectations towards men and women in sex clubs and the fetish scene. There are higher prices for single men in many clubs, some clubs do not let men in until later on and there is a real wariness even amongst the nicest of young men around being "that guy". In tandem to these practical and social exclusions there is also a lack of perceived opportunity. The play balance in clubs is strongly towards girl-on-girl, girl-on-boy or girl-boy-girl sex. That's a lot of girls and not a lot of boys. I know no woman who would not play with or touch another woman and I'm not prepared to call women more "naturally" bisexual because that is a ghastly bag of assumptions. What women are, is socialised to be more bisexual - women fucking each other is is accepted to the point of expected, especially for male pleasure. Bisexual men are made invisible, or in the cases of a few ghastly swinging clubs, actively discouraged. Shame on them.
What do these two things have in common with a notable lack of available men in the scene? Well, for a start, women are occupied with each other or with known partners. I imagine that many new men will come to an event, hang around on the sidelines and then leave - unable to make a connection because of this sense of exclusion. Secondly, the various other barriers to attendance mean that many men may never make it into the scene at all until they secure a girlfriends or partner who can then act as a safety net against any potential accusations of being that guy. Add to this the difficulty that many men feel around presenting themselves as sexual anyway and I'm starting to wonder perhaps all of these potential kinky chaps are at home, fantasising about it but unable to come out and play.
Take the sex club / play club distinction, fortunately this club (Kinky Salon London) is one of the better clubs that blur the lines between the two, so I feel comfortable exploring my "kink" for transactional vanilla sex here. I do struggle with "stranger sex" - I am dreadfully fascinated and turned on by it: it's something I keep coming to clubs like this to try and try again. I enjoy the liberation in the idea and the simplicity in bodies, fucking. To be able to let go, bottom out, tune everything else down to white noise and just experience the sensation of other people giving pleasure to me.
The venue is lovingly decorated and everyone has fun outfits and there are smiles all round. There's dungeon kit: experimentation and playfulness is encouraged and I certainly entertained myself by tying a friend of mine down onto a rocking horse rack. However, there was no denying that the majority of activity was fucking, and without the regimen offered by D/s protocol I can find myself somewhat at a loss in what to do, and more importantly, who to do it with. Given that, I'd rather set my stall on having a lot of "just sex" - perhaps scuppering myself with expectations. In retrospect I should have kept to my natural environment and packed a bunch of toys then loitered by the rack all night doing awful things to kinksters I knew.
I'm a female top and I find it relatively easy to secure female partners at an event like this. Quite aside from the fact that there are a few women at the club that I know (some of whom I first met at the ladies only hen night, and I've become friends with since) there are far more available, interested and openly "up for it" women than men. Case in point: I strap-on within a few minutes of the playroom opening and ask who wants to be fucked. A smiling woman shouts "me!" and I help her onto the bed, fucking her whilst her female partner licked her clit. The gasps and writhing was gratifying and I enjoyed creating those sensations, the transitory pleasure of it and the act of give and take.
I started to look around for another encounter, leading Mr Smith by the hand as we walked the room. My desire was for another man for a mFm threesome. As I looked around, I saw a lot of male/female couples and a lot of women but very, very few single men, fewer still that I was interested in. The most attractive men there (and being honest, I am exceptionally picky) were with their equally attractive female partners and became quickly "busy" either with another woman or another couple. And even had they not been already engaged - and quite a few seemed to have arrangements already in place -I am uncertain what the etiquette is for approaching a couple with the intent to only fuck one of them, but suspect it's probably rude.
This lack of men is proving to be an ongoing issue for myself and Mr Smith. We initially thought that one had been located - even briefed prior to arrival, but then he arrived with a girl in tow and whilst he seemed keen in general he left early to go to another party. I'm choosing not to take this personally. So eventually, after some pleasant chats with friends we left. And I'm left with a rather worrying thought.
With the notable exception of a small number of my friends: where are all the cute, kinky single men?
Talking to Mr Smith (a classic example of my woe; attractive and we're good match, however he is married and I have no intention of fucking with that) and looking around at munches, clubs and events and you would be forgiven for thinking that the scene was entirely populated by attractive young women in fetching outfits. Perhaps it is because they are the most noticeable, but I suspect that it is, in fact, that they are more comfortable making themselves noticed - whereas single men do not. Here are some of my more general thoughts on why. Another, more worrying thought was around how the scene, and indeed how society itself, reacts to the single man: note that I'm now moving on to more broader areas and not talking about that club night superficially which actually does a damn good job of standing head and shoulders above the behaviours and attitudes of many sex clubs.
There's been a lot of conversations about the different treatment and expectations towards men and women in sex clubs and the fetish scene. There are higher prices for single men in many clubs, some clubs do not let men in until later on and there is a real wariness even amongst the nicest of young men around being "that guy". In tandem to these practical and social exclusions there is also a lack of perceived opportunity. The play balance in clubs is strongly towards girl-on-girl, girl-on-boy or girl-boy-girl sex. That's a lot of girls and not a lot of boys. I know no woman who would not play with or touch another woman and I'm not prepared to call women more "naturally" bisexual because that is a ghastly bag of assumptions. What women are, is socialised to be more bisexual - women fucking each other is is accepted to the point of expected, especially for male pleasure. Bisexual men are made invisible, or in the cases of a few ghastly swinging clubs, actively discouraged. Shame on them.
What do these two things have in common with a notable lack of available men in the scene? Well, for a start, women are occupied with each other or with known partners. I imagine that many new men will come to an event, hang around on the sidelines and then leave - unable to make a connection because of this sense of exclusion. Secondly, the various other barriers to attendance mean that many men may never make it into the scene at all until they secure a girlfriends or partner who can then act as a safety net against any potential accusations of being that guy. Add to this the difficulty that many men feel around presenting themselves as sexual anyway and I'm starting to wonder perhaps all of these potential kinky chaps are at home, fantasising about it but unable to come out and play.
Saturday, 27 August 2011
One rule for me, one for you? Part Two
Following on from the last post on rules, and a discussion on Twitter. I thought it would be good to talk about my own personal rules, in more that 140 characters. This is somewhat of a divergence from a BDSM specific topic, except for the fact that kink is about people, what makes them tick, and understanding yourself is important to delivering and receiving good kink.
The rules are in part about ethics - a way of living, or trying to live, that I consider to be a good way of being towards others and the world. They are also about being good to myself, making sure that I look after my needs and getting what I want. There is a sense in which these rules are "selfish" - which I recognise, but not in the disparaging way that people usually use the word. They are made by me, for me and how I intend to mediate my life - which is an awful lot of me, myself and I.
Personal rules are about really thinking about who you are and doing what you really want rather than what other people think or what they might want from you. How I behave impacts on people around me - I treat other people well (or as well as I can) because I want to be a good person, not because I want to be the sort of person they think I should be.
Naturally the way we are perceived is important and no-one would want people to think badly of them, but as Mannequin commented, everyone also thinks that their own way of being is the right one. Similarly everyone tends to view their own ideas as self-evident facts whereas the rest of the world has opinions. The key thing for me about these rules is that they are mine. I don't expect anyone else to live according to them, or even to like them. So, for what it's worth, here they are.
1. All or nothing
I always get this song in my head when I write that phrase, which always makes me smile. I'm quite a direct person these days, realising more and more that I know what I want and will not be content with half measures. This goes for my personal and professional life. I cannot stand a job half done, or something given a cursory amount of effort. This rule does mean that I am poor at compromising on the things I truly care about - and lack of compromise indicates how much I care about something. This can be a difficult rule to live by, as people pointed out when I posted these rules, life is full of grey areas. But that doesn't mean I have to be like that.
2. Fear is the enemy
Like a lot of perverts, I do like a good bit of fear play, but the fun for me is in pushing past the things that scare us, push other people through their fear. Personal fear, the things that hold us back, is made of the same stuff. Fear, in and of itself, can be deeply paralysing, the sensation of fear is often more powerful than the thing we believe causes the fear. Fear of failing, fear of letting other people down, fear of the unknown. I think it's really important to recognise those fears and to work to remove them as best as I can.
3. Only you are responsible for you
At the end of the day you have to live with yourself and everything you do. You are the only person who really understands yourself, the things that you want, the things that are in your past. It's very easy to blame other people, our background and our situations for things that have happened, and we are absolutely influenced by others and the world. However, there is a difference between accepting our lot and feeling incapable of doing anything about it, if you want something, you need to work for it. That work is part of what makes it yours. This rule is also about recognising and owning our mistakes, the things we have got wrong. The flipside is about taking pride in our achievements and the things we have done right. Basically, being you - warts and all.
4. Be kind, be clear
I've wrapped these two together because I think they rely on each other. Kindness is not about giving other people what they want all the time, nor is it about always putting other people first - though those things can be kind. It's about respecting the boundaries that you need and that other people need and sticking to them, a sort of honesty. Clarity gives you this: be clear in what you want, tell other people about it and then act accordingly. That's kindness.
5. Ask for help
Rule three is true, but it doesn't mean that I want to live in isolation. Life is very difficult, and very boring all by yourself - it's much more fun with people to share it. It's also much easier to get through problems, to learn new things and to generally get on with getting the most out of life if you are able to ask for help. It's something that I find hard to do, which is in part why it's one of my rules - things we find easy we don't need to strive to do.
6. Love fiercely
Final one, and the one that matches rule one the most, but I like keeping them as a pair. Love isn't about flowers, and chocolates and cuddly teddy bears. It's not soft, or weak or silly, and neither is the desire for love when you do not have it. My insistence on fierceness is also about how I behave when I am in love - a protection and a need to stand up for the things and people I love, which means being a little defiant in the face of everything else, and to go for it despite it perhaps not being the most practical thing to do. But without risk or effort, how would we go forward?
Once I'd written these, this of course then led me on to thinking about how I do against my own rules, which are of course an idealised version of myself. Am I living up to them? Sometimes, and I want to live up to them, certainly. Having the rules is half the battle, as they mark out where I want to get to - like deciding your own kink road map, rules give you a way of becoming the person you want to be.
The rules are in part about ethics - a way of living, or trying to live, that I consider to be a good way of being towards others and the world. They are also about being good to myself, making sure that I look after my needs and getting what I want. There is a sense in which these rules are "selfish" - which I recognise, but not in the disparaging way that people usually use the word. They are made by me, for me and how I intend to mediate my life - which is an awful lot of me, myself and I.
Personal rules are about really thinking about who you are and doing what you really want rather than what other people think or what they might want from you. How I behave impacts on people around me - I treat other people well (or as well as I can) because I want to be a good person, not because I want to be the sort of person they think I should be.
Naturally the way we are perceived is important and no-one would want people to think badly of them, but as Mannequin commented, everyone also thinks that their own way of being is the right one. Similarly everyone tends to view their own ideas as self-evident facts whereas the rest of the world has opinions. The key thing for me about these rules is that they are mine. I don't expect anyone else to live according to them, or even to like them. So, for what it's worth, here they are.
1. All or nothing
I always get this song in my head when I write that phrase, which always makes me smile. I'm quite a direct person these days, realising more and more that I know what I want and will not be content with half measures. This goes for my personal and professional life. I cannot stand a job half done, or something given a cursory amount of effort. This rule does mean that I am poor at compromising on the things I truly care about - and lack of compromise indicates how much I care about something. This can be a difficult rule to live by, as people pointed out when I posted these rules, life is full of grey areas. But that doesn't mean I have to be like that.
2. Fear is the enemy
Like a lot of perverts, I do like a good bit of fear play, but the fun for me is in pushing past the things that scare us, push other people through their fear. Personal fear, the things that hold us back, is made of the same stuff. Fear, in and of itself, can be deeply paralysing, the sensation of fear is often more powerful than the thing we believe causes the fear. Fear of failing, fear of letting other people down, fear of the unknown. I think it's really important to recognise those fears and to work to remove them as best as I can.
3. Only you are responsible for you
At the end of the day you have to live with yourself and everything you do. You are the only person who really understands yourself, the things that you want, the things that are in your past. It's very easy to blame other people, our background and our situations for things that have happened, and we are absolutely influenced by others and the world. However, there is a difference between accepting our lot and feeling incapable of doing anything about it, if you want something, you need to work for it. That work is part of what makes it yours. This rule is also about recognising and owning our mistakes, the things we have got wrong. The flipside is about taking pride in our achievements and the things we have done right. Basically, being you - warts and all.
4. Be kind, be clear
I've wrapped these two together because I think they rely on each other. Kindness is not about giving other people what they want all the time, nor is it about always putting other people first - though those things can be kind. It's about respecting the boundaries that you need and that other people need and sticking to them, a sort of honesty. Clarity gives you this: be clear in what you want, tell other people about it and then act accordingly. That's kindness.
5. Ask for help
Rule three is true, but it doesn't mean that I want to live in isolation. Life is very difficult, and very boring all by yourself - it's much more fun with people to share it. It's also much easier to get through problems, to learn new things and to generally get on with getting the most out of life if you are able to ask for help. It's something that I find hard to do, which is in part why it's one of my rules - things we find easy we don't need to strive to do.
6. Love fiercely
Final one, and the one that matches rule one the most, but I like keeping them as a pair. Love isn't about flowers, and chocolates and cuddly teddy bears. It's not soft, or weak or silly, and neither is the desire for love when you do not have it. My insistence on fierceness is also about how I behave when I am in love - a protection and a need to stand up for the things and people I love, which means being a little defiant in the face of everything else, and to go for it despite it perhaps not being the most practical thing to do. But without risk or effort, how would we go forward?
Once I'd written these, this of course then led me on to thinking about how I do against my own rules, which are of course an idealised version of myself. Am I living up to them? Sometimes, and I want to live up to them, certainly. Having the rules is half the battle, as they mark out where I want to get to - like deciding your own kink road map, rules give you a way of becoming the person you want to be.
Friday, 26 August 2011
One rule for me, one for you? Part One
We are surrounded by rules. Obvious rules that we can see and touch and generally all agree on as existing as facts (whether we agree with the rule itself or not) things like signposts, grammar and spelling the legal system and those T&C check boxes we keep selecting on websites and have probably agreed to do something dreadful. There are unconscious rules that we have absorbed as part of our life, probably without really knowing it, but ones that we accept as true, even though they might not be: social conventions are a good example, gender is another, things that are really truisms and stuff our parents said.
We can divide up rules into all sorts of categories. Rules we actively chose to abide by like diets and rules that are given to us without our consent, like laws. Some rules are more important to us than others, some are better enforced than others, either by ourselves or by external agents. This may well change according to what day it is, where we are in the world and whether it's raining or not. Some rules are only really important if we get caught breaking them - like a lot of the legislation around BDSM. The same rule might fall into different categories for different people - religious rules for example might be inherited from our families and fall into the background, subconscious sort of rule that we live by but don't think too much about, or it may be an active choice that we signed up to. No matter what kind of rule it is, it's always, always personal because of the relationship between holding to and breaking the rule in your life.
This has been a week of rules.The sort of rules you give out as a dominant not only reflect the kind of D/s situations you want to create but they say things about you. In effect, you can think of them like the rules of a game. If you don't "play by the rules" then you are not really playing the game. The rules that you build create certain games - change the rules and you change the game. I'm always amused by the completely opposing value of rules within the two D/s relationships in my life.
Mannequin does not need or respond well to having a rigid set of rules. If I am not actively present, things like sending emails at certain times or any kind of remote control rule is likely to not be done and then cause anxiety and upset over it being left. Because I don't really enjoy chasing up on tasks (that sounds like work to me!) and she doesn't enjoy getting annoyed messages from me we don't have rules. We have an ongoing contract that stipulates obedience and whenever I need a particular thing from her I ask and I get it, but there isn't a rigid framework with specific tasks and deadlines. She has a list of things that I enjoy seeing her do, or having her do for me and it is up to her to ensure I am generally satisfied. If at any point she does something I don't like, I correct it then and there: this is currently more of a theory than practice given that she is rather good at giving me what I want.
Mr Smith on the other hand, really, really likes ongoing, set rules. They give him a sense of order and security in what can be a rather chaotic life. For him, lack of rules generates anxiety and a complete absence of focus. Rules remind him of my ownership, they give him "things to do" which correlate directly onto pleasing me. He is under a variety of rules at the moment including a diet and exercise plan, a structured way of behaving in public and private, formalities around greetings, communicating with me and small rituals to perform during the day. These sit alongside existing rules about saying thank-you after orgasm and how he is allowed to have sexual activity outside our relationship. They are quite extensive and detailed, having their origins in a series of conversations about his life, the sort of person (and submissive) he wants to be for himself and for me, the things that give him satisfaction, that scare him, that worry him.
Such a long list might seem onderous but they actually make both of our lives easier and more pleasurable. The rules are part of training. I enjoy the control I have over him, and the fact that I get regular updates, as well as the satisfaction of knowing he is doing things for me in my absence. The rules that we have are clear and simple, even though there are many of them. It is obvious how they can be followed, and equally obvious how they are broken. If he breaks a rule, he is punished. There is no argument, no sulks or stress - he accepts his wrongdoing, submits to punishment and afterwards the slate is clean, except for perhaps a little physical discomfort, but that's a good reminder of doing better next time. Following the rules is not precisely rewarded, instead, following the rules constitutes his submission to me, so its a reward in itself, really.
The difference between the attitudes of my submissives neatly expresses my opinion on rules in D/s relationships: they are worth giving out if my life is directly improved by their existence; they either make my life easier, generate better and more interesting kinky sex or perform another function that serves my purposes. If rules get in the way, prevent me from doing something I want with my partners or make life complicated or stressful then they are pointless. Pointless rules are generally a bad idea. Which isn't do say that D/s rules need to make sense or be logical. The rule "You must always wear yellow on Tuesday" to take a random example could seem fairly pointless without a decent context - good D/s rules follow from good D/s (this is me winning a states-the-obvious-award). So if Tuesday is date night, and yellow is the dominant's favourite colour then that rule might serve to remind the submissive of the evening to come. Or Tuesday is a day that the dominant isn't going to be around, and they want to be present in some other fashion. Or it's a hated colour and it's being done as a punishment and Tuesday is just a good, regular day to pick. There are many reasons why it might work, the point is that the rule does something for both the dominant and the submissive.
We can divide up rules into all sorts of categories. Rules we actively chose to abide by like diets and rules that are given to us without our consent, like laws. Some rules are more important to us than others, some are better enforced than others, either by ourselves or by external agents. This may well change according to what day it is, where we are in the world and whether it's raining or not. Some rules are only really important if we get caught breaking them - like a lot of the legislation around BDSM. The same rule might fall into different categories for different people - religious rules for example might be inherited from our families and fall into the background, subconscious sort of rule that we live by but don't think too much about, or it may be an active choice that we signed up to. No matter what kind of rule it is, it's always, always personal because of the relationship between holding to and breaking the rule in your life.
This has been a week of rules.The sort of rules you give out as a dominant not only reflect the kind of D/s situations you want to create but they say things about you. In effect, you can think of them like the rules of a game. If you don't "play by the rules" then you are not really playing the game. The rules that you build create certain games - change the rules and you change the game. I'm always amused by the completely opposing value of rules within the two D/s relationships in my life.
Mannequin does not need or respond well to having a rigid set of rules. If I am not actively present, things like sending emails at certain times or any kind of remote control rule is likely to not be done and then cause anxiety and upset over it being left. Because I don't really enjoy chasing up on tasks (that sounds like work to me!) and she doesn't enjoy getting annoyed messages from me we don't have rules. We have an ongoing contract that stipulates obedience and whenever I need a particular thing from her I ask and I get it, but there isn't a rigid framework with specific tasks and deadlines. She has a list of things that I enjoy seeing her do, or having her do for me and it is up to her to ensure I am generally satisfied. If at any point she does something I don't like, I correct it then and there: this is currently more of a theory than practice given that she is rather good at giving me what I want.
Mr Smith on the other hand, really, really likes ongoing, set rules. They give him a sense of order and security in what can be a rather chaotic life. For him, lack of rules generates anxiety and a complete absence of focus. Rules remind him of my ownership, they give him "things to do" which correlate directly onto pleasing me. He is under a variety of rules at the moment including a diet and exercise plan, a structured way of behaving in public and private, formalities around greetings, communicating with me and small rituals to perform during the day. These sit alongside existing rules about saying thank-you after orgasm and how he is allowed to have sexual activity outside our relationship. They are quite extensive and detailed, having their origins in a series of conversations about his life, the sort of person (and submissive) he wants to be for himself and for me, the things that give him satisfaction, that scare him, that worry him.
Such a long list might seem onderous but they actually make both of our lives easier and more pleasurable. The rules are part of training. I enjoy the control I have over him, and the fact that I get regular updates, as well as the satisfaction of knowing he is doing things for me in my absence. The rules that we have are clear and simple, even though there are many of them. It is obvious how they can be followed, and equally obvious how they are broken. If he breaks a rule, he is punished. There is no argument, no sulks or stress - he accepts his wrongdoing, submits to punishment and afterwards the slate is clean, except for perhaps a little physical discomfort, but that's a good reminder of doing better next time. Following the rules is not precisely rewarded, instead, following the rules constitutes his submission to me, so its a reward in itself, really.
The difference between the attitudes of my submissives neatly expresses my opinion on rules in D/s relationships: they are worth giving out if my life is directly improved by their existence; they either make my life easier, generate better and more interesting kinky sex or perform another function that serves my purposes. If rules get in the way, prevent me from doing something I want with my partners or make life complicated or stressful then they are pointless. Pointless rules are generally a bad idea. Which isn't do say that D/s rules need to make sense or be logical. The rule "You must always wear yellow on Tuesday" to take a random example could seem fairly pointless without a decent context - good D/s rules follow from good D/s (this is me winning a states-the-obvious-award). So if Tuesday is date night, and yellow is the dominant's favourite colour then that rule might serve to remind the submissive of the evening to come. Or Tuesday is a day that the dominant isn't going to be around, and they want to be present in some other fashion. Or it's a hated colour and it's being done as a punishment and Tuesday is just a good, regular day to pick. There are many reasons why it might work, the point is that the rule does something for both the dominant and the submissive.
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