Viewpoints on porn

Given that recently a particularly poorly drafted bill became law, it seems a reasonable time to think some more about porn. I'll admit to not have seen a lot of porn, possibly because brushes with vanilla porn in my early teens left me wondering what all of the fuss was about (tangerine inflated bodies grinding in a bored fashion over other tangerine inflated bodies). Of course, looking back on it this lack of interest makes perfect sense: vanilla sex holds little or no appeal, why should the porn for this market turn me on?

One of the bloggers I read talked recently about the lack of porn for women, noting the violent tendencies in some of the porn available for men. Whilst I applaud and actively encourage people to make porn for women, I would also like there to be violent porn for women, by women, I of course mean, me. The gender bias within both the porn industry and the film industry at large is fairly obvious and has been widely documented, porn is generally made by men, for men and if women happen to enjoy it well that's more by accident than design. Theorist propound the notion of the camera as the male gaze, the female body as the eternal subject, always looked at, never doing the looking. However, when I look through the lens at a piece of porn I do not automatically take the view of the (male) director, any more than a person reading a book automatically agrees with the thoughts of the author. I think that the way in which I enjoy porn is perhaps different to the way that a man might.

In the BDSM porn I've been watching recently, the participants are almost always female. They are tied up, whipped, penetrated in any number of exciting ways, and The Photographer and I have been taking notes. The effect of being a submissive female watching other (apparently) submissive females is probably different to the standard viewing of such material. I empathise with the women, I wonder what it would be like to be encased in that much rubber, tied in such a position, fucked with that particular object. When they wriggle, or moan I think about what they are experiencing, rather than wish I was there to touch them or to cause those noises. It's no surprise then, that my favourite pieces are those where the women are "real" women, volunteers who want to be put through their paces by bondage experts, rather than the somewhat plasticised features and wooden expressions of the professional porn stars. Reality TV for porn: it's easier to put myself in the place of the women who look like they are enjoying it rather than the ones who look like they are being paid to enjoy it.

Thinking about it a bit more, this is probably less of a female perspective and more of a submissive perspective - after all, I'm having fantasies of being done to rather than the doing and I would never wish to automatically conflate "female" with "submission" under any circumstance. A Domme watching the same clip might get their kicks from imagining tying those cords, rather than the feel of the rope being pulled tight. Clearly a night in with a number of friends of different persuasions and a stack of hardcore porn is called for. All in the name of science, of course.

Tired and sore

There's a satisfaction in being worn out for the right reasons, those who do sports and suchlike must get it, the pleasing ache along leg muscles and the not-quite-with-it feeling that lack of sleep causes. Then there are the endorphins, buzzing around the brain and adding a caffeinated feel to tired neurones, making electrical impulses judder along. After a serious night in, nothing feels quite real the next day, there's a pleasant screen between myself and the world, I'm cocooned in the memory of sensations gone past, exacerbated by their cousins, the physical mementos of the morning-after: stiffness, bruises, tenderness in soft areas. I'm topping it off with a lazy grin, tired but happy.

Every now and then, The Photographer will decide to use me throughout the night. There's a real sense of ownership, of slave-desire, in having him reach out for me, pulling me from my dreams and push his cock inside me. The ease with which he is able to slake himself with me comforts me, assures me of my function and purpose, which makes me want him more: cyclic need. My body responds before I'm really aware of what is happening, hands reaching down to hold my already wet cunt open for him as he pushes me onto my back and starts to use me. He doesn't say anything. In the pitch blackness we are both silent, lips brushing skin and part of me wants to rise up and kiss him, but I remember myself, and the remembrance of this prohibition serves to turn me on further. Negation and regulation define and sharpen our interaction. That which is not allowed is just as important as that which is mandatory. Each time I must or must not do puts me in mind of what we have, and I smile.

Further into the night, I'm getting tired. I never sleep properly in bondage, there is a weight of expectation to it, as if a small part of my brain does not shut off but instead remains watchful for if I might be needed. Alongside the tiredness is pain, my cunt is getting a little raw with use, especially at first penetration, before I've started to get wet and he's fucking me hard. Foreplay is for lovers; slaves get used without warning. There's a pleasure in the pain, not just within the body as my nerves fire hot and cold so I am both sore and enjoying the feel of him inside me, but there is a psychological value to it. He likes that he can use me whenever he wants, regardless of whether I am sore or otherwise, I will open myself to him. I like the pain, and I like the meaning of the pain. His pleasure is my pleasure and I can ride his orgasm almost as if it were my own.

His words cascade over me as he uses me. Cool, calm and collected, as always. They are soft little snowflakes pricking my exposed skin and landing in a heavy thick mass. A landslide of thought and fantasy, pressing me down inside myself where I become his object. Ripe for the taking.

Le mot juste

Words have power. The power that they have is to control meaning, to create and define our world and situations, the right word in the right place. I've been thinking recently about the words I use in the blog, and the words my partners use in play and the day-to-day conversations we have about BDSM, what they mean and how they codify our exchanges. I'll hopefully do some more of these, as and when the muse hits me. In this instance the muse that hit me was The Photographer noting that we have "only had sex once or twice". The rest of the time he was using or fucking me, we have never made love. Actually, I'm not sure I've ever made love. So I thought it worth while breaking down the four terms, showing how they operate grammatically and practically.

Making Love - Looking at the construction, this is clearly a collaborative process: something is being created and that thing is love. It is the physical manifestation of love, and it is a mutual act: you can't do it by yourself. You can make love with someone, or to someone (and here the emphasis is on "to" as "giving to" like a gift or offering), but there has to be a "someone", a person to whom you wish to give love or with whom you wish to make it. The term is also a little coy, and old fashioned term which also means to woo or to pursue in a romantic sense, specifically when used as "making love to". It's also euphemistic, avoiding any relation to physicality, focusing instead on the intangible noun "love". A phrase for lovers, for those who like to soften the blows, for those with a poetic bent.

Sex - Calling a spade a spade, this is the most generic term to my mind. It has a hint of the biological and the medical, especially with the alternative meaning of physical gender. It also carried a note of the classroom about it, connotations created by phrases such as "Sexual Education", and it is the word that is probably most used to describe the act. Grammatically, you "have sex" you don't "do sex" or "make sex", once more lending the term a neutrality, a slight distance from the act itself. The conjunction "with" always follows, which gives the impression that sex is an act done between equal parties as entities on either side of the conjunction have equal grammatical weight: "A has sex with B" compared to "B has sex with A". A word for everybody then, safe to print in the daily newspaper or textbooks. Calm, balanced and rational with barely a hint of feelings, either positive or negative.

Fucking - This is my preferred term within the blog and the one I will use as a general term instead of sex. Part of this is because I want to distance myself from everyday terminology and also because I want to be specific about the BDSM power exchange involved in my interactions. "Fuck" is an emotive word and I wanted to express the strength of my experiences in a way which the neutral "sex" does not and "making love" does but in the wrong context. It is also something that is done to someone else, rather than done with, unlike the previous two examples, fucking does not appear in sentences as an equally balanced act, it avoids all conjunctions entirely in a direct statement "A fucks B". To get fucked is to suffer a loss of power or control, to be overcome or somehow mistreated. Fuck is a dirty word, and we can snigger about it on the back of buses, a filthy secret, but a secret between conspiring adults. Interestingly it still is a shared act, even though it is imbalanced. You can, of course, "go fuck yourself", but that's not quite the same thing.

Using - The vaguest term of all, if I used any of the other three you would know what specific physical interaction I was talking about, and also probably gleam some of the context. Not so with "use". It is an awkward term to match to a person, when you talk about "using someone" you refer to some sort of exchange, probably imbalanced. To call someone "used" is to imply they have been cheated, it also sidles nicely together with "abused". When the term appears in a sexual context it creates objectification, specifically objects with a sexual use. We use things: vibes, dildos, crops, canes. We also use slaves, if we don't view our slaves as people. If we did, then we might fuck them instead. The Photographer uses me, so the word has a power for me, making me grin on public transport when I bring it to mind.

Nice and smooth

I like smooth things. Shiny, hard, glistening tight-fitting lines with no edges, slick metal, plastic, rubber and glass. Streamlined erotica. Part of it must be my fascination with objectification, with robots and dolls: the non-human humanoids that are created and constructed, another perhaps stems from my love of things being just-so, therefore the pristine glimmer of these materials appeals to my aesthetic as well as sexual appetite. I think it's also about the alien aspect to it, how much like not-flesh it is, even when it conceals flesh, perhaps even more so, until it becomes a veneer or carapace of desire that shapes and moulds the imperfect body into a perfect shape for being used. And for using.

I have a new, favourite toy. It is a slim glass dildo with a hooked end and a thin spiral ridge running down it. It pushes a lot of my buttons. To start with, it is pretty to look at, I've never liked penetration toys that aped penises in their looks, part of me finds them funny, another part just finds them a little odd. I like my toys to look elegant and feel a little like tools for pleasure in and of themselves rather than substitutes for something else. It also feels superb, cold, hard and frictionless. Knight of Wands is also quite partial to it, I can tell by the way his eyes light up when he sees it.

I'm wet by the time he pushes it into my cunt and he does so very slowly, so I gasp as each ridge presses against my muscles, the spirals making it feel like the dildo is swirling, even though it is not, and the hook at the end teasing and tapping in that pressure-sensitive spot on the front wall giving a perfect feel of pleasure mixed with pain. Too good to stop, too much to carry on. We carry on. I'm bound and gagged, just starting to feel the saliva build behind the ball and relishing the thought of it starting to run past my lips. For whatever reason, the animal persona we'd be playing with has retreated for the moment and I feel more like a human prisoner, helpless and used. He's fucking me in the arse whilst pressing the dildo deep into me and enjoying the sensations created through the thin layer of flesh that separates the glass ridges from his cock. The realisation that he's using the toy to play with himself sends me a little deeper into the captive warmth of subspace, as I rock against him, matching his movements with mine. Becoming that idealised toy, around a core of glass.

Pavlovian responses

Repeated actions, within similar contexts cause learned reflexes to develop in the brain. Unusual associations triggered by stimuli, especially when the situation in which the action occurs is particularly powerful. Traumatic events can lead a person to develop a phobia or other type of irrational response to an otherwise benign activity. Touch links to thought, and back again. Bring the thought of cold to mind and you might get a shiver. The body remembers, a palette for the brain, muscle memory painted on.

Any sort of direct touch to my cheek makes me think of The Photographer slapping me in the face. During play a while back, Shuttered Lens patted my face roughly, muttering "good girl" and whilst I leaned into his palm to absorb the praise and the sensation a thought fluttered through my mind - he shouldn't be doing this. I'm starting to wonder what other types of conditioning link my mind to my body within BDSM play: do I salivate at the thought of a gag, or relax when I bring the feeling of tight bonds to mind?

New rules are being inscribed upon me as I play. Whilst these rules seem to be ocuring without my formal consent - unlike vocal commands or agreed power relationships these twitches and turns happen unconsciously, as I open myself up to activities and their (often unanticipated) consequences, I consent to the avtivities of course, so therefore the responses are mine to own and cherish. Which I do.

Metamorphosis

The process, as well as the results of animal play are both fascinating and completely different to any sort of submission I've experienced before, it's something that I'm very keen to progress and see where it goes. Knight of Wands has some experience in helping people enter animalistic mindsets through trance, manipulated physicality and suchlike, then exploring those spaces with them. The theory we are working with is that by altering body shape, sensory input and playing around with how I'm interacted with we can build the animal outlook. We've discussed how different pieces of kit could be used to alter physicality - I was very keenly aware that when we last played in this way my hands felt particularly "wrong", I kept bunching them into fists or holding my fingers tightly together. Clearly, I was more comfortable with them as paws.

Naked, collared and cuffed, I lay on the bed whilst he selected the things he wanted to use. I watched as he taped my fingers together and yes, that did feel better, much better. He fixed a gag in my mouth and I started to chew reflexively, exploring the texture of it and moving it a little from side to side. A little later on he put me on all fours and fixed a leather hood in place. As soon as that happened, as I took the first inhalation and smelt the material, I felt my body tense slightly, I moved my face forward and began leading with my head, nose first. It didn't feel as if the hood was a barrier to my experience, but rather was enabling it by shutting out the bedroom and putting me further into the mindset and into my body.

The differences in how I was behaving and responding were very clear and obvious. I was not behaving like a human slave: I was barely thinking and certainly not thinking about the service I was providing, or how he might want me to behave for his pleasure. I was reacting and responding directly and purely to the sensations. I felt very calm and serene, not floating, but extremely comfortable in my skin, which was tingling slightly. I was passive, very horny and wet, but not necessarily submissive. I was absolutely enjoying the feel of him touching and stroking me, arching towards his hands or flexing against him, but there was something else as well.

In my usual submissive state I tend to feel helpless, open and vulnerable, but here I did not. I felt extremely strong, both physically and mentally. I don't generally consider myself to be particularly powerful, however I was keenly aware of my muscles and my body not only as a vessel for sensation but as a tool for interacting with the world. There was a certain sense that I was lying back and enjoying the pain and pleasure as the King of Wands pinched, stroked and bit me, but only for the moment: the impression that at any moment I could turn the tables, should it take my fancy, was very strong. A particular example is when he placed my bound hands onto his chest and pushed slightly, my arms tensed and I pressed back, resisting him whilst dodging his mouth as he tried to kiss me - playful but also aggressive. He mentioned his surprise (and excitement) in that response, and it's something we certainly be looking to explore further. It's possible that I may have found a solution to my problem with what to do whilst in a cage...

The method and the mystery

I received a comment on the blog recently, placed in response to this post, but given it didn't actually refer to that specifically I didn't publish it there. The comment is copied in full below, in italics:

"..I hope that these contributions, such as they are, can help other people engage in de-mystifying the world of sex and human sexual relationships through thought and practice. Both are required, and indeed desired..."

What nonsense. They are only required for you, because you like to over-analyse and pick things apart.

Why de-mystify something whose very charm and beauty is, in essence, its mystery. You reduce things to such mundanity with your laser introspection.

It isn't required, nor desired - at all.

Whilst the writer is criticising my methodology and presumably by inference, my own personal outlook on BDSM, that's more of a side issue of taste: I'm well aware that the way in which I think and write will not appeal to everyone, and neither will my political views on sex and sexuality. I am however, always interested in different people's perspectives on the subject, and the idea that thinking things over erodes the concept of "mystique" is a point worth discussing.

In my explorations thus far, I've discovered a lot of things, often about myself - my reaction to pain, to pleasure, different psychological headspaces that I can put myself into (or be put into) which have given me insight and understanding I would not otherwise have had, and has enabled me, and my partners, to do more and go further than we might have done without such evaluation and thought. So yes, mysteries have been unwraveled, in the sense that I now know things that I did not before. Interestingly, at no point have I ever felt that something was lost in the process. Unlike the sad little feeling upon finishing all the cake on your plate, or getting to the end of the book - the idea that there is no more left has never come to me. Rather, the more I know, the more I feel comfortable and confident in exploring, the more I can talk about my wants and needs. The more I explore, the more I find there is to explore. Which is marvellous. So that's the "mystery", what about the "mystique"?

I guess this relates to whether discussing and dissecting something could destroy a unique quality of it, in the same way that observation affects the outcome of an experiment. Could the same be said for BDSM? Certainly, talking about experience and practice is genuinely useful, even if just from a safety point of view, so let's leave that to one side. I'm intrigued as to the idea that finding words to describe something, pigeon-holing and categorising might cause problems for the enjoyment of the activity. Certainly, feminist and theories of cultural practice such as Orientalism would argue that assigning definitions to a perceived "otherness" classifies it in terms of the observer rather than the observed, which is naturally a problem because people and cultures then become presented in ways they would not use to talk about themselves and end up couched in terms that do not correctly describe their experiences. However, this is not quite what is going on here, given that I am using my language to describe what is happening to me. If I am erroding my own mystique, then I suppose I shall have to live with that, if reading this errodes the mystique of the experience of BDSM for others, then I expect they will make the adult decision and stop reading.

The human animal

Knight of Wands and I have been doing a lot of discussion about bodies and states of being created by different physical stimuli, we've been talking particularly about the alteration in perceptions that are not necessarily part of the BDSM toolkit per se but certainly seem to overlap. Astral projection, meditation techniques, all kinds of trances and shapeshifting. The idea of being able to inhabit either the body or the mind in a way that is different from the day-to-day fascinates me, and also strikes a certain chord. When I submit, I feel as if a portion of my "higher" level thought processes switch off and I become more connected to my body, to my physical presence. Rather than drift away in the manner of one falling asleep I am increasingly aware of any contact on my skin, how I am holding myself and suchlike. This is particularly enhanced with bondage or sensory deprivation.

I am increasingly sure that the type of submission I'm espousing is based partly on the type of dominance he is exerting. Given that one of the satisfactions I find in submission is the sense of being satisfying, pleasing someone is therefore important. We've talked a lot about what he wants and what he is interested in, which is something of a grey area, so we are working to find his specific hooks or handles - the things that really, really push his buttons. Without that specific knowledge, without being given the precise details of what to do and how and when I am responding to how he behaves instead. He doesn't speak, so I don't speak - a reasonable act of mirroring. He does make little growling noises and is very "hands-on", there is a lot of grabbing, It feels animalistic, but without an avatar or animal type. We aren't actively participating in pet play, that's not how it feels. There are no bells or whistles that might signify a puppy or a kitten, and both of us are doing it - there isn't the power imbalance of master and pet, it's different I almost want to say that the sensation is almost predator and prey but wonder if I might perhaps be over stretching the analogy somewhat, nevertheless, given that so much of D/s happens in the mind if that is what I am thinking then that must be part of what I am performing.

There's a strange mix of behaviours going on. I respond to what he is doing, whether it's scratching, biting or pulling me this way and that, in a passive way - like an object or a Doll I let him take whatever he wants. However, I am not still: I moan and make noise, move towards him or against in what feels like an incredibly natural and reactive way. Without thinking. If something hurts, if he hurts me I'll flinch, cry out or even make keening noises before returning to the position he put me in. If he's playing with my clit, fingering my cunt or arse I'll move towards the pleasure. I don't feel like I'm a placid slave or tabula rasa object, I feel like a trapped, willingly trapped, animal of some kind. I'll lick his fingers if they brush my mouth, move my face against him. Blindfolded, gagged and bound whilst he holds me tight in a foetal position, fucking my ass, I am immersed in vast quantities of extraordinary sensation that spring from a body that doesn't feel like, for those moments, a thinking, emoting human body, but something else, something with sharper nerves.

Whatever it is, it's very exciting, and extremely enjoyable for the total release it offers from any form of standardised or required behaviour, and I'm very interested to see how far this can go.

Blind mouths

"I could do a thousand things blindfolded that I could never do otherwise" A comment from The Photographer a while back has been going around my mind a little, coupled with a conversation with Knight of Wands on whether female submission could be viewed as a release from societal prejudices against women enjoying sex. I don't necessarily subscribe to the latter argument, at least not on a personal level, although I can certainly see how it might operate, but the power of "freedom from" rather than "freedom to" is one I think particularly applies to sensory deprivation. It's emancipation, in a way.

As a masked body, head shrouded, access to my emotions and personality is stopped and I in return can only perceive my place in the room through physical means, hands on shoulders, fingers in mouth, cunt, on my breasts. By removing the face, that part of me that signifies "me" - home to the major sense and communication centres of my being I am objectified, de-humanised. This is not just an outward perception, of me recognising what others must be seeing, but also something that comes from within, I feel more like an object and thus am free to act as an object. It's not the "feminine anxiety" trappings of being worried about people thinking I'm a slut or something similar, it's divesting myself of my humanity, whatever my gender, I am able to stop being a person and start being a thing. I am freed from my obligations as a thinking, feeling person.

Within the hood, my world is limited, more so if I'm gagged and bound (yes, please). Not only am I physically constrained, but I am being created and held as such by someone else, to whom I have given this control over my body. It is a physical sign of my mental submission. But it is also more than that. Like blinkers keep a traffic-shy horse from kicking at the traces when in the midst of cars, the blindfold prevents me from being distracted by the dailiness of life and also by the potential stress of what I am about to go through. Whilst my mind might work through the possible torments that might be inflicted on me, I am actually helpless, unable to do or to say anything or to be given that little glimpse of what's to come. Having all choice removed is actually very calming, and this sensation allows me to feel deeply and instinctively submissive. Safe in someone else's hands.

The blindfold in this case is a gift, a treat more so than a punishment, it allows me to slip happily into my own mind and drift away on a stream of sensation. But it is not always the case. To be prepared, blinded and bound for use as an object that is treasured and desired is one thing. To be muted and hooded because you are worthless and do not deserve the privilege is another. Around the bindings of rope, leather and latex is another one of words, of intent. To know the context of an action is to understand it's meaning more fully. That terrible vague concept of "mood" can be invoked here, and it is vital to creating a scene - just like once upon a time let's us know it's story hour, so the odd phrase here and there allows us to know the heart of our intent. Freedom from or freedom to, once again: is the top taking or giving away when they put the blindfold on?