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The online diary of an ethical pervert.
I'm anticipating a number of excursions and activities over the next week or so, and currently dosing myself up against a rotten cold in order to do them with a minimum of snuffling. With that in mind, I thought it worthwhile writing up not quite a list of resolutions, but certainly racking up some activities and explorations for next year. I've never thought it a good idea to deal in intangibles, such as finding the love of my life, instead keeping to practical and achievable goals:
- Threesomes (and moresomes) with boys. The ever-lovely Spirit has promised a sneak peek into her little black electronic notebook for good looking chaps game for group sex. I am also looking forward to finding out what she wants in exchange for this service.
- Domination. I'm going to keep exploring what my dominant side looks and feels like, what sort of scenarios and psychological power exchanges interest me. Humiliation, pet play, objectification and perfect gentlemen servants are all on the radar.
- Topping. I am interested in the physicality of taking what I want and developing the skills to do so.
- Rope. I've made Ringmaster promise to teach me to do at least one decent tie. We've got a whole year, so with any luck I'll manage it this time. (I made the same promise to myself in 2008). Plus, being on the team for Peer Rope London and unable to do even a simple chest harness is frankly, a little embarrassing.
- Outdoor activity. For some reason thoughts of hunting, drowning in lakes and getting dirty in forests is appealing. Perhaps it's the mild temperature brought on by the cold as normally I'm an urban animal, we'll see.
- Being boyish. Being a switch, my submissive side hasn't vanished completely, and I'm finding myself taken with the idea of being someone's boy, alongside the dominant thoughts of topping people in my masculine persona.
- Body shaping. I'm enjoying the difference that extra muscles and being a bit leaner has on how I move and feel. It also sits well with my feelings of androgyny, so it looks as if there are more gym sessions in the future.
- Public performance. I had a lot of fun doing the few shows I did in 2010, and would like to do lots more.
- The Doll Project. Neglected, but still beloved. Things for this year will be working out what dominant dolls could look like, alongside masculine dolls and making dolls of other people, especially "himbo-ish" boy dolls.
Probably enough to be getting on with, for now.
Another day, another slew of memos on dating websites, both BDSM and vanilla. There were a few reasonable ones, including some musings on The Doll Project, but some frankly tedious ones. After getting deeply bored with writing the same reply over and over and over again, I made this:
***
This is a copy and paste reply
Whoops! Sorry about this, but it looks like you haven't read my profile!
Chances are you have done one or more of the following:
No face photo
Blank profile
Were horribly rude (surely not!)
Are asking about things that are completely different or contradictory to what I'm looking for.
Have another read through my profile (maybe make yourself a cup of tea). Perhaps after reading it over you'll decide to have another go, or that I'm not worth the fuss and that there are other fish in the sea.
Either way, take care and all the best, unless you were rude, in which case, shame on you!
e.d. x
***
Firm, but fair, I thought. And saving me precious typing time I can better dedicate elsewhere. Like a nice, long email to Blondie on the precise nature of boys who like to say "no" and what might happen to them.
An interesting discussion started to swarm on my Twitter feed (I do also exist in the real world, honestly), between Majeste, Spirit and Chiaroscuro. The sparking point for me was the phrase "feminism v. chivalry". I'm currently paddling in the shallow end of the dating pool, so I've been splashed with enough behaviour to try and unpick our ideas of modern romance and how they are touched with historic themes and motifs.
The idea of chivalric or courtly love comes to us from Eleanor of Aquitaine. There's a good post on it here, along with a dialogue on the changing meaning of the word "lady", the important two facts to note are the apparent hopeless nature of the love and the way in which the love is finally taken. Take the former first. The belle dame sans merci is plied, in secret (or semi-secret) with gifts, poetry etc that demonstrate the desire, passion and drive of her amour. Although she is ostensibly of noble stature, her power only lies in her ability to withhold or deny her lover, as soon as she is taken, physically fucked to be frank, the game is finished. The rose is deflowered.
From this we can see a number of tropes that still float around in our romantic unconsciousness. First, chivalry. This has become a code of honour of sorts, a way that men are "supposed" to behave around the object of their affections, right up to those who practice The Game, though I would hardly call the latter chivalrous. We still teach chivalry, often in the guise of "good manners" - however true politeness should probably not be as gendered as the behaviours we encounter, such as opening doors, holding out chairs, paying for drinks and dinner. They are all things that society expects men to do for women, and they are all types of gift giving, of showing strength (physical or monetary), they cast the male in the role of the provider, and - here is where it gets interesting - in the traditional role of the dominant - control is exerted by removing from the submissive the means to arrange and manage their environment.
However, there are feminine forms of chivalry, a feminine gendered romantic code and system running from the coquette through to The Rules. These ways of behaving are rarely termed "good manners" - an example of where male normative behaviour is codified as human normative behaviour - and are instead simply "flirting" or in cruder, unkinder language "prick teasing". I'm painting in very broad brushstrokes here but generally these patterns are designed to make the female appealing through emphasising softness, prettiness, weakness and reliance on the male in other words submission.
What is striking, is how these "rules" neatly dovetail into the chivalric code: the female withholds her favour (and her cunt) for as long as possible, allowing the male ample opportunity to flush his feathers (and his cash). The two sets of behaviours work with each other. Chivalry cannot happen unless the target is a coquette. You can't offer to pay for someone whose already put their card on the table and is raising an eyebrow at you. They are a power exchange that is enshrined and encouraged, in many respects by our society.
Slowly, painfully slowly, we are seeing an easing of the strict gendered nature of these romantic roles, and what do we get when we strip them bare? For a start, we can get some awkwardness. There is an internal clash of gender identities if rules "normally" ascribed to men are used by women, especially if someone has "pays for dinner" as an important part of their identity as male. Add on top of this standard British politeness rules and there's a lot of embarrassment to be had over the bill.
When we remove the gendered connotations and only look at the behaviours in terms of who is doing what to whom we get a reveal of the power exchange as a D/s dynamic. What is especially interesting, from discussions I have had with people, is that the same physical gesture can have totally different meanings. For some, if you pay for dinner you are dominant - and this would perhaps be the traditional reading of that action. However, for others, taking someone to dinner, arranging everything just so and then paying for it, is an act of submission - you have presented offerings.
Because I am kinky, I tend to see my dating patterns through the smoky coloured lenses of BDSM. This is sometimes complicated by the fact that I am a switch, so for me someone paying for the bill can be either dominant or submissive depending on my relationship to them. Equally, they could just be being nice. As a romantic and a feminist it's actually a lot easier for me to see the world like this (my problem is that other people don't), I would find it difficult if someone was buying me dinner simply because I was a woman and they, as a man, felt it expected of them, or worse, if they thought it was part of their due in order to fuck me. I tend to get around this by dating within kinky circles where I've usually fucked them before we've got to dinner (or at least played with them). Here, we can see how murky it can get, because clearly, once a D/s power exchange is established buying drinks and holding out chairs does become part of the sexual arrangement, ways in which submissives can be good or dominants can be powerful.
These sorts of actions are not as overt in the vanilla dating world, and so instead of dominant and submissive we have their poor, incorrect substitutes male and female. And that is the challenge for kinky feminists - to keep the excitement of D/s and shed the assumption of gender roles within that, leaving them as masks or toys for us to play with when we choose.
Naturally, I'm happy to discuss this further, either in the comments or over dinner. You're buying.
I had a rare opportunity on Friday night to top Spiral. She has always been, in my mind, a dominant. She told me that she just fancied trying out how it felt and I was certainly privileged to be the vehicle for those experiments. And also not a little nervous, partly because of performance anxieties and also because I knew that she would have ample opportunity in the future to get her own back. I had an email from her which briefly listed the things that she was and wasn't interested in, it was certainly more along the lines of bottoming than submission, psychological aspects like humiliation were on the no list, but sensation play - within certain parameters, was.
It was one of those times when I wanted to have more technical expertise to be able to deliver that physical sort of play. One of the challenges I had was in knowing exactly what to do, not only was this going to be the first time topping her, we were also using Captain's studio which meant that there was a wealth of choice in terms of kit and the difficulty lay in selecting what to use. I knew what she was like as a top, but I had no experience of how she would react as a bottom, so it was an experiment for both of us. There were also a few things on her no list - including asphyxiation and tight enclosure (such as hoods) which would have normally been my natural go-to kit to give a very dreamy, bottoming sensation.
I started with the kit I was most familiar with - rope and electricity. I got her to stand in front of me and slowly stripped her, moving her arms this way and that, then repositioning them on the top of her head when done with them. I needed to keep hold of her wrists to stop her from moving herself around. Once naked, I blindfolded her then laid her face down on a padded leather bench. I laced and over laced rope over her figure, in criss-crossed patches from her shoulder down to her ankles, pausing to avoid the view. I placed a couple of E-stim pads at the base of her bottom, and adjusted the power until I could see her twitch. I also inserted an attachment into her cunt, enjoying playing with her clit and the multiple piercings - the feel of them, hard and cool against the wet of her obvious pleasure and obvious moans made me smile.
I experimented with a few different bits of impact toys, taking time to check in with her as to which were working and which were not. I was intrigued by the fact that she enjoyed the harsher, stingier pieces, the same sort of ones that she liked using as a top. A number of softer toys soon littered the floor having being judged as "not really doing anything". Similarly, the violet wand, which I really enjoy myself was not the right tool for the job. I wasn't getting precisely frustrated, but I was feeling a little limited in what to do next, I wanted to deliver to her the same sort of pain / pleasure experience that she has done to me in the past.
At which point, Majeste arrived and the look on her face was priceless. I was somewhat relieved to be able to take a break, and let her take over for a while, and sharing the play was a pleasure. I could concentrate on the sharp, delicate sensations of pinwheels and dental tools over skin, followed with drips of wax from a height, until it was time to take a break. We sat together, all three of us, and Spiral in the middle wrapped in a blanket, discussing what worked and what didn't.
In retrospect, I think I was probably too gentle, having (foolishly perhaps) anticipated nerves or anxieties on her front and therefore going on a softly-softly route of slow play that focused more on controlled pleasure and only intermittent, light pain. It was the right choice for a first session, but it didn't deliver the intensity of reactions. I think that next time - assuming that there is one - something a lot more direct and aggressive might be the order of the day, to put her off balance and further out of her comfort zone.
A post that's been brewing for a while, and from the writing list. It's almost the time of year for mulling over and sorting through where I'm at, where I'm going next. But before that, the preamble. The point of this blog is for me to track, not exactly my progress because that implies that there is an end goal in mind, but certainly to record the journey I'm taking. I like being able to look back, with fresh eyes, on things I've done and to see how they have gotten me to where I am now, the trajectories that they have set me on.
Fetlife has a series of labels for how to describe your sexuality, and one of them is "in flux / evolving" I like that, the idea that sexuality, like personality I suppose. Who I am isn't fixed but changes as I learn and grow, most importantly, it changes with each new lover, new friend and new experience. Everyone I come into contact with teaches me something about myself, my kink and what I want from life - even if the experiences are bad or make me unhappy they are still worthwhile, if only because then I know what I don't want or need. It's also taught me to be less scared of new circumstances or of trying something different. There is a standing joke with Captain "what's the worst that could happen?" and it's true. Challenging decisions and situations seen through make you braver and stronger. In a small way, and without advocating any form of kink-as-therapy, the road I've taken over the years has made me better, to use a very subjective word.
Perhaps it's clearer to say that I have become the person I want to be, and a person I think my younger self would be proud, excited and perhaps a little intimidated by. In the same way, the I hope that the person I will become will look back on what I'm doing now and be happy with those experiences.
As a switch I know that my desire to be top or bottom (or to switch in and out) depends on the person I'm with - it's a sexual response rather than a built-in fixed state of being. Similarly, it alters with my mood, some days I feel more D than s. I had an interesting conversation with Spirit where she commented that she found it hard to get a read on me, on how she wanted to relate sexually to me, and that my androgyny was hot. All compliments, as far as I'm concerned. I used to worry that mutability was a sign of indecision, now I know that this in-between place is the area I want to inhabit. It's not a case of being one thing or the other, but of being both, neither, together or at different times.
Here's to the middle of the road. See you there.
Sometimes I like to have wry titles. Sometimes I like to come straight to the point. This one is about having sex with ice. Ice dildos to be precise, both the fucking and being fucked (turnabout is fair play and any pervert worth their salt should always be prepared to take what they dish out, in my opinion).
We'll start with a bit of scene setting. The place is Kinky Salon London, the crowd is a small number of folk, most of whom I don't know. This is unusual for me, and reflects the fact that KSL is not a play club as such - there was very little in the way of BDSM kit - the space was set up for public fucking. However, it didn't have the feel of a traditional swingers club, it was much more queer friendly and sexual openness and exploration (especially boy-on-boy) was heartily encouraged, a sentiment I can thoroughly applaud. There was also a certain standard of effort that had gone into the event which raised the bar in terms of how good everything looked and felt. People had obviously spent hours decorating the space and creating their costumes. Having a theme helped a lot, I suspect. It binds everyone together, like the fetish "uniform" we are able to slip on alter egos that give us permission to unwind and to play, to step outside of themselves, if only for a night.
Having brought along several ice dildos I was in the market to test them on someone, and had an immediate volunteer in the beautiful shape of Spirit, who was eager to try a new sensation. I was very taking with her practical approach to the whole encounter, which possibly reflects the fact that she is more at home with this kind of event than I am. I confessed to being a little perplexed at what to do once the cabaret had started and everyone was stood around chatting, holding their drinks, dressed in costume. I think that part of me was waiting for the screams of pain to start.The lack of preamble was exceptionally refreshing, the situation was treated without the standard bluster and paraphernalia of sexual encounters - it was something fun that we were going to do. Equally, there wasn't much in the way of negotiation. We knew each other, knew what we wanted to do. Sex without a d/s context and without the connection of a relationship beyond friendly feelings took on the guise of a joint experiment. Hand in hand we went upstairs, stripped, briefly discuss the need for lube and the best position to do this in (we decided that me-on-top would work).
The ice was melting a little, so it wasn't frosty so slipped in easily. Her reaction was superb, making me grin from ear to ear. She closed her eyes, moaned and gave little shrieks as I fucked for a while until she needed to take a break. I loved the feel of her body underneath mine - she's got superb muscles underneath soft skin and I'm taken with the idea that physically we might be of a match. She also has a certain way about her, a definite this is happening now firmness to how she moves and makes physical decisions with her body.
We took a moment to change positions so that she could fuck me - having heard her description of what the ice felt like inside I had to try it. It's certainly an odd sensation. The venue was quite warm, so the icicle had that pleasant sucking on an ice cube satisfaction, added to the enjoyment of feeling full and being fucked. Her arms on my shoulders and sharing the pleasure of the experience - we giggled a little as I gasped after the first shudder passed through me. A numbness crept through my cunt, which made it all feel somewhat disembodied, I could feel the movement inside me but I couldn't feel all of it. There was also a little pain, not much, but it had a similar quality to electric shocks - sensation without pressure. The real pain came afterwards, when we stopped and discarded the now very melted and much shrunk chunk of ice. Like fingers coming in from the frost an itchy, burning feeling invaded my cunt as the nerves sprung back to life with a vengeance. It was shocking, and also very intimate - a pain deep inside me that I couldn't do anything about.
Fortunately, I was able to counter this not only with the knowledge that she had experienced the same feelings, but we were able to lie down together, and swap notes on what we'd done and felt, which is an all too rare occurrence - usually it's one or the other. I was pleased (not entirely surprised) to find that we had a lot in common, particularly with regards to switching, BDSM and sexual gendered identities - something to explore and discuss in the future.
Remember the advert for Metz that did the rounds a few years back? Certainly more memorable than the drink itself, which I believe is some sort of alcopop dreadfulness that we imbibed in our pre-cocktail innocence. Before we understood proper drinks. Anyhow, the important point is the evil temptations of icy Fae which I took as a direct inspiration for my stage show at Kinky Salon. Each time I do a performance I feel as if I am constantly upping the ante, and also developing my own skills in whatever sort of live "art" it is that I'm doing - I suppose it's some sort of cabaret crossed with live sex and a bit of torture porn thrown in. That's how I'm going to describe it in future, at any rate.
This time I had an idea in my head but was somewhat uncertain as to the logistics of how to go about doing it. I wanted to do live boy-fucking with an icicle dildo whilst dressed as a Jack Frost drag king. So far, so normal. Stage one was relatively easy, recruit likely looking chap, in the form of Boy Wonder. Stage two involved making ice dildos, from which I learnt that water is not an ideal sculpting material, but that condoms and rubber bands will eventually produce something that will sit relatively happily - though quite cold against the pubis - in a strap on harness. The end products were quite thick, solid and somewhat, well, large. One rather overenthusiastic offering was greeted with a "hell no!" from Boy Wonder. The next thing to do was to actually practice. I had originally intended that we would perform anal fucking with the dildos but a combination of size, cold and time limitations meant this would be impossible - the show needed to be under five minutes and so with the scene setting plus various comedy chase sequences and efforts to convince the coy boy to accept an icy paramour. We settled on fellatio as a compromise, plus it would enable me to offer ice sucking to audience members.
I was actually rather nervous come the time to perform, partly because this was my first outing as a top for a stage show, previously I'd been the bottom which meant that once the actual activity started mostly I just had to scream the house down and try not to kick Ringmaster in the head as I struggled. This time I was controlling what was happening when and it was a show I'd devised myself, so I felt both more responsible for the performance and more concerned about what could go wrong (usual performers nerves including "what if the audience just stare blankly at me like I'm a weirdo?"). My nerves were compounded by the fact that my show was sandwiched inbetween actual cabaret performers of some note and talent. Between Dusty Limits and Rex Denial there was no space for my usual complaint that all scene performances are either rubbish or boring or both - the thing, alongside my exhibitionist urges, that led me to start performing myself.
Once lined up and ready to go on stage, wearing mostly clingfilm, silver body paint and fetching elf ears, my nerves vanished. The crowd was friendly, supportive and grinning from ear to ear following a lovely introduction by the delicious Polly Pandemonium, founder of KSL. They got into the swing of things, probably because of the pantomime nature of what I was doing, and there were plenty of volunteers to suck my icicle and lots of applause and laughter once the retro stylings of Vanilla Ice followed on from my liberal applications of fairy glitter.
I was really happy with the reception, and am going to spend 2011 looking for more performance opportunities, so do drop me a line if you have any suggestions.
A quieter week, following on the heels of a lovely rope and wine evening that consisted of wine and lots of people huddled in cuddle puddles on sheepskin rugs. I think the weather made us feel more in need of warm, human bodies than anything else. Chiaroscuro and I did bring along our kigu outfits which made us even more huggable, and cause Ringmaster to look on aghast as we demanded Shibari. Probably not an authentic traditional experience but a worthwhile exploration of otaku culture and also lots of silly, giggling fun. This tangentially led on to a conversation about "eastern" versus "western" Shibari - the former placing emphasis on passive, receiving rope bottoms and the latter involving more ties that revolve around restraint and struggle. We wondered whether this was a cultural thing - certainly it would be a very British trope to only feel able to let go and enjoy being tied up in situations where one was forced to do so, or could not escape.
Eventually, after being chased around Benny Hill style, he overcame his disgust and used ties that were appropriate to the animals we were dressed up as - emphasising the limbs of the long legged giraffe and the traditional pose of a growling bear. He will probably start talking to me again around 2019.
I don't think it's a kink in the sense that being a furry is. I don't feel sexual or sexualised (I really, really don't want to have sex whilst wearing one), but I do feel happy and amused. All of which are good and positive things. After a shopping trip the next day in which other perverts bought kigu the general consensus was that they do create a different persona for you to inhabit. Certainly I was me, but I was me with the knowledge that I could be silly. Part of me thinks that this sort of dress-up and lets pretend teeters on the edges of The Doll Project and of aspects of animal play.
Except, not quite.
Dolls are, by my own definition at least, for sexual use or abuse. And animals tend towards the dangerous and somewhat cruel, rough things in need of taking and taming. These toys are different. Remember when you were young and you built a den, perhaps using blankets and old clothes horses? You hid in it, maybe with a torch and were safe in your own secret world where everything was soft and comforting. They are like that. I got the giggles a lot and romped around.
We discussed how clothing affects how you are perceived, and whether we could all get kitted up in our plushie jumpsuits attend a BDSM event and engage in some extreme edge play. I think that there would be a certain element of point scoring involved in this - which isn't to say that it shouldn't be done, although it's fair to say that some people will get upset and think we are taking the piss. Which in one sense, we would be. However, far too much kink is taken far too seriously and far too much labelling is done via whatever someone is wearing.
Plus if you can dominate someone whilst wearing a giant panda costume, you can pretty much do anything. And it would be marvellously creepy.
For the past week or so I've been getting the very odd (for me) desire to fuck complete strangers. Not in the sense that I have seen a particularly attractive person and wanted to bag and tag them, but rather faceless, anonymous, "don't speak" encounters where they leave before it gets light allowing you to have breakfast in peace.
I've never really had these kinds of interactions before so I'm uncertain whether the reality will live up to the fantasy. Those faceless forms that are the basis of masturbatory image flashes are perfect because they are not real. Real people are complicated, messy, contradictory and have their own baggage of needs and wants. The bodies in my head are none of those things - they belong in their entirety to me and act only according to my whims.
Talking to a friend over dinner last night and he explained the joys of one night stands - of being able to take what you want, moving to the extremes of physicality, humiliation and shame and wiping the slate clean in the morning. He's (mostly) vanilla, so I can see how he might want to separate those practices, or only indulge with people he's not interested in forming a long-term bond with. For me, it's obviously different. I've always thought that I couldn't really engage in BDSM with someone who I didn't know at least well enough to have a proper sit down chat with. I suppose I need the comfort that a few email exchanges and personal knowledge brings, certainly if I'm the bottom / submissive in the scenario.
I've recently found my experience of being dominant compromised. I was let down and that has put a bit of a dent in my willingness to interact in any meaningful D/s way with people within my friendship circle. I'm finding that amongst the people I know and care about, I want to keep certain boundaries, recently the idea of sharing a bed with someone else was something my subconscious balked at. I suppose part of it is that don't want to mess up any more friendships by adding anything other than casual club and party play into the mix. I absolutely enjoy doing both those things, however they don't give me everything I need right now. They tend to be less intimate and less sexual (the two generally go hand in hand for me), which means, ultimately, no fucking. And I need fucking. If I don't have regular sex I get grumpy. I'm grumpy now, for example.
My current train of thought is that perhaps this new desire, combined with my generally toppy mood is a signal that more transactional and less in-depth sexual play goes hand-in-hand with my exploration of dominance. I'm also getting a lot more superficial about my requirements from a partner, which is admittedly hard given I was quite superficial in the first place. What I need to do now is to find ways of satisfying and interrogating this desire - I'm certainly hoping that putting-it-about-a-bit at Kinky Salon will scratch the itch. I also think that having assignations which are primarily for the purpose of BDSM outwith my circle of acquaintances will be a good thing for me. I am writing the words "no strings attached" on messages a lot these days, let's see how that goes.
Chiaroscuro gets the mask out of his bag and puts it in my hands. It's a puppy mask made of rubber, very dark grey and quite thick, smelling strongly of latex. Unlike other masks I played with, and generally I do love playing with masks, this one has a realistic face - it's a doggy face, a kind of Labrador cross with a bulldog face. It's well made and and the mould has been shaped so that the protruding mouth and nose offers a very dog like expression. He inclines his head down a little so his face is in the mask, I put a hand on his neck and zip the mask closed. He kneels. Paws go on and are buckled in place, then finally a collar to complete the picture.
The transformation is quite startling, his physicality alters immediately, becoming looser around the shoulders and arms. His strength held in the back and thighs with a centre of gravity that is now much lower and powered from the hips. He launches himself forward with great speed and exuberance after objects thrown into the crowd. He is delightful. There's a mix of giggles and some cries of annoyance and I find myself heading after the puppy to detach him from people's legs. This is a different type of dog to the others, I'm learning that all puppies are very unique. The negotiation document was useful, but nothing compares to actually seeing it in practice. This one is playful, energetic and easily distracted. An actual puppy as opposed to a grown dog. And he's off again...
The mask is causing me some problems, however. I'm used to masks that erode the face completely - either a smooth veneer of latex or some other abstract, obviously fake pattern without expression. Onto those blank slates one can paint whatever attitude you like, or, as I quite like to do, just let them be neutral, absent, inhuman and servile machines or dolls. With the knowledge that a real face sits beneath, in pleasure or in pain or both at once. But it can't be seen. Only heard. Here, there is a fake face, one that is very expressive - a realistic and bouncy, pleasing dog face. It looks happy, although also just a little dim. It's real enough to make me react to it, to view the dog face as the actual face, although of course I know it isn't, and makes it very strange to watch. A few people in the room find it decidedly eerie, perhaps in a similar way to how some people can react to the doll suit. It has a certain unheimlich quality to it - that sense of the familiar being made strange or inaccessible. Like toys that speak or everyday items suddenly doing something they should not.
I'm doing a double take throughout. Parallel processing the dog-with-a-face and the boy-in-the-dog and trying to look after both. It's quite a challenge and I find myself at times a little confused as to what to do because it's an explicitly non-sexual scenario which is very interesting and not a type of play I often engage in, although find myself doing more and more as I explore specific kinks and activities. I absolutely don't want to fuck the dog, and even less be fucked by the dog, because that would be bestiality - and that would be "wrong". This is a puppy. You just don't do that to puppies. Something that needs looking after, caring for, playing with, owning and training. But an asexual thing. Similarly, the feelings I get from the dog do not make me feel sexual - I feel wanted, important and powerful but I don't feel desired in that way - and neither do I want to be.
Perhaps the face has something to do with that - making it much more animal than boy-pretending-to-be-an-animal. Or forced to behave like one, which would be a sexual experience. I'm learning as I go (aren't we all?) but each new partner shows me just how context influenced, specific and individual - and frankly, damn changeable and plain whimsical - my tastes can be. Over the past few months I've learnt how D/s can be a non-sexual thing and still be exciting. Perhaps this is the one of the key differences between my dominant and submissive desires - I certainly prioritise and need a lot of sexual attention from my partner as a submissive, but as a dominant, less so. Perhaps because the control, manage and withholding of the sexual needs of others requires an attitude of being the stronger party - the one who doesn't "need", because they can simply take as and when. Which means I can luxuriate in knowing it's always there as opposed to hoping for the crumbs as and when they fall. Or dog biscuits.
Friday was surprisingly busy for me - I thought that I would just spend a couple of hours in the company of The Ladies Who... then return home, however once needles had gone in and out, I remembered why I always pack my Just In Case and got changed into something a little less comfortable to go to the Camden Munch. By the time we arrived it had already turned from a munch and was well on the way to being a party - a number of submissives were tied together in some sort of competitive bondage conga line and drinks were flowing freely. I spent a very happy hour or so saying "hello" to people including Captain who was one of the event organisers, before spying a rather good looking chap amidst the rope pile and was feeling decidedly "want-take-have". Rossetti and I had been discussing only recently the need for more men on the scene, and this seemed as good a time as any to take an active role in making that happen. So, feeling only a bit predatory, and rather buoyed up by that feeling I took him under my wing and back to the after-party.
I like showing people around the scene - there's something about introducing them to something new, something that they had perhaps hoped for. It's also good to be able to see everything through someone else's eyes and Blondie's enthusiasm was catching, he had a grin from ear to ear. When people smile in the presence of so much rubber, leather, buckles and metal there's really only one thing to do and that's to put your arms around them from behind and press against the back of their knees until they fall to the ground. It's only polite, after all?
A part of me was a bit surprised at what I did - I'm normally a lot more patient and pre-planned, but it seemed like an opportunity had presented itself to me and that it would be silly to pass it up. And I quietly whispered in his ear to tap his hand twice if there were any problems - I always like that moment, like telling someone to hold on tight because it's going to be a bumpy ride, the signal that things are going to happen. And that they might not like them.
As it turns out I was very gentle - the crowd present plus the fact that I did not know him or his body meant that I went slow and easy. Something fun. Which meant collar, ball gag, public stripping and a bit of light teasing and pinching. I like using my hands, to get the feel of someone else's skin and flesh beneath my fingertips. You get all the twitches, fits and starts that way, plus you can hear their moans through their chest so it doesn't matter how loud the music is. It's funny how my mind splits into two directions during the early stages of play - one side is concerned and a little hand wringing "oooh, careful, he made a little squeak, watch out, is that part of him going pink?" and the other part (a much bigger part) is giggling and clapping its hands whilst going "again! again! again!" I like to think that I am a cool, unruffled and terribly serious dominant but may have to accept that I am actually more of an evil, gleeful child. Still, it's called play for a reason, no?
I smiled (smirked) to myself as I discovered his very sensitive chest area: it's always a good sign when someone closes their eyes in that slow-lidded blissed-out way. I could feel his cock go hard against the light tapping of my fingers and mentally filed him under possibly CBT candidate - certainly he'd seemed keen to try a number of activities - and enjoyed the vibrations from his muffled moan as I kissed his lips around the ball gag, liking withholding as much as I liked what I was taking. And looking forward to taking some more.
Needles are a rare luxury for me, and needles with Empress even more so. She is, as I was enthusing (slightly wobbly voiced and wobbly knee-d) later on exceptionally good at it, not simply the technical ability but the entire experience which captures her enthusiasm for the art and for you as a subject of her skill.
"I'll just strap you down, for safety" I can hear the grin in her voice and it makes me grin too - one thing about a Ladies Who... meet up is that there's a great balance of intense play with a very light-hearted attitude underlying it. Fear and tension are created, yes, but also dispelled and expurgated. Plus there's cake, and often champagne which tends to soothe mostly everyone. I only had a glass and a bit though after being reminded of the need to not pour blood all over the floor.
She puts me on the bench and ties me down after I've stripped down to my pants. I relax into the soft leather covered pads and let my arms rest loose against the metal bars beneath. I close my eyes and listen to the ritual rustling of plastic gloves, alcohol wipes being torn from packages. The liquid is cold on my bare back and makes me gasp a little, which then becomes a nervous giggle. It's been a while since I've played with needles - a long while. I know that they hurt. I know that I like them. I can't remember what the balance feels like. I breathe out and try not to clench my muscles.
The first one goes in... Then out. That's when they hurt. A bright, light pain that makes me wince for less than a second before sparks and flashes appear behind my eyelids and the high kicks in. I don't know where it comes from, it's like the world disappears from beneath me and I am floating where once I was lying in a room. Everything is buzzing. My breathing slows and I become very conscious of my skin and my presence within it: the blood just under the surface. I am a space, warm, wide and deep. It's a little like the moment just upon waking, when everything is calm and numb and not quite present within the real world.
More needles. Sharp and hard when they puncture the skin on entry and departure, like the briefest, cruelest kisses. Once there, lodged like lovers under the epidermis they are snug and lively. The feeling is similar to electric pads from an E-stim unit - an ongoing sensation that has no physical force behind it. The closest and best analogy is the shiver that runs through your body when you take an Ecstasy pill, that increased awareness and sensation, the hot/cold wash of reaction that is the first flushes of a body in mild shock.
There are noises in the background. Voices talking. Someone is screaming. It provokes little response in me, as if heard from the bottom of a well. Murmurs and moans. I can see the floor when I open my eyes but I'm not really looking, not really taking it in. I am being taken in, instead, falling freely into the blank space of spreading, dreamy sensation. And it is very dreamlike, both at the time and afterwards. I tried to describe the experience at a munch the following day and I suspect the questioner found my free-associating a little vague and disconcerting, but it's impossible to be precise. Now, a few days later I'm stuck in the usual place of not really being able to remember it, although the marks are still there, thin red lines over my shoulder blades. Fine razor slices. When I touch them I can almost call to mind the wicked pleasure they are a memorial to - but only just, like a wil o' the wisp it is beyond my reach.
I'm a little rushed off my feet at the moment, so you will have to forgive the drive-by posting. I imagine there will be rather a lot to write about in the next few weeks, mostly because of all the activity keeping me away from the keyboard.
The Ladies Who are meeting up this Friday, after many long, drawn out diary planning sessions. We're convening at Captain's studio which will then probably turn into a party, after party and after-after party - I'm already trying to work out how many outfits that entails and whether I should just drag it up in boy-issue black combats and vest top. Opportunities to show off my arms should give me the incentive I need to keep going to the gym - it's been hard work getting out of bed for the past two weeks - more because of the dark weather. I'm currently in the middle of puppy negotiations with Chiaroscuro for a night out at Club Rub's timely animal play party on Saturday, so do stop and say "hello" if you spot us.
Finally, I am very happy to be part of the Peer Rope London team, hosting the first event under slightly revised management this Sunday. It's interesting being recruited to an event because of my experience in being tied up rather than the reverse (given about half an hour and some guidance it's possible I can tie a granny knot). I think that sort of attitude speaks volumes about the PRL ethos: informal, friendly, mixed abilities and plenty to experience and learn for those on both sides of the knots. And for those who like to mix it up a little...
"We have to talk." A serious tone from Dandy, sat on the end of the bed, beckoning for me to sit with him.
Well that's the end of that then. Because no-one begins a conversation with those four words and ever intends anything other than having to let someone down, no matter how gently. Precursors of bad news just as going for a coffee means remembering to buy condoms on your way there. We talked anyway, because that's just what you do, as if the reasoning behind the decision is in someway going to make anything any better, on either side of the break. Ultimately, when one person decides they don't want to carry on, there's not a lot of point in saying "stay". As it happens, he stayed the night, and we fucked and I had a dog for one more day which was more than my due, but come the morning the decision was still the same. The details aren't important, the result is what matters. And the result is that I don't have him any more.
I feel angry and disappointed, much more so than upset. Possibly because the coldly rational part of my brain (small, but nevertheless there) was prepared for this eventuality following the last time this happened. I suppose that knowing what I did about how he felt for someone else, I didn't trust him enough to let my nascent feelings develop into anything more than a strong sense of possession. But within that possession there were many other things besides. I enjoyed his company, he made me happy, and proud. We held hands, lapped up joint compliments - oh yes we looked good together and didn't we just know it? I liked having messages each day, of little things of no consequence, but reminders all the same. A kiss upon waking and going to sleep. Missing him and being missed in return. Being part of something, meaning something to someone, in whatever small way.
I'm disappointed that it ended, though not surprised. I'd be lying if I said that I expected this to happen - I wouldn't have agreed to the D/s set up if I thought it was doomed to fail, and certainly I hoped that with time his feelings for her would diminish and he would come into himself again. I still do, because with or without me he's got that to deal with. And I've been in that place where the unrequited, unfulfilled emotions you have for someone you can't have cause you to do harm to those that do want to come near. It's not a nice place and it makes you ugly and difficult. I don't envy him. I'm not without sympathy, but I'm also not without self-awareness so right now I'm staying clear. Especially because I am angry.
I'm angry at him for making what I (naturally) consider to be the wrong decision. I consider the situation as manifestly unfair. It's a quiet anger, reduced from yesterday where I was sorely missing something to punch. Part is frustration at having got so far and then be denied just when things seemed to be going so well. Part is the knee-jerk growl at having that which is mine taken away. Most of it is a kind of "oh, for fuck's sake" exasperation. My hands thrown up in the air as I stalk back to the drawing board, back to the dating sites and back to the list of what I want.
The interesting thing is what I'm not feeling. I'm fed up but not upset, I haven't cried and I certainly don't blame myself because I'm damn sure I didn't put a foot wrong and that if anyone is at fault, it is not me. I had a lot of fun and I'm sad that it ended, but I have no regrets. I absolutely would have made the same decision again if I went back in time and was faced with the question of whether the take him back for the second time. Not a third time though. It was a great ride, but I'm done with that merry-go-round.
A conversation on my twitter stream got me to think about crying, kink and gendered attitudes to emotional release. Bear with me, it will all merge together seamlessly. Crying - and I mean genuine, gut-wrenching bent over uncontrollable snotty sobbing rather than a few Virgin Mary dew drops on the cheek - is an astonishing outpouring of human emotion and a very challenging thing to watch and to participate in, especially if you are kinky.
Even if you are not, it is a strange sensation, a rarity to see someone cry in public for example, except on cases of obvious exception such as a funeral - in which case the oddity is not crying. Social expectations, perhaps in particular British social expectations mean that the physical breakdown and loss of control shown through crying can make us feel very uncomfortable. We know that someone is unhappy, so unhappy that they are unable to mask that feeling in accordance with the weight of social convention. We empathise with them, and perhaps our heart gives a little pang as it reaches out to them, but at the same time we feel a barrier, we may even feel awkward around them, possibly needing to move away. They have passed over a certain point, we have not.
Dacryphilia, to give it the full name is a complicated beastie, as hinted in the wiki link.Tears, especially a man's tears, are rare, hard and beautiful like diamonds. More so than anger, which is the more generally conditioned male response and certainly the most socially acceptable. One could argue that men are taught to get angry and women are taught to cry, certainly I have been around many more crying women than men and the few men who have cried in my presence have been long term partners after a serious emotional incident.
I love tears. Both crying and the idea of making someone cry. Tears evoke exactly the sort of push/pull response that is the foundation of my own power exchange and D/s. They are a release that gives intense relief after something pent up has been let go - in a very similar way to pain play or to orgasm, an ideal scenario (for me at any rate) would involve all three. It hits all of my buttons. The physical manifestation of an emotional and psychological overload: the mixture of shame, sexual flush, fear and desire. I find tears fascinating. I don't cry often in the presence of others - like many I view breaking down in tears as having "lost" and I have yet to force anyone else to the point of tears. But I want to.
At the moment I can only imagine what it might be like to be the dominant in such a scenario - I have been on the other side of the equation so I understand the level of submission and emotional reliance that this can entail, and therefore the duty of care and responsibility that kind of crying it would bring, would mean. Equally I know that, like orgasm, the release can be very context specific. I have cried as a bottom and it has been a pleasure to cry and to experience the joy of doing so. And finally, I have cried simply for the sorrow and loss of the end of a D/s relationship that was very special and important to me - one that I thought would be forever. I literally sat down and wept every single day for a couple of weeks, I am certain that I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. But each day I cried a little less, and like the washing out of shore by the tides it cleansed something inside of me.
I want to kiss the tears that I have created off the glistening cheeks of my lover as I wrap my arms around them and let them sob their heart out, comforting and protecting them. The need to cry is in some respects like the need for orgasm, and to be the person who can inspire and fulfill both those needs must be a heady sensation indeed. It's one thing to bring someone to orgasm - even going via a humiliating or challenging route, quite another to make them do so through a mist tears. To take them through that barrier of social constraint, to the next level of trust and opening up, to mingle hurt with pleasure with loss of bodily control. To know, and yet not quite know, because the inside of other people's heads and hearts are still a wonderful mystery, that their tears are like yours in part but belong to you in whole.
The lovely Chiaroscuro sent me this link on puppy play and negotiations. We met for a coffee a few weeks back to discuss all things boy-shaped-yet-also-canine. It is to my detriment that I have yet to set a date to actually play with him, my diary is descending once more into chaos and for certain people, such as The Ladies Who... for example it has been almost six months since I last met for more than a drink and a wink across the bar. But, my own planning aside, it's time to seriously consider the puppy and what he is made of beyond the fact that they are fun and make me smile.
The term of address "puppy" is a charming condescension - full of warmth and acceptance of foibles and foolishness, demeaning but not cruel or unkind. The puppy is not a person, but unlike other dehumanising power exchanges this isn't necessarily a bad thing, certainly not when puppy play is desired from the submissive (I can imagine that it would be a key tool in humiliation scenes if someone found it embarrassing to be turned into an animal). For the moment I'll discuss my play with Dandy who wants to be a puppy, who find it a comfortable, pleasant and safe space to be in.
There's two main areas of discussion, the first is how I view him in relation to myself and the second is the activities we partake in (and my thoughts on future activities). More than a puppy, I think of him as my dog. The age is relevant and has a knock-on effect on the sort of training and situations that work well. He's a smart dog, well groomed, honed and completely house trained. He is also a strong animal, loyal and with well developed protective instincts. In my mind he is an Alsatian, perhaps a police dog, muscular, a little aggressive and able to rip the throat out of anyone who upsets me. I've probably been watching too much True Blood (is there such a thing?) but I'm also thinking Werewolf - I absolutely derive a thrill from submission by those physically stronger and more powerful than me, whose power I can either turn against them or use to do my bidding. I think he sees himself more of a Labrador, but we're both working within a tolerable range of dog-types.
For myself, I am certainly his owner, and probably his trainer, though he is quite well behaved and his own desire to please means that I don't require much in the way of choke leads or rolled up newspaper - just as well as that sort of thing done too often would become quite tiresome I imagine - "forced" submission is not high on my list of things I enjoy.
Our play has generally more puppy-flavoured than being pure bred animal only play. We don't use a lot of kit or do much in the way of puppy dress up. There is a butt plug with a lovely wolfish tail that I like to use on him when I can - the physical shape and pressure it creates is a sign of my ownership - I can stroke and play with it and he'll feel the vibrations. On one rather memorable moment he started to whimper because I was leaning on his tail. Also, it just looks damn hot against his naked bottom. Hoods are a bit of a difficulty, which is unfortunate because I quite like them, so I'm considering some sort of muzzle that isn't as enclosing but creates the right shape. Similarly, paws.
In terms of how the dog looks he will be mostly naked and always on all fours - we do a lot of work on posture - how he holds himself, sits etc and I tend to move him around by placing a hand on the scruff of his neck. He will waggle his bottom when happy and licks my face when excited. He even has certain puppyish characteristics when not strictly in role. He will happily sit at my feet, makes tiny growls of pleasure if his neck is scratched and says "ruff" every now and then - the frequency of his doing these things is often a good indication of how submissive he is feeling.
Play involves a lot of stroking, general fuss and just having him around as a dog - it's quite light because he's well behaved and doesn't require much punishment plus even I find it a challenge to be cruel to a dog for no reason. Even giving him a wash in the shower on all fours or grooming with an epilator caused a lot of unhappy looks and whimpers that made me feel mean, and not in a good way. I generally stick to light taps around the cock and balls area when I feel like delivering something harder. I'm quite keep to employ electricity in future sessions, but the violet wand seems like the wrong tool - remote control pads would be better. I also want to do some more longer term play where he's in dog mode for an entire evening, and then perhaps take him out to a club or to do some socialising classes with other dogs.
An aide-memoir, more than anything else. Today I posted on my Twitter feed asking for suggestions for future posts that you might like to read - not that I have writer's block or anything, just attempting to provide a bit of customer satisfaction. So, over the next couple of months, in amongst my own offerings I shall be writing about:
- Girls
- Kit and clothing
- "Vanilla" life and its influence on my kinks
- What I want to do - an updated list of demands, from my now very outdated list.
- Words and power
- Switching and power exchange - how it works
- My kink and my relationships
Feel free to add to this list in the comments.
And happy reading...
"Do you want to just lie back and let me please you?"
Yes. Yes I do. Being dominant doesn't mean being on top and active at all times. Leastways, mine doesn't. I like attention too and the general sense of being looked after. Sometimes I want to take charge and throw someone around, tie them up and watch them squirm, sometimes I want to dabble my fingers into their brains without lifting a finger, right now I want to relax and let my body be the centre of his world.
Watching Dandy kneeling on the floor, carefully removing my skirt and underwear (the stripey knee-high socks stay on, of course) and placing his hands on either side of my hips before he presses his tongue lightly against my clit. It's a view I don't think I'll get tired of any time soon. Cunnilingus is a pleasure quite unlike any other form of stimulation. The combination of delicate pressure, together with the submission inherent in the action, creates a heady mix of psychological and physical pleasure. I need the two in order for it to work - the sensation alone is rarely enough, but the context makes for an explosive orgasm. The orgasms themselves are longer, wetter and more powerful than those achieved by masturbation. They are also harder to attain, take longer and can be more unpredictable. It's around fifty-fifty whether I will come or not or whether I will just get too sensitive to take any more.
Start with the physical. First, and rather obviously, I don't have to do anything. I can just make myself comfortable and enjoy the sensations. It's a blissful feeling, the wetness against wetness. It needs to be exquisitely delicate, barely a brush or whisper of the tongue and the lips, and consistency is also important: my orgasms are fickle and require a regularity that I can rely upon to carry me over the edge. I know that it's working when my head clears, and I find myself held in a blank, warm state, floating against his tongue. After a while, my feet and hands start to tingle with pins and needles, my fingers flex and I know that soon I will orgasm. There is a thrill that runs through me, from the warmth in my cunt and up right to the top of my head. Full of the knowledge that this is my boy, my toy and my object of desire serving me.
For me, receiving head is a dominant act and though I've heard others argue the contrary, from the Romans onwards through to Majeste who speaks of "tasting what is hers" there is a theory of giving oral sex as an active, thereby dominant role. However, there's not really much altering of my internal logic on this front. I find it impossible to enjoy oral sex in the submissive or bottom position, it feels strange, awkward. However, as a dominant I find it is perfect. The cutting out of the submissive's ability to speak, the knelt position, face obscured, the fact that unlike fucking, there is no comparable reciprocal sensation here, all make me feel extremely powerful.
He is serving my desires without taking a similar level of pleasure and that also makes me feel very dominant. However, the important thing is that he must enjoy doing it. This is not something I would be at all comfortable taking or really forcing on someone. There are many unpleasant acts that I would happily and with an evil grin put him through merely to keep me amused but anything to do with my body must be something he is not only willing but keen to the point of desperate. I imagine him begging to do it, crawling on all fours. Or as part of a daily routine, a wake-up call or goodnight kiss. Oral sex is like a compliment paid through the mouth. The value he assigns to my body is reflective of the value he assigns to me and hence to my superior position in the power exchange. And frankly, if your submissive doesn't get excited by serving the sexual needs of your body then there is something sadly wrong.
The other, final, element that turns me on is my own comparable passivity in the situation. I am not exerting myself, he is making all the effort - he laps: I lap up the pleasure. Perfect.
Another day, another search for the mot juste. I'm still in want of a title and this time the request is from Dandy. Given the wealth of names I've covered him with - boy, puppy, slave, toy, bitch, slut - it's a bit of a sticking point that I can't find one to fit me.
Recently, I've been thinking about the word "Lady". I can't help but snigger when I say it. I shouldn't, but I do. It's the way the word rolls off the tongue with a fruity comedic tone laaady straight out of Little Britain. Images of corny Disney films spring to mind, as does the Covent Garden institution and quaint publication The Lady.All fancy and fusty and formal and other F words. We have a standing joke amongst my feminist friends - lady business which can mean anything from serious political commentary on women's issues, needing to go and buy tampons and everything in between. But the joke covers something up, as a lot of humour tends to do. That the word is a little lost to me, a form of "being feminine" that I am no longer connected to nor feel able to easily adopt.
We no longer live in a world of ladies and gentlemen, except for signage on toilet doors and announcements in foyers or on trains. Part of me feels a little whimsical over this,
There is an attraction in the word and also in the idea. I can't quite see the attraction in those Eliza Doolittle programmes that attempt to fake status, but admire the genuine possession and self possession of truly being a lady. Actually having hauteur, privilege, nobility and raised status rather than being taught the difference between a serviette and a napkin. D/s aims for the former, naturally - the power exchange is real and belle dame sans merci is absolutely a trope I can fit into my dominance, as is the aspect of the Queen. Although never Goddess. I don't especially want to mingle sex and religion, except to upset dinner parties. Lady suits well enough, but not quite enough for me to feel entirely comfortable in it at all times. Maybe there's something in being a switch, but certainly I am very comfortable in my ownership and control of Dandy - to the point of being a little smug at times.
I have an instinctive rebellion against the traditional requirements of being ladylike. Probably more to do with ideas over what a person should and shouldn't be like and a hatred of not being allowed to do what I wanted to do in the outfits I wanted to do it in because I am female and therefore must behave in such-and-such a manner. I was fortunate in my upbringing in that my parents taught good manner irrespective of gender but well-meaning other relatives certainly had views. There is a requirement for good behaviour from a lady, for politeness and for genteel manners and mannerisms which doesn't exactly allow for down and dirty behaviour. On the other hand some parts of my dominance sit very well with being a lady - I enjoy courtly showings of respect, my chair pulled out and doors held open, politeness from my subjects and control exerted with the flick of a wrist rather than the (frankly boring) "forced" submission.
There is another issue - that of my own gender identity. I believe that femininity, like masculinity, is less like black and white and more like colours of grey on a spectrum. Some days I feel more masculine than others, some days more feminine. And I think that lady is absolutely a feminine word. I don't want to site myself within femdom, but rather simply dominance.
But like gender, lady too has a range - there's Lady Di and Lady Gaga for a start, both absolutely feminine, but both very different. Furthermore the famous Ladyboys of Bankok amongst many other boys in dresses, drag performers and gender impersonators manage to be ultra feminine without a jot of genetic womanhood between them. Can one be a lady without the sequins or the eyeliner? With a wry smile I must admit there is something fetching and a bit perverse about being sincerely and submissively addressed as "lady" whilst wearing heavy boots and combat trousers. Be a lady and a bastard at the same time. Worth a try. It's a word that's worth reclaiming in all its glory. To escape from the dreadful realms of words like "ladygarden" (I have an ongoing hatred for cutesy words for cunt) and thoughts of Austen-like formality and being seen not heard. Like "gay", still used as a form of abuse, lady can be used to diminish or put down - "little lady" or to force behaviours on women in the name of social conceits of femininity. Time to take it back and to acknowledge ownership of the pleasure and power in the word. To be a lady and to define what that means is absolutely a worthwhile thing to do. I'll keep the strength, the sovereignty and the links to womanhood (I might muck around with my gender but I certainly identify as female) throw out the requirement to always have pin curls, to mind my p's and q's and to bow to other people's expectations of what being ladylike means.
I couldn't resist sharing this link from one of my new favourite weblogs
D is for Doll
I've been wanting to fuck a boy with a strap-on for as long as I knew about boys and strap-ons. It's been a long time coming but I'm glad I waited for the right boy, the right moment and the right bit of kit. I remember telling Dandy that I wanted the first time to be "special" and I remember grinning as I said it, with images of coyly strewn roses and soft lighting. I liked the idea of taking him out for dinner, wining and dining him before taking him home and having my wicked way.
That wasn't how it eventually played out, it was more spur of the moment than that (perhaps I am becoming more spontaneous?) but perhaps surprise made up for lack of anticipation. The evening began with him working on his service techniques - massage, rimming, finger-related dalliances. The kind of attention where I can just lie back and enjoy myself, feeling pampered and cared for, exactly how I want to be treated. After a while I realised that I wasn't going to orgasm and got a little restless, so stripped him and placed him, hands on head, at the end of the bed for a brief inspection. I check him out. Long slow looks. No words, but amused smiles at the winces and twitches that come when I flick and press my fingers around his cock. Easy target.
I lead him onto the bed and start playing with his arse, it's a natural movement by now, to hold one arm around his shoulders and neck and the other inside him, feeling him squirm and open up to me. And moan, of course, those delicate little moans and whimpers that make me want to push him further and further, just to see how he'll react. After a while I get up and fetch the strap-on and a blindfold. Starting slow, as I promised in an email a long time ago: it's important to keep promises, whether they are nice or nasty. I used the dildo as an insertable first, to warm him up a little before attaching the straps. The dildo was already half inside him as I put the strap-on on, but once I'd gotten in place I pressed deep into him, watching his mouth open, his back arch up. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him. Actually felt him. Similar to girl-fucking, the strap-on was absolutely an extension of myself, a way of pushing into him and I got wet very quickly. But more than that, I got direct pleasure not just from his pleasure, the feelings I was giving to him but by the act of taking him, of owning him. Of making him mine.
As I fucked, he responded and did so in a way that was almost helpless, writhing beneath me and unable to articulate anything beyond curling fingers into the pillows, or gasp semi-coherent "thank yous". The gratitude added to the moment, as did knowing that the sensation which I could not feel but knew well enough from personal experience, had a certain intensity that was not-quite-pleasure. I moved him into a couple of different positions - flat down, on all fours, on his side and he complied just as one would expect from a toy. Each time he did so, it made me smile at his keen desire to be taken and used, at what he was offering up and the sensitivity of the experience. To hold someone tight whilst at the same time teetering on the edge of hurting them was very personally intense - I felt a deep, strong compassion for him and a desire to look after and protect him at the same time as make him break down and cry. Then dry his tears.
Then do it again.
Friday was a Rubber Party over at Captain's place. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and the noises on Twitter indicated that it was going to be a good one. I arrived with Babysham for the host, and a grin on my face as I was met by the smell of rubber. I wasn't disappointed. He'd set up a rubber room on the first floor, complete with rubber sheets for walls and padded, rubber cushions on the floor that made me grin with childish delight as I felt them under my bare feet. Like stepping on a warm sandy beach, except for perverts. I had Dandy under a couple of "going out" rules - he stands to my left but a little behind if I'm stood up, kneeling on my left if I'm sat down - and he was on good form as a bodyguard / butler / arm candy, fetching drinks and drawing admiring looks in a full length red rubber skirt. I like a good skirt on a man. I took part in a hitherto unknown fetish activity - eating Krispy Kreme donuts with full length black latex gloves and licking the icing off my rubber fingertips. Whilst being photographed. Ever the exhibitionist.
I saw a few people I haven't seen in ages, including Smart Set who I didn't get nearly enough time to chat with and got to watch a lot of pretty people in a lot of pretty rubber. And a rather adorable furry crocodile - the natural solution for someone who hates the feel of rubber but doesn't want to miss a party. Mr and Mrs Magpie were resplendent in thick rubber and over the knee waders. The earlier part of the night was spent catching up, chatting and admiring outfits, as well as lying down on the rubber flooring upstairs and breathing contented sighs of relief and pleasure. Fetish can become very normal, very quickly and I'm sure that what we were wearing and doing must have seemed very bizarre to outsiders but it just felt like a lot of good (wipe) clean fun.
Later on as conversation and flirtation became play and penetration I decided to locate the doll suit. It still remains on of my favourite pieces of kit for it's combination of creepiness, smooth perfection and fake plastic facelessness. I handed over responsibility for my well-being to Dandy for the next hour or so, one of the many strengths of a switch/switch relationship is the fact that I can still indulge in moments of bottoming and be well cared for.
It took a while, although not as long as last time, to get into it, and I did need the help of friends. I had a small pang of sadness as I finally placed its face over my own and became a doll once more - I had missed being this doll. This particular, made-to-measure one. Poised, posed and utterly toy-like. I realised that this would be only the third time I'd worn this, but all of the memories were still in the silky feel of the thin latex. And all the joyful, lustful absentia. It was a head-swimming experience, partly rendered through the fact that it's really hard to see properly in the suit, so it's easier just to shut your eyes and once you've done that all you can see in your mind's eye (if you can see anything at all above the mental and physical press of the latex, the instant seal and heat it delivers) is how you must look to others. But I could hear it.
There were noises of delight, questions over who was inside the suit, joyful exclamations of perfection, revulsion, fear and half-joking cries of safewords as I cocked my head robotically to one side. Everything began to blur into everything else as the touching began and at no point was I ever especially clear on who was doing what to me. I was awash with delirious sensation, dropping like a stone and becoming weak limbed, floppy as a rag doll. I was stroked, tweaked, penetrated and generally played with until I was lost to the world - like a balloon floating away anchored only by the faintest string of awareness. It took me a long time to come to, and when I did I was in the arms of Dandy and Mischief, giggling like an idiot in the deep, calm high of a post-rubber tryst. Happy.
Dandy and I are settling into something approaching a routine, which is an interesting process in and of itself being as he likes to be freewheeling and I am a creature of habit. However, I'm in charge and am enjoying creating rules that please me. We've done the basics which is exchanging emails on needs and wants, but I've been away from the internet for a while and a little harried by my day job so our meet ups have been much more adhoc than I would have liked. Plus I just haven't been able to put the thinking time into precisely what I want both of us to get out of this aside from a general agreement that it will be fun and pleasurable. That said, we seem to be muddling on fairly well and with a bit of luck and a good following wind I'll have the headspace to do some planning.
Thus far he is under orgasm control, which initially started as a time based rule and has now become a rewards system in which he gets a certain amount of minutes according to how long he spends in the gym or applying for the sort of jobs he wants. I like the fact that the control is geared around agreed points of (for want of a better word) "real life" improvements. Firstly, because it's nice seeing a genuine positive effect as it makes me feel as if my ownership of him is helping make his life better and secondly because these are activities that he does by himself, away from me and therefore this extends my reach over him. Finally, they are non-kinky things that aren't about him getting rewards for pleasing me: adherence to my desires is something that he should do as part of his submission, not because he gets orgasms from it.
I have a rough idea of how I want to take it forward. I'm very much enjoying being an owner, and whilst actual roles and titles are up for grabs (I still haven't got a good "dominant" handle that I feel comfortable wearing) he is, in his own words: my submissive, my boy, my toy, my dog and whatever else I want to call him. As we play, I learn more about him, his body and, most importantly, the way he thinks and feels. He lets me in. And I will shape him.
Sometimes I will naturally do things to him that I would enjoy myself, which has mixed results. Partly because I find that I don't enjoy delivering those things as a dominant, and partly because he doesn't enjoy them as a submissive. Although the natural kinky refrain is to state that his enjoyment stems from mine this is only true to an extent. Forcing him to do something he genuinely hates only has limited appeal - it's a threat and a punishment to be used sparingly. That which is actively unpleasant works because it's something he's doing just for me. More interesting are things that he feels conflicted about, the edges of pleasure/pain and want/not want. A lot of this is around areas of humiliation and debasement. He's very responsive physically and has a medium to low pain threshold which means I am playing more around "sensation" than "pain" - this is quite a good thing as I can find just delivering lots of thwacks rather boring and repetitive. That said, an experiment with e-stim kits last night proved that what I find painful and what he does are separated by rather a gulf which means that self-testing needs to be weighted with that in mind.
I'm finding myself intrigued by moments where I interesting seeing my own submissive behaviours reflected back at me. Like myself, he finds it hard to vocalise when in subspace, I can usually cajole a "yes" or a "no" but more often I will get barks and whimpers. Similarly, there's a definite desire on his part to lie back and be (ab)used. I actually find these situations quite a challenge, the blank empty canvas upon which to pour my requirements can be intimidating, but it's more than balanced out by the amount that I want to do take him. His face takes on a certain soft quality and his lips part just so, and I find myself full of conflicting desires to protect and to harm.
That said, there is still training to be done. He doesn't behave in quite the way that I want him to submit to me - in a way this is rather good as there wouldn't be any moulding for me to do otherwise. I'm setting some more D/s orientated rules that allow him to submit in the way he likes whilst giving me what I need. For example, before he is able to lie back and just be used like a dildo he's got to give me some attention, then put on a condom, then beg to be fucked. I can empathise with how he feels and a bit of my switch-y self wants those sensations and then there is the reminder of how much I enjoy those feelings which means I have a certain bar to reach in order to deliver them.
On Saturday night I took my drag king persona for his first proper public outing. I often dress in a "mannish" fashion, I suppose, but this was the full monty: strapped down breasts, strap on cock and an attitude to match.
The change is an important part of the process - I love dress up anyway, and I love the process of becoming something or someone else as well as the finished result. Hair was parted on the side and slicked down, face makeup was negligible - the sort of finish a male stage performer might use, though I did use liner to enhance and thicken my eyebrows. I decided against fake facial hair, because I wanted to keep a certain androgyny for that "is he isn't he?" feeling I find attractive. My shape wasn't going to make a strapping bully-boy, but a fey dapper young man was certainly something to go for. Tightly wound bandages kept my breasts down - that was a little painful at first but I got used to it and enjoyed the held in feeling, nothing was jiggling or exposed, everything was hidden and kept neat and tight. Then the strap-on and dildo, bought from the lovely ladies at Sh! after much discussion and trying on. The dildo was a jelly, so kind of suitable for packing, as long as I didn't mind having a somewhat obvious hard-on. I decided I didn't.
Over this went white Y fronts and a vest, which instantly hid my female body and revealed a male one, my shoulders and arms seemed more on show without the chest and curve of waist to the hip to distract the eye. It also changed how I was holding myself - partly getting used to the bulge under my legs, but I stood wider and more face-on. Then a white shirt, pinstripe trousers and matching waistcoat. Accessories were important, small but subtle. A gold signet ring that had belonged to my Grandfather, a hip flask full of brandy to offer cheeky sips to cheeky girls (and boys - my fella was bi, of course).
Once I had everything in place I felt masculine, in the same way that makeup and girly dresses make me feel feminine. I did, however, still feel like "me", and very much so, this wasn't a made-up character or an alter-ego so much as parts of me played up and other parts pushed down. I'm interested in what parts of how I dressed affected how I felt, and whether this was because of the clothes I had on, the minor changes I'd made to my physicality or if it was the role I had adopted. The role was a strong, confident male - a 1940s gangster, so that came with its own package of behaviours and attitudes. I also had the delectable Hedwig on my arm, dolled up to the nines as a classic moll.
Here I felt sexualised, and sexually attractive, probably because it was making me think about my body and my sexuality. I also felt strong and I lifted my head high, accepting compliments and funny looks alike with a wry smile. I do get that whenever I dress up - there's a confidence in making a statement through clothing, especially when the outfit is designed to draw attention, but there was something else going on. This persona was confident, in and of itself. I'm not sure whether this is because I thought myself masculine and link masculinity with confidence or whether it was more to do with the gangster attitude - other male personas I've experimented with have included hesitant teenage boy, for example, which was much "weaker" in feel than this one.
At the party, we played to the crowd. We were definitely "in role" and had invented a number of scenarios to go with our costume and behaviours. I smirked a lot, hands in pockets, leaning against walls. A bunch of flowers for the hostess. Arm around ladies, getting them to dance or giggle in a flustered fashion. Sneaky grabs at Dandy, who was my henchman - and secret "gay" lover - for the evening, and a full-on lover's tiff with Hedwig who was "paranoid" at my womanising (manising?) antics. We'd discussed this on the train, but not planned when or how it was to happen. When she slapped me in the face my reaction was instant - a cold shock ran through me and I grabbed her with no hesitation. We tussled briefly, then I pushed her to the floor, messing my hands over her face and demanding she apologised for embarrassing me in front of my friends.
For the lady's perspective - have a look here.
A boy, certainly. A pretty boy, definitely. A nice boy? No. But certainly a boy to play with again.
I have a standing joke with Knight of Wands that we (well, ourselves and the kinksters we know) all live in a TV show entitled Kinksville, possibly showing late on Channel 4 after repeats of Eurotrash. Before I'm about to tell him news of something that has happened to people we know, some drama or other incident I preface it with "and on this episode of Kinksville..."
This week has been a bit like that. Lots of ups and downs, sudden things flaring up, being resolved (or not). The sort of week that makes you feel that if you were a character in a show you might feel a little persecuted by the writers. House move and various real life activities have kept me away from the Internet and running low on reserves. Having finally admitted to myself that asking for a bit of human company is neither an imposition nor a surrender I dropped Dandy a line. We've been more "on" than "off" over the past week or so and I just needed to reach out. There was a rush of internal relief and gratitude when he responded quickly. We met for lunch, there was kissing, hand-holding and much desired hugs - then we went to the pub where Captain, Ringmaster, Rossetti and sundry others were gathered, including a new person who we rapidly inducted into our secret nerd society of wearing black, using funny words and spending all our money on outre pieces of equipment bought over the internet.
The combination of people who I knew, the solicitous and gorgeously puppyish behaviours of Dandy and a medicinal gin and tonic had me coming to myself very quickly. Which made me think - why didn't I do this sooner? To say "fuck it" to things that can't be fixed right now, to drop the pretence that I have to suffer in noble silence and just get out there and have a bit of fun. But sometimes I worry about reaching out, fearful that my desires will be rejected, or that I will feel foolish for acting on them. Kinksville can be a bit like that - full of trepidations and concerns that end up being unfounded when you actually get out there and do things.
And the things that we did. After a few drinks and the decision that a night at Torture Garden would probably be too much, we headed over to Captain's house for what could be coyly described as an "intimate play party" and more accurately described as a "bunch of kinky bastards messing around". I bought party rings. Drinks were made and eventually clothes came off and play began. Sybian, torture, abuse and a very silly hat were involved. Highlights for me included being able to do my first bit of public puppy play with Dandy - also that he trusted me enough to submit to me in public and then later ganging up on Boy Wonder with him. There was a nice balance to that threesome, which almost made me swear to never take another partner who wasn't a bisexual switch, the fact that we could all interact on a similar level. And of course, all nice girls like a bit of boy on boy.
We played until we were all tired out. By the end I was stood in the centre of the room watching sleepy, mostly naked perverts curled up around each other. Sharing a comment with Ringmaster about how happy and proud I was to be part of this fucked up little kinky family, before heading home with Dandy to collapse into bed and into his arms. Held together. I don't know what the future holds, but I'm glad for what I've got right now.
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