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The online diary of an ethical pervert.
On Tuesday night, whilst I was out, The Photographer left. He didn't "leave me", but he did leave me physically, without warning and under something of a cloud. I have not been dealing with it very well, to say the least. I'm bad with surprises, even nice ones, I don't like being unprepared.
He'd been staying with me over the summer and it has been wonderful to go to sleep (and sometimes even sleep...) with him, wake up with him, come home to him and generally have him as an ongoing part of my life rather than a sometime visitor. We've managed to become partners, more so than before, and whilst the 24/7 kink adventure I had been daydreaming about didn't entirely materialise, although we did get there once or twice and maybe more, I've loved it, and for it all to end like that was a terrible shock.
I'm trying to work out whether the BDSM has made it more difficult. Has him leaving in this fashion had an effect except in the fact that he is my main source of kinky activity? Certainly I don't feel particularly motivated to do anything kinky or sexual, because I'm unhappy. But there is another element. Of late the relationship has suffered because of stress, part of which was me worrying about him moving out (which he was supposed to do at some point around now, there was just no fixed date) and where that would leave us. That had led to a decrease in the amount of kink we'd been doing, also a change in the type - we had become more S&M and less D/s because connecting physical activities to a relationship type had become challenging. In a way, this is not a bad thing, "my partner let me down" is less difficult to deal with perhaps than "Sir let me down" We had been drifting, quietly, for a while - coasting is a good word for it. Neither of us encouraging or pushing the other to greater acts of depravity, and I've missed that greatly. There was (and still is) an uncertainty in how the relationship can develop, partly driven by the poly aspect, partly driven by various intangibles regarding what he wants in the future. That also gave me concerns. All ina ll, I came to the sad point where I no longer felt him to be "Sir" anymore - I didn't want to give myself up into such an uncertain situation and with that came another sense of loss.
We've spoken a lot since and I do understand why he did what he did, but that doesn't make it especially easier. It's one thing to be able to be reasonable and rational in the face of someone else's problems, when they impact on you badly it's harder. I am not really sure what the next step is, on the face of it, I suppose, when measured against the real disasters of this world, it is not a big thing. But my reaction was a real reaction, and my unhappiness is real also. Currently I'm stuck in the event - I can't quite move passed the shock of feeling abandonned so suddenly, and before we can move forward on anything, I need to deal with that. Then I can see whether we can build up to something else.
I am currently a sexual health avatar and also on my way to becoming a connoisseur of public sexual health provision. This morning I went to get a smear test at my local GP; last night I went to the Dean St clinic to get the second of my Hepatitis B jabs. The differences between the two were striking and worth discussing.
Similarities first, however. Both were very busy (has anyone ever been to an empty NHS clinic?) and the staff members were generally lovely, if a little frazzled. I was in and out in around ten minutes and barely had to wait. Other than those things I may have been on different planets.
The experience at Dean St was much the same as before, except I had a lovely chap instead of a lovely lady, and his injection style was a little different (a stabbing dart-throwing motion which I complemented him on, and he was duly unflustered but instead gave a big grin).
My local GP is in a converted house, which was probably once a very nice house but is now a GP surgery. The furniture is cheap, institutional office seating and chipped tables covered in copies of Take A Break from three years ago. The receptionists sit behind (probably) bullet proof glass with a tiny sliver through which you might be able to talk to them if they weren't radiating a general hatred of humanity or on the phone. They have an ability to instantly make you feel as if you have done something wrong, like being told off by the school secretaries when you were running in the corridor, age thirteen. You don't talk to them. You sign in using a touch screen machine which has a bottle of antibacterial spray hanging next to it on a grimy bit of string in a futile gesture that might hope for irony were it not for the circumstances. Everywhere are large, slightly panic-inducing notices about Swine Flu and other diseases you can get if you have the temerity to be around other people.
I went in to see the nurse, who was rather jolly and had "women's health" written all over her. Not necessarily a bad thing - I want someone who is an expert, frankly. She asked me whether I was happy with the pill and I nodded, given that the other option is having no control over whether I have babies or not, it seemed a fair response. She then chatted about how they'd (the nurses, one assumes) have been told to tell people about other options: "the coil, you know, blah, blah - but if you are happy then there's no need for us to do that!" Right. Now perhaps asking me some questions on my lifestyle, a leaflet or some direction as to where to go and research these things might have been helpful, rather than just brushing it aside? There is still a general assumption in the profession that the pill is the best thing since sliced bread, frankly I'd rather not take it but a better option has not materialised (my campaign to sterilise all men at birth to keep control of their unruly sperm is strangely unpopular) and I would be rather keen to go through different choices. However, I was whisked on to the bench for the procedure. For reasons that are unclear, after stripping to the waist I had to put some paper towel material over my stomach and the top of my cunt so I couldn't see what was going on. I'm not sure whether this was meant to be a gesture towards my supposed sensibilities or potential embarrassment at having my cunt held open by a metal speculum - both of which seem rather moot points. And to be honest, outside of the context of a play environment, if someone is doing something to my body, I want to see what is happening.
The usual fiddling about occurred as she put the speculum in place - it always amazes me that something which in a BDSM situation would be exciting and hot, manages to be uncomfortable and irritating. Surely this woman is more practiced at doing this than almost anyone else on the scene, yet she manages to make me feel as if it is a grotesque and unpleasant activity that "we women" have to suffer because that is the fate of our sex. Because of this narrative and perhaps because of the horrible curtains that are pulled around the bed it does manage to be both grotesque and unpleasant - especially as she reminds me how I might get "spotting". I want to say "do you mean a small amount of blood?" but that would be rude and she doesn't know how much the infantilising and sanitising of the female body pisses me off. No-one else in the entire animal kingdom "spots" - it's only human women. Men don't "spot" (and if they did, medical science would have fixed it by now). If we're discussing blood, let's say blood. We're all grown-ups here, we all live with our bodies and we don't need to be protected from the perfectly natural and normal things that they do.
I digress. The main point is that here are two clinics, both run by the NHS, both in London, yet the atmosphere could not be more different. The more I think about the provenance of Dean St (championed by gay men, who were very demanding and active in getting the services they needed) the more I think that a similar clinic, but for women, would be very attractive. A place where smear tests could be done in a comfortable environment, where sensible conversations could take place over contraception which would not viewed as merely "family planning", and where the focus would not be just on women as baby-making machines as is sadly currently the case - The London Women's Clinic is not about women, as you'd imagine, but instead about fertility for women, the only aspect of female health that ever seems to be talked about. As long as we can churn out the next generation (god help us if we don't want to) then it's all alright. Thank goodness for Marie Stopes - more of that please.
Sometimes I start an entry with a title in mind, I'll admit that. This one is about how kink can operate as a panacea for particularly difficult emotional states. I've often considered D/s practice to be a pretty poor substitute for actual therapy, so that's not what I'm talking about, it's more about how the body (and mind) can be soothed or made more comfortable by certain types of play. Think of the catharsis after crying, really crying, sobbing your heart out over something, the pleasant tired-emptiness of relief, as if pain has been expunged. The feeling of being held tight when you are scared, how the wrapping around of arms appears to cushion the sensation of fear, pressing it down. Comforting you.
There are times when only a particular activity will do, when that is what must happen. If I'm wound up, tense and on edge then there needs to be pain, something to give a red hot physical anger to match all those feelings coiling inside. If it makes me cry, so much the better, as if with each tear than pours down my cheek those tensions lessen, like air escaping from a valve. If I'm under pressure, if there's too much going on, then it must be bondage, tight and enveloping, mummification for preference. Nothing can get to me inside my plastic cocoon, I'm away from the world and floating into space. I can't be touched: there's no skin to skin contact, nothing to tie me to having to think or move or speak. I can just relax. There are no demands that can be put upon me, because there is very little I can actually do.
Other times it is less about the physical, more about the way my mood needs to be channelled into a stronger, harder, mental sensation. There are two ways of tackling this, one is about crushing the mood entirely by opposition, the other is by stoking the fires and letting it burn out. Take anxiety as an example, I can get panicky sometimes and there are ways in which a D/s relationship can seriously assist with these sensations. Looking at the first process, opposing the anxiety, it's easy to see how power exchange, in either direction, can help with this. In a submissive position the sense of obligation, of having to do something is removed, the anxiety is taken away because it no longer belongs to me, I've got nothing to be anxious about except pleasing my partner and they will tell me exactly how to do that and support me in doing it. In a Dominant position (performance anxiety aside, which is a different crate of kit entirely) you have someone at your feet desperate to please you, to make you feel better, however you want, they are there entirely for you and all your attentions can focus down onto them, to hell with the rest of the world. The second process can be more difficult, but it's one that I can often find very rewarding - a little like roleplay, the anxiety can be inserted into a power-play and used as a catalyst, allowing "real" emotions to be ridden to their illogical extremes in a safe environment. There's obviously potential for danger here, which is why this is about D/s and day-to-day feelings not genuine psychological conditions, but with the right person and with thought, it can be an amazing release, for both parties.
"It's hard not to reach out and touch you." I can tell. I can feel the tension in his skin, his muscles, the very obvious sensation that he is holding himself back. It's nice. It's more than nice. He is having to work at it and the effort of denial is part of his submission, what he is offering up to me. It's difficult. Lying still is difficult. Holding himself back (I've left him unbound for the moment) whilst I clamp clothes pegs onto his chest and nipples is difficult. I feel a strange mix of emotions - proud that he is able to do this, a huge wave of ego boosting endorphins at the realisation that he is doing it for me, to make me happy, sexual gratification in this offering up of himself to me. It means a lot. That he is doing it despite how difficult it is. That he wants to do it anyway. That he wants to serve me, even though he finds it hard.
Knight of Wands and I have gone through something of a gear change. I'm finding that taking charge is coming a lot more naturally to me these days - to be able to reach out and take what I want is much better, much more fulfilling and much easier than to let go. I can make my own timetable- deciding what I want and then doing it. It seems obvious to say that there is joy in simply satisfying my own desires, more joy when I know that doing exactly what I want is precisely what he enjoys. But it is still a new feeling to me. Especially with him - we've previously only worked with him on top. We started light. Very light. Essentially it was aggressive fucking with me giving directions. I've a current favourite activity of masturbating whilst getting him to fuck me slowly and to order - which I can recommend as a morning activity to anyone with the resources to hand.
I found it all very relaxing and somewhat luxurious, despite, or perhaps because of the simplicity. No chains, no cuffs. Just me and him. Previous forays into domination have usually been accompanied by tension - concerns that I was not giving my partners what they wanted or needed. The more I did it, the less I felt these anxieties. Now they are absent. Partly it's confidence in my abilities, another part is trust and knowledge: I know what they like and don't like, they trust me to keep within their limits, but additionally I know what I like, both in terms of practical things to do and also my own style of domination. Finally, it's about being able to relax. To know and be comfortable with the situation, accepting that they are there to please me, rather than for me to be there to entertain them with a variety of pleasure / pain scenarios. All of these things have made me better at doing it, made me enjoy doing it and, most importantly, desire to do it. Before it was an interest. Now it is a definite requirement.
I could feel it when we were alone in the room together, he reached out for me and that was the wrong thing. I should be reaching for him instead, holding his head this way and that. I would decide when and how and if we fucked, use his cock inside me until I came, directing his mouth and tongue to my own pleasure. We talked a lot, needless to say. He's one of my most talkative partners, and I always appreciate the thoughts he raises - like me, he probably thinks a little too much. We spoke about pain and how it might work, I'm (obviously) interested in inflicting pain because I know I like it, but I also am keen to work with punishment. He clearly gets something very different from it - there was a moment where he altered the pace and pressure of his fingertips on my clit to be more akin to spanking and, without thinking much, I slapped him lightly on the cheek to stop him. In my mind he had done something wrong and needed correction. The look in his eyes (hurt, confused) showed different: he was trying something that in the past, when he'd topped me, I'd enjoyed. But it wasn't the right sensation for that moment.
I'm not sure how far we are going to take this - but there is certainly a lot to explore. And next time, we're going to try something a little heavier. Which makes me grin as I type it.
I push open the satisfyingly heavy glass doors and I'm standing in a small, bright polished stone lobby. There is a young man in a suit behind the front desk who smiles at me and points me up to the first floor. It's very similar to a boutique hotel entrance, right up to the central London location I half expect someone to hand me a key and show me to my room.
This is not an hotel. This is 56 Dean St and against all available evidence (barring a discrete sign by the doors) it is an STD clinic. I walk up to the first floor and into a waiting room. The difference between here and any other similar institution is almost shocking. For a start, it doesn't feel institutionalised. It's airy and well designed. There are comfy chairs, little glass coffee tables with interesting and varied magazines that are neither dog eared nor dating from the mid-70s. I go to the reception and a well-turned out chap with some cute little facial piercings signs me in and gives me a one page form to fill in. I settle down to wait and discretely peruse the other clientele. Everyone is very well turned out, aged somewhere between 20 and 50 I'd guess, professional and a little trendy around the edges. Well, it is Soho. There are more men than women, which doesn't surprise me given the location and the history of the place.
Casually dressed doctors and nurses come in and out calling first names only. I am taken upstairs where a nurse apologises profusely for the wait. She takes me into a very tidy office and sits me down then asks a list of questions. Her manner is friendly but ultimately indifferent to the responses I make in the style of a waiter asking whether I would like milk or lemon with my tea. The answers are important and relevant, but there is no moral judgement. Far from it, throughout the entire process I feel as if I am being responsible and considerate of my own sexual health. Which of course I am, but I've never been in a surgery where I've felt it before. Certainly not in one where I could list numbers of partners and sexual activity and have it be met in this way. She takes some blood and starts me on the first of three injections to immunise me against Hepatitis B "just to be on the safe side".
The whole thing takes about twenty minutes, including opportunities for me to ask questions. The process feels more like a trip to the beauticians that to the clinic - repeated checks to make sure I was comfortable, talking me through what was going on so I understood the process. I left with a couple of business cards detailing my next appointments for follow up jabs and my results will be sent to me via text in a few days.
And let's not forget that this is an NHS clinic, so the service was entirely free. #welovethenhs anyone?
Like any girl I used to keep a diary and there is still something very cathartic in expunging thoughts through text. Here, the secrecy is still the same, however the privacy is not. You are reading. But I don't know you. Not all of you. I'm not even sure how many of you are reading. I like that you are, there's that exhibitionist streak in me again, I also like that some of you are strangers. It's a peep show of sorts, then. Where I reveal, bit by bit, a little piece of me, a fluttering eyelash of confession. Strip tease.
I am - and this is important - not a performer. This is me. These are things that happened to me and my feelings about them. It's not entirely a honest activity though. I do use the medium selectively, there's a lot that I don't write about and there is a certain style in which I convey the information, pseudonyms, focusing in on particular details rather than others. My sequins and feathers. You'll have to excuse them. I'm not going to write everything about everything.
All in all, though, this is how it is. From behind my eyes at any rate, I can't comment on how anyone else feels beyond reporting what they said or did at the time. But that's the important point, it's a real experience - so if it has any value, beyond being of use to me (and certain kind people tell me that it does and it has been helpful and interesting to them also) then I need to cover the rough with the smooth. The things that are exciting and enjoyable with the things that are not.
Consider it by way of a disclaimer.
Sexuality is a complicated thing, whilst my desires have never been simple, they have always, at least, been reliable. Not so much these days. I spent a night this weekend with the Knight of Wands being cosseted and reassured that I don't always have to have sex when I invite someone over and that not feeling up to it is fine. Equally, he was quick to add, should I feel the need then I should certainly pick up the phone. So that helped my general state as well as my ego. The trouble is that I have a couple of hang-ups over the sort of words we encounter in our early teens that are used to make us feel as if we should have sex when we might not want to. Prick tease. Leading someone on. Aside from the fact that I like to be honest and open from the outset, these words have been little black clouds in the back of my mind.
I don't want to start something I can't finish. I don't want anyone to feel as if they have been misled. I don't want to lie. Which cuts both ways of course - I'm not going to lie and say I feel like having sex when I don't want to. I'm not going to have sex if I don't want to. Which means that there are going to be evenings of comfortable awkwardness.
I say comfortable because we are both friends, we know each other and each other's bodies well enough to be able to lie naked side by side without the twitches and tremors of the new and unknown. Equally we are confident enough in each other and what we want to trust that we mean what we say. And yet there was awkwardness too. I found it hard to reach out for him or touch him, even just on the shoulder or to loop my arm around his waist in the morning to say "hello". Because the little black cloud in my mind reminded me not to. In case I was "teasing". It didn't matter that I knew, logically, that he was fine, that he understood where I was at the moment and more than prepared to just be around, to be two adults sharing the same space.
It feels odd to have such a response to nothing happening. Which is essentially what did occur. But I'm cagey on a number of levels. The Photographer and I are in a strange (difficult) space at the moment, something I'm still trying to work though, and this is having a knock-on effect both on my general desire for sex and play and for my feelings about myself and my confidence. He is my main partner, so when things are tricky with him I'm naturally cautious about anything I do with anyone else - again, I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression, or say things from a position of emotional (or otherwise) uncertainty. It's a lot to hold in one head, which is probably why I'm see-sawing a lot at the moment. Maybe it's my own uncanny ability to read a lot into nothing, but certainly Knight of Wands noticed it too and is being very supportive. It was probably a bit much, a bit too soon, but I don't regret it - I learnt a few valuable things about my sex drive and my state of mind. More connected than I had previously thought, so all the more reason to put time and effort into looking after them both.
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