It's the passion, stupid!

Passion (noun): "5 a: ardent affection : love b: a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept c: sexual desire d: an object of desire or deep interest" - Merriam Webster


BDSM, and even broader than that, sexuality in general, is about PASSIONS. I refer not only to the intimate connection and feelings towards ones partner(s), I submit that the passions that entwine sexuality are mostly to the self, not to others. When I speak of why I do the things I do in the context of BDSM, I say them thusly: I get a kick out of hearing my partner moan, I get off on hearing them scream and watching them write beneath my attentions. You'll notice that the primary subject in those sentences is myself, not my partner. Does this make me self-important? I don't think so, I think it makes me self-aware. I have a long standing philosophy that all human actions are innately, to some degree, selfish. Moreover, I say that this selfishness is a driving motivator (though not often realized on the surface) in most of our decision making processes, the rational and irrational alike. Agree or disagree, that is what makes life so diverse and wonderful to live. That's not really my subject today. Point is, in a nutshell, our passions come from the self first, and we are driven to find folks with compatible tastes, which builds bigger and bigger passions.

I was laying in bed earlier this evening with Spiralsong, and as often occurs, my thoughts turned to possibility of having sex. Drat, thought I, all our toybags are still in the car! Oh well, 'nilla sex is better than no sex. (Note the plural on toybags. For those of you whom haven't been introduced to our copious collection of toys, it's broken out into three separate cases. Two wheeled luggage cases and a cane case. All told, we have about 50lbs of BDSM playtoys that travel with us, 22 or so of which are rope.) This thought process was brought screeching to a halt when my darling mentioned the advanced state of her tiredness, meaning none was to be had this evening, kinky or otherwise. None's the worry, there's always tomorrow, and the simple intimacy of petting her skin and holding her close is always most welcomed. We finished our "cuddling scene" and she slumbered off to dream of whatever it is tired shamanistic lovers dream of, and I went back to the business of watching TV and futzing around the intertubes. Finally my body tells me it's my turn to retire for the evening, and I laid in bed for a few minutes, going over the days events as usual.

Then it hits me. The toybags are still in the car. That's okay, we're going to the club on Saturday, no point in hauling them in just to take them back down. It hits me again, this time a little blunter. The toybags are in the car, and you discarded the possibility of kink because of that, you lazy half-assed dispassionate bastard of a kinkster. Our current toy collection has only really been amassed in the last year or so. I was actively, successfully, devotedly kinky for a dozen years before gaining such a fine selection of playthings and NOW I CAN'T DO KINKY THINGS WITHOUT THEM?! Needless to say, this realization shook me. I sit here, writing, my head hung in shame. How did I let this get so far out of site? It's all about the passion! D/s isn't about the collar, it's about the PASSION BETWEEN THE DOM AND THE SUB. The collar and cuffs don't need to be there for D/s to exist, the D/s passion has to come first and foremost! Floggers and canes and paddles aren't needed to be sadistic, they're just tools, sadism is about the passion between the sadist and the masochist! I knew these things once, not all that long ago. Where did that go?! I have a strong connection with my toys, it's true, but I can do without them; I have a far stronger connection with the people I play with. If they all got lost or stolen or damaged (the toys, not the play partners), I could still carry on a hell of a scene. I have my mind, I have my presence, I have my body. I'm a creative person, and I can do better than rely on my toybags to build a scene for me. I'm passionate about my kink, I'm passionate about my partners, and it's about time I acted like it again.

In summation (tl;dr) : I had a "back to the basics" moment of clarity. BDSM is about passions and connections, not about implements and toys and pervertables. Kink is about the drives and desires we have, about being true to yourself. Toys are great tools, but don't let them be the building blocks of scenes.

Risk, Responsibility and emotional vulnerability -

In the BDSM world, we take risks. This seems like such an obvious thing, why bother mentioning it? We consent to letting people, sometimes strangers we've just recently met, beat on us with strange devices, poke us with sharp things, order us about, and all sorts of other various and sundry fun things. These are, to me, the most obvious risks. These are the risks I hear people talking about. You could fall, you could get nerve damage, you could get hit in a way that causes harm, you could get an infection, et cetera. These are all valid points, of course, and not things we should scoff at or take lightly. I notice two things about this particular class of risks. First, these are physical risks. Second, these are risks that most directly affect the bottom(s) involved. I want to talk for a moment about a non-physical risk, on both sides of the coin.

I believe that in BDSM, the greatest risks we take are often emotional risks. While this is more readily apparent in longer term relationships, I find the same holds true for casual play. I would have a hard time believing someone who told me that a flogging (just for example) is a purely physical experience. I've had casual play partners warn me, ahead of time, 'I might wind up crying. I understand if you don't want to play (tonight or forever) because of that.' I often get a sense that it's okay to beat someone you just met with a heavy leather instrument, or put needles in their chest, or light them on fire, or hang them from a ceiling with treated, conditioned, washed, singed, abused rope, but oh dear gods don't make them cry! Don't elicit strong emotions! Orgasms are just dandy, but tears are strictly frowned upon? It's okay to stand naked before someone you just met, but we have to wear emotional burkas? No, this stuff is best left behind locked doors, between people who've been partnered together for at least 17.5 years, and only when the sun and the moon are visible at the same time. Only then can you dare embark on the scary, danger fraught journey that is emotional release!

Yes, it's a risk. It can be a big risk, for both partners, and it's not one I suggest you take lightly. But do, please, realize that it IS one of those risks. You may not always get the aftercare you need. Your partner may need more aftercare than you can give. It's a scary place, one's own mind, and we are very careful what bits of it we let others see. I appreciate this. I understand that it's often too big a risk for either side. Many tops just don't want the burden, as well. Do yourself a favor, though. Be honest with your playmates, especially in this arena. I can't tell you how many times someone has told me when recounting a scene that went seemingly well, "I don't know what happened, I was just a big ball of emotional goo at the end of that scene, and they didn't even notice... (or something similar)" If you, as a bottom or a top, get to the end of the scene and you need a bit extra aftercare, don't just settle for what usually works and move on. Sometimes it can't be helped, sure, but if it can? Get what you need. Don't let go. Don't try to just suck it up and deal; there was a risk, both partners took it, now it's time to be responsible with the result. As a top, if you elicit a heavy emotional from your partner, even if you didn't expect it, you have a responsibility to them. Take care of them as best you can. There's no arithmetic formula that results in a scene to aftercare ratio. It isn't something you can plan ahead of time. Even scenes that are specifically meant to be cathartic scenes can have widely varying aftercare needs.

As always, Caveat Emptor.

LF&P Decompress

It was an interesting LF&P to say the least.

This is only our 2nd of these, and the first, last summer's, was our first trip together to Cruci or any other BDSM venue, our first public play, etc. Since then Daddy's become sort of a fixture to a bunch of the staff, which means they know me by proxy even though I haven't been able to go as often as he has.

It was also the first LF that we were on dungeon crew. We were part of the breakdown and dungeon setup crew and managed to get the place totally torn down from vending and back up to dungeon playspace in 2 hours and 10 minutes. (!!!) This is a SERIOUSLY impressive number and is due entirely to M. and S.'s fantastic planning.

We picked up a 1" (I think) half-round acrylic cane and a medium-length double tail buffalo flogger which weighs almost five pounds and makes Bullwinkle, the moose flogger, look like some pansy lightweight pretend-piece, which it most certainly is NOT. Also, because I am such a collar addict, Daddy got me a squeetastic leather scene collar and surprised me with it. It's awesome! :)

There was a really odd dynamic, because I'm stupid/crazy/weird in the head. Daddy had his Other there (poly and BDSM Other) and I have had a really hard time with knowing where I stand with him when they are together. She told him she needed him to take care of her (I wasn't privy to the reason but I gathered it was something to do with social anxiety and the fact that she's had a really, REALLY shitty week IRL,) and he immediately put his arms around her to comfort her. He's good at comforting. This kind of killed me inside, but as usual, I was ambivalent -- part of me had instant fight-or-flight responses, wanting to start crying or just walk away, and part of me was okay with it. It's a VERY weird place to be, mentally. I still can't look at them when they're being physically affectionate, especially not as Top/bottom. I guess I will just have to Not Be Around when they are doing that.

The part of me that "eventually" (and I say this like it was a long time, which it was subjectively, but to the outside world it was only a few seconds,) won out was the part that felt that he was allowing her to supplant me as Daddy's Girl or whatever the hell title it is that I am supposed to have, so I backed off and let them be together. I felt very sad about this but I also felt like it was the right thing to do for both of them. Daddy didn't like that and snapped at me for it, which had the opposite effect he'd intended -- he wanted me to stop being subby and just be his wife, but him snapping at me in public like that just made me feel like he thought I was a bad girl when I was trying really hard to be GOOD, so I spent most of the rest of the LF in a haze of misery and resentment, which only doubled when Daddy's Other asked to have some time alone with him to shop. Once again I was really torn -- I wanted badly to say no, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings or his, and some part of me was okay with it, so I said that it was okay. They went off and did their thing till the vending was mostly over. Luckily Daddy and I had 2 hours of hard physical labor to help clear the air, and I was able to let it go, thanks to a few gourmet hugs from W. (Seriously, these things are a religious experience. W. is God when he gives hugs.) Then we (me and Daddy) went out to get something to eat for supper.

When we got back, we meandered around the main floor at Cruci -- as usual during the P part of the LF&P there's about two bazillion people cramming what's normally a nice quiet club. After making the rounds, I got into that playful headspace where I was quite willing to put my kink on display for the mundanes since it was MY club they were wandering around in -- I mean, you sort of have to be aware of what's going to happen inside when you pay a $30 fee to get in the door. So instead of changing into my corset and smexyundies in the chill-room like usual, I asked Daddy if we could go out and do it on the floor. There simply weren't enough plus-sized girls in corsets. I felt the need to represent. :)

After, Daddy decided to put me in the cage, yay! He got M. to get the big strap and tied swing ropes from the ceiling of the cage. The minute he climbed up there with rope strung over both shoulders, about 50 people got intensely curious as to what he was doing; I had an alarming moment where I realized exactly how many people were going to be looking at me and that I'd better reflect well on my Daddy. While I was waiting for him to finish the swing I got to flirt with M. He's such a sweetie! I am a total flirt with the male top crew and staff in that place because I feel safe. Once the swing was done and I climbed on, Daddy gave me wrist chains too and then closed the door. I got to flirt with a lot of people! Apparently I am a flirt-bird when I am caged. Also, a lot of them were staff/regulars, which was extremely gratifying. I got lots of touches, too, which was nice. I appreciate being touched A LOT when I am in headspace. (Although it's worth noting that Kel should have a black belt for her fingernails - first she tickled me and then she gave me goosebumps and made me shiver, which almost nobody can do.) I was very happy-glowy during the whole cage-scene-thingy. Added advantage -- I was the only person in the whole club who wasn't getting bumped into every few minutes. Heh.

Once Daddy took me down, I finally got to meet Sarah Sloane, whom we had decided was unable to coexist with me in the same space without the universe imploding since we never seemed to be able to meet up due to one or the other of us having some kind of obligation or illness. It was good to finally meet her. Hopefully we'll get a chance to chat sometime.

Then we went on the LF&P-neverending-quest-for-free-dungeon-furniture. After several minutes we settled for a free spanking bench, but there were a couple of glitches with that idea -- first, it backed up to a high-traffic area, so Daddy had to be extra careful of where his floggers were going; second, my right knee decided to be a bitch and after only a few minutes my whole right leg was in agony, and third, Daddy accidentally wrapped a tail from the moose flogger up between my legs which hit all the way up both outer and inner labia and onto my clit. I do NOT go in for impact on my pink parts -- that HURT (bad way,) and effectively aborted that scene. It also flipped my headspace into that limbo area between what I think of as subspace and what I think of as slavespace -- subspace is somewhat shallower and still lets me be bratty or talk back or be playful and bounce around. Slavespace is utter subsumption to Master's desires.

After a short interlude, Master found a massage table on the mezzanine that would do for our desires. We both thought that maybe we could just pick back up so he started out with the canes and paddles. They kind of worked but started to get too stingy-intense and I wasn't getting where I needed to go. (No catharsis, natch.) Finally I was able to get it through to him that I needed him to be hard and Dominant rather than gentle and caring, and when he flipped immediately I went over too. He switched to the new flogger, the double buffalo, and that got me down to where I needed to get to. The new flogger's name is Mack, as in Truck, because getting hit with it is much like getting hit with said truck, and because the only other apropos comparison I can think of, having a bowling ball dropped on me from a foot or so up, is far less poetic or humorous.

Then I glowed at people until it was time to go home.

I am sore as HELL today; upper body from shucking tables around as crew, and lower body from the deep-tissue trauma caused by FIVE POUNDS OF BUFFALO LEATHER being repeatedly slung at my ass. Daddy says the whole table moved every time he hit me with it. And I don't count lashes, so I don't know how many it was, but it was a lot. I am officially a heavy SM bottom when it comes to flogging.

Overall it was a net positive experience, for which I am quite thankful.

On Bigotry

Any of you who know me know that I live a pretty kinky lifestyle. I'm fully aware that I'm fucked in the head and I'M OKAY WITH THAT. I try to respect others' right to be who they are and love who they wish in the manner that they wish to -- and I expect the same from them. That's HUMAN.

So it saddens me to say that I've been disillusioned today in a manner that's, unfortunately, all too common.

A very talented artist, and an incredibly knowledgeable and conscientious pet owner, CatharsisJB, posted a journal today that is as offensive as any I've seen, not in its wording, (which is innocuous,) but in the sense that it blatantly fails to take into account that she is pointing out for her fandom the evidence of someone ELSE'S LIFE. She doesn't point out that she wonders why one might do this, or that the photography quality is pretty good (which, for self-photography, it is,) or that it takes a visceral amount of bravery to be able to even dress for and take that kind of photograph, MUCH LESS POST IT IN A PUBLIC FORUM. Instead, she leaves the comments wide open by saying that "there are not words."

So, for your viewing pleasure, here's the VERY choice words with which I responded to her.

You know, for a website called "DEVIANT" art, you people sure are quick to judge and show yourselves to be overall offensively derisive of a deviant who's got the guts to be he/r/self.

JB, I'm not sure what your basis was for posting this link -- you didn't say anything derogatory yourself, but I'm finding myself having a hard time believing that it was for any reason other than to garner the kind of responses you have.

Kink has many faces. Forced "sissification," which is what this looks like, is one of them.

My heart goes out to brie, not for having the kink or for exploring it, but for having to put up daily with the kind of people who've so far posted comments to this journal in the course of he/r everyday life.

Grow the FUCK up, people, and open your provincial little minds. link

I expect to be flamed, and possibly dot-snarked or encyclopedia-dramaticaed. But I hope that, for all the judgemental, bigoted, insulting posts I'll probably get, at least ONE person bothers to sit back and THINK.

[X-posted to dA journal and livejournal.]

On differing kinks and persuasions:

I've thought kinky thoughts as long as I can remember. I remember thinking such thoughts years before puberty hit, long before my first orgasm, before I started masturbating, before I even knew what sex was. Sometimes thinking these thoughts made me feel funny down there, sometimes they were just errant passing thoughts. I remember wondering if the girl that sit next to me in 2nd grade would like to be tied to her chair; I think I might have even offered. Playing house with me involved spankings. I'm not sure where it came from, I don't recall having those sort of influences that young. It pre-dates what I recognize as my sexual awakening, it's just always been there. To this day, BDSM isn't about intercourse. It's never been a path to it for me, though it's sometimes a part of it. I know for some, BDSM is a sort of means to an end. It's the foreplay, the appetizer, whatever you want to call it. For me, most times it seems, it's the whole show.

I won't deny that BDSM is sexual in nature. It's in the sexuality sphere, without a doubt. What it seems to do most is light up my mind, and that is such a turn on for me. I'm a geek, unabashed. Want to win my heart? Tell me a math joke. Make me a heart wreath out of 10Base5 cabling. Bonus points for being able to terminate it properly. Write me a poem that includes the words ethernet and keyboard. I am largely an introvert, I spend a lot of time inside my own mind. I like it there. It's a bit jumbled, but it's cozy, and it's home. Turn my brain on and you'll have my attention. Please note: I'm not saying I don't like sex. Quite the opposite is true, I'm a big fan. Fact is, though, it's not what I'm usually looking for when BDSM is involved. Sometimes it's right, but not always, and lately, not often. This is not the case for many, it seems, and I can only explain for myself. To those for whom BDSM and kinkiness is something different than what it is for me:

Thank goodness for diversity. I'm glad to know you.

We're all in this together, folks. The media fails to portray us with a shred of dignity, the government seems to want us hiding and cowering in our bedrooms under our leather sheets, and the in-fighting gets old. We're all pervy folks just trying to make it through this life best we can. To the Goreans, the Old Guard, the light spankers, the ponies and puppies, t/The p/People w/Who c/Capitalize t/Things, it's good to know you. To the edge players and the pissers, the yiffers and vores, the adult babies and the feeders, the IRC chat room slaves and the non-submissive masochists... to all of you kinky folk, the in and the out, the gay, the straight, the queer, the genderfluid and the plain ole confused.. I'm glad to know you. You make this world wonderful. I take BDSM a little more seriously than I probably should, and I know this. It's a serious thing for me, because I've known it all of my life, and I've had to defend my perversions more times than I care to count. I've been treated as sub-human by those who would abuse it, and side show freak by those who would point and laugh. I love you all, and I am proud to share this part of my sexuality sphere with you. We do each other a disservice when we scoff, when we point and laugh at our own brethren, and when we roll our eyes. I am guilty of this myself on occasion, and it pains me every time I realize it. Call me on it when you see it, please.

My goal in life is simple. Make it through this life, having had as much fun as I can without stepping on too many toes. For those of you doing the same, for those whom kinkiness is a sizeable part of that.. I love you, brother.

More on experience

Found via a link in a friend's lj, I had to link this here.

After you've read it, you will know me better -- this is where I go with flogging. In fact, this is where I go in most of my BDSM experiences.

I fight constantly to feel, to be present in the moment, to focus on the physical self, to be here now. Flogging helps me to do this. Once I am entirely present, I no longer worry about appearance or the messy chemical soup of emotions and surface tension in my head -- I can start to see more of Who I Am. As Burroughs would say, I can "listen down into myself" and hear the echo coming back.

THIS is where I go, when my Master and I go to play at Crucible. I need it at least once a month and do best when I can have it every couple weeks or so. (Besides, it takes that long for the bruises to heal.)

I am so much a cathartic submissive that the mental depth I crave cannot be attained until after I've at least begun to have a cathartic release. I can flit along the surface or attain one of my limited repertoire of other altered states that fit into the greater category headspace, but until my amygdala's been hooked directly into my nerve endings, (leaving large portions of my cerebral cortex out of the equation,) I have a hard time attaining the deep, silent state with which I equate my "slave" headspace.

This post is just another waypoint in my lifelong love-hate relationship with the lump of matter inside my skull. Hope I haven't been too confusing.

A reply, and a little more.

Spiralsong's most recent post reminds me of two things. First and foremost, I am reminded of just how proud a Dominant can be of his submissive. It is never easy to stand naked in front of the world, and this leads me into thing number B. We are real live people. We take risks with what we share here. Personally, professionaly, socially; being honest with you is risky. We try to be as open as possible in this forum, to give you a glimpse into the lives and minds of two of your poly/BDSM community peers. What works for us, what doesn't work, our highs and our lows, our thoughts and our feelings. We do not share everything, admittedly, that's simply impossible. What Spiralsong shared with you is a pretty deep glimpse into her person; insecurities, fantasies, fears and all. I am very proud.