Monday, February 22, 2010

The odd sense of morality in kinky people.

Perhaps morality is the wrong word. I use it here to describe the juxtaposition of what kinky people think is "right" and what they think is "wrong". Right and Wrong.

Vanilla bashing has come into discussion on Fetlife, in a few blogs, and on twitter recently and since I love bandwagons, I thought that it was the perfect time for a discussion about what I've found as a little odd about kinky people.

Why is it that kinky people have problems with "those not like us"? When did we become the arbitter of what's kinky "enough". When did we get to decide whether or not any behavior was acceptable? When did we make the rules for joining the club? And why was I never told about those rules?

We all have our own ways of dealing with kink. Some of us our so out about our lifestyle that to NOT discuss our personal lives openly, without fear, and without shame, seems really difficult. We talk with our parents, co-workers, friends, and absolute strangers about our sex lives and are often disappointed when they "don't get us", cringe at the thought of what we do, think we're perverts (in a bad way) or that they'd prefer not to discuss it at all. We are disappointed in THEM for their reaction.

And some of us are so circumspect about our kink that to even breathe a word about it to anyone, makes us really uncomfortable. We're not "out" to anyone except our kinky friends, we don't discuss kink with anyone outside of the community, and we get really uncomfortable at the thought of mom and dad, our kids, or our co-workers knowing how we spent our weekends. We don't want THEM to be disappointed and have "that" reaction.

What I find really interesting, is that generally, those in the "out" group tend to think that those in the "in" group are living a lie. They believe that you only hide if you're ashamed, or that if everyone was "out", things would be SO much better for everyone. If those who were "in" just "came clean" about their kink, there'd be so many people in the out club, that the stigma about kink would be ameliorated and the world would be so much better off. And by "the world", mostly I mean "those vanillas too close-minded to understand what we do is okay".

What I think the main disconnect between the outties and innies is in the way that each person feels about those in the vanilla world. Some of us don't care what vanillas think about us. Some of us might care too much. Either way probably is very far from the mark. I'd personally think that most vanillas wouldn't care in GENERAL about "other people", but that most of them care about those they know in relation to themselves in SPECIFIC.

We all have our own comfort levels about WIITWD. We are the best judge about how we each want to live our lives, and about how those we interact with might view our private habits. For those of you that CAN live your kinky life "out and proud", I'm envious. I wish we all could. But the reality is that there are employers, judges, ex spouses, children, parents, friends, and strangers that find kink to just be more than they're willing to put up with. They just don't want to know that the person caring for their child at daycare whips grown men into crumbling puddles of goo in her free time. When your boss doesn't want to know what you had for dinner last night....he certainly doesn't want to know that you enjoy being caned and that the reason you're not moving as gingerly today is that you're sporting a set of stripes on your ass.

The papers are filled with stories about people losing custody of children, spending untold amounts of money to even get supervised visitation. BDSM in the news is titillating, but freakish. People are squicked by stories of kinky ANYthing. There's a consensus that kinky women are abuse junkies, prostitutes, or lacking in self-esteem, and there's an equal consensus that those who are on the topside are just abusers in disguise.

So if we can't expect vanillas to "get it", and we've got to talk about the problem with those in the kinky community bashing vanillas for NON-kinky sex, WHY do we think that those innies are any less deserving of not being bashed by the outties? When what we do is considered by so many vanillas to be immoral, illegal, and downright disgusting, WHY are outies laughing at the innies because they're "hiding" themselves?

Whatever my personal reasons are for remaining IN about my kink, I think I'm as deserving of respect for my choice, as those vanillas who choose not to look in my direction too closely. When we're having the discussion about respect for vanillas, let's not forget about those of us who are kinky but can't be out in the open. Most of us would love to be able to stand up and be kinky and discuss with our loved ones our lives. But we have to balance that with what we know or with what we fear. When we're talking about stopping the denigration of vanillas for NOT being kinky, let's not forget the denigration happening when an out kinkster looks at one whose in and says "you're doing it wrong".

I'm not doing it wrong. I'm doing what's right for me, my loved ones, and those in MY vanilla world. And isn't THAT the basis of what it is that we do? Doing what feels right for each of us?

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Sthpider Sthlayer

I wrote a few days ago about how I came into kink in a backasswards way through an abusive relationship. One memory from that period has haunted my life for so many years, that to this day, I can still go catatonic and stop breathing when I'm even reminded peripherally of that incident.

I made a lot of mistakes with my ex. Things I didn't even realize at the time were mistakes. He was the sort of asshat that would hold things that I told him in reserve, and pull them up later to make me cringe. One of the things I told him was that I was afraid of spiders.

Lots of people have arachnophobia so that in and of itself isn't so weird. And at the beginning, mine wasn't bad enough that it prevented me from killing the little bastards when I saw them. I avoided them, but if one came near me, I was able to squash it under my heel.

But my ex delighted in scaring the hell out of me for fun. His fun. Certainly not mine.

We'd been playing one afternoon. It started off normally. He cuffed me to the bed, put a blindfold on me, and started to drag things across my body, making me guess what each thing was. Some were hot, some cold, and some were soft or scratchy. No big deal right? After a while he tired of my giggles, my squirming, and my complaints about the blindfold. He gagged me to stop the bitching. What I didn't know was that he was also getting back at me for something that I hadn't done properly a few days before. And for those that like details, it was that I'd forgotten to buy spaghettios at the grocery store. I can't even smell those things now without throwing up.

He left me tied to the bed and told me he had something special for me. And while I was lying there, bound to the bed, blindfolded, and unable to escape, he put a tarantula on my pussy. Then he took off the blindfold. I looked down to see what he'd put there. And all hell broke loose.

As anyone who knows anything about spiders might know, tarantulas are very sensitive to movement, stress hormones and a naked woman thrashing about and screaming through a gag. The spider began crawling up my stomach, then onto my chest and finally stopped at the base of my neck. Whether or not it went anywhere else, I'll never know because by that time, I'd passed out. I was so scared, that the only way I could escape was to take a nose dive into unconsciousness.

Over the years, I've told people about my fear of spiders. That is Number One on my list of hard limits. And anyone I spend any time with, especially those I play with, know that they shouldn't EVER tell me that there's a spider near me. I've actually crashed a car because of a spider crawling on the windshield. People often "pooh pooh" my fear and don't realize just how awful it is for me. Until they see my reaction that first time. Then they believe it.

Even Daddy, despite the fact that I'd warned him, was surprised by it. He didn't make the same mistake a second time though.

Why am I telling this story? Well, recently my Fetlife experience has been pretty awful. I've avoided it for days at a time. Simply because people have all of a sudden decided that pictures of spiders on women's naked bodies was either really gross or really cool. And those pictures have been popping up on my friend feed for weeks. It's gotten so bad that I'm having nightmares again. And I'm afraid to visit a site that's been really awesome for me.

When I told Daddy what was happening, in typical geek fashion, he thought of a way to fix this for me. I can't tell you what that means to me. I cried when he did it. That he took the time to fix this for me instead of just telling me to just suck it up (as so many others have done). is more proof of his love for me and of his care for my happiness than anything that anyone has ever done for me before. He knows my fears are real. And he has helped me deal with them in the only way he really can. His post on Fetlife explains what he's done. And why.

Thank you Daddy. You really ARE my sthpider sthlayer :)

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Fetish Flea: Daddy Knows Best

This past weekend was the Fetish Fair Fleamarket. It was also kind of an anniversary for Daddy and me.

I'd spent a lot of time prepping for the Flea. I'd been asked to teach at this Flea, and I was scheduled for three different classes. To say my focus was not on Daddy was an understatement. But he couldn't have made things easier on me.

On Friday night, we planned a last minute tweetup in the hotel bar. We also found out that my limit on martinis is one. Two just made me too silly. And Saturday morning was spent trying to make my head stop pounding. It's been a long time since I've had that much gin. Afterwards, we'd found some friends, I spent some time in the puppy room, and we went to a caning class held by Countess.

Saturday, I spent most of the day in my classes. The intro to bdsm panel discussion, followed by the bottom/sub/slave solutions one. By the time those two panels ended, I was pretty much toast. I hadn't eaten, I had very little to drink, and I'd spent a lot of time thinking and discussing various issues. While I love to talk, four hours of it with people I didn't know, while trying not to make an ass of myself, drained me. I had about an hour before I was scheduled to join Daddy in the bondage lounge to teach another class.

I'm not really sure what I looked like, but if my outside matched what I felt inside at that point of the day, it's no wonder Daddy decided that I was in no condition to do anything except sit, relax, and eat. He told me that he'd find another partner for his class. And as frazzled as I was by that time, I almost started to cry. I was upset that Daddy wanted to tie someone else, and angry with myself that I'd just spent four hours or so doing other things, when I could have been with Daddy and getting ready for the rope. But then I realized that Daddy knows me better than myself sometimes. I realized that he wasn't "taking it out on me" and denying me rope because he was upset about my teaching; and I realized that he wanted to tie me if I'd been in any condition for it. I also realized that he was worried about me and that he thought the best thing for me wasn't to be in another class, but to have some time to myself and a little retail therapy. I made a half-hearted attempt to change his mind, but realized that he was right. I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the rope.

By the end of the day, I'd regained some equilibrium, we'd found some dinner, and we ate pizza and ice cream in bed. I love vacations when Daddy stretches his own rules about food in the bedroom. And by the end of the night, I was happy, mostly stress free (I did have my class to worry over), well fed, and content to just lie next to Daddy and sleep. I heard that we missed some nice parties, but even so, the party that I had alone with Daddy was worth missing them for.

On Sunday, Daddy woke up not feeling wonderful. His throat was bothering him. I immediately started to think about replanning our day so that I would be able to keep an eye on him. And by that, I mean to be able to get the things he needed to be able to feel better. I got dressed for the day. On Saturday night, I'd pulled out a skirt to wear to the parties and when daddy saw it, he loved it. When I got dressed on Sunday, he told me to wear it. At first, I thought he was being mean. It was a Very Long Skirt. And not really something I'd wear usually. But to make him happy I wore it. I worried that people would laugh and think I was on my way to a funeral, but Daddy insisted.

We packed, had our bags taken care of and went back to the Flea. We met a friend in the lobby, and while she was hugging me, she told me I looked beautiful in my outfit. My brat was full out that morning and I whispered into her ear "daddy made me wear it, do me a favor and tell him that I look strange in it". Jules didn't disappoint me and looked at Daddy with her sweet eyes and said that I looked a little odd wearing such a long skirt. Daddy looked up at me with apologetic eyes and then I laughed and told him what I'd asked Jules to do. He laughed and gave me his "I told you so" face. I just smiled and said that I still thought I looked silly. But during the day, several people told me how much they liked what I was wearing. At first I started looking at Daddy trying to figure out if he'd played the opposite joke on me. Then I realized that he hadn't. He was right again. He'd seen the skirt, saw the completed outfit, thought I was beautiful in it, and he knew that others would too. He knew me better than myself again.

We did a little shopping and bought a few things. Daddy bought me a pink and black furry flogger (it WAS Valentine's Day) and a really awesome vibrator. Then we headed to my class. I took a page out of Mollena's book and thanked people individually for coming. And then I started. I was thankful that LadyD had come and that Daddy was there. Although I did use Daddy as an example once or twice, he knew that I was going to do that. I'd wanted to have a demo-top for a while (I LOVE the idea of a demo-top) and it seemed like a good time to do it. The class went pretty well and I got a lot of new ideas to tighten it up for the next time. From Daddy. He may never have bottomed, but he's a great top. And since we spend a lot of time discussing ideas, getting the point of view from the other side is very important to me.

The day finished up after Daddy went to Midori's Interrogation class, while I stayed in the Bondage Lounge to just watch the rope. We drove home, talking about the weekend, and just unwinding together. All in all, the Flea was pretty good for me. I'd learned something even more important about Daddy than I did at the first one we'd attended together. I learned that when it comes to me, what I really need, what I look good in, and what makes me happy, Daddy really does know me best.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Coming into Kink Normally

I'm up early and I've finished packing for the Flea, so I decided to peruse a few of my favorite bloggers' latest work. One interesting read was Mollena Williams' post. When is that woman NOT interesting?

But her post got me thinking about how I came into kink. It's something that I don't talk about very often. Mostly because I'm usually ashamed to admit that I made such a horrible mistake. One that very nearly cost me everything. Forgive me for not going into details, but when the details aren't really that important, and they're not a favorite of mine to reminisce about, I think I deserve a little leeway.

I've had lots of friends over the years and I can't think of many that got into kink to work out past abuse demons. Mostly they got into it because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I know for me, not only did it seem like a good idea, it was the ONLY idea I could remember having for as long as I could remember. From the time I was tying my naked barbie dolls to the top of the barbie camper with my shoelaces.

For me, bdsm brought me into a world OF abuse. In the days before the internet, before a cohesive community existed for a kinky, young, mostly-hetero girl to learn from, there were really bad decisions. I can say from experience that to "get what I wanted", I believed I had to put up with a whole lot that I didn't. My only excuse was that I was too young to know any better.

My first "bdsm" partner (whom I refer to as "fuckhead") was abusive. He was abusive in a sneaky way, slowly moving me towards things that I just didn't know how to get out of. And frankly, some of them I didn't WANT to get out of. I didn't know about safe, sane, or consensual. I hadn't any friends to ask, there were no books, and I didn't even dream that there were others that did it differently...or safely. It never occurred to me that there were "rules" to this.

The gory details of our 3+ years together are known only by a few people in my life. My parents know some of it, my few best friends know some other pieces. My therapist knew a lot more. And I've told Daddy most of it.

What made me smile about Daddy's reaction was when he told me that he was surprised that I was so "normal" despite having gone through all of that. That makes me giggle and think, "yeah. It was damned hard work becoming normal".

Getting "normal" was the key to my salvation. After leaving the fuckhead, I was so messed up, physically, emotionally and intellectually, that I truly believed that I had deserved what had happened because of my "disgusting desires". I truly hadn't known that I was already normal, but that the world I had found myself in was skewed around what I had to learn on my own. Haven't we all at one time or another, really early on, found ourselves asking "what is the matter with me that I get turned on by ____"? "This isn't "normal", is it?"

To try to stop myself from having these sick feelings, or needing to be hit, of getting off on pain, and truly believing myself to be a really sick fuck, I went into therapy. Because that's what people did when they were messed up. Get some meds, have a chat and you'll be "normal" in no time.

And for the first time in my life I got damned lucky. After spending a little over a year talking about everything under the sun (except why I was really there) with my therapist, I finally got so pissed off that SHE hadn't figured ME out, that I finally told her that I thought I was damaged somehow. I finally told her that I needed to be hit, grabbed, pushed and dominated in order to get a sexual satisfaction. In order to feel normal.

She smiled at me and said the words that I'll never forget. "It's about time you realized that. Now, I think I can help you". She introduced me to the wonderful world of S & M, and to a wonderful man that helped me learn. She and I stopped our doctor/therapist relationship, but we became friends.

I didn't get into BDSM because of any past history of abuse. But without BDSM, I probably would have continued to believe that the only way to "feel normal" WAS to be abused.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Bottom's Up

As anyone who knows me, really knows me, understands that I've got a minor "list fetish". That I don't have a corresponding "sticking to my list" one, sometimes leaves me wondering "how did I end up HERE?"

Currently at the top of my list is getting ready for the Fetish Fair Fleamarket. I've had this on my list for months and now that crunch time is here, I've decided to take a look at just exactly what I've gotten myself into.

Currently, my schedule consists of moderating both the Getting Started with BDSM and Bottom/Slave/Submissive Solutions panels. And, leading the Bottoming Presentation. And that's not including the time I'll be spending in the Bondage Lounge helping out Roperider.

And I find myself looking in the mirror and asking "who the fuck am I kidding?"

I've done the little things I needed. I've read, researched and thought about what I would have liked to have known when first learning to be a bottom. And I wrote it out. God how I wrote it out. The discussion that I came up with filled thirteen pages. I covered everything.

But what got lost in that lengthy diatrible (sic) of bottoming "do's and don'ts" was the idea of what makes a good bottom? What makes a bottom a top wants to play with versus one that people make excuses to avoid? And now, after all that research, I'm happy to say that I think I've figured it out.

A good bottom is comfortable in his/her own skin. We are able to communicate effectively, we don't allow others to tell us HOW we should or shouldn't react. We are people that others like to be around because we're fun, adventurous, and sane.

A good bottom is smart. We take care of ourselves first and we have lives that matter to us. Bottoming is a part of who we are, it's not the whole of who we are.

A good bottom understands that tops look for reaction, feedback, and enjoyment in a scene, just as surely as we do. This is a two way street and good bottoms understand that it's rare a top wants to be merely the service end of the stick.

A good bottom understands that nothing is written in stone. We are fluid, adaptable and eager. But we also know what works for us. Which isn't to say that we don't ever TRY something new.

A good bottom knows that the best way to bottom is to be ourselves. We know that to react, giggle, cry and make lovely noises and movements are what tops are looking for. They're not exaggerated or false, but come from a place where we're able to just let go of ourselves and let our top take the lead.

A good bottom has a defined sense of bullshit. This isn't a game, but a dance. Don't tell us that you're capable of leading if you're not 100% sure of it. Or at least able to fake it pretty darned convincingly.

A good bottom builds from the bottom up. We start slowly, learning about ourselves through each encounter with a top. We change. We savor the experiences provided and don't complain or whine if things don't quite work out to our satisfaction. We have a sense of humor and a general love of what we do.

And above all, a good bottom is at the heart of it, a person with whom others like to spend time with, is honest, caring, and always says thanks for the lovely ass-beating with a smile :)

Mistakes are made when bottoms start to think that their job is to "suck it up" and "take what's given". When they aren't safe or when they don't share in the experience offered by their tops, but hold onto it for themselves in a selfish and one-sided hoarding. Mistakes are made when bottoms are not free with their emotions, energy, or selves and they don't know how to simply be lost in the moment and place some trust in the tops they're with.

Or look at it this way. We may be the center of the universe, but a top really DOES hold the universe in hand. Good bottoms know how to stay within the orbit of the top, the ones that make the mistakes tend to spin wildly out of control.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Service Kitty and Cuddle Dom

If you've ever thought about how to integrate laughter into bdsm...there's a very cool site that is trying to collect the lighter side of WIITWD....or would that be WIITWPTDTSGA? (What it is that we plan to do that sometimes goes awry)?

Check out and help them out with some fun stories of your own. We all can use a laugh once in while!

PS: Check out this GREAT post- Don't you have something you want to tell me?

funny pictures of cats with captions
see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Some Things Are Better Left Vanilla

Sir loves to experiment. Usually, things work out ok, but there was one time where things turned so hysterical, that I really did fall off the bed.

We'd taken a trip to Good Vibrations in Brookline, MA. He'd wanted to take a look at the Luna Beads from Lelo. While we were there, and since we were in an experimental kind of mood, Sir took a look at the condoms. Now you know condoms...there's like a million colors, styles, flavors and sizes to choose from. Since my favorite color is green, Sir decided that the green kimono's might be fun to try. He actually thought they'd be a good choice because they "had bumps on the inside and out" know....for a "more pleasurable experience". I really have to tell you though, when it comes to condoms, at least for's not what's ON the's what the package does that makes it pleasurable for me.

But anyway, we went home with our purchases. I fell in lust with the Luna Beads and we've used those quite often. Mostly at parties, where Sir invites my friends to shake me around in bear hugs and get the damn things moving around. Usually my knees end up weak and it's a good thing that I bring extra underwear in my purse. But the condoms stayed in the drawer for a few days and I didn't think too much about them.

When we finally got around to trying them, well....lets just say that while I don't know about being more pleasurable for him, the lube on the condom left some evidence behind. I'm not sure why we never thought about it. There was a LOT of lube on the condom....either that or it had a very interesting reaction to being inserted in a wet pussy.

We'd finished fucking and I got up to clean myself up. When I looked down at my pussy, I caught a glimpse of something that would have scared the life out of me, had I not known we'd just used a colored condom. My pussy was tinted lime green.

I started laughing and showed Sir what had happened. He started laughing and then the jokes started. Calling my pussy "mossy" and saying it was covered in "green slime" just made me think about moss growing on the sides of rocks or things that aren't USED a whole heck of a lot...and the green slime...well...that just made me think of the Ghostbusters movies. Both of which left vivid pictures in my head and made me laugh all the harder....until I rolled off the bed.

We've tried to give the rest of the condoms away....but we've had little success. It seems that once we tell the green pussy story, nobody really wants to end up in the same condition.

So for condoms, experimenting may be fine...but I'd really rather stick with vanilla ones. Plain, serviceable, and no-nonsense. And I thank the heavens that red wasn't my favorite color. Otherwise, I'd have probably had a heart attack instead.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

A Little Less Lassitude Would Be Nice

The weekend is closing in and despite my saner self, I’m really looking forward to spending time with Daddy.

We didn’t get much time together last weekend, and I really felt the effects of that. So much so, that Daddy ended up sitting through a movie that I’m sure he didn’t care for all that much, just so that I could huff his scent and snuggle next to him in the middle of the week. I felt badly that I’d been so needy for him that he’d blown off the things he had to do, simply so we could spend a few hours together. But he told me that he’d made the choice, so there was nothing for me to feel guilty about. This was one time that I decided to actually listen to what he said, without trying to dig any deeper. I needed him, he was there. Verdict: Not Guilty.

But, back to this weekend. We’ve got a lot of things coming up over the next few months. Pretty much right up until June things are gonna be a bit tight, timewise. We’ve got the Fetish Flea, the Bound in Boston, a trip for the holidays, a private class, and ending with Shibaricon. And that’s just the “main events”. That doesn’t include all the smaller kink related and vanilla things we attend, either separately or together: Boston Rope Artists Guild, munches, parties, MOB rope group, Bondage get what I mean.

And, there’s some things that I’m juggling around. How to coordinate moving, finding a new job, renewing my drivers license, getting new car insurance, making sure the health insurance can translate into MA, packing, tossing, selling, making a decision about Trouble, all the while trying to keep the job I have, prepare classes, take care of the other personal vanilla and kink sites that I am affiliated with.....and somehow....I’ve gotta figure out how to stop feeling so exhausted all the time.

I’m back to not sleeping very well again. It’s been so long since it’s been a problem, that I’ve almost forgotten how to deal with this exhaustion. Coffee only helps for a little while. What I really need is exercise, relaxation, laughter, sunshine, and daddy. It’s been a long ass winter and I’m ready for a little spring in my step right about now.

So this weekend, I’ll spend time with daddy. We'll talk about scheduling, rules, conditions and coordination about the move, I'll be putting the finishing touches on my Flea class and maybe spending some time on a hobby or two. I also hope to get a much needed haircut and manicure. Hopefully, if the weather is nice, getting outside for some sunshine. And if I’m really lucky, we'll play with some rope. I do have a couple of new ties I learned last night.

But what I really want to do the most of is spending some time simply being wrapped in his arms so that I can find a decent night’s sleep.

And I’ll even let him pick the movie.