Wednesday, January 19, 2011

It’s all Fun and Games until Someone's Socks are Dirty



I know I said that I was going to take a break from writing about my personal relationship for a while. And while I intend to do that, I can’t stop writing altogether. Especially when there’s so many things I still think about. Most of which are only peripherally related to what’s going on in my own life.

Do you ever wonder about those kinksters that live together full time? What happens when kinky people decide to live together? Perhaps you think it’s non-stop playtime? That by simply being in the same room, the same bed, makes things somehow easier? No more schedules, no more planning. It just happens, right?

I’ll confess that I kinda did.

As someone said to me, it’s really difficult to keep up the intensity when you live with someone, that you had when you were only seeing each other a few times a week. It’s easy to overlook things when you’re not living with them. Including the dirty socks.

But it’s also easy to get into a rut. Working long hours, commute times that stretch upwards of two hours on a good day, daily responsibilities of family, running a household, and just the sheer amount of work it takes to merge the details of two individual lives so that they somehow work together, very frequently it seems that kinky playtime ends up getting pushed to the side. And now, with party invitations at a premium due to our local space being shut down, I wonder if it’s as hard for other couples to figure out how to transition from getting home from work, getting homework done, eating dinner, putting the kids to bed and still have the inclination to get their kink on with a "scene". I wonder if I’m alone in just not knowing how to integrate kink with everything else going on in my life and that planning for kink just leaves me exhausted.

Just how DO kinky people get put spice back into things? What happens when kink feels.....vanilla?

I'm sure that there must be some hope on the Kink Academy site for kinksters who seem to have lost their kinky way after they’ve found each other. Kinksters who may have found that comfort and joy in their relationship sometimes leads to letting the kinky parts slip to the background. Knowing Princess Kali, I'm betting there is. I'm hoping that by becoming a Student Blogger for the Kink Academy, I'll be able to learn new skills which I can use to get over any apathy I have towards kink and figure out how to bring a new outlook to it. Perhaps some new skills, a new way of doing things, new scene ideas, or even something I haven't even thought of yet would go a long way towards helping me figure out how to bring more of what I crave into my relationship, while still keeping the parts that I dearly love (who doesn't love snuggling while watching a movie?). But more than that, I hope that by becoming a student and writing about using the site, that I can show others who might be a little lost in their own confusion about how to put some kinky spice back into their own long term dynamic.

Without the dirty socks, of course.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Time to Give it a Rest

This is going to be my last post about my own relationship for a while. I'm sure I'll write about it again eventually. But for a while, I'm giving that part of this blog a rest.

I'd been wondering over the last few months whether or not writing about what was in my head was a good idea, especially when it concerned Daddy and me. And while I've hoped that by giving voice to my own confusion it would help me look at things differently (and maybe figure things out), I find that it's done more harm than good. I find myself looking through blog posts and wondering if I am, in fact, "doing it wrong". And, I daresay, after reading some of my posts, I'm almost positive that Daddy is asking himself the same question.

Unintended consequences aren't always fun.

I've relied on this blog as sort of a brain dump. Trying to clarify thoughts that occur to me from snippets of conversation, funny things that happen, my opinion of random events that somehow get meshed together, small events in a day filled with many of them, and the things that don't seem to be working as well as I think they should. I'm beginning to focus on how those things make me feel, while all too often forgetting that he might feel something different when reading them. In my selfishness when writing some of these posts, I'd forgotten that Daddy also reads them. And he reads them with a different point of view. He reads them not to see what's going on in my head, but rather how my poor words somehow try to explain how my head views him. It's fair, I suppose, but not altogether an accurate depiction. And rather than viewing them as random thoughts that I need to work through, I'm sorely afraid that he's viewing those thoughts as the only ones that matter.

I hope that he knows that stray thoughts, based on random bits of conversation, things he's said that have unleashed capricious thoughts in my brain, and even things that have occurred in my own past often hold little truth in how I feel as a whole. About him. About us.

It's difficult living with someone who is so attuned to my moods that I sometimes find it difficult to just let myself just feel sad. Certainly there are times when I can't hide it and inevitably it leads to me just wanting to wallow in my sadness for a bit. And with him wondering if he's done something to cause it. How do you explain to someone you love that feeling happy, without the permission to feel sad sometimes, makes the happiness less than noticeable? It wears on me, to constantly try to look chipper so that I don't have to answer the questions. The ones that I can't answer truthfully without having the focus go back on him? The questions about how I'm feeling, what's wrong, is there anything I can do?

So to wallow in those sad feelings, the uncertainty, the fears, the questions, I've always kept a journal. Never to be read by anyone but myself. I think I made a mistake by putting much of what I'd normally write there on this blog. And I think I made a mistake in letting Daddy read it. I'm not sure why I did it. I've never let anyone read my confusion before. But then, I've never met anyone like Daddy before either.

So for a while, I'm going back to keeping my thoughts to myself and my confusion on paper. Where I know that confusion doesn't mean anything except jumbled thoughts, and finding a way to organize the chaos is the only way to clarity. And if he wants to know what's going on in my head, he'll have to listen to my heart to hear my thoughts, question me about what's there, and not read what my damned fingers think.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Irony of Window Pains

A friend of ours lives in a place that has a metric-shit-ton of windows. It’s beautiful, has plenty of suspension points, and is quite an awesome place actually. But those windows require maintenance. And, being a person with mad skills, determination and a wry sense of humor, she’s decided to advertise for a window cleaning sub. Whether she’s successful or not, I’ll be interested to see. I’ve often thought about finding a sub of my own to carry my packages when shopping, help me try on clothing, and keep me company during pedicures (or even give them), so I’m giving this one a careful watching.

While Daddy and I were talking about her ad, he asked me if my windows were being cleaned enough. I looked at him with a wink (and a really awful feeling that he was gonna ask me to wash the windows in the house) and said “windows are a hard limit”. He smiled back and said “metaphorically speaking”.

He equated all those hundreds of window panes with all of the hundreds of things that make up a relationship. This window pane equates to attention, that one to affection, and the others to other things. Daddy wanted to know if my own panes were clean enough. And the unspoken corollary being if he helped me clean them sufficiently so that I didn’t need someone else to help me.

I hate questions like that. When he asks things like that, I always feel as if it’s really not the time to bring up those panes which might be a little speckled, or those ones that might have a layer of dust on them so thick that they’re hard to see through. Instead, I said, my panes are most always pretty clean. And they are.

But there are some panes that are hard to see through now and again. Unfortunately, they’re strategically placed about so that it makes it hard to see sometimes. But typically for me, I just look through others. I rarely notice them. Move on. Nothing to see here. Until he asks. But now, with his question, I wondered if I’d just gotten used to looking out panes that were slowly clouding over

The pane of Rope. That one makes me sad to think about. That’s one of those panes that I no longer look through. I brought that one upon myself though, and try as I might, I tire of mentioning it at all anymore. Trying to figure out rope from the top really skewed my view of rope as a whole. And blogging about it didn’t help matters. At. All. I wonder if that pane will ever become a little less dim at some point or if it’s just one that I have to get used to not being able to reach to clean. I suppose there is still a bright spot in that pane in that he’s not looking for someone else to help him. But it still makes me sad to think that something that once brought both of us so close, has become something that neither of us wants to talk about.

The pane of topping. I wonder if I really have an affinity for topping, or if I’m just learning to look through other panes because the ones I prefer are smudged. I’m ambivalent about it. And that’s hardly fair for a bottom. Not caring. Hurting them (even if they like it) because I’ve nothing better to do at the moment or that they’ve bugged me enough for it. Or worse yet, because I’m hurting and I need someone else to feel it.

And don’t think the irony of that statement doesn’t occur to me.

And the other pane. The one I’ve spoken to him about many times yet remains smudged. All the wishes in the world that that one would be clean enough to look through again can’t change it. And it's unfortunate that it's the sole pane that I can't clean myself. It's impossible to reach without help. I wonder about that. And I wonder why I miss looking out of that particular one so much. The loss of that one pane is too difficult to think about and so I've hidden it behind a curtain, and I’m not inclined to move the fabric to see what it looks like after all this time of inattention.

There was a lot of irony in the things we spoke about. And I sometimes find it hard to look at him, to try to make it better for him (or at least not make things worse), to be there for and with him, when there are those few strategically placed panes of glass that make it difficult to get the full view. The irony in his statement about why working until all hours helps him to focus his mind so that he doesn’t have to think about other things wasn’t lost on me. And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make him understand.

Fortunately, there are no panes that are broken, and for that I’m grateful. The panes that are grimiest are the ones that I don’t look through so much anymore. And the ones that are the brightest are the ones that I try to clean so often I’m afraid of wearing the glass thin. If a mirror is a reflection of the soul, what then is a pane of glass but an echo of it’s contemplation?

Don’t try to make sense of that one. The thought makes me sad and that’s how I choose to feel right now. Sad for the pain I’ve lost. Sad for the panes that aren’t being cleaned. And sad that I couldn’t find a way to say this to him when he asked.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Should I Know Better?

I read a post by Sarah Sloane this morning. It made me think about my own behavior with my own Wanker and whether or not my posting of the Wanker of the Week was indeed “bullying”. It's a very good post, with a point of view that frankly hadn't occurred to me before.

So I wondered, was I one of those people "who should know better"?

My Wanker was not one of those “newbies” to kink. He was an admitted master (small ‘M’, intentionally) who had, since 1967 owned more than one slave. His own behavior, even after the caretakers got involved in our own dispute, continues to this day and is directed not just towards myself, but towards many other people, mostly young women. He’s continued with his clueless and boorishness. If he isn’t a wanker, he’s certainly not putting forth an effort not to appear to be one. To me, he was someone, by his own admittance, “should know better”.

If he HAD been a newbie (and believe me, I get a LOT of those), I’d have done what I usually do. When I cruise Fet and see someone who “just doesn’t get it” , or I get “those messages”, I take a look at the profile. I see if the person doing it is new, rather young, or if there is any sort of attempt to at least want to be involved in kink and not just wanking. I usually take the time to explain privately the error of their ways; informing them that what they’ve said perhaps wasn’t the best way to attain their goals; provide references to local groups and people who could provide information and experience; and help them with their profiles. I’ve done this many, many times. In all of them, I’ve never put their names on any social media site as a “wanker to be”. I’ve tried never to embarrass them publicly, and I’ve done my best to be a voice in their own confusion. I’ve become friends with many of these “clueless newbies”; many of whom now are actively involved in our “community” (with apologies to AliceSinAerie).

But there is a huge difference to me with the behavior exhibited by the Wanker and that of the unsure, clueless, newly discovering kinkster. And that is that there is that the latter is indeed just ignorant of the mores and behaviors expected; the former just stupidly ignores them for his own douchenozzlery. I have an obligation, I think, to help those that I can, how I can, and where I can. I question whether I am under the same obligation to those that won’t be bothered to even try to be anything except a wanker. As a very good friends says all the time "you can't fix stupid".

You know the kind I’m talking about- the guys who comment on pictures saying things that imply non-consensual ownership or rights. The ones (and forgive me, but it’s always been in my experience men) who think that Fetlife is porn and that kinky girls are there solely for their own personal gratification. The ones that send the same messages to hundreds of girls, hoping that ONE is influenced by his apparent interest. The ones that subject me, and other women to being non-consensually involved in their fantasies. Simply because we have a profile on Fetlife, we’re somehow less than deserving of respect, courtesy, or even the basic kindness given to complete strangers when first meeting them. Simply by having a profile there, many of these guys believe we’re whores, ready to accept every vile and disgusting thing that they spout, and who get wet at the thought of serving such “masters”. The worst part is, that they usually prey on those that are themselves new. Who do I help by not calling attention to this behavior? The wanker? Or his prey? This is far different from thoughtlessness or inconsideration. This is behavior designed for one purpose alone: to make the people they do it to feel powerless.

So I thought about it. I read Sarah’s post again. and realized that the question is not if I’m a bully by posting the Wanker of the Week, but whether or not those wankers are bullying me, and everyone else that they do this to. If my posting the Wanker of the Week or bringing these jerks out into the open is bullying, then so be it. Calling attention to this behavior is not bullying. Especially when the bully has already thrown the first punch.

But my new question is why is it OK for those wankers to do this? Why does it become acceptable for THEM to do this, while I have to just put up with it? Why is their non-consensual asshattery on MY profile acceptable? And why shouldn’t they be called to task for their egregious behavior?

Are we at a point when well meaning people protect the bully, in the guise of “mastery” on a kink site, because the people calling attention to it should know better? Or is calling attention to the most egregious offenders as an example of what NOT to do, actually fighting against bullying?

I wish I knew better.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Closet Cleaning




Welcome to 2011.

I refuse to get maudlin at the beginning of this year. I’m not going to start a list of what I accomplished (or didn’t) last year, nor am I going to bore anyone with a list of my own personal goals for this new one. Suffice to say that I had a ball and a half last year and I expect this one to be even better.

January 1 is full of promise, hope, anticipation and enthusiasm and closet cleaning.

I am a collector. Shoes, jewelry, books, tchotkes, and scrapbooking stuff. I had a couple of days and so I thought it would be a good time to get at least one of those things in order. I chose the hardest one- my scrap closet. This is not the first time I used a closet cleaning to re-evaluate what was going on in my life. When I first met Sir, I’d used my shoe collection to put the past away and look forward to the future. This time what I learned from cleaning my scrapbooking closet (which isn’t finished yet, despite three days worth of cleaning) is that more is not necessarily better. Sometimes more just gets messier faster.

What does this have to do with D/s you ask?

I downsized my scrap room for a closet when I moved in with Sir. I went from having an entire 24x20 room, to a corner of a bedroom, to a closet in just a little more than a year. Without throwing anything away. I stored things in boxes, cases and drawers, just trying to get it to “fit” in my new space. It was stored, but hardly functional. It takes too long to find anything when it’s in covered boxes and closed drawers. I’m more used to having my stuff where I can find it easily. Everything is put away neatly, but I can’t ever find anything specific. As Daddy jokes, I have more stuff than 1/2 the aisles at Michaels. And yet, every weekend, or trip to the internet, it’s hard not to bring more stuff into the house. I’ve forgotten so many of the things that I have, that I often buy the same thing three or four times. I’ve even attended conventions (yes, they have conventions for even this) and come home with boxes, bags, and piles of new things to just shove in the closet.

But as I was cleaning my closet this weekend, I realized that having “more” of anything wasn’t making me happier. In fact, it was making it infinitely harder to use or appreciate what I had.

I was looking for some ethereal “more” from Sir. More dominance, more D/s, more rules, protocols, more...something. I’d thought that things weren’t working out as I’d expected them. But when I looked at what I had, after taking everything out of the box (so to speak), I realized that more would just be messier.

Our dynamic seems to ebb and flow as our needs change. Sometimes we need “more” D/s, and sometimes things work better with less. We still HAVE the D/s, but it’s not at the same intensity all the time (and I’m not talking about just kinky play). But what I was viewing as “not enough”, in actuality was because a lot of those small rituals, rules, and protocols had been incorporated into our daily interactions with each other. Instead of my kneeling when I arrived at his house, he now stops and hugs me and welcomes me home. Instead of asking him how he’d like certain things, I just do it that way out of habit. Instead of making up a whole bunch of silly rules for me to follow or him to enforce, caring, courtesy, love, respect and affection are the reason to do things for each other. Instead of having protocols for our relationship, we had one where we could discuss it with each other.

Cleaning my scrap closet reminded me that I’d bought many of those things because I loved them. Putting them in closed boxes denied me the opportunity to even find them, much less use them. Buying more just to have more just made it harder to see what I had. Being with Daddy doesn’t need more “something”, just more of what we’ve already got.

More of anything in our relationship would be messier and wouldn’t necessarily make me happier. Having more is not the same as using more. We have much more in our relationship than I’d realized simply because having shoved things into neat little boxes, I’d forgotten what was in them. We do have rules, rituals, protocols and D/s. Having more just because I’d forgotten that those things work best when they’re a seamless part of a whole would just be like buying more scrapbooking stuff because I couldn’t find what I’d already had.

Sometimes, taking things out of the box and realizing the reason why I bought them in the first place, is reason enough to clean out that closet once in a while.