I went to a caning workshop at my friendly neighborhood play space this evening, and I realized, with some startlement, about halfway through the lecture portion of the presentation that I already knew almost everything that the presenter was talking about. It was lovely to see her enthusiasm for her topic, and some of the toys she passed around were exciting or wicked or both (a cane made out of a real rose stem, thorns and all? Ow!). But I didn't need to keep the handout, because it didn't tell me much that I didn't already know, other than that one can make canes out of a great many natural materials, such as apple tree shoots or forsythia branches. Or bull horn, which is what I think she said the big scary solid thing was. Or a foot-long, inch-wide cylinder of solid rubber, if you can even call that a cane and not just an implement of ow.
My very first toy that got any consistent use was a cane, or at least a stick that I called a cane for lack of a less generic description. One of the very first demos I ever saw at a kinky con was a caning demo that left bleeding welts on the thighs and ass of the very happy demo bottom. I think I've gone to at least one caning demo at every kinky con I've attended since. At this point I can rattle off a great deal of theory about cane care, and about playing safely with said toys, and how the rules can be gently bent if you both know exactly what you're doing. And so, on the one hand, I agreed with the smartass top who joked that you can cane any part of the body, because in theory you can indeed do so, if you put no force behind the strike and don't use an innately painful object as your cane (cf. the thorny rose stem). On the other hand, I wanted to grab him by his ill-fitting (and ugly, IMbiasedO) fetish wear and smack him upside the head for hijacking the presentation for even a short discussion of why it is, no seriously it is, you smartass, a bad idea to cane someone's hands using force. (I happened to be sitting right behind the smartass top in question, and I was momentarily tempted to smack him on the head or neck with the little cane that I was holding and see what he thought of his own statement. Of course, I did not. But I was tempted.)
All that being said, I know I have a great deal more in the way of technique to learn. But I'm not new to this any more, and I've reached a point where I'm refining certain skills, rather than newly acquiring them. And that, somehow, still surprises me. I feel about the same as I did when I went to my second year of Witchcamp, or my second year of home-grown co-created rituals. "I'm still relatively new to this -- but I'm not a 'baby witch' any more."
I think it's all too easy to lose sight of the vast middle ground between "novice" and "expert." There's a long way between me and the famous names in either witchery or kink, but if I had been doing what those folks have been doing for as long as they've been doing it, and had been doing it as well as they have been, I'd be pretty damn good at what I was doing, too. And, at this point I'm still under 30. I hope to have a very long time in which to become that good.
And yet, despite the experience I do have, I sometimes compare myself with the leading lights of the witchy or kinky worlds and think, "Gosh, I'm nowhere close to being that good. Therefore, I must not be good at this at all." This is clearly false; I wouldn't even need to ask my dear partner for confirmation of that any more. But it's as if that middle ground temporarily vanishes, and since I'm not an expert, therefore I must be a novice.
And so I leave you with this piece of unsolicited advice, dear reader: Do what I say, not what I do. Embrace the middle ground, for it is truly a vast place, and there is much good company therein.
Bonus paragraph: I would love to make a direct connection between the above statement and the Iron Pentacle, because I feel like these things go together in some obvious way. However, it's late, so I will leave that as an exercise for anyone who feels like taking it on.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Introduction: Annie Blackbird
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Hello, readers of Arachne's Web. Annie Blackbird here. Miriam asked me a while back if I would like to make the occasional guest post to this blog, and I said yes before I had really thought about it. Then I thought about it, and thus ensued the few months' delay between the time of her asking and the time of this writing.
You see, I'm not a rope person. I appreciate the aesthetics of rope bondage, as well as its functionality when it's intended to be functional, but for me, the return isn't often worth the effort. I don't have much experience at all with rope of any kind, and right now it simply takes me too damn long to rig everything the way I want it. By the time I've finished, I've usually lost the momentum of the scene, which is entirely counterproductive, at least to my way of thinking. And therefore, at least for the time being, I don't think of myself as a rope person.
I am, however, an experienced witchy-type person, a stealth queer (by which I mean that I am a bisexual woman whose primary partner is a heterosexual man: I'm not visibly queer when we go out for a walk together), and a dyed-in-the-wool kinkster. With regards to the latter, I've been a top all my life; I was a dominant sadist, as per Midori's excellent definitions of both terms, long before I knew what either of those words meant, or even what sex was. These days this part of my life is lots of fun, now that I like who I am: I have a wonderful partner who complements me in all the ways that matter, many supportive friends, a healthy local kink community, a membership to a truly excellent play space, and a lot of fun toys (all of them of inanimate natures, at least thus far) to play with. I even switch with my partner on rare occasions, which is a thing I hadn't ever considered before we got together. Life is very good.
In any case, to return to my point: there's more than one way to be a spider, and more than one way to put spider silk to good use. I'm more of a wolf spider than an orb-weaver type, but I like to think that I'm at least as skilled at weaving the web of closeness and connection between my partner and myself, or between myself and others, or between one community and another, as any other spider out there. Thus, this introduction; thus, this writing. May it help to bring together those things that are meant to come together.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Hello, readers of Arachne's Web. Annie Blackbird here. Miriam asked me a while back if I would like to make the occasional guest post to this blog, and I said yes before I had really thought about it. Then I thought about it, and thus ensued the few months' delay between the time of her asking and the time of this writing.
You see, I'm not a rope person. I appreciate the aesthetics of rope bondage, as well as its functionality when it's intended to be functional, but for me, the return isn't often worth the effort. I don't have much experience at all with rope of any kind, and right now it simply takes me too damn long to rig everything the way I want it. By the time I've finished, I've usually lost the momentum of the scene, which is entirely counterproductive, at least to my way of thinking. And therefore, at least for the time being, I don't think of myself as a rope person.
I am, however, an experienced witchy-type person, a stealth queer (by which I mean that I am a bisexual woman whose primary partner is a heterosexual man: I'm not visibly queer when we go out for a walk together), and a dyed-in-the-wool kinkster. With regards to the latter, I've been a top all my life; I was a dominant sadist, as per Midori's excellent definitions of both terms, long before I knew what either of those words meant, or even what sex was. These days this part of my life is lots of fun, now that I like who I am: I have a wonderful partner who complements me in all the ways that matter, many supportive friends, a healthy local kink community, a membership to a truly excellent play space, and a lot of fun toys (all of them of inanimate natures, at least thus far) to play with. I even switch with my partner on rare occasions, which is a thing I hadn't ever considered before we got together. Life is very good.
In any case, to return to my point: there's more than one way to be a spider, and more than one way to put spider silk to good use. I'm more of a wolf spider than an orb-weaver type, but I like to think that I'm at least as skilled at weaving the web of closeness and connection between my partner and myself, or between myself and others, or between one community and another, as any other spider out there. Thus, this introduction; thus, this writing. May it help to bring together those things that are meant to come together.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
And, canes
The black and blue marks are still working their ways out of my butt and thighs.
Why yes, I do switch, thankyouverymuch. And gods I've missed the dirty end of a cane. Nasty things, those.
Nope, that radio silence has not been do to a lack of play. No, ma'am.
Why yes, I do switch, thankyouverymuch. And gods I've missed the dirty end of a cane. Nasty things, those.
Nope, that radio silence has not been do to a lack of play. No, ma'am.
Knives
One of the things I love most about my D/s relationships are the ways they suffuse the rest of my life. When I admire the sparkling floor, or look down at my hennaed feet, I get something more out of them than their inherent pleasure. They also function as forms of connection.
My girl has taken on keeping my knives sharp as a piece of her Work, as of the last time she was here. There was a bit of sneakiness involved, I'll admit. I was planning to get her a set of good knives for her birthday, and wanted her to take on maintaining them as sacred work. And, of course, it gives her something to do while I make dinner.
I still can't get over the pleasure I feel every time I take those knives to garden-fresh produce, and effortlessly slice them through.
And so I find myself looking very carefully at the homework I give her, and give my service submissive. On the one hand, it seems a waste to do something too prosaic. But there's something else, too. Reportedly, someone once criticized Feri witch Cora Anderson for cutting an apple with her athame, and she replied that she wasn't desecrating the knife, she was consecrating the apple. And that's how it feels to choose this work.
Even mopping the floors is sacred Work, if you make it so.
My girl has taken on keeping my knives sharp as a piece of her Work, as of the last time she was here. There was a bit of sneakiness involved, I'll admit. I was planning to get her a set of good knives for her birthday, and wanted her to take on maintaining them as sacred work. And, of course, it gives her something to do while I make dinner.
I still can't get over the pleasure I feel every time I take those knives to garden-fresh produce, and effortlessly slice them through.
And so I find myself looking very carefully at the homework I give her, and give my service submissive. On the one hand, it seems a waste to do something too prosaic. But there's something else, too. Reportedly, someone once criticized Feri witch Cora Anderson for cutting an apple with her athame, and she replied that she wasn't desecrating the knife, she was consecrating the apple. And that's how it feels to choose this work.
Even mopping the floors is sacred Work, if you make it so.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Floors and Foundations
Or, Witch/apprentice as the new D/s paradigm?
So, I've recently returned to a kabbalistic project of mine, poring through medieval and modern texts on kabbalah, cabala and qabala to learn as broad a perspective as I can, using the sephirot as a structure. Having recently returned to this, I'm starting over at the bottom, reviewing and researching the bottom two spheres of Malkuth (Kingdom) and Yesod (Foundation), as well as adding to the pile new books that I hadn't covered in my previous research. So, that was my planned magickal work of the evening during my service session.
Coincidentally or not, I decided that yesterday's session would be about my floors. I hate doing floors. Hate, hate, hate sweeping them. Hate, hate, hate mopping them. I probably would have chosen that service regardless, but the magickal parallelism was too great to ignore.
And so it was that I opened my session again this week by talking about the magickal work I had planned for the night, and how my submissive's work would feed into that. I gave him just a very rough overview of the work, and asked him to pay special attention to the floors in three spots in my house, and then set him to work.
Other magickal stuff uncovered itself, as it will. In order to clean the kitchen floor, he had to move the coins and offerings I had to Legba behind the door. As he was putting things to rights again, I asked where the coins had gone and briefly explained why they'd been there, and why he had to be the one to put them back and how to do so. I explained that he can, in making those offerings, ask for assistance at any crossroads in his life.
Later, when we were having our chat at the end of the session, he mentioned that he is at a lot of metaphoric crossroads right now, and seemed amazed that I had keyed into this for him. "Well, darling, that's what happens when you choose a witch for your dom." We talked a bit about how Legba might be able to help with his choices, and about how to build that relationship. I added extra attention at real and metaphoric crossroads to the between-class homework, and we made plans for our weekend session.
I'm very pleased at the direction this is taking.
Unsurprisingly, I got to my email afterward to find that the Pyrate Lass, who knows next to nothing about the kabbalistic work I'm doing, had sent me a painting she worked on last night. It is completely filled with colors, symbols and objects that I associate with Malkuth and Yesod. Life is very funny that way sometimes.
So, I've recently returned to a kabbalistic project of mine, poring through medieval and modern texts on kabbalah, cabala and qabala to learn as broad a perspective as I can, using the sephirot as a structure. Having recently returned to this, I'm starting over at the bottom, reviewing and researching the bottom two spheres of Malkuth (Kingdom) and Yesod (Foundation), as well as adding to the pile new books that I hadn't covered in my previous research. So, that was my planned magickal work of the evening during my service session.
Coincidentally or not, I decided that yesterday's session would be about my floors. I hate doing floors. Hate, hate, hate sweeping them. Hate, hate, hate mopping them. I probably would have chosen that service regardless, but the magickal parallelism was too great to ignore.
And so it was that I opened my session again this week by talking about the magickal work I had planned for the night, and how my submissive's work would feed into that. I gave him just a very rough overview of the work, and asked him to pay special attention to the floors in three spots in my house, and then set him to work.
Other magickal stuff uncovered itself, as it will. In order to clean the kitchen floor, he had to move the coins and offerings I had to Legba behind the door. As he was putting things to rights again, I asked where the coins had gone and briefly explained why they'd been there, and why he had to be the one to put them back and how to do so. I explained that he can, in making those offerings, ask for assistance at any crossroads in his life.
Later, when we were having our chat at the end of the session, he mentioned that he is at a lot of metaphoric crossroads right now, and seemed amazed that I had keyed into this for him. "Well, darling, that's what happens when you choose a witch for your dom." We talked a bit about how Legba might be able to help with his choices, and about how to build that relationship. I added extra attention at real and metaphoric crossroads to the between-class homework, and we made plans for our weekend session.
I'm very pleased at the direction this is taking.
Unsurprisingly, I got to my email afterward to find that the Pyrate Lass, who knows next to nothing about the kabbalistic work I'm doing, had sent me a painting she worked on last night. It is completely filled with colors, symbols and objects that I associate with Malkuth and Yesod. Life is very funny that way sometimes.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Kinky calendar, and more on service
Big week ahead. Service session Thursday, my girl comes to visit for the weekend Friday, another service session (getting my lawn did) Saturday. All that, plus fitting in my D/s relationships in a non-kinky event setting Sunday, which should prove amusing.
I was fairly solitary for the long weekend, bummed out at not going to Shibaricon after all but also happy with what I accomplished here. I was amused to realize toward the end of the weekend that I no longer have that strange sense of resentment to do my own housework when I need to. I used to go around grumbling, "I need a service sub." Well, now I have one. Which changes everything, reinstating my feeling of choice in what I do. (After all, I choose what makes it to my 'to do' pile, and what makes it to my service submissive's, and what makes it to my girl's.) That psychic freedom may in the long run pay far more dividends than my satisfaction in the actual work (which is not inconsiderable).
I was fairly solitary for the long weekend, bummed out at not going to Shibaricon after all but also happy with what I accomplished here. I was amused to realize toward the end of the weekend that I no longer have that strange sense of resentment to do my own housework when I need to. I used to go around grumbling, "I need a service sub." Well, now I have one. Which changes everything, reinstating my feeling of choice in what I do. (After all, I choose what makes it to my 'to do' pile, and what makes it to my service submissive's, and what makes it to my girl's.) That psychic freedom may in the long run pay far more dividends than my satisfaction in the actual work (which is not inconsiderable).
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Rope dreams
In my dream last night, I was tying a big guy into a strapedo. One of my bi leather boy friends (and I realize, writing that, I seem to have a lot of those) was holding said man down, a knee shoved into his back, and his hands holding the man's wrists into the strapedo.
I asked the man not much later if he played with rope at all, and excused myself to grab my rope kit (and quickly peek to see if anyone had a "recipe" for a nice strapedo in their book -- I've never tied one yet). I remember wondering if I'd have enough 8mm in my kit to use that, because his arms were so big and muscular. And then I woke up.
This might mean it's time to process the 100 ft of 8mm I have waiting for me, you think?
It probably also means that I'm really disappointed that I'm not making it to Shibaricon after all. I gave my passes to someone I hope will get a lot out of them (and who I hope will write it up for me - we'll see!)
I asked the man not much later if he played with rope at all, and excused myself to grab my rope kit (and quickly peek to see if anyone had a "recipe" for a nice strapedo in their book -- I've never tied one yet). I remember wondering if I'd have enough 8mm in my kit to use that, because his arms were so big and muscular. And then I woke up.
This might mean it's time to process the 100 ft of 8mm I have waiting for me, you think?
It probably also means that I'm really disappointed that I'm not making it to Shibaricon after all. I gave my passes to someone I hope will get a lot out of them (and who I hope will write it up for me - we'll see!)
Monday, May 21, 2007
Yard
Not only did I have a perfect weekend (more about which in another post), but I pulled into my driveway yesterday to find a perfectly trimmed and edged lawn. I am very pleased.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Toes
Little things please me.
We decided almost flippantly, that weekend that felt so fragile to me, that painting my toenails would be part of my girl's Work. I've never been the kind to paint my own; it feels fussy to me and I'm not terribly good at it.
It has turned out to mean more than I expected. I find myself looking down all the time to see my toes arrayed in color, to be reminded of her. It's another small piece of connection that we have despite the fact we're in different cities, as I hope having her collars is for her.
Yesterday, she told me excitedly that she bought a new color, just for me. I look forward to seeing it.
We decided almost flippantly, that weekend that felt so fragile to me, that painting my toenails would be part of my girl's Work. I've never been the kind to paint my own; it feels fussy to me and I'm not terribly good at it.
It has turned out to mean more than I expected. I find myself looking down all the time to see my toes arrayed in color, to be reminded of her. It's another small piece of connection that we have despite the fact we're in different cities, as I hope having her collars is for her.
Yesterday, she told me excitedly that she bought a new color, just for me. I look forward to seeing it.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Service
The first service session went very well. My new submissive has history as a woodworker, and so it felt right to have him sand and oil my wooden kitchen island as a first task. Given that I also treat my kitchen island very much as an altar for kitchen witchery, this was also a way to test our ability to integrate magick and service.
I set to my own homework for the night (reading a new magickal book), never lacking for hot chai. The boy got to work in the kitchen, doing far more than I expected. By the time he was done, the island was smooth and well oiled, the floor clean, the compost and trash removed, the compost bin rinsed in the garden, and my book was very nearly done.
It's all about intention: not the sanding and oiling of the wood, but the act of devotion behind it, the way that sanding and oiling is in service to me and the powers I serve using that space. And it's on that level that I'm most satisfied with last night: the way that the boy clearly paid attention (as asked) to things on an energetic level. I set some homework on that, accepted the gift of an extra session to tend my yard when I'm next out of town, and went to bed feeling like I do after good magickal Work.
I think this is going to work out just fine . . .
I set to my own homework for the night (reading a new magickal book), never lacking for hot chai. The boy got to work in the kitchen, doing far more than I expected. By the time he was done, the island was smooth and well oiled, the floor clean, the compost and trash removed, the compost bin rinsed in the garden, and my book was very nearly done.
It's all about intention: not the sanding and oiling of the wood, but the act of devotion behind it, the way that sanding and oiling is in service to me and the powers I serve using that space. And it's on that level that I'm most satisfied with last night: the way that the boy clearly paid attention (as asked) to things on an energetic level. I set some homework on that, accepted the gift of an extra session to tend my yard when I'm next out of town, and went to bed feeling like I do after good magickal Work.
I think this is going to work out just fine . . .
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Knots
I'm about to head out to see the Pyrate Lass for a nice kinky weekend of my ordering her to sit on the couch while I do service topping things. New direction in our kink? Not so much. She's on bedrest at the moment, and I'm just the tender du jour.
We are preparing for boredom: books and crafts, and some garden-fresh herbs so I can do a bit of cooking.
This being us, she asked me to bring books so she can practice some ties.
And being me, I've also thrown in my proper knots books on top of the shibari books, and a bit of nylon rope to practice the stuff in the Two Knotty Boys book. (More on that in another post, probably.)
I often quip that I do Japanese-style rope bondage mostly because it doesn't require fancy knots. If you can do create a larkshead, an overhand knot, and a square knot you're basically good to go. I'd started out trying to learn a lot of knots, realized I didn't really need to, and stopped learning them. A Foole's Cuff is probably as fancy as I get, and of course I'm always making up weaves on the fly to get harnesses to lay flat. I think I can tie a Camel's Hitch, but I usually end up just doing one by accident and recognizing it after the fact.
Perhaps I'm being reactionary (that article yesterday said something about not becoming a knot geek) but I'm feeling again today like I really want to learn some proper knots and hitches. Even if I don't end up using them in bondage, I might in my house or garden. And of course it's always going to be useful when the ex-Boy Scouts start trying to use knot language in the SIGs, so I can look at them a bit less blankly. And so in go the books.
Which makes me wonder what knots other bondage afficionados think I should start out with? Anyone? Anyone? Graydancer?
We are preparing for boredom: books and crafts, and some garden-fresh herbs so I can do a bit of cooking.
This being us, she asked me to bring books so she can practice some ties.
And being me, I've also thrown in my proper knots books on top of the shibari books, and a bit of nylon rope to practice the stuff in the Two Knotty Boys book. (More on that in another post, probably.)
I often quip that I do Japanese-style rope bondage mostly because it doesn't require fancy knots. If you can do create a larkshead, an overhand knot, and a square knot you're basically good to go. I'd started out trying to learn a lot of knots, realized I didn't really need to, and stopped learning them. A Foole's Cuff is probably as fancy as I get, and of course I'm always making up weaves on the fly to get harnesses to lay flat. I think I can tie a Camel's Hitch, but I usually end up just doing one by accident and recognizing it after the fact.
Perhaps I'm being reactionary (that article yesterday said something about not becoming a knot geek) but I'm feeling again today like I really want to learn some proper knots and hitches. Even if I don't end up using them in bondage, I might in my house or garden. And of course it's always going to be useful when the ex-Boy Scouts start trying to use knot language in the SIGs, so I can look at them a bit less blankly. And so in go the books.
Which makes me wonder what knots other bondage afficionados think I should start out with? Anyone? Anyone? Graydancer?
Friday, May 4, 2007
On Finding Good Help, pt. 2
So, one of my sweeties hopped over to the blog the other morning to see how the interview went.
I'm not sure I have a lot to say, at least not publically. The interview went well, and we are going to move forward into an initial service engagement with an option for his earning a collar and more responsibilities down the road. Mostly we negotiated, sipping tea at the wobbly kitchen table and working out some terms and concerns. Toward the end, I gave him a tour of the house and garden and a few high points.
He has skills I knew I was looking for and several I'd never considered, such as being able to teach me to play the guitar I own but can't play. His carpentry skills are much more advanced than I'd realized; I've played on some dungeon furniture he built without having any idea it was his work.
And, I feel like I have a lot that I can teach. He knows landscaping, for example, but nothing about permaculture. Over time, that might be a place he can apprentice.
I came out of our meeting excited and inspired. I gave him a bit of homework, and we'll be setting up a proper session soon.
And, oh yeah. My kitchen table no longer wobbles. I think this is going to work out just fine.
I'm not sure I have a lot to say, at least not publically. The interview went well, and we are going to move forward into an initial service engagement with an option for his earning a collar and more responsibilities down the road. Mostly we negotiated, sipping tea at the wobbly kitchen table and working out some terms and concerns. Toward the end, I gave him a tour of the house and garden and a few high points.
He has skills I knew I was looking for and several I'd never considered, such as being able to teach me to play the guitar I own but can't play. His carpentry skills are much more advanced than I'd realized; I've played on some dungeon furniture he built without having any idea it was his work.
And, I feel like I have a lot that I can teach. He knows landscaping, for example, but nothing about permaculture. Over time, that might be a place he can apprentice.
I came out of our meeting excited and inspired. I gave him a bit of homework, and we'll be setting up a proper session soon.
And, oh yeah. My kitchen table no longer wobbles. I think this is going to work out just fine.
Dirty South Blogs
I'd been recently despairing that unlike Seattle and San Francisco the Dirty South doesn't really have any kink columnists.
Well, go figure. One of the new blogs out of Austin has a kink columnist, who just put up a decent entry on playing with rope.
And no, it's not me in Yet Another Writing Guise. Although, would that I'd thought of that!
Well, go figure. One of the new blogs out of Austin has a kink columnist, who just put up a decent entry on playing with rope.
And no, it's not me in Yet Another Writing Guise. Although, would that I'd thought of that!
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
On calling the scene
Lest I lose my switch credentials (I know, bloody unlikely!) I also have a few random thoughts on bottoming.
Tops, seriously, a word to the wise from a covert operative:
Trust your bottoms to call the scene.
Seriously.
If you don't trust your bottom enough to call the scene, you should not be playing with him or her.
Now, of course this implies you've set up means to call the scene. You have, haven't you? Maybe there's a safeword, or a color system. Or maybe you play one of many variations on "the counting game". (Mine is what I use at the very end of scenes when I want to go for the nasty wallops: Pick a number. Count only the "good ones". When we hit that number, you're done. Of course, when this game is played on me I am liable to start making up imaginary numbers just to be a brat.)
But unless or until you hear that call, or unless or until you're done (you being the Domly Dom and all that), or until you have fairly solid evidence to the contrary, trust that your bottom is with you.
Seriously.
One of my first play parties, I was co-bottoming with my then lover. We were both being played sadistically hard by two co-tops. It was harder than I'd ever been played before, and . . . I loved it! I loved it, loved it, loved it. It was challenging. It hurt like hell. And I think my lover (who generally had no reticence to caning my ass black and blue when she couldn't see my face) kept seeing me in pain, and asking if I needed her to call the scene for me. No, I didn't. What I really needed was for her to trust me enough to know I'd call it if I had to. And I have to say, the only major downside to that scene was that her concern for me kept pulling my energy back down, and made it harder to give in and fly. She meant well, but it had exactly the wrong effect.
I recently heard something similar from another bottom, who was playing the counting game with a top who was beating her to the point of tears. "Do you need me to stop?" the top asked. "Have you heard my number yet?"
Seriously. The reason we pervy bottoms do this stuff is that we like it.
I know that doesn't make sense sometimes, particularly if we are crying, or making pain faces, or screaming, or calling you a rat bastard or a bitch. I know it's hard sometimes.
But you know, crying is not a safeword. "Rat bastard," and "you stupid little cunt" are also not safewords. 3.14, 42, or 93 if your 'number' is 7, is not a safeword. (Although technically 23 might be. But I digress . . . ) No, the safeword is what we've agreed on.
Until we get there, I'll agree to safeword if I need to if you'll agree to stop fussing over me in the meantime.
Tops, seriously, a word to the wise from a covert operative:
Trust your bottoms to call the scene.
Seriously.
If you don't trust your bottom enough to call the scene, you should not be playing with him or her.
Now, of course this implies you've set up means to call the scene. You have, haven't you? Maybe there's a safeword, or a color system. Or maybe you play one of many variations on "the counting game". (Mine is what I use at the very end of scenes when I want to go for the nasty wallops: Pick a number. Count only the "good ones". When we hit that number, you're done. Of course, when this game is played on me I am liable to start making up imaginary numbers just to be a brat.)
But unless or until you hear that call, or unless or until you're done (you being the Domly Dom and all that), or until you have fairly solid evidence to the contrary, trust that your bottom is with you.
Seriously.
One of my first play parties, I was co-bottoming with my then lover. We were both being played sadistically hard by two co-tops. It was harder than I'd ever been played before, and . . . I loved it! I loved it, loved it, loved it. It was challenging. It hurt like hell. And I think my lover (who generally had no reticence to caning my ass black and blue when she couldn't see my face) kept seeing me in pain, and asking if I needed her to call the scene for me. No, I didn't. What I really needed was for her to trust me enough to know I'd call it if I had to. And I have to say, the only major downside to that scene was that her concern for me kept pulling my energy back down, and made it harder to give in and fly. She meant well, but it had exactly the wrong effect.
I recently heard something similar from another bottom, who was playing the counting game with a top who was beating her to the point of tears. "Do you need me to stop?" the top asked. "Have you heard my number yet?"
Seriously. The reason we pervy bottoms do this stuff is that we like it.
I know that doesn't make sense sometimes, particularly if we are crying, or making pain faces, or screaming, or calling you a rat bastard or a bitch. I know it's hard sometimes.
But you know, crying is not a safeword. "Rat bastard," and "you stupid little cunt" are also not safewords. 3.14, 42, or 93 if your 'number' is 7, is not a safeword. (Although technically 23 might be. But I digress . . . ) No, the safeword is what we've agreed on.
Until we get there, I'll agree to safeword if I need to if you'll agree to stop fussing over me in the meantime.
On Finding Good Help
Sometimes the hardest thing about getting what you want is actually realizing that:
a. you've been asking for something
b. the Universe (sometimes in the form of other people) has been listening
c. you're getting it
d. figuring out what the hell to do now
And so it is with my recent adventures in finding a service submissive.
I've been joking so long that "I need a service submissive," that I'm not sure I was even really hearing myself. But someone was. And so it was that from the most unexpected quarter, I found a very capable and service-oriented gentleman offering his services.
And so I did what I normally do in such situations. I stalled like hell.
To be fair to myself, I was on a retreat when I had the offer, and I have a policy to make no major life changes until a month after my retreat. Which I am, now. I sat with the decision for a couple of weeks, ran it by my lovers, sat with it some more, and then sent out the application. Which has now come back to me with enough "extras" to really delight me. (As it turns out, my applicant has experience as a landscaper!)
And, I feel like I'm pushing myself a bit every step of the way, through my own inertia. I know that this doesn't make me sound much like a domly dom, but it's true.
And I know what the inertia is about, because it's something that you hear about all the time in the professional world as well. "It will take longer to train someone else to do this than it does to do it myself." That's my reticence to start explaining what it is that I do (or don't do): how to fold and put away the laundry, how to clean the floors, how to deal with my composting and greywater systems, how to tell the deliberate weeds from the noxious ones, how to deal with my cranky old cat. And in a very real way I would like the house to be already perfect when we have this talk, which may or may not happen and is frankly a bit silly.
At least, that's part of the inertia. Another very real part is scheduling, which is the reason I've had a couple of lovely lasses offer to rope bottom to me for months now, and haven't managed to make time to set up sessions. Lately my schedule is clear for the first time in months, and I am very reluctant to pencil anyone in beyond my "short list" of very close friends and lovers.
And again, that's a trap. In the long run, retaining a service submissive will -- like any well planned new endeavor -- save me time and free up my energy. Ideally, it will help with my lower two tiers on Maslow's pyramid so that I can focus more time higher up the chain (on things like, say, having those girls over to tie up). It's always getting through the short run that's trouble.
So, I did what I do when I'm finally ready for something. I just made the appointment. I don't feel "ready," but if I wait till I feel ready, it will never happen. No, I set the appointment and that will give me extra incentive to be ready.
And so it begins.
Yes, I have an incredible girl. And no, she's not going anywhere, at least if I can help it! But while she is many things to me -- the perfect 105-pound rope slut, a sweet and attentive friend, giver of fantastic pedicures, amazing lover, and all around darling girl -- she is not and simply isn't going to be a service submissive. Which, as I've said before, is just fine with me. I think we get far more out of working with a bottom's inherent skills and performance capacity than we get from a one size fits all solution.
a. you've been asking for something
b. the Universe (sometimes in the form of other people) has been listening
c. you're getting it
d. figuring out what the hell to do now
And so it is with my recent adventures in finding a service submissive.
I've been joking so long that "I need a service submissive," that I'm not sure I was even really hearing myself. But someone was. And so it was that from the most unexpected quarter, I found a very capable and service-oriented gentleman offering his services.
And so I did what I normally do in such situations. I stalled like hell.
To be fair to myself, I was on a retreat when I had the offer, and I have a policy to make no major life changes until a month after my retreat. Which I am, now. I sat with the decision for a couple of weeks, ran it by my lovers, sat with it some more, and then sent out the application. Which has now come back to me with enough "extras" to really delight me. (As it turns out, my applicant has experience as a landscaper!)
And, I feel like I'm pushing myself a bit every step of the way, through my own inertia. I know that this doesn't make me sound much like a domly dom, but it's true.
And I know what the inertia is about, because it's something that you hear about all the time in the professional world as well. "It will take longer to train someone else to do this than it does to do it myself." That's my reticence to start explaining what it is that I do (or don't do): how to fold and put away the laundry, how to clean the floors, how to deal with my composting and greywater systems, how to tell the deliberate weeds from the noxious ones, how to deal with my cranky old cat. And in a very real way I would like the house to be already perfect when we have this talk, which may or may not happen and is frankly a bit silly.
At least, that's part of the inertia. Another very real part is scheduling, which is the reason I've had a couple of lovely lasses offer to rope bottom to me for months now, and haven't managed to make time to set up sessions. Lately my schedule is clear for the first time in months, and I am very reluctant to pencil anyone in beyond my "short list" of very close friends and lovers.
And again, that's a trap. In the long run, retaining a service submissive will -- like any well planned new endeavor -- save me time and free up my energy. Ideally, it will help with my lower two tiers on Maslow's pyramid so that I can focus more time higher up the chain (on things like, say, having those girls over to tie up). It's always getting through the short run that's trouble.
So, I did what I do when I'm finally ready for something. I just made the appointment. I don't feel "ready," but if I wait till I feel ready, it will never happen. No, I set the appointment and that will give me extra incentive to be ready.
And so it begins.
Yes, I have an incredible girl. And no, she's not going anywhere, at least if I can help it! But while she is many things to me -- the perfect 105-pound rope slut, a sweet and attentive friend, giver of fantastic pedicures, amazing lover, and all around darling girl -- she is not and simply isn't going to be a service submissive. Which, as I've said before, is just fine with me. I think we get far more out of working with a bottom's inherent skills and performance capacity than we get from a one size fits all solution.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Timely post on submission
Sitting down to write some queries to a new applicant, I find one of Betka's submissives has a few things to say about what it means to be a good submissive.
Not a bad starting point for what one might want in a submissive, at all. Points 1, 2, and 5 ring out most true for what I want, and 7 and 9 least so, but I'd have to say that all are true for me in some way. (And, every dominant wants something a little different -- and I'd further say wants different from one submissive compared to another.)
Not a bad starting point for what one might want in a submissive, at all. Points 1, 2, and 5 ring out most true for what I want, and 7 and 9 least so, but I'd have to say that all are true for me in some way. (And, every dominant wants something a little different -- and I'd further say wants different from one submissive compared to another.)
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sore
I wake up this morning happy and accomplished, but sore everywhere.
There is the spot on my hand where I stupidly tested out that bamboo Saturday, and then another Sunday. (I really don't learn sometimes.) The several spots on my ass where my friend the rat bastard did deep acupressure on me when I was in an ebi and a hogtie yesterday afternoon. Sitting will be very interesting today.
And then there are my arm muscles and my abs, both of which I'm really feeling after my little adventure in self-suspension yesterday. That was quite a workout, and by the end of it I was slick with sweat the way I would be after any day at the gym.
I am delighted to realize that my back and thighs are actually not so sore from the suspension itself. I didn't stay in my two early versions long enough to hurt myself, and the third version was fairly comfortable despite having only four major load bearing bands. Good learning there.
And oh yes, somewhere in there I did a massive load of gardening.
Who needs a gym membership? Give me a suspension point and a spotter. (And have the spotter remind me not to test bamboo on my hand anymore, k? Thanks.)
There is the spot on my hand where I stupidly tested out that bamboo Saturday, and then another Sunday. (I really don't learn sometimes.) The several spots on my ass where my friend the rat bastard did deep acupressure on me when I was in an ebi and a hogtie yesterday afternoon. Sitting will be very interesting today.
And then there are my arm muscles and my abs, both of which I'm really feeling after my little adventure in self-suspension yesterday. That was quite a workout, and by the end of it I was slick with sweat the way I would be after any day at the gym.
I am delighted to realize that my back and thighs are actually not so sore from the suspension itself. I didn't stay in my two early versions long enough to hurt myself, and the third version was fairly comfortable despite having only four major load bearing bands. Good learning there.
And oh yes, somewhere in there I did a massive load of gardening.
Who needs a gym membership? Give me a suspension point and a spotter. (And have the spotter remind me not to test bamboo on my hand anymore, k? Thanks.)
Sunday, April 22, 2007
In which Miriam suspends herself . . .
. . . and lives to tell the tale . . .
Maybe I can blame boredom. Folks were pretty low energy today, and there wasn't a whole lot of tying going on at the time. I was antsy, like a kid whose friends won't come out to play. It might have just been curiosity, or a sense of the perverse.
I'd been half-helping a new SIG member, consulting on some of his ties, when he mentioned, "Last month, some girl suspended herself."
Huh.
Immediately, my mind starts turning this idea over and over, and from the first instant I can tell this is probably a Bad Idea. It's not been too long since I did my first suspension of anyone, you see.
Then I start convincing myself. The guys won't let me fall and crack my head open, right? I mean, I can't actually hurt myself, Pyrate Lass would kill me. The new guy quips that he's a wheelchair salesman, but by this time, it's not deterring me. Those words were there before me, a little gauntlet, a challenge. Moreover, I can almost but not quite see the engineering before me.
By this time, I'm laying out rope.
I started with a hip and crotch harness, which was originally tied off to a couple of garters on my thighs, and then threw in a chest harness (with my hands free, obviously). That worked . . . okay. Not so well. In version 2.0 I'd rigged the thighs through the crotch harness and chest harness. That took a little of the pressure off, but looked ugly.
By then, I really, really wanted this to work. I'd managed to get myself off the ground twice, but it wasn't pretty and I couldn't stay in it more than a few seconds.
Off came most of the ropes. I got the thigh ropes completely off, resecured the crotch ropes, and redid the chest harness with a nice big looped handle in the front. I secured the crotch ropes directly to the chest harness and used them to cinch off the chest ropes so they wouldn't move quite as easily. And then I retied the thighs entirely, making proper cuffs with a square knot and a loop for each. (Once again, I'd screwed up the first time by starting with a larkshead like I do for floor work. I know better, really. Or, I should.)
And then, up again. This time, I got the chest harness nice and secure as I stood. I put my left leg firmly down, and then ran the chest harness rope through the hoop and then through the right thigh harness, and pulleyed that leg up pretty far. Then, I bore down hard to sit up on that right thigh rope as I pulled the rope back through the hoop, and through the left thigh rope, pulleying that one up as well. I secured the ropes with a few passes and then -- Wheeeee!
This one, I could get around in, and I did. My foot found the spanking bench, and I used it to push myself to swing back and forth and twirl a bit. It was awesome.
On the upside, I could really work to my own comfort. While I mean this as no critique of the riggers who've suspended me before, it was an entirely new level of "instant feedback" to feel instantly where any pressure points were and to be able to correct those immediately.
On the downside, I really couldn't let myself fly. I did get a huge endorphin rush, don't get me wrong. Both my rigger's brain and my rope slut brain had to be fully engaged to pull this off. But I couldn't get too loopy, with the challenge of getting myself down safely always at mind. And, I had to do my own aftercare, which was fun. I had really exerted myself, gotten sweaty, and worked out my brain. And, there was the extra adrenalin rush of knowing what I was doing wasn't entirely safe, even though I had a fairly strong looking spotter at hand (who also gave excellent engineering suggestions).
So again, I went to the SIG planning to take it easy and really seriously pushing my edges. Which I'm happy about. I didn't sit outside pouting that my friends didn't come out to play. I made my own game, had a blast, and seemed to amuse a few others in the process.
No matter how tired I am going in, I never leave the SIG disappointed.
Maybe I can blame boredom. Folks were pretty low energy today, and there wasn't a whole lot of tying going on at the time. I was antsy, like a kid whose friends won't come out to play. It might have just been curiosity, or a sense of the perverse.
I'd been half-helping a new SIG member, consulting on some of his ties, when he mentioned, "Last month, some girl suspended herself."
Huh.
Immediately, my mind starts turning this idea over and over, and from the first instant I can tell this is probably a Bad Idea. It's not been too long since I did my first suspension of anyone, you see.
Then I start convincing myself. The guys won't let me fall and crack my head open, right? I mean, I can't actually hurt myself, Pyrate Lass would kill me. The new guy quips that he's a wheelchair salesman, but by this time, it's not deterring me. Those words were there before me, a little gauntlet, a challenge. Moreover, I can almost but not quite see the engineering before me.
By this time, I'm laying out rope.
I started with a hip and crotch harness, which was originally tied off to a couple of garters on my thighs, and then threw in a chest harness (with my hands free, obviously). That worked . . . okay. Not so well. In version 2.0 I'd rigged the thighs through the crotch harness and chest harness. That took a little of the pressure off, but looked ugly.
By then, I really, really wanted this to work. I'd managed to get myself off the ground twice, but it wasn't pretty and I couldn't stay in it more than a few seconds.
Off came most of the ropes. I got the thigh ropes completely off, resecured the crotch ropes, and redid the chest harness with a nice big looped handle in the front. I secured the crotch ropes directly to the chest harness and used them to cinch off the chest ropes so they wouldn't move quite as easily. And then I retied the thighs entirely, making proper cuffs with a square knot and a loop for each. (Once again, I'd screwed up the first time by starting with a larkshead like I do for floor work. I know better, really. Or, I should.)
And then, up again. This time, I got the chest harness nice and secure as I stood. I put my left leg firmly down, and then ran the chest harness rope through the hoop and then through the right thigh harness, and pulleyed that leg up pretty far. Then, I bore down hard to sit up on that right thigh rope as I pulled the rope back through the hoop, and through the left thigh rope, pulleying that one up as well. I secured the ropes with a few passes and then -- Wheeeee!
This one, I could get around in, and I did. My foot found the spanking bench, and I used it to push myself to swing back and forth and twirl a bit. It was awesome.
On the upside, I could really work to my own comfort. While I mean this as no critique of the riggers who've suspended me before, it was an entirely new level of "instant feedback" to feel instantly where any pressure points were and to be able to correct those immediately.
On the downside, I really couldn't let myself fly. I did get a huge endorphin rush, don't get me wrong. Both my rigger's brain and my rope slut brain had to be fully engaged to pull this off. But I couldn't get too loopy, with the challenge of getting myself down safely always at mind. And, I had to do my own aftercare, which was fun. I had really exerted myself, gotten sweaty, and worked out my brain. And, there was the extra adrenalin rush of knowing what I was doing wasn't entirely safe, even though I had a fairly strong looking spotter at hand (who also gave excellent engineering suggestions).
So again, I went to the SIG planning to take it easy and really seriously pushing my edges. Which I'm happy about. I didn't sit outside pouting that my friends didn't come out to play. I made my own game, had a blast, and seemed to amuse a few others in the process.
No matter how tired I am going in, I never leave the SIG disappointed.
Kink permaculture
A friend came up to me excitedly last night. "Oh, Miriam, I have something for you." The something turned out to be several lengths of bamboo that he'd salvaged from an art project, and thought I could turn into canes or whatnot.
I honestly don't know if they'll make good canes, although I'm chasing up some articles on cane making to see. I'm concerned that they're regular bamboo and not specifically rattan. This other site suggests that because bamboo is hollow, it's only a good choice for very light or medium play, and that hard play might split the cane and create instant and razor-sharp edges. Given that I have broken some of the canes on my birch bundles over asses, this might not be a good idea for me . . .
If they won't work for that, I'll probably cut them to lengths for use in rope play. One of my friends and mentors does amazing things with bamboo, creating extra columns, bamboo bit gags, and other toys that look just gorgeous with rope. And I hope to see him today. So perhaps that's the better way to go. We'll see.
So, I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I love that my friend thought of me. Another friend may gift me with her (rather large) dog crate when her dog outgrows it. Neither of these folks are in the scene, but they're my friends and they're supportive.
Out of the blue yesterday, I got an amazing and touching gift. A friend who demo bottomed for me at the auction last month hand crafted a magickal oil for me to say thanks.
I started this entry to talk about the canes, but the more I write the more I touch on something else. And that's the value of being open.
It's a fine line I walk. I want to be open and honest about my life, and I don't want to squick anyone.
My friend with the puppy cage is an excellent barometer. I think I've erred on the side of TMI in the past, and also wrestled with the temptation to give too little information - so little information that she might not understand the landscape of my life and relationships. Slowly I've learned to give her a broad overview. She can know that I'm negotiating with a service submissive without knowing the details of our contract. She can know what's going on with Pyrate Lass without having to know exactly how we play. And she gets the really good stories, the ones I can tell without too much squickage and play for laughs.
In my magickal community, I really can't talk about my magickal practice without talking about rope. Rope is in part something I am working with as a magickal tool. And so I try to push my edges, and my community's edges, gently. I can show off my rope work making art projects, or helping ease a donated refrigerator down a ramp. And when it was appropriate I did use my chest-tying powers for good at auction, pushing the envelope just enough and I think safely for everyone. But this is part of being seen.
There are places where I really feel no need to be out of the closet. I can't see a benefit of speaking about these things at work, for example. (The tradeoff, of course, is that I don't have close friends from work, either.) But mostly, I need to be seen to make connection. Rope, play and D/s are major parts of my life, and aspects that are pretty important to really knowing me. They're not all of my life -- you get fair amounts of magick and gardening and music geekery, too -- but they're also not just side interests.
And the gifts of that are that you make real friends and real connections. Sometimes those gifts are very tangible. It's Earth Day - reuse, reduce and recycle, and all that. In the garden, I am always taking on things that would otherwise be trash -- newspapers, cardboard, coffee grounds -- and turning them into productive garden beds. These gifts are the same to me, a little kink permaculture. That bamboo, that puppy cage? Both would otherwise have been trash or garage junk to someone. But to me, they are both useful and also signifiers that my practice itself has value in my friends' eyes, and that they recognize kink as important to me in the same sense my gardening is. That's no small thing.
I honestly don't know if they'll make good canes, although I'm chasing up some articles on cane making to see. I'm concerned that they're regular bamboo and not specifically rattan. This other site suggests that because bamboo is hollow, it's only a good choice for very light or medium play, and that hard play might split the cane and create instant and razor-sharp edges. Given that I have broken some of the canes on my birch bundles over asses, this might not be a good idea for me . . .
If they won't work for that, I'll probably cut them to lengths for use in rope play. One of my friends and mentors does amazing things with bamboo, creating extra columns, bamboo bit gags, and other toys that look just gorgeous with rope. And I hope to see him today. So perhaps that's the better way to go. We'll see.
So, I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I love that my friend thought of me. Another friend may gift me with her (rather large) dog crate when her dog outgrows it. Neither of these folks are in the scene, but they're my friends and they're supportive.
Out of the blue yesterday, I got an amazing and touching gift. A friend who demo bottomed for me at the auction last month hand crafted a magickal oil for me to say thanks.
I started this entry to talk about the canes, but the more I write the more I touch on something else. And that's the value of being open.
It's a fine line I walk. I want to be open and honest about my life, and I don't want to squick anyone.
My friend with the puppy cage is an excellent barometer. I think I've erred on the side of TMI in the past, and also wrestled with the temptation to give too little information - so little information that she might not understand the landscape of my life and relationships. Slowly I've learned to give her a broad overview. She can know that I'm negotiating with a service submissive without knowing the details of our contract. She can know what's going on with Pyrate Lass without having to know exactly how we play. And she gets the really good stories, the ones I can tell without too much squickage and play for laughs.
In my magickal community, I really can't talk about my magickal practice without talking about rope. Rope is in part something I am working with as a magickal tool. And so I try to push my edges, and my community's edges, gently. I can show off my rope work making art projects, or helping ease a donated refrigerator down a ramp. And when it was appropriate I did use my chest-tying powers for good at auction, pushing the envelope just enough and I think safely for everyone. But this is part of being seen.
There are places where I really feel no need to be out of the closet. I can't see a benefit of speaking about these things at work, for example. (The tradeoff, of course, is that I don't have close friends from work, either.) But mostly, I need to be seen to make connection. Rope, play and D/s are major parts of my life, and aspects that are pretty important to really knowing me. They're not all of my life -- you get fair amounts of magick and gardening and music geekery, too -- but they're also not just side interests.
And the gifts of that are that you make real friends and real connections. Sometimes those gifts are very tangible. It's Earth Day - reuse, reduce and recycle, and all that. In the garden, I am always taking on things that would otherwise be trash -- newspapers, cardboard, coffee grounds -- and turning them into productive garden beds. These gifts are the same to me, a little kink permaculture. That bamboo, that puppy cage? Both would otherwise have been trash or garage junk to someone. But to me, they are both useful and also signifiers that my practice itself has value in my friends' eyes, and that they recognize kink as important to me in the same sense my gardening is. That's no small thing.
Friday, April 20, 2007
TwistedMonkTV
If you liked Monk's lovely instructional videos from the Twisted Monk website, you're going to love his new YouTube section.
If you act now, you get ten new instructional videos, including the body harness, the hog tie, and a chest and leg harness.
But wait! There's still more! If you act now, you get Monk's hair tie absolutely free!
Now how much would you pay?
Well, the answer is free!* That's right, just direct your browser to "TwistedMonkCom" on YouTube and you get all these videos and more absolutely free!
* Rope not included. Offer not available in all states. Must be able to at least tie your shoes. Must be 18 or over and of legal age to watch rope videos to qualify. 14.4k modems are unlikely to display videos correctly. Pyrate Lasses pay a surcharge of learning to tie your Daddy up for Teh Hott Sex. Ties as shown may not hold effectively under nylon rope. See TwistedMonk.com for further details.
If you act now, you get ten new instructional videos, including the body harness, the hog tie, and a chest and leg harness.
But wait! There's still more! If you act now, you get Monk's hair tie absolutely free!
Now how much would you pay?
Well, the answer is free!* That's right, just direct your browser to "TwistedMonkCom" on YouTube and you get all these videos and more absolutely free!
* Rope not included. Offer not available in all states. Must be able to at least tie your shoes. Must be 18 or over and of legal age to watch rope videos to qualify. 14.4k modems are unlikely to display videos correctly. Pyrate Lasses pay a surcharge of learning to tie your Daddy up for Teh Hott Sex. Ties as shown may not hold effectively under nylon rope. See TwistedMonk.com for further details.
Going sideways, part 93
We didn't go to the party last weekend. We'd already decided to play whether or not we went out, and do to a bit of practice for the SiG. So we stayed in and Pyrate Lass spoiled me silly with home cooked food, a pedicure, and lovely blue toenails painted to match the kimono.
We did our practice for the SIG. And then the lass, being the extremely helpful and sweet thing she is, offered to beat me.
Confused yet? Eh, don't be. The way I figure it, if I'm the daddy I can ask to have my toenails painted and my ass tanned to match, which is in fact what I needed. I'm a dominant sadomasochist, and my girl is a submissive sadist who loves to please me. Once she reckoned I could use a beating, she set out to give me one at every opportunity. She's a very good girl, if disappointed that she didn't leave my ass bruised.
Then there was rope School, in which we learned the ins and outs of cock bondage. More on that, and more on going sideways, to come . . .
We did our practice for the SIG. And then the lass, being the extremely helpful and sweet thing she is, offered to beat me.
Confused yet? Eh, don't be. The way I figure it, if I'm the daddy I can ask to have my toenails painted and my ass tanned to match, which is in fact what I needed. I'm a dominant sadomasochist, and my girl is a submissive sadist who loves to please me. Once she reckoned I could use a beating, she set out to give me one at every opportunity. She's a very good girl, if disappointed that she didn't leave my ass bruised.
Then there was rope School, in which we learned the ins and outs of cock bondage. More on that, and more on going sideways, to come . . .
Friday, April 13, 2007
Costuming
As my darling friend and fellow Leo says, "Sometimes, it's all about the costuming."
I've been pretty low energy this month. I have a fair amount of stress hitting on all fronts. And so, I've been pretty ambivalent about whether or not to go to a play party this weekend. (The SIG? That's not in question. I never miss School if I can avoid missing.)
I've been in cranky Daddy mood for days; being on my period does not at all help. So the idea of going to the party has alternated between feeling like a lot of fun and like a lot of work: the packing (which I always enjoy once I start, but was cranky about ahead of time), the planning (ditto), and also the costuming. I had finally decided on a leather top that didn't quite reach my leather skirt, not least because the idea of any kind of cincher or corset made my cramps twinge.
In the course of doing other packing this morning, I noticed the kimono. I never wear the kimono. Mostly, it's just cheesy for most Western rope artists to wear a kimono, for reasons Graydancer lampooned brilliantly at his ARS2 keynote last year. I am not a 'nawashi,' and I don't want to pretend to be one. But worn with that in mind, it's also camp, and I just haven't been in the mood to do camp for a while.
But there it was. Oh so pretty, in a fake kimono kind of way. Lovely with the custom obi a friend made me. And . . . gods it looks so comfortable.
I've been idly thinking for days that I do want to do to the party, but I don't want to work. I don't particularly feel like doing a huge caning scene, or having to discipline anyone. Mostly, I want to sit around and talk with kinky friends, perhaps while idly tying up a pretty girl or two. And then, I want to sit in the hot tub.
So yes, the kimono went into the bag.
And I have to say: sometimes it really is all about the costuming. I am feeling much more like I want to go to the party now than I did before, when I was contemplating the Fuckoff Boots and the little leather skirt. Odd thing, that.
I've been pretty low energy this month. I have a fair amount of stress hitting on all fronts. And so, I've been pretty ambivalent about whether or not to go to a play party this weekend. (The SIG? That's not in question. I never miss School if I can avoid missing.)
I've been in cranky Daddy mood for days; being on my period does not at all help. So the idea of going to the party has alternated between feeling like a lot of fun and like a lot of work: the packing (which I always enjoy once I start, but was cranky about ahead of time), the planning (ditto), and also the costuming. I had finally decided on a leather top that didn't quite reach my leather skirt, not least because the idea of any kind of cincher or corset made my cramps twinge.
In the course of doing other packing this morning, I noticed the kimono. I never wear the kimono. Mostly, it's just cheesy for most Western rope artists to wear a kimono, for reasons Graydancer lampooned brilliantly at his ARS2 keynote last year. I am not a 'nawashi,' and I don't want to pretend to be one. But worn with that in mind, it's also camp, and I just haven't been in the mood to do camp for a while.
But there it was. Oh so pretty, in a fake kimono kind of way. Lovely with the custom obi a friend made me. And . . . gods it looks so comfortable.
I've been idly thinking for days that I do want to do to the party, but I don't want to work. I don't particularly feel like doing a huge caning scene, or having to discipline anyone. Mostly, I want to sit around and talk with kinky friends, perhaps while idly tying up a pretty girl or two. And then, I want to sit in the hot tub.
So yes, the kimono went into the bag.
And I have to say: sometimes it really is all about the costuming. I am feeling much more like I want to go to the party now than I did before, when I was contemplating the Fuckoff Boots and the little leather skirt. Odd thing, that.
Community
I've been threatening for months to write a big rant on Why We Do This Work in Community (whether I'm going to write this about the kink community, poly community, pagan community or some combination, I've not yet determined).
In the meantime, Mistress Matisse lays down some of the high points.
One part rang particularly true for me:
I hadn't given that any thought before, but it seems blindingly obvious now she's pointed it out.
But that was just my ephiphany; the rest starts getting into the whys and wherefores. Go read. Particularly if you're not a pagan/queer/poly/whatever person for whom working in community seems pretty obvious.
In the meantime, Mistress Matisse lays down some of the high points.
One part rang particularly true for me:
Some people take the information I give them and run with it, and I've observed something about them: They're usually different in some way aside from being kinky. Like pagans, or poly people, or—especially—queer people. Queer people have often already gone through the process of finding and participating in the queer community, and they know that when you have a nonmainstream sexuality, you're going to structure some of your life choices around it. So my advice makes sense to them.
I hadn't given that any thought before, but it seems blindingly obvious now she's pointed it out.
But that was just my ephiphany; the rest starts getting into the whys and wherefores. Go read. Particularly if you're not a pagan/queer/poly/whatever person for whom working in community seems pretty obvious.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Packing
I have to say, I love packing day.
First, let me back up a bit.
I think when it comes down to it for me, the difference between seeing kinky and non-kinky folks is in the planning. It seems to me that many non-kinky folks (and especially non-kinky women) value a "spontanaeity" that is in fact very structured: a highly orchestrated dance of getting it on while pretending you never really intended to. And that's a very hard game for me to play.
Me? I love planning ahead.
First, I like the honesty of it. I like play; you like play; let's get together and play. And wouldn't it be even more fun with a bit of thinking ahead? For lack of a better word, there's something innocent in it.
As a magickal person, I'm fond of how it sets my Will. I put my desire toward an intent, and things follow in that direction. Now, that's not to say things might not change my desire in the interim. I could get sick, or have a terrible night. Bad news could come. My energy might be off. There are a million legitimate reasons I might plan with the best of intentions to play, and not have it come off. That said, I feel better off going in with Will than without it.
I like the way that planning ahead gets my mood revved for days ahead. It's taken me a while to reclaim my sex drive; even now that I have a fairly high one, it's not a bad thing for me to go through a day or a few (or perhaps even months) thinking about an upcoming play date. On weeks when I might feel emotionally down or physically under the weather, such revving might help me "get there", as compared to counting on a "spontaneous" desire that will never come.
Of course, the architect in me likes the scheming. Hmmm. Shall we do some wax play? Shall I use my knife? Ooooh! The bondage tape! Yes, I'll pack that. There's something about the sheer act of having to pack when I go out of town that helps me narrow things down. I can't pack my full arsenal these days; paring down goes hand in hand with intention setting.
So yes: here I am on packing day. I am freshly shaven, and have had a bit of a spa day. I have packed the Fuckoff Boots. I have plans for the SIG, and for some other play. And I'm wearing a big old Daddy's grin on my face.
First, let me back up a bit.
I think when it comes down to it for me, the difference between seeing kinky and non-kinky folks is in the planning. It seems to me that many non-kinky folks (and especially non-kinky women) value a "spontanaeity" that is in fact very structured: a highly orchestrated dance of getting it on while pretending you never really intended to. And that's a very hard game for me to play.
Me? I love planning ahead.
First, I like the honesty of it. I like play; you like play; let's get together and play. And wouldn't it be even more fun with a bit of thinking ahead? For lack of a better word, there's something innocent in it.
As a magickal person, I'm fond of how it sets my Will. I put my desire toward an intent, and things follow in that direction. Now, that's not to say things might not change my desire in the interim. I could get sick, or have a terrible night. Bad news could come. My energy might be off. There are a million legitimate reasons I might plan with the best of intentions to play, and not have it come off. That said, I feel better off going in with Will than without it.
I like the way that planning ahead gets my mood revved for days ahead. It's taken me a while to reclaim my sex drive; even now that I have a fairly high one, it's not a bad thing for me to go through a day or a few (or perhaps even months) thinking about an upcoming play date. On weeks when I might feel emotionally down or physically under the weather, such revving might help me "get there", as compared to counting on a "spontaneous" desire that will never come.
Of course, the architect in me likes the scheming. Hmmm. Shall we do some wax play? Shall I use my knife? Ooooh! The bondage tape! Yes, I'll pack that. There's something about the sheer act of having to pack when I go out of town that helps me narrow things down. I can't pack my full arsenal these days; paring down goes hand in hand with intention setting.
So yes: here I am on packing day. I am freshly shaven, and have had a bit of a spa day. I have packed the Fuckoff Boots. I have plans for the SIG, and for some other play. And I'm wearing a big old Daddy's grin on my face.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Clothespins, and the decline of the American grocery
What is it with grocery stores these days?
Granted, I did discover a new all-organic mac n' cheese last night. For which they are partially forgiven. But what is with not having proper clothespins?
You see, I go through clothespins like other folks go through paper towels. They are a basic, replacable staple of the house. I use an awful lot of them for pinning everything from clothing and garden items to skin, nipples, boy bits and labia. I prefer wooden ones: they are comparatively gentle, cheap, and appeal to my eco-consciousness.* And, did I mention cheap? Which is good. Because after a while, I just can't be bothered to keep track of exactly whose labia and boy bits and skin those pins have been on, which means it's time to retire them to the garden or throw them out all together.
Which leads to last night, at which time I was happily navigating the grocery to find only very small packages of little nasty plastic clothespins. Hmph. That will never do.
Thankfully I needed to make a trip to the general store, anyway. They not only have 100-count bags of wooden clothespins, but rope and horse-training implements.
But while I'm at it, what is it with some grocery stores not having latex-free condoms? What if I have a condom emergency, huh?! (You never know when you'll suddenly have a condom emergency!) And glycerine-free lube? And . . .
* Wooden pins don't use petroleum products, and you can compost them if you take out the metal hinge of the pins. Yes, I am that crunchy granola; just don't take my leather away.
Granted, I did discover a new all-organic mac n' cheese last night. For which they are partially forgiven. But what is with not having proper clothespins?
You see, I go through clothespins like other folks go through paper towels. They are a basic, replacable staple of the house. I use an awful lot of them for pinning everything from clothing and garden items to skin, nipples, boy bits and labia. I prefer wooden ones: they are comparatively gentle, cheap, and appeal to my eco-consciousness.* And, did I mention cheap? Which is good. Because after a while, I just can't be bothered to keep track of exactly whose labia and boy bits and skin those pins have been on, which means it's time to retire them to the garden or throw them out all together.
Which leads to last night, at which time I was happily navigating the grocery to find only very small packages of little nasty plastic clothespins. Hmph. That will never do.
Thankfully I needed to make a trip to the general store, anyway. They not only have 100-count bags of wooden clothespins, but rope and horse-training implements.
But while I'm at it, what is it with some grocery stores not having latex-free condoms? What if I have a condom emergency, huh?! (You never know when you'll suddenly have a condom emergency!) And glycerine-free lube? And . . .
* Wooden pins don't use petroleum products, and you can compost them if you take out the metal hinge of the pins. Yes, I am that crunchy granola; just don't take my leather away.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
4mm
I often say I tie like a girl. It's my gentle way of tweaking the good ol' boy riggers I consider my friends and mentors. I say that I tie like a girl, but tying like a girl has helped me at things from hoisting girls into suspension to safely getting refrigerators down a ramp without anyone getting hurt.
But next week, I am especially proud to tie like a girl. It's CBT day at the Houston Rope SIG, and several of the regulars are (regretfully, if not surprisingly) backing out. Me? I'd say I'll be there "with bells on", but the last time I said that one of my sicko friends showed up with sisal and a cow bell.
I've been looking forward to this for weeks. Despite being a top, my sweetie with an attached penis is going to let me lay on the 4mm rope I processed. I love that man.
And I think I'm going to ask my girl to show off how to make a dildo harness (that's her work above). That should be fun and interesting for all, even the easily-squicked-by-boy-bits. Those boys always seem intrigued by someone who can fuck like a girl, too . . .
But next week, I am especially proud to tie like a girl. It's CBT day at the Houston Rope SIG, and several of the regulars are (regretfully, if not surprisingly) backing out. Me? I'd say I'll be there "with bells on", but the last time I said that one of my sicko friends showed up with sisal and a cow bell.
I've been looking forward to this for weeks. Despite being a top, my sweetie with an attached penis is going to let me lay on the 4mm rope I processed. I love that man.
And I think I'm going to ask my girl to show off how to make a dildo harness (that's her work above). That should be fun and interesting for all, even the easily-squicked-by-boy-bits. Those boys always seem intrigued by someone who can fuck like a girl, too . . .
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Quietude, and ending it
No, I am not in fact dead or vanilla, just spending a lot of time away from the computer. I've actually had a pretty yummy and kinky time over the last few days.
Among other things, I got to auction off some of my handprocessed rope (and lessons on how to use it) for charity, which was fantastic. A friend and co-teacher of mine offered herself as my demo bottom, and to both of our surprise she went into subspace in the middle of my very short demo. It was lovely, and a lot of fun. And, I made some money for a (non-kink) organization I deeply love.
I also got in a surprising amount of play considering that I was volunteering in a nominally non-kink (but 100% Freak Nation) space. There was the D/s flirting in the kitchen, my demo, my helping another friend demo flogging techniques, and lots and lots of silly drive-by ass smackings. Oh, and the darling friend from out of town who left me black and blue with a riding crop. I love my friends.
So, that should hopefully dispell any rumors. I haven't suddenly gone non-kinky; I just haven't had a spare second to write.
Which will be changing soon, I suspect. I have a fair amount on the horizon to write about. Never rains but it pours, I tell you.
Among other things, I got to auction off some of my handprocessed rope (and lessons on how to use it) for charity, which was fantastic. A friend and co-teacher of mine offered herself as my demo bottom, and to both of our surprise she went into subspace in the middle of my very short demo. It was lovely, and a lot of fun. And, I made some money for a (non-kink) organization I deeply love.
I also got in a surprising amount of play considering that I was volunteering in a nominally non-kink (but 100% Freak Nation) space. There was the D/s flirting in the kitchen, my demo, my helping another friend demo flogging techniques, and lots and lots of silly drive-by ass smackings. Oh, and the darling friend from out of town who left me black and blue with a riding crop. I love my friends.
So, that should hopefully dispell any rumors. I haven't suddenly gone non-kinky; I just haven't had a spare second to write.
Which will be changing soon, I suspect. I have a fair amount on the horizon to write about. Never rains but it pours, I tell you.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
And the web expands . . .
Blossom-Garland of the Field
I bid as one in the skin of Virgins,
Stitch'd full round with Thread of White.
Once to lure, and twice secure;
And thrice to make them Bright.--Viridarium Umbris
"So, I hear you are into magick, and you kind of know something about magick, and you are kind of familiar with the kink community . . . ."
"Uh huh."
I knew I was in trouble, but little did I know that I would then be proffered an esteemed space in this particular medium. But I was, and so here I am adding my voice to this growing chorus. Although I have years of experience with both magick and writing, I will submit that I feel a bit out of my element here: For years, I have been a rope bottom, but only recently have I started to really explore tying others.
But here I am, and hopefully I will prove an stimulating -- entertaining, if not informative -- supplement to Miriam.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Closing the circle
It's been important to me lately to bring all of my tools to bear in both my communities, which works for me because there is a lot more overlap than what one would think. So much of the basic tech around communication skills, creating a good container for the work, raising energy, grounding, etc. is shared at a pretty deep level by my magickal community and the kink community. And where there's not already overlap, there's a lot of room for potential. (For example, I think a kink community grounded in consent has a lot to learn from consensus.) I have several articles rattling around the back of my head on this, none of which I'll be writing in the limited time I have today.
But sometimes the tools are really quite literal as well. I (co-)priestess a fair number of rituals for the pagan holidays, and have been finding ways to bring my "other" tools out to play -- for example using my rope to create a quick drum harness, or as a cord to hold my athame. Last night, it was casting circle using my new, razor-sharp scene knife. Yes, of course, it was a magickal tool already. But even I was surprised at how much energy it held of it's own as I held it to the ground before casting circle. Forget any purist that would begrudge it its little plastic handle; it did its job well.
Bringing my athame to play was a no-brainer. Bringing my new scene knife to ritual was less intuitive, but I'm very glad I did it. These kinds of shared tools bring me full circle: top to priestess, bottom to mystic, and every point between.
Happy Equinox, y'all.
But sometimes the tools are really quite literal as well. I (co-)priestess a fair number of rituals for the pagan holidays, and have been finding ways to bring my "other" tools out to play -- for example using my rope to create a quick drum harness, or as a cord to hold my athame. Last night, it was casting circle using my new, razor-sharp scene knife. Yes, of course, it was a magickal tool already. But even I was surprised at how much energy it held of it's own as I held it to the ground before casting circle. Forget any purist that would begrudge it its little plastic handle; it did its job well.
Bringing my athame to play was a no-brainer. Bringing my new scene knife to ritual was less intuitive, but I'm very glad I did it. These kinds of shared tools bring me full circle: top to priestess, bottom to mystic, and every point between.
Happy Equinox, y'all.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Expanding the Web
So, I've been thinking for a while about opening up Arachne's Web to guest bloggers. I'm pleased and delighted that I have a couple of folks planning to come on board for just that. Watch this space.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
My First Suspension
If I had the energy at the moment to write up my SIG this weekend, it would be titled: "My First Suspension," by Miriam. Perhaps it would even be a picture book.
However having rigged my first (and second, and third) suspensions today, including an awesome full suspension, I am exhausted. Perhaps after I have had more sleep . . .
However having rigged my first (and second, and third) suspensions today, including an awesome full suspension, I am exhausted. Perhaps after I have had more sleep . . .
Friday, March 16, 2007
How to Fuck Up
There's an interesting thread going on right now over at Mistress Matisse's journal about codependency and rescuing. In short: guy is at wits end trying to help his addict girlfriend, guy appeals to Matisse for advice in how to help girlfriend, guy ends up getting some advice he probably didn't at all expect about dealing with his own codependency. Unsurprisingly, the entry touched a nerve. The comments board is on fire with folks' opinions on all this.
Somehow, from links of links of links, I ended up at an oldie but goodie from the Alt.Polyamory FAQ. I haven't read Elise Matthesen's "How to Fuck up a Relationship" in a while, but it's still a good one. (And no, it's not just about polyamory.) If you want to fuck up a perfectly good relationship, there probably isn't a better game plan.
Go read it. I'll wait . . .
Seriously, though, building a healthy relationship keeps coming down to pretty simple strategies.
Sadly, while this stuff is "simple," it's sure as hell not easy. What is the saying? A minute to learn and a lifetime to master? It's that. It doesn't help that we're up against an entire culture that encourages dysfunction.
And everyone has their own stumbling blocks. It's not easy, not at all. But looking at the alternatives of codependency and mutual resentment, I can't imagine intentionally going the other way.
And its all on a foundation, one block on the other. If "you can't exchange power you don't have," it's equally true that you can't be in a relationship if you don't have a self to relate from.
It all starts with knowing yourself. I don't care what your practice for knowing yourself is. I'm fond of sitting practice and Julia Cameron's "morning pages" but everyone has their own way. Meditation, yoga, trancework, therapy -- whatever works for you is your way. But without that practice of self-knowledge, there is nothing to communicate. No responsibility to take, and none to withhold. There are no clear desires and no means to articulate them. There are no means to determine if something is working for you or not. And that feels like a very dangerous place to be, and a very dangerous place to take others.
Somehow, from links of links of links, I ended up at an oldie but goodie from the Alt.Polyamory FAQ. I haven't read Elise Matthesen's "How to Fuck up a Relationship" in a while, but it's still a good one. (And no, it's not just about polyamory.) If you want to fuck up a perfectly good relationship, there probably isn't a better game plan.
Go read it. I'll wait . . .
Seriously, though, building a healthy relationship keeps coming down to pretty simple strategies.
- Develop tools to know and understand yourself.
- Develop tools to communicate.
- Use them.
- Take on responsibility for your own "stuff": actions, emotions, feelings, desires. Be accountable.
- Respectfully decline to take responsibility for your partners' "stuff".
Sadly, while this stuff is "simple," it's sure as hell not easy. What is the saying? A minute to learn and a lifetime to master? It's that. It doesn't help that we're up against an entire culture that encourages dysfunction.
And everyone has their own stumbling blocks. It's not easy, not at all. But looking at the alternatives of codependency and mutual resentment, I can't imagine intentionally going the other way.
And its all on a foundation, one block on the other. If "you can't exchange power you don't have," it's equally true that you can't be in a relationship if you don't have a self to relate from.
It all starts with knowing yourself. I don't care what your practice for knowing yourself is. I'm fond of sitting practice and Julia Cameron's "morning pages" but everyone has their own way. Meditation, yoga, trancework, therapy -- whatever works for you is your way. But without that practice of self-knowledge, there is nothing to communicate. No responsibility to take, and none to withhold. There are no clear desires and no means to articulate them. There are no means to determine if something is working for you or not. And that feels like a very dangerous place to be, and a very dangerous place to take others.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Austin Rope Symposium 2007
Watch this space for more information on the next Austin Rope Symposium. (Which, paradoxically, will not be in Texas.)
Early rumors are that the presenters list will be amazing.
So keep an eye out. Just don't, you know, bump me from my spot in the registrations.
Early rumors are that the presenters list will be amazing.
So keep an eye out. Just don't, you know, bump me from my spot in the registrations.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
I'm a sucker for a vintage cord . . .
Like Bettie Page, but hate the sloppy ropework she and her cohorts are in most of the time? Looking for some vintage-style bondage executed with a bit more skill?
In steps Tie Me Up Tom.com with some really fun pics of leather- and lingerie-clad bottoms in some really nice ropework. It's enough to redeem my opinion of cotton and nylon, seriously. Nice stuff. And of course it's got the smile afterward, not to mention the smile during.
Want more? Tom also has a Livejournal. Complete with ponies!
In steps Tie Me Up Tom.com with some really fun pics of leather- and lingerie-clad bottoms in some really nice ropework. It's enough to redeem my opinion of cotton and nylon, seriously. Nice stuff. And of course it's got the smile afterward, not to mention the smile during.
Want more? Tom also has a Livejournal. Complete with ponies!
Polyamory hits the dailies
Of the places I'd expect to see an article on polyamory, I can't say the Chicago Tribune was high on my list.
While the article isn't overwhelmingly positive (descriptions of folks past their teens gazing "googly-eyed" aren't generally approving), it also isn't a smear piece. Mostly, it seems to make polyamorous folk look, well, as pedestrian as GLBT folks.
While the article isn't overwhelmingly positive (descriptions of folks past their teens gazing "googly-eyed" aren't generally approving), it also isn't a smear piece. Mostly, it seems to make polyamorous folk look, well, as pedestrian as GLBT folks.
"The majority of polyamorists are white middle- and upper-class professionals," says Elisabeth Sheff, an assistant professor of sociology at Georgia State University. She's one of the few academics who have studied polyamory, interviewing hundreds for her research.
"Many work in the computer industry, so there is a strong online community. They tend to gravitate toward urban areas," she said, "much like gays and lesbians."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Things not to do
When it comes to the scene, I'm a relative newbie. I am still learning the ins and outs of etiquette, and am often very grateful to run in low-protocol circles. But there are a few things I've learned which apply to both the magickal and kink communities, from which I can begin to assemble a short list of Miriam's Things Not to Do at Events. And since I apparently woke up on the snarky side of the bed this morning, I will happily share.
#1. Do not touch my tools without asking. More specifically, ask first and actually gain permission before touching. Usually if polite people ask about my different kinds of rope, I will hand some over for them to touch. But do not walk over, pick up a hank of rope, and then ask if you can touch it -- particularly if you are a complete stranger at your first Rope SIG. I may forgive you, and even be nice to you later, but you have just gained yourself a nice little lecture. Really, do you want me on my soapbox? The next time someone does this, I'm going to tell them I last used that rope for ass play.
#2. Do not distract the scene. It may look like the scene is very low protocol; knowing my darling Misfit Bottoms (tm), it probably is. It may also look like I have several folks already involved in some way. Again, I'm betting you're right. But if this is a scene (i.e., not an instructional SIG where I've asked for feedback), do not interrupt. Things are not always as casual as they appear to be. That guy you see consulting me on how to apply and take off the wax? I negotiated with him to teach me. The other guy helping out? We came here together, and he is the hotness. Our victim? Well, you know she's in. You on the other hand are a complete stranger telling me how to get the wax off my girl, and how my hot new knife that I came here to play with is tedious and inefficient. I am quite certain you did not mean to do that.
#3. Ask before giving feedback. This should be rule number one of the magickal and kink communities. In fact, it sort of is in the magickal community. I am particularly fond of Donald Engstrom's rules for feedback, which are (in paraphrase from this Reclaiming teacher's resource):
(That page has some excellent teaching notes on keeping good boundaries, negotiation, communication that would highly benefit either community.)
There are several dozen right ways to hank rope, many of which I've gratefully learned from feedback at SIGs. The time to tell me yours is not immediately after a scene, as I have just gotten my girl out of suspension, when you haven't even introduced yourself.
Oh, and then there's the fun corrollary:
#4. Don't assume you know everyone's roles, or that they are static. I once had the fantastic experience of having a gentleman rigger come up to me while I was in a partial suspension. "When I met you at ARS, I could have sworn you were a top!" said he. "I am," I said, and flipped around in the ropes. My darling submissive? She becomes an evil top on a dime once I get her out of the ropes. Anyone who's been around for a while will quickly figure this out, especially any girl she wants to torture. Underestimate her at your peril. (And don't think that collar keeps you safe; I'm a rather indulgent Daddy.)
The latest funny came when I was teaching Cap'n to bundle the ropes after a scene last week; he asked if he could help and I was trying to teach him how I do it. He tried a couple of times, didn't quite get it, and I took over. (No lack of credit to him; it was 4 in the morning, and we'd been playing all night.) J. Random Person from the sidelines (see #3 above) said: "You should order him to do it again." Ummm. "He's not my submissive, and I don't give him orders. He's my top." I wish I hadn't been so busy with the rope; I'd have loved to see the look on that guy's face.
And finally, and very important:
#5. Don't try any of these assy tricks just so Miriam will give you the hairy eyeball. I know the hairy eyeball is fun and all that, but if you want me to be mean to you, just ask. Violating any of the above rules is one of the easiest ways to ensure you don't get play. Seriously.
_________________
Speaking of places to practice good manners: we're at about 10 weeks. I have seriously got to get my stuff together for Shibaricon. Aiiiiieeee!
#1. Do not touch my tools without asking. More specifically, ask first and actually gain permission before touching. Usually if polite people ask about my different kinds of rope, I will hand some over for them to touch. But do not walk over, pick up a hank of rope, and then ask if you can touch it -- particularly if you are a complete stranger at your first Rope SIG. I may forgive you, and even be nice to you later, but you have just gained yourself a nice little lecture. Really, do you want me on my soapbox? The next time someone does this, I'm going to tell them I last used that rope for ass play.
#2. Do not distract the scene. It may look like the scene is very low protocol; knowing my darling Misfit Bottoms (tm), it probably is. It may also look like I have several folks already involved in some way. Again, I'm betting you're right. But if this is a scene (i.e., not an instructional SIG where I've asked for feedback), do not interrupt. Things are not always as casual as they appear to be. That guy you see consulting me on how to apply and take off the wax? I negotiated with him to teach me. The other guy helping out? We came here together, and he is the hotness. Our victim? Well, you know she's in. You on the other hand are a complete stranger telling me how to get the wax off my girl, and how my hot new knife that I came here to play with is tedious and inefficient. I am quite certain you did not mean to do that.
#3. Ask before giving feedback. This should be rule number one of the magickal and kink communities. In fact, it sort of is in the magickal community. I am particularly fond of Donald Engstrom's rules for feedback, which are (in paraphrase from this Reclaiming teacher's resource):
Feedback should be:
Given with permission
Timely
Something that can actually be changed
Specific
Only that which will further the work
(That page has some excellent teaching notes on keeping good boundaries, negotiation, communication that would highly benefit either community.)
There are several dozen right ways to hank rope, many of which I've gratefully learned from feedback at SIGs. The time to tell me yours is not immediately after a scene, as I have just gotten my girl out of suspension, when you haven't even introduced yourself.
Oh, and then there's the fun corrollary:
#4. Don't assume you know everyone's roles, or that they are static. I once had the fantastic experience of having a gentleman rigger come up to me while I was in a partial suspension. "When I met you at ARS, I could have sworn you were a top!" said he. "I am," I said, and flipped around in the ropes. My darling submissive? She becomes an evil top on a dime once I get her out of the ropes. Anyone who's been around for a while will quickly figure this out, especially any girl she wants to torture. Underestimate her at your peril. (And don't think that collar keeps you safe; I'm a rather indulgent Daddy.)
The latest funny came when I was teaching Cap'n to bundle the ropes after a scene last week; he asked if he could help and I was trying to teach him how I do it. He tried a couple of times, didn't quite get it, and I took over. (No lack of credit to him; it was 4 in the morning, and we'd been playing all night.) J. Random Person from the sidelines (see #3 above) said: "You should order him to do it again." Ummm. "He's not my submissive, and I don't give him orders. He's my top." I wish I hadn't been so busy with the rope; I'd have loved to see the look on that guy's face.
And finally, and very important:
#5. Don't try any of these assy tricks just so Miriam will give you the hairy eyeball. I know the hairy eyeball is fun and all that, but if you want me to be mean to you, just ask. Violating any of the above rules is one of the easiest ways to ensure you don't get play. Seriously.
_________________
Speaking of places to practice good manners: we're at about 10 weeks. I have seriously got to get my stuff together for Shibaricon. Aiiiiieeee!
Monday, March 12, 2007
More practical rigging
At first I was a little embarrassed to see that someone made it to this lil blog from Googling for gardening info. But then I remembered: I'm shameless. And I followed the link back to see how I'd showed up.
And, being shameless, I'll share back with the rest of the class.
Got twine? Got bamboo? Well, then, you can also get thee a fence with very simple traditional Japanese knots. I suspect the basic fence- and trellis- skills on this site could also make very nice, sturdy play racks for the more shameless among us.
And, being shameless, I'll share back with the rest of the class.
Got twine? Got bamboo? Well, then, you can also get thee a fence with very simple traditional Japanese knots. I suspect the basic fence- and trellis- skills on this site could also make very nice, sturdy play racks for the more shameless among us.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Snakes on a sub
Fantastic weekend. All the good things: leather, rope, talons, knives, wax, rigging, hot sex, and -- last but not least -- a motherfucking snake on the motherfucking girl. (Hot!)
More weekend updates when I have slept for more than four hours.
More weekend updates when I have slept for more than four hours.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Clothespins in their native environments
My dryer is on the fritz. My friends will notice a pattern: I have what is most charitably described as a problematic relationship with all things electronic or mechanical. From gardening tools to communications devices: if it runs on electricity, it's likely to break down on me. (And people wonder why I prefer rope to Violet Wands!)
Anyway, my dryer is on the fritz. And so, I am line drying. My temple room has become a laundry room. My hanger bar, which usually serves as a toy rack, has reverted to holding lots of wet clothes on hangers. My clothespins are, quite naturally, pinning up cloth napkins and trousers.
Except: it's not natural, I tell you! Clothespins are for . . . well, nipples! And labia! And boy bits! What is this craziness of using them to pin up clothes? And why does doing my laundry suddenly bring this strange erotic thrill?
I have never wanted a service sub quite so badly. Oh, the possibilities. But seriously, I mostly want my dryer fixed so that my temple can revert to its normal purpose, and I can stop eroticising my wet clothing.
Anyway, my dryer is on the fritz. And so, I am line drying. My temple room has become a laundry room. My hanger bar, which usually serves as a toy rack, has reverted to holding lots of wet clothes on hangers. My clothespins are, quite naturally, pinning up cloth napkins and trousers.
Except: it's not natural, I tell you! Clothespins are for . . . well, nipples! And labia! And boy bits! What is this craziness of using them to pin up clothes? And why does doing my laundry suddenly bring this strange erotic thrill?
I have never wanted a service sub quite so badly. Oh, the possibilities. But seriously, I mostly want my dryer fixed so that my temple can revert to its normal purpose, and I can stop eroticising my wet clothing.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Mmmm, outdoors shops . . .
Two carabiners, a figure-eight and a hot little Side Hawg 2 later, I am ready to think that outdoors outfitters are the new kink shops.
The knife especially makes me happy. It's compact, well shaped, and has a lil carabiner that will be perfect to hang off my leather bondage skirt. And they're not kidding about razor sharp. While I don't exactly recommend shaving with one, I've already tried just that, getting used to it.
Oh yeah, I got a new bondage book, too. (Not at the outdoors shop, although wouldn't that be handy?) More on that later.
The knife especially makes me happy. It's compact, well shaped, and has a lil carabiner that will be perfect to hang off my leather bondage skirt. And they're not kidding about razor sharp. While I don't exactly recommend shaving with one, I've already tried just that, getting used to it.
Oh yeah, I got a new bondage book, too. (Not at the outdoors shop, although wouldn't that be handy?) More on that later.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Release
There are a couple of riggers in my local community who do very firm therapeutic acupressure in play. At first, you think: Oh, that's nice, the rigger is going to give me a bit of a massage. That will help me relax in the ropes.
Uh huh.
Then, the next thing you know you're up there flying about in the harness with both feet suspended, completely unable to move, and the top has his thumb pressed all the way between two muscles in your buttocks, basically Rolfing and rerouting something as intimate as your basic architecture.
Ow.
I'm not sure if it's the pain, or the realization that I am no longer in control of something as simple and basic as my musculature. What I do know is that I went down, hard. So hard that a photographer friend asked after me to see if I was okay. Down, down, down. Unable to move. Unable to resist. Unable to do anything but allow my muscles to give way to a pressure right at the edge of bearable.
It was . . . pretty amazing. Massage school folk have just taken on amazing new properties in my mind. (Damn: another vanilla profession treyfed for me.)
Uh huh.
Then, the next thing you know you're up there flying about in the harness with both feet suspended, completely unable to move, and the top has his thumb pressed all the way between two muscles in your buttocks, basically Rolfing and rerouting something as intimate as your basic architecture.
Ow.
I'm not sure if it's the pain, or the realization that I am no longer in control of something as simple and basic as my musculature. What I do know is that I went down, hard. So hard that a photographer friend asked after me to see if I was okay. Down, down, down. Unable to move. Unable to resist. Unable to do anything but allow my muscles to give way to a pressure right at the edge of bearable.
It was . . . pretty amazing. Massage school folk have just taken on amazing new properties in my mind. (Damn: another vanilla profession treyfed for me.)
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
The internets were built for porn . . .
Okay, so my Cap'n friend thinks the internets were built for porn. My dear Cap'n, this link to Chanta Rose's new site Fucked and Bound is for you. (Softcore? No, eh?)
But hey, it's got the smile afterward not to mention more than a bit of the smile during.
(And, if you're into that kind of rope-and-sex thing, the preview page has enough to give one plenty of wicked ideas for upcoming play parties . . . )
But hey, it's got the smile afterward not to mention more than a bit of the smile during.
(And, if you're into that kind of rope-and-sex thing, the preview page has enough to give one plenty of wicked ideas for upcoming play parties . . . )
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Creating enforceable rules
Sara Robinson of Orinicus has a few interesting things to say about the fine art of laying down the law:
I think she'd be surprised to see her words end up here -- and knowing the power of the search engine, may well be soon -- but she unsurprisingly has a point.
There are a million ways to do The Things that We Do, from Master/slave to Dom/sub to Daddy/girl or /boy to . . . I dunno, Cap'n/swabby. The point is: a system and set of accompanying rules should work with the actors, not against them.
Yes, there is a lot of room for a good top to push a bottom's limits. And, ideally, a good top also has the capacity to stretch his or her own capacity.
And yet: trying to push for a one-size-fits-all solution to bsdm just isn't going to work. We are human beings, individuals, in relationships. Which means that we all come to the table with our own 'intelligence', and our own 'performance capacity'. So, working with that: that's the trick.
What I want, at the end of the day, is to find and enrich what gets me and my sweeties hard and wet, excited and enervated, challenged and satisfied. Jack Rinella reminds us all that the point of this stuff is to have fun. And to do that, we have to create systems that work. We will never be one size fits all, and thank gods for it.
The other corollary, I think, is actually enforcing the enforceable rules. But that may well be another post . . .
People who try to enforce unforceable rules are typically either authoritarians, utopians, or both. Invariably, when respect for the law and its makers has broken down, they resort to force to maintain order. On a larger level, if it's chaos you're after, there's nothing like demanding that a system behave in ways contrary to its own internal intelligence and performance capacity.
A corollary to this is that all legitimate authority springs from mutual respect between the leader and the led.
I think she'd be surprised to see her words end up here -- and knowing the power of the search engine, may well be soon -- but she unsurprisingly has a point.
There are a million ways to do The Things that We Do, from Master/slave to Dom/sub to Daddy/girl or /boy to . . . I dunno, Cap'n/swabby. The point is: a system and set of accompanying rules should work with the actors, not against them.
Yes, there is a lot of room for a good top to push a bottom's limits. And, ideally, a good top also has the capacity to stretch his or her own capacity.
And yet: trying to push for a one-size-fits-all solution to bsdm just isn't going to work. We are human beings, individuals, in relationships. Which means that we all come to the table with our own 'intelligence', and our own 'performance capacity'. So, working with that: that's the trick.
What I want, at the end of the day, is to find and enrich what gets me and my sweeties hard and wet, excited and enervated, challenged and satisfied. Jack Rinella reminds us all that the point of this stuff is to have fun. And to do that, we have to create systems that work. We will never be one size fits all, and thank gods for it.
The other corollary, I think, is actually enforcing the enforceable rules. But that may well be another post . . .
Saturday, March 3, 2007
The spirit of the rope
Being a good pagan, I realized early this week that I should try to build an alliance with my rope as a tool by creating a relationship with the spirit of the rope itself. Yes, those of you who are not pagans may think this is gobbeldygook, but it all felt very profound to me.
For the most part, this has involved lots of using a 15-foot rope to tie myself into a lovely crotch rope with a "happy knot" and masturbating, while focused on increasing my erotic ties to the rope.
Unsurprisingly, it's been a very good week. ;-)
For the most part, this has involved lots of using a 15-foot rope to tie myself into a lovely crotch rope with a "happy knot" and masturbating, while focused on increasing my erotic ties to the rope.
Unsurprisingly, it's been a very good week. ;-)
Friday, March 2, 2007
No, Seriously
My friends are training a puppy. I joke a lot with the "mom" of the two of them that I learn a lot listening to her adventures in puppy-training, and that's actually true. She seems amused and titillated when I seem to suddenly get what she's talking about, pretty much as she does with most things kink.
Apparently, they recently super-sized their dog crate. My friend tells me a human could probably fit in it snugly, and that she'd mentioned this to her incredulous husband.
Dog mom: "Wow, I bet Miriam would really like this cage if we ever get rid of it."
Dog dad: (chuckles) "Yeah, um, sure she would."
Dog mom: "No, seriously. You have no idea how much Miriam wants a dog cage."
Because I'm blessed to be surrounded by kink and magick folks, I don't often realize that what I do is in "no, seriously" territory for other people. Friends like this one are an excellent reality check sometimes.
And, yes. I do seriously want a puppy cage.
Apparently, they recently super-sized their dog crate. My friend tells me a human could probably fit in it snugly, and that she'd mentioned this to her incredulous husband.
Dog mom: "Wow, I bet Miriam would really like this cage if we ever get rid of it."
Dog dad: (chuckles) "Yeah, um, sure she would."
Dog mom: "No, seriously. You have no idea how much Miriam wants a dog cage."
Because I'm blessed to be surrounded by kink and magick folks, I don't often realize that what I do is in "no, seriously" territory for other people. Friends like this one are an excellent reality check sometimes.
And, yes. I do seriously want a puppy cage.
Monday, February 26, 2007
SIG
I did a fair amount of both rigging and being rigged at yesterday's SIG, and learned a few new tricks with bamboo: a quick-release harness with a small central pole, a new way to attach wrists to a 'crucifixion' pole over the shoulders, and a way to use bamboo spreader bars as attachment points for a hog tie.
All this, and I got to be suspended. I've been needing it: the more stressed I am, the harder I want to be played. And so I let myself sink deeply down into the suspension for a while, taking a few minutes to just let everything go and move where I was moved. I was still flying a bit hours later. Exactly what I needed.
(Well, maybe not exactly. I still could use a massive spanking, but I'll take what I can get.)
All this, and I got to be suspended. I've been needing it: the more stressed I am, the harder I want to be played. And so I let myself sink deeply down into the suspension for a while, taking a few minutes to just let everything go and move where I was moved. I was still flying a bit hours later. Exactly what I needed.
(Well, maybe not exactly. I still could use a massive spanking, but I'll take what I can get.)
Friday, February 23, 2007
Alive and well, if a bit hoarse
I am in fact still alive, although with a deep cough. My girl is using her sneaky ways to convince me to see a doctor soon. Ah, turnabout. Sadly, the deep and rumbling cough is not quite the flavor of "daddy" I'm aiming for . . .
Ideally, however, the cough will just pass and I will make it to the local rope SIG Sunday. A friend took Steve Indand's class in Austin when I was away. I'm looking forward to swapping notes with him on what Steve covered in the intermediate class, which I haven't taken. With town nearly cleared of kinksters from South Plains, it ought to be quiet, which I'm actually looking forward to - that should give a lot more space and ease to just dig in and play.
Ideally, however, the cough will just pass and I will make it to the local rope SIG Sunday. A friend took Steve Indand's class in Austin when I was away. I'm looking forward to swapping notes with him on what Steve covered in the intermediate class, which I haven't taken. With town nearly cleared of kinksters from South Plains, it ought to be quiet, which I'm actually looking forward to - that should give a lot more space and ease to just dig in and play.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Praise, effort and smarts
Very interesting article in the New York magazine on The Power (and Peril) of Praise. In short the article starts to dismantle conventional wisdom on praising kids for their inherent abilities, and instead recommends refocusing praise on effort.
Lots of meaty stuff here, and as one of those "smart" kids that did worse the higher I went in school, I relate to a lot of it from the inside, and I'm thinking a lot about what I might do differently as a teacher. Well worth the read for anyone who teaches, trains, or . . . well, trains.
Randomly divided into groups, some were praised for their intelligence. They were told, “You must be smart at this.” Other students were praised for their effort: “You must have worked really hard.” . . . Then the students were given a choice of test for the second round. One choice was a test that would be more difficult than the first, but the researchers told the kids that they’d learn a lot from attempting the puzzles. The other choice, Dweck’s team explained, was an easy test, just like the first. Of those praised for their effort, 90 percent chose the harder set of puzzles. Of those praised for their intelligence, a majority chose the easy test. The “smart” kids took the cop-out.
Lots of meaty stuff here, and as one of those "smart" kids that did worse the higher I went in school, I relate to a lot of it from the inside, and I'm thinking a lot about what I might do differently as a teacher. Well worth the read for anyone who teaches, trains, or . . . well, trains.
Monday, February 12, 2007
On being tied up . . .
Isn't that just the weirdest turn of phrase? "Sorry, I couldn't make it, I was all tied up."
Ironically, that's the excuse that falls out of my mouth for not making the Rope SIG yesterday. I got tied up with other things, and we couldn't make it. (Sadly, there was no actual rope involved in the other things . . . )
Ironically, that's the excuse that falls out of my mouth for not making the Rope SIG yesterday. I got tied up with other things, and we couldn't make it. (Sadly, there was no actual rope involved in the other things . . . )
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
"Wednesday is for washing"
I try not to wash my rope too often. For regular play, I don't. Hemp rope and water don't play well with each other, and over time too much washing will break down rope. When there's no serious need to wash, this isn't worth the trade off.
For other types of play, many reasonable riggers disagree on whether or not to wash. Some do, others don't. Jay Wiseman -- known for his focus on safety, and his fanaticism for medical research related to BDSM -- notes that there are no known cases of any disease being transmitted via rope (Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage Handbook, Greenery Press, Emeryville, CA; 2000, p 116), and that any disease would need a moist environment to survive, such that merely drying one's ropes thoroughly after play should suffice (118). That said, he then goes for several pages to talk about disinfection for those who want it.
For me, the question of actual disease transmission is really secondary to the squick factor. I once saw Jay borrow rope from a couple for a demo. The couple were none too happy to have the ropes back after they'd been in a stranger's crotch, and no amount of Jay's research was going to make them any happier about it. I ask myself the question: Would my next bottom want these ropes on them if they knew where they'd been last? How about in their mouth, when I decide on the fly to make a rope gag? If the answer to either of these is "no," that rope gets hand-crocheted and put in the washing pile.
The fun part is once I've washed and line dried a batch, and am oiling it to put away again. Ah yes: this was a lovely rope gag when I did that hog tie. And this is what I used as crotch ropes with the Magic Wand. Oh and this! This was that lovely hand-tied dildo harness. Mmmm, memories.
(I'm also amused that I can now have about 90 feet of rope out of commission and not feel a loss!)
For other types of play, many reasonable riggers disagree on whether or not to wash. Some do, others don't. Jay Wiseman -- known for his focus on safety, and his fanaticism for medical research related to BDSM -- notes that there are no known cases of any disease being transmitted via rope (Jay Wiseman's Erotic Bondage Handbook, Greenery Press, Emeryville, CA; 2000, p 116), and that any disease would need a moist environment to survive, such that merely drying one's ropes thoroughly after play should suffice (118). That said, he then goes for several pages to talk about disinfection for those who want it.
For me, the question of actual disease transmission is really secondary to the squick factor. I once saw Jay borrow rope from a couple for a demo. The couple were none too happy to have the ropes back after they'd been in a stranger's crotch, and no amount of Jay's research was going to make them any happier about it. I ask myself the question: Would my next bottom want these ropes on them if they knew where they'd been last? How about in their mouth, when I decide on the fly to make a rope gag? If the answer to either of these is "no," that rope gets hand-crocheted and put in the washing pile.
The fun part is once I've washed and line dried a batch, and am oiling it to put away again. Ah yes: this was a lovely rope gag when I did that hog tie. And this is what I used as crotch ropes with the Magic Wand. Oh and this! This was that lovely hand-tied dildo harness. Mmmm, memories.
(I'm also amused that I can now have about 90 feet of rope out of commission and not feel a loss!)
Monday, February 5, 2007
Dayplanners, and the onset of spring
Once upon a time, I was involved with a bard. It was a long-distance love affair: we'd gotten hot and heady over email, tossing Crowley references about and arguing philosophical minutiae. By the time we met at my first Pantheacon in '96, we agreed to make a trickster's bet and I was aiming to lose so we could sleep together.
All went to plan, and that began a completely whirlwind year. The bard and I saw each other in person only a very few times that year, but they were deeply meaningful to me. We called and wrote as often as we could. On one whirlwind trip, I met one of his other sweeties and her partner, who later became my lovers. The bard floated through life, living large as tricksters do, loving and eating and cracking bad jokes and playing heart-breakingly beautiful songs. I got to play muse and foil, and also stood up to him more than I think most folks did. It was a hell of a year.
It was the bard that gave me my first dayplanner. He was stunned I could live without one, and as I got to know him better I understood why. Not only was he touring the country to give classes and concerts, but he seemed to have a string of sweeties in each town. (It's good to be the bard.) You're going to keep a social calendar like that, you need a day planner.
These days, I am convinced that the day planner is the poly person's very best friend and confidant, tracking dates with gentle precision.
In our Brigid ritual the other day, I taught a song I learned from the bard, with the line: "I want to be merrily courted in spring." I warned folks up front: sing it like you mean it, or don't, but it's a spell. In the less than two days since the ritual, I've been suddenly flooded with new connections, two renewed offers for rope bottoms, and a fervent modelling request from a photographer who kisses rather well.
At the moment, I'm sitting with all of these lovely potentials and eyeing my calendar. Oh, bard, why didn't I get my dayplanner in order before the ritual? I know better.
All went to plan, and that began a completely whirlwind year. The bard and I saw each other in person only a very few times that year, but they were deeply meaningful to me. We called and wrote as often as we could. On one whirlwind trip, I met one of his other sweeties and her partner, who later became my lovers. The bard floated through life, living large as tricksters do, loving and eating and cracking bad jokes and playing heart-breakingly beautiful songs. I got to play muse and foil, and also stood up to him more than I think most folks did. It was a hell of a year.
It was the bard that gave me my first dayplanner. He was stunned I could live without one, and as I got to know him better I understood why. Not only was he touring the country to give classes and concerts, but he seemed to have a string of sweeties in each town. (It's good to be the bard.) You're going to keep a social calendar like that, you need a day planner.
These days, I am convinced that the day planner is the poly person's very best friend and confidant, tracking dates with gentle precision.
In our Brigid ritual the other day, I taught a song I learned from the bard, with the line: "I want to be merrily courted in spring." I warned folks up front: sing it like you mean it, or don't, but it's a spell. In the less than two days since the ritual, I've been suddenly flooded with new connections, two renewed offers for rope bottoms, and a fervent modelling request from a photographer who kisses rather well.
At the moment, I'm sitting with all of these lovely potentials and eyeing my calendar. Oh, bard, why didn't I get my dayplanner in order before the ritual? I know better.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Sadly, they don't all live in Texas
I have the world's best exes, I swear.
I was still smiling over my Darling Ex-Husband (tm) making Monty Python jokes at me to cheer me up when I got an invite from one of my first girlfriends to the Sex Workers Art Show. How cool is that? Heck, I might take one of my other (and more local) very favorite exes to go see it with me.
At coffee the other night, a friend suggests that it has to do with poly: that we poly folk have a continuum of relationships and that this allows us to maintain better terms with our exes than other folks might. Jack Rinella says something similar in The Compleat Slave, that you might decide that a certain kind of relationship -- say, M/s -- isn't for you, but that doesn't mean you can't be friends or even play partners again.
Maybe. I'm not sure what it is. Right now, I just feel blessed.
I was still smiling over my Darling Ex-Husband (tm) making Monty Python jokes at me to cheer me up when I got an invite from one of my first girlfriends to the Sex Workers Art Show. How cool is that? Heck, I might take one of my other (and more local) very favorite exes to go see it with me.
At coffee the other night, a friend suggests that it has to do with poly: that we poly folk have a continuum of relationships and that this allows us to maintain better terms with our exes than other folks might. Jack Rinella says something similar in The Compleat Slave, that you might decide that a certain kind of relationship -- say, M/s -- isn't for you, but that doesn't mean you can't be friends or even play partners again.
Maybe. I'm not sure what it is. Right now, I just feel blessed.
Friday, February 2, 2007
When I Rule the World . . .
. . . there shall be a rope SIG every weekend, as well as matter transporters between here and cities with cool rope classes.
Sadly, my rulership of the world has not yet been confirmed but I am looking forward to the Houston SIG, which is only a weekend away. All that talk of poly yesterday, but I think it's not really the poly part that gets to me. It's geography, and the solid fact that my darling Pyrate Lass and Cap'n live three hours away.
In the meantime, I have these vague ideas of a big date with a garden center on Sunday morning. I think I might use my newfound rope skills to put in the bean trellis to end all bean trellises. I'm thinking a bamboo tripod with tons and tons of 4mm unprocessed hemp creating a pretty web for the pole beans to climb. This requires putting in a new garden bed big enough to hold the darned thing, which means a day of futzing around, digging and sheet mulching. (Which I have to say is more appealing at the moment than my alternate plans of possibly dancing till all hours Saturday night. Sometimes I'm just old and boring that way . . . )
Sadly, my rulership of the world has not yet been confirmed but I am looking forward to the Houston SIG, which is only a weekend away. All that talk of poly yesterday, but I think it's not really the poly part that gets to me. It's geography, and the solid fact that my darling Pyrate Lass and Cap'n live three hours away.
In the meantime, I have these vague ideas of a big date with a garden center on Sunday morning. I think I might use my newfound rope skills to put in the bean trellis to end all bean trellises. I'm thinking a bamboo tripod with tons and tons of 4mm unprocessed hemp creating a pretty web for the pole beans to climb. This requires putting in a new garden bed big enough to hold the darned thing, which means a day of futzing around, digging and sheet mulching. (Which I have to say is more appealing at the moment than my alternate plans of possibly dancing till all hours Saturday night. Sometimes I'm just old and boring that way . . . )
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Polyamory, emotional distance, and practice
Mistress Matisse has some very astute things to say about polyamory this week.
There's a lot of very good, pithy examples in the article -- go forth and read it.
True, that. And, also the lesson of a daily practice. Daily practice -- with the emphasis on daily -- is all about returning to center in the face of the new shiny. I write my morning pages as close to daily as I can, no matter what's up. At my best, I do the yoga whether or not I feel like it. And, the real nugget there for me is that despite all of my resistance, I always feel better after those practices than I did before. When I am on the mat, I may feel a ton of resistance. I tend to bargain with myself to make it through just five more minutes of class. It's just like trying not to safeword, some days. But when I make it through, I never have the thought that I wish I hadn't. I never once leave feeling that that investment is a waste of time. In a way, my practice is my existing sweetheart, and my practice gives me the skills to (one happy day) nurture a primary partnership through both the inclines and the steep slogs.
And I think she nails the absolute key quality that helps keep things working: perspective.
No one can predict with perfect accuracy how he or she will feel about anything, but exactly how you feel isn't as important as how you respond to those feelings. There is a key trait in people who do polyamory well, and it's this: They are good at regulating their strong emotions. By that I mean, when something emotionally intense is happening to you, either good or bad, you're able to see it as part of a larger whole and keep it in perspective.
There's a lot of very good, pithy examples in the article -- go forth and read it.
As a magickal person, I'd add that this is yet another place where having a daily practice fits in for me. I don't particularly care what someone's daily practice is, but I am a huge fan of having a solid anchor to return to when emotions get off kilter. For me, that's my morning pages (unpublished writing in which I can rant for twenty minutes), my sitting practice, and my yoga. For someone else it might be regularly grounding and centering. Or aikido. Or a regular workout routine. For a poly person, it might be a regular time to personally sort through their feelings before a checkin with their sweetie.
The key to me is that these kinds of practices create just a small moment of distance between ourselves and our emotions. I have emotions, I feel them - but I am not the same as what I am feeling. "I am angry," has one set of implications. The difference between this and "I feel angry" is more than semantics.
The other thing for me about a daily practice is the discipline of it. I'm very good at pushing through the steep incline of learning something new. I absolutely detest the long plateaus that inevitably hit my practice afterward. Working through the sore muscles of renewing my workout practice? No problem. Actually getting on the mat twice a week no matter how I'm feeling? A lot harder.
But, I'm thinking a lot about what Matisse has to say about maintaining existing relationships in the face of new ones.
But you can't act like a junkie who needs an endless New Person fix or your original partner will freak out. You have to feel all the good emotions your new relationship is bringing you, while continuing to love your existing sweetheart the way they need to be loved.
True, that. And, also the lesson of a daily practice. Daily practice -- with the emphasis on daily -- is all about returning to center in the face of the new shiny. I write my morning pages as close to daily as I can, no matter what's up. At my best, I do the yoga whether or not I feel like it. And, the real nugget there for me is that despite all of my resistance, I always feel better after those practices than I did before. When I am on the mat, I may feel a ton of resistance. I tend to bargain with myself to make it through just five more minutes of class. It's just like trying not to safeword, some days. But when I make it through, I never have the thought that I wish I hadn't. I never once leave feeling that that investment is a waste of time. In a way, my practice is my existing sweetheart, and my practice gives me the skills to (one happy day) nurture a primary partnership through both the inclines and the steep slogs.
A Kinkster's Guide to Pantheacon - Pt. 2
So, what's happening this year in the erotic, kink and poly world of P-Con . . . ? Let's see . . .
Looks like tons of stuff on the intersection of pagan, queer and transgender issues. Cool to see a bit more of this every year. I honestly can't recall anyone speaking to transgendered issues at all ten years ago; now there are a few groups doing that, either as part of a queer topic or by iteself.
Live the Dream is doing a Poly workshop, complete with a "love magnet" meditation. Hmm. Perhaps the workshop will be interesting, but not for me. I'm thinking that for my poly life I need a "day planner" meditation. Lots of Boundary/PLAY workshops and rituals. Donald Michael Craig is doing something on sex magick.
Oh, here we go! Luisah Teish is doing "Silk and Honey: Erotic Storytelling from the African Diaspora". These are good, good stories. Want to gossip about the erotic romps of the gods? This is where to get the dirt. I've done Teish's workshops before; she's fantastic.
Looks like she's up against one of LaSara Firefox's flirting workshops, though. Magickal techniques in flirting, eh? I'm guessing NLP, and knowing LaSara I'm guessing it will be interesting.
Of course we Scarlet Women can't miss the PombaGira Devotional to the sacred whore. Yes, I was afraid of going onceuponatime. Those days are over. Pack me some red and black and The Fuckoff Boots; I have some dancing to do.
And um, hmm. No Dossie Easton this year. Damn. No Joy Wolfwomyn either, at least not as a presenter. Hmmph.
I guess it's my year to have a 'vanilla with espresso' con. Oh well, there's always the regular roster of high magick, permaculture, witchy stuff, kabbalah, devotional work from every diaspora, absinthe parties and whatnot. Lots of cool vendors. Enough Reclaiming and Feri homework to keep me more than busy for a weekend. And if I get terribly bored, I suppose I can do a pickup workshop "meet me in my room" style . . .
(I wonder if anyone would go if next year someone did a workshop on magick and rope play? We'd need rope, though. Lots of it.)
Looks like tons of stuff on the intersection of pagan, queer and transgender issues. Cool to see a bit more of this every year. I honestly can't recall anyone speaking to transgendered issues at all ten years ago; now there are a few groups doing that, either as part of a queer topic or by iteself.
Live the Dream is doing a Poly workshop, complete with a "love magnet" meditation. Hmm. Perhaps the workshop will be interesting, but not for me. I'm thinking that for my poly life I need a "day planner" meditation. Lots of Boundary/PLAY workshops and rituals. Donald Michael Craig is doing something on sex magick.
Oh, here we go! Luisah Teish is doing "Silk and Honey: Erotic Storytelling from the African Diaspora". These are good, good stories. Want to gossip about the erotic romps of the gods? This is where to get the dirt. I've done Teish's workshops before; she's fantastic.
Looks like she's up against one of LaSara Firefox's flirting workshops, though. Magickal techniques in flirting, eh? I'm guessing NLP, and knowing LaSara I'm guessing it will be interesting.
Of course we Scarlet Women can't miss the PombaGira Devotional to the sacred whore. Yes, I was afraid of going onceuponatime. Those days are over. Pack me some red and black and The Fuckoff Boots; I have some dancing to do.
And um, hmm. No Dossie Easton this year. Damn. No Joy Wolfwomyn either, at least not as a presenter. Hmmph.
I guess it's my year to have a 'vanilla with espresso' con. Oh well, there's always the regular roster of high magick, permaculture, witchy stuff, kabbalah, devotional work from every diaspora, absinthe parties and whatnot. Lots of cool vendors. Enough Reclaiming and Feri homework to keep me more than busy for a weekend. And if I get terribly bored, I suppose I can do a pickup workshop "meet me in my room" style . . .
(I wonder if anyone would go if next year someone did a workshop on magick and rope play? We'd need rope, though. Lots of it.)
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
A Kinkster's Guide to Pantheacon - Part 1
For folks that don't know, Pantheacon is the longest running pagan con on the West Coast, usually netting about 1000 pagans every February for conferences and rituals on every topic under the sun. I've been attending off and on (mostly on) for about twelve years now, and try not to miss more than a year at a time, if that. The further I get away from the West Coast, the more Pantheacon is my yearly family reunion.
I also have a soft spot in my heart for Pantheacon as a kinkster. I've been going to P-Con since long before I realized there was a kinky "community." I was poly long before my 23-year-old self first went up to San Jose, but P-Con was my first chance to actually meet other poly folks, and talk with them in person about what worked and didn't in their own relationships. I remember how many years I was too scared to go to the ecstatic Pombagira ritual to the sacred whore; it makes me laugh now, but it's true.
I remember the huge trepidation I had about going to see a flogging ritual demo with Dossie Easton and Joy Wolfwomyn perhaps eight years ago. (And remember being mildly surprised that the top in question was the very sweet-looking woman that I'd met at Elie Sheva's Hebrew Paganism workshop the day before. Shows what I knew back then!) But I did go, and that was the first time I really, deeply got it that kink might be something that fit with the rest of my life, with my values, with my spirituality. And of course I haven't looked back. I've made it to as many of Dossie's workshops as possible since: kink workshops, poly workshops, hot chakra-opening exercizes. Every last one has been itself worth the increasingly long trip out.
And my own first flogging was at Pantheacon, too. I remember still the negotiation we had over pizza, the full table of pagans getting wider and wider eyed as they realized that I was going to let my priestess and top friend C. use her barrage of floggers on me. (Good thing, too - she'd gone through hell getting them on the plane, so best she got some use out of them!) Everyone skipped the next workshop, went back to C.'s room, and Miriam got naked and flogged a bit. Years later, I did some of my first topping scenes at Pantheacon, teaching a young man the sephirot of the kabbalah with some very nasty binder clips applied to the back. (I think the difference between mercy and severity might have seemed rather slight on that!)
Even my tools tend to come from P-Con; almost all of my floggers come from Pantheacon vendors, and hope to get a proper hand-made corset this year. (And, insha'allah, a collar.)
I'd started this post planning to talk about kink- and poly-related workshops on the menu for this year, but I'll save that for another post tomorrow. This trip down memory lane has been far more interesting, now that I think about it. I realized that my early adventures in kink were linked with my magickal practice, but hadn't realized quite what a debt I owe to my beloved Con for that. This year, I hope to pack an inordinate amount of rope and keep the tradition going . . .
(to be continued . . . )
I also have a soft spot in my heart for Pantheacon as a kinkster. I've been going to P-Con since long before I realized there was a kinky "community." I was poly long before my 23-year-old self first went up to San Jose, but P-Con was my first chance to actually meet other poly folks, and talk with them in person about what worked and didn't in their own relationships. I remember how many years I was too scared to go to the ecstatic Pombagira ritual to the sacred whore; it makes me laugh now, but it's true.
I remember the huge trepidation I had about going to see a flogging ritual demo with Dossie Easton and Joy Wolfwomyn perhaps eight years ago. (And remember being mildly surprised that the top in question was the very sweet-looking woman that I'd met at Elie Sheva's Hebrew Paganism workshop the day before. Shows what I knew back then!) But I did go, and that was the first time I really, deeply got it that kink might be something that fit with the rest of my life, with my values, with my spirituality. And of course I haven't looked back. I've made it to as many of Dossie's workshops as possible since: kink workshops, poly workshops, hot chakra-opening exercizes. Every last one has been itself worth the increasingly long trip out.
And my own first flogging was at Pantheacon, too. I remember still the negotiation we had over pizza, the full table of pagans getting wider and wider eyed as they realized that I was going to let my priestess and top friend C. use her barrage of floggers on me. (Good thing, too - she'd gone through hell getting them on the plane, so best she got some use out of them!) Everyone skipped the next workshop, went back to C.'s room, and Miriam got naked and flogged a bit. Years later, I did some of my first topping scenes at Pantheacon, teaching a young man the sephirot of the kabbalah with some very nasty binder clips applied to the back. (I think the difference between mercy and severity might have seemed rather slight on that!)
Even my tools tend to come from P-Con; almost all of my floggers come from Pantheacon vendors, and hope to get a proper hand-made corset this year. (And, insha'allah, a collar.)
I'd started this post planning to talk about kink- and poly-related workshops on the menu for this year, but I'll save that for another post tomorrow. This trip down memory lane has been far more interesting, now that I think about it. I realized that my early adventures in kink were linked with my magickal practice, but hadn't realized quite what a debt I owe to my beloved Con for that. This year, I hope to pack an inordinate amount of rope and keep the tradition going . . .
(to be continued . . . )
Eels and those that love them - Seattle
Again, I am jealous of those Seattle folks and their Wet Spot. Max presents a class Sunday on High Security Rope Bondage, for would-be bondage escapees. Sadly my double-jointed friend and I are here in the dirty South. He's still convinced that employing ottomans is cheating, and I'm inclined to agree.
Even if you're not in Seattle, click through for the pictures of gyaku ebi and ebi. The gyaku ebi looks like the bottom really knows her bow pose. (Very timely!)
I love the note that asks bottoms to come showcase their "'slightly' bratty escape skills". 'Slightly' is good. The last time I was at an escape workshop, we were all ready to practice rope gags by the end . . .
Even if you're not in Seattle, click through for the pictures of gyaku ebi and ebi. The gyaku ebi looks like the bottom really knows her bow pose. (Very timely!)
I love the note that asks bottoms to come showcase their "'slightly' bratty escape skills". 'Slightly' is good. The last time I was at an escape workshop, we were all ready to practice rope gags by the end . . .
Monday, January 29, 2007
Practice
I'm thinking a lot lately about compensatory poses. In yoga, we take on challenging poses of some sort, and then resting poses that deliberately reverse the strain on those muscles. My practice partner and I had both been doing strenuous outdoorsy work on Saturday, so going into this Sunday's Rope SIG, I was thinking about ropework that would at best help with easing those muscles and at worst not hurt.
I've had hogties on the brain, and he's a meditative type, so we started with a gyaku ebi - a "reverse shrimp," or Japanese hogtie, in which the ankles are anchored to a chest harness. I left him in just long enough for a short meditative rest. He mentioned later he could have gone much longer and probably if we'd been working in my studio we would have. But I wanted to check out my theory, and so brought him up to sitting and changed him into the Ebi, or "shrimp", attaching the chest harness forward to the legs, which are folded and tied in a simple cross. Ebi can be very difficult on the legs and neck after a while, but for this short while the poses seemed to do what I wanted -- compensating for each other's stretches, and putting some ease on overworked muscles.
Later, I did some "rope jazz" (read: Miriam making stuff up) in which I anchored his ankles to an ottoman's legs, created a spread two column tie between the ankles in front, put his arms in niwatori, then anchored the niwatori forward to the two column tie. Great fun, and a perfect position for a nice flogging with my rope floggers.
All this, and I got to finally try a cupcake chest harness on a lovely rope virgin, which turned out beautifully.
Sadly no pictures. I really do need to do more pictures soon, not least because I find I'm a lot more precise with a camera around.
I've had hogties on the brain, and he's a meditative type, so we started with a gyaku ebi - a "reverse shrimp," or Japanese hogtie, in which the ankles are anchored to a chest harness. I left him in just long enough for a short meditative rest. He mentioned later he could have gone much longer and probably if we'd been working in my studio we would have. But I wanted to check out my theory, and so brought him up to sitting and changed him into the Ebi, or "shrimp", attaching the chest harness forward to the legs, which are folded and tied in a simple cross. Ebi can be very difficult on the legs and neck after a while, but for this short while the poses seemed to do what I wanted -- compensating for each other's stretches, and putting some ease on overworked muscles.
Later, I did some "rope jazz" (read: Miriam making stuff up) in which I anchored his ankles to an ottoman's legs, created a spread two column tie between the ankles in front, put his arms in niwatori, then anchored the niwatori forward to the two column tie. Great fun, and a perfect position for a nice flogging with my rope floggers.
All this, and I got to finally try a cupcake chest harness on a lovely rope virgin, which turned out beautifully.
Sadly no pictures. I really do need to do more pictures soon, not least because I find I'm a lot more precise with a camera around.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Kinky microbusiness
As I build up my toy chest, I want to support community artisans when I can.
Yes, there are major sex industry companies starting to pay attention to kink. But compare Doc Johnson's "Japanese bondage rope" (don't get me started . . . ) to actual hand-processed hemp rope and there's really no comparison is there? Same with floggers. Yes, I can by a mass-produced flogger, if I really want to. But that's worlds away from the gorgeous work I can by from an actual artisan, in the community, who is probably the first consumer of their own best work.
Increasingly, most of my toys come from folks I have met. The beautiful floggers I've bought from kinky pagan vendors at Pantheacon, or the rope I buy from Twisted Monk. The amazing canes I've bought from Prysm or the "cane guy" at EROS. (Gods, I miss the cane guy!)
There's something important to me about the quality and energy of hand-made tools. Even if they follow a design rather than being one of a kind - as most of Prysm's work does - these tools have a very different vibe than mass-production. And, I know that my money is staying in the community, which fits with my leftie values.
That said, there's a word to say about how it's done. I think part of it is about the vendor knowing their own limits.
That Monk? He's wicked smart. When I order there, the little automated message says it's going to be two to three weeks before they get around to my order. And then, a couple of days later, I get that automated message that says my order has shipped, the email that always makes me squee a bit. Monk follows the first rule of smart business: underpromise, and overdeliver. I've ordered right before Hallowe'en, Christmas, a huge event when I know the staff are crunched. I always order with the expectation that getting the order will take a while. It never does. Last time I ordered, there was a wee issue with the shopping cart. I mentioned it, and it was fixed literally within minutes. Very professional.
Contrast this with another site that I went to the same day I ordered the rope. It had lovely tools. I loved looking at the work. It had a few custom items not for sale but for inspiration, and others for sale. Some of them I could almost imagine in my hands. The ones for sale has a listed price, but despite this the site said you have to contact the vendor before making a purchase. Okay. But the email link is broken. I reconstruct the email by hand from the link, and send out the note. Since that day, my rope order has been placed, processed, and shipped. I'm still waiting for a return email from my query on the other site. Not very professional.
Same thing at any event. Some booths have not only their wares, but cards and information. They make eye contact. They explain their tools. The vendors shake hands, and are friendly. Prysm even encourages you to try the Thumper, with an evil glint in her eyes.
Or, someone has a booth at an event, and is very clear - what you see is that you get, I just don't have the bandwidth to do custom orders or to do this as my day job. Also professional, in its way. Not everyone has the energy to do this all the time, but they also have the goodwill to offer what they make when they make it. There's nothing wrong there. It's the making promises (even implied ones) that you can't back up that leads to trouble, I think.
So, that's my rant on the state of kinky microbusiness today. All this and a book to say I'm having a hard time finding floggers and a custom-made collar that I like! I'm putting my hopes on Pantheacon . . .
Yes, there are major sex industry companies starting to pay attention to kink. But compare Doc Johnson's "Japanese bondage rope" (don't get me started . . . ) to actual hand-processed hemp rope and there's really no comparison is there? Same with floggers. Yes, I can by a mass-produced flogger, if I really want to. But that's worlds away from the gorgeous work I can by from an actual artisan, in the community, who is probably the first consumer of their own best work.
Increasingly, most of my toys come from folks I have met. The beautiful floggers I've bought from kinky pagan vendors at Pantheacon, or the rope I buy from Twisted Monk. The amazing canes I've bought from Prysm or the "cane guy" at EROS. (Gods, I miss the cane guy!)
There's something important to me about the quality and energy of hand-made tools. Even if they follow a design rather than being one of a kind - as most of Prysm's work does - these tools have a very different vibe than mass-production. And, I know that my money is staying in the community, which fits with my leftie values.
That said, there's a word to say about how it's done. I think part of it is about the vendor knowing their own limits.
That Monk? He's wicked smart. When I order there, the little automated message says it's going to be two to three weeks before they get around to my order. And then, a couple of days later, I get that automated message that says my order has shipped, the email that always makes me squee a bit. Monk follows the first rule of smart business: underpromise, and overdeliver. I've ordered right before Hallowe'en, Christmas, a huge event when I know the staff are crunched. I always order with the expectation that getting the order will take a while. It never does. Last time I ordered, there was a wee issue with the shopping cart. I mentioned it, and it was fixed literally within minutes. Very professional.
Contrast this with another site that I went to the same day I ordered the rope. It had lovely tools. I loved looking at the work. It had a few custom items not for sale but for inspiration, and others for sale. Some of them I could almost imagine in my hands. The ones for sale has a listed price, but despite this the site said you have to contact the vendor before making a purchase. Okay. But the email link is broken. I reconstruct the email by hand from the link, and send out the note. Since that day, my rope order has been placed, processed, and shipped. I'm still waiting for a return email from my query on the other site. Not very professional.
Same thing at any event. Some booths have not only their wares, but cards and information. They make eye contact. They explain their tools. The vendors shake hands, and are friendly. Prysm even encourages you to try the Thumper, with an evil glint in her eyes.
Or, someone has a booth at an event, and is very clear - what you see is that you get, I just don't have the bandwidth to do custom orders or to do this as my day job. Also professional, in its way. Not everyone has the energy to do this all the time, but they also have the goodwill to offer what they make when they make it. There's nothing wrong there. It's the making promises (even implied ones) that you can't back up that leads to trouble, I think.
So, that's my rant on the state of kinky microbusiness today. All this and a book to say I'm having a hard time finding floggers and a custom-made collar that I like! I'm putting my hopes on Pantheacon . . .
Ha'Shibari lo kasheh . . .
I was amused today to find among my Googlings this Shibari site from Israel.
Unfortunately for most of my readers the site is entirely in Hebrew. Pretty pictures, however, are universal.
Unfortunately for most of my readers the site is entirely in Hebrew. Pretty pictures, however, are universal.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress
Some folks like to work out their frustrations through BSDM.
I get it, but I'm not that girl.
My period has started. I'm in pain, and I'm cranky. I want a gold star for not killing anyone yet today. It doesn't matter that it's barely daylight out and I haven't actually left my house yet. In fact, I think I want a new gold star for every hour I don't kill anyone today.
On days like this, I can think of nothing I want less than to play someone. Take out my frustrations? Um, no. I'd seriously draw blood, if just for the symmetry of the thing.
Nope. If I'm going to control someone, I want to be in control of myself first. If I'm going to discipline someone, I want to do it from a place of self-discipline. I play to gain mastery, not lose it.
One happy day, I shall slip my (as yet hypothetical) service sub notes from under the door: instructions to run me a hot bath, pour some red wine, and then take $10 and go to the movies. Only then I shall slink out from the confines of my room and become the good mistress again, restored by hot water and the sympathetic magick of red beverage, and most of all by solitude and understanding. I shall return to laughing and being myself, to inflicting pain and pleasure with skill, to being in control of myself enough to control others.
For today, I shall draw myself little gold stars with a highlighter, and get through the day dreaming of that bath tonight. Perhaps I'll keep reading Sex, Time, and Power which is just starting to make sense of all this blood and moon nonsense.
I get it, but I'm not that girl.
My period has started. I'm in pain, and I'm cranky. I want a gold star for not killing anyone yet today. It doesn't matter that it's barely daylight out and I haven't actually left my house yet. In fact, I think I want a new gold star for every hour I don't kill anyone today.
On days like this, I can think of nothing I want less than to play someone. Take out my frustrations? Um, no. I'd seriously draw blood, if just for the symmetry of the thing.
Nope. If I'm going to control someone, I want to be in control of myself first. If I'm going to discipline someone, I want to do it from a place of self-discipline. I play to gain mastery, not lose it.
One happy day, I shall slip my (as yet hypothetical) service sub notes from under the door: instructions to run me a hot bath, pour some red wine, and then take $10 and go to the movies. Only then I shall slink out from the confines of my room and become the good mistress again, restored by hot water and the sympathetic magick of red beverage, and most of all by solitude and understanding. I shall return to laughing and being myself, to inflicting pain and pleasure with skill, to being in control of myself enough to control others.
For today, I shall draw myself little gold stars with a highlighter, and get through the day dreaming of that bath tonight. Perhaps I'll keep reading Sex, Time, and Power which is just starting to make sense of all this blood and moon nonsense.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Yoga for Rope Enthusiasts: Bow Pose
So, you like hogties, do you?
Well, who doesn't? They're very pretty, and pretty darned helpless to be in. Lovely thing, the hogtie.
But perhaps a bit hard to hold. Legs arched up, arms or body arched back. Those lovely ones with the hair tied in? Exquisite, and tiring. But you don't want to disappoint . . .
Well, that's where Bow Pose, or Dhanurasana, comes in. Bow pose is a self-bound pose, in which you lay face down and use your hands to grasp your ankles for a deep backbend.
Tonight, I did regular bow poses as well as an upper-body variation in which we put a folded yoga blanket under the ribs, kept the thighs on the floor, and very deeply stretched just the upper part of the back. In all of them, I got that strange thrill of pushing myself to hold the pose just a bit longer, just a bit deeper, and imagined trying to do them bound. I was able to figure out my triggers for leg and foot cramps, and plans to work through those outside of ropes.
After the active stretch of Bow Pose, I imagine it would be easier to hold a good hogtie. Experiments are in order . . .
Well, who doesn't? They're very pretty, and pretty darned helpless to be in. Lovely thing, the hogtie.
But perhaps a bit hard to hold. Legs arched up, arms or body arched back. Those lovely ones with the hair tied in? Exquisite, and tiring. But you don't want to disappoint . . .
Well, that's where Bow Pose, or Dhanurasana, comes in. Bow pose is a self-bound pose, in which you lay face down and use your hands to grasp your ankles for a deep backbend.
Tonight, I did regular bow poses as well as an upper-body variation in which we put a folded yoga blanket under the ribs, kept the thighs on the floor, and very deeply stretched just the upper part of the back. In all of them, I got that strange thrill of pushing myself to hold the pose just a bit longer, just a bit deeper, and imagined trying to do them bound. I was able to figure out my triggers for leg and foot cramps, and plans to work through those outside of ropes.
After the active stretch of Bow Pose, I imagine it would be easier to hold a good hogtie. Experiments are in order . . .
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