When I rule the world . . .

. . . all play parties shall be held in the day time.

As it is, I see a great deal of caffeine in my near future.

That is all.

Kinky interwebz, and kinks . . .

Well, I was going to take a nice long nap this afternoon. Instead, I spent a good part of the afternoon setting up a FetLife profile. There is nothing like confronting a long list of fetishes to get you honest with yourself.

Many entries rattling around ye olde brain, no time to write them. Soon, my pretties!

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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 . . .

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 . . . )

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.

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.