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.

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.

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.

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 . . .

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):

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!

Creating enforceable rules

Sara Robinson of Orinicus has a few interesting things to say about the fine art of laying down the law:

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 . . .

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.)

Service

Sacred service is the path of honoring what the Other needs, in the form it appears to them. Yet it is doing so without losing the essence of Self that the Other called into service. It is never second guessing, but it is often looking ahead of and beyond what is asked.

It's a paradox.

(If you think by service I mean bottoming, or service topping, then you probably have never seen me go sideways yet. Hierodules and priestesses R us.)