I had an interesting conversation on Monday. (Mentioned in passing on
http://maybemaimed.com/2009/04/01/now-i-remember-why-i-love-and-hate-new-york-citys-bdsm-scene/ )
It was a good conversation, and it lead me to a realization.
I feel most comfortable topping when I'm doing what I want done to me. An interesting variation of the golden rule perhaps - "do onto others what you think would be hot if it was done unto you"
I can and have done things that I don't want done to me, but I don't go easily into 'top' space to do so. I wonder if this is a 'switchy' issue that other switchs face?
Meh, mostly I am posting to say I'm not dead, and I'm still kinky.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A dream of nudity
The kind of dream where you wake up at 7:30 on a Sunday morning because you have to write it down -
Topdrop and Maja and I are sitting in a cheap bad greasy spoon style french food dinner restaurant. Maja and I are having a fine ol' time and a silly conversation. She's baiting me about being a prude. We leave the restaurant. We are not thrown out, but the staff is grumpy with us for being very loud in our conversation, or possibly due to Maja's nakedness. Of which, as can only be in a dream, she blinks in and out of. During the walk away from the restaurant Maja makes some sort of comment about my prudishness to which I respond to by taking off my top. I hand my top to Maja. Then she starts running. It panics me and as a duo we run into a very old Irish man (talk lanky red haired, body type very similar to the character Michael O'Sullivan, actor David Kelly, from Waking Ned Devine). He was walking in front of us and he turned and was so startled by my naked chest (and possibly maja's nakedness) he runs away, scared or perhaps terrified of the breasts.
Maja takes pursuit, to apologize I think, though that was unclear. I race after her, as she has my shirt. When we enter a bar where Maja is stopped and screamed at by one of the patrons about the nudity. I turn and run back out of the bar and back into the street where I jump into the arms of Topdrop and simply want to die. Topdrop is comforting and gives me his jacket to wear. I don the jacket and go into the bar where the Nedish fellow is calming down in the corner and Maja is now talking calmly with the barmaid. She was now wearing clothing. She tells me, "I was just explaining about everything" and the bar maid looks me in the eye and says, "So you're?" My eyes bug out and Maja explains, "She asked for our names!" To which I very loudly thought, SO YOU GAVE HER MINE?! and then I promptly woke up.
This is the kind of dream where after waking up, even though the trouble you're in is over by virtue of it's non-reality, you then figure your way out. I decided I would have shifted the situation, but down playing the nudity as rather then perversion, a very silly and stupid bet, apologize to everyone, while not offering them anything (because as my addled early morning brain knew, if I had said I'd do something to make it up I would have ended up with very bad consequences).
A strange dream. And Maja was there and Topdrop was there and frankly I thought all the nudity made it blog worthy. Why not?
Topdrop and Maja and I are sitting in a cheap bad greasy spoon style french food dinner restaurant. Maja and I are having a fine ol' time and a silly conversation. She's baiting me about being a prude. We leave the restaurant. We are not thrown out, but the staff is grumpy with us for being very loud in our conversation, or possibly due to Maja's nakedness. Of which, as can only be in a dream, she blinks in and out of. During the walk away from the restaurant Maja makes some sort of comment about my prudishness to which I respond to by taking off my top. I hand my top to Maja. Then she starts running. It panics me and as a duo we run into a very old Irish man (talk lanky red haired, body type very similar to the character Michael O'Sullivan, actor David Kelly, from Waking Ned Devine). He was walking in front of us and he turned and was so startled by my naked chest (and possibly maja's nakedness) he runs away, scared or perhaps terrified of the breasts.
Maja takes pursuit, to apologize I think, though that was unclear. I race after her, as she has my shirt. When we enter a bar where Maja is stopped and screamed at by one of the patrons about the nudity. I turn and run back out of the bar and back into the street where I jump into the arms of Topdrop and simply want to die. Topdrop is comforting and gives me his jacket to wear. I don the jacket and go into the bar where the Nedish fellow is calming down in the corner and Maja is now talking calmly with the barmaid. She was now wearing clothing. She tells me, "I was just explaining about everything" and the bar maid looks me in the eye and says, "So you're
This is the kind of dream where after waking up, even though the trouble you're in is over by virtue of it's non-reality, you then figure your way out. I decided I would have shifted the situation, but down playing the nudity as rather then perversion, a very silly and stupid bet, apologize to everyone, while not offering them anything (because as my addled early morning brain knew, if I had said I'd do something to make it up I would have ended up with very bad consequences).
A strange dream. And Maja was there and Topdrop was there and frankly I thought all the nudity made it blog worthy. Why not?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Sometimes you need a rope cage and a junior mint
I am stressed
stressed as hell
stressed as fuck
stressed
and then I went to a play party
'Wanna be tied up?'
she asked
GOD YES!
She gave me some options of how. 'Rope cage, definitely rope cage.' I stripped off my shirt, and removed my bra. Slowly a rope cage formed around me. My legs were hobbled and my arms tied behind my back. I hopped about the apartment. I was thrilled at my predicament. I went hopping about, to show people the silly that was me in a rope cage.
The one I came to the party with, he saw my predicament. The scene shifted in direction, and eventually my nipples were being pinched very very firmly. This shifted quickly into a painful pressure, the kind where I feel the pain jolting at me in bursts, the kind of pain that turns off my thinking.
For the count of ten the pressure on my nipples increased. At the number ten they were released and I was feed a junior mint. It was like heaven.
Sometimes all you need is a rope cage and a junior mint to feel like maybe the world isn't so bad.
*
Also, this is a fun watch. http://www.bdsm.com.tw/archives/2006/11/nawatsuya-2005-video/
stressed as hell
stressed as fuck
stressed
and then I went to a play party
'Wanna be tied up?'
she asked
GOD YES!
She gave me some options of how. 'Rope cage, definitely rope cage.' I stripped off my shirt, and removed my bra. Slowly a rope cage formed around me. My legs were hobbled and my arms tied behind my back. I hopped about the apartment. I was thrilled at my predicament. I went hopping about, to show people the silly that was me in a rope cage.
The one I came to the party with, he saw my predicament. The scene shifted in direction, and eventually my nipples were being pinched very very firmly. This shifted quickly into a painful pressure, the kind where I feel the pain jolting at me in bursts, the kind of pain that turns off my thinking.
For the count of ten the pressure on my nipples increased. At the number ten they were released and I was feed a junior mint. It was like heaven.
Sometimes all you need is a rope cage and a junior mint to feel like maybe the world isn't so bad.
*
Also, this is a fun watch. http://www.bdsm.com.tw/archives/2006/11/nawatsuya-2005-video/
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Playing with knives
I could hear the tv in the other room, oh joy, a life time network movie! I couldn't make out what was going on, but the gagged whimpering was a prominent part of the sound scape. It made me wiggle pleasantly.
Unbidden the notion of a knife came to me. The blade in my hand, sharp and shiny, sliding over someone else's smooth flesh. Little lines raising from the paths where I'd dragged the tip. They were kneeling, hands bound in front of them and gagged. I could drag them, position them by grabbing onto their hair, and they'd have no choice but to would shuffle upon bent knee to go where I wanted them. I could make them whimper, make them beg, by simply dragging the blade along their flesh.
I've not yet played with knives, not really, not how in this moment I want to. I tried to top with a knife once before and it didn't go well ... I probably should have grabbed something other than a butter knife. The fact that a butter knife is sufficient for me if I'm bottoming doesn't mean the same is true of someone else. Actually for me, just the notion and well described idea of a knife is sufficient, as is a pencil. In fact the most knife happy I've gotten has been with a closed knife (especially with that sick little clicking noise which means it has been opened, and then closed up quick again).
The people I've seen playing with knives tends to leave image impressions in my scull.
A knife ripping and cutting away a shirt at a demo, exposing a black bra.
A man holding a decorative sin-wave style dagger dragging it along his much taller and more naked partner. Her hands were splayed on the wall behind her, white knuckled and clutching nothing.
A girl and a guy I saw at a party, she was running the knife lazily and lightly over him and he sat transfixed staring back at her with such an intensity that it seemed an intrusion of me to glance upon their scene.
At a knife demo, a girl laying down, two knives trailing, one and then another, leaving lines and tracing her nipples. She gasped and as he poised the blades above her nipples, I couldn't watch, it was too much.
These are vivid memories which from time to time present themselves to the fore front of my mind. They presented themselves to me while I was writing this, and that's why you got them. At time I feel very blessed by my visual memory, at other times, I'm mostly left feeling horny.
Unbidden the notion of a knife came to me. The blade in my hand, sharp and shiny, sliding over someone else's smooth flesh. Little lines raising from the paths where I'd dragged the tip. They were kneeling, hands bound in front of them and gagged. I could drag them, position them by grabbing onto their hair, and they'd have no choice but to would shuffle upon bent knee to go where I wanted them. I could make them whimper, make them beg, by simply dragging the blade along their flesh.
I've not yet played with knives, not really, not how in this moment I want to. I tried to top with a knife once before and it didn't go well ... I probably should have grabbed something other than a butter knife. The fact that a butter knife is sufficient for me if I'm bottoming doesn't mean the same is true of someone else. Actually for me, just the notion and well described idea of a knife is sufficient, as is a pencil. In fact the most knife happy I've gotten has been with a closed knife (especially with that sick little clicking noise which means it has been opened, and then closed up quick again).
The people I've seen playing with knives tends to leave image impressions in my scull.
A knife ripping and cutting away a shirt at a demo, exposing a black bra.
A man holding a decorative sin-wave style dagger dragging it along his much taller and more naked partner. Her hands were splayed on the wall behind her, white knuckled and clutching nothing.
A girl and a guy I saw at a party, she was running the knife lazily and lightly over him and he sat transfixed staring back at her with such an intensity that it seemed an intrusion of me to glance upon their scene.
At a knife demo, a girl laying down, two knives trailing, one and then another, leaving lines and tracing her nipples. She gasped and as he poised the blades above her nipples, I couldn't watch, it was too much.
These are vivid memories which from time to time present themselves to the fore front of my mind. They presented themselves to me while I was writing this, and that's why you got them. At time I feel very blessed by my visual memory, at other times, I'm mostly left feeling horny.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Littles are little, bigs are scary
At floating world I went to a presentation on age play. I do not kink on age play. That does not mean I'm uninterested. There are lots of things in the world of kink that I find rather fascinating. Often I ask myself, how does one get off on that, and can I get off on that? I went to the session on age play, not because of getting off curiosity, but because it advertised that there would be magic tricks and coloring books. I like magic tricks and coloring books, and because expanding my knowledge tends to result in only good things.
When I got to the meeting I sat for a bit and watched. I felt very adult as I stood and made my way to the littles area. It was a comfy looking blanket surrounded by adults in silly outfits eating animal crackers, talking in baby voices and coloring. It was... interesting. I joined them.
The presenter, made some comment about the littles sitting and playing. I wanted to say, 'hey! I'm not a little! I'm just immature!' and I ought to have, but I didn't, instead I ate an animal cracker and continued coloring.
I can understand the appeal of being a 'little' but the appeal of being a big is a bit lost on me. I'm pretty switchy, and I usually get off on both sides of the coin, but in this context I don't understand. Sitting on the blanket I got into a bit of a 'little' head space. It was an interesting place to visit, but I wouldn't want to play there. It seems too tender of a place to play, but then again that is probably a large part of the attraction.
One thing I found interesting is that I'm a bit unsettled by bigs. Littles less so, I can understand the appeal, and the 'caring' bigs I kinda get, but scary bigs topping doesn't seem hot to me, just upsetting. I don't think I'd be able to maintain a little head space while playing.
In a lot of ways age play is something I simply don't have interest in sexualizing. Yet I find the head space very appealing in some ways. I've tried to make a habit of continuing to play, not in the sense of BDSM play, but in the since of child play. I make it a point to occasionally run amok and to visit playgrounds.
When I got to the meeting I sat for a bit and watched. I felt very adult as I stood and made my way to the littles area. It was a comfy looking blanket surrounded by adults in silly outfits eating animal crackers, talking in baby voices and coloring. It was... interesting. I joined them.
The presenter, made some comment about the littles sitting and playing. I wanted to say, 'hey! I'm not a little! I'm just immature!' and I ought to have, but I didn't, instead I ate an animal cracker and continued coloring.
I can understand the appeal of being a 'little' but the appeal of being a big is a bit lost on me. I'm pretty switchy, and I usually get off on both sides of the coin, but in this context I don't understand. Sitting on the blanket I got into a bit of a 'little' head space. It was an interesting place to visit, but I wouldn't want to play there. It seems too tender of a place to play, but then again that is probably a large part of the attraction.
One thing I found interesting is that I'm a bit unsettled by bigs. Littles less so, I can understand the appeal, and the 'caring' bigs I kinda get, but scary bigs topping doesn't seem hot to me, just upsetting. I don't think I'd be able to maintain a little head space while playing.
In a lot of ways age play is something I simply don't have interest in sexualizing. Yet I find the head space very appealing in some ways. I've tried to make a habit of continuing to play, not in the sense of BDSM play, but in the since of child play. I make it a point to occasionally run amok and to visit playgrounds.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Catholicism & Kinking on Sin
I recently ran into a friend I hadn't seen for a very long time. I was best friends with her when I was six and sporadically for many of my formative years. She asked me how I was doing, I told her I was doing wonderfully! That I was hanging out with total sexual radicals, that I had had a girlfriend for a week. I told her I was happy, and that I was finding bits of myself that I had tried to deny (just not very well).
She told me she was Catholic.
I didn't try to take back what I had told her. I instead told her I was respectful of her choice, but the more I talked to her about why she made it, the more I realized I wasn't actually respectful of her decision, only of her choice and option to make the decision, but that is a rant for elsewhere. I had told her I was respectful of her choice, in the hope that she would be respectful of mine, and I suppose in a way - we both were respectful of each other choices - in so far as we respect that people should consciously choose things.
She talked about how she wanted her virginity back. She talked about how she stopped living with her boyfriend, how she stopped fucking him. She was too proper to say the word fuck.
I didn't talk about how much I enjoy being flogged, or how much more at home I feel with pervs than I do (in some ways) with regular vanilla folk. I did not tell her that the notion of 'having my virginity back' squicked me.
She told me that my mother told her that I was living in sin with my boyfriend. That she had laughed, thinking it was a joke, and that my mother hadn't. My mother is not bothered by my 'living in sin' with my boyfriend. My family approves of him, and of my living situation, and they'd better, else they'd be hypocritical old hippies.
The oddest part of the conversation was when I had to explain that when my mother said 'sin' she didn't mean 'sin' in the religious sense. I describe myself as living in sin with my boyfriend, and I certainly don't think it's a sin. She didn't understand. I had to actually explain that I didn't recognize what I was doing as wrong in anyway. She hasn't been catholic long - in fact it couldn't have been more than a few years ago that she identified as atheist, and/or Buddhist.
A while ago, back in September in fact, Eileen had a post about kinking on sin. Calico also had a post along the same lines back in July. In some ways it was these two specific blog entries that made me think I ought to blog. I do kink on sin. In a way. But I realized after talking to my friend, that I don't kink on religious 'sin'. I do kink on sin which converts in my mind to something much akin to shame.
Eileen after my first post, asked me how I'd made he-who-was-mentioned-in-the-first-post cry - and I was at somewhat of a loss as to how to answer. The answer is shame. I told him those things that I (often but not always (it would be nice if my kinks could be so consistent)) enjoy hearing - that my arousal in things of kink is a dirty, naughty thing. He was raised Catholic. I think of this as his excuse for embracing shame. I have no such excuse. I'm oddly enough ashamed of my kink of shame, to some extent because I can't find any source so simple to name.
Maja recently posted about floating world. She was talking about her feelings regarding her sexuality:
She told me she was Catholic.
I didn't try to take back what I had told her. I instead told her I was respectful of her choice, but the more I talked to her about why she made it, the more I realized I wasn't actually respectful of her decision, only of her choice and option to make the decision, but that is a rant for elsewhere. I had told her I was respectful of her choice, in the hope that she would be respectful of mine, and I suppose in a way - we both were respectful of each other choices - in so far as we respect that people should consciously choose things.
She talked about how she wanted her virginity back. She talked about how she stopped living with her boyfriend, how she stopped fucking him. She was too proper to say the word fuck.
I didn't talk about how much I enjoy being flogged, or how much more at home I feel with pervs than I do (in some ways) with regular vanilla folk. I did not tell her that the notion of 'having my virginity back' squicked me.
She told me that my mother told her that I was living in sin with my boyfriend. That she had laughed, thinking it was a joke, and that my mother hadn't. My mother is not bothered by my 'living in sin' with my boyfriend. My family approves of him, and of my living situation, and they'd better, else they'd be hypocritical old hippies.
The oddest part of the conversation was when I had to explain that when my mother said 'sin' she didn't mean 'sin' in the religious sense. I describe myself as living in sin with my boyfriend, and I certainly don't think it's a sin. She didn't understand. I had to actually explain that I didn't recognize what I was doing as wrong in anyway. She hasn't been catholic long - in fact it couldn't have been more than a few years ago that she identified as atheist, and/or Buddhist.
A while ago, back in September in fact, Eileen had a post about kinking on sin. Calico also had a post along the same lines back in July. In some ways it was these two specific blog entries that made me think I ought to blog. I do kink on sin. In a way. But I realized after talking to my friend, that I don't kink on religious 'sin'. I do kink on sin which converts in my mind to something much akin to shame.
Eileen after my first post, asked me how I'd made he-who-was-mentioned-in-the-first-post cry - and I was at somewhat of a loss as to how to answer. The answer is shame. I told him those things that I (often but not always (it would be nice if my kinks could be so consistent)) enjoy hearing - that my arousal in things of kink is a dirty, naughty thing. He was raised Catholic. I think of this as his excuse for embracing shame. I have no such excuse. I'm oddly enough ashamed of my kink of shame, to some extent because I can't find any source so simple to name.
Maja recently posted about floating world. She was talking about her feelings regarding her sexuality:
"But I was scared because it’s so huge. When you separate your identity from the identity of your sexual desires, it makes your desires more fun. Like being possessed by something delightful and terrifying, and you have a crazy ride and then later you can claim that the devil made you do it.The notion that it is in some way 'the devil' appeals to me. But I do find it irksome to say the devil made me do it. I am a lover of responsibility almost to the point of the ridiculous Sartre existentialist 'no one can be a slave' crap (which isn't really all that simple but I'll not go into it since there are better venues for learning about such). I much prefer the notion that I am part demoness, that it is all a part of me. Letting myself be taken by this delightful and terrifying aspect of myself, for a crazy ride, and I'm left with no one to blame but myself. Which is fine with me, because as Maja said, desires being powerful beyond measure - that does fucking rock.
The truth that I unlocked at Floating World is, that’s not a devil. That’s not anything separate from me. My desires are powerful beyond measure. And frankly, that fucking rocks."
Friday, September 21, 2007
Kinky Libraries
Týr posted about libraries & kinky chained books. It got me thinking, and inspired me to post.
I like books. I find smarts sexy. One very hot thing that made me fall pretty hard for a guy was when during a conversation he suddenly stopped talking, furrowed his brow and went over to his library. He pulled out a book, turned to the section he desired and proclaimed "this says it better than I could," he proceeded to read a perfectly fitting quote in an, unbeknown to him, very sexy drawl.
I like books. I like libraries. It is a treat for me to find the time to go to a library - pull books I fancy and immerse myself in them until the library closes. I have been known to frequent, and work, in a number of libraries. My favorite had wonderful stacks full of good smelling books, an odd architecture with half floors, bookcages and freight elevators with a secondary door that had to be manually opened and closed. By bookcage, what I mean is a study carrel. At this library there was a selection of them which had a desk, a shelf and walls made of grated metal, thus preventing a graduate students from squatting in their carrel they sat in the middle of the less frequently used book sections.
Many a fantasy played through my head while I toiled away my hours putting books away in those stacks. I would imagine that I wasn't working for the library, I was part of the collection. As a library slave it was still my job to put books away, but I did so while chained to my book cart.
I was a lucky library slave, as I was not available for public use. Without being checked out from the collection I could only receive 'light usage' from a patron. One of the punishments that loomed over me was the notion of being made 'available for general reference'; being chained, naked to a sofa in the main lobby or at the checkout desk.
When one is flogged for being 'bad' in a library, one must be gagged and quiet, for it would be difficult to simultaneously flog and shush a naughty book slut.
I like books. I find smarts sexy. One very hot thing that made me fall pretty hard for a guy was when during a conversation he suddenly stopped talking, furrowed his brow and went over to his library. He pulled out a book, turned to the section he desired and proclaimed "this says it better than I could," he proceeded to read a perfectly fitting quote in an, unbeknown to him, very sexy drawl.
I like books. I like libraries. It is a treat for me to find the time to go to a library - pull books I fancy and immerse myself in them until the library closes. I have been known to frequent, and work, in a number of libraries. My favorite had wonderful stacks full of good smelling books, an odd architecture with half floors, bookcages and freight elevators with a secondary door that had to be manually opened and closed. By bookcage, what I mean is a study carrel. At this library there was a selection of them which had a desk, a shelf and walls made of grated metal, thus preventing a graduate students from squatting in their carrel they sat in the middle of the less frequently used book sections.
Many a fantasy played through my head while I toiled away my hours putting books away in those stacks. I would imagine that I wasn't working for the library, I was part of the collection. As a library slave it was still my job to put books away, but I did so while chained to my book cart.
I was a lucky library slave, as I was not available for public use. Without being checked out from the collection I could only receive 'light usage' from a patron. One of the punishments that loomed over me was the notion of being made 'available for general reference'; being chained, naked to a sofa in the main lobby or at the checkout desk.
When one is flogged for being 'bad' in a library, one must be gagged and quiet, for it would be difficult to simultaneously flog and shush a naughty book slut.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
