Friday, August 21, 2015

This is why you don't show your Dom your bruises.

Me: "Look at what you did to me! Look at this!"
Him: "Wow. What about the other leg?"
Me: "It's not nearly as bad, thank God."
Him: "We'll have to do something about this."
Me: "I tried ice already."
Him: "That's not what I meant. They're not symmetrical."
Me: "...What?"
Him: "We need them to be even."
Me: "What? And what do you mean, we?"
Him: "I can't remember what I did to cause that...look, we'll just have to recreate the whole night, and I'll retrace my steps, but everything I did to your left leg I'll do to your right leg, so they'll be even."
Me: "WHAT!"
Him: "You're right, that won't work...I'll just have to find a different way to give you a bruise like that, one that'll match. But there's no way...I might have to work on the first one, you know, to get them all even."
And this is how (if you're not me) you learn to shut up.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Noisy Scenes and DM responsibilities

Let me start out by saying that I am a person who makes a lot of noise in the dungeon. A lot. 

I guess I should qualify that: by "in the dungeon," I mean whilst scening, and by "noise," I mean screaming. Screaming, swearing, whining, crying...a mixture of all that good stuff.
Good if you're a Sadist who likes to hear that sort of thing. Good if you're the kind of person who gets turned on by listening.

If you're the kind of person who doesn't like to hear those sorts of noises in the dungeon, if you're a person who is bothered by them...or expects all the noise around you to be on the "Low Moan" spectrum of things...ahh, this is where the conflicts start.

Let's assume here we all have the same right to be in the dungeon at the same time. Yes, playing in a dungeon is a privilege, not a right per se...but let's assume your level of "privilege" is the same as mine. There are no rules are being broken, nothing going against dungeon policy, we both paid the same money, etc etc.

My scene is going to involve a lot of noise. Your scene requires...well, not absolute quiet, but not someone screaming right next to you, either.
What to do?
We both have equal right to be there (again, let's assume). We both want the best scene outcome possible for everyone involved.

Sometimes, Cats and Roosters, "Sharing Space" means Taking Turns. 

The longer you're in the Scene—the more time you spend playing inside public dungeons—the more you learn about what works for you and what doesn't. If you're the kind of person who requires quiet, and I mean your scene will be ruined unless you have quiet: you let the DM know. The DM might be able to tell you about that good corner over there for your scene, a place where the sound won't carry.

If you're the kind of person who makes a lot of noise? Again, the best thing is to let the DM know in advance. That way you might be put in a corner where your voice won't carry so far. You might also have to wait to do your scene when the timing is better.

My local dungeon knows of my, shall we say, proclivity toward making noise.
They take steps to ensure the neighbors are not bothered.
They do require a strict policy beyond a certain level of noise. This has nothing to do with me as an individual, though. This is a dungeon rule by which everyone must abide. But it does tend to affect me more than others, because I tend to make more noise than others when I play.
The dungeon works with me to keep the noise—my noise—contained. I, on the other hand, must understand that rules must be followed, and if the DM tells me to tone it down? I tone it down.

Here is the problem I'm hearing more about lately: when some scenes get "preference" over others by DMs, because the louder or more extreme scenes do not seem to be "Sharing Space" like they should.

The people in a "quiet" scene will go complaining to the DM about the noise level coming from the next scene over. They will say they want it quieted down. The DM will go over to the loud scene and tell them to hush up...not because they're breaking policy, not because the dungeon itself can't handle that level of noise, but because for some odd reason, the quiet scene gets priority.
I think this is absolute bullshit and wrong.

And yeah, maybe I'm biased, maybe I'm blindsided by the fact that I am a person who makes a lot of noise—but why should my scene get derailed because the people in the next corner can't handle it?

Because yes, you have to understand: my scene does get derailed when someone walks into it, even the DM. I am pulled out of my particular mode of preyspace to be told I am making too much noise, that I have to change my behavior, that I'm doing something wrong.
A vast majority of the time my scene will get back on track, and I'll be able to sink back into my adrenaline fog of preyspace while my Top ensures my noise level dips down an octave or two. But there is always that moment—that shocking, shameful moment—when I have to "come to" long enough to understand that I have, somehow, fucked up.
Not with my Top, not with my myself, but with the public play space I am privileged to be in.

It's bad enough when this happens because I am breaking policy. I can understand that—it is the DM's job to ensure rules are abided—so I suck it up. As adults, we all have to abide by the rules if we want to play in our local play spaces.

Blessed be that no DM in my local dungeon has ever tried to shut me up or interrupt my scene because "some people playing over there" were bothered by my noise. If other kinksters are bothered by my noise, they should move themselves, or wait until my scene is over to start theirs.

That is what adult behavior is about, too.

It is the job of the DM to enforce dungeon policy, not choose which scenes are more "worthy" to play out over others. There are ways we can all play and get along, if we are all willing to make space for each other. Sometimes it is up to the DM to nip conflict in the bud by making sure all scenes are respected and held sacred—not just the quiet ones.

And since people are prone to give more weight to what they hear last (even when two ideas are presented evenly) I will end this by saying that I realize the job of the DM is incredibly hard, often mentally exhausting, and very seldom appreciated the way it should be. The vast majority of DMs out there are upstanding, honest, respectful people who are just trying their best to make sure nothing horrible happens inside the dungeon on their shift, and nobody ends up in the ER. To all you DMs out there, thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything that you do.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Kinky Sheep Orgy Gone Wrong!

My mother has a lot of figurine collections. Here are members of her sheep figurine collection, all lined up, waiting for me to climb back into bed.

 "I thought they'd be adorable," my mother said.
"They are waiting to kill me in my sleep," I said.
It turned out, the sheep were more kinky than I thought.
A few minutes later, a sheep orgy was in full baaa and swing, and everyone had reason to smile.

Top Sheep was very popular—mainly because of his size, I think.

Uh oh: things have gone wrong. Bottom sheep has now cried "CONSENT VIOLATION!"
She's off in the corner crying with her friend, while her boyfriend (they're polysheep of course) has words with Top Sheep.

Things are escalating...Top Sheep is trying to apologize to bottom sheep, but she's having none of it. Her friend is yelling at Top Sheep STOP BEING SO PUSHY LEAVE HER ALONE while others look on.

Now they're all trying to talk it out, but what they fail to notice is that the quiet onlooker to this whole scene is now writing up a post on Fetlife about everything....

Breaking news: the bottom sheep's friend has now taken Top Sheep's side in the fight, Top Sheep and two-faced ex-friend are now a couple, and the onlooker is happy because his post lamenting all the "drama" is now on K&P.

Wow. Sheep live more interesting lives than I thought.
(I think I need help.)

Monday, July 27, 2015

Updates (and Bombs)

Dear Readers,
It is with great excitement that I share the news: my latest book is now out!
It is a stand-alone book, the second one in my "Erotic Fairy Tale" series. You can read sample chapters on AMAZON or BARNES&NOBLE.

My other news is not so exciting. I tried updating my blog last week—including all my pages—and I ended up inadvertently planting bombs instead, killing a lot of my design and blog photos. I fixed what I could, and everything should be fine from here on out, but many of my previous entry photos are now kaput.
Bah. Bah and grr.

I'm traveling again this week (this summer is the "Summer of Travel," it feels like); when I get back, it'll be time to start outlining my next book.

I'll be visiting family while I'm away. You can look forward to blog posts about my religiously-conservative, ANTI-kink family.
Bah. Bah and grr.

Friday, July 24, 2015

Small Insight on How We Communicate

Scene from last night
Me: You could have not given me this nosebleed.
Him: You could have stopped fighting.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Hello From the Holy City (Double Entendre, That)

I'm writing this post to you guys from the Holy City of Jerusalem. Home of the Temple Mount, Dome of the Rock, where Jesus lived...sacred grounds.

I am horny as all fuck.

I went to a rope munch here. It was awesome. Jerusalem is a surprisingly open city toward LGBTQ folk and others of a more kinky nature. It's not San Francisco of course—but still.
One thing I learned is how important it is to come to a new community with an open mind.

This rope munch was run differently than other rope munches I've attended. Rope was available for those who didn't have, books were on hand for those who wanted to learn, teachers were ready to lend some guidance...and the feeling of community and camaraderie was very strong.

There was no "universal safeword" here. I was kind of surprised to hear that. In my neck of the words, SAFEWORD is the word to use to get everyone's attention. (RED will also work, but will not always stop the scene immediately.)

In my community, we need this universal safeword because for the most part, people leave other people's scenes alone. We watch, we learn what we can from the peripheries; if we're invited to participate, then we get some hands-on interaction.

Not all of us will know each other. Many new people will show up once to a munch and never be seen again. Continuity is there to a certain degree, yes; but it ebbs and wanes.
We try to create safe space for people's scenes in a situation where we might not have any clue about the vast majority of scenes going on, or the people in them.

At the rope munch in Jerusalem, everyone knew each other—I was the odd kinkster out. And yet, if I had said "no I don't like that" to my partner, or "stop right now," that would have been enough to get everyone's ears perked up.

Apparently some of them had never seen a brat in action, either. This part got interesting I gotta say. When my partner started tying me, my mouth started running off, and people started glancing our way to look what was going on.

They had never watched a woman get tied up while panicky and miserable, telling her Top in great detail what a jerk he is in between bouts of giggles.

At one point my Top had me turn to face the room and let people know everything going on was consensual and in control.
(That is something I'm used to having to do.)
I was also told to keep my voice down.
(I'm used to that, too.)

I'll be back home in a few days, and then it's back to our regularly scheduled programming—and then MY NEXT BOOK RELEASE!

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Cut Nails and Troublesome Mouth

In the car, driving Husband to the train station, looking over at his hands (cause he has sexy Man Hands):

"Oh, you've cut your nails."

"Yes." (Raises eyebrows.) "Does this give you ideas?"

"Nope. No ideas."

"No ideas—like my hand inside you?"


"You don't want my hand inside you? Fisting you? In and out, in and out—"


"I think my nails did give you ideas. I think you do want to get fisted tonight. I think that's why you said something."

"I think you should just keep your hands in your lap, over there, while I'm driving."

"That's not going to happen."

"Then I think from now on I should keep my mouth shut."

"You know that's not going to happen, either...especially not tonight."

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Fantasies and Vulnerabilities

Ready to hear something surprising?

After all these years, I'm still shy about sharing a lot of my kinks—even with Husband.

I know, I know, I should get over this. The guy knows me inside and out; he knows me better than I know myself. I should have zero shame in telling him about all my blooming fetishes and fantasies.

But it's hard.

It's hard to take that first step and tell him there's something on my mind I'd like to try. It's hard to lay the script fantasy running through my head at his feet, and wait for his reaction.
It's hard to state out loud to myself, let alone someone else, how perverse some of the erotic scenes in my mind really get.

As a submissive who identifies as prey, it's hard to articulate "I want you to force me to do this for you." After all, if I really wanted to do this for him, wouldn't I just do it? Why should I have to be forced? What kind of submissive does this make me, that I have to be forced into pleasing him?
Wait, if this is my fantasy, and about my pleasure—am I not now topping from the bottom?
That's bad, right?

It's not bad, of course. Fantasies are never bad. Sharing fantasies grants any relationship a new level of truth and vulnerability, which makes it even hotter.
Husband LOVES it when I share my fantasies with him. He loves my kinky little mind. He's told me many times over that my fantasies are more hot and steamy than the stuff that comes out of a teenage boy's wet dream.

He also...he kinda loves forcing me to share my fantasies with him in very great detail. I think he gets off on how embarrassed it makes me. That's one of his fetishes, forcing me to suffer through that kind of humiliation, even as he knows it excites me, too.

There's a certain thrill for me knowing that as soon as I say, "Husband, I have a scene on my mind"—or something to that extent—he's not going to let the matter drop until I've told him exactly what I'm envisioning in my head down to the very last detail. He wants to know the tone of voice I'm hearing him speak; which side of the bed I see him on; which hand I see him using for what kind of play; even where his eyes are looking as he's doing whatever he's doing to me.

Of course, everything that happens during our real scene is up to him.
But in a way, that "real" scene is actually the second scene. The first scene starts as soon as I open my mouth and say "I have a fantasy." I'm forced to present all my inhibitions at his feet, to do with as he will.

Last night Husband and I had an amazing time acting out one of my fantasies. I'm not going to tell you what it was, but I will say (with no small measure of pride) that Husband came twice in fifteen minutes, and he came so hard he had to lie down on the bed for a good long while before his legs were strong enough to walk.
I'm not usually one for post-sex cuddle time but I gotta say, I enjoyed it last night.

Afterward, he hugged me and kissed me over my eyebrow (God I love it when he does that) and reminded me, "You shouldn't hide your fantasies from me. I want to know all of them. I want to know everything that goes on inside your head."
"I know," I replied, burying my head in the crook of his arm. "But it's hard. I'm embarrassed."
"You shouldn't be too embarrassed to tell me," he said. "I love you. You are the hottest woman in the world, and I am so lucky to have you."

That's what it's really all about, isn't it? To be vulnerable in front of another human being, strip down our veneers and cover layers until we expose our most fragile and unguarded selves...and be told we are still precious and beautiful to behold.
We are still appreciated.
We are loved.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

The Single Word Command

There are few words that turn me on as much as this one.

Growing up in a religious home and going to a religious school, I was required to wear skirts all the time. The skirts had to be of "modest length," meaning that the hem had to fall below the knee; if the skirt had a slit in it, the slit could not travel above the knee cap.

Not only was I required to wear a skirt, the fashion in my school back then was to wear specific GAP long denim skirts, ones which were extremely narrow. They fell almost to the ankles, and had no slits. We girls did not walk; we shuffled. Opening our legs more than a foot wide was almost impossible.

This curtailed our mobility, obviously. But I think that was part of the point. If you look throughout history, one popular way of controlling women is to take away our ability to move.

In fact, we were taught specific ways on how to move—modestly, of course. We were not supposed to draw attention to ourselves, or do anything that might cause the boys to look upon us for too long; that was immodest. We were not supposed to roll up our skirts, not even in the summer months; that was immodest. We were not supposed to sit with our legs spread apart; that was immodest.

I will never forget the day the principal of the school gave the girls a lesson on how to bend down to pick something up off the floor. The trick, he said, was to bend at the knees, not at the waist. That way you're not presenting an attraction toward any male walking by.
Any woman who's ever tried to stand up from a kneeling position this way wearing a tight skirt knows there's a certain art form to it. It takes practice, and a certain amount of grace. Doing it right will make a woman look downright elegant; doing it wrong will see her planted on her face.

As the framework of my life changed and I began to wear pants more often, it took a surprisingly long time for the wicked thrill to wear off. I was doing something naughty, wearing pants; I could open my legs. 
Part of the pleasure was being able to just fucking walk.
But I still saw opening my legs too wide as something inappropriate and indecent. Girls just did not do that. They did not act that way. Not the good girls, at least.

I did not last as a good girl for very long.

Husband figured out very quickly what the word "open" does to me. He had to break down more than a few inhibitions first, of course. I was still very shy getting naked in front of a man.
I could take a dick down my throat, but parade around with no shirt on in front of a guy? Pfft. No way.
Once he got me naked before him, prone, vulnerable, and he would tell me to open my legs...then the sweet struggle would begin.

I used to refuse to open for him. My refusals were dealt with harshly back then. I was not punished so much as shown, time and again, that my refusals were futile. He would do what he wanted to do to me, and get me what he wanted me to do.
Full stop, the end.

But at the same time, he made me feel gorgeous when I overcame that struggle—even when he had to "help" me do it. He told me over and over again how beautiful I was, how attractive, how sexy, how womanly.
He made me feel comfortable with being proud of those parts of my body.

But the struggle has never really gone away. Neither has the delicious suffering—those moments of panic as I slowly ease my legs open for his stare, knowing I am revealing my most hidden parts, acting the perverse and wanton slut.

It is not just my body he finds attractive. It is the struggle he sees etched across my face, the inner fight waging behind my eyes.
It is a fight I am going to lose, and he is going to win.
With his triumph comes control.