Taking the Skirt Back

When I was young, I grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home, and attended a Jewish day school through high school graduation.
School had a strict rule: girls had to wear skirts. The skirts had to cover the knees while sitting, and they couldn't be too tight. If the skirt had a slit in the back or sides, the slit could not rise above the knees.
If the skirt was too short, or deemed too "immodest" by any teacher, the girl was sent home to change.

The thing was, the school expected the girls to follow the dress codes out of school, as well. Now, if you were caught by a teacher or school administrator outside of school wearing pants, that was frowned upon, but overlooked.
But if you were caught wearing something more immodest, more revealing, like a mini-skirt? That could get a girl into a heap of trouble, not just with the school, but with the other girls. A girl who wore clothes like that was a slut. She was asking for it.
As I'm looking back on it now, it disgusts me to even write those words.

After I graduated and moved away (far, far away) I began my long farewell to my skirts.
First I only wore them if they were comfortable; when they all stopped being comfortable, I only wore them if I was going somewhere where I was required to wear a skirt; then I stopped going anywhere where I was required to wear a skirt, and started wearing jeans all the time.
By the time I met Husband, I hated skirts. Hated them. To me, they represented everything I had walked away from when I left Orthodoxy behind.
For years, I did not own more than one or two skirts.

Then I came into the kink scene. All of a sudden, skirts looked…different. They were long, short, billowy, skinny, bright, dark…but more importantly, they were sexy. They weren't worn to be modest, oh no; they were worn to show off the female figure, and flaunt a woman's curves.
Pants were suddenly modest attire, compared to the skirts I was seeing around me.
And I started buying some.

Now I have a whole collection of skirts again. Some are short, but still cover my knees. Others barely cover my thighs. I have a couple that are very long and wide; I wear those under a corset, with no panties. They are perfect for lifting around the hips for a spanking.

My skirts make me feel sexy. Womanly. Confident.
Ironically, the last thing they make me feel is submissive.

It has helped me realize submission is something a woman must feel within; it is not something a rabbi or teacher can dictate with clothes. Dictating how a woman should dress for modesty's sake is forcing her to don a costume of someone else's choosing. It is an abuse of power.

I am a kinky, submissive woman, and I will wear what I want…even skirts.

Mosers in the Kink Community

This post is pure philosophical thinking (mental vomiting, really) on my part. WELCOME TO MY BRAIN. Don't forget your 3D glasses; you'll need them.

In the Jewish world, we have our set of set of words and vocabulary to delineate things that sometimes have no concept in the secular world. One of those words we have is moser. 
A moser is a Jewish person who, to put it simply, snitches on another Jew to secular authorities. It stems  from Talmudic times, back when Jews were living under Roman law, and were being killed for behaving Jewishly in any way. Any Jew with a gripe could report his/her fellow Jew, and watch the Romans solve the "problem" for them.
According to the Talmud, a moser is considered someone evil and wicked. Sometimes, being a moser is punishable by death.

The problem is, today, at least in Western society, Jews are not being rounded up and killed for being Jewish. Yes, we do face antisemitism, but we face it by those breaking the law, not by those defending it. Yet the concept of moser has undergone a strange, and in my opinion, horrifying blossoming.

Today, the word moser if often used to describe someone who has reported molesters and abusers to the authorities. It has become an epithet to silence and ostracize those who try to publicize horrible wrongs going on within a Jewish community.

Those who have come forward as victims of child molestation are being called mosers. Those who are revealing wide-spread fraud and money laundering by prominent Rabbis are being called mosers. Those who are working with secular authorities to stop rampant child abuse are being called mosers.

I am probably being a moser right now, by bringing this up.

The reason why I'm bringing this up now is because recently, on FL, another woman has come forward to publicize her assault. Her consent was violated in a dangerous, and what could have been lethal, way.
What was more, the guy who did this to her has admitted it.

Yet what am I seeing?
People telling her it was her own fault this happened, because she had given him consent prior, so she was asking for it. That this was all a "misunderstanding." That she should accept his apology and move on. That by publicizing what happened to her, she's creating "drama."
That, basically, she should shut the fuck up.

I get it that the kink community faces a lot of discrimination and condemnation from the vanilla world. I get it that we sometimes have to work twice as hard to earn an ounce of respect, to show people that what we do is not abuse, and should not land us in jail.
But does this mean we need to silence those in the community who have been violated, assaulted, abused, even raped? In our quest to seem so communal and benign to the vanilla world, must we quiet the voices who have every right to speak up, who only wish to rid us of the very kind of predatory behavior vanilla society reprehends? Shouldn't we repudiate it just as much, if not more?

Is "drama" the new kinky slang word for "moser"?

I am scared by what I'm seeing. I don't want my kink community to turn into a group of people afraid to speak out when a problem arises that can be fixed, should be fixed, because they are afraid of being labeled and ostracized; where people think the best way to handle a serious problem is to silence those who would speak of it.
I don't want to be part of a community where consent violators run free, while the people who are shunned are the "mosers."

I don't know the solution to this. It's an ongoing problem. But it's terrible to see.

A Day in the Life (of An Erotica Writer)

6:30- Wake up, brush teeth, wash face, go downstairs to make coffee, see that Son2 forgot to take out the garbage last night, take out the garbage, find some dirty clothes sitting two inches from the hamper, wonder with confusion once more why Son1 is incapable of putting dirty clothes in the hamper, put dirty clothes in the hamper, decide there's enough dirty laundry to start a load, start a load of laundry, remember I was supposed to make coffee, go make coffee
7:05- Wake up Son3, Wake up Husband, snuggle with Son3 and Husband until one of them farts and they both start laughing, leave bed in disgust, make Son3's breakfast
7:15- Drive Son1 and Son2 to school
7:30- Return home, remember that Son3 has no school today because GOD FORBID ALL THREE KIDS SHOULD HAVE SCHOOL AT THE SAME TIME, curse the world
7:45- Kiss Husband goodbye on his way to work, eat breakfast, try to have some coffee
8:00- Sit down to try to get some writing done
8:10- The antics begin.

Mom! MOM! Come quick!
(I come running) What?
Can I invite Greg B. to my birthday party?
Um…sweetie, your birthday isn't until March.
So?
So can we talk about this later? I'm trying to get some writing done.
Okay!
Ten minutes later
Mom! MOM! Can you come here?
(I come walking) What?
My pants are too big. Can I get new ones?
Honey, they fit you yesterday. Maybe you just need to pull them up a little.
Oh! You're right! Thanks!
No problem.
Twenty minutes later
Mom! MOM! COME QUICK!
(I yell down) What?
I'm hungry!
You just had breakfast!
I know, but I'm hungry!
Then go get yourself something to eat!
Can you get something for me? I don't want to miss this scene!
NO.
Ten minutes later
Mom! MOM!
(I walk downstairs) Honey I really need to get some writing done and I don't appreciate you calling me down here for every little thing!
I'm sorry mom. I just wanted to tell you the dog pooped on the carpet.
Oh for the love of God….

9:00- Realize I'm not going to get any writing done like this, give up, and take Son3 to the park
11:00- Eat an early lunch with Son3, because hey, why not, I've got nothing better to do
12:00- Set up Son3 with the Wii, the TV, his computer, the iPad, and my phone, tell him I really need to get some writing done, and hope to heaven he understands
12:15- Nope.

Mom! MOM! Can I have a popsicle!
(I yell down) Yes!
…Can I have two popsicles?
No!
Why not! Why not! I want two!
It's one or none!
But I want twooooooooo
STOP IT NO POPSICLES FOR YOU

12:20-1:00- Listen to Son3 complain how I am the worst mother in the world and it's not fair and why can't he have one (one being really two) and Dad would let him have one (yes one not two) and when is Dad coming hooooommmmeee
1:31- Grab myself another cup of coffee, curse the heavens some more
1:35- Listen as Son2 comes home from school because it's WEDNESDAY, and everyone gets out early on WEDNESDAY, it's like a LAW or something
1:40- Listen to Son2 tell me about his day, his homework load, and why he really, really couldn't take out the garbage last night
2:00- Leave to pick up Son1
2:10- Get a phone call from Son1, telling me to pick him up later from school…turn around and go home
2:30- Get met by a now reformed Son3 who is perfectly happy getting one popsicle, GOD MOM, of course one popsicle is TOTALLY FINE, why would he want two ANYWAY
2:35-3:05- Get some writing done! Hallelujah!
3:05- Go to get Son1 AGAIN
3:15- Arrive home, tidy up kitchen (including all popsicle stickiness which seems to have contaminated the entire room), put laundry in dryer, pay bills, clean bathroom because Husband made a face about it that morning and Husband making a face about anything is a bad fucking sign
4:00- Try to escape for a little while to get some more writing done.
4:01- Nope.

Mom! MOM! I need to ask you something!
(I run down) What?
Can you bake brownies for tomorrow? For my class fundraiser?
Uh…no? Sorry, but it's a little short notice.
The thing is, I kind of told them you would.
You told who what now?
I told my teacher you'd bake brownies for the fundraiser.
…When did you tell your teacher this?
Last week. So can you?

4:06- Wish for the millionth time I'm the kind of woman who drinks. Get out the pots, pans, brownie mix, and start messing up my formerly clean kitchen
5:00- Brownies are done, but it's time to make dinner
6:00- Finish making dinner, clean up kitchen AGAIN, call kids over for dinner, listen to one of them complain how he really doesn't like this dish and why couldn't I remember he REALLY DOESN'T LIKE THIS DISH and why do I always have to make something HE doesn't like
6:30- Escape to my bedroom with two Tylenol (who knew Tylenol could be so sexy)
6:45- Husband calls

(Me, into the phone) WHAT!
Well that's not a nice way to say hi to your Husband.
You're right, honey, I'm sorry.
I was just calling you to tell you I'm on my way home. Maybe I should also tell you it's time for a caning.
No! No, I'm just a little frazzled right now. I'm sorry.
That's better. Now…how was your day? Did you get any writing done?

"By Force" In Quotes

I have a bit of a confession to make:

Husband has never really forced me to have sex with him when I'm not willing.

For a lot of D/s couples out there, this might seem strange, maybe even downright wrong. But the truth is, I cannot imagine my Husband forcing me to have sex with him when I actively didn't want to.

Yes, he often "calls me upstairs" when he's in the mood and I don't particularly care one way or the other. In those instances, it's irrelevant whether I come or not, whether I enjoy it or not at all. I mean, it's not like he doesn't want me to come,  but I'm not going to hold him back. He gets his pleasure; that's what's important. 

Sometimes if I'm not "in the mood," he will decide whether it's worth his time and effort to get me aroused. He enjoys making me come, immensely. He likes making me go from zero to eighty, begging  for his permission to come after all my insistence that getting an orgasm out of me is That Which Will Not Happen. 

But again, it is up to his discretion; his decision. If he doesn't want to bother putting in the effort, he won't, and that's fine. He has all the rights.

What he has never done is forced me to lay there and submit when I seriously, decisively rebuffed him. In those rare instances when I had a strong preference, and my preference was not to have sex, he respected my feelings. 

Again, the word "force" becomes dubious at best in these situations. When you're talking about a D/s dynamic, lines are blurred, "NO" does not mean no, and boundaries drawn in mud often become obscure. 

Husband has the right to use me as he wants. That is his choice. Call it "consensual non-consent," call it "the ultimate rape fantasy," call it "Owner/property guidelines," whatever you want to call it…that's what we have. That's what he has from me. 

But I cannot image being with a man who would take me by force knowing I unequivocally did not want him to. I see that on Fetlife from other women, and lately, I've been seeing it a lot more…and I'm realizing, that is SO Not My Kink. 

Which is not to say I think those couples are doing anything wrong; whatever they're doing is obviously making them happy. 

It's just another reminder how we (people who identify as subs and slaves) each have to be so careful to whom we give control over us. Because often, what becomes the most important thing is handing control over to the one who will wield it the way the sub wants him (or her) to. 

This is not "Topping from the bottom," or being a smart-assed bratty sub. This is being a thinking, deliberating, cognizant adult who understands not every Dom can—or should—be your Dom.

Subs have a choice: to give up control, or not. What the other person will do once he has that control is never a question to be taken lightly.