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. 

Ten Things Anal Sluts Think Of While Getting Fucked in the Ass

Inspired by some writings I've recently seen online (sorry, they're on Fetlife so I can't link to them, but believe me, they are good), I decided to write my own:

Ten Things Anal Sluts Think Of While Getting Fucked in the Ass

1. Whoa! That lube is cold. Don't use too little! But don't use too much either! I don't want a mess on the sheets again.

2. How is it you like to do this to me, anyway? I mean, I know it's tight and warm in there, but still...THEY DON'T CALL IT THE POOP CHUTE FOR NOTHING. Doesn't this gross you out? Please don't let this gross you out.

3. Ok, some pressure...I can take it...ow. Ow ow OW. God I forgot again how much this hurts.

4. I can take it...the worst must be over now...OKAY I GUESS NOT OW OW OW.

5. Okay. Okay. Worst is definitely over. He's in. OH WAIT HE HELD BACK OH JESUS.

6. He's sliding now...this isn't so bad...I can handle this.

7. Mmm, those are some very nice colors floating by.

8. Oh God, this is really awesome, I mean this is fucking amazing, holy shit it HURTS but please don't STOP

9. Why can't I ever come this good with plain 'ole vaginal sex?

10. Okay, you can pull out now. Now, really, it's starting to hurt again. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T COME YET

Background Noise

When dealing with the kink community, one important thing (among oh so many) to keep in mind is this: rules of etiquette here are somewhat different than those in the vanilla world. I will not say the rules are changed completely, because it's not like you've entered Bizarro World (although sometimes it can feel that way); but the rules have definitely altered.
Things that were okay before, perhaps even expected before—a hug hello, a kiss on the cheek, even something as minor as a handshake—can no longer be taken for granted. On the other hand, big no-nos in the vanilla world—complimenting a woman on her sultry look, sending out an invitation to negotiate a little play later—are fine in Kink Land.
Things can get confusing.
It's easy to make mistakes.
And we all make mistakes. We're human, we're not perfect, right?

Some imagine people's mistakes as a secret bucket they're keeping, often hidden behind their backs. As long as their bucket doesn't get full, they're okay. But once the bucket reaches critical mass, and begins to overflow, the person now has too many mistakes in their bucket—and they are no longer worthy of your friendship.

I don't think of it like that. I think the mistakes people make—and remember, we all make them—becomes something like background noise. We all carry around our background noise with us wherever we go.
Some people's background noise is very faint, and barely noticeable. Some people's is louder, but it is not so unpleasant to take; you can still have a nice conversation over it.
And some people's background noise is so annoying, so ear-pounding, you just have to walk away.

The thing about background noise is, we all have different levels we can take, and different kinds of noises we find disturbing. What you find too troublesome to accept, completely intolerable to your own ears, your friend might not find so bad. And what they recoil away from, you may decide is not bothersome to you at all.
Keep in mind, it is the same exact noise.
The difference lies in the people hearing it.

Now, obviously there are some noises that no one can take. The human eardrum can only handle so much pressure before it pops. People who have allowed their background noise to rise to that level...I'm sorry, but you're in trouble. You're going to have to tone it down.

But I think 98% of the people in our community are not like that. Yes, we have predators, rapists, people whom we cannot and should not tolerate in our community, whose background noise is simply too dangerous to the rest of us...but most of us are not like that, at all. We are just people, making mistakes, creating our own background noise.
I guess, my point is, the issue is not so black and white.

So before you go judging how much background noise your friends can take, consider this: how much background noise are you making? And how grateful are you that your friends are willing to accept it?

Bothered

We were lying in bed last night, naked, my cheek resting on Husband's stomach. He was pushing my head down now and then, to indicate to me where he wanted it to go; but while his wishes were obvious, I was resisting...because that's what I often do.
Predator and prey, baby. Push and pull. It's how we play the game.

He was not yet at the point where he would force me, but the moment was coming. We both knew it, but I was enjoying the lull that always comes before.
"If I were to tell you I never want to give you another blowjob again," I asked him, "would you be okay with that?"
"Of course," he said. "I'd be fine with that."

Now, Husband is a pretty cool cucumber. He knows how to keep his emotions in check, how to rise above the turmoil that often rules my actions. He knows how to stay calm and collected, to maintain the advantage. Still, I was very surprised by his nonchalant answer.
"Really?" I asked. "Why?"
"Because I love you," he said. "And if you never want to give me another blowjob, that would be okay with me."
"Really," I murmured, irritated. "You wouldn't be bothered."
"No."
"I should put this to the test See how long it would take you to admit you're bothered."
His head jerked up. "Wait, what?"
"What do you care?" I said, lifting my own head to look at him. "You just said you'd be totally okay with never getting another blowjob again."
"That doesn't mean I want to start now," he said. He started pushing my head down to his cock in earnest.
"No no," I said. "If you're not bothered by never getting another blowjob from me ever again, why should I bother?"
I pulled while he pushed, he opened my mouth and I bit his finger, he spanked my ass and I scurried away...but in the end, he did get my face over his cock, and I did give him a blowjob.

After it was over, I asked him, "Why did you say you'd be okay with me never giving you another blowjob?"
"My first reaction was to act cool about it," he said with a sigh. "I think I miscalculated."
"Yes," I said. "You did."
"It seemed like you were upset by my answer though. Were you?"
"Yes, I was. I put a lot of work into my blowjobs you know. How would you like it if you worked hard to make me happy with something, and then I took on this attitude like 'oh, I don't care about this, I could take it or leave it.' You wouldn't like it either."
"Well then," he said, "let me clarify: I would be very bothered if you never gave me another blowjob. But that's never going to happen, because you're going to keep giving me blowjobs whenever I want."
"Thank you," I said. "And damn straight."

My Next Project

Do you guys know about this website, Postsecret? It's this place where people can send in their secrets, written out on a self-made postcard. They come out with new postcards every Sunday. It's a pretty awesome site. 

I was talking with Husband about postcards we would send in, if we were ever struck with the sudden initiative. Mine would most likely be something about my mom. 

"Mine would definitely be kinky," he said.

"Oh?" I said. "Like what?"

"Like me holding a big huge paddle," he said, chuckling. "Maybe the one Mrs. Maguire gave us."

"What would the postcard say?"

"I'm lonely," he said, and burst out laughing. I laughed, too.

"Oh my god, that's SO EMO," I said, and he laughed harder. If you know Husband, you know he's not an Emo kind of guy. At All.

"We should send a whole series of Emo postcards with kinky pictures," I said. "They won't know what to do with them!"

"They won't publish them," Husband said, dismissing the idea.

You know who'd publish them? You know who, lovely kinksters?

ME!

I'm going to start a whole series of BDSM pictures with Emo messages. I invite you all to make your own. You should try it, it's fun! Here's a few to get you started. 

The New Meaning of Whore

Here's the situation:
I'm in the car, driving my 15-year-old home from school. There's nobody else in the car with us. He starts telling me about his day
(Someone once explained to me, after I had complained that my boys will only broach serious topics with me as I'm driving them somewhere and never while I'm sitting down comfortably at home, that boys will usually talk more, and open up more, in the car, where they know you cannot maintain eye contact with them. I largely think this is correct)
and he gets onto the subject of P.E.
Now P.E. is not my son's favorite class. He doesn't hate it, but he doesn't love it, either. His favorite class is actually Physics. Followed by Calculus.
Jock he is not.
But he has a nice group of friends in P.E., and they all just kind of hang out together and bear it collectively. They call themselves the "Nerd Herd," both in and out of P.E.
Son starts telling me about things they were discussing during P.E. time—words like "linux" and "steam" and "portal" and "pie graphs" and "Alpha" and "Beta" start flying out of his mouth and straight over my head—and then I realize he's started to talk about people.
"So Beta thought—"
"Wait, Beta is a person?"
"Yeah. We have names in the Nerd Herd. I'm Alpha, cause I'm Alpha Nerd. They decided."
(I am so not surprised.)
"Beta is second. When I'm out sick, he's the Alpha, but only when I'm not there."
"Okay....wow. What are some of the other people's names?"
"Well, we have Omega, and Fucker—"
"Wait, you have someone who's nickname is Fucker?"
"Yeah. He wanted it."
"Oh sheesh."
"If you don't like that, you're not going to like the others."
"Okay," I say, granting he's probably right. "But what about the girls? You do have girls in the group, don't you?"
"Yeah. Two."
"What are their names?"
"We call them the whores."

At this point, it was hard for me to drive, because my jaw was jamming the steering wheel.
"Son," I say, "that is NOT OKAY. Why would you do that? Why would you call these two girls whores? Do you understand how hard it is in general for girls to be nerds? How everything they do ends up being tied up somehow to their sexuality? How they're put down and insulted for daring to try to be included in circles of gamers and nerds?"
"Okay. Jeez, mom."
"No, it is not okay. It's very wrong for you guys to call them whores, just for being members of your group. What the hell were you thinking?"
"We were thinking it's funny."
"Well it's not. At all. You need to stop."
"It's supposed to be derogatory towards us, mom. Towards the guys."
"How—how is it derogatory towards the guys?"
"Because the joke is that no girls would be willing to be in our group unless we paid them."

I didn't have a clue what to say. I'm not exaggerating here: all possible answers were just wind-swept out of my head. Because when I looked at it from his point of view...yes, they were insulting themselves, not these girls, and certainly not women in general.
But it still didn't sit well with me.
Son then went on to tell me that the girls know about the name (it's not something the boys call them behind their backs), that they agree it's funny, and that they laugh about it, too.
Does this make it okay?
Can it ever be okay to call a women whores?

But then, maybe I'm whore shaming now? Certainly a woman has the right to label herself whatever she wants, and not have to get flak for it. The word "whore" doesn't have to be derogatory unless we designate it as an insult.
It can be a fact, not an epithet.
But for a group of boys to label girls "whores," even if it's to put down themselves, even if they don't mean it as an insult to the girls in question...it bothers me.
I'm just not sure I can articulate why.

Matched Chemistry Vs Time In the Scene

Rule number, what, three? Of attending a munch or kinky event:

When you see casual play going on between people, especially when it's a group of people, do not assume you can automatically participate. Everything you see—every touch, every grab, every mindfuck, every mode of play—is done by mutual consent. You, the newbie, do not get to assume it's a "free for all" that you can just join in. In fact, you should work under the assumption It Is Not Okay; not until you have permission. 

The reason given for this rule is typically along the lines of:

Those people have known each other long enough, have been friends long enough, to play like that. They are well-acquainted, therefore it's okay.

Here's the caveat to that rule: Sometimes you'll know somebody for long enough, and be friends long enough...and it will still be Not Okay.
Not even if that kind of play is obviously okay with them when they're in different company.
Not even if they obviously like playing like that with others.
Not even if you really, really want that kind of play from them.
Being friends, knowing for certain they like to play like that, watching them play like that with other people, even people they don't know as well as you? That does not automatically mean they now have to play like that with you.

Some people think there's this magic clock ticking down somewhere, and once it hits zero, that means they've known someone long enough that they have to agree, or at least submit, to play.
It doesn't work like that.
The interactions, the type and level of play you have with people in the scene, do not depend solely on how long and how well you've known them.
It depends on other things, too.
Personally, I think the biggest factor is chemistry.

There are some people I like to play hard with, because that's the kind of chemistry we have; they make the beast of prey within me rise up to challenge them. There are people I like to play fast and loose with, because they're fun, and they know how to make me feel all soft and yummy inside. And then there are others who I enjoy teasing, because they enjoy the tease, and it becomes a game between us.
And then there are the others I will likely never play with at all, because we just don't have that kind of chemistry.
I still consider them friends. I still share chemistry with them; but it is of a different kind. And the truth is, I shouldn't have to owe them an explanation why I won't play with them.
No means no.

But it's hard to disappoint your friends. They want to play with you, and they don't understand why you're asking someone else to play, and not them; or they're wondering why you respond a certain way to someone else, and not the same way with them. The hard fact is, there may not be a cohesive, articulate reason to give them.
Except, maybe: the chemistry is just not there.

So if you're a newbie standing off to the sidelines, being told "don't assume you can do that too, you haven't known those people long enough," DO NOT take that to mean once a certain measure of time goes by, you'll get permission to go ahead and join in.
In fact, it's a bad idea to make any assumptions at all. Ever.
When in doubt, ask.
And until a safeword has been negotiated, no means no.