Cranky, horny, ornery

I’m up late getting some work done. Wasted half an hour trying to pick a new theme for my blog here, because I’m simply not happy with any of the current themes. This one will be a placeholder for a little while. . . . or maybe it’ll grow on me. We’ll see. My disatisfaction tends to increase when I attempt to personalized my blog. You’d think some of my own artwork would make it feel more “mine.” But I’m simply not happy with my artwork, either.

I’ve been talking to some new people recently. I am still seeking a dom but it’s been an elusive thing. I want a domly dom but tired of domly doms who don’t act the way I want them to act! I know, I’m not a “real” sub. Honestly, I’m not a real sub right now. But … I’m never a “real sub” unless I’m actually with someone, subbing to him (or her). The rest of the time I’m working, writing, making stuff, doing chores, hanging with friends…

Beyond the new guys messaging me on FetLife, I have had interesting real life proposals lately, from people I know and like. Not one but two dominant couples has proposed play. I want to accept both offers and now it’s just a matter of working out the time and negotiating the specifics. Negotiating the specifics? You do what your dom tells you, there’s your negotiation! Ha ha. I’m getting punchy. OK, to bed soon. But I am looking forward to these scenes. Out of the four people involved, so far I’ve only played with one of them, and I’ve usually topped him. He’s been getting a wicked gleam in his eye lately, discussing this upcoming play session.

The Protocol Party

Saturday’s party was a fun, new experience. It was nice having a sub to serve me. On top of being responsible for getting my food and drinks, he brought me some delicious organic dark chocolate, enough to share with others, AND he gave me a foot, back/neck and head massage. The foot and neck massage was great for aching muscles and sore toes, but the head massage was divine. That i
s better than getting high…

Now, we did follow some light protocol. He was to call me Ma’am, get the doors for me, and, when we were seated he sat on a pillow on the floor. House rules were that subs did not use furniture unless there was some physical issue that prevented them from being on the floor. My sub had back issues and asked that I not make him kneel. He b brought his own pillow plus a floor-level seat with a stiff back for support.

It was really nice not to have to worry about bringing food for the party (I never mind bringing food but it is something I can easily obsess over.) And at the end of the evening it was the subs’ job to clean up. (I had to stop myself from jumping in!) My “boy” also carried my bag for me and cleaned up our play area after we were done playing.

I was glad the evening included play, not just subs quietly serving while the doms chatted and sipped tea, because I may have been bored out of my skull!

I did find it weird seeing a lot of my friends who were in the sub role and not being sure about how to interact with them. They were not supposed to speak unless a dom spoke to them first, so I kept thinking, Am I only supposed to talk to them if I NEED something? As the evening progressed it became easier.

My sub is new to this, publicly at least, and he hasn’t played too much. I didn’t go crazy on him. I did give him a short caning. He’d never been caned; it’s always nice to break someone’s “virginity.” Next time I’ll go a little harder and I’ll bring my own canes.

Best thing about the party was that it was very small and I knew almost everyone there. I was glad I’d opted to be on top, too. Next time, though, I may explore the other side.

Low-key get-togethers

Last night Rad and I drove to NJ to hang out with some scene friends. It was a very small gathering, just six of us total, with no play–just dinner, dessert, and lots and lots of talk. There were four women and two guys and, once we got beyond the usual gossip, there were lots of thoughts exchanged about the joys and pains of being in the scene, dealing with difficult people, saying no when you have to, and the differences between being a bottom/sub and a top/dom. My thoughts on this fluctuate. One Dom friend says he thinks it’s harder being a sub. He says if you’re a top, you just decide what you want to do and you do it; the sub has to prepare emotionally and physically. A bottom friend in the group last night said she disagreed; she said it’s a lot of work being a top, and as a bottom, all she has to do is show up and “take it.” Good points on either side. As a switch who leans more toward the bottom, I’d say it can be very difficult emotionally as a sub because I have easily gotten attached to doms in the past who were not as emotionally connected to me as I’d thought. But it’s true that it’s a lot of work as a top. WHEN I top I need to get somewhat of a basic plan in my head before the scene starts. It can be really basic, like, “I’m going to put him over my knee and spank him, then make him stand in the corner.” After that I kind of have to think on my feet and go with my instincts judging on how my bottom is reacting. It’s easy to tell a sub at the start of a scene, “Strip, then get on your knees.” But a bottom who’s not submissive isn’t going to appreciate that. They may just be looking for the physical, not the emotional, submission. (They may completely top from the bottom — I don’t enjoy those scenes, but they do happen). This afternoon, I’m heading to Huntington for the Long Island Leather N Roses’ annual Oktoberfest. There will be some play there, but that, too, ought to be a mellow gathering, as parties in the afternoon tend to be. As I’ve hinted earlier this week, I do have plans for my friend Johnny (traveling with canes). I’ve been working a LOT of long hours and I’ve had to miss the last two LILNR meetings. I’m really looking forward to seeing my friends again; I’ve missed them.

Street bullies

If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn’t rub out even half the ‘Fuck you’ signs in the world. It’s impossible.
Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye

Rad says he was trying to make the bus yesterday so when he got off his train at 42nd and 7th he came rushing up the street, yelling, “Get out of the way, you apes!” I hope he was kidding. Probably not.

I had texted him earlier that I’d wait for him at one of the little tables in Bryant Park, near the bus stop. I’d left work a little late again, but that’s because I was doing some of my own work after hours. …

I walked to my usual bus stop at 6th and 45th (I work near 45th and Madison) when I remembered i was supposed to pick up a prescription at the Duane Reade on 5th and 44th. “Shit!” So I hustled back over there.

Normally I’m a fast walker. I just like to get where I’m going. Last night I think I was walking a little faster than usual, because I wanted to get my drugs then get back to the bus stop. I passed two guys. I passed them on the right because they were kind of on the left side of the sidewalk. I didn’t think anything of it. Up ahead on 5th, the little white walk sign was lit so I was hoping I could get there in time to make the light–it’s a long light if you miss it.

Suddenly I hear one guy call loudly, “Where are you going?” It seemed aimed at me. I thought, “What the heck?” but didn’t turn. Then I heard, “We’re going somewhere, too! We’re walking fast, too!” Suddenly they were pacing themselves with me, and, I suppose, trying to get me to say something.

Why is this happening? I was pissed. Were they MOCKING me for walking fast? I mean, I know I’m a freak but I’m not THAT big of a freak.

I know how these things work. You don’t talk to people who start things with you on the street. Nothing you say will make any difference. If you confront them–or even try to laugh and make light of it–it will only escalate things. All I knew was I was minding my own business and then suddenly two guys were being assholes to me.

I told Rad about the incident when he got to the park later. I said, “Guys don’t have to deal with that sort of shit, do they … you know, random rude comments from strangers?” He said, “No, not really.” I had been telling him a week or so back about how many times some strange guy had told me to smile. Bizzarre. I’ve never understood why, and I still don’t.

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Whoosh…

It starts with a vague idea: I haven’t used my canes in a while; it would be nice to cane someone. Who’s going to be my next victim? (I have someone in mind as I write this. but it will depend upon where I am and how soon we can arrange it.)

The notion of canes is scary, but it’s certainly not all psychological: Yes, they really DO hurt! (oh, I know, you can have a SENSUAL caning, too … you can have a sensual spanking or flogging … you can have vanilla sex, too, I’ve heard.)

I should hand out a questionnaire after I top someone because I’m always curious about how the bottom takes a caning (vs. how I’ve taken them), and what might be going through his or her head. Some male bottoms are very stoic. Females can get like that, too, but I’ve seen it more often in men. You sometimes don’t know how much they are hurting. When I thrashed Joseph in California a few years ago (a picture on my FetLife profile that a lot of people have commented on) he WANTED a severe caning, to the point of serious marks and even blood. I have seen much worse caning shots, believe me. I gave him close to 300 strokes, and it was a thrilling, energizing scene.

I don’t mind blood. I’ve bled from a cane stroke or switch stroke before, and I didn’t want my top to stop. As long as both people are OK with it, there’s nothing that says you can’t keep going. Tops, of course, have as much right to call a scene as a bottom does. Blood is a hard limit for many, and that’s perfectly understandable. (I’m not going to preach about cleaning your toys and having first aid supplies handy; we are all thinking adults here and ought to know that stuff before engaging in edge play.)

I’m not entirely sure what amazes me more–the bottom who can take that kind of an ass whuppin’ while barely moving, or the tops who have given ME hard thrashings while I was wriggling and struggliing and sometimes vehemently protesting that I’d had enough. I can be vocal as a bottom… but I’ve had my stoic moments, too.

Caning is one of my favorite types of play. Done ritualistically and slowly, the buildup and nervous anticipation are fantastic. Done swiftly and cruelly, the out-of-control feeling kicks in and there’s a huge rush of adreneline, endorphins and fear. As a top, I feel powerful and a little cruel, and I think my endorphins are pumping, too. Sometimes something takes over (a bit of the dark side) and I really want to cause pain.

I’d love to hear from other caning fans about how you take or give a caning, and how it fits into your spectrum of play. If you’re a “veteran” bottom, does the cane still scare you?

Challenges

I know I’ve written about male brats before, and how I find them amusing and likeable … to a point. First of all if I don’t want to play with someone, no amount of bratting is going to change my mind (ie, look how bad I am, you have to punish me now!). In fact it gets the exact opposite result; I get turned off by the pushiness and just want to walk away.

But if a guy is appealing and nice, but a little playful, that’s fine. To me, the bratting before and during a scene sends me a signal that he wants me to respond, to make him pay. It makes playing with a new person at a party a little easier. I’ll do a quick rundown on limits and then we can jump in. It’s generally fun.

Then I run into the unrepentant brat, the real tough guy. These are the ones who continue to mouth off no matter what I do to them. They seem to need to give me a challenge. Obviously they need more pain, but … there’s a finite amount of pain I can give to someone using the standard arsenal of the corporal punishment crowd.

On Saturday night, unfortunately, I had not brought my canes to the party, and no one else there seemed to have one that I could borrow. That MIGHT have done the trick w the guy I was topping — but who knows? maybe not.

Did he want me to try to break him? I didn’t know him and was NOT going to do something crazy. I settled for a very hard paddling. At a certain point he finally shut up and stopped the smartmouth comments. He was playing a wiseass schoolboy to me, the teacher, so I didn’t feel that he was mocking ME, personally– but I couldn’t help feeling that my role-played teacher was unable to control her student!

So that didn’t feel good, and I also worried at the end that he left the scene disappointed. I hope he got at least something out of it. It’s not on me to make or break the scene — that’s a two-way street — but maybe both of us missed our cues to shift gears out of the discipline scene that wasn’t working.

Too bad. I still think he was a nice guy and I’ll play with him again, probably. Just not like that…

Shadow Lane scenes…

I haven’t written about Shadow Lane and it’s been over a week. I had a great weekend–I had some great scenes. I had my usual angst, too, but I’m not going to dwell on that right now. I’m going to try to write a few mini-blogs about some of my “moments.”

I had a fantastic time playing with G., my cop friend from California, and we did another police scene. Last time was an interrogation scene. This time I suggested a bad cop/abuse of power role play. I had written before about how, during an interrogation scene we did, I freaked out when he pushed me up against the 10th floor window. I mean really frightened that the window was going to give and I was going to fall. He had realized this during the scene and pulled me away, not breaking character.

In the role play I’m a woman who gets pulled over and accused of drunk driving. He “gives me a break” and instead of arresting me he offers to escort me home. But instead of taking me to my home, we wind up at his house, where it’s soon clear he intends to have his way with me–because he can. I start to struggle and try to run out the door, but he grabs me, slaps me and then handcuffs me. The handcuffs are really tight–painful–and I realize he’s doing this to make it all real.

To drive the point home, he says all he has to do is report me for the bag of cocaine he’s found in my car. When I start to protest that I don’t even do drugs, he slaps me again, and then hauls me over to the window and once again SLAMS ME UP AGAINST IT. “Look out there!” he growls. “This is MY town! Who do you think they’re going to believe? You … or me?”

My adrenaline has already kicked in. Although I AM scared, as I look out at the lights of Vegas I think, “Holy shit. He KNOWS how much this freaked me out last time, and he’s doing it again. He doesn’t give a fuck…” and so my fear (which was still real) was mixed with a bizarre admiration for his audacity…

We eventually got around to the spanking/punishment part of the role play. In retrospect I thought I probably should have struggled more, but I think in getting into the role play, trying to imagine the character I was playing, I felt it would have been bizarre to struggle much more. He was obviously not going to let me go and he’d made it pretty clear I needed to cooperate. I knew he wasn’t actually going to force his way on me sexually because it was out of the bounds of our agreement. He did do a strip search… which was not sexy, believe it or not. In my character I felt violated. Then I had to get into an undignified position with my butt up in the air while he strapped me. THAT was hard to take.

In the aftercare portion of our scene, he opened up and revealed that he hadn’t planned on pushing me up against the window again. He had thought that it wasn’t a good idea. But prior to the scene he’d been hanging out with my girlfriend D. from San Diego and a few others. He had mentioned he was going to be playing with me right after I arrived on Thursday night and was looking forward to it. He told the group he was with that he wouldn’t make the mistake of scaring me in that way.

D. had piped up at that point, saying, “Oh, no. I think you SHOULD push her up against the window. She likes being scared…” He was like, “really?” She encouraged him.

So I had HER to thank! (She paid for this later!)

 

Two years…

It’s been two years since I’ve been to Vegas for Shadow Lane, and, though I’ve seen some of my friends at other parties (Boardwalk Badness, Crimson Moon), there are friends I have not seen in two years and the anticipation is high. I don’t like to go into a party expecting anything … I try not to … but sometimes I can’t help it. If someone tells me he misses me and can’t wait to play with me, I do expect something. Still, knowing how things can and will change because of various circumstances at these events, I have to make other plans.

No one person is going to make or break my party. But … confession … the reality is there is one special Dom I can’t wait to play with, and I’m unofficially setting aside some time for him. Not one hour—several hours. I’m not saying our scene will last that long—but I don’t want to rush anything.

There are several other Doms I want to see, too. One has already established a play time with me; I’m still going back and forth with the others.

In the meantime, I am expressing my top side and there are folks I must spank/strap/cane. That part takes as much planning and energy as bottoming does, but at least my butt is not worn out after I top (my shoulder, maybe, if I’m not careful…)

Parties bring an amazing euphoria, but they can also leave me crashing in despair, a feeling I’ve just been rejected and, on occasion, a certain contempt for myself that I crave This Thing We Do so badly that I crave certain … “dealers” … for the way they really know how to find my vein and tap into it. They can leave me crushed, annihilated, but still begging for more. It’s crazy that the thing I desire so badly can reduce me to a sobbing, inhuman mess of a person.

I know this, and I do my best to prepare. So that’s why getting in touch with people and making appointments. I can’t control everything (there is little I can control) but I’m not going to leave it entirely to fate, either. I can make plans for some play and be spontaneous with other play. I will work on getting past my own selfish desires, looking at these fabulous Doms I get to play with … and I miss all of them, not just one of them.

I will hang with my girlfriends, whom I miss just as much as my Doms. I will hang with Rad. I will have a great party.

“Don’t disappoint yourself”

I’m packing for Chicago Crimson Moon and don’t have a lot of time to write today, so I’m reposting a older blog about one of my scary favorite scenes (from Sandy’s Room, Jan. 31, 2011):

I was going to get whipped, something that both scared me and pulled me in.

It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve been single-tailed before. A single-tailing CAN be quite sensuous if done a certain way, with a mild pain, repeated flickers and stings. At times it’s brought me to an almost meditative state. I’ve also felt some very harsh single tail strokes that caused me to cry out, but usually, these scenes did not last long — there may have been 20 hard strokes, tops. This was going to be different.

I had been talking a few months ago to John Smith, a fabulous top and the author of “Kink and the City.” In his book he describes both giving and receiving what sound like some incredible and painful single-tail whippings. I told him how these particular scenes were some of the hottest in the book. And then we started discussing the possibility of my experiencing it.

My friend Tori also knows John and they’d been having a similar conversation. He asked me if I’d like to do a joint scene with her — one of us watching while the other was single-tailed, and then switching.

John, who’s inflicted hard corporal punishment on me before but not this, promised a real single-tailing. Harsh, unrelenting. I initially hesitated. How would I react? Did I want my friend to see me yelling and crying out, which was very likely to happen? But after some back and forth and thinking about it, I decided I was OK to let myself be vulnerable and just let it happen. I like Tori and we’ve done scenes together before.

The scene took place on Saturday night at Pandora’s Box, a dungeon in New York City. We’d reserved a room there that provided lots of space for John to use the whip. He had also asked for leather hoods; he said these were necessary for protection. And he said that when I saw myself in the mirror wearing the hood it would feel somewhat dehumanizing (this had intensified his own experiences, he said). The notion of having to wear a hood made me feel more nervous. This was going to be extreme.

And so we entered the room, making some small talk, but soon getting down to business. I was to go first. John bound my wrists into leather cuffs and he attached them to an overhead bar that was in the center of the room. My arms were in a comfortable position, not too high. I was naked except for a thong. Then he put the hood on. It tightened in back. I could just barely see out of the eye holes. But he asked me to close my eyes anyway during the whipping, for extra caution. (I might have done that anyway).

My typical approach to something that surely will be painful is to not think about it until it actually happens. In the back of my mind I am strong; I will take whatever he dishes out; I will be brave. Even if I’m getting something I’ve felt many times before, like a caning, I tend to forget how much it actually hurts.

He began. “Nicely” at first — he’d promised to build, to increase the heat gradually. But the warm-up, if you can call it that, did not last too long. Soon more painful strokes began to fall. I know my words here will not do this any justice. What is the pain like? How do you describe it? I’d say that it’s almost like being cut, and it feels hot. I gasped at first and then finally cried out. Eventually some of the strokes simply made me roar. One wicked stroke cut across me from my upper right side to the center of my back. I screamed and sagged forward and down. John moved in close to me and ordered me to stand up straight. “Don’t disappoint yourself,” he whispered fiercely. I stood up straight. I didn’t want to disappoint myself. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I wanted to see how much I could take. Wasn’t that the whole point of being there — to experience it?

My safe word was simply “Stop.” At that point he would completely stop; the whipping would be over. I wasn’t ready to use the safe word, and he kept going. A couple more times I sagged forward from the slashing pain. I don’t know how loud I was yelling or screaming. At one point I was simply sobbing. The cuts continued. Once more he ordered me to stand straight. He whipped me a few more times and I screamed again. I was feeling crazy, not wanting any more, feeling it was unbearable, but still wanting to prove something to him, to myself. Another cut, another roar emerged from my throat. Then another stroke, and another. My back, sides and some of my front were searing with the pain. The whip came down again and at last the word burst from my lips in a scream: “STOP!”

It was over. I stood and simply breathed heavily, trying to come back to reality. He was at my side, helping me out of the cuffs, soothing me, telling me how well I had taken it. He took the hood off and I blinked. “How long did I last?” I asked. He said about 15 minutes. I’d had no concept of time. I did not feel disappointed; I felt that I had taken quite a bit.

Now it was Tori’s turn, and I relished watching her reactions. She is a petite girl with beautiful curves. She kept her knee-high boots on as John cuffed her into place, and I thought she looked very sexy, preparing for what was to come. When her whipping began she was brave like me, but soon she also cried out. I could feel my own welts throbbing as I watched her take her own. As I was not completely cognizant of the noises I was making during my whipping, I don’t know how to compare them to what Tori was expressing. But she was certainly in pain. I could not hear what John was saying to her but I imagine it was something similar to what he’d told me about not disappointing myself. She’s a tough girl and she bore it well. The moment she called, “Stop!” he did. But he kept her in the cuffs for a little while. I think he sensed she still might want to be pushed a little more. He asked her if she could take five more strokes, and she said yes. They were hard, and she yelled, yet I sensed a sense of triumph in her at accepting those last five.

I was happy I’d gone through it. It was very intense and it left me feeling strong and brave and a bit high. I joked that I was probably unfit to drive. I told Tori Imight do it again … but a lot of time would have to pass before that happened. This is certainly not an every weekend thing, at least not for me.

The Big Man is gone

(from Reuters) – Clarence Clemons, the saxophone player in Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, died on Saturday, according to media reports, almost a week after he had a stroke at his Florida home. He was 69.

Bruce, Clarence and the rest of the E-Street Band were part of my life for almost 30 years. Danny left us in 2008. Now Clarence is gone. How many times have I gone to a show, heard the beginning of “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out,” and screamed along with the crowd as Clarence came wailing in at the words “the Big Man joined the band”? I don’t think I ever got to hear  Jungleland enough. Well, I might share more memories later. Anyone who’s ever been to a show or seen footage will know what I’m talking about. The E-Street Band won’t be the E-Street Band without him. Rest in Peace, Big Man. I’m sad.

Photo Credit: Reuters/Lucas Jackson