This is NOT an “Uncharacteristically Nice” Rant

Yesterday the House of Representatives of our country blinked. They were more concerned about their political futures and screwed the People they were elected to serve.
I can tell you, today, that I will NOT vote for any Representative who voted against the People yesterday.

John Bush….errrrr I MEAN John McSame told the People he was suspending his campaign for President so he could return to Congress and help them pass this much needed legislation. EIGHTEEN HOURS after the announcement, he finally left his Couric interview, the Global Initiative, and a speech with the UN, to RUSH to DC. He sat like a stone for 42 minutes at a meeting with Bush and leaders of Congress. He said he would not debate until he knew that the People were safe and the bill was passed. Yet with less than 24 hours in DC, he, again, changed his direction and was back in the race and on the way to Ole Miss for the debate…. Without consensus in the House, NO relief for the People, and little regard for his party.

The Republicans that voted “no” on Monday, were lead by John Boehner of OHIO (to my ever-lasting dismay), who said that because Nancy Pelosi was not nice to the widdle wepublicans, they were going to take their toys and go home! So there! Bullies in the house were running amok and hurting the sensitive Republican sensibilities.

And then one of my mostest favoritest people, this week, spoke to the People. Barney Frank spoke of a “crisis”. That Boehner expressed the “pettiness, hurt feelings, and hyper-sensitivity” of the NAY voters was punishing the People and not Nancy Pelosi. He suggested that Representative Boehner give him the names of the 12 Representatives who changed their votes at the last minute and he would go to each and be “Uncharacteristically Nice” to each and every one of them.

…….and the Stock Market dove to an all-time, record low by day’s end.

The whiners, all day today, have been trying to support this lack of concern about the welfare of the People by saying this was a bad deal. The worse deal is being dealt to the small businesses who won’t be able to borrow monies to pay their employees. Who in turn, will not be able to pay their mortgages, creditors, or feed their families. Welfare and soup lines are the future for these people, as they will be unable to get credit to live on, when they lose their jobs. Their homes will fall into foreclosure and cars repos are not far behind. When small businesses fail, so goes the country.

John Bush……errrrrrr…. John McSame was instrumental in the deregulation that has driven the rich to be even greedier and has moved 60% of American wealth to the top 1% of the People. He has tried to distance himself from the deregulation he gleefully dropped on the People, because it is not a very popular concept today. But while he was throwing the People under the bus, he and the Keating 5 were exploiting the People for all they were worth…..and back then, we were worth A LOT MORE than we were at 4pm yesterday.

Another issue that has been dancing through my head, in a pair of steel-toed work boots, is the lack of brain in Sarah Palin. I am appalled by the way that “Caribou Barbie” flaunts her gams and bats her eyes and denigrates women everywhere. She is doing more to set women back than any person I have seen in many years. She probably even appalls Phyllis Schaffley! Palin opens her mouth and I gasp, stunned. She has required raped women in Alaska to pay for their own rape kits. Tonight, she could not offer the name of even ONE Supreme Court case, beside Roe v. Wade! But let us NEVER forget…she can see Russia from HER HOUSE! And she said “Thanks, but NO Thanks!” to that Bridge to Nowhere…but kept all of the monies, anyhoo…..THANKS!

This is the person who will rush, giggling, into the White House, with a silver-plated hand mirror, EVERYDAY to shove it under McSame’s nose to see if he is still breathing….I shudder.

I realize that McSame is doing a job, pushing “Muslim-Man” Obama and his Terrorist wife to the redneck Fundamentalists. I wonder if McSame even remembers that Rove did the same thing to him when, in 2004, the Bush campaign floated the balloon that McSame had a BLACK (gasp!) baby with a BLACK (gaspx2!) mistress! The People need to pay attention. We cannot be distracted by the shiny object in McSame’s hand.

I think that some people are comforted in their bigotry by being able to say they will not vote for “Muslim-Man”. That sounds soooooo much more palatable than having to admit they won’t vote for that “uppity Nigger”! The total lack of equality and diversity in this country still shocks me. I even had difficulty typing the “N” word, I find it that appalling.

PLEASE grow a pair! Men and women alike. We cannot allow our country to fall apart. We MUST contact our Representatives in Congress and tell them to save the People who put them into office. We cannot stand idly by and let our country go to Hell in a handbasket!

And VOTE…. Our country and it’s People need everyone to stand up and proclaim their choice. If you honestly cannot support my candidate, I will try to understand. But for ALL OF OUR SAKES, stand up and support someone!!!

T, who will step down from her soapbox for a few minutes.....

How to Give a Cat a Pill

Our household is "owned and operated" by two somewhat domesticated felines. Pranzer lives on T's side of the place and Callie lives on my side. They are both serious characters.



About six weeks ago, Pranzer developed a nasty sounding wheezing cough thing. We waited a few days, but the wheezing didn't get better, and in time, T made an appointment for him at the vet. That appointment didn't really show anything of any consequence, and our very conservative, prudent veterinarian sent the boy-cat home to "wait and see."



Unfortunately, Pranzer cat has not gotten better, so last Friday, T took him back to the vet. The verdict? After a whole lot of blood work which has essentially limited all the other possibilities, the vet seems to believe that our guy kitty has asthma. On Friday morning, he'll get a shot of steroids that should alleviate the symptoms. Until then, he's supposed to get a pill twice a day.



There's just one catch: Pranzer doesn't like the pills. He fights and carries on something fierce. Poor T is a mess of cat scratches and bites. Today, she says her hands just hurt. Poor T. Poor Pranzer.



Only a few more days, and he can get his shot and things will hopefully get easier and better.



swan

Anonymous

anonymous -- adjective. 1) with no name known or acknowledged 2) given, written, etc. by a person whose name is withheld or unknown 3) not easily distinguished from others or from one another because of a lack of individual features or character

This blog is not bedeviled by "anonymous" commenters in the same way as some others are. It really does seem that, unlike some others in our cyber circle, we just have the one somewhat persistent "anonymous" person. Our "anonymous" type commenter is pretty lackadaisical in participation here. Perhaps it is that this "whoever" doesn't perceive that many opportunities to rush in and stick it to me.

Because, clearly, the anonymous one has a "thing" for me. The fact that I am here, living this life, choosing for myself, not following the rules as promulgated by the "right" people (including, of course, anonymous), just makes this poor critter crazy.

It is easy to tell that that is the fact. All you really have to do is cruise back over the years and take note of the fact that "anonymous" has never, ever, not even once, had anything positive or constructive to offer in conversations here. There is always a jab. Always a prune-faced, sour-voiced, criticism in every single comment made by the anonymous person.

Hiding behind that oh-so-generic, lacking in character, identifier (or really non-identifier), the anonymous person exemplifies the very worst of the Internet in terms of interpersonal relating. Believing that no one can tell who she/he is, anonymous persists in behaving badly -- spewing nastiness everywhere. Somehow, the only sort of connection this poor fool can make is that sort of bully-in-the-school-yard swagger that insists on its own correctness, but doesn't have the self-confidence to own those viewpoints in legitimate, mature, give and take conversation.

I'm sure the anonymous person believes that the arrows that he/she lets fly somehow lodge in my heart and mind and cause me great distress. It just isn't so. Mostly, I find myself bemused at the mindlessness, narrowness, sadness of the volleys that come from that quarter now and then. It never changes. Never grows. Never explores beyond the tight confines of self-righteousness. A whole world where the anonymous one obviously paces back and forth like some caged animal, longing perhaps for the same freedom and joy that so irritates when manifest in my life.

And so, tonight, in the ebbing of the latest onslaught from "anonymous," mostly, all I feel is compassion for a person whose life is so constrained that their excitement and pleasure consists in poking at me every now and then.

swan

I am in Love!

I've always been convinced that the very first, and most important job that I have, as an educator is to fall in love with my students. In each new school year, I have to, very quickly, come to the place where I look forward with real anticipation to seeing them each morning; the place where I wonder how they are; the place where I know their stories, understand their fears, and share their dreams.

Sometimes, that involves real work. Not all classes, and not all students, are easy to love. I manage to get there with every group.

This year, though, I am absolutely, head over heels in love with my class. They came with all sorts of labels and warnings attached. That is the reality when you teach 6th grade: all sorts of advance press precedes the arrival of every new group. What I was told about these kiddos was that they were "sweet but not very bright, charming but not very organized, compliant but not very motivated." It was that sort of "damning with faint praise" kind of characterization that had me thinking, back in early August, "well that's interesting, but I want to see them for myself."

Well -- they are wonderful! They work. Hard. They talk to me and they ask questions and they listen to the responses. They wonder about all kinds of things, and they seem genuinely interested in the world in which they find themselves. They are kind and helpful and willing to try just about anything. They are remarkably trusting -- if I tell them that we are going to do this or study that or look at something over here, they just come right along with eager hearts and heads. Wow! This bunch makes every single day a joy and a pleasure.

I am in love! What a great and fabulous gift life has handed me with this year's 6th grade class. We are going to have a great year, and we are going to be awfully lucky to have each other.

swan

Healing

There are things that we usually don't talk about.

SM play, of the sort that we engage in, can result in bruising and welts and blistering. I almost always experience some skin breakage and bleeding. I am generally unable to tell if that has occured or not. The breakage doesn't hurt any worse than the rest of it most of the time.

But damange does take time to heal. I'm pretty quick to heal for the most part. It's usually a matter of days before I'm all healed up and left without any visible signs of the damage done.

I'm pretty much there today. This spanking over the ottoman was on September 23. Today, on the 28th, I am just fine except that there are places that itch. That itch is such an interesting phenomenon. It is the sure sign that healing is well along. It is the siren call that brings me back to the awareness of how long it has been. It is a signal that my body has once again done what it needs to do to effect the repairs so that we can go at it again.

I've read, over the years, all kinds of theories about how to prevent or reduce the level of bruising and injury resulting from heavy impact play. People who do this sort of thing swear by things like arnica and aloe and cocoa butter and a host of other pedestrian or exotic elixers. Mostly, I've learned that there is really very little that I need to do to cause healing to occur. It does. The wonder of the body's remarkable resilience is that, left to its own devices, my relatively healthy body does the needed work, and all returns to a state of well-being in short order.

It is a cycle that has become familiar and reassuring over the years. From wellness to pain to tenderness and injury to healing and readiness again. And all in its own time, even as I cruise along tending to a whole host of other stuff.

Just so.

swan

A New Gadget

Over the last few days, we've started to notice that there was a new icon on our Blogger dashboard indicating that we had "a follower." Hmmm... A follower, huh? And what precisely might that be?

A bit of poking around showed that a follower is someone who is a regular reader of our blog who has chosen to add us to their list of "Blogs they are following." It is possible to add to the list of blogs we follow "manually" from our end, but also possible for all of you to add yourselves to the follower list by simply clicking on the new gadget over in the sidebar.

We'll be looking for follower gadgets as we visit around our circle, and invite you to join in the community of people who visit here as well.

swan

Face?

Suzanne made me laugh with this comment about the pictures from my session on the ottoman:

I wanted to let you know how beautiful you looked and why I dont look like that after a spanking? I look like what my grandmother would call "what the cat dragged in".

Oh my! What to say about that? The fact is that I almost never look like that after an intense session. The look that got captured in that moment is surely honest and not at all contrived. Master had asked me to look up at Him and smile, and I really did try to do what He wanted. It wasn't that much of a reach -- we'd played pretty intensely, and I was flying into the sense of power and accomplishment and invincibility that sometimes comes in the aftermath. So the glow and the jubilance in that shot are very real. Although, to be honest, I don't' often think to just light up and smile in that moment.



This really is a unique "face" for me after a spanking. But, to be honest, I'd like to make it clear that I quite often look less than fabulous after a session. Just to keep things on the up and up, here's a couple of post-spanking "faces" to compare. There just aren't that many pictures of my FACE after spankings. Go figure!



swan

Stop Chattering

Because I read (and re-read) the work of Kathleen Norris, I am somewhat familiar of the life path she follows which includes her association with a Benedictine monastery. I've been working my way back through her book, "The Cloister Walk," and I was struck by one essay in which she talks about the process of monastic formation. It seems that it is common for those seeking to enter into the monastic life to spend between four and five years in "formation" before they formally and officially become part of the community. For me, that resonates with the process that I seem to have followed growing into our power-based relational dynamic. Some people talk of training in connection with the genesis of M/s relationships, but to me, the notion of formation somehow seems closer to my own reality.


After about eight years, I am occasionally "there" in terms of actually living up to the vision that I have of what I should be in terms of this life.


That understanding causes me to want to talk about the process of growing into this lifestyle. I know that everyone comes to this differently. I know that all of us have different orientations to the lifestyle, different needs, different temperaments, and different visions of what this life might, in time, end up meaning for us. I know that my way into this is unique to me, and really not a template for others to follow. I know.



Still, I think there are some basic precepts that can be understood, and which when implemented, make accomplishing the goal of living in a viable power dynamic much more likely to be achieved. I've had many people attribute a large measure of courage to me and my journey to this point, and I don't dispute that there were decision points where I may have acted with some bravery -- perhaps more bravery than wisdom. Still, I don't think that courage is the primary necessity for making this happen. I also don't think it is determination, or intellect, or any of a host of other good and positive attributes.


I think the thing that is most requisite for allowing this to happen is a sort of internal, personal stillness from which one may listen intently and learn to speak, when speech is appropriate, plainly and truthfully. It is endless, mindless, ego-reflective chatter from the novice submissive that kills most would be power-relationships before they ever get off the ground:

I want

I need

I dream

I hope

I fear

I like

I don't like

I must

I require

I demand

No matter what techniques, structures, rules, protocols, patterns, or methodologies a dominant partner might implement inside of the power dynamic, that "magpie" chattering will drown out everything else. However differently we might experience the unique variations within our relationships, obedience becomes (for nearly all of us) the essential measure of our "formation" in this life. Success or failures at those things set for us to do and accomplish are never as important as whether or not we were obedient in the effort.

To obey, it is necessary to listen. The words themselves are related at their most elemental roots. If we trace their origins, we find that they reflect and hearken to one another:

Obey comes from the Old French word "obeir," and from the Latin "oboedire." In those languages, it meant "pay attention to, give ear." Literally, to obey is to listen to; to hear.

Listen comes from the Old English word "hlysnan," to listen," and from the line leading to the German word, "lausen" -- also "to listen." In Sanskrit, the word srosati means "hears, obeys," and in the Greek, the word is "klyo" meaning to hear or be called.

We cannot achieve obedience if we do not listen, and we cannot listen if we are immersed in an internal cacophony of self-centered, prattling ego. If we want to submit, one of the prerequisite skills is learning to wait with some sort of quiet.

It isn't an easy thing. Years into my "formation," I still find myself wrapped up, occasionally, in babbling on and on about something that is happening to me or with me, or determined to make some point that seems terribly important to me. If I don't catch it, He often simply stops the whole business by some comment or word that carries the tone of judgement that simply shuts me down. I know how really still "in process" my own growth is, because that shutting down move can make me quite angry and frustrated by times.

"Fine!" I'll hear myself say to myself. "I'll just shut up. This is obviously not a conversation. Harrumph!" Silly. It usually, thankfully, doesn't take me too long to hear that voice in my head and realize that I'm in the wrong place and correct. Back to listening. Back to waiting. Back to obeying.

Someday, maybe, He'll make that correction, and I'll simply get back into the proper place without that passage through self-absorption. Who knows, the possibility exists that I'll eventually come to a place where I'll catch that chatterbox myself, and quiet her down so He doesn't have to. That would be even better.

swan

Our Children and War

I wrote this well over a year ago, on the occasion of the high school commencement exercises for Master's youngest child -- His son. I'm not sure why I didn't actually post it then, but I found it in my drafts, and was moved by the words I'd clearly felt so strongly about on that day. As this political season winds up, now even more than then, these are words my heart needs to speak --

Yesterday we attended the commencement ceremony for Master's youngest. Three-hundred-sixty-plus young people, launched from one of the largest local high schools, headed off into their futures: caps and gowns and dreadful speeches and pomp and circumstance and all the rest of it. Our young Mr. J is a wonder and a joy, and he looked fine. We had Master, grandpa, and T (in a rented wheelchair for the sake of mobility on that still tender knee), and "our ex wife," and the elder child and her boyfriend, and young Mr. J's maternal grandmother -- all in attendance. Afterwards we headed off to dinner together and enjoyed the occasion in good spirits.

I notice I am increasingly cynical about things as treacly as "graduation" ceremonies, but that is, I'm sure the fact that I'm of a certain age.

However, there was one point at which I was beyond "cynical." I was completely incensed...

The principal gave the expected "principal" speech during which she ran through all the great achievements of this group of young people -- an impressive list. Then she took a few moments at the very end of her speech to list the future plans for this class: so many headed off to universities, some headed to study at the community college level, some headed to trade schools, others to employment in the community, and eight joining the military while one had received and appointment to a military academy. She then had those eight students stand up to be recognized.

I wanted to shriek.

I understand that our government holds our public schools hostage -- that there is the threat of withheld federal education dollars unless military recruiters are given access to our young people in their schools. Still, I find it unconscionable. And there they were. Eight young, impressionable people, who had been nurtured and cherished and protected through all their years of schooling -- given up, in the end, to be fodder in a mindless, fruitless, endless war.

I suppose those eight are a small percentage -- about 2% of the whole group. And, with luck, they'll all survive these next few months and years whole and strong and well. Still, I think that our schools should never, ever surrender even one of them to the war machine. We take them from their parents' hands when they are so young and vulnerable. We open the doors to wonder and understanding and curiosity. We cannot protect them from everything. This we have learned, painfully over the years. But let them leave our halls unmolested. If they are to choose the meat-grinder of this wicked war, then let them choose it AFTER they have finished with us.

swan

More Ottoman Dreams

Perhaps some will remember that a while back I was fantasizing about a spanking while I was laid out over our leather ottoman...

There are all sorts of "parts" to that imagining for me: the comfort and security of a good, solid, simple piece of furniture, the smell and feel of leather, some hearkening back to the early days of our history together... All part of the appeal for me in this particular scene.

A couple of weeks ago, He told me that He was thinking about "rigging" the ottoman with some 2x4's that we had hanging out in the garage -- and use them to create tie-down points for restraints on the ottoman. Then, He told me, we could do a scene like we used to.

And then, as is sort of par for the course in our lives, things got nuts, and all thoughts of playing had to be put aside while we tended to the other stuff. But then, the ottoman, and getting spanked there, seemed to be all I could think about. All the time. It has, for the last couple of weeks, been in my thoughts and dreams almost continually.

Today, when I called Him to tell Him that I was on my way home from school, He told me that He was home. My insides did that little flip that I remember, and I began to wonder if, maybe today, we'd get the chance to play. I was almost afraid to hope because it is not all that uncommon for those kind of hopes to get dashed.

So, I headed home, and He was here waiting. We sat and talked while I had a snack, and then He told me that He'd checked and found that the 2x4's would indeed work just fine -- He'd left them right inside the garage door. We chatted a bit about whether we should spank in this condo or that, and finally, He decided that I should go get the boards and the ottoman. A couple of trips, and I had all the requisite gear hauled from T's side of the house to mine.

Some fiddling ensued while He worked out all the restraints, and got me fastened down. I haven't been seriously restrained for a very long time, and I found the reality to be very scary. It took me a bit of time to get through the "head thing" associated with being that vulnerable, and that without options. A tiny, little bit of panic...

And then He started. He hand spanked me for awhile. He talked to me -- about the cutting, about being His, about how He loves me. He commented that He thought that, since the position I was in caused my butt to be much tighter, that He planned to use "lighter, stingier" implements that wouldn't create heavy impact on my hip bones. Lighter and stingier means canes, straps, whips, and the one little, light paddle that just burns. That's exactly how things went.

I struggled some, but there really was no way out. I think I might have asked for a gag at one point, but I'm not sure He heard me -- or if He did, He chose not to respond. I did my level best to stay quiet; to remember to chant away to myself; to remember who I am, whose I am, how I am supposed to behave. He left me striped, welted, bright red and burning. He left me feeling happy, loved, all His.

swan

Finding My Way Home

Longtime readers will know that I am a person who deals in visuals and images. It is the way that I process information, and most often, I find that I can make sense out of complex ideas if I can find some sort of visual metaphor for the swirling feelings and thoughts in my mind. So, today, you get to venture into my mind and peek at the "pictures" I've got set up with regard to the SM part of our lives.



I've been walking some dark and lonely paths these last few years. For much of that time, I've had very little sense of the masochistic "me" that was so intent on finding a way to live this life so many years ago. Spanking hurts, and when that hurting doesn't "fire" the masochistic sexual response, it becomes an unbelievable struggle. That's been my story, more often than not, for most of the last few years. I've submitted, but not enjoyed or found much gratification, and that fact has taken its toll on us both.

I couldn't explain the exact whys of my changed responses, and I couldn't figure out what to do to recover the "self" I'd lost. I've felt guilty, and sad about it, but it was as if I'd been suddenly and instantly transported to some strange, far-away place and dropped off there without any idea which way to head to get back to where I belonged. I've only known that I needed to find my way back, and I've mostly felt that it was entirely my responsibility --that there was no one to help me. Sometimes I've felt like this little pooch...simply putting one foot in front of the other, trying to get home.

In the last few weeks, it feels like I've made it. We've been spanking more, and more regularly, and I've been struggling less -- sometimes even enjoying a bit. I've found myself wanting it more, needing it more, asking for more. Master has been right there, welcoming and jubilant, and I've been so glad.


I'm a little amazed, and a little tentative -- it feels sort of magical, and I'm afraid that I'll wake up and find that I'm still "out there" somewhere, lost, confused, and afraid. Still -- each time I come up at the end of a session, and find that it was not only not horrible, but maybe even "good," I am a bit more certain and sure that the journey home is over, and I can snuggle in and relax in the safety of it all again.



I find that I am very aware of what feels to me like "edges" that loom around me during a session. I think that is new. I don't remember that feeling from the "before" years. The place I find myself in feels pretty intensely "dangerous." I am learning to cling to my "center," and work hard to stay focused, so that I don't go careening off into the threatening void. That void, for me is full of fury and anger and the powerful urge to strike out and strike back.

I've learned, or maybe I've just remembered, a couple of tricks that seem to help. If I can, I get my face buried in a soft squishy pillow. It is almost a form of blindfolding -- limiting the external stimuli and distractions. If I can get tucked into that warm, safe darkness, I begin to recite to myself, in time with my breathing, the words that I have used with Him for years to close our email and IM interactions: "Yours always and all ways."

Yours always and all ways -- Yours always and all ways -- Yours always and all ways. It takes me about three breaths to get through that if I focus and go slowly. The words and the rhythm can catch hold of me, keep me secure, and keep me from bolting for the "edge."

I am not feeling very accomplished. I am not feeling very graceful. I am aware that I am working at this, and that there is some almost "apprentice" level to what I'm doing with all of it. Still, this "apprentice" is gaining skill and confidence with each challenge met. For the first time in a very, very long time, I am beginning to believe in myself, in Him, and in us again.

It is good to be home.

swan

A Call To Action

A huge dilemma for those of us who are BDSM practitioners, and even for those of us who practice adult consensual spanking, Domestic Discipline, etc. has been the fact that BDSM practitioners have been dealt with as "having something wrong with them" by mental health practitioners for decades.

The Mental Health profession has a manual for mental health practitioners called the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, typically abbreviated as, "The DSM," which is written by the American Psychiatric Association, The A.P.A.. When a mental health professional encounters something they have not dealt with before, or they have to determine a diagnosis for a client or patient, for insurance billing or other purposes, they rely on the criteria in the DSM. The DSM is supposed to be based on the scientific research about the issues and symptoms it deals with. If a behavior you engage in is listed by the A.P.A. in the DSM as a pathology, then you have been classified as having a degree of mental illness.

Historically BDSM, homosexuality, and a great many other sexual variances from "the norm" were dealt with as being "mental illnesses" in the DSM. The DSM was forced by new research based empirical evidence to change those judgements.

BDSM was removed from being viewed as inherently pathological in the DSM in the mid 1990's. The DSM still, though, deals with BDSM and related behaviors as being potentially viewed as "a paraphilia" which is a form of psychopathology.

It is not at all uncommon for people who share this sensual/erotic orientation to feel uncomfortable with the "uniqueness" of their esoteric proclivity. This results in people who fear that they are somehow "sick" or "wrong" because they enjoy SM or some sort of power exchange dynamic within their family or love life, turning to mental health professionals who (all too often) confirm for them that, "Yes, there is something wrong with you. You have a paraphilia...and by the way there is no cure for this, but perhaps we can try therapy and some medications to help you live with your mental disability." The fact is the mental health community has no reason to necessarily know about our lifestyle. The empirically evidence-based "bible" of mental health practice, The DSM, the last word in mental health diagnosis, deals with the topic ambiguously enough to guide a mental health professional to see, BDSM, spanking, DD, etc. as forms of mental illness.

Now oddly enough, it turns out that there has grown to be a good sized body of empirical research literature about BDSM, none of which indicates that our favored behaviors are in anyway pathological.

The A.P.A. is in the process of its latest periodic revision of the DSM to realign its pronouncements with current research, and progress in treatment and best practice.

The NCSF, National Coalition for Sexual Freedom, that advocacy arm of the BDSM and polyamory community, is mounting a campaign to influence the A.P.A. to change the DSM to conform to empirical research, and abandon the stigma and ignorance based biases it has relied on in its past pronouncements about BDSM. NCSF has done an excellent job in laying out the case for how inappropriate this is in their "White Paper" on this topic.

There is a petition to the A.P.A. to change how it deals with our lifestyle. Please sign the petition urging the A.P.A. to make this change.

By the way, those of you who may not relate to the descriptor BDSM as describing your lifestyle, should know that the DSM deals with lists of behaviors. If you engage in spanking, paddling, strapping, whipping, etc. you are effected by this whether you call your self a BDSMer, DDer, Spanko, or whatever. The DSM is used worldwide too, so this is not purely an issue for those of us in the U. S.

I have signed the petition as have the rest of "our clan." I added my credentials as a mental health professional and a brief description of my life for whatever, if any, additional credence it might add.

This is a an opportunity for us to strike a blow in destigmatizing our lifestyles and the lives of those who share them.

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Bratting to Get Spanked

I have never engaged in "bratting" within our relationship -- at least not consciously and deliberately. Very early on, I learned to simply ask for the spanking play that I caraved, and since He was as "into" it as I was (or maybe even moreso) that always worked just fine and saved a whole lot of fuss and upset.

Monday night, though, I was in full on brat mode. It's new territory for me and for us, and I just don't know what to think about it.

It wasn't a HUGE thing really. There are lots of ducks that live around the pond behind our home. Anytime we go out onto the patio, the ducks come running -- begging to be fed. Our evil condo association has rules against feeding the ducks -- rules which most people in here routinely ignore. Every now and then, T or I will get out some icky box of cereal that we bought because it was "healthy," and that none of us will eat -- and toss a handful or two to the ducks. This makes Himself just crazy. He doesn't like the ducks in the first place, and is certain that we will be fined hundreds of dollars for breaking the rules.

So. Last night, while He was barbecuing our chicken for dinner, I grabbed the box of cereal and tossed some to the ducks. "Stop feeding the ducks!" He commanded. I simply turned, grinned sweetly, and stuck my tongue out at Him.

That was all it took. We were ON for spanking right after dinner -- as He caught the challenge in my behavior.

What I am still wondering about is the why of it all. Why go there after all this time? It just isn't my way -- or ours. The only thing that I can think of is that "bratting" gave me a way to put the possibility of spanking out there without the "obligation" that I think tends to arise when I ASK. He's been feeling so stressed and so pulled in so many directions, that I've started to feel like spanking me is one more thing on His list of "to-do's." I don't want to be a burden or a chore. I didn't really think it out, but I think in my head somewhere I calculated that pushing just a bit would give Him leeway to respond or not... as He chose.

It worked this time, but I don't like the way I feel about doing it. I need to think on this some more.

swan

Slaves make crappy friends

"Slaves make crappy friends." That's what kaya says, and I really do understand why she makes that assertion. I think that the issue of maintaining friendships while, simultaneously living in a power-based relationship dynamic is one that many of us confront at times. It seems to be the topic on people's minds in a couple of places, as danae addressed it on her blog, too.

Now. I'm going to use the word "slave" because it is convenient and easier to write this that way. I have no intention of exculding from what I'm about to say, those who self-identify as submissive and live in relationships where the balance of power lies largely in the hands of their partner. In our own family, T identifies as submissive, and I call myself slave -- I see no particular distinction in the nature of His demands on our time, focus, committments, and energy. So, if shifting that language around makes this work better for your particular frame of reference, please feel free...

I understand that it is possible to get to feeling like we are "crappy" at being friends when the demands on our time and energies leave us without much to contribute in the sometimes frenetic cyber social settings where many of us have contacts. For those of us who carry significant daily loads of work that arise out of our relationship committments, it is almost impossible to carve out the time to participate extensively in the various online fora that can tempt one to while away the hours on the computer. I know that I can't write and respond and read for hours on end. I just don't have those hours. When things get into hyper-busy mode around here, I'm doing good to check my email -- let alone write or even check in with my regular circle.

I'm not convinced, however, that having "limited" online presence makes a person a "crappy friend." I think friendship is built out of more than just time online. There are people who count as friends in my world who are just as busy and just as committed to their life choices as I am, and I know that their time is limited. I understand when they aren't "around" much. They are making choices (or, perhaps having choices made for them) that keep them away from this and other venues where we might "chat." I respect and honor that reality.

For me, friendship is built from other important elements.

I want friends who are genuine, open, honest, straightforward, and down-to-earth. I value those who will say what is on their minds and share what they are actually thinking and experiencing. I've, more than once, gone after those who only share the sunny parts of their lives, or worse, who make up stories and promulgate lies about lives that are entirely immaginary. I'm not some fragile ego that needs everyone to tell me just what I want to hear, and I'm perfectly capable of making decisions about the things I read. I don't need things edited as if I'd just arrived on the scene last night, and I'm relatively thick skinned, so if someone rants, vents, or just has a moment, it is likely not going to tip me into a deep pit of despair or anger.

I tend to value people who have some kind of smarts. I want to spend the time I DO have with people who think, question, wonder, and learn. I like people who write coherently and give me something to think about with what they have to say. I am not interested in those who never struggle -- who are perfectly enslaved and living in a forever glow of joy and bliss. That's great if it is your gig, but I can't imagine that as my reality -- ever, and I don't want to read about it. Thanks anyway.

It matters to me that people exhibit some sort of constancy. I like steadfast as a word, and I like it as a quality in the people I spend time with. I don't need you to be there, ready to chat, everytime I turn on my computer. I do want to have the sense that you are "around," paying some sort of attention, and investing some kind of energy -- and I expect that, if we are friends, I should do likewise. We may not interact very much, but it is important to me that the possibility exists for us to intereact without having to spend a ton of time learning who we each are.

I know that I'm not an easy person to be friends with -- or to be in relationship with. I have moods, and they are pretty labile sometimes. Patience and some kind of even temperament are qualities that I really appreciate in people that I connect with.

The people that I want to call "friend" are people of personal strength. They've lived enough to have met challenges, faced difficulties, gotten banged around a bit. My friends know what it is to take risks, make unpopular choices, stand up for what you believe, and fight for what you want. They have a few scars, and they wear them with pride because they know they are the medals of honor in the battle to live a full and adventurous life.

So. If I list those qualities: genuine, open, honest, straightforward, and down-to-earth; a person with smarts able to think, question, wonder, and learn; constant and steadfast; patient and even tempered; strong and self-aware, I don't see a single reason (other than time constraints) why most of the slaves that I know would make a "crappy" friend. I understand the things my slave friends cannot give. For me, what is far more important is that list of what they can and do give.

swan

Auntie Em! It's (almost) a twister!

To use a Swan-Phrase.....ging gao! Yesterday in the Clan of Heron we had us some weather. Here on the banks of the mighty Ohio, we got a visit from the tail of Ike. We woke to winds and lots of atmospheric pressure...thus the crappy migraine I "enjoyed" all day. As we all tried to wake up, the small pond we live on, was alive with whitecaps and bobbing ducks. And as the day progressed, many of the surrounding towns lost power... almost 700,000 homes powerless. But we remained powered.

I had made plans with my father-in-law, who is presently rehabbing after a nasty fall...to go do some clothes shopping for him yesterday. I crawled to my car, packing the killer migraine on my neck, shoulders, and head and went to him. The rehab center was on generator power only. As I entered the local Kohls, the power went out to the store. I stopped in place, as it was pitch-black. In seconds the lights came back on. This happened about 7-8 times while I tried to shop for F-I-L clothes...and the A/C was not working at all! I got his shopping completed and returned the items to him, only to run into Tom and Swan as they went to take F-I-L a radio. The road to the rehab center is being widened and resurfaced. The first time I went, there were about 1/2 of the orange barrels decorating the road. In less than 30 mins., there was only 1 barrel in the middle of the entire road, freshly laid sod was rolling across the street and parking lot, and a porta-potty was laying on it's side....ICK!

There was news all day and reports about all of the damage. When we all returned home, we were greeted by our neighboring condo roofs "waving" at us. Lots of roof damage here. And I encountered a neighbor walking around with a 6ft x 2ft shutter in his hands, trying to find it's home. The temperature dropped 20 degrees in less than 1 hour.

Later in the evening, we ran flash lights to F-I-L and when we got home I called my Mom, who is about 30 miles north of us. She had no power, no radio, no batteries for the dead flashlight, and was reading a book by 3 candles. She had locked herself in for the night, which she doesn't always do at 9pm, because she was a bit spooked. I gathered flashlights, batteries, and a radio and headed north. Trees down everywhere, branches and leaves danced in my headlights. Every once in a while, I would come across a pocket of humanity with lights....and then it was pitch black in a second. Everybody and their brother was out on the roads. It was late on a Sunday night, and usually the roads are pretty quiet on my Mom-runs, but EVERYONE was out last night..... driving as if they were out for a stroll.... 15-30 MPH UNDER the speed limit. But, I got to Mom and got eyes on her. Gave her the stash and got back on the road to get home.

By the time I got back, the list of schools and businesses that were to be closed Monday, was growing. This morning, I called my office to find the building without power, so I am off. Tom closed his agency last night, so he is off. Swan's school is the ONLY school open, but on a 90 minute delay, so she headed off to her kiddos.

The power company says it could be up to a week to restore all the lost power and restore the lines. F-I-L called and he has a phone but still no power. Tom's only meeting was finally cancelled. I have swept the patios and restored furniture and decor to it's rightly places.

And as Swan was getting ready to leave, a heron came to the pond. Guess he just wanted to make sure all was well in Heron-land..... and it is.

Hope all of you are safe, well and secure.
T

What an Interesting Place

This is a "real" place. It exists. You can Google Passage Thru Time Museum, and you will find that it is operated by the Potosi Township Historical Society in Linn, Kansas. Here's what they say about the place: Experience the rich heritage of the Potosi Township area, with emphasis on mining, farming, the historic Potosi Brewery and the Mississippi River. Other displays include arrowheads, World War II memorabilia, former businesses and John Deere toy tractors. The museum also houses an extensive collection of photos and historic records.



We've been together, now, some eight years. Just over six of those years, we've lived together, sharing all the ups and downs that come with day-to-day being in the same place. I've been thinking that there is something very powerful about the passage of time within a relationship, and even more powerful, there is something about what happens when people dedicate long stretches of time to living within relationship with each other. Things accumulate in our "museums" with the passage of time, and that accumulation documents the living, organic nature of how love grows.



I look back to the beginnings of our relationship, and we would surely have said we were very much in love -- we DID say that. We believed it. It was true. That love was fiery, and breathless, and awesome. It was also, for the very large part, untried and untested. We came together with energy and passion and boundless desire. We were full of hope and great hubris. We knew that ours was a love destined to be forever and always.



Of course, even we couldn't stop or change the passage of time. We're older now. I am nearing the middle of my 50's, and He will be 60 in the spring of next year. We've traveled through the last eight years, and we've experienced all manner of experiences -- some joyful, and others quite difficult. We've held on to one another through all kinds of adventures. We've begun to acquire quite the collection of memories and artifacts of the time we've spent doing this together.



That blazingly bright love that brought us together endures and the fires burn with an intensity that is somehow deeper and more compelling than even that which drove the first part of our connection. Which is not to say that there have not been changes. There have. The purely sexual energy that was so much a factor in the beginning, is quieter. Neither of us has the same libido we once did. That is a simple (if regrettable) fact. We've lived through enough years to learn, what we always (sort of) knew, that love really does not equal sex. We have come to the point of knowing that we can enjoy our sexuality as it fits into our lives and our rhythms, and not be obsessive about what and how often and when.



We've learned that it is simply good to be together -- really a great joy to be able to touch, stroke, snuggle. We've come to enjoy those times when we find ourselves all wrapped up in one another, murmuring away about this or that -- without any agenda or "destination" in mind.



We've learned to value the life we've made. We've learned to count those good friends that we've made as the treasure that they are. We've learned to understand the value of the work we each do -- to be gratified by what is good about that, without the sense of striving to make a career. We've launched the children we reared. For good or bad, they are the people that they will be. There isn't a one of them that we're not crazy in love with. We've learned not to hold the past too tightly, or to squint too intently into the unknowable future.

There are times when, being human, we are disappointed in the realities of our NOW. We can fall into wishing that we had more time, more physical vitality, more money, more "friends," more energy, more options -- more years ahead. Still, wandering through our own "Passage of Time Museum," I think it has become a rather remarkable, and joy-filled, place that has been built out of the fabric of our days, and weeks, and years together. I hope that, for the others of you that have shared the journey to this point with us, the same might be true for each of you.

swan

Hot wax and Edible Undies

I just was over at Morningstar's blog and was reading about her difficulties with wax strips... head on over there to read it .....

But I just gotta say.....

LOLOLOLOL!!!! I am cryin' here!

Not over her difficulties, for that I am sorry to be howling over her post...

BUT! Back when Tom and I first got together, he was very sad over the ending of his 27 year marriage and having to move away from his kids. I was trying all of these sexy games and goodies with him. To begin my tale of woe, you must know that Tom is VERY HAIRY. But I was not to be deterred....I bought a pair of edible undies and tied the big strawberry fruit rollup with licorice ties onto HIM. And started very sexily licking and chewing them off. well, you get the idea ...then his body heat kicked in and I had melted strawberry fruit rollup with licorice ties melting into his leg, tummy, and pubic hair! It was gooey, stringy, gloppy, and all manners of disgusting! But I was going to be a champ, since he was willing to play, and I gagged down strawberry fruit rollup coated hair. Then I tried my nails to scrap it off his erection. Then I tried a hot wash cloth. Then it was howling with laughter to the shower. To this day, I cannot stand the smell of strawberry fruit rollups! It was hideous, but it made him laugh. And when we first got together, he didn't laugh very often .

I worked BERRY hard to bring him joy.

T

P.S. Now...the story about waxing his back?? I will save that for a future post! Wink!

Waking Up

He's been winding up for something more "real" between the two of us -- for awhile. As He wrote here, He's been "awash" in spanking energy. Our days have been frenetically busy and brutally exhausting. There has not been a single opportunity to act on any of that...

My hungers are less demanding these days, but they are back and not to be denied entirely. I think the only difference between us, in terms of dealing with these long, difficult stretches, is that I've become used to deferring my wants and needs to some degree. It isn't as frustrating to me in the short run as it can be for Him.

Whatever all of that might or might not mean, we woke up this morning ready to play. Both of us. We came to it all slowly and without any sense of rush. That, in itself, is unbelievable luxury for us. One of the subtle shifts that has come about in recent weeks is that He's been inclined to find alternatives to my usual, face-down-on-the-bed, over-the-pillow position, to something that gives Him better access with more comfort for Him in the bargain. Nothing extreme, really -- just bent over the side of the bed with my hips up on a pillow. It is still pretty secure feeling for me, although my toes don't touch the floor. He seems to feel like it is a huge improvement from His perspective.

To my complete surprise, once He had me there, He didn't go right after whomping the tar out of me. Instead, He stroked and teased me with His knife. I wanted to just float away with the delicious sensations that He was creating, but was stuck in my own head with the fear of knowing that the good stuff wouldn't last long. But... then... He started to finger me, and reaching for the lube, pushed harder and harder until He had most of His hand inside me. I was caught between the sheer pleasure and wildness of it, and my same-old fears. We got close, but I began to panic, and He stopped just short of the point where He would have popped right past that last barrier. Still, it was exhilarating and wonderful. He left me for a few minutes while He went to wash up, and then He was back.

Back I went, into position, and He began to spank in earnest. I know that early in the sequence of things, there was the very light Lexan paddle. I recognized the sensations of several of our straps. Then, He began to paddle me with a Lexan paddle that has beveled holes in it. Somewhere in the middle of that, I began to sense the edge of "subspace" rushing toward me. Even though I don't get to subspace often, I can always tell where the point of entry is, and I had a momentary thought that, "this cannot be happening because it never happens when He's paddling me." But there it was; the bright purple lights against the blackness in my head, and then I was there, following the purple lights. I knew that He was still there, and I knew He was still after me with some of the implements that I usually barely tolerate. I could hear Him; I could even respond to Him (sort of), and I was just following along in total amazement. I do think that He took full advantage of my little trip to La-La land and went after me with gusto.

The afterglow was warm and sweet and breathless for us both: a really good session! He promised that there would be much more later in the day -- acting out some of the fantasies that He's been entertaining this last week. Unfortunately, within the hour, it became apparent that in the midst of our morning romp, He'd strained His back. He spent much of the day unable to stand or walk comfortably, and that pretty well took care of any further playing today. I did talk Him into a massage late in the afternoon, and that has seemed to help. Perhaps, those fantasies won't have to put on hold forever.

swan

Trust

Over and over again, in the last few months or so, as I've found my way from the turmoil of the last couple of years to something a little calmer and more secure, I've pretty regularly floundered and slid backwards. Each time that occurs, someone admonishes me to trust; trust those who love me; trust my path; trust my instincts; trust that the future will be as good, or maybe better than the past was. It is one of those words that is so ubiquitous to discussions of the lifestyle, that I suspect we really don't give it a whole lot of thought. It is kind of the "take two aspirin and call me in the morning" of the BDSM community.



I have some trouble with the ubiquitous group chatter about trust that pervades the conversations within our community. We tend to emphasize the need for bottom partners to develop trust in those with whom they would play. There is plenty of verbiage about how to check out potential partners, how to set up safe calls, how to negotiate a scene, and all the various and complicated dance steps that are part of entering into a relationship that will likely, eventually be described as grounded in "trust."



All of that careful perusal of one another makes total sense in the beginning of a power-based relationship dynamic. There is no question that there are predatory beasts that swim in our seas, and it is wise to very carefully consider who one chooses to "take a chance on." Making the wrong call at that stage can get you hurt -- and not in a "good" way.


But. Once the beginning jockeying for position is done; once partners enter into some sort of on-going relationship; once there is some burgeoning acquaintance established -- then it is time to begin to understand how that basic tenet of "trust" really does work.


It isn't difficult to find dictionary-style definitions that give us a sense that trust devolves on the character, integrity, and stability of the individual in whom that trust is vested. But, realistically, it is just as easy to find lots and lots and lots of anguished diatribes about "trust broken," about hurts inflicted at the most vulnerable point, about belief and hope quashed when dreams get dashed against the sharp rocks of day to day living with another, fallible human person. Read far enough, and it is hard to avoid the language construct that tells us all that trust is a gift that we give (at considerable personal risk), and which we may take back at will if things don't go as we planned.



It is a tit for tat sort of interpersonal equation balancing that I find disquieting.



I have a different view of the nature of "trust" as it is practiced in interpersonal relationships. I believe that trust is more akin to an investment and is not, as is commonly held, something that is ours to choose to give -- or not give.



Investments have very particular characteristics, and they are simply different than gifts. If I am going to choose to invest my money, my time, my energy in something, I am going to consider carefully. I'm going to do my homework. I'm going to contemplate what the odds are that my investment will pay off. I'm going to research the potential risks, and I'm going to understand what my capacity is for accepting those risks, and possibly sustaining the losses if my gamble doesn't pay off. I am also going to evaluate my ability to weather periods of time during which my investment doesn't immediately pay off. Investments are undertakings that include a significant time perspective. It isn't necessarily about getting what you hope for in the short run.



I also believe that to practice trust is an exercise in mutuality. One chooses to trust, but there must be some concomitant mutual trust investment from the other side of the relationship for the seeds of trust to grow and blossom. We exchange power, vulnerabilities, hopes, and it is imperative that partners find a balance point. I've got to believe in that continued, ethical presence, and I need to know that my partner is invested in my participation in the relationship as well. It is foundational that we are "believed in" even as we choose to believe.

So, trust as investment may not be experienced as a steady pull in our relationships. Like the stock market, the sense of trust may rise and fall with the vagaries of daily living. There may be times, perhaps even extended periods of time, when we feel as if our "trust" is being broken, betrayed, de-valued, or simply not appreciated and reciprocated. If we see that trust as a possession, a gift, a treasure to be extended provisionally, then those dark, dry spells become the excuse for picking up our marbles and heading off to try to find better odds somewhere else. It is a fair-weather relational bargain.



So. I understand the impetus that drives all that well-meaning advice that encourages me to "trust." I know there are good hearts invested in offering that vision. It just doesn't work for me. I know that there are times when all feels good and right in my world, and it is easy to put myself out there with great belief and trust in the bargains I am making. That is a great feeling. However, I also know that there are times when things do not feel good or right or fair or even very hopeful. Things happen. Life moves always forward. Stresses and schedules and events sometimes conspire to throw up obstacles, and that makes it hard to just "trust." When that happens, I need to remember that I am investing for the long haul. Just as a nest egg gets built up by consistent, regular, dependable, unfailing investment, I believe relationship builds in the same way. Trust is terrific. It is not some fragile, pie-in-the-sky ideal. It is the ground of everything else we do. Irrevocable through good and bad.



swan

Awash in Spanking Energy

I don't know what exactly has prompted it, but I am having a huge thunder storm of spanking energy. I am thinking about spanking constantly. I think about potentially spanking all the women I encounter. I have written here before that my sensual erotic orientation to spanking is the primary aspect of my very active libido, but for whatever reason it appears particularly high right now. I've been thinking about writing here about spanking and the stream of consciousness that is effecting me, but it's like trying to figure out when to jump onto an out of control Ferris wheel trying to decide where to begin.

I ran across a question in a YAHOO questions forum dealing with whether paddles with holes were superior to solid paddles for spanking. It was clear that the questioner and the readers were pretty much ignorant about paddling, it's risks, techniques, or how to begin to compare and contrast this questions pros and cons. I wrote the following response. Having invested that much time and energy in writing this response, I decided to chronicle it here. If it is of any use or edification to you as you read it, that's icing on the cake. For right now it gives me something to do with my "spanking energy" other than beleaguering poor sue (who I'm sure is in for an enactment of this post as our week ends and we FINALLY have some unstructured time together.) Here it is:

I'm going to respond to this as man who has thirty years plus experience as a practitioner of adult consensual spanking. There are two primary aspects to this question. One is spanking effectiveness. The other is safety of the person who is spanked. Spanking effectiveness is greatly enhanced by the use of a paddle as opposed to, for example, a simple hand spanking. The resulting burn and sting is greatly enhanced when a paddling is administered. The sensations are far more long lasting as well. When used on the bare bottom, paddles are immensely more effective than through clothing. Additionally, being to able to directly observe the effects of a paddle on bare skin, greatly enhances the ability to minimize potential harm to the spankee.

The effectiveness of spankings is as least as much about emotional aspects of the spanking, as it is about the intensity of the sensations inflicted. Total or partial nudity greatly increases a spankee's sense of vulnerability and embarrassment. The sound of a paddle strike is very emotionally impactful, as it is immediately followed by an atrocious stinging that worsens and worsens for several seconds. The spankee dreads the sound of the next impact and the even greater subsequent sensation. The appearance of a paddle adds greatly to the impact of a spanking. Paddles with holes are far more anxiety provoking for most spankees than solid (non-holed) paddles. Thus paddles with holes are more effective both in increased sensation and in serving to "frighten" the spankee.

Paddles are fraught with safety issues. A paddle is, in its crudest form, a club. They should be used very carefully. Paddle size and thickness is a very big concern. The classic fraternity or sorority paddle is a common example of paddles that are truly dangerous. If those who used to paddle sorority/fraternity pledges had had some experience and skill in spanking them, perhaps that aspect of hazing would still be permitted on campuses. There are myriad horror stories of young men and women pledges who were literally beaten with paddles with resulting deep tissue bruising, internal injuries, and even broken bones (it is easy to break a tail bone with a paddle if you do not know what you are doing.) If one looks at photos of fraternity/sorority paddling, you will see huge "boards" several feet long, a half inch to an inch thick, grasped by a paddler with both hands who is 'winding up" and striking as if he/she was trying to hit a home run in a baseball game. This is a situation that is guaranteed to provide a hugely traumatic beating, with high potential for serious deep muscle and tissue bruising and likely other serious injury. It goes way beyond what should be considered "spanking."Paddles should be no thicker than 3/8 inches, and preferably a 1/4 inch thick. I prefer paddles made of lexan (a dense very tough plastic material). Wood has no "give" to it. A 1/4 inch or 3/16 inch thick lexan paddle will sting atrociously and has a degree of flexibility which will minimize bruising and tissue damage. It will not do muscle bruising unless applied in an extreme manner.If a paddle with holes is to be used, the holes should have beveled edges (i. e., they should be counter sunk when drilling them.) Regular "hard edged" holes tend to create a pattern of round welts all over the the spanked bottom as the flesh of the bottom surges through the holes when the paddle strikes it. If the holes have the less defined edges of the bevel edged holes the flesh surging through the holes is less traumatized but the spankee still "benefits" from the enhanced sensation the holed paddle creates as opposed to a solid paddle.

I give paddlings that result in a very red, hot, welted, and slightly (surface) bruised bottom. The spankee will have experienced atrociously unbearable stinging burning pain. She will have been brought to tears and will have begged for the spanking to end long before it is completed. Her bottom will be painful for days afterwards. She will not have deep muscle bruising or injuries and her bottom will be fine again in a week.I hope this sheds some light on this question from the perspective of someone with a "professional" level of experience regarding this topic.

Raheretic

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

BDSM Research

Here's an interesting new study about those of us who lay claim to BDSM as part of our sexual/erotic expression: BDSM Study

I am glad to see that there are serious academics doing real, substantive research into this field. It means that, as time goes on, there could be increased awareness and understanding of what it is that makes "our" ways of loving special, unique, life-affirming and positive. Perhaps, in time, the availability of good, solid data will help to dispel some of the misinformation and fear that fuels predjudice against those of us who express our sexual selves through BDSM.

swan

Revisiting Meyers-Briggs

Recently, a commenter asked a question on some very old writing over at The Swan's Heart. There, we once upon a time posted our divergent Meyers-Briggs personality profiles, and our commenter directed us back to those old posts (about us both) by asking this question:

"Do you think there is a relationship between being INFJ and submissive?"

Gosh! I'm not a psychologist or psychiatrist, and I have absolutely no credentials to make that determination, but I honestly don't think so, actually. Probably, if you go and read the summary of what comes with that Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging personality, it is surely possible to find traits and characteristics that lend themselves to an erotic orientation toward submission. However, there are plenty of other attributes of this personality type that are far from what would be considered to be "naturally" submissive -- things like being prone to keep their "internal selves" to themselves, a natural stubbornness, and a conviction that whatever they understand about a situation is right regardless of the views of others, are all common traits of INFJ's that are not typically conducive to a harmonious existence as a submissive.

I believe that the tendency to submission is part of the personality, and part of the sexual identity and orientation of the individual, and that it exists independent of other personality traits. Some submissives are exceptional extroverts, while other of us are introverted. Some are naturally intuitive, while others tend toward the thinking/analytical side of things. Submissives, like Dominants, come in all sizes and shapes -- mentally and physically.

I am certain that when one begins to explore the natural inclinations that define a sexual/erotic orientation, it is useful to have as much information as possible. Knowing the Meyers-Briggs style personality traits that are part of the individual's makeup is a part of that, as is the awareness of a person's background, history, and heritage. It is good to understand the influences of education and religious upbringing; good to know what factors influenced development in the formative years of adolescence and young adulthood. We are each and all the product of our lifetime experiences. Submission is an expression of a part of our innate self hood. For each of us, that will be different and distinct. We can share our journeys, and share our experiences, but in my view, there is no one simple recipe for the creation of a submissive persona.

swan

I am soooo... ANGRY About Sarah Palin!

This is a political rant. For those of you who are not into reading my unashamedly liberal political diatribes, and for those readers who live outside the boundaries of the United States, and really don't care, please feel free to skip this one.

John McCain, presumptive nominee of the Republican Party, celebrated his birthday on Friday with the nomination of Sarah Palin as his running mate. It was completely unexpected, and caught a lot of people off guard. Media moguls scrambled to figure out even something as basic as how to pronounce her name.

Like many others, I was surprised and curious at first, but by Friday evening, I was working myself up to a full-blown fury. How dare McCain hand us this appalling and awful choice for the one person who will spend the next four years just "one heartbeat away from the Oval Office?" Further, how insulting is it that he apparently believes that this woman is simply interchangeable with Hillary Clinton for those who would have voted for her, should she have gained the nomination of the Democratic party?

She tried to make that case, directly out of the chute, with her introductory speech. Here she is, in case you missed it, comparing herself to the woman who worked her heart out, and made the first creditable run for the nomination by any woman ever.
Hillary has worked and served and learned for years in public service, and I can't imagine that there is anyone, woman or man, who was ever a Hillary supporter, who could see this gal as a Hillary substitute. Are you kidding me?

Hillary is pro-woman, and this one is surely NOT that. Anti-abortion, radically conservative, against gay rights and gay marriage. She will push for oil drilling in the ANWR, and the Republicans will make the case that she "KNOWS" the pros and cons of that proposition, although I don't see any credentials in her resume that ought to offer any of us any reassurance that she understands the potential environmental impacts of drilling there. Sarah Palin is not, in any sense, anything like Hillary Clinton. Naming her is simply a calculated move to pull in a few votes from disappointed, would-be Clinton voters. McCain obviously believes that Hillary's supporters are so stupid that they would simply transfer their precious vote from one woman to another -- without a moment's hesitation or any question in their mind about whether it is "enough" that she is female. Oh please! I understand disappointment, and even anger, but the folks that worked so hard to see Hillary Clinton become president are smarter than that -- way smarter than John McCain. They will not be used so cavalierly, and they will not be duped! It may be that McCain subscribes to the OLD theory that one woman is just as good as another -- that we all are the same if you turn us upside down, that any pair of X-chromosomes will do, but we know better and we recognize his chauvinism for exactly what it is.

Of course, in naming a running mate with no national or foreign policy experience, McCain belies the argument he's been making about how important it is to have someone with experience in the office of the president. Clearly, John doesn't practice what he preaches. This one has no viable experience. None.

Oh I know that the Sunday morning talking heads gave the Republican operatives pretty free run to try to make the case that Ms. Palin has been governor of Alaska, and "commander in chief" of the Alaska national guard. Really? And what does that mean exactly? Don't you wonder about what that might actually entail? I did, and so I went and did some basic research. Here's what I found:

Palin has been governor of Alaska for not quite two years.
The area of Alaska is 663,267 SQ MI.
The Alaska national guard is comprised of 1,850 soldiers.
That is one soldier per 358.5 square miles.
The population of the state of Alaska is appoximately equal to that of the city of Raleigh, North Carolina. In 2006, the US Census Bureau listed Alaska's population as 670,053 while the total US population was 299,398,484. So, McCain's pick for vice president has less than two years governing a state with just over 2% of the population of the country she could end up leading. But, then, there is that term as mayor of the "city" of Wasilla. The numbers are fuzzy when it comes to knowing what the population of Wasilla might be. It seems most media types are settling for an approximation -- less than 10,000. Here's what I found with just a cursory Google search: In 2000, Census numbers revealed a population of 5,469. The bureau's 2007 population estimate, had the town at 9,780 residents. The difference between the two figures is huge, approximately 79% growth, but there is no disputing it's a small town, approximately one twentieth the size of Barack Obama's Illinois state senate district.

So. Experience is minimal to non-existent. She is a radical, right-wing, fundamentalist Christian crazy, who is determined to make abortion illegal, and set back the drive for equal treatment for people whose gender identity and lifestyle don't match up to her vision of "right." She is a self-declared "hockey mom," and the mother to five children, one of whom is off to try and get himself killed in Bush's little war (and they are awfully proud), and the little one is, as we've all been told, a child with Down's Syndrome. They are all lovely children. Still, I can't imagine that any of that qualifies this person to be vice president or president. She wouldn't be the first person to manage a household, and those are great skills, but not the sort of thing that earns anyone much stroke in the high-powered political arena of national and international politics.

I am furious with John McCain. I am insulted. I suppose there'll be some who won't feel the same way. I think that is sad. Maybe it is time to bring back those wild and wacky protests that blossomed out of the Reagan years: the indefatigable antics of Ladies Against Women. They were fond of street chants like this one:
MOMMIES, MOMMIES, DON'T BE COMMIES; STAY AT HOME AND FOLD PAJAMIES... WHAT DO WE WANT? NOTHING! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW! ... INTO THE KITCHENS AND OUT OF THE STREETS!

Honestly! Bad to even worse. I just can't stand it!

swan