Do Good Anyway

It is a week of juxtapositions; a week of resolutions, a week of adjustments; and a week of working to find a way to settle into life the way it is now.  Our week "started" on Saturday, odd as that might seem -- the day that we held a memorial for Master's father, Walter.  Walt died, five months ago, on January 26 at the age of 91.  Saturday's gathering was poignant but also joyful -- we did shed a few tears, but we did a great deal more laughing as we shared memories and told stories.  Master spoke movingly about the man that was His father, his integrity, his wit, his care and love for his wife and son, his career, and his service to his country.  We'd talked, in the days leading up to Saturday, about how Master perceived what it was that His father would want, and He'd told me that in His dad's view, it would be important for us not to "go all to pieces."  Walter, it seemed felt that "going all to pieces" was absolutely unseemly and inappropriate.  And so it was.  The only glitch, and it was a significant glitch, was that no one ever told any of us that we needed to contact the funeral home and have them deliver the vault for the urn to the cemetary.  We arrived, after the memorial, at the cemetary to find the grave open, but no vault to contain the box of Walter's ashes.  We had some conversation about what to do, and finally spent a few minutes at the graveside, sharing a prayer and a bit of scripture, and then turning the box over to the "grave digger" who promised to keep them safe until we could make the rest of the arrangements. 

That happened this afternoon, and Master and I went back up to the cemetary to meet, Ace, the grave digger and finally "get Dad planted" as Master persists in characterizing it.  It is an absolutely lovely day here, and the cool breezes and bright sun shone for us there in the small, simple cemetary.  It was a bit emotional, but also good to have some closure to this passage. 

What struck me, though, was the presence of Ace.  He is a big, round-bellied, bearded fellow with denim overalls and a baseball cap.  He told us he's been doing this work for 22 years, and he is as personable and friendly and kind and conscientious as can be.  His presence and his approach to his "work" turned out to be a gift to us in these days, and meeting him has given me some insight into some of the unsettledness and frustration I've been feeling as we've moved through these early days of Master's sudden transition from His working life. 

I keep banging into my absolute conviction that there is some huge lack of fairness in this ending.  For thirty-five years, Master has worked and battled for people with disabilities and their families, choosing to forego some much more lucrative career path in order to do that work.  He's seen enormous changes in the way people with disabilities are treated; seen the implementation of much more efficacious service and support systems; and the gradual and steady dissolution of a system that would take children born with disabilities away from their homes and communities and essentially imprison them in huge and horrible state run institutions.  In big ways and small ways, He's been instrumental in changing the way that those with disabilities live their lives in our communities.  Lives have been improved, and more than that, lives have been saved BECAUSE Master has done this work for so long.  It is the truth and it is, in my view terribly unfair, that all of that work and all of those years should go unrecognized and unacknowledged because an adversarial board of directors would lay the current difficult economics entirely at the feet of Master.  It isn't fair and it isn't right. 

I think that the lesson to be learned from Ace the gravedigger is just this -- whatever the work, doing the right thing, doing your chosen work with integrity and heart changes people's lives.  Ace does his thing with a shovel and a heart as big as he is.  Master has touched hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives, over all these years, and it may not be possible to ever see the full extent of the impact He's had.  Perhaps no one will ever be able to fully acknowledge the gift He's been to so many, but that does not diminish the fact of the good work He's done.  I know.  T knows.  Plenty of people know.  It will perhaps never be quite the same, but it changes not a single thing about His character and His goodness.

Mother Teresa, famously, wrote:


If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.


What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.


Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

swan

Not Swingers

Years and years ago, T bought a porch swing for Master.  I think it was intended to be a gift for an anniversary or perhaps a birthday.  It came to us in pieces, and between the need to assemble it and then figure out how to hang it, we just never got to the work of making it happen.  So, that's how it came about that I got busy the other day trying to assemble and then hang the porch swing that has been living in the garage for so many years. 

After reclaiming it from the host of spiders that had taken up residence in every single nook and cranny of the thing, I managed to locate the hardware that came with it. Opening the bag, I discovered that there were seven bolts, seven washers, and seven nuts. That's it. No directions. There was one tiny bit of yellow paper with a warning about making sure that the hardware to hang it should be screwed vertically into an appropriately sturdy support beam. I sat on the floor of the garage, with the pieces scattered around me in a circle, and scratched my head. A bit of trial and error, and some natural ability for "seeing" three dimensional relationships, allowed me to sort out the process for getting it all put together. As it turned out, it is not a bad looking little swing...

 

Once I got it all put together, I dragged it and the ladder and the drill and the tool box out to the patio, and with Master's help, began the work of getting the thing hung in place.  I'm not particularly good on ladders.  Heights are a challenge with  my balance issues, but I worked slowly and carefully, and we managed to get everything set up.  Again there were no directions and no obvious hardware for attaching the hanging chains -- only holes drilled in both arms of the swing, through which the chains seemed meant to pass.  We located some heavy clips (actually retrieved from our bondage gear) and used them to help connect everything, and then I was back up the ladder with the chains. 

Tah Dah!  It looked good, and Master took a seat.  He sat there, happily swinging away, and when He patted the seat next to Him, I sat down on the newly finished swing. 

With the weight of the two of us, the arms (which as it turns out were only connected with some wire  staples) pulled completely off and the whole contraption landed with a bang on the patio floor!  I got wacked in the side of the head with one of the now free swinging wooden arms.  I smacked my right hip on the concrete, and wrenched my left shoulder.  Luckily, the thing fell such that He landed on me, and really wasn't hurt.  I sat there looking like a cartoon character -- birdies and stars swirling around my head. 

Eventually, I managed to shake the fogginess out of my head, got myself gathered up, and cleaned up the mess.  A little ice and the ringing in my ear subsided, and we went on with the other work for the day.  However, the poor broken swing is now back in the garage awaiting reassembly.  We've formulated a plan for making a better attachement point for the chains.  Sometime in the next few days, we'll try it all again.  For now, however, we remain poly but we are most definitely NOT SWINGERS.

swan

Pervertables

One of the most daunting aspects of the lifestyle for new people is the acquisition of a decent collection of toys.  Good quality BDSM toys are an investment, and they aren't that easy to find.  You really cannot take your toybag to Target or Home Depot and buy yourself a collection that works for $59.95. 

I suspect that nearly everyone goes through a phase of using DIY (do-it-yourself) and pervertable toys.  Is there even one kinky soul who has not played with a paint stirrer or a wooden spoon or a curtain rod at least once?  There's really nothing essentially wrong with working to assemble a set of usable BDSM goodies on a budget, and it is possible to come up with some serviceable items in places where our vanilla neighbors and friends see only kitchen utensils or riding tack or hardware.  There is, however, some risk for the uninitiated in trying to use everyday objects for BDSM play.  Not everything that you CAN use to hit someone SHOULD be used in that fashion.  BDSM play (and I'm mostly thinking of impact play) is inherently risky, and when there is a lack of experience combined with the use of implements that are not well suited for spanking/whipping, then the risk levels increase dramatically. 

I'd put out a few caveats (and I'll acknowledge that I am not any sort of authority on the subject):
1)  Just because you found directions for creating some sort of "toy" on the Internet doesn't mean that the person providing those directions knows what they are talking about.  Skepticism is healthy in this instance.
2)  If it is likely to break while you are using it to hit someone, you should probably not use it to hit someone.
3)  Belts should be used for holding up your pants.
4)  Splinters are bad.  Period.
5)  Sharp edges are almost as bad as splinters.
6)  There are lots of things that look like paddles that are not paddles.  Bread boards and boat oars are notable examples. The ubiquitous ping pong paddle is not sturdy enough to serve as a spanking paddle.
7)  There are lots of things that look like canes that are not canes.  A cane is not the same as a stick.  Stay away from wooden dowels and lengths of bamboo that are intended for decorative purposes.  Likewise, yardsticks and broomhandles and wire hangers and whatever other long, skinny bits of industrial waste a person might run across ought to be looked at with a very jaundiced eye.

So.  If a person wants to come up with some serviceable BDSM gear, without spending a fortune, what are the best bets?

1)  Riding crops and dressage whips and dogging bats and quirts.  All of these items can be acquired quite inexpensively at a tack shop.  Plainer items are cheaper, and fancier ones are a bit more costly, but since these things are, in fact, intended for "impact," they are generally sturdier and more flexible than similar appearing items meant for other purposes.

2)  Wooden spoons.  Good quality wooden spoons can make pretty reasonable spanking implements.  Avoid the cheap, soft-wood varieties.  Buy ones made from harder woods.  As a matter of aesthetics and hygiene, it is probably best to not co-mingle the spoons that are used for beating eggs and those that are meant for beating butts.

3)  Leather.  Serviceable straps can be fashioned from lengths of cowhide or other sturdy leathers.  These can be used as a single thickness or doubled and fastened with simple rivets to fashion more intense tawse-style toys.  The very common practice of trying to create whips or floggers from leather lacing tend to result in toys that have much greater intensity and severity than most beginners anticipate. 

4)  When it comes to paddles, there are very few good alternatives that aren't specifically manufactured for the purpose.  Most fraternity/sorority paddles are simply clubs -- too heavy and too big to make good spanking implements.  The once easily available Cracker Barrel paddle (the child's toy with the attached rubber ball) is no longer for sale, sadly.  Along with the heavier, but also workable Jokari paddle (also part of a child's game), it is now necessary to hunt down the once commonplace CBP on Ebay or other similar sites. 

5)  There are no good, cheap substitutes for a decent cane.  The same is true for singletail style whips.  Because these "toys" provide a level of severity and risk that is much higher than simple paddles and straps, it pays to buy the best quality one can manage.  These are items that ought to be purchased specifically and deliberately when the resources are available to buy excellent quality from reputable suppliers. 

Those new to the lifestyle, and those who are seeking to find good BDSM toys often struggle to figure out where to purchase implements.  Not all toy suppliers are created equal.  We have a few that we know and trust and use for most of our purchases.  We are not affiliated with any of them, but for those who might be interested, here are The Heron Clan recommendations for places to buy top quality BDSM implements:

Canes -- Adam and Gillian's Sensual Whips and Toys
Restraints (collars and cuffs) and paddles -- Leather by Danny
Floggers -- De Tails Toys
Leather straps and paddles -- LeatherThorn Paddles
Paddles -- Hanson Paddlewerks

swan

If a Tree Falls...

"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound?"

It is a classic, philosophical riddle that points to the effects of observation on what is "real."  It can be argued that understanding any word relating to perception, "sight" for example, or "sound", implies some conscious entity perceiving (listening, or seeing).  If there is no consciousness present to perceive (in the case of sound) the vibrations in a medium, there is no sound, even though the vibrations are there.  Simply, the tree still falls; still creates the vibrations implicit in that falling, but without anyone to "hear" there is no "sound."

Consensual slavery is a little like that tree, falling all alone in the forest.  It goes on, but when it is unobserved and unnoticed, it is a qualitatively different thing even though it is by definition, an endeavor that should be mostly unnoticed.  Someone once told me that since I'd chosen to be a slave, I should just slave.  It was a bit of an admonishment that reminded me of the much earlier bit of advice I was given in this lifestyle:  "Submissives submit."  At the most basic level, it is as simple as that.  Almost Nike-ish -- "Just do it."  Masters tend to feel that it isn't their job to make slavery happen.  Having a slave shouldn't make more work for the Master. 

I get all of that.  I agree with it on principle.  It is a little daunting, however.  The Interwebz would have one believe that slavery in the context of BDSM is somehow hot, exciting, and sexy.  Where are all the porn sites that advertise hot Asian babes doing laundry?  Or those BBW doing the dishes?  Or women with big boobs mopping the floor and scouring the tub?  What about all the thousands and thousands and thousands of pages of material about rituals and routines and protocols and training and maintenance and head space and ... do any of them address the intricacies of taking out the trash?  Slavery is about routine, about repetition, about finding some sort of gratification in the absence of anyone to notice, affirm, reinforce, or value the effort -- today and tomorrow and the day after that.  Boredom, isolation, and the endless work to keep the internal mental chatter quiet fill the days and nights when one is "into" slavery.  Most people who are familiar with lifestyle dynamics will insist that people enter into power dynamics in order to meet their own needs and fulfill their own desires, and I believe that is true.  I do think, however, that for those who follow the path of consensual slavery, that road to self-fulfillment is very different than most people think.

swan

Favorite Posts -- The Night of the Buckwheat Hulls in the Fur

One older post (and a follow up to it just a few days later) that draws regular and steady traffic is a funny little piece about a late night encounter between the two of us.  On the face of it, the story of The Buckwheat Hulls in the Fur, is just a silly story of the sort of household mishap that might occur anywhere inside of any relationship.  Except that, for us, even the simplest and smallest events can hold the holographic whole of the entire dynamic.

As context, it helps to know that what is described in this story all happened just a few days after my hysterectomy.  I was only just barely out of surgery and still under some pretty significant restrictions to my activities.  Very late at night, a travel pillow that Master was accustomed to use to sleep with split open, spilling the its buckwheat hull stuffing all over the bed.  The action of static electricity caused the light weight husks to adhere to every surface -- including the furry, naked body of Himself.  He was immobilized by the mess, and I needed to figure out a way to get it all cleaned up without spreading the chaos any further.  His caring and solicitous concern for my well-being led us into an exchange that embodied the totality of our power exchange dynamic as it existed at the time -- and watching the dance we did with that under the circumstances gave the whole business the tinge of high humor. 


Days later, in an exchange with SpankBoss about the nature of the power exchange demonstrated in that incident, I wrote:

... just as we were finally settling down to sleep ... He gave the little pillow a final tug and a twist ... The ... thing burst! ... He suggested the vacuum cleaner ... When I arrived back in the bedroom with the vacuum, He looked at me ... and demanded, "are you allowed to carry that?" I ... tried to avoid the obvious, "DUH, Sir?" Instead, I assured Him that I had only dragged it on its wheels and not lifted or carried it...

...That is not "just a bit" of power exchange. It is all of the power exchange encapsulated in a single flash ... that blink, that indrawn breath, that bend of the head that signifies the giving that is more, perhaps, than the simple ability to withstand or enjoy pain -- when the power to hold to self is passed into the keeping of the other...

Now, years later, a more experienced and perhaps occasionally wiser slave has learned that trick of bending gently to the will of the One I have called "Master" for a good long while.  I am STILL not perfect at it, but I can see the beginnings of the path in the actions of that long ago me.  I am awfully proud of her.  She was a learner, but she was earnest and honest and open and intent.  She laid the groundwork for all that has come since.  It was a pioneering moment that I am so glad to have captured.

swan

Favorite Posts -- Caning Sue

Every enduring relationship has stories to tell -- those bits of shared history that form the context and syntax of day to day relatedness.  Like creation myths, the stories of "how we began" tell those of us who love and live as intimate partners where we come from and what our shared passage might mean.  For me, that notion that beginnings hold the kernel of the whole is part of the enchantment that I feel each time I am drawn back to the story of the very first time He and I played at any sort of "serious" sadomasochism.  The post that I wrote, some years after the fact (in June of 2005), about our very first caning, tells the story of a magical and prophetic sort of evening that He and I shared in the very early days before it had occured to either of us that there was a long term and deeply connected future that we were destined to share...

First times are important ... the time came for Thunder in the Mountains, a major BDSM event held annually in Denver, Colorado ... As the plans began to form, a conversation started, slowly at first, about including, as part of the festivities of the event, The Heretic caning me ... caning just scared the willies out of me, and He knew it. He loved knowing it, and played my fears to a fever pitch ... teased and tormented me and worried me like a cat plays a mouse ... I tried not to wheedle, whine, or beg, although at one point, He actually made it clear to me that He wished I would ... Eventually ... began the long awaited caning ... the sweetest, gentlest, softest, and most sensuous of sessions .... He took me as gently as a lover…the first time.

We've played together, since that time, perhaps thousands of times -- and canes have been included in many, many of those sessions.  We broke one very nice cane, in a session that was neither sweet or gentle.  I've been caned with rattan (which I generally appreciate) as well as a variety of synthetics including delrin.  He owns multiple variants of the basic school cane, and some I love while I hate others with a deep and abiding fury and animosity.  Still, no matter the intensity; no matter my personal sense of affinity with each particular long and whippy implement, each caning hearkens back to that first time, and so calls up a sweetness and a sense of falling in love which does not inure to any other implement in the arsenal.

swan

Favorite Posts -- Sadist Taking What is His

Here’s another one of our most popular posts from the past:  On March 21, 2006, I wrote a piece that was called “Sadist Taking What is His.”


It followed a period of some months during which I was recovering from a hysterectomy and our sadomasochistic play was (except for very light, almost sensual play) entirely shelved in the interest of my health and well-being. When at the end of that medically imposed hiatus, He determined to take us back into our lives as Master and slave, it was a decisive and definitive event – one which made a huge emotional as well as physical impact on me and on Him. We didn’t know or understand, when that post was written, what sort of path would have to be traversed to achieve “recovery” after that surgery. "Sadist Taking What is His" has, looking at it from this distance, an almost naïve and innocent sound to it. We were both so thrilled to be back that we never once contemplated that there might be unseen hurdles on the road ahead.  How very typically human the two of us seem even in the most extreme enactment of our alternative sexual orientation!

I think that people come back to this bit of writing for a couple of reasons. The first is that it is remarkably evocative. I am not entirely sure, at this point, what the timing was – how long after the session described here did the writing occur? I cannot remember. If I had to guess, I’d venture that it wasn’t long – it just sounds to me like I was still awash in endorphins; barely back from the far corners of subspace. I also think that people find it fascinating because there is some imbedded understanding of the nature of the M/s dynamic, and specifically the interplay between sadist and masochist, that is encapsulated in the final line of the piece:

The masochist needs the sadist to take what can only be offered. It is a duality that cannot be realized in the singular.

Looking back is such an interesting exercise. Reading this piece, I am made aware of what was, and how different that is from what IS; what has come to be. On that day, back in the early part of 2006, I was braver and sturdier (even post-surgically) than I’ve been in the intervening years. I can hear the optimism and the hopefulness in my “voice,” and I know that the “me” that writes here was only a matter of weeks away from sliding into depression and despair. What was looming was a personal sojourn in a place of emotional darkness and storminess – and clearly, on this day, I had no idea. How very odd.

Too, I am struck by the complete confidence He had in His path and His rightness on this occasion. There was no sense of hesitance. He took us both where He wanted us to go, and when we arrived there, we were right with each other and safe in one another’s arms. It is instructive. There is a reciprocity to power exchange. Although it seeks to create deliberate inequality, it is not grounded or founded in an inherent inequality. To do it well requires that partners have each got personal power to share; to exchange. A careful reading should make it clear that, although I am the bottom partner, I am a full participant in the endeavor. It is a rich and heady depiction of the life that we share, and though things have changed in the intervening years, He and I still find our way to those shores together, and it continues to be an amazing journey.

swan

Favorite Posts -- The Origins of Modern Monogamy

On July 4, 2005, just a few days before His scheduled knee replacement surgery, Master wrote a piece that has become THE destination post of our blogs ever since. His treatise on the origins of modern monogamy, laid out the history and political intrigue that ultimately enshrined the notion of marriage as an institution that is, in the words of the religious fundamentalists, “one man one woman,” in the unexamined assumption set of our society. It isn’t the only discussion of “marriage” as a topic to appear on our blog. There are plenty of places where we speak to our experiences, our hopes, our beliefs about the whole idea of marriage – and particularly the notion of marriage equality. “The Origins of Modern Monogamy” does what none of the rest of it does – it goes to the root of a widely held “cultural norm” and examines where we all got the ideas that are our common inheritance on the subject of marriage.


The original piece is a lengthy and detailed discussion, and it is full of historical and theological scholarship. If you’ve never read it, or haven’t read it in awhile, then I’d suggest that it is well worth your time. Like so many of the best pieces that make up this blog, however, there are some pithy bits that carry the spark of the whole within them. Take a look –

…Monogamy is a much cherished concept within Christianity. It's basis is economic. It has no theologically historical basis …The statement that, "Throughout time and throughout all cultures marriage has always been seen as a union between one man and one woman," is a lie. It is not the Judeo Christian tradition prior to the 600's … It is not the practice of the Moslem world and has not been for thousands of years … adherence to monogamy is a social aberration throughout world culture, not a norm…

Our household has lived, for over eight years now, as a polyamorous, committed, intentional family. We are not alone. We’ve met and formed friendships with others who share our understandings of how love and family can occur outside the narrowly defined boundaries that some would insist apply to us all. Some. Not all. We have friends here, many friends, who choose to live in monogamous relationships, and yet honor us and our lives with acceptance and openness. We’ve marched with others of all orientations and all beliefs, who endorse the notion that love is the core value that we can all share. I love “The Origins of Modern Monogamy.” I love the passion and the fire and the conviction that pours off the page when I read those words written nearly five years ago. It is a remarkable and intriguing piece of research, but even more than that, it is an anthem and battle hymn for those of us who live and love and hope to one day see our families stand on an equal footing with our monogamous neighbors.

swan

500 Hits

We had over 500 visitor hits here last Sunday.  That is a

 HUGE

day for The Heron Clan.  We tend to believe that any day that this blog attracts 200 or more readers is a very good day.  There have been very few -- VERY FEW -- days in the time we've been keeping track of these things, when we've seen numbers in the 500 range. 

So...  500 makes us sit up and take notice.  Not surprisingly, the "500 hit day" followed directly on the heels of our last big session, and Master quipped that it really was a matter of "500 hits for 500 hits."  It was a clever throwaway line that has, nevertheless, stayed with me -- because what makes it cute and clever is the fact that it is true.  Or at least, effectively/approximately true. 

I do not count strokes during sessions.  I am usually too intent on "doing my part" (staying put, being quiet, being respectful, following the rules), to count.  Too, counting tends to lead me to the point of panic.  I know that He will usually spank in sets of 50, and sometimes in sets of 100.  Knowing, as I do, that those are the kinds of numbers that I am in for, it is particularly difficult when the count reaches 10 or 15 or 20, and the pain is already "unbearable."  I don't need to put myself in the position of believing that "I can't do it" at the earliest stages of a spanking. 

Besides.  I know that He counts.  Obsessively.  I can, sometimes, when I can shift my focus sufficiently, hear Him back there behind me, ticking off the numbers under His breath.  Since that is the reality, and since only He knows what the "target" number might be in any given set, there's no need for me to pay any attention to the count. 

So, to be absolutely clear, I do not know the actual stroke count from our big session last Friday.  I do have some sense of what likely occured because I have the photos of the toys that He used...

By my count, there are a dozen implements that He used on me.  Two of them are suede floggers that he used for a bit of 2-handed flogging.  They are a matched set, and He almost never uses them singly.  Two-handed flogging happens very fast -- a series of rapid fire strokes that cover my ass with flying leather falls.  Suede isn't a very intense leather.  As floggers go, suede is pretty mild, although it tends to have a very rough surface, and so it creates a sort of abraded sensation on the skin over time.   However, because they are relatively less severe, He often ups the stroke count.   Two other toys in this set, (the strap in the far back of the photo and the black leather paddle in the front and left) are also relatively mild and so He generally goes up on the number of hits.  Conversely, the viper-style whip in the front and the rubber tailed flogger right beyond it are much more severe as is the switch rod toward the back of the group.  I think He took pity on me and did not use these for as long as He might do with other implements.  With all of that, there are still an even dozen implements, and if the average "count" was 50 strokes with each, then our Friday session was well over 500 hits. 

So, yup:  500 hits for 500 hits seems just about right.

swan

I Am A Sadist

I've been intrigued by swan's last post "I Am A Masochist." I love her expressing the essence of her sensual/erotic orientation, as well as her describing her path to accepting who she is.
Additionally, I am thrilled with her recent reawakening/re-acceptance of that identity.

I am a sadist. I am an unrepentant spanking sadist. I do not have any desire to hit people's toes with a hammer. I don't want to pull people's finger nails out. I don't get off hitting people with a baseball bat or setting them on fire (I've seen people who like to do that and have been lighted up myself:), but that does nothing for me. I do though dearly and obsessively love inflicting severe pain to the bottoms of others with paddles, straps, canes, straps, switches, whips, floggers, etc. It is the joy and passion of my life.

I too had challenging times coming to terms with my sensual/erotic identity. I have traversed that acceptance. My sadism and its practice in adult consensual spanking is a gift..... a gift of skill; a gift of personality; a gift of identity.

I am so thankful I am a spanking sadist and hope the masochists in my life, as well as other sadists, who practice sadism consensually with others, will find peace in who they are.

This is a link to an earlier post describing my path to this point,

All the best,

Tom

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

I am a Masochist

Master worked very hard, when we first met, to convince me that I was, in fact, a masochist, and then to help me accept and come to terms with that self-description.  It was a label that scared me, and one that I fervently and adamantly denied -- for a really, really long time.  Eventually, I grew to embrace the obviously accurate nomenclature, and life went on.  It does not bother me, anymore, to claim that label for myself.  In a sense, I am even proud of the gift that it represents in my life -- although to be sure, there are very few opportunities to actually give voice to the declaration.  Among all the declarations of who I am that are perfectly normal and entirely acceptable (I am a liberal, a teacher, a lover, a friend, ...), the one self-descriptor that would stop most conversations, and create huge difficulty is that one:  "I am a Masochist." 

I did hear myself saying those exact words in a conversation just a few days ago (with someone who is fairly new to all of this), and I was struck by the odd, airless feeling that they create in the room.  No one blinked, and no one evidenced any judgement, and the impact of those words was undeniable.  I let the sound of them sit there between us for just a minute, and then I went on to try and explain my particular experience of that reality -- and life resumed its usual cadence. 

For myself, it feels as if my masochism has revived.  I am drifting in and out of a variety of masochistic fantasies -- both awake and while dreaming.  I am experiencing a sense of being sexually alive, and for me, that is indistinguishable from being masochistically hungry.  I am finding my way back into some sort of affirmative relationship with sadomasochistic play, tolerating pain and accomodating intense sensation better than I have for a longish while.  I am actively initiating SM interactions between He and I, and finding my way through those interactions with less emotional trauma or anger than has been the norm for the last few years.  To me, that feels good and positive and healthy.  I feel like it calls for a c e l e b r a t i o n.  I do.

Unfortunately, when I search for positive and affirming information about the way I am, it is seriously lacking.  Type in Internet search terms like "masochism" or "libido+masochism" or "healthy masochism," and page after page after page of results will describe how dysfunctional and unhealthy people like me really are.  Even as work is continuing to remove BDSM lifestyle choices from the DSM, the word has not spread very far.  As far as the society at large is concerned, as far as the average person can tell, the way I am, the things I do, the life I live is simply sick and wrong -- in need of immediate and intensive psychiatric interventions.  How sad. 

What that means, in practical terms is that essentially nothing at all has changed in the last 10 or 12 years.  There has been no effective shift in the perceptions of the mental health professionals that WE all have to deal with when issues arise for us in that realm -- and then no shift in the perceptions of the ordinary people who are our neighbors and co-workers and wider community.  What that means is that, no matter how I am experiencing my intimate life, I must travel about in an environment that perceives me in the most negative and damaging terms.  It doesn't change who I am, and it really doesn't have an enormous impact on my day to day life, but it does cause me to be more aware of my assumptions.  No matter how I see myself, it is probably important to understand that my view is in a very serious minority. 

swan

Columbus Pride -- 2010

Each year for the last three years, we've taken part in the Columbus Pride parade. It continues to be one of the highlights of our year as we get the chance to immerse ourselves in this amazingly affirmative demonstration of community.

Today's celebration was joyful and the day was absolutely gloriously beautiful. Here are some of the photos from the lineup to the actual parade route. There are even a couple of delightful young "fairies" that we were given permission to photograph by their moms...

swan

Taking Care of "The Jones"

I indicated, in the Please? post that I had developed a sudden jones for a real session -- a "real" spanking that would carry me AND Him beyond the sort of routine and mundane sadomasochistic play that we've fallen into over the last couple of years. 

That slang term, "jonesing" means "to crave, or to desire strongly."  When "jones" first appeared in African-American slang in the early 1960s, it was as a noun meaning "a drug addiction, especially to heroin.   No one seems to know why "jones" took on the slang connotation of "a drug habit," but by about 1970, "jones" had percolated into more widespread slang use in its modern "gotta have it" sense.  That, surely, makes it work for where I was yesterday morning when I woke up, and when I wrote about it here. 

Of course, like just about everything else in our world, this did not go down simply or smoothly.  I told Master about it almost as soon as I'd posted it, and He went immediately to read what I'd written.  He was thrilled (surprise, surprise), and told me that He'd been fantasizing about that kind of session for awhile.  We were on the same page!  Hooray!

Unfortunately, He had a doctor appointment at mid-day yesterday, and so suggested that we could play when that was done.  OK.  Seemed reasonable to me.  So, we got busy and got cleaned up and headed off to see the doctor.  When we arrived for the scheduled appointment, we found that the doctor was running seriously behind.  We sat in the office and waited for well over an hour, and by the time we got in and finished the appointment -- and then drove home, it was well after 3PM .  Neither of us had eaten, and so there went the afternoon.

He began discussing the alternative of playing today.  And, I began to fuss.  I was not at all sure that my "jones" would stick around that long, and without that craving to shore me up and fire my masochistic fervor, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to actually go through with what I'd imagined, and what, as a consequence, He was planning.

I woke up in the very early morning hours today, around 2:45, and was just devastated.  There was no sign that my jones was still working.  Jones seemed to have moved on down the road, perhaps heading for some lucky masochist living in Topeka...  I was afraid and sad.  It just didn't seem fair!  I rolled over in the darkness and began to work to reach some sort of place of acceptance with it all... back to my trusty mantra:  "I love You, Sir.  I love You, Sir.  I love You, Sir..."  Over and over and over.  Those words were droning away in my brain when I finally fell back to sleep, and still rolling around when I opened my eyes again. 

He was already up when I woke up this morning.  Stumbling, sleepy-eyed out into the living room, I found Him sitting on the couch, surfing the web, and sounding despondent and sad.  Oh no!  Not a good sign.  I figured there was no way that we'd be playing if He was feeling "low."  It just takes too much energy from Him to pull off a good session.  If He's not feeling up to par, it isn't going to go well.  It made me sad, but there isn't any point in insisting if He's not "into" it. 

So, I fixed His breakfast and went to get cleaned up.  I have needed to go get some fasting blood work done, so I asked Him if it was alright with Him if I went and did that.  He offered to go with me and I was happy to have Him because I wasn't entirely sure how to find the place by myself.  So we were off together, and by the time we returned He seemed to be in a better place.

There were some odds and ends of things that we needed to attend to -- some residual work needing to be done to complete His father's taxes from last year, and a transaction that He wanted to make to replace a worn out sofa on T's side of the house, and some conversation with the attorney regarding His work situation...  The everyday sorts of stuff that can suck up hours if you aren't paying attention.

And then ...  Around about 2:30 this afternoon, He suggested that maybe it was time -- was I up for playing?  Up for it?  Up for it?  All the waiting, and the sense of disappointment when it seemed as if it wasn't likely to happen had completely rejuvinated my wayward and fickle JONES, and I was sooooo... ready! 

We pulled the spanking bench out into the living room and wandered about closing the blinds and locking the doors.  We rounded up the toys and found the one blindfold in the place.  I got onto the bench and He settled me with the blindfold and the usual restraints on my knees and wrists.  I felt calm mostly -- a bit apprehensive, but not at all freaked out or crazy. 

It was a session.  Lots of different implements including paddles and straps and His beloved switch rod and the dressge whip -- even a newly acquired rubber flogger that I have been completely terrified by ever since it arrived a couple of months ago.  The switch rod had me convinced that it was cutting me to shreds, and in fact, I did bleed enough to require a bandaid after He used it.  Still, I was able to accommodate and tolerate everything He used on me, and when it was over with, I was left feeling soft and grateful, if a little shakey.  He got me some milk, and tucked me into bed with ice packs.  After a bit of time to allow the ice to do its work, we made love, and that was good too. 

So, my friend Jones, got well taken care of.  It ended up feeling like He and I had done something together instead of in opposition to one another.  Tonight, both of us are feeling calmer and contented with each other.  It is a very nice feeling. 

swan

Please?

Here in southwestern Ohio, there's a unique and very distinctive local speech mannerism.  If you come across a "local," born and bred in this region, native, you will find that if you speak to them and they do not understand what you said, of do not hear you clearly, they will respond, "Please?"  Not "What?"  Not "Excuse me?"  Not "Say that again?"  Just a very soft, very pleasant, very inflected "Please?"  Some people believe that the Cincinnati Please is a remnant of the city's very German immigrant beginnings.  In German, the word "bitte" can be used to mean "pardon?" but also "please," and so there is a connection. 

That little bit of linguistic sight seeing may not be interesting to anyone but me, and it really has nothing at all to do with what I am wanting to write here today.  I am stalling.  I am.

Because.

I have a huge (well for me anyway) spanking jones going on.  I've been awake, off and on, through the night imagining a "real" session -- not the sort of scaled back, scaled down, sort of hurts but not really, doesn't take me all the way there kind of play we have gotten into lately.  AND, I do know that that is the only sort of play I've been willing/able to tolerate for a very long while.  So, I am asking, "please, Sir..."  Can we play today?  Please?

My jumbled imaginings include a whole bunch of elements with no plot and no real story line. 

I want the spanking bench.  I want to feel the cool, soft leather under my cheek.  I want to be able to sink in and be sure of the support of that sturdy and solid bit of furniture holding me up and holding me down.  Safe and secure.

I want a blindfold.  I don't know for sure why.  We don't ever do that.  I am not even sure that we have a blindfold, but there must be something we could use.  Usually, I hide my face during a spanking.  I have a very soft, very used, travel style neck pillow, and I hold onto it and sink into its darkness.  Shutting out the visual images around me helps me focus and settle.  I want to not have to manage that today... 

I want (in no particular order) a whole host of toys, many of which are not my usual preferences.  I am always glad for the kangaroo hide cat.  That always works for me, and is not out of the ordinary.  But then -- I am longing for the cane and the very long, very narrow leather strap.  He's been using the quirt lately, and I have gotten very caught up in the sensation it causes.  I am remembering and imagining the sharpness of the red acrylllic paddle that we bought from Leather by Danny.  I am wanting the heaviness of the wenge cane.  I've been circling around the birch rod that He loves so, and wondering if I can find a place to embrace that again.  And then, lying in bed this morning, He mentioned the dressage whip, and I felt my guts tighten and my cunt start to throb.  Yes, that too.  And whatever else.  Surely, He'd have His own list... 

Please.  Sir.

swan

Local News

I know this is all over the Internet, and hardly really news anywhere, but it is "in our neighborhood," and just too ironically rich to pass it up.

Last night, our Cincinnati area was pounded by some pretty wild storms.  We had torrential rain and absolutely amazing lightning and thunder.  There were tornado warnings all over the area throughout the late afternoon and well into the night. 

At about 11:15 PM, lightning struck what has become a local landmark, and often the source of wry humor...  What the Solid Rock Church called the God is Great statue, is more often referred to (in these parts) as Tickle Me Jesus, or Touchdown Jesus, or even Big Butter Jesus (spreading the word, don't you know?).  I can't help imagining the emergency call -- "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"  "JESUS CHRIST!  He's burning!"

And then there is the ironic bit of all of this.  The Solid Rock church and Tickle Me Jesus were located, right off a major interstate highway, and only just a stone's throw away from The lightning spared the Greater Cincinnati Islamic Center just a few miles down I-75, as well as another nearby landmark:

"I can't believe Jesus was struck," said [a church member], who noted the giant Hustler Hollywood sign for the adult store across the street was untouched. "It's the last thing I expected to happen."

Take from all of that what you will...  I guess we won't be taking morningstar out to high five Jesus...

swan

The Frog Clan

Master's employment has ended.  Yesterday was His last day.  Even though the decision to eliminate His position is entirely about the bottom line, there are members of the board who would oppose His application for unemployment.

So, what might have been a relatively simple transition, leaving Him available to continue the work He loves as a volunteer, has turned ugly and adversarial.  He is fully and completely engaged in the battle, and I have no doubt it is a battle He will win.  I only wish that it didn't have to be fought.

It is likely to be a long journey as we wend our way through legal remedies and litigations.  I don't imagine it will be simple or easy -- but then it seems nothing ever is.  The image here seems to sum up the way that life goes for us these days.  For now, perhaps we'll become "The Frog Clan..."

swan

Who's Who and What's What?

The recent conversations about "roles" and "orientations" within the BDSM lifestyle points to what is a pretty pervasive blurring of the meanings of the various labels we use to describe who we are and what we do.  Describing and explaining or defining our various proclivities and permutations is not something new.  Lots of this kind of work has been done by others -- nearly all of it better than what I'll manage to put together.  Perspectives on this subject vary depending on gender and orientation.  The gay leather community looks at it in somewhat different terms than het folks do.  The graphic that I've used here, and some of the technical inspiration for this post are from Linguessa.  I'm not sure how much clarity I can add to this perennial discussion, but here goes...

Notice that the graphic is 2-dimensional.  It includes three power orientations:  Dominant, switch, and submissive.  Too, it considers three ways of being sexual or erotic:  Top, switch, bottom.  Given the limits of the format, it does not include any reference to the spectrum of sadomasochistic sexual expression, so there is no consideration of the components that might be characterized as sadist, vanilla, and masochist.

Simply, the labels Top, switch, and bottom, refer to sexual preferences, and in some contexts refer to the very literal sexual positioning of the partners.  It is language that does not originate in the BDSM community, but has its roots in the gay community.  In that context, the top is the person who "gives" and the bottom is the one who "receives."  The word "top" does not describe which partner is more dominant or more masculine (although it sometimes equates to "husband"), and the word "bottom" does not necessarily indicate which partner is more submissive or more effeminate (although it might equate to "wife").  When talking about gay sex, it is more usual to refer to someone who "goes either way" as versatile rather than calling them a switch although the terms are used interchangeably.  Whatever the sexual activity, whether it be some form of intercourse, or some form of sadomasochism, or some sort of sensual/pleasure oriented interaction, if one partner initiates and directs the action and another is receptive and follows the lead, then there is a "Top" and a "bottom."   

Every human interaction also includes power dynamics.  Within the BDSM community, people tend to identify the power and energy flows within their relationships, and sometimes they deliberately manipulate those dynamics for the mutual gratification of the partners.  In that context, the labels that people use are intended to describe who takes and holds the power and who relinquishes power.  Hence, a Dominant receives the power and is given the right to control within the relationship, while a submissive voluntarily gives up the power and control.  There is no prescribed set of activities which might encompass or manifest this power exchange.  BDSM includes a wide range of possible practices that allow individual partners to explore the ebbs and flow of power between them. 

Since each person in a relationship will have some natural inclination to locate along the continuum between top and bottom AND also along the continuum from dominant to submissive, it is possible to find Dominants who are also inclined to bottom, and submissives who act in the role of top.  Too, there really are those who readily, easily, and regularly switch.  The strict and rigid delineations that are commonly described in most people's ordinary discourse about the lifestyle are not nearly as solid as we sometimes thing that they are.  There are people who are naturally at the extremes of the scales, and others who tend to fall more along the middle of the range. 

Add the variants from the sadomasochistic axis to the mix, and things get even more complex and, perhaps, more interesting.  I've known masochists who were entirely toppy in their play style, and sadists who tended toward the submissive end of things.  There are no end of variants and gradations.  Once again, the labels help us to communicate, but only if we insist that the labels are "aids to understanding" and not the whole story.  Ever.

swan

Assumptions About BDSM

I grew up in the 1960's, and survived Catholic school.  Mine was a childhood filled with and defined by a whole lexicon of cliches and catch phrases, and I do find that I can dredge those up for just about any topic in the world...  So today's once-upon-a-time catch phrase comes down to me from a former elementary school teacher -- a Catholic nun, who lived in my child's world complete with a floor length black habit and veils and wimple...  Sister would sometimes look at the room full of us, and lay this old saw on the lot of us:

Remember that when you assume, you make an ass out of U and ME.

I was set off into that bit of pondering, by a recent comment made on my switching post: 

I understand switching for people who play at BDSM. But it always seemed to me that you really believe you are a slave and he really is your Master. No playing around. No games.  So it's hard for me to understand the switching thing in your particular relationship. Can you maybe elaborate on how you struggle to obey him in all things and strive to be his slave, etc., then put him in a submissive position to you, and then go back to being his slave again? 

The commenter was clearly not trying to be provocative or at all disrespectful, but was clearly curious, and I was struck by how much that set of queries reflects a whole range of ideas and assumptions about BDSM and the roles people take on within the lifestyle.
One of the hardest things about addressing an assumption is catching it when it occurs.  After all, our assumptions are our assumptions, and so we just assume that they are accurate -- if we think about them at all...  Since so much of what people know (or think they know) about BDSM comes from media that are purely fictional, or nearly so, much of the publicly held assumption set about the practices encompassed within the lifestyle is grounded in basic information that is simply unreliable and untrue.  So it is that we in the lifestyle continually have to explain that not all women are submissive nor are all men dominant.  Being into BDSM, in whatever form, doesn't mean that any one of us is sexually promiscuous, or sexually available -- even if that is the notion that is held by most of the people in the mainstream.  No matter what you read, there is no "one true way" to do any of this.  The various labels that we use and adopt to describe ourselves and our proclivities help us to talk with one another, but may not mean what anyone else thinks they mean, and they only tell you just a little bit about us, so don't assume that if you meet a Top or a masochist or a switch that you have a clear picture of that individual.

So, take a look at my commenter's assumptions --

1)  I understand switching for people who play at BDSM...  This bit points to a pretty ubiquitous view that is common inside the lifestyle and outside it as well.  Somehow there is this notion that it is either all or nothing.  That you are either "real" or you are a "player," and that to "play at" this makes you somehow "less."  I think its a sad and limiting view that precludes the variations in mood and intensity that are a very normal and lovely part of human relating.  That either / or dichotomy means that there is no room for those who might by times be playfully serious or seriously playful or playfully playful or seriously serious.  Whatever the descriptor that a person might attach to their most intimate relationship, wouldn't all of us point to times when we were in each of those modes?

 2)  Can you maybe elaborate on how you struggle to obey him in all things and strive to be his slave, etc.,...
Struggle and strive.  What a negative valance to put on what is, at its root, a relationship of love and devotion.  I have my struggles, to be sure, but I recall my very vanilla, and very typical mother struggling by times within the boundaries of her traditional marriage.  It is true that I lay my struggles and my doubts out here for the whole world to see, and perhaps to the person who looks in from outside it does seem as if it is all sturm und drang.  That is a function of my tendency toward self-absorption, melodrama, and overblown writing...  I do not struggle to be His slave.  I AM His slave.  The level of accomplishment that I achieve in the living of that chosen life varies from moment to moment and event to event, but it doesn't change the base level truth of who I am.

3) ...then put him in a submissive position to you,...
Ahhhh...  here's the ultimate "gotcha."  The assumption that a Dominant must forever and always maintain the authority of the position, and that if He should ever waiver or ever soften or ever step outside of the stereotype, then He would be not Dominant but submissive, is just silly.  Submissives are human.  Dominants are human.  People are as varied at the flowers, and there is no one right way to do it.  I've probably read at least a thousand accounts that referred to THE LOOK or THE VOICE that submissive women so often attribute to Dominant men, and I've seen THE LOOK and heard THE VOICE myself -- just not all the time.  Sometimes He is quiet, sometimes He is silly, sometimes He is preoccupied, sometimes He is sad, sometimes He is bored.  He doesn't have just one facet to His personality, and neither do I.   When I held Him in my arms and crooned little meaningless assurances into His ear when He wept with grief at the loss of His father, was I putting Him into a submissive position?  When I cleaned up His puke and wiped His ass while He recovered from abdominal surgery, did I place Him into a position of submission?  If I balance the checkbook and pay the bills, am I making Him submissive when I say, "No, we cannot afford to buy that this week...?"  There is no set of behaviors that make someone Dominant, and there are no prescribed behaviors that define submission either.  If He sometimes likes the sensations created by spanking, and if I willingly and competently allow Him to experience those sensations at my hand, who is Dominant and who is submissive? 

4) ...and then go back to being his slave again?
People continue to fall into this fallacy, that "being His slave" is a put on, something that I do and then do not do.  I am always His slave, no matter what I am doing or thinking or feeling.  Sometimes I am right here, at His side, pouring His drinks and fetching His slippers.  At other times, I am away, seemingly independent, working or shopping or performing some other task away from His sight and His immediate and direct control.  I remain His slave.  Sometimes I adore Him and think He is simply the grandest and finest Man it has ever been my privelege to know.  At other times I think He is the meanest, snarliest, foulest bastard on the planet.  I remain His slave.  Sometimes I am completely happy and secure and contented with the life we share.  At other times, I am restless and prickly and disatisfied.  I remain His slave.  That "always and all ways" line that He and I use is not just some cute throw away.  We mean it.  He means it, and so do I.  There is no "going back" to being His slave, because there is no "going away" from being His slave.  I don't think that is unique to our M/s dynamic.  I think there are people who develop vanilla and traditional relationships that exhibit those same kinds of constancy -- I've seen it, and I imagine I'm not the only one. 

Do not assume.  Do not assume you know who I am or who He is.  Do not assume that you know the all and all of any other human person.  Try, if you can, to take others at their word, to give others the benefit of the doubt, to believe that most of the people that you come across are doing the very, very best they possibly can.

swan

Summer Vacation?

Always, I look forward to the beginning of summer vacation.  I get sooooooo.... tired by the time the school year ends.  The end of the year, well in fact, the whole cumulative effect of teaching through the year, leaves me worn out and spent.  So.  The coming of summer "vacation" seems like a gift, and a welcome bit of respite from the intensity of my working life.

Except.

Except that there are so many projects that I put off as I go through the school year.   There are so many bits and pieces that get delayed "until summer."  The first few days and weeks of my summer "break" are always filled with the kind of time consuming, labor intensive projects that I'd probably do bit by bit through the year, if I were here everyday all day.  The fact is that I'm not...  Here.  I am there in my classroom with my kids, and there are things around the house that necessarily go on hold until June arrives and I can get to them. 

So, now it is June.  I am "off" from school, and there is time for me to focus on the pure and simple brute effort that causes organization and tidiness to occur.  Yesterday, I worked on the kitchen pantry, and today -- the garage.  Our small condos don't have a lot of storage space, and the garages become the primary space for storing our stuff. 

I know that this is the mundane and probably boring detail of our day-to-day lives, and that it is of very little interest to most people, but it is what it is.  I am foolishly satisfied with the results of my labor when it looks like this.  Even without before pictures, I hope it seems clear to those who might care, what I've achieved in these first days at home.  Here you go -- my garage and my kitchen pantry...

swan

Playing Together -- Switching

Playing together can be fun.  We haven't gotten into the "fun" part a whole lot in the last few years, but then our lives have been wrapped up in lots of other things that sapped our energies and diverted our focus.  Just recently, though, we've begun to regain that sense of playfulness that was once the cornerstone of our SM relatedness. 

Part of that shift back to a more playful style with each other has been the resurfacing of His desire and willingness to bottom some of the time.  That used to be a regular feature of our relating.  When I first came to Him, He liked to take the bottom role on a fairly regular basis; enjoyed the sensations I could create for Him; felt secure enough in His own power, and with me to simply let go and experience some of what might have been exclusively "my world."

When He first asked me to "top" Him, it created all sorts of qualms and questions and fears and worries.  I was "brought up" in a DD world, and in that world the consensus is generally that the HOH has to be "consistent."  A "true" HOH would never, having established the authority and right to be the leader in the family, give over that authority so as to allow himself to be spanked!  Inconceivable!  The notion that a secure and accomplished Dominant might want and enjoy the occasional opportunity to bottom just rattled my world. 

Along with that completely ridiculous baggage, I worried that I didn't have the skills -- I was truly afraid that I'd hurt Him.  Understanding that "hurt" is part of the deal in SM play didn't make me feel any more settled about the possibility that I could, with an errant hit, really injur Him.  I was, honestly, just a wreck over the whole thing. 

But, He was determined.  He wanted this.  I was His, and so...  I learned.  It wasn't as difficult as I imagined, and I mastered the techniques needed to become a pretty competent Top.  I was not ever a particularly sadistic Top, and in time, I learned that I could function in that role in a way that brought us both real pleasure.  We'd often play in tandem.  He'd play with me, and then I'd switch roles and play with Him.  It was a sort of circular exchange that was remarkably sensual and deeply connective. 

Then, He passed through a number of daunting health challenges including a knee replacement and progressing arthritis, spinal stenosis, the bariatric surgery and the bowel obstruction...  In all of that, in aging, in confronting a whole host of life stresses, He simply lost interest in bottoming with me or anyone.  I have missed it on some level...  More than once, I've told myself (as I struggled to hold on through a very difficult session) that He would understand better if He were still switching with me... 

So, I've been heartened in the last few weeks as He's began to circle around the idea of maybe wanting to be spanked -- just a little and nicely :-)  Heartened, but also skeptical.  As long as He was just poking at that idea, I've been sort of dismissive of the whole thing...  "Right.  You will let me know if and when You are actually ready to try that again, Sir."  Shrug. 

It was the night before last when, after I'd had Him on the massage table, after a really good backrub, He said to me, "I think you need to spank me." 

"Really?"  Yes.  And so, it was that we delved back into the intricacies of switching with one another.  There was lots of hand spanking, and some experimenting with a few, fairly light implements.  I also got out that round, BDSM logo paddle just so I could test out my perception of its shape with Him.  Did it seem "rectangular" to Him?  He didn't actually confirm my experience, but did postulate that it was about only perceiving the portion of it that actually lands on your butt...  I guess that makes sense.

He liked it.  Enjoyed it.  Felt happy afterwards.  So, maybe, once again, He and I will find our way into the intimacy of switching sadomasochistically now and then. 

swan

Retirement

We've battled -- well really, He's battled -- for many years now to keep the non-profit agency that He directs afloat in very difficult economic waters.  For the most part, He has been alone fighting that battle;  the board that should have backed Him up, supported the work, and beaten the bushes for funding and partners, has been inert except when it has been openly oppositional.  With each passing day, as the picture grew more and more gloomy, He has struggled to maintain His optomism and enthusiasm for the work.  It has been a very wearying road, and He has about run out of energy and enthusiasm. 

In the last weeks, He has begun to consider the path toward retirement -- after 35 years, He has just about decided it is time to give up this work and move on.  It is not an easy decision, and it will necessitate some moves to pare down and scale back.  We've calculated ways we can save money, and we've calculated expenses versus potential income, and we think that it adds up financially.  We are believing that there are ways for us to make this work, but it is a scary time for Him and for us all.  On the other hand, there is the potential for much more freedom and much less stress.  After years of fighting dragons on behalf of those who most needed His advocacy, He might have the opportunity to pursue His own agenda and His own interests...  Perhaps you will all see more of His writing here in the months to come.

There is something odd and almost surreal about how this is going -- on one hand, we are living our lives, going on about our business, doing what we have always done.  But then, there have been days and weeks of worry and distractedness and pricky-ness always ready to boil to the surface.  He is dealing with some significant stress, disappointment, and anger, but too, He is looking forward to being released from the continuing battle.  It's such a strange transition to navigate. 

His has been a long life of working to help those who were least able to speak for themselves in our culture.  It has been an honorable and worthy career.  It seems unfair that, here as it comes to an end, there will likely be few accolades and even fewer words of thanks from anyone -- simply an ending, and if we are lucky, some months of unemployment insurance to help bridge the gap between now and the time when He can begin to draw on His social security.  Those who would speak their thanks almost to a person have no words to speak at all...  Knowing the good that had been done for so many years, for so many people ... will have to suffice.

I know that part of Him is looking forward to not having to go out to slay dragons day after day anymore, but I worry about what He will do...  He is too alive and too vibrant to come home and sit in a rocking chair for very long.  Perhaps, there will be freedom and time to do some of the other things He loves.  Perhaps He'll find a way to be in "the lifestyle" community with more energy and personal openess than have been possible before.  I don't know.  Neither does He.  The only thing that seems clear is that the immediate future will be different than we imagined.  We will find our way, love one another through the scary and challenging moments, live our lives with joy and courage, and look forward to the mornings we have to wake up with one another...  Always and all ways.

swan

Yes. Foreplay.

Sometimes I am amazed at how two pretty bright, well-educated people can be so -- dense where it really matters.  Between us, He and I have more education than many people, and I usually think we've got a fair level of experience and common sense.  Yet, when we get into the very center and heart of our intimate relationship, we are as awkward and clumsy as any pair of 16 year olds in the back of Daddy's Buick. 

I am at least half the problem... maybe more than half.  Between my natural shyness, and my honest lack of understanding of how my own body works in the aftermath of the hysterectomy, I am clueless and frustrated and scared when it comes to things sexual.  I have fostered and nurtured a stubborn and lingering belief that there is some magical formula that could reawaken my sexual nature, but I had no plan for how that would ever happen.

As for Master, remember that He is the Man that T and I refer to, sardonically, as "Mr. Romance."  He'd be happy to do whatever it is that would make me happy, but as long as He's happy, there's no driving need on His part to figure that out.  That isn't a character flaw.  It IS a Dominant thing -- it is the nature of these types to see the world in terms of how things are working for them.  So, when I look unhappy, and dissatisfied, it distresses Him, and unless He can get some clear sense of what the problem is, His reaction is one of frustration.

That's where we've been.  For a very long time. 

Yesterday's post gave us both the key to unlocking the puzzle that has so baffled us.  Finally, I found enough words to clearly explain what I've needed and what might work.  Armed with that tiny, little bit of information, He took us both into a wonderful session and subsequent love-making that brought us together to a peak we haven't reached in a very long time...leaving me walking around in my own mind going "WOW!"  Just "WOW!"

He started out, simply enough, just stroking my skin, my face, my back -- finding, as He went, places that tickle.  I am not particularly ticklish, but when He stumbles onto a tickly spot, it just destroys me.  Tickling makes me giggly, silly, and leaves me feeling very girlish. I will always protest, "no tickling!"  It is a wildly vulnerable place for me, and I like it and resist it with almost equal fervor...  Which, of course causes Him to take particular note of those places.  Of course.

Nipples.  Next.  Yes.  Sucking and nuzzling.  Still nothing very intense, but my whole body felt awake and alive and eager.  Easy.  That would be me.  Really.

He began to slap, very lightly and very gently and very quickly, at my pussy -- and I was immediately entranced, captured by the rhythm and percussive sensations He was creating.  I'm not really "into" gynotorture, but my simplest fantasies almost always involve some sort of pussy spanking -- the sort of thing that verges onto painful, but is way more about control and vulnerability than pain.  This was right there for me...  more breath-taking than miserable; more intensely connective than painfully demanding.  By the time He was ready to move onto spanking, I was gasping, writhing with need and desire and wanting.

And, so we came to the SM that is foundational between us...  Still in our bed, and over the "spanking" pillow, I was not afraid, not despairing, not panicked, not feeling somehow defeated before we began.  Instead, I was eager to go where He would take me, sure that He would manage it all and keep me safe.  Already a little "out there," the endorphin cocktail was at work in my bloodstream and brain.  I am "sloppy" when I fly.  I tend to drool and slobber and jabber away incoherently.  I can hear the words in my head, but the sounds that I make sound garbled and muddy in my ears.  I know that I felt more curious than I usually do in session.  There were sensations that I just couldn't match up with any of the implements we have.  Once or twice, I think I asked Him, "What is that?  What IS that?"  With one paddle, I was totally amazed when He showed it to me -- it is a round, fairly thick piece, made of pine.  It has the BDSM logo on its surface.  We rarely use it, and I would have sworn that it was some sort of smallish, rectangularly shaped, long, thin bit.  How very odd -- that discrepancy between the reality and the physical impression. 
He spent some time, making rapid fire strokes with our old, wonderful rattan cane.  I got that it was some sort of "stick" thing, but again, couldn't identify it exactly.  He went easy with the cane.  There were very few full on cane strokes, and only the cumulative fire of those many, many whippy little tattoo beats. 
In between, He'd rub me and stroke me and spank me with His hands.  I felt Him reaching out to me and grounding me with His touch, and it both calmed and reassured me.  I knew, in the midst of each of those intervals, that He'd be back with something more intense, but it was all OK.  I was able to rest under His hands and just be there with Him.  No analyzing the earlier bits, and no worrying about the things yet to come...
I kept repeating my "good" session mantra:  "I love You, Sir," over and over and over, but by the time He got to His newest, current favorite paddles, I think I was reduced to only "Sir! Sir!  Sir!"  It seemed that was all my brain could manage at the end. Can you say, "lalalalalalalala?"  Even that ritualized protocol that requires that I kiss the paddle and thank Him for my spanking seemed a little muzzy.  I'm not sure I got it quite right.  I knew the words, but couldn't seem to form them up.  Whatever I did get out, He seemed satisfied enough. 
He told me I could roll over, and I remember wrestling with the silly pillow, unable to get up off it, and not really able to get it out from under me.  I just couldn't make my limbs work very well.  I think He came and pulled it away and took it to its spot in the corner.  He pulled me in, held me close, and did a bit more pussy whacking...  When we did, finally, make love I was so ready, so eager for Him inside of me.  We rode together to the first shared orgasm we've enjoyed for months and months and months.  When it was all over, I'd have stayed right there, forever, in the magical place He made for us.  I was afraid to move or breathe too much -- not wanting to break the spell...  It was wonderful, and I am anxious to try it all again. 
Thank You, Sir!

swan

Foreplay?

Just a bit ago, morningstar wrote a piece on her blog about "excitement."  Her post caught me on so many levels that I couldn't even begin to respond at the time.  I was angry, confused, frustrated, and completely unable to sort any of it out and make some sort of coherent sense of it all.  Now, a few days later, here's the part that speaks to me --

"They say that sex / orgasms are mostly in the brain........... I think BDSM is mostly in the brain too...... The building of excitement / anticipation is just like really good foreplay ..."

It is no secret to anyone who has read here for any amount of time that I have had my very real struggles with both my sexual response and my BDSM response in the last few years.  I've consistently pointed back to that December 29, 2005 moment when, undergoing a hysterectomy and oophorectomy, I found myself thrust suddenly into the land of menopuasal femaleness.  It was the day that everything changed for me physically and hormonally. It sucked.  It sucks.  There is no going back, and there is no recovering what was lost.  If I had known then what the consequences would be, I'd have never consented to the surgery.  Never. 

However.  I am now convinced, nearly 5 years later, that it isn't all about the hysterectomy.  The fact, that morningstar pointed to, is that (at least for me) sex and BDSM and sex and BDSM and sex and BDSM and sex and BDSM are the same.  Those two things are NOT two things -- not for me.  I am a female and a masochist and, sex and BDSM are wrapped entirely around one another in my experience.  I cannot and do not respond sexually when there is no sadomasochistic valance.  Conversely, I cannot and do not respond masochistically when there is no sexual component.  Plain, old, garden-variety, vanilla sex excites me in exactly the same way as doing the ironing, the dishes, or the floors.  I can do it.  I DO do it.  It is a very "workman-like" sort of task -- get on it, get it done, get on to the next thing.  In the same way, tie me down and beat me SM leaves me empty and sad.  I know there is some sort of soaring and powerful connection to be made, but if I gut it out through a session, telling myself that it doesn't matter, that I'm just a butt (or just a slave), and feeling no sense of male-female connection in the midst of the pain, then there is no joy or release or pleasure for me in the event. 

And...that weird, jumbled up reality just confounds Him.  He doesn't get it; doesn't understand how it works; reads it all as some sort of recalcitrance on my part.  Foreplay, sexual or sadomasochistic, isn't part of our repertoire.  The business of spanking and fucking is just that around here -- all business.  SM isn't supposed to be "pleasurable," and sex is a pretty neat, but very prosaic activity that involves getting Him hard and then getting Him off.

So, my initial visceral response to that post of morningstar's was really a stomping, pissy, mental diatribe with that sort of incredulous sound to it -- "FOREPLAY?  Really?  What the hell?  Who does that?  Waaaaaa, waaaaaa, waaaaa!  Poor, poor, pitiful me..." 

I don't know.  He claims I don't tell Him what to do, or what I want.  He feels frustrated that I can't give Him specifics and some sort of road map -- touch here and rub there...  I wish we could explore more -- slowly and tentatively and without some rush to "get there," and "get on" with the REAL stuff.  He just wants to know what to do -- how to FIX this.  How "guy" is that? 

I don't know -- Google really isn't much help here.  There is no how to do good foreplay in 10 easy lessons book or website (at least not that I can find).  Somedays, like today, I feel pretty hopeless about the whole business.  After all, I'm 55 -- not some cute, young honey just starting out.  It is way too late to be renegotiating the whole sex thing with a lover and a Master.  There are lots of things that are in the rearview window of my life -- I'm never going to play concert piano, and I'm not likely to ever get to the summit of Mt. Everest, and I'll never travel the world.  There comes a time when a person ought to just grow up and live the life that is -- and this is a good life.  I am well and healthy and I have people who love me.  I have work that matters, and that I enjoy.  My home is comfortable.  My kids are grown and good.  It ought to be enough. 

swan