Toy Collection Report #8

It isn't just "spanking"with us. Spanking is sex and intimacy and connection and adventure and joy and love and life between us. There was a time when I came to the beginning of a session with eagerness and anticipation and a hunger that seemed as if it might never be satisfied. Those days seem long gone. I am seldom eager anymore, and I usually anticipate that sessions will be difficult and painful. The hunger, however, remains. As complicated as our SM has become, we remain partners and lovers -- matched as well as it is possible for two people to be. He is every bit the Man that I fell in love with, came to from across the continent, and gave my whole self to almost seven years ago...

This morning, I learned again, what it is to be fully and utterly wrapped up in His power.

Our session began with some difficulty. The various health issues that confront us daily make the simple logistics of playing seem daunting. What seems to work best for Master, at present, is to have me face down over the side of the bed, but it is a position that I find uncomfortable --it hurts my knees and my ankles, and there's nothing for me to hold on to. Still, it was the option that seemed best, and so I got myself into position, expecting nothing much except to (hopefully) hold on and get through it without disappointing.

He began somewhat gently, with some hand spanking and then a light weight strap. I was feeling very emotional, but was determined not to give in to the sobbing misery that sometimes overtakes me during a session. I know that my seeming miserable can cause Him to decide to quit before He really is ready.

He began to stroke me with a knife blade, and I found myself following the strokes and sinking into the rhythm as my breathing began to calm. The hairbrush paddle was next I think, and somehow, it didn't take me to the place where I was shrieking "NO!" inside my mind. At one point He said something about it not breaking bones when He used it "THIS" way, and all I could think was -- "Wow! He did read that post..." Whatever, I found myself able to encounter the sensations without becoming totally panicked by it all.

There was some other strap -- sharp and biting, and then He finished with the lexan paddle. Just as I found myself beginning to drop over the edge toward subspace, it was over with and He was presenting me with the paddle to kiss -- the end of the session. I was befuddled -- over the edge just a bit, and without the words to say, "No ... let's go on just a bit more."

But He knew it. Saw it. Understood me in that instant better than I understood myself. I heard Him asking, "Did I stop too soon? Do you want more?" Through the fuzz and fog, I heard the words, and then had to look over them and turn them around in my mind and contemplate them and then figure out what to do about all of that. By that time, He'd decided... and on we went.

I don't remember exactly how it all went from that point. It was a Dominant and sadist, turned lose with a loopy submissive. I think He used the dressage whip, and the hairbrush paddle, and maybe a cane. I know I was sort of there, aware, but simply not in the same physical space as I was early on.

Then, in the middle of all that whipping and paddling and caning, He stopped and began toplay with my cunt. It always catches me off guard, and I think I gasped, but then I was completely lost to His whims and His intent. I don't know how long He played with me ... a couple of rocking orgasms, and the voice in my head beginning to beg, "no more... no more..." before He was done with me and I was entirely limp in His arms.

That was when He suggested a "strapping for dessert." It registered in my stupid brain that He meant THE STRAP -- the one that we usually call "the punishment strap," but I was so spacey and so happy and so sure that He had me completely in His vision, that I was more than ready to agree. That was perhaps foolhardy... I got back into position, and He laid into me with the strap. It was harsh and heavy and staggeringly painful. My head cleared very quickly as I struggled to just stay put -- and then it was over. He gathered me up, sobbing, in His arms, rocked me and crooned to me as I settled back down.

We rode together to His release, and finished lying curled up together, spent and jubilant in our private world where, for that small bit of time, everything was completely perfect.

swan

Polyamory Observations #12

I sometimes feel like a huge fraud because I am a person who lives in a polyamorous family, who loves what polyamory has offered me, and who is still scared witless about what polyamory requires.


I struggle with the fundamental emotional maturity that is required in order to get to compersion, and compersion is the heart and soul of making polyamory work. Generally, if you go looking for a definition of the word, you find definitions like this:


"a term used by practitioners of polyamory to describe the experience of taking pleasure when one's partner is with another person. It was originally coined by the Kerista Commune in San Francisco (or possibly by the ZEGG community in Germany) which practiced polyfidelity, and has since been adopted throughout the culture of polyamory. The term is often expressed as "the opposite of jealousy."


I seem to be far more likely to feel jealous than to feel joyful for my partner's joy in another, and then I generally feel guilty and ashamed because I have that response. Intellectually, I understand that our love is solid, and I know I shouldn't see every new "interest" as a threat, but my emotions still flare whenever I am confronted with the reality, or even the shadow of possibility. Given time, I usually work my way through that, but it is an intense, uncomfortable, and exhausting business, and I really wish I could just avoid the whole dance.

That's why I spend a fair amount of time looking around for resources and materials that speak to the whole notion of compersion in the context of polyamory. That searching has borne fruit this time, in an amazing find. I came across a series of essays, written by Eric Francis at Planet Waves, Inc. Beginning with an essay entitled It's Not About Sex, It's About Self, the series speaks directly to issues with jealousy and compersion. It is a huge intellectual leap from the drivel that one finds in books like "The Ethical Slut," and I am thrilled to find it. Francis looks at compersion and jealousy and speaks about both from a perspective that I've never seen anywhere else. His writing gets to some of the real "roots" of both jealousy and compersion. He sees those two responses as not "opposites," but reflections of what lies at the depths of relational health. I've "captured" bits and pieces from the various essays here. I'm not sure exactly what I can offer in addition to the elegant and eloquent work of Eric Francis. I offer the following tidbits as a beginning place for this exploration:



It's Not About Sex; It's About Self:
“Our relationship to sex and sexuality is our relationship to existence. If we feel good about our erotic experiences, needs and feelings, we tend to feel good about life. If we are bitter, if we don't get what we need, if we feel guilty or ashamed of our sexual feelings and experiences, that is most likely how we're going to feel about life.”

That seems so simple and obvious -- we are happiest and most centered when what we need is taken care of. How much easier and simpler it is to be generous when we dwell in abundance ourselves...

Touching the Goddess of Curiosity
If you asked most people what was the opposite of guilt, they would say innocence, but when do we actually feel innocent? How about this: the opposite of guilt is curiosity. Curiosity is the mind in an expanded state, ready to embrace what comes its way. Guilt is the mind in a contracted state, aware of how bad it feels or how wrong it is. Curiosity is the mind in an open state, welcoming reality into consciousness.

Open, curious, welcoming... I am wondering how it would feel to be so innocent that it would be safe to be open and curious about whatever might come to be?

The Problem of Self-Esteem
Both sanctioned forms of relationship, marriage or temporary promiscuity, imply that relationship is about property: in one case, property you keep, and in the other, property you dispose of.

In this I can sense a way to find a new bit of valuing in my relatedness. Ours isn't sanctioned in the traditional sense, and I really wonder if, in creating something entirely consensual and designed in the way we choose, we've affirmed ourselves better than we might have in something more mainstream. Does that make any kind of sense at all?

Compersion: the Only Way Out is In
Compersion is the complete acknowledgement of who a person is, in their entirety, as apart from you ... seeing a lover … in the full spectrum of their erotic reality presents a specific challenge, because it can quickly take us to the empty place where we are no longer necessary … It's as close to ego death … as we may safely approach … we are born into that emptiness, shorn of expectation, need, or the sense of loss involved with not being needed. Or, at the least, we recognize that we are needed because of the incomparable properties we possess. And in that space, we can actually exist. To offer another person your compersion is to offer them and yourself the autonomy necessary for each of us to be ourselves; and for love to be itself. It is the living expression that only truth is erotic.

I do recognize the "death" imagery of this, because that is the feeling that is almost always at the root of my jealous reactions -- that sense that I am no longer necessary simply because there is some other. I am working my way around the edges of the notion that I will always be necessary because I am unique in my own self, and therefore not "replaceable." Perhaps it is a sort of emotional and ego reincarnation that happens just as one enters into compersion; a recognition that we are, in our own right, erotic people.

There is so much here. I will likely read over and over, trying to learn at some deep level.

swan

About "Rules"

Not long ago, from out of the wilderness of the Internet, a message came up on one of my lists from a person who identified as a "Master." The message was titled "For Discussion and Comment," and consisted of a list of rules for would be submissives.

OK.

I won't even get into the content of this little bit of writing. In my view, the rules that were listed were contradictory at best, and illustrated a lack of self-awareness and personal character in their darker aspects.

But then, I suppose I'd have seen a lack regardless of WHAT was written there no matter what. The reason for that is simple: I think conversations begin with "hello." I think that the foundation for power-exchange is some sort of relationship that connects two human persons, and it is my belief that relationship is not defined by rules, but by the kind of knowing that grows when we spend a bit of time with one another.

When did we all get into such an all-fired hurry that we came to believe that basic interpersonal courtesies were superfluous and entirely unnecessary?

I "get it" that knowing who you are and what you want/need is a really important part of building successful relationships. I have no problem with identifying that you are dominant or submissive or sadistic or masochistic or switchy or poly -- or whatever collection of labels you believe describe your particular orientation. That's a very good thing. I just do not agree that being X, Y, or Z releases any of us from being human, and humans are social creatures. We are more than our sexual/erotic orientations -- hence the value of beginning at the beginning with one another.

I like "hello." I like coming to know who you are beyond the fact that you own a whip. I like knowing what makes you laugh, what makes you angry, what you believe in, what you will work for in the world. How is it that people, and perhaps especially submissive people, allow themselves to be "taken in" by someone with a fancy name and a list of rules -- and nothing at all to offer of substance? That just amazes me. If there is one place in the entire constellation of my relationships where I do not want to be connected to "an empty shirt," that would be inside of my power-based dynamic. It is never particularly easy to maintain this kind of relating, but I believe it would be nearly impossible with someone who had nothing much to offer but a list of rules.

swan

Toy Collection #8

Next on the tour of paddles is this one. It is the hairbrush paddle -- another of our Toybag Toys implements.

This is a paddle designed to look like the back of a fine wood hairbrush. It lacks only the bristles that would normally adorn its namesake. It is heavy and hard and creates a burning sensation that is very different from some of the lighter paddles in the collection.

Master keeps it close at hand, unlike some paddles that can "sink" to the bottom of the pile and go un-remembered for periods of time. This one seems to never ever disappear from view -- or use.

The biggest challenge, for me, with this particular paddle is that it is relatively heavy. It hits with a thud that makes me think that my bones are at risk. I doubt that is true, from a purely intellectual sense, but when this thing is pounding into my consciousness, it is very hard to consider the intellectual realities.

swan

This Year is Christmas

This is my little, homey Christmas tree. It went up just before Thanksgiving, way back in November -- and (minus the presents underneath) it is still up. That is because Master likes it that way. In a normal year, our Christmas trees stay up until after the Superbowl. That is, according to the One who makes these decisions, the official end of the Christmas season. Even then, the taking down of the Christmas tree makes Him sad...

Well, this is not shaping up to be a normal year.

We have just had our first consultation with the Bariatric Surgeon, and it seems we are proceeding with gastric bypass surgery for Master, AND, most likely, we will also see T enter into the program just a few weeks behind Him. This year, our household is going to make some major AFFIRMATIVE CHOICES about vastly improved health and well-being. We are holding onto one another, looking toward our future, and moving forward under the care of a man who seems to be a very good, caring, concerned, and open physician.

So, as I sit here this afternoon, in my quiet living room, looking at my little Christmas tree, I have made a "high-level executive" decision (understanding that slaves don't get to do that sort of thing -- so sue me). As of today, I am declaring that this entire year is Christmas in this family. Christmas makes Him happy, and I absolutely believe this will be the year that we give ourselves the gift of a happier and much longer future together...

The little tree is staying put. Right where it is. We'll light the lights as long as we need to -- until everyone is through the surgery, recovered, healthy, strong, and way lighter -- we'll keep the season shining. And if, friends, you want to join in the fun, you don't have to keep your tree up (or put it back up either). Just light a light in your hearts for our family. This Year is Christmas.

swan

Rick-a-Thon

This is another one of those "political" things, so if you aren't interested, just move on down your blog list...

Our house is still "bent out of shape" that the odious Rick Warren will be giving the invocation at the Obama inauguration. That said, here's an interesting twist that might make it just a little bit tolerable:

The organization "Driving Equality" is accepting pledges in what they have dubbed a Rick-a-Thon. For every second that he stands at the podium on inauguration day, Rick Warren will be raising money to help fund the fight for marriage equality in this country. You can pledge any amount you like. Every little bit helps.

Go make a contribution. Make a difference. Send a message.

swan

Intimidated

We are only a few weeks away from Winter Wickedness. The first weekend in February, we'll be heading off to spend the weekend with other kinky folks, and that has always been something we have looked forward to and enjoyed.

This time though, the impending weekend is looming and, I for one am just not looking forward to it. Everything I see and read about it makes me think that I've finally reached the point where I am just not "good" at the public scene thing anymore.

There are a very great many things that make me feel dreadfully old and over the hill these days, but as I read the many, many messages that people are posting about this event, I am more aware of that reality than usual.

I was already feeling woefully inadequate to the realities of playing in the dungeon just now -- painfully aware of how terribly wimpy I've become. Now, though, I am beyond feeling inadequate, and am entirely intimidated. All the bubbly, exuberant list messages back and forth about exotic and weird things that people are planning on doing are just making me shake my head. There was a raging debate over whether or not people could do needle play in the designated "medical" area, and then leave the needles in for the entirety of the event. There is, of course, great anticipation of spectactular suspension bondage. There is a whole group that is all a-twitter about anal fisting. Everyone is busy telling everyone else about the fact that they are "on Fetlife," and specifying where they might be found in that online community. Today, the craze seems to be purple duct tape.

That's all fine. Whatever fires your rockets, and all that... It's all good I'm sure.

Except that I am just wondering what ever happened to beat and get beaten? Because, that really is the core of our thing, and it seems that there is no place at all for our kind of BDSM. Really. It feels as if we are simply too old, and too old fashioned to sully the environs where such inventive and wildly "juicy" play will be going on. All that crude and primitive, caning and flogging and paddling just has no place in all this flash and glamor.

Blech.

Tonight, at the dinner table, when the subject came up, He said, "I don't even want to go. Let's just figure the money is gone, and stay home and enjoy the weekend..."

Yeah. Let's.

swan