Preparation for Floating World III

(Nope, I still haven't managed to make time to write about Sex 2.0, nor a recap of our first Shibaricon. Slitherings has been having a quiet little Summer, even if we haven't.)

By way of more current events, in just under two weeks we will be traveling to our third Floating World event in New Jersey.

In the end, Sir made the decision to finally register, though we had reserved our hotel room some time back. It felt good to see this was something he wanted as well. In the end, I had left the final decision up to him.

It has all become just a bit intimidating in light of how large Floating World has rapidly become, but this year's event, (taking over the entire center,) should have a flavour all its own. I see many first timers planning to attend. We tend to feel more comfortable in somewhat more intimate events, but as we've been attending the Floating World from its beginnings, it feels an event that has been an important part of our history as well. We'll have to see how it feels.

In any case, I'm edging towards packing over the next few days, probably traveling fairly lightly this year. I'm starting in on the Leathers, making sure they're polished and shined, making the difficult choices about which tools we want to take, and trying to get into the headspace it takes to be ready to enjoy an event with well over a thousand people registered.

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In light of what a brief post this is, I thought I might leave you with a visual treat; a website with plenty of links to a number of artists and and woodblock print images of Japan's Floating World, A Guide to the Ukiyo-e Sites of the Internet.

Such as this lovely offering from Ogata Gekko:

So long Bettie Page. So long, and thanks for the memories.

Like most of the rest of the world, for me it was the photographs first. Long before I knew anything about Bettie Page the person, I knew the curl of her lip, the intense look in her eyes, the dark hair, high heels and the stockings, gloves and corsets (oh my!)

Images of Bettie like the one here to the left still to this very day, hold the power to take my breath away.

I'm not going to attempt to tell her story here, most of you already either knew it, or have spent the past day or so getting acquainted with the realities of her life.

Her life beyond the photography studios and outdoor sets took her to people and places and parts of the world far from those idealized moments captured in the images.

So in writing this, I begin how it began for me, with the images themselves and the now long lost world they came from.

Her passing is an occasion to contemplate the vast changes that have taken place in the world of fetish and BDSM in relation to communications and community.

Bettie became the icon she was due to the growth of the camera clubs and Irving Klaw's mailing list of then deeply closeted (purely for day to day survival purposes) clients. She was for all intents and purposes the first bondage supermodel to what was not so much a "community," as a matter of individuals secretly purchasing the images.

The photographs and films she starred in were not so much depictions of her own sexuality, rather they were often based upon requests from those purchasing the materials.

For me, (like many of her fans,) it was always about a certain look in her eye. Be that playing the confident, playful, or sultry Mistress, or the looks of concern or even fear at impending suffering that might lie ahead of her, depicted as the helpless beauty usually whist held captive in some form of bondage.

Her acting classes aside, the photographs capture the feeling of some of the most rare moments that Kinky people treasure; looks of apprehension and loss of control, becoming a canvas to an artist, both needing and fearing what comes next.

Or the slight smile at the corners of one's owner's mouth as she prepares to correct or discipline a girl who is clearly in need of it.

Being S/switch, I've both worn and known each of those looks myself.

I've seen similar on the faces of those I've loved.

Most of all though, I understand Bettie's frequent expressions of playfulness or triumph or of sheer joy.

We catch glimpses of these, from time to time, sometimes on the faces of others, sometimes on the faces of those we love.

We know what those moments feel like.

Perhaps that was the secret of why Bettie connected with her audience in the ways in which she did.

Yes, she was beautiful, that was clear from the start. Beautiful in an iconic idealized, unattainable way when it came to real life for most. But we could recognize in those photographs moments that we ourselves had either cherished (for those so fortunate as to actually have lived such out,) or for those at the time, much more likely merely fantasized about.

Looking through the images today, one of the more interesting aspects of them is how contemporary the tools appear. So many of the same sorts of fetish items and tools were in use back then as well; laced up hobble skirts, arm-binders, hoods, leather corsets, furs, extreme heels and thigh high boots, metal fetters and shackles, chains, and clips, spreader bars, harnesses, leather gags and blindfolds, and of course, the ever present seductive lingerie.

Plenty of everyday household items make appearances as tools as well, plenty of rope and hairbrush spankings.

Another thing I find very striking about the images is that Bettie Page taught the world that yes, real Femmes can wield whips.

In a day and age where gender roles are so frequently broken down into Butch or Masculine being equated to "Dominant", and Femme or Feminine as equated to "submissive", it's remarkably refreshing to see images of a no-doubt-about-it Femme fatale not in the roles of "Service top" to a man, but as an active Mistress in her own right, secure in her own oh so Femme skin.

Which happily brings us to the obvious. Many of these were portrayals of womyn playing with other womyn- unapologetically so. While such clearly had much to do with the inner fantasy life of the (male) clientele, the interactions still portrayed possibilities.

For Queers such as myself, who discovered Bettie during her 'cult following' resurgence, these were some of the few images of womyn training, controlling, and "correcting" one another we had available to us that provided a sense of ourselves as having a form of a pre-existing historical yet fully modern context.

"Coming to Power" was first published in 1981, but by and large any form of organized Leather was in many ways still a male domain. Straightforward images of womyn "doing THINGS" to one another along these lines while certainly practiced, had very little imagery as fodder for fantasy.

You can only imagine my happiness at having discovered images of Bettie on her knees 'in service' as a Lady's maid, or of her lovingly domineering a bound and gagged female victim.

While these may have been images created for men, certainly the Lady's maid imagery implies a fantasy relationship wherein for even just a snapshot, the world narrows down to just these two womyn, a shared intimate moment, and a smile.

These images were important, not only to me, to other kinky and Leather womyn as well. They were more than fantasy material.

For S/switch womyn they held double meaning, did we want to submit to her or feel powerful and beautiful like her when we are in control. Did we empathize with her as the bound beauty or did we long to be with, and a possess a womyn like Bettie ourselves?

These were images that related to how we envisioned structuring our relationships, not of an occasional hot date on a Saturday night.

They had to do with both womyn we dreamed of sharing our lives with and at the same time, our own self images as womyn of Leather.

Unfortunately, unlike the fantasy world of the images themselves, and the aspects of womyn's sexualities portrayed in them, Bettie's own life experiences beyond the lens had a very great deal of sadness to it.

Her "real world" actions and religiosity cast a dark cloud over the photographs which had been at the time so important to me.

In the late 50's she underwent a religious conversion experience that ultimately aligned her with the very people who sought to stamp out the very things she herself had participated in. This led to a self imposed closeting, and later life fraught with contradictions.

(For more detail on some of the following see Chapter 10 of "The Real Betty Page" by Richard Foster. The book is well, the book, but this particular chapter does give an account, with many of the names and dates being useful.)

On New Year's eve 1958, she attended a service of what has now become the Key West Baptist Temple (At the time it was the "Latin American Baptist Temple." The preacher that night was Morris, or M.O. Wright. He had gotten his start in the jesus business after killing a man in a fatal car wreck. He was sentenced to a year in jail. While there, he got religion, and got his start by preaching at cellmates. )

Having been born in Nashville, Tennessee in 1923, and lived in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, Betty found herself attracted to the interracial service.

Keep in mind this was America in 1958. The Civil Rights movement was in many ways in its early years. 1958 was after the Montgomery bus boycott and Little Rock, when President Eisenhower had called up the paratroopers to escort the nine black students to Central High, but well before the Freedom Riders, James Meredith, Medgar Evers, the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act, the King assassination, etc.

She went on to be described as having had a "born-again" experience when she returned to the church and participated in the altar call the following week. (Not terribly long thereafter, in 1959, the English speaking growing portion of the congregation under Wright would go on to break away from the pre-existing Cuban and Spanish speaking congregation.)

When Bettie arrived at the Latin American Baptist Temple that night it was after an argument with her then husband, Armond Walterson, one of many such arguments, that ultimately led to the end of her marriage.

A series of misfortunes had struck her in the year before, from enduring a back injury that had left her in a wheelchair for four months to financial woes that led to her being evicted from her New Jersey storage space, the owner selling all her possessions including her modeling portfolio.

In a very real sense, she had come to a place of her past being gone, and her marriage being in a very real sense over. That night as she walked down White Street, she was at a moment of openness and vulnerability.

Evangelists often prey upon those who have as they like to put it, "come to the end of themselves." And Bettie was no exception.

Though she didn't speak about her past, she was incorporated into the religious infrastructure just as many "trophy converts" are. Wright counts the infamous Betty Page among his converts.

She worked full time for the Billy Graham organization, and while at Multnomah, one of several bible school programs she was involved with, (BIOLA, the Bible Institute of Los Angles, Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, Multnomah School of the Bible, in Portland Oregon, and a christian retreat called "Bibletown" put on by the Boca Raton Community Church in Florida,) she volunteered at "The Louise Home" (a nonsectarian missionary proposition focused upon "unwed mothers".)

Also while at Multnomah she wanted to go to Africa as a missionary, but the Multnomah Mission board disqualified her for having divorced. She went on to briefly remarry her first husband, Billy Neal, which did lead to her being able to do missionary work, but that marriage was but one of her many that ended in divorce.

So why go into all this?

Well, I too have spent some long dark nights in Key West wandering down White Street towards the shore. Fortunately though, her story is most definitely not my story.

The Baptist Temple is out on Stock Island now, but it's still the local damnation awaits YOU "problem child."

They are, in short, the resident bat-shit homophobic church.

Wright can be counted onto make comments the likes of, for example, him having decided Key West's annual Halloween festival, Fantasy Fest, is "a revial of demonism and Babylonianism" and brings down the wrath of god upon Key West.

I'm not saying that Betty herself was anti-gay, merely that the preacher and church that she turned to based on her impression of its inclusiveness that was such an instrumental aspect of her conversion process, has gone on to be known for being anything but.

Betty did not talk about her former modeling career and the "naughty pictures" in her past, but clearly, if her newfound "friends" would reject her for having divorced, you can imagine what they would have thought of her had they known the full story at the time.

She embraced an identity that precluded her own history. Her quest for acceptance, while not invalidating her earlier life in any way, led to it being buried and lost to everyone except those few who perhaps having kept the pictures of the jet-haired beauty keeping memory itself alive.

A number of Bettie's later years were spent in mental hospitals under state supervision. She was finally released in 1992.

In one of the better summations of her life I've seen since her death, Peter Tupper on Beauty in Darkness: the history of BDSM described her as a "cipher," going on to explain:

"Maybe it's because she dropped out of public view before the sexual revolution really got going, and issues of sexual expression became politicized. She was an icon to a revolution that she didn't really participate in. A sex object without sexual politics, never a speaking subject."

(Although as I'll mention below Bettie herself came to be a key example of politicized sexual expression due to the Congressional hearings.)

In the end, I don't know whether or not she ever understood how much she meant to the men who hid and kept her pictures, let alone the Queer womyn who later saw in them important reflections of our sexuality, self images, and desires.

The sexual abuse and poverty she endured may have made it difficult for her to look back on parts of her modeling days.

But certainly in recent years, she has been celebrated and as new generations have found her, they too have seen in those early pictures images of beauty, or strength, of power, and a womyn not ashamed of either her actions and interactions with other womyn, nor of her body.

Klaw and thereby Bettie were subjects of the notorious Kefauver Hearings (of the United States Senate Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency.) She was called before Congress to explain the photographs but in the end was excused from testifying. Many of the negatives of the original prints were destroyed by court order.

Those that survived, survived by acts of both defiance and love.

They survived long enough for me to see myself, and the womyn I've loved in them. Long enough to provide a role model of sorts in today's kink community, that of a strong womyn of both whips and lace, a womyn whose otherwise invisible sexuality is outside of state sanction, and in relation to other womyn.

The images helped some of us see some of our desires reflected in an external culture, enacted by someone who despite her conversion experience did not feel regret over them

To quote Bettie herself, commenting on her pin-up career in a 1988 Playboy interview:

"I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal."

In feeling "normal" before the cameras, she helped some of us feel a bit more "normal" as well.

When I look at her bondage pictures now, I take them at face value, as what they were at the time. Beyond a girl earning a living, they represent a moment in time, when the " Leather community" had more to do with a bunch of gay fellas riding motorcycles who had been home from WWII for a few years.

Finding such images as close as a web search to those who lived in that climate, is an undeniable quantifiable change, (and in many ways, simply beyond comprehension.)

These were "dangerous" images that came close to being destroyed forever. Those who would if they could are still with us, many of them wearing crosses around their necks.

While remembering the history, I try to look past those whose bigotry nearly led to the destruction of these images and Bettie's own embrace of Wright, hiding her past lest she no longer be considered part of the fold, and instead, look to all that I first saw in those images.

So so long, and thanks for the memories.

Nothing can negate those.


(With special thanks to "It's just Jack"'s Bettie Page flickr photo collection and Queen of Pinups- Bettie Page)

Floating World II, Part 1 (Thursday and Friday)

We're back from Floating World a week now, and I'm only now settling back in enough to even begin to write about it all. We've been busy all week catching up with friends, going to meetings etc. I've spent some of this week reading what others have written about their experiences at the event. Naturally, I'm still feeling a bit 'spacey', not just from the event itself, but some of the things we did over the event, as well as some of the ways in which we're bringing parts of what we learned there and felt there home with us.

In many ways it was a really wonderful weekend for us, partially due to the event itself, and partially in that it was an important time for the two of us as well. Unlike many events where we have focused on gaining or practicing skills with tools, this ended up being a very relationship focused set of workshops for us. We didn't really make all that many of the presentation time slots offered as somewhere between eating, sleeping, and yes, fucking, we did a lot of talking and 'processing' some of what all we were seeing.

I'm not setting out to really go into great detail the about event in this as that would be a massive task, but also in that I think there are parts of the magick in the not knowing everything and every detail.

One small detail I should mention though, is that Sir doesn't always wear the token I gave him for our anniversary but through the course of the weekend, he made a point of keeping it on, reminding himself of who and what he was, and that meant a great deal to me. It's always significant to both of us when he wears the bracelet (despite him very definitely not being a jewelry person) and his steadfast not only wearing it, but enjoyment of it, meant a great deal to me.

It's been really amazing to watch him grow into who and what he is and gain confidence in such. I'm very proud of him, and this weekend, we felt very solid in many many ways. (Perhaps I'll write on that more later.)


Thursday

At home during the day, despite our best efforts we found ourselves amidst a packing ordeal and the gravity well that home sometimes can be. It took us much longer to get out than either of us intended. (While it was both of us, in this case I readily take the blame.) It was not the start we had hoped for.

We had made a point of getting in Thursday evening so we'd have a little time to settle in. In the end, we found ourselves in actuality getting in late Thursday due to ongoing road destruction, but then avoiding as best we can getting ensnared in road destruction appears to be another Floating World tradition of ours.

We settled into the host hotel (this year we had decided to stay at the main hotel), I unpacked, wiped the boots one last time and read a little before finally turning in. Even though we were both excited we both managed to get a good night's sleep before the event was really in full swing.


Friday

The next morning we got up and headed out for a good breakfast with lots of coffee before the first workshop at 2pm. The vendor's room was not open Friday so we focused on workshops and time together instead.

The first session was a presenter I had seen last year at Black Rose XX, but Sir hadn't so we went together so as to compare notes later. I think he got a bit more out of it than I, but that was fine. I took plenty of notes and found myself settling in. The topic at hand was moving from a BDSM centered relationship to a Master/slave based relationship.

I think for a lot of people they find a starting place and after a time come to one form or another of 'there must be more than this'-ism. The coming to plateaus and trying to find new ways of living it MORE or DEEPER is something I frequently find more of in the het leather community. (Although the session presenter himself was certainly not straight.)

This may be one place where being Queer Leather sort of made it a bit easier for many of us in that we have had role models living out forms of an M/s dynamic around us almost from wherever we started. Even the brief interludes in (mainly Gay) Leather bars and clubs I managed to occasionally be accepted in, being surrounded by and having as friends day to day living breathing examples of both Masters and slaves living out their respective roles was in some ways commonplace.

It's also worth noting that I'm glad to see Sir having an opportunity to hear more Queer voices in this. It helps him understand the culture I come from, and see in living practice some of the traditions and strengths of those who having already crossed certain thresholds at times find crossing some Leather thresholds as a 'second coming out' that much the easier for it. It is very easy for me to find presenters coming at it from some variation on a male/female dynamic, it is less easy to find spaces and events wherein Sir can intentionally expose himself to Queer Leather voices and traditions.

One of the things I've come to treasure most about the Floating World events is the cross pollination between communities, presenters, and perspectives. I consider it one of the event's core strengths. It is also part of what makes it one of the more comfortable events for me personally, in that in certain ways I end up difficult to categorize, and Leather spaces that enable such, to their very core definition, can be few and far between.

The second session ended up being my mistake. Not in that the presenter was a mistake, but in that I had intended to end up at the workshop that later went on to become the focus of some external attention. I was interested in attending not in that it's my particular kink, but in that I am interested in how we as a 'community' however loosely that may be defined are handling some of the broader cultural issues involved. (Those who know what I'm talking about know what I'm talking about, those who don't, well, so be it.)

Instead we ended up in a sensory deprivation workshop, which while pretty much review for us, was probably one of the few more dungeon practical workshops we made it to all weekend. Surprisingly, we attended very little by way of dungeon tools related sessions this year. By the end of the weekend I was feeling a little annoyed in that I do go to these events to learn skills and techniques as well as about structuring relationships and interpersonal dynamics and I was beginning to feel that lack of balance in what we were attending. This is one of the reasons we are now beginning to contemplating attending Black Rose this fall, no decision has been made on that front yet though.

Missing the intended presentation was likely a result of neither of us having spent time studying the schedule in depth in advance. I had looked over the workshops and presenters and I knew what all I hoped to see, but I had not had time to study the schedule itself in advance.

I'm still kind of kicking myself, but this is perhaps the primary 'problem' I have with the Floating World, there's simply too much good stuff going on all at once. There are easily sessions where I want to be in three or even four presentations at once. When in doubt, I try to choose things I haven't seen before, presenters I haven't seen before, and topics that I hope will stretch me or provide me with new perspectives to ponder.

The other psuedo 'problem' we also run into is scheduling meals. We tend to have those deep discussions over meals during events and utilize such as time to sort of compare reactions to what we've just seen. While we could just grab something simple on site, or nearby, we find we enjoy the event more when we actually take the time to step back, get a good meal, and 'process' at least some of the details between one set of several sessions and the next. So we sometimes find ourselves sacrificing presentations or presenters we want to see to fit that food, sleep, sex and processing around such (although be sure to note, those are definitely not in order of priority!). As the Floating World often doesn't particularly schedule a meal break, we make difficult choices as to what gets sacrificed, for this year anyway. With luck we may be able to catch similar next year or at another event elsewhere.

So we spent Friday evening over a nice dinner, talking about some of how, no we aren't people who do this at only events or on weekends or sometimes, this is our lives, yet at the same time we don't utilize some of the linguistic cues others who also live as Owners and property do. Nor do we utilize the constant ritual forms, although we certainly have our own daily rituals. Our protocols are often unwritten but there none-the-less. Our life together up to this point has made much of that very complicated in that with the travel and all, we often don't have the consistency others find helps structure their relationships.

It's possible that straightforward predictable 9-5 jobs are far more conducive to these forms of structured relationships than our lives. Not that what we live is in any way 'not ok' (I certainly wouldn't trade such) but in that it takes a certain flexibility and willingness to adapt as as schedules fluctuate. It can take a great deal of intent and focus to maintain not only the symbols and actions, but more importantly the headspace to live it out.

Now all these years in, we're beginning to quantify some of what it is we're doing and formalize parts of it that before now have perhaps not been as explicit precisely due to that schedule instability. Mainly though, we're both very aware of how in so many ways we are already living out so much despite the ever changing nature of our time together. This was to become an ongoing theme for us through parts of the weekend, that yes, we are doing certain things very successfully, though it may not always feel like such at the time. And those realizations also led to some very real confidence in what we're doing and how it works for us.

So we try to make time to talk about what we're seeing together, while also trying to pace ourselves so we can enjoy a fair amount of the weekend. By the end of the event, I sometimes feel I've missed a great deal, but neither of us are really up for going full bore, I don't think we'd get as much out of the events if we did.

Much as every time I turned around I saw another shuttle van (at the hotels at the venue, etc) we ended up taking our own vehicle back and forth if only in that it makes those trips out a little bit faster sometimes. That said, I think the shuttles are really fantastic, and had I been on my own a bit more over the weekend, I probably would have utilized them to get over to another workshop or two where Sir could have caught up with me later.

Later on Friday evening, we wandered the meet and greet just a little and I spent a little time at the Queer &LGBT meet-n-greet. There are still times and places I'm somewhat reserved in these spaces, particularly with people I don't know, but I did spend some time speaking with a very lovely couple, and there was appropriate oooooooooing and aaaaaaahing over some incredible tattoo work. In time though, I decided to head on out.

While Sir and I could have explored the Master/slave meet-n-greet, that isn't quite it either. It's not language we utilize, and not quite the way we structure our relationship, although we are finding that the M/s community is where we're most likely to find people discussing many of the issues and finer points that we end up on as well.

In the end, we went up to our room, fell into bed together and spent a little over an hour enjoying some rough sex. Sir pulled my hair and held me in place and took. It was exactly what I needed.

I don't know whether this was more a reflection of some of the conversations we had been having or more the feeling of freedom wherein in these times and spaces, being ourselves is perfectly natural. All I know is we felt close to one another and wanted each other and that at the time it was more important than anything else going on.

Later, we rushed through the shower and headed back for the final workshop session of the evening. Being late night people ourselves, the idea of a 10:30-midnight session was fine by us. I wish more events would begin to realize not everyone is all that interested at 9am sessions.

In any case, we decided on Lee Harrington's workshop on "alternative" relationship structures, and some of the language and concepts behind such. We had first seen Lee at the Ohio Leather Fest many years ago and really enjoyed the presentations. Being somewhat of a language wonk myself, I enjoyed this one as well.

One of the main points we came away from the session with, which was very much along the lines of our own thinking, is that whatever you are, however you identify, one of the important aspects of such is a form of intentionality about such. Be who you are, and know what you are, and how that lends itself to being able to better articulate what you are looking for and what your needs and wants are.

I also thought he did an excellent job of pulling apart jealousy and envy in poly relationships, and how a careful examination of the language used and why can lead to differing solutions. Saying what you really mean can help untangle some of those issues and get to the core of what it is you really need.

Afterwards we spent a little time in the massive dungeon space but decided to head back to the hotel to spend some time together instead.

Apparently I never got around to writing about it, but over last year's event, we had come back one evening and spent some time doing some beautiful and intense sensory deprivation training. It was a very important part of the event last year, to me at least, and was a memory I treasured from that first event.

This year, we came back to the room and Sir gave me another gift of an evening, hearkening back to that special memory. It was precisely the right way to begin the event, and by the time we both fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, I think we were both very glad we had decided to make the trip.

Full Moon Debachery; a Why of Leathersex

Today I'm sitting here typing in a serious afterglow. Still a bit flighty, and happily still sore, but with a sense of deep contentment; precisely the way I like feeling on 'mornings after.'

This entry, both long and perhaps a bit more explicit than what I've written here to date is such for good reason. It's going to take both some space and some detail to explain what it is I'm trying to express.

Our time together last night got initially pushed back a few hours due to other circumstances, but later on the evening we finally carved out some time to experiment with the new massage table (hmmmm, I think it needs a different name in relation to how we're mainly utilizing it, I'll have to work on that.)

It was the first time in a long time that we've had to just shut the world out and spend an evening working with the tools and being together, which is the important part for me, that connection. Sir listening for sounds, watching my breathing, gauging my reactions as together we go further and further.

All the while, as his counterpart, I am fully in the moment; sometimes looking up and seeing his reactions, or seeing THAT LOOK in his eyes, or when I'm blindfolded and can only hear him making preparations for what he will do to me, yet not knowing what will come next, being in that moment of anticipation.

Sex and even 'rough sex', sex about power and control and dominance and submission is one thing, working with the tools does something else. It's a physical ordeal that I have no choice but to give over to, it pulls me out of myself into a place where time becomes irrelevant. A place where I don't question or analyze, or pause in hesitation, or try to anticipate needs, I simply obey and am owned. I don't focus on being his, I simply AM his. In that clarity is a tremendous sense of freedom.

When I go through periods of not having those times together, no amount of sex can 'make up for it'. I crave being in those time suspended moments of clarity, anticipation, and inevitable sensation, yes even pain that only 'work' seems to give me.

But I also crave what such does for Sir, what those times do for him, his confidence, his control. Time spent together doing the 'work' is so important, that confidence and clarity spills over into other parts of our lives and our life together and provides a core where we both know what's what, and how it is between us. We both need that. We need to spend time there, as it gives everything else we do in relation to one another that foundation.

They are some of the times I feel closest to him. Without that connection, the so called 'play' can't work, no amount of pushing it, or trying to make it work can overcome it.

So late in the evening we came home, I showered and dressed and waited for him in our workspace. He came in to find me kneeling, dressed in the Catherine Coatney skirt and shirt (that he decided out at the beach that he loves on me.) I wore stockings and long gloves, my hair tucked away up in two small buns with a pair of Darklocks' Diva Falls in purple and black (called "Vertigo" for those of you interested in such details) cascading down over my shoulders.

These are new, fetishy fun goodies I picked up not long after the LF&P. They go well with all that wonderful black and shiny fetishware. As I eventually get to making the metallic purple latex dress I have in mind (and materials for) these should go a long way towards completing that look.

Naturally, Sir's response was more along the lines of a cross between being puzzled and thinking they were rather silly, but that's ok, they made him smile and I suppose that was part of what I had aimed for in the first place.

Soon enough he had me naked, lying face down on the massage table, blindfolded with the soft black leather blindfold I adore. He spent a few moments running ropes around under parts of the table, then attaching panic snaps so he would be able to change my position quickly. He pulled out the large padded black cuffs and buckled them onto my limbs, a process that always induces that 'sinking' feeling in me. I get quiet, and relax as best I can in light of what I know is coming soon thereafter.

In no time, he had me 'not going anywhere', firmly attached to the table, as if a canvas for him to 'paint' upon. First came the floggers, some soft and almost massage like, starting slowly, helping me breathe and relax, then ones with a bit more 'bite' reddening my skin, making me feel white hot searing pain up to the edge of seeing stars.

I find the whips loud in the otherwise quiet house. It seems to lead to a slight nervousness on my part, perhaps due to so many years of working in spaces with neighbors upstairs, etc. Despite the fact that Sir and I have a great deal of privacy, I sometimes find it difficult to fully relax, still being on edge that somehow someone will in some way will hear or interrupt. It's a relatively irrational fear, but one that at times makes it a little difficult for me to be fully present, fully relaxed. And that tightness in my muscles is always something I 'pay for' the next morning.

His aim was dead on. The table made a very comfortable height to work at, and allowed him to get in close to see the way I was reacting. He later told me that despite being blindfolded and face down, the sounds I was making and the slight movements of my body provided him lots of feedback. From time to time he would set the whip aside and run our 'empty rabbit' a rabbit skin across the deeply coloured areas he had just worked. The contrast between the two, the whips and the soft skin is immense. It's the slight variations that keep a flogging flowing, and keep me off balance.

At some point, he turned to the rattan canes, which so long as they're handled with timing and at times a gentle hand (alongside other times when they're NOT) I've come to love. His skilled hand uses them in many different ways; sometimes gently tapping, other times slowly increasing the intensity, and other times giving me strokes of pure fire that bloom and make me cry out.

I want to spend more time with the canes, slowly increasing my pain tolerance. In some ways I feel very out of practice at the moment.

Fortunately, as Sir was kind enough to point out, caning me gets him hard as well, so he released my hands, let me sit up slowly and he used my mouth a bit. By then I was well into that headspace that makes me both quiescent and obedient.

I've lost track of exactly how the evening unfolded, but at some point, perhaps prior to the canes he asked what I needed. I urged him towards doing some 'detail work', maybe some marks. Whenever it was, I was still blindfolded when I heard him working with something that made strange sounds I couldn't identify. The next thing I knew he was using the Chinese cupping set, with points on me. Having the cups on my just flogged back while being flogged on the ass is an acute awareness. My head couldn't get around it. It's just another of those sensations that can be used to bifurcate attention and set me out of my own control. Perplexing, but in a good way.

Afterwards he asked how I was doing and I told him I would need to change positions soon. Being the sadist he is, he had me lying on my freshly flogged backside. The result was a wonderful slowly burning anguish. So he worked over my front a bit, utilizing small clothespins, the snake bite 'suckers', and finally the vicious small round braided whip, everywhere on my breasts and thighs.

He held my head and slapped my face, first one side, then the other. He took me to that place where I get inarticulate, shuddering, and at that point where both 'stop' and 'don't stop' meld into one. It's a place where I prefer to simply be, and let him make decisions, anything else is just beyond my grasp.

So that was the point at which he decided to 'use' me. As he's getting ready, he turns to me and says "are you going to be blogging this?" and we both have a good hard laugh. (We later realized that for both of us, his comment related to Lolita's t-shirt we'd seen her in at events: "I'm blogging this." which is both brilliant, AND fits her and the writing she does at her site perfectly) At the time, though, blogging was about the furthest thing from my mind, it was something fully forgotten until he mentioned it.

Which is a good thing. I'm not experiencing these things with an 'eye towards' bragging about them online later, I'm experiencing them fully in the moment.

I come to write here after the fact, by way of recording our history, but also by way of journaling my own impressions and reasons and reactions to it. That may be of use to someone at some point, (it might even be of use for non-Leather people to gain some understanding of what Leathersex is about for me at least), but for me, the blogging is a very separate act from the living of it at the time. That is the action, this is the recording and analysis of the action, done after the fact, not in the moment of or at the time of the actions themselves.

Speculation about 'Slitherings' and how or even if what happened last night could end up here has become somewhat of an oddity for both of us. After all, sleeping with someone who sex-blogs is well, a bit different than not sleeping with a sex-blogger. Sir reads this, and we'll no doubt discuss what I've written here, which seems to lead on around the cycle to its own set of realizations, no doubt similar to how many Owners use journaling.

Sex-blogging aside, back to the sex;

He rearranged me down to the edge of the table, slid a strap around my ankles and then behind my neck, giving me something to push back against while keeping my legs up in the air, and he took me, roughly.

Blogging or not, I don't find words really work at this point.

It was just, well, that kind of sex I live for. My back and ass ached, both sore and pushed down against the table, giving me additional layer of pain that provided a backdrop to what was happening to me. Sir absolutely in that moment, both of us exactly where we wanted to be. That place where for him control and taking what he wants, that place where for me, it's both pain and simply having no other possibility other than giving him what he wants, and how much that gets me off, it's why we do this.

Afterwards, there's putting me to bed, leaving the cuffs on and putting the steel tool into me and him holding me, forcing me to orgasm, taking it from me. Leaving me completely incoherent and happy. So happy.

Lying in his arms, aftercare, exhaustion, and feeling so close to him, feeling so His.

That is what this is about for me.

It's what Leathersex is that even the roughest of ordinary sex isn't. It's about reaching that point where I have no choice other than to give myself over to him, while being fully aware he'll be there to catch me, to protect me, to do what's best for me when I don't have enough control of my faculties to even know what that might be. It ceases to be a giving, as that implies far too much control on my part, it simply is, I'm His, and he takes.

It's about trust and surrender and being fully both connected to and at times dependent upon the person I've chosen to entrust myself to.

***

This morning, I awoke to thunder; sore, aching, penetrated, marked, wrung out, used. Yet feeling so content, so languid, so where I want to be.

All of this, this is why I do these things. This is why I am with Sir.

Later, he examined and brushed his fingertips lightly across the lingering evidence of his work from the night before. Outside, rain pelted the windows. He held me, and kissed me.

I can't imagine being with a partner who is not Leather.

Travel and household notes

It's been a bit since I last posted. I've been quite busy.

Sir and I are just back from three days out at the Shore, a micro vacation of sorts. Days of lazily enjoying the beach, nights of rather intense lovemaking. All in all, I've come home very relaxed and happy, that post good sex glow that seems to leave me floating through the day or days after.

We had originally intended to spend some time out at the beach working with some rope. Books to study and be inspired by and hemp were packed, all set. But we never quite got around to it. No doubt we'll find some time to 'practice' before Shibaricon, it's just these particular days had a different flavour to them- more spontaneous.

That said, several potentially rope related good things have finally come together here around the household. The first being some years ago we had purchased a cast iron bed frame with the original intent being that it would be for a bedroom area off a 'dungeon' sort of area. Well, that part of the house got 'commandeered' for other projects so to this day, we are rather 'dungeonless'. The bed frame sat, still in boxes for years, (in no small part probably due to the fact that the other beds around the house are four posters.)

Instead of waiting for everything to come together the way I wanted, I finally simply decided I'd rather have it up than in boxes, so the bed frame has now been added to a bed already in a spare bedroom. Why all the fuss? Tie points/anchor points. The bed frame is rock solid and a perfect 'canvas' to do rope work with.

While it may not be up in its final home, (wherever that will turn out to be,) it is a small step towards 'not waiting anymore'. That feels good.

The second potentially rope related bit of furniture has just arrived. After Floating World last year Sir and I sort of had an ongoing discussion about furniture, frames, structures, etc. As our primary work space is a bedroom, we've had to try to come to compromises about tools staying out, the advantages of things being close at hand, vs. tools being carefully stored in a very organized fashion for easy access. Structures have taken a bit of thought.

So for a first real piece of 'dungeon' related furniture, we've settled on a thermal and thickly padded top portable massage table. It folds away when we want it to, but quickly sets up and is wonderfully solid. We can lower it down to 24" if we choose, and it has plenty of good attachment points for rope or other such bonds.

Essentially, it will serve as a solid platform for everything from rope work to cuttings, canings to floggings. I often find I can take more lying down than standing bound to a frame. Lying down helps the muscles relax more, and it can be more comfortable for Sir as gravity does some of the work. Also lying down can protect against some forms of wrap (not that we seem to have a problem with such, I just thought I'd mention it for readers.)

So we have new bits of structure to try out. I'm excited to see what predicaments Sir's creativity puts me in.

In a final bit of news, we've registered for Floating World (II) in August. It's months away, but we're already looking forward to it!

Spring LF&P, artisans and community

So yesterday was the Crucible's Spring Leather Flea and Play (LF&P,) affectionately referred to as "elephant pee". (Yes, you can go back and see what I blogged about last Autumn's LF&P too.)

I had originally thought we might attend and take a friend with us, then head out to dinner, but he decided he wasn't going to make it. At that point we hemmed and hawed and eventually came to the conclusion we'd decide whether or not to attend based on how our day went.

Naturally getting up and out on Saturday took longer than expected, and travel through DC was just as screwed up as it tends to be these days, but we did get to watch one hell of a storm front coming in. Fortunately, we reached the Crucible before the afternoon rains.

We entered and wandered about a bit. The vendors seemed pretty much the same as last fall. I wasn't finding much by way of tools that interested me. I know there are still a few real artisans doing whip work, but finding them rarely seems as simple as wandering a flea.

I remember when you might see a whip maker at an event not with piles of already produced whips ready for same day sale, but instead the artist would bring out some examples of their best work. You could go and talk with them, examine their work, and if you had the money (which of course I never did) you could decide on the details of how you would like your custom whip or floggers to be carefully braided; what kinds of hides (here, feel this, this is elk. I get these from a hunter tanner friend of mine, I've only got 3 of them, but if you want, I can custom dye this to match your Leathers), how full a mop, the braid on the handle, whether or not you wanted it shot loaded, etc. Most importantly, they would see how you hold a tool, how you use it, where the balance point on the handle was unique to your hand. Then you paid sometimes upfront, sometimes a portion upfront, and within a month or two you arranged to meet and the final result was finally in your hands. These were special- and you treated them as such.

There's probably a blog post in here somewhere about how whip making went from something individuals either learned or turned to their local tack shop for, on through to a few artists around the country, on towards 'manufacturers' and mass marketing and sort of 'brand name' floggers, on into quantity, not necessarily quality floggers. Carpal Tunnel has taken many a whip maker out of such, and there almost seems to be a few year 'workspan' or 'career' for many whip makers.

Those who sometimes do the best work, do only a few, but as such are sometimes very expensive. To actually find floggers not only custom made, but balanced to your particular hand is wonderful, but becoming ever more rare, particularly when whips are so often bought sight unseen, over the net. In any case, there are whips made by certain artisans, many of which no longer do that work, but the pieces live on, and get passed along, provided they aren't destroyed by devout relatives upon an owner's death.

We are fortunate enough to have a set of floggers custom made to Sir's hand, beautiful tools, but our friend no longer braids and while they are special, such are also becoming increasingly rare. The set he had made had never been used on anyone, and when we first came together as a couple he honoured me by using his whips on me. It meant a very great deal to me, and to this day, they still do.

In any case, yes you can find basic, simply braided pieces at fleas. To some extent you can also find some interesting pieces done in small batches by a leatherworker. But while you may be able to custom order pieces from vendors there, seeking out specialists who make custom pieces unique to you, to your hand can often be a bit more complicated. It can mean traveling to them, or seeking them out word of mouth in communities, rather than webpages. Some already have more work than you'd expect just by word of mouth. And longevity in braiding usually means pacing projects as to avoid injury.

As I said though, those who braid don't do so forever. If you find an artist whose work you love, it is often better to get what you can while you can, before injury or time constraints, family obligations or other aspects of 'real life' lead them to stop. Given a choice between a quality handmade flogger and almost any piece of mass market gear, I'd chose the whip.

But I digress. So this Spring, unlike last Autumn, surprisingly, we stumbled into a sort of 'friend of the family', one of Sir's exs. She had not seen him in quite some time, and when he walked over and said hello to her, she did a very amusing double take. Sir in his Leather jacket, dressed in black, hair pulled back neatly, wearing the wide black belt I gave him. It took her a moment to realize it was really him.

Other than one or two of the vendors we recognized from 'back in the day', she was the only person 'from our time' we saw at the Flea. In the end, we agreed to meet after the Flea for dinner. She was with a friend and intended to return for the 'Play' portion of the evening, we on the other hand intended to head home.

So we split up, and I wandered the booths. In the end, I settled upon a Catherine Coatney shirt that would go well with two of my skirts. Otherwise, I was remarkably bored. We looked the booths over twice, to be sure we weren't missing anything, perhaps that one unique little item perhaps we overlooked our first trip around, but no. No such luck. It's odd to be surrounded by fetish-y, BDSM-y goodness and yet not able to find anything that I quite felt need to come home with us. Admittedly that 'best sex toy' is between the ears, but I seem to be going through kind of an odd period, one wherein I find myself surrounded by tools and uninspired by such.

I still seem to 'quest' for the original, the inspired, the careful handcrafted, the unique, but as of late, I never seem to quite find it, whatever 'it' might be.

But part of the Flea is just to see what all is afoot, to wander and be among others who share one's proclivities, and yes sometimes even happen across someone else who remembers another time, and so off to dinner the four of us went. A marvelous dinner, actually. Good to be with an old friend and meet a new one, and all over an excellent meal.

We laughed, and caught up on one another's lives and even spoke of where the folks from back in the day have disappeared to? Her conclusion, from a somewhat different vantage point, is essentially the same as mine- a version of 'underground'.

Commercialization down to the organizational level, the 'net', and attempts at learning skills via Google searches, all have changed the ground out from under us. Lots of us still do what we do, just not publicly, and not in party settings. Many of us have found our partners (and no, by such I'm not saying 'paired', I'm saying people we do this with, some our life partners, some part time lovers, some 'thirds' and some in various cities scattered,) have our few friends we can talk about these things with, and from time to time perhaps attend an 'event', often far from home. 'Scale' has changed.

And we've all seen a lot of really stupid behaviour from people who should know better, it's driven so many of us into more private settings.

Sad in a sense, but it is the picture many of us are beginning to see.

Caning

So last night.

Which actually began somewhat earlier on, as Sir slid His leather collar around my neck and locked it. This was followed by several hours of running about doing the things I ordinarily do in the course of any ordinary day.

Yes, we COULD have spent the evening decorating the Yule tree. Instead, we decided to fit in some "us" time, as the next few weeks are going to be very hectic, and we should steal away what little pockets of unhurried time we can when we can. If nothing else, "us" time is a very healthy way of mitigating holiday related stresses.

So early (for us, anyway) in the evening we headed upstairs. Not long thereafter he had me secured across the bed in a happy mesh of tools that amount to sort of human 'tinker toy' sprawl; long leather bondage 'mittens' that come up almost to my elbows locked on with shiny little chrome locks, ankle cuffs, leather tethers, spreader bars artfully placed, and a handful of caribineers and clips. Suffice it to say, by the end of his arranging, I wasn't going anywhere.

Once I was little more than a useful target, he selected a few of his favourite whips and 'had at' me. (Herein I'm afraid some of the details blur a bit, but happily so.) I do however, clearly remember the sharp cutting sting of the horsehair, and the jarring THUDs of the big black Moose flogger. Fortunately, there was little I could do other than 'take it', and enjoy it immensely.

Eventually, he set the floggers aside and I encouraged him to fetch a particular slapper/crop as marks were what he seemed intent upon, and that particular tool provides a great amount of precision and control. This led to its own fun (but regrettably, no marks the following day.)

But then, in a fit of being wildly unpredictable, his hand settled upon one of the bamboo canes. This was new. He's used artificial canes on me before, delrin, and lexan, but some of the pieces I've been picking up recently, rattan and bamboo, no, he hadn't used those on me before.

(Sure I've had bamboo and rattan close at hand for quite some time now, but recently I've been picking up some more, flexible rattan canes, and a lovely little whisk of birch, which I thank my lucky stars hadn't been soaked the half hour before, last night.)

So he let me see what I was in for, the bamboo, and I yelped, honestly, completely innocently

"But, ... those are for GIRLS!...

Oh, wait...!"

(The space between the two broken sentences was the time it took for me to come to my own frightening realization; 'I'M A GIRL! Eeeek!')

Honestly, I didn't see the connection- until of course, I did.

Ah, the many joys of being a S/switch and picking up toys for some later use, only to eep! find them used upon me when I expect it least.

Sir is nothing if not devious.

So this resulted in me being released, bent over the edge of the bed, and playing human target as Sir got the feel of new tools. (Lest anyone worry, Sir has damn good aim, and had certainly picked these up before using them upon me.) At the time, the pain was exactly the pain of a good 'first time out with a new tool' caning, the sensation so unique to caning; a sharpness, then the moments of feeling the blow moving deep under the skin, and then the pain 'blooming' slowly after each stroke.

None of the strokes were so hard as to actually leave a mark that lasted through 'til this morning, but I certainly had that tender/bruised feeling long after. Caning provides a certain sense of clarity, and being fully in the moment that few other tools give. Timing is everything, and giving each stroke the time it takes to develop and for me to process it creates a rhythm.

Eventually, we agreed to end with three solid strokes, which expanded quite happily into five.

Now for some people, these kinds of activities form a sort of foreplay, which leads into sex. For other people, doing such may be the point in and of itself, and therefore sex becomes irrelevant to such altogether.

Sometimes we find ourselves fitting under that latter category wherein the work is the work and sex just is extraneous to what we're doing. Usually, though, Sir and I do what we do, and extend that power and control and pain and ownership into our sex at some point in the course of what we're doing.

So while still very much in the state of mind I was in, Sir rubbed my (sadly more temporary than I would have liked) red marks and that lead into hard rough sex.

Later he tucked me into bed, got out some of the shall we say, more 'internal' tools (cold stainless steel to be specific), and spent a bit of time touching me before he finally left me to drift off to sleep.

I suppose this last bit is important to note in that there is a very real possibility that there will be some new piercings in the very near future, and obviously, fresh piercings require a certain gentleness that (happily) last night lacked.

This time of year for most ""visions of sugar plums dance(d) in their heads." For me? Well, I suppose you could say I'm dreaming of a pierced Yuletide.

Leaving for BRXX today

So for what it's worth, we're off to Black Rose XX this evening. The packing is MOSTLY under control. I was up far too late last night trying to decide what of all the tools I didn't need to pack. Yes, we've reached the odd point of not what to pack, but of what not to pack.

Personally, I'm convinced that once we're at the hotel and settled in I'll somehow have an absolute need for something I left, that usual ONE THING I didn't know I needed, until I did. Maybe someday I'll get this down to some form of exact science, in the mean time, I'm just trying to figure out the best way to keep everything together, organized, and safe.

Oh, and how to keep crinoline from wrinkling to death. These are the life skills they never taught us in home ec, how to keep fetishwear looking fresh in an overstuffed suitcase... .

We're still at home, but already I've seen a few things that really have me wondering as to how much of this we're actually going to be able to enjoy. At this moment, I'd say we're tottering on some edge between 'deeply conflicted' and 'tell me again why we're doing this?'

But that was part of the point, to see what it looks like over there, complete with all BR's history, underlying assumptions, and 'inside the beltway-ness'. But then, me? I've never really gotten my head around the primarily 'het' end of this. Not that BR specifically is, it just seems to so often end up primarily that way.

Not in that the people themselves always identify as het, but in that history and visibility-wise that's the impression left. While there will be leather and Queers, it's not Leather, for lack of a better way of putting it (with the history and social protocols that entails,) and BR 'queerness' sometimes seems to come down to 'bi-sexual when my owner wants'- almost universally on womyn's profiles. Bi as activity not as identity.

Worse, people tend to mistake Sir and I for a 'het' couple, which annoys me. We're always more complicated than first glance impressions, but many people never get beyond such. Then again, those (who dismiss at first glance based on assumptions) may be the very people I would ultimately find myself least interested in spending time with, as well.

So it's an 'adventure'. BR is its own thing, and part of the reason we decided to go in the first place was to see exactly that.

To the extent I can I'm trying to maintain both an openness to the experience itself and willingness to take fun where I find it. Who knows, I may find myself in the midst of a better time than I anticipate. It is always possible that we'll run across some really interesting people and have a lot to talk about.

I'm actually trying to be somewhat social (despite my hide under a rock tendencies.) I'm interested in meeting other womyn at the event. Naturally, they appear to have only set one night for the womyn's only dungeon, and of course, it's relatively early on in the event, and the womyn's meet-up of sorts is the following day. Completely backwards. That would be an event scheduling pet peeve of mine, it's a structural problem. In any case, some folks will be around at the meet and mingle tonight, so we're aiming to be in for that.

Some of it will no doubt annoy the hell out of me, but if nothing else, the National Gallery of Art is nearby, there are plenty of good restaurants, and there's nothing stopping us from going up to our room, closing the door and enjoying some 'us' time.

My Raincheck

So, by way of 'making up for' not getting the whips out over the course of a recent event, Sir had more or less given me a 'raincheck'. Which is what we finally got around to the other morning.

Sir was up early in the morning, and after I came down he eventually headed upstairs to shower saying maybe we could get around to something thereafter. I waited downstairs and went about my morning, not sure whether to expect anything or not. Eventually he called down and told me I was to come up to him.

I came to the big bedroom (which is also sort of our 'Work' room) to find him standing inside dressed all in black with a wicked grin on his face. (Eventually, I may get to a post about the room we primarily use, but for now, it will suffice to say it's "His" room, our bedroom, and clearly his domain. I have rooms of my own as well, although they are such at his pleasure.)

I stood outside the door and undressed (as it's the room I don't wear clothing in without explicit permission, one of our few rules) then by his permission, entered.

At the foot of the bed, there's a soft black bench with low arms at each end and lots of pillows; soft golden chenille and others with a shadowed black ornate floral orchid pattern. On days such as this, it is pulled out from the end of the bed, the pillows set aside, and the bench is then covered with a soft black sheet. It's just long enough for me to lie across comfortably, my head resting on one of the arms. Four black leather straps encircled each of the bench's legs, then come up towards the left and right raised ends. Across each end, Sir had attached two of the highly polished chrome spreader bars, each the width of the bench. On the bed laid several of my favourite whips, and the four black padded leather cuffs. Without saying a word, I knew what laid in store.

He told me to come around to the bed. Then lovingly, he buckled each cuff onto my limbs, first my wrists then my ankles. He crossed the room to the toolbox compartment organizers and pulled out four of the small nickel plated padlocks, then returned to me and proceeded to lock the cuffs onto me. This little 'ritual' of sorts in and of itself is enough to get me into a mindset.

(Soft black leather and shiny polished steel is very much our aesthetic. Metal and leather. Although somewhat ironically, I have no interest in many of the metal cuffs or collars we so often see. I suppose you could say we're both rather selective about our tools.)

He kisses me, and leads me across the bench, face down. Limb by limb, he clips the cuffs onto the spreader bars leaving me unable to escape, and a ready target. He ensures I'm comfortable, then disappears over towards the rack where we keep our whips hung. I'm not blindfolded, but I'm not sure I want to know, just yet, either. So I turn my head and close my eyes, giving over to him, and what he wants.

Anyone who has ever been sensually whipped can readily identify the two primary different sensations, 'thud' and 'sting'. For me, when I'm under Sir's whips, these two have two completely different effects. 'Thuddy' makes me sink, deep into a place where I've very inarticulate, but very pliant, and welcoming suggestion. 'Stingy' on the other hand, tries to lift me off of whatever I'm securely attached to, and leaves me fighting myself, begging for it to stop, and sometimes crying. (This does NOT however mean I actually want it to stop.) Each of these are their own head (and body) trip. It takes someone with a particular sense of timing and ability to 'read' me to combine them both over the course of a brief period. Neither of these are things I entrust to people I don't know well, as both leave me very emotionally raw.

Sir is one of the few people I know who can make me change gears as it were, between the two, and still leave me in a state where I actually enjoy it. Unfortunately, it's not something I find I can do often, and it takes both of us being in a particular state of mind and comfort to actually pull it off.

In any case, without telling me that was what he was about to do, that was the state he worked me into. Working from whips that can, when used a particular way feel more akin to a good massage, on to whips that once I'm warmed up, yes I can take, even though it's a most peculiar kind of enjoyment.

Back at the Floating World, we had found a flogger made of the satin cord it seems every kinky person has worked with or made something out of at some point. Just ordinary fabric store cord carefully woven into a nicely formed handle that felt good in my hand with a bazillion purple satiny tresses. The reason it came home, though, was that each of the tips had been carefully dipped repeatedly in 'tool dip', the rubber coating for tool handles. The balance was nice, and I knew instantly that those tails would sting horribly.

Well, I was right. And THAT will teach me to pick up a tool, having it in mind for use with perhaps a pretty girl somewhere in my future. I should know better. And I should know that just as I was always taught, before you use a tool on someone else, you should have it used upon yourself, so you know, down in your bones what it's capable of. While ultimately, of course I'm fine with all of that, it being the way things are done, and it is simply to be expected, I did not however expect this particular tool this particular morning.

Which led to many cries of "I hate that whip!... Don't stop."

By the time my morning's ordeal was 'over', I was very 'floaty'. Sir released me from my bonds at the bench and let me lay across the bed. We spoke briefly, and then he very matter of factly went over to the small table in the corner and returned with several sets of adjustable clamps with which he heightened my neediness beyond excruciating.

Then he removed them, and left me unfulfilled. He allowed me the cuffs for the rest of the day (actually, I slept in them that night only taking them off the next morning.)

The lovely anguish that is being left afterwards is not something I would normally enjoy. But with him, after this in particular, it was wonderful, feeling that ache combined with the soreness from the whips earlier, it left me constantly aware of HIM as I drifted through the next day or so. It's that awareness, that feeling of being owned, posessed, taken somewhere I rarely go with anyone with trust at the core of it that I treasure above all else.

BESS- "Switch, no longer a dirty word"

So Sir and I attended Wednesday night's BESS (Baltimore Educational and Social Society) educational meeting. This week, they focused on S/switches- which despite being one myself, I despise the terminology for as it implies a binary 'on/off' dichotomy, rather than the more realistic multitude of realities that many of us live within. While I continue to search for better terminology, I tend to write the word in such as way as to imply a both/and at the same moment, "S/switch" in my own writings.

Unfortunately, false binaries plagued the presentation itself, leading to vast oversimplifications. And while the presenters acknowledged they were engaging in such, they marched boldly onward anyway- relying upon a straight line continuum betwixt 'Top/Master/etc- which jokingly got referred to as 'the dark side' and 'bottom/slave/etc' which in turn became 'the light side'. While such may work for duct tape, it rarely works for human relationships.

In any case, in very Kinsey scale fashion, there was much discussion on how most folks fall somewhere in the middle- and hence the discussion of 'switches' began.

I on the other hand, reject the false binary and instead see far more of a 50's stylized 'starburst' design (see Ace Jackalope's "Sputversary" for the definitive photo essay and description of objects similar to what I'm describing), a three dimensional object, with many continuums intersecting at various center points, although in my model the 'center points' along each line may not be even, thus creating many unequal arms.

Further, being bi, and poly, I may have one starburst for what I seek in one partner, or one partner of a particular gender, and another completely separate starburst for another partner, perhaps of another gender.

As for the lines/continuums piercing the center ball, they can be any number of things;

perhaps a pain related continuum- Sadist/masochist
an ownership related continuum- Master/slave
a gender portrayal continuum- Butch/femme
more or less a 'who leads' continuum- Dominant/submissive
a service continuum- Served/Serving
The Kinsey Queer related continuum- homo/het
Etc. Without doubt, there are many, many more.

The fact of the matter is that most of us in describing ourselves, and most of our partners or desired partners fall somewhere in the middle of each of these continuums. So we end up with starbusts, not straight lines when trying to accurately portray the realities of our real lives. And those points along each of those lines may change through time, from relationship to relationship, and partner to partner- even under one roof.

Three other quick notes, there was a strange emphasis on S/switches 'switching' in relation to "moods". For me, "mood" has nothing to do with it- the relationship to the partner determines the parameters, although when I have been in a relationship with another 'switch' while we may have partially changed roles though the course of years, we 'trended' towards one dynamic or another over the course of time, not nightly or hour to hour.

Secondly, while some may relate to "Poly, Bi, Switch" (PBS) as "greedy", I relate to it more as "PBS- and no that doesn't mean I'll sleep with you." Both Sir and I are highly selective about our partners.

And finally, remarkably, it took most of the workshop before it was finally mentioned that the way these things USED to be done was that Masters began as slaves. This was not 'switch' so much as it was earning the eventual right to call oneself "Master" it was about learning skills and earning leathers- a process most of today's Masters bypass entirely. But that 'starting at the bottom' had a great deal of value, among other things it taught a root of empathy with the things one was going to put their own slaves/bottoms/etc through.

It seems to me, "empathy" is the key word in relation to the S/switch experience. How one holds workshops without focusing upon that aspect leaves me wondering if it is perhaps so obvious as to be invisible, thus remains unidentified.

I was taught you never use a tool on someone else that had not first been used on you- and that had to do with having an intimate understanding of what the tool was capable of, what sensations it produced, and what kinds of potential reactions to expect. It had to do with earning the right to use that tool on another.

In these days of 'instant (true!) Master- just add internet!" such a process is unimaginable. Mere mention of such would be met with blank stares.

No, I'm not demanding all today's "Masters" begin at the bottom and work their way through. Some already have an innate empathy which seems to allow them to bypass the process and not be the worse for it, others, on the other hand, could use to first hand experience. It might help them understand that just because a work of fiction kept a girl naked and on her knees for 10 hour stretches, real girl's real knees aren't likely to enjoy that.

So, for my own reference, the calendar listing for the event.

October, 17th
Topic: Switch, no longer a dirty world..
With: Griffin and ann goodpet

– Being yourself in a world that loves labels and titles. This discussion will cover the way the lifestyle view switches, the different type of switches and switching, and how to maintain relationships when one or more partners are switches. Also will covered will be types of scenes that are often avoided by non-switching Tops but are, oh, so much fun. Griffin identifies as a Master who bottoms. His slave ann is a bottom who has been known to do some service Topping.

Griffin: Griffin, has been active in the lifestyle and the DC area scene for over 10 years. He is an active pony player (watch for Him in the documentary Born in a Barn), kidnapper, presenter, and all around scene player. Griffin enjoys rough play, takedowns, and wrestling along with the lighter sensuous scenes. Although well versed in a variety of tools of the trade, and different play styles, He is often seen doing intense physical scenes without any of the traditional toy use, only using His own body as His tools. Playing on the edge, Griffin follows RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink). Griffin is an alumni of the Master Taino’s Masters Academy and a member of Black Rose and on staff at Crucible. When not at an event He can be found sailing, working on His experimental Gyro-plane, or practicing sword fighting for the SCA tournaments. He currently lives in District Heights, MD with His dog Mandy, His partner and slavemate, ann, and salve lorrie, the newest member of the Griffin Household. Griffin’s home, fondly referred to as Castle Griffin, is a service/teaching household and host several lifestyle events throughout the year, including slave retreats, formal Master Dinners, play parties, and SIGs.

Ann Goodpet: Ann Goodpet identifies as a service submissive and slavemate to Griffin and has been active in the lifestyle for over 7 years. She is has been an active member, service provider, presenter and scene player in several groups in SC, NC, and the DC area. She is a member of Black Rose and staff at the Crucible. She lives in District Heights, MD with her partner and Master, Captain Griffin, His dog Mandy and slave lorrie, the newest member of the family.. ann enjoys the M/s lifestyle and is often doing service for groups, leather families, events, and individuals, always under the approval and guidance of her Master. ann is an alumni of Master Taino’s slave Academy. In addition to lifestyle activities and event, ann enjoys sailing, camping, SCA events, and any hands-on building project.