Of Kink and Blog-o-sphere Kerfuffles

Generally, I tend to avoid the anti-S/m dust ups around the blog-o-sphere that spring forth with stunning regularity from the keyboards of those who co-opt the term "radical feminist."

But every so often enough pissed friends point me at enough bullshit that I can occasionally be coaxed into writing a little something.

This was originally intended as a brief comment to the Most. Awesome. Comment. Ever. post over on Let Them Eat Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces.

But it grew.

It grew beyond reason, and certainly beyond comment legnth.

So I've moved it here as a full post instead.

For readers who have no idea what this is all about, be glad. (Or read Pro-SM Feminist Safe Spaces' tag documenting the BDSM-and-feminism kerfuffle in inverse order, starting at the bottom of the page. Most of the relevant links are either in that or in the comments thereon.)

But back to that little comment that grew, here it is in it's entirety:

***

What so many of these oh-so-outraged women miss is that until fairly recently, it would have been exceptionally rare for them to have this level of visibility into the things we do.

Placing ads, exploring kink.com... by and large they wouldn't have had any immediate jumping off point to know WHERE to place such ads, (and it's still a LOUSY methodology,) or the ins and outs of the language were it not for the increased visibility in that they've been afforded.

Note that Leatherfolk were not out playing evangelists. The visibility they (the outraged) now enjoy comes as a direct result of commercialization, and into spaces where we self select and gather just as any other demographic has online.

Time was, not so long ago, that finding out about certain communications vehicles, much less entering into Leather spaces, would simply not have been an option for them.

To gain access to such meant going in person, and having someone willing to vouch for you. It meant entering what had often been a Gay male domain.

These days, they need only punch up whatever website they care to fear this week, get themselves all worked up, and then start typing.

A few rare Leathermen took me under their wings and taught me the core values of what being a Leatherperson entails; among them the critical importance of discretion, appropriate time and place, and "not frightening the horses" so to speak.

Of course for many of our critics they can only see the flat images on their screens, they know nothing of the ideology or highly ritualized behaviors that go with so much of Leather.

One of the first "Leather" books I was ever told to go read wasn't some (at the time unwritten!) manual of how to flog, nope I was told to go brush up on my Emily Post.

Those amazing Leathermen taught me the importance of being above reproach in one's dealings and finances, being a person of their word and personal honour, expressing deep loyalty towards those deserving of such, knowing when to defend oneself and one's tribe and when to hold your tongue, and not drawing attention.

To do otherwise could bring undue scrutiny down upon the community, these concepts being passed down from a time when raids on Gay spaces without so much as a pretense were common.

Yes, the net has changed everything, some for the good- breaking isolation and making "deviants" such as ourselves feel far less alone in this world.

But it has also come with a price- that things which were once deeply private and shown only to lovers or others deemed to have "the right stuff" and a deep willingness are now mere clicks away for any and all.

That and perhaps our critics have missed a key point, Lao-tzu's "Those who know don't talk. Those who talk don't know."

Certainly something they may wish to keep in mind the next time they should happen to be perusing the kink-o-sphere.

Splattered all over screens everywhere decontextualized images, a comic book notion of what Leather is, now readily available to every Joe and Jane Schmoe.

The vast majority of whom have no framework to fit some of what they're seeing into (even those within the community often have no mentors to answer questions, no training.)

Internal to the community AIDS had more to do with that than any online change in information flow could ever have done.

Yet for those external, yes we are in effect put 'on trial' because suddenly people who simply never would have seen what we do behind closed doors can now spend countless hours fixating and obsessing over how what we do must somehow affect them, or if not them, then at least the broader class of womyn more generally, or so their false notion goes.

The reality of course, is that we were doing this long before they noted our presence, and no, how I did or did not happen to fuck my wife did not affect broader class womyn other than to have if anything served as a binding closeness between the two of us in our (genuine) Radical Feminist activism.

All of it has been decontextualized down to the flat screen though. They know little to nothing of (and in certain cases absolutely refuse to discuss) the fact that much of what we call modern Leather comes not from the heterosexual end of things 9D is so obsessed over, instead many of the traditions have roots in the disempowered Gay Male sub-community of those who came back from WWII and didn't fit.

They looked at the suburban postwar world of "settling down" and having kids, and opted to hit the open roads on motorcycles with some of the few people who understood what they had seen and what they had been through, and their feelings for one another. They created small nomadic tribes with other men.

They were outsiders.

Womyn to womyn S/m has reflected those sentiments at times even more so, in that not only have we been Queer outsiders to the broader society, we are also often outsiders even to Gay Leather.

(Hence names such as "The Outcasts," "The Exiles", or more generally groups such as "The Renegades.")

To refuse to examine the origins and context much of leather culture grew in is not merely to erase Queer history and Queer methodologies of survival, but to actively reinforce the very heterosexism and heterocentrism they decry.

Ironically, they now claim to essentially speak on behalf of and in protection of womyn and womynkind- a feat only made possible when subsets of womyn who love and yes, ultimately sleep with other womyn, who know a great deal about womyn's authentic desires, and who have been (real) Radical Feminists since back in the day are relegated to "traitors" or "collaborators with the patriarchy." They thereby attempt the coup d’état of not merely erasing us, but usurping our positions as womyn who yes, know a thing or two about womyn.

To their minds, what we have to say are often unpleasant and unthinkable realities about womyn. Things that must then be projected into a form of "othering" as no "real woman" could ever possibly genuinely want the things we do, we must therefore to their thinking either be deluded or under a form of coercion, both of which conveniently disqualify us from what they now co-opt as "their" revolution.

Except of course, for them, it's more often than not revolutionary, as 9D herself would be/has been the first to fess up to. (See point 2 here.). To then utilize the term "Radical" (meaning "to the root") while explicitly rejecting "to the root" forms of social change, instead insisting that working within the existing systems (oh, LIBERAL feminism- bingo!) is the way to go is for her to 'wear the colors of the enemy' or co-opt our terminology for her own (assimilationist) purposes.

While for some Kinkyfolks, they may feel a need to justify themselves, now that we are being lied about, savaged and put up 'on trial,' others of us on the other hand, have always understood we were living at the edges and as exiles to begin with. I don't need to justify myself or my life to anyone.

I don't answer to those who co-opt and subvert the title "Radical Feminist" without ever so much as noting that some of us who used it long before they also wear (earned) Leathers, and were doing so long before the outraged-come-lately happened along.

As "exiles" we've always known that there is a time and place to stand our ground, and other times and places where going on the defensive or trying to justify our existence merely becomes counterproductive.

I've always been where the front lines are when it really matters, and if that's not "feminist" enough for those with smoke blowing out their ears from behind they keyboards, my answer really comes down to "Tough shit."

They've got a problem with it, it's their problem, not mine.

Now do some of us have a fair amount to say about the commercialization of the "work" we do, and the increased visibility into our world others are now afforded? Of course. But when it's time to say those things we do them in our spaces under our rules, not the false constraints of blogsites like 9D's, the preclude even my own existence as a Leatherwomyn.

Yeah I know, this is post-length. It's long overdue such be said- and as should be clear by now it's only going to be said in "our" spaces, not theirs.

***

I also made an earlier comment on another post on that same tag, Nope. I'll republish it here as well just to keep all my writings on this particular dust up available in a single place:

***

"If you have that kind of dark side, it might be best to leave it unexplored. Or kill yourself"

Yeah, I caught on that bit too.

For her, the notion of people like us existing in (her) world is just too frightening.

She would feel more comfortable if people like ourselves were either not here or at minimum not visible.

Since she's apparently not the type who feels the need to rid the world of us, herself personally, she'd rather we just "opt out."

A lot cleaner and neater that way.

Certainly no blood on her hands. No, certainly not.

The the instinct to purge those she finds so frightening, so terrifying, etc. lies just beneath the surface.

The difference being of course, radical feminist Leather womyn such as myself feel no need to purge the universe of the likes of her.

She who is so quick to condemn has never heard of me, knows nothing about me, and certainly isn't reading my (at times) "submissive" womyn's blogging in relation to a male partner.

I am after all both S/switch and Bi. Being such, I therefore fall straight on into the exception bin for her, that she so conveniently dismisses and refuses to discuss.

Womyn living within the context of consensual power exchange with other womyn is most certainly NOT on the agenda over there.

Of course our "individual experiences" are dismissed as she'd rather only discuss what she perceives as some twisted version of experiences on on the whole (what a handy way to dismiss any womyn who would dare disagree, and her own experiences.)

Nope, she'd rather bemoan the (commercial fetish) fate of the armory building, a building she herself by her own admission once coveted and now chalks up to having in essence, fallen into the hands of the enemy.

Seriously, gal, it's just real estate and sex, get over yourself already.

Sex the likes of which she both clearly has a fascination with and yet insists she sickened by.

This clearly qualifies her as having an opinion we should all listen to about on such matters- not so much.

Funny, I don't find myself writing post after post about whatever kind of sex she may (or may not) be having. 07 February 2009 10:05

***

Who knows, perhaps six months from now when the next regularly scheduled "feminist" anti-S/m dust up occurs I may just link to this post instead of wasting my time giving them essentially the same earful all over again.

Roughly six months

(I've been away from writing here for a bit. Some of it has been travel, some of it has been helping my Sir through some health issues. He is recovering and we can certainly see the proverbial 'light at the end of the tunnel' on it at this point, but it has taken time and attention away from as but one example, my blogging here. If I can find the words and the time, I may write a little about the experience but for now, simply understand that I have been away from this writing, but with good reasons.)

Today though, marks an important milestone. Today was roughly the 'six months after' demarcation from Sir having me pierced last winter.

Emotionally, I suppose you could say the last several months or so have certainly put us through a bit, but if anything, they have shown how committed we are to one another and how much I apparently do deserve the honour of wearing His rings. Circumstances seem to have bourne out how much this was the correct decision.

Physically, six months of course does not mean they are 'completely healed', but it does mean that most of the basic healing is behind us now.

Aesthetically, we both enjoy the look of them. It still startles me to see the metal through ME like this, though.

It's been a very odd six months for us. Mainly, it's clear how much 'us' forms the central core to everything else going on in our lives. The rings are a reflection of that.

It's a strange 'anniversary' of sorts, but it felt important to note.

On the importance of 'just being there'

This may seem a very pedestrian topic for a kink-blog entry, but sometimes it's the little things that are so often overlooked that matter so.

If I were asked for a list of 'duties' I perform, tasks or chores pertinent to my status as "property" I'd have to sit you down and explain at length how it's more complicated than that.

While I am in some ways submissive (and other ways, NOT), you would hardly mistake me for a 'service submissive'. That's just not the way we structure our (Leather) household. There are chores I tend to gravitate towards, and other chores Sir for the most part has staked out as what he does. There are also ongoing bits of the household that sometimes I do, sometimes he does, it's more dependent upon who happens to get sick of looking at it, and has the spare time to do something about it first.

I know, I know! Heresy! Unimaginable!

To dare even mention that Sir does household chores too? Why I must have broken at least 30 'the-one-true-way Leather Taboos!' (tm)

But our real Leather lives, unlike pulp novels or oh so many online MASTER-slavelings, are real. We live them, 24-7. And that means we deal with real world real things. What often goes unstated, is that in relation to the 'chores' each of us take on, the other does feel a sense of gratitude. Sometimes we express such, but usually, it lies just beneath the surface, each of us quietly aware that the things the other does for us help us, and make our lives as we live them together not merely easier, but in certain bedrock kinds of ways, possible. While not an egalitarian household, at times, it does share certain resemblances to a Leather 'partnership' of sorts. It's what works for us.

That said, I do make a point of making 'Sir's' bed.

Now that must sound odd. But as we sometimes run opposite schedules to one another, I am allowed my own rooms in addition to the primary bedroom we share. Recently, no matter what our sleep schedules may be, I've made a point of ensuring that when Sir comes up to bed, it's a neatly made bed.

That may sound perfectly obvious, and the kind of habit some people got in back when they were oh, say, 5, but for the two of us, living on our own as we do together, we tend to simply get up and hit the ground running and then tumble into bed at night.

If the downstairs is the at times more 'public' part of the household, the upstairs is more a private sanctuary. I suppose we're quite Victorian in that sense. The parlour is a place where our household intersects with the external world, the upstairs bedrooms are private spaces.

So I make the bed.

It was the first piece of furniture we bought together for the house, a big four poster King sized bed, (an updated) comfy mattress, and padding and sheets we picked out together, as a couple, when we were just beginning. We brought the bed home and assembled it ourselves. Some couples buy couches together first, we selected and assembled the bed.

And when we're home, not traveling, I tend to carve out the laundry as a part of my ongoing routine. Just as womyn for generations before me have cared for, mended, and laundered their beloved's clothing, I too, try to ensure, as one presenter at the Floating World last Autumn used as an example, when my Sir goes to reach for an item of clothing, it should 'just be there'.

What marks us as different, perhaps, is that when we do travel, (which is to say frequently,) while I may sort the piles, Sir himself tends to run the laundry. Sometimes I fold, sometimes we fold together.

But the laundry is simply part of the rhythm of that which needs to be attended to. Sometimes the ongoing 'chores' are less 'choreful' and simply part of that which must be done. At times, it's even possible to gain a certain satisfaction, or feeling that things are 'running well' based upon the ongoing rhythm of ensuring things are 'there when you reach for them'. I find it leads to more of a household sense of well-being, confidence, and yes, even control.

When things pile up and feel overwhelming, it lends itself to a things being 'out of control' sensation. Conversely, when things are simply where they're supposed to be, whether it's laundry or dishes, or mail sorted and filed it leads to a certain ease, comfort and sensation of things being 'under control'.

From that 'under control' springs a certain confidence in both of us.

Which yes, leads me back around full circle to sex-blogging. In that one of the very few 'duties' I perform, tasks or chores pertinent to my status as "property" is that of being sexually available to my Sir.

That when he reaches for me, I too am at hand, exactly where I should be. Physically, psychologically, etc.

(While yes, there is absolutely, a blog entry -or 20- in what being self described "property" means in my context, that being a Radical Feminist context, American legal context, etc, that's not about to happen today.)

At any time, I feel I could say "no" or "not right now", but in practice I next to never do (other than sometimes, when I'm still mostly asleep, and not thinking very clearly at the time.) Having the ability to say "no" (which is actually more a 'raincheck' than a "no",) that freedom to say "no", is part of what makes it secure and a confident "yes".

That may not be the way some Leather lovers arrange their relationships, but again, this is what works for us. We're both reasonably aware that when it comes down to it, I pretty much only say "no" in relation to extenuating, usually physical, circumstances.

In part, how we define some of my "duties" in this relationship are to be His, anytime, with the one caveat that communication of any extenuating circumstance is an inherent to such.

So last night, he both enjoyed me, and a well made bed.

This morning, I smile to myself with the satisfaction that things are 'running well'.

***

(Now, have I just equated sex to housework? Perhaps... if you really feel you MUST take it that way, but what I'm really referring to is the satisfaction of behind the scenes work, -yes at times good, hard work with one's hands with very quantifiable results- that goes into making parts of life feel 'effortless' and how such for us at least, tends to lead to the sense of well being and 'control' which can be at times so vital to our Leather/BDSM lives. It's a topic I see very little written about, particularly in your average 'how to Leather' books, yet it has everything to do with how we live this out 24-7.)

Piercings

In less than 48 hours, if all goes according to plan, I'll be wearing two new rings through me. And yes, I can barely contain the slightly nervous excitement.

This has been a long time coming, more than a decade, in fact.

Until now every 'modification' I've done to my body has been in relation to me, myself. I have a previous piercing, done over the Stonewall 25 celebration in New York at the National Leather Conference, by Gauntlet New York. And that is a story unto itself. I had both done very specifically for me, and purely about me.

For a number of years, even as Sir and I were first getting together, I wore a Red Tiger's Eye bead in my pierce, and that stone was in relation to Herself. But on Sir and my first trip to San Francisco, all those years ago, the stone was given to the Pacific near the Golden Gate Bridge (in part because I had no way to return it to her at the time.)

But I'm a little ahead of myself. In San Francisco, we went to Gauntlet (SF), and had the old ring and stone taken out and replaced by a new ring with a Fire Opal captive bead- (an 'engagement ring' of sorts, though I didn't realize it at the time,) from my Sir, which I wear to this day. Then we drove up above the Golden Gate, released the tiger's eye to the Pacific, and it was then that he proposed to me. Now, going on 11 years later, we are not married, we're both deeply conflicted about the institution as such, but for us, the commitment to one another, and desire to be together was what mattered far more than whether or not a ritual was forthcoming.

So the Fire Opal ring, in my clit hood piercing holds a lot of meaning to me. That hood piercing has held symbols or tokens from two of what are arguably three of the most important people in my life. But the hole itself was about me, and was done at a particular moment in my own life.

I've never had holes put through me in relation to another person, and now that's about to change.

These two new holes and rings, will be specifically about Sir. Symbolizing his ownership and control as we move into our second decade together. For the first time in my life I chose to wear these in relation to my partner. For both of us, this is a very large step.

We've been talking about piercings and rings for more than a decade. I even have a previous set of jewelry from ten years ago, that's been sitting. I don't know if those particular rings will ever be worn or not, but our intent has been there for a long time.

I suppose you could say we had a lot of work to do before we could finally get to this point.

If all goes according to plan, these two will be the first of ten through my outer labia. Getting to all ten will take some years. We may space the piercings out even further as each pair of piercings is going to mean some 'down time' an immediate period without that form of sex, and a longer time meaning no baths! (Argh!) Healing each is going to take many months, and then of course, we're going to want some time to enjoy before we start the next pair.

So Monday marks the beginning of a long process.

On one hand I can't wait, on the other, I'm nervous, and needle phobic and no fan of pain without some real warm up first, but this is what it's going to take, and I want Sir's rings. So I'll do what I must.

After my 'Stonewall piercing' my dear friend took me out, along with a hoard of other Leatherfolk to South Street Seaport to find and share some 'flights' of excellent ports. After a rowdy and dreamy evening, we were swept along home in a taxi, across the Brooklyn Bridge under a beautiful moon, off to a brownstone in Park Slope. Getting up three flights of stairs have never felt so amazing in my life.

I know Monday I will be 'flying' too. Sir will care for me, and let me soar all the way home as we leave on our road trip not long after the appointment. All I need to do is sit quietly in the front seat, and let Sir take me home. His.

Seeing Herself

To begin with, it's sometimes funny what I consider 'personal'. I can write a post about being flogged, but when it comes to writing this, I pause. Perhaps in part because she'll be reading it, but also in that, well, in some ways, it's personal.

But this is blogging my little leather life, or so I claim, and to avoid writing this would be, well, a rather serious "sin" of omission, in no small part because it is what is a very serious part of my 'now', and in part because it's also part of my Leather 'then' as well.

I'm not going to attempt to write any version of the story of us here, at least not now. Suffice it to say, Herself (which sometimes should be more aptly written herself), is what I'll use here to refer to the womyn who was, for a time, my wife. A time that came to a close almost as soon as it began. Not by my decision, but by hers.

We've been apart for over 11 years now, and for all but the last few months, been completely out of contact. Which is its own long story that, no, I'm not going to write here either. She knows, and I know, and that's what matters here.

So we have been back in contact for less than a year now, almost entirely via e-mail, with one phone call, on her Birthday. It was the first time I had heard her voice in well, forever; lifetimes, relationships, marriages.

Clearly, we each have our own 'nows'. I, to my own surprise, have been steadfastly with Sir, and she has had her own relationships and entanglements and disentanglements with both people and the State in relation to such. I've left my beloved midwest to return to the general area near where she and I spent our years together. She on the other hand has left her beloved here to return to a place that she in some ways feels is not hers. Over time, though, my here, or more specifically Sir's here, has become such a part of me that this is my home now. He chose this place and I agreed to come to him.

So now, all these many years later, she has pined for a specific Yule gift from me- the ability to see me once again.

There is of course, much more to it than simply she and I coming to our own end. There was another person, and much pain, and much unnecessary pain, and interference that kept us from even being able to communicate, much less draw things to any kind of civilized close at the time. All of which, of course, is my far too polite way of saying bad things happened, bad things far beyond the control of the two of us. Not that she (or realy either of us) is some form of innocent party in the course of all of this, just in that many things happened that had nothing to do with anything either of us would have wanted or had any control over.

So she has asked to see me.

Naturally, this had lead to a great deal of introspection on my part.

There is the person she once was, and there is the person she is now, and there is everything in between. And there is the person I once was, the person I am now, and everything in between. Mainly though, there is time in between, and more than a decade, much of which was spent not knowing if she was alive or dead.

More than my wife, I placed my collar around her lovely neck, and called her my own.

My obligations to her, to that, did not end at the edge of our time together. A collar is a lifelong commitment for me.

So I have chewed upon this request of hers for some time now. Sir and I have spoken, and pondered, and worked through and through and through this. Oddly, it turns out he may be more comfortable with such than I am.

In the end, despite everything, or perhaps due to everything, I have come out to 'yes, but on my own terms'. That is all I can give.

Our Fetish Flea trip will, at one point take us near her, and come January, for one afternoon, she and I will finally come face to face, a culmination of so much. More than words can begin, really.

I suppose you can see now why I couldn't not at least give this its due. This is my now. And seeing her will be, well, no, not blogworthy, simply a significant, (hell, momentous) occasion, to me anyway.

I walk into this not knowing what I will do. We may cry, laugh, be awkward with one another, prattle on unceasingly, scream at each other, come around to some strange version of restoring the friendship that was there so long before we even came together, or walk out, perhaps never to see one another again. I don't know.

All I know is that in this, I can't deny her her request.

And that is all tangled in with Leather ideas of responsibility, and loyalty, and honour, along with deep sadness, betrayal, and even still smouldering anger.

Mostly, though, I've missed her.

And I'm so damn glad she's not dead.