(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.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, April 14, 2008
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!
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!
Friday, March 28, 2008
TSA vs. Nipple Rings
Wish I could find the words, but at the moment, I'm just pissed.
Over this, "Woman Says TSA Forced Piercings Removal", in particular.
(If you really want to go for that brain embolism level of realization that the people around you really are morons, take a moment to look through some of the comments on the article, there are many 'gems'; "GOOD for the TSA. I personally do not feel comfortable flying with the class of people who insert metal objects into their body....P.S. Tattooed people should not be allowed to fly either", or " aww my feeling were hurt - I’ll sue to feel better about being a fat ugly lesbian cow!!" or "Hamlin should’ve been beat with those pliars…".)
Clearly we're somewhere that simply gives permission for assholes to wear their scorn of people like me on their sleeves, be that a couple of TSA fucks in Texas or the assholes verbally vomiting all over comment threads.
This is theater, not anything genuinely relating to 'security'. It lets the 'authorities' in question humiliate her and rub her nose in their ability to pull this shit. (After all, who's gonna stop 'em?) At that particular moment she needs something from them- the ability to get to her flight on time. They have a particular form of power over her, and apparently enjoyed abusing such.
Meanwhile, from her perspective, she's just trying to catch the flight, and other than missing her flight/turning around and walking out, she doesn't have much by way of options.
Freedom of movement/freedom to travel is a fundamental right in many societies, a core human right. Here in the US, however, our legal history in regard to such is more convoluted and less protected. (The Wikipedia link above lays out some of the ongoing mess that is our lack of an articulated explicitly federal protection.)
But the effect of 'micro-scale incidents' such as this is more than merely legal, it's also social. While ultimately yes, she was able to get on the plane, this story is actually more of an intimidation effect. It causes other people to fall into inertia. Others who hear about it and understand that they too are a 'person not unlike her' may pre-emptively modify their own behavior in relation to 'regulated' forms of travel, thus decreasing their own movement out of fear or having been intimidated.
Think I'm going to be subjecting myself to a 'pat down' on my labia rings and clit hood ring? Think again.
Plenty of folks are already pointing out, everything from pacemakers, hip replacements and even the copper in IUDs are also "hidden" metal. Is TSA going to start demanding people take those out to fly?
If thousands of people can go through every single day with wedding rings, there's no earthly reason why body piercings should not be treated in a somewhat similar fashion, unless of course, you happen to be a TSA jerk-off who ENJOYS pulling such shit.
Sure, in some alternate universe of unlimited time and money, she says fuck you very much, walks out rents a car or uses her own and spends the next however many days driving to wherever it was she needs to be. That's a nice scenario, but realistically, that's not the way this goes.
Instead, she goes through whatever the hell she has to to get where she needs to be. Why? Because the bottom line is most of the time, people's choices are more limited than you might imagine, so they suck it up and suffer through.
That said, kudos to Mandi Hamlin for having the 'pair' to sue their sorry asses. I hope she takes 'em to the cleaners.
More to the point, I hope her case sets the precedent that lays out (more) sane 'guidelines' going forward. (Yeah, not holding my breath on that one- clearly there are plenty of Americans who would rather piss their pants over a nipple ring than take the moment to realize that a nipple ring is not a weapon.)
The key piece of the TSA's crappy guidelines on body piercings is the word "hidden". There's nothing "hidden" about nipple rings that she offered to show a female screener. Body jewelry shown to a screener in private should be treated no differently than earings or a wedding ring shown to a TSA screener.
Now, being pissed is quaint, but it doesn't change much, so here's the get off your butt, (or stay on your butt, in your pjs, and put that keyboard to good use) ACTION portion of the blog entry-
For those dear readers interested in giving the TSA a piece of their mind here's their contact page. I'd also recommend contacting;
* your representatives (here's a house form and a senate form)
* the major airlines (particularly any you've enrolled in frequent flyer programs with etc, be sure to mention such when contacting them.) Be specific- point out how much business the TSA bullshit is causing them to lose- not that they have control over the TSA, but make it clear that this nit-picking (or tit-picking) bullshit on the TSA's part is causing them to lose your business.
* and whatever media you feel might be willing to run a letter to the editor or similar such
I know, overly optimistic. Perhaps even delusional to try.
Still, this is perhaps THE quintessential example of how America is down to going out of its collective mind over tiny pieces of wire while the things that genuinely matter can't get above the noise. Micro managing the nonsensical while Rome burns, perhaps?
But then, I guess government micromanagement down to the level of going after the nipple jewelry of the socially transgressive makes for a lovely distraction from tackling difficult and 'unpleasant' realities like the sub-prime crash.
Addendum- this link contains a snippet of video from the press conference, and the article contains mentions of some of the other instances of TSA v piercings.
Over this, "Woman Says TSA Forced Piercings Removal", in particular.
(If you really want to go for that brain embolism level of realization that the people around you really are morons, take a moment to look through some of the comments on the article, there are many 'gems'; "GOOD for the TSA. I personally do not feel comfortable flying with the class of people who insert metal objects into their body....P.S. Tattooed people should not be allowed to fly either", or " aww my feeling were hurt - I’ll sue to feel better about being a fat ugly lesbian cow!!" or "Hamlin should’ve been beat with those pliars…".)
Clearly we're somewhere that simply gives permission for assholes to wear their scorn of people like me on their sleeves, be that a couple of TSA fucks in Texas or the assholes verbally vomiting all over comment threads.
This is theater, not anything genuinely relating to 'security'. It lets the 'authorities' in question humiliate her and rub her nose in their ability to pull this shit. (After all, who's gonna stop 'em?) At that particular moment she needs something from them- the ability to get to her flight on time. They have a particular form of power over her, and apparently enjoyed abusing such.
Meanwhile, from her perspective, she's just trying to catch the flight, and other than missing her flight/turning around and walking out, she doesn't have much by way of options.
Freedom of movement/freedom to travel is a fundamental right in many societies, a core human right. Here in the US, however, our legal history in regard to such is more convoluted and less protected. (The Wikipedia link above lays out some of the ongoing mess that is our lack of an articulated explicitly federal protection.)
But the effect of 'micro-scale incidents' such as this is more than merely legal, it's also social. While ultimately yes, she was able to get on the plane, this story is actually more of an intimidation effect. It causes other people to fall into inertia. Others who hear about it and understand that they too are a 'person not unlike her' may pre-emptively modify their own behavior in relation to 'regulated' forms of travel, thus decreasing their own movement out of fear or having been intimidated.
Think I'm going to be subjecting myself to a 'pat down' on my labia rings and clit hood ring? Think again.
Plenty of folks are already pointing out, everything from pacemakers, hip replacements and even the copper in IUDs are also "hidden" metal. Is TSA going to start demanding people take those out to fly?
If thousands of people can go through every single day with wedding rings, there's no earthly reason why body piercings should not be treated in a somewhat similar fashion, unless of course, you happen to be a TSA jerk-off who ENJOYS pulling such shit.
Sure, in some alternate universe of unlimited time and money, she says fuck you very much, walks out rents a car or uses her own and spends the next however many days driving to wherever it was she needs to be. That's a nice scenario, but realistically, that's not the way this goes.
Instead, she goes through whatever the hell she has to to get where she needs to be. Why? Because the bottom line is most of the time, people's choices are more limited than you might imagine, so they suck it up and suffer through.
That said, kudos to Mandi Hamlin for having the 'pair' to sue their sorry asses. I hope she takes 'em to the cleaners.
More to the point, I hope her case sets the precedent that lays out (more) sane 'guidelines' going forward. (Yeah, not holding my breath on that one- clearly there are plenty of Americans who would rather piss their pants over a nipple ring than take the moment to realize that a nipple ring is not a weapon.)
The key piece of the TSA's crappy guidelines on body piercings is the word "hidden". There's nothing "hidden" about nipple rings that she offered to show a female screener. Body jewelry shown to a screener in private should be treated no differently than earings or a wedding ring shown to a TSA screener.
Now, being pissed is quaint, but it doesn't change much, so here's the get off your butt, (or stay on your butt, in your pjs, and put that keyboard to good use) ACTION portion of the blog entry-
For those dear readers interested in giving the TSA a piece of their mind here's their contact page. I'd also recommend contacting;
* your representatives (here's a house form and a senate form)
* the major airlines (particularly any you've enrolled in frequent flyer programs with etc, be sure to mention such when contacting them.) Be specific- point out how much business the TSA bullshit is causing them to lose- not that they have control over the TSA, but make it clear that this nit-picking (or tit-picking) bullshit on the TSA's part is causing them to lose your business.
* and whatever media you feel might be willing to run a letter to the editor or similar such
I know, overly optimistic. Perhaps even delusional to try.
Still, this is perhaps THE quintessential example of how America is down to going out of its collective mind over tiny pieces of wire while the things that genuinely matter can't get above the noise. Micro managing the nonsensical while Rome burns, perhaps?
But then, I guess government micromanagement down to the level of going after the nipple jewelry of the socially transgressive makes for a lovely distraction from tackling difficult and 'unpleasant' realities like the sub-prime crash.
Addendum- this link contains a snippet of video from the press conference, and the article contains mentions of some of the other instances of TSA v piercings.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
When there are no words
Last Tuesday evening. I'm ready for bed but Sir is still quite awake. I ask him to tuck me in.
Sir surprises me.
We're trying to be a bit more intentional about some of our small rituals, trying to take time out of our all too often busy lives to make time for the building of habits and small gestures that in many ways reinforce the 'us'.
For many in the Leather community such come perfectly naturally.
When I am the Dominant partner in a relationship, for example, I live sleep eat breathe rituals; everything from morning coffee rituals to how my girl enters a room, or dresses. I suppose you could say I'm highly demanding when it comes to protocols.
Yet when I find myself on the other end of the power dynamic, well, I often end up feeling somewhat adrift. Unfortunately, particularly with Sir, as clear articulations and demands upon me are often in short supply.
In our relationship I am "property" to him, yet we have few protocols.
There are many counterbalances, though, that do help me find my way. Sex with him is one of those many ways I find clarity in my position.
Thus, the simple act of tucking me into bed, every so often, at unexpected times, like Tuesday night, sometimes escalates into good hard sex. And thereafter, even though the words may not come, I do know my place and feel secure in it.
I suspect many womyn who are slaves to, or bottom to (or whatever in relation to) particular men find their Dom/Owner/Sir's lack of articulation of expectation difficult from time to time. Perhaps it's a bit more acute for me, in that I have at times both been on the 'other end' as both 'owner' of a sort, and as an at times Dominant woman's beloved.
The particular womyn I've chosen to partner with have tended to have at least some ability to spell out many of their needs. With the men in my life, Sir included, their wants and needs at times seem to fall off the edge of language, or perhaps they simply don't feel the need to use language to express them.
Either way, me being a person for whom clarity in communication is important, I sometimes find that lack of articulation deeply frustrating.
Yes, there are inarticulate about such things, (desires and details) womyn Dommes, and perfectly articulate male Doms. But that is not quite the way that has played out for me with my Sir.
So finding those times when it's somewhere other than words, but things are perfectly clear between us is very important, in that that clarity is rarely spelled out in detail between us.
In day to day life, both of us fully understand what this is and how we relate to one another, coupled with the fact that this is my life (and his), I'm not going anywhere. But finding the clarity in expression of those things at times is subtle, it's in a look, a touch, and the pulling of my hair, not necessarily words.
Thus times, such as Tuesday night, become quite precious to me.
Sir surprises me.
We're trying to be a bit more intentional about some of our small rituals, trying to take time out of our all too often busy lives to make time for the building of habits and small gestures that in many ways reinforce the 'us'.
For many in the Leather community such come perfectly naturally.
When I am the Dominant partner in a relationship, for example, I live sleep eat breathe rituals; everything from morning coffee rituals to how my girl enters a room, or dresses. I suppose you could say I'm highly demanding when it comes to protocols.
Yet when I find myself on the other end of the power dynamic, well, I often end up feeling somewhat adrift. Unfortunately, particularly with Sir, as clear articulations and demands upon me are often in short supply.
In our relationship I am "property" to him, yet we have few protocols.
There are many counterbalances, though, that do help me find my way. Sex with him is one of those many ways I find clarity in my position.
Thus, the simple act of tucking me into bed, every so often, at unexpected times, like Tuesday night, sometimes escalates into good hard sex. And thereafter, even though the words may not come, I do know my place and feel secure in it.
I suspect many womyn who are slaves to, or bottom to (or whatever in relation to) particular men find their Dom/Owner/Sir's lack of articulation of expectation difficult from time to time. Perhaps it's a bit more acute for me, in that I have at times both been on the 'other end' as both 'owner' of a sort, and as an at times Dominant woman's beloved.
The particular womyn I've chosen to partner with have tended to have at least some ability to spell out many of their needs. With the men in my life, Sir included, their wants and needs at times seem to fall off the edge of language, or perhaps they simply don't feel the need to use language to express them.
Either way, me being a person for whom clarity in communication is important, I sometimes find that lack of articulation deeply frustrating.
Yes, there are inarticulate about such things, (desires and details) womyn Dommes, and perfectly articulate male Doms. But that is not quite the way that has played out for me with my Sir.
So finding those times when it's somewhere other than words, but things are perfectly clear between us is very important, in that that clarity is rarely spelled out in detail between us.
In day to day life, both of us fully understand what this is and how we relate to one another, coupled with the fact that this is my life (and his), I'm not going anywhere. But finding the clarity in expression of those things at times is subtle, it's in a look, a touch, and the pulling of my hair, not necessarily words.
Thus times, such as Tuesday night, become quite precious to me.
Monday, March 10, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
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.)
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.)
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