Little Requests
August 23rd, 2012
Stuff and things and more stuff. Car accident today. My brain is a bit scattered… well, even more scattered than usual, I guess. Got rear-ended. Her fault. Head and back ache, but not severe injuries of any kind. Car needs a new bumper. Supposed to be getting an estimate on the repairs soon. Well, technically, should already have gotten that estimate. Ah well. Posts have been a bit odd lately. Lists and things. Even less substance last week, but some good stuff in the digest this week. Added The Perverted Negress to my blogroll, too. Not sure why I didn’t have her there yet. She’s a pretty awesome lady.
This month has just been so busy, and it isn’t letting up any time soon. Anniversaries, birthdays, conventions, parties. The works, all the way through into October and then the holidays hit. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas (and all the other December/winter celebrations), and New Year’s. And this past week, what do I tell my parents? That I spend my time working at the store. Twice, my mother asked why didn’t I take the rubber bands off my wrists. I told her they help me keep from scratching (he smacks my hand when I scratch). When she asked again, habit, was my only response.
I don’t like lying to my parents, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers the Engineer. I know that even if they could handle it, my brother wouldn’t, and his kids are far too young for me to be cut out of their lives already. They’re part of the reason we moved back here, and found this amazing community. Wouldn’t that just float his boat?
The rubber bands are important to me. A thing he asked me to do. Being able to do what he asks makes me happy. Having something to look at and think of him makes me happy. I wear two on each wrist now, he only asked for one. But when one breaks, I’d be left with nothing, and they used to break all the time. So, two became my habit, so that I would always have at least one. I hardly ever take them off anymore, except to bathe, or to switch them out for new ones. I feel slightly naked without them, missing something. It might be silly to be attached to something so flimsy and replaceable as rubber bands, but it’s not the bands themselves that I’m attached to. It is the fulfillment of his request that makes me smile.
The same goes with the skirts. I have negotiated away wearing pants in his presence unless I’m leaving the house to go to work, or he specifically gives permission for pants/shorts. Recently, on our theme park trips, he told me I could wear pants or shorts so the skirt wouldn’t get caught in things. I chose shorts, both for the heat, and because I just couldn’t fathom purposefully wearing full length pants around him anymore. Not to say pants haven’t happened, they did just the other day during a slightly panicked situation, and I apologized with a short short skirt a few days later.
My reasons have shifted over the last few years, along with our relationship. Initially, he requested skirts or shorts, for ease of access to whatever he wanted, as my boyfriend and Dom. Later, when we were discussing my partner in crime’s restriction to just skirts, it was decided that even shorts went against this ease of access rule and if she couldn’t have them, neither could I. Some of that has fallen by the wayside, though the theory is still sound. He may still have access to whatever he wants, and skirts facilitate that, and so I am happy to wear them for him.
But for me, the bigger part of it, is the confidence in my body that I have gained. Yes, I still wear long skirts, because they’re fun and flowing, or warm, but my legs are still visible, to varying degrees, depending on what I’m doing. In short skirts, my legs are definitely visible, as well as the shorts I wore to the parks. He enjoys legs, and he enjoys confidence. So, my wearing skirts, or short shorts, makes him smile. I balked, hard, when he first requested this of me. My legs were the biggest part of my body that I wanted to hide. Especially my thighs. But, in the last four years, he has helped me to stop being ashamed of my legs, and to be comfortable in my skin. I am quite grateful for this, though my favorite light skirts are wearing quite thin these days. Good thing we’re heading into fall soon.
It’s the little things. The simple requests. The things that bring a smile to the lips, and joy to the heart. Being able, when so many things are spinning out of control, to do the little things you can do. To give what help you are able. To have some stability and sameness to cling to. To grow and share, and show gratitude. We are busy, and time is so limited right now. But I look down at my wrists and think of him. When he does see me, I’m wearing a skirt, for him. These little things give me comfort, even when we cannot be together, and joy when we can.
How to Melt an Imp
August 2nd, 2012
Sitting outside at a bar in Boise a few weeks ago, I mention to the guys I’m sitting with, that I miss bass singing voices. That there just aren’t a lot of guys with deep voices around at home. All three of them immediately launch into Swing Low Sweet Chariot… but only the intro line and I duck my head and blush, and come up giggling. It reminded me of a party a couple years ago when a guy I sorta knew wrapped his arms around my shoulders and sang into my ear. I melted. Not that he and I did anything after he stopped singing, but instant melt. It’s a daddy thing, no, not that daddy. When I was a child, I loved sitting next to my father while he sang, baritone most of the time, but some days managing the deep bass. I was always enamored of the basses in the choir, little girl crushes that never went anywhere. To this day, it still gets to me. I could easily lay my head on the chest of a bass singer for hours, and be a happy melted puddle.
Massage is another one of those melty things, I think for a lot of people. I told my first boyfriend once, that I’d do anything for a massage. He was polite enough not to test that offer. Everyone who has ever rubbed my shoulders knows I have knots that just won’t quit. I don’t have a lot of meat on my upper torso, but what’s there is knotted tight. Even the professional masseuse didn’t get very far because I’d bought a full body massage. So, I love massage, but I have to be careful. That “do anything” vibe it puts me in is rarely appropriate, and I sometimes feel a bit awkward in receiving a well-meaning rub from a friend. But when I just let go, relax and enjoy, the melting is wonderful.
Really Good Food that I didn’t have to make myself. I am such a picky eater, and my body is even pickier. That when I get a delicious meal, where everything is wonderful, and as close to perfect as can be. I’m in heaven. Freshly baked bread with soft butter. A steak right off the grill, seared but still mooing. Still warm and gooey cookies or brownies. Asparagus, grilled and lightly salted. Sea salt-crusted baked potatoes with soft and fluffy insides. Pot roast that falls apart with a fork. Light and fluffy waffles with sizzling bacon. Bright green, fresh salad with strawberries dotting the bowl. Jack Daniels chicken strips. Cheddar Bay biscuits. Crispy chicken or eggplant parmesan. Grilled pizza, deep fried turkey, juicy beef brisket or pulled pork. That perfectly ripe watermelon. Large-chunk guacamole from his wife’s recipe. Delicious food can make me melt with joy.
Adventures. There are Things that I like, Things that I want. But what I really enjoy are new experiences and adventures. Going out to hike a trail I’ve never seen before. Going to an amusement park and riding new rides (and old rides with new people). Taking a canoe down a river. Exploring a cave. Finding a new place to stargaze. Visiting other cities, states, countries. Shared joy is multiplied, and the wonder of a new experience is like nothing else in this world. Adventures melt away the ordinary and fill my heart with happiness.
I wasn’t sure where I was going with this post. I knew where I wanted to start, but I didn’t know where I was going to end. There are a lot of things that turn me on, I talk about them all the time. But that’s not what this is about. I wanted to write about the things that really get to my heart, as well as my loins. For me, melting is more about my romantic side. Which is a side I often ignore, as unimportant, or something for when there’s more time. But these are some of the things that really speak to my heart, that make me warm and fuzzy and happy. And I am fortunate and grateful that, excepting the first one, these are all often in my life.
I’m a Bootlicker, and That’s Okay
June 7th, 2012
He came in and sat down with his dinner. Tells me he’s really done a number on his boots, with camping and bartending, they’re a mess. I glance down and nod, indeed. Go get your kit. There’s not a lot of time. Oh we have half an hour. Hey, you wanna help? The engineer has been asking for a lesson for a while now. Sure.
So, I get my kit, get some water and set down at his feet. Me on his left foot, her on his right. I begin the lesson. Gotta get new soap. I have a bare ring left in the tin and the edge is all rusted. I get the rust on my hand and onto a spare rag. Gotta keep it off the boot. We make lather and start in. Wiping off a lot more than I usually have to, for all the gunk on them. Even the soles get work this time. We get a few stray comments from the peanut gallery and he comments on how good a massage it is. Then they are clean and I’m about to grab the grease, but I look up at him first.
“Now, this is the time to lick them.” he tells her.
I explain that some people lick after the grease, but that creeps me out, especially with the black dye in mine, but my heart is beating just a little faster. Did he really want us to?
“Guess what I read?” he says to me.
“My blog.” I answer, starting to blush.
“Yep, I got all caught up before I came out tonight.”
I’m blushing harder and mumbling to her, but she hasn’t read it yet. He really means it, he really wants me to do it. She’s a bit in shock to, as he tells her to as well. And then we begin.
I’m scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. I’ve never done this before, oh I’ve wanted to. Dreamed about it. Went to classes on it. But, but, but. Just do it.
And I do, and it tastes like clean leather. And it’s his boot. His boot. Those Carolina boots I’ve been staring down at for nearly four years now in this form or the other pair. These are the steel-toes I’ve been cleaning and caring for since he bought them. I’m holding his boot and running my tongue down the leather, from toe to heel.
And I can hear him appreciating it. I can hear people around him saying how hot it is. My face is burning, so I bury it in his boot. Kissing and licking. Pressing the sole against my chest and my shoulder as I turn my head to one side then the other. He says it’s a mix of warmth and pressure, and I’m glad he can feel it. I glance occasionally over at her and she is just as happily involved as I am.
So happy, and excited. Arousal has replaced all fear and is chasing embarrassment into a corner. I’m gasping against his boot, kissing and catching my breath. Enjoying the sensation of the tread against my chest. Loving the taste and feel and smell of the leather. I don’t want to stop,
I can hear them getting ready for class. We’ll have to stop then, we are far too distracting and distracted. Not yet, please not yet. I ignore the sounds and keep licking.
The arch of the boot is my favorite, a sensitive spot on my own foot, but hard to get to. I remember what Bootpig said about speaking to the person through bootlicking. I thought I understood it then, watching. But I really understand it now. I pour my love, gratitude and yes, arousal, out my tongue and onto his boot. And it is amazing. I never thought it would feel like this.
And I’m glad the engineer is on the other boot. There wouldn’t have been time for this if I’d had to do both. And while we are separate in our licking, together, we are making him happy.
When class does finally start, I have no idea how long we were licking, but we come up grinning like mad, and curl up, arms around his legs, happy with our first taste of bootlicking.
My Passion
May 21st, 2012
Today, I want you to do whatever is your passion. That was the start of the GRUE this weekend. People were invited to put their passion, in the form of a class title up on the wall, and to lead classes all day to teach/discuss their passions. I’d had a few ideas to put up on the wall until that was said, then I had nothing. Instead, I went and put up his passion instead, he wanted to fly people, and to teach his favorite tie. So, that’s what we did.
He taught the drum tie, with me assisting. It was a big class, so I went around and helped those who were having trouble. I pointed out where they had gone the wrong way, or I showed them what to do next when they got lost. I helped with the tricky knots. It was great, and he often praised or thanked me for it. Once folk were tied, I helped guide their heads off the ground and back down again. In between, I got to watch them Fly.
Oh, did they fly! So many new faces, so many first times. Such joy and amazement. And him, bouncing and running and grinning so wide. The onlookers staring and laughing, all of us enjoying the moment and the energy. And when they came down, and I cradled their heads in my lap. They were still glowing so brightly. It was incredible.
And he didn’t stop. He helped put up everyone from the class that wanted to go up. And then he kept going. People kept coming and asking to go up. He had quite the queue. We didn’t even get halfway through it. All day he kept going. And people came by to learn, as well. He taught the tie at least three more times throughout the day.
I was so full of energy, I couldn’t stay still. Often, when he was tying, I would wander off. I wandered off to a bootblack class for a bit. Talking with one of the bootblacks that I learned with, and discussing technique and products with the others that showed up. I cut out halfway through to see if he needed help when I saw him lowering someone, but her boy was catching her. He did have me run out for his gloves then. I went back to bootblacking after that for more discussion. I learned a lot about high polish boots, that being the side I don’t work with at all right now.
I wandered in and out of a lot of other demo classes. Fire, paddles, floggers, cigars, another couple suspension classes. But never for very long. I was curious, but not focused on them. I wanted to keep an eye on everything going on, but I kept coming back to him. Kept checking in. Bringing him water, making his sandwich after another friend insisted on getting us both food. Fetching things from the truck. Cleaning up the ropes between scenes. Keeping track of the queue. Basking in the energy each and every suspension created.
People kept asking if I was having fun. Some concerned that I wasn’t getting suspended. I told every single one of them yes. I was having a great time. Didn’t they See the huge grin on that girl’s face? Didn’t they see how awesome a time everyone was having? It was so great to see so many people have their first experience flying. I had an amazing day.
At the closing circle, my emotions were on a rollercoaster. I was so very near to tears then calm then up near tears again, all joy, full with the energy of that room full of people. Leaning against him, his arms around me. When he spoke up, he said how great a support I had been to him all day. Several people thanked him for his passion. I couldn’t speak, afraid I would cry and be unintelligible. We went to dinner, buzzing about the day, chattering, happy. It was a great day. I’m so glad I decided to go.
I began to wonder though, as he talked about having done his passion all day. What had I done? What was my passion? Had I fulfilled my purpose at the GRUE? Had I followed the rule? I fluttered around all day. Did that mean I didn’t have a passion?
No. No, I did indeed fulfill the purpose of the GRUE. I lived my passion. I spent the entire day serving him. Even my fluttering. To learn more about bootblacking. To keep an eye on who was using the other point. To check on everyone around and see what was happening and that everyone was happy and safe. To help him teach. To help him suspend new people. To share his joy and theirs. I spent the day fulfilling my passion of service to him. And it was wonderful.
Three Years
May 17th, 2012
I started this blog three years ago this week. I’d been in the local community about one year at that point. So, four years in the kinky community. It has definitely been the “bumpy, wild and sometimes very dark” ride that I promised in that first post. I has also been wonderful, amazing and very fun. There has been love and joy. There has been anger and pain. There have been incredible highs and dizzying spirals. My life has been filled with new people, new experiences, new love, new family, and new growth, I have battled old demons, old habits, old programming, and old beliefs. I have learned new skills, new ways of being, new ways of communicating, and discovered new strengths inside myself. I have made plenty of mistakes, uncovered weaknesses, become lost and broken. But through it all, I have found support, I have learned, I have grown, and I continue to strive for better. I have found joy in helping, in serving, in teaching and in guiding others.
I have discovered things that did not work for me, but they do not make me a failure. I have learned from these experiences, just as much as any others, perhaps more. And I am still learning from them, and teaching from them. That is one of the reasons I created this blog, so others who might read it would not feel alone, would know that others are having similar experiences. I have often found it hard to write about these things when they are happening, but I think I got around to most of them eventually. Often when the problem was solved, or at least finally understood, was I able to reflect publicly on it.
I started this blog anonymously. I think it was a year before I started sharing it with people, with my significant others and with my friends in the community. About the same time that I created PervertedImp.com and started double posting at both WordPress and the .com. I still haven’t decided if I’m ever going to stop the WordPress one and just have it forward to the .com. I don’t have much of a following there, but I do have a few. (WordPressers, comment if you’d like me to keep that blog up, or just come join the rest of us at .com.) I still keep a separate Fetlife account, though the lines are getting a bit fuzzy with Modern Dungeon Quarterly posts. And it is the pen name I use for my erotica. The internet created feelings of protective anonymity in my generation, and I find it useful to keep.
Well, that paragraph went around in a lot of odd circles. Let’s move forward.
I’ve put together collections of my erotica from this blog, both stories and scene descriptions. Organized by subject matter, into short PDFs with a few things that were never posted here. Some were posted on Fetlife and some were published in Pill Hill Press’s erotica anthologies. I want to offer them to you, my readers, for free. You can find them on the new Erotica Collections page, where you can also make a donation if you like, or click over to HP Magcloud to purchase a printed copy. Each week I’ll post another one, until they are all up. I’ll also be putting together an anthology of all of them together which will be available next month.
Round Two
March 22nd, 2012
“Now for what I want.”
“Yes, Sir.” She gripped the cross legs behind her thighs and grinned back at him.
Crack Snap Crack.
He landed a hit on each nipple and a teasing mid-air snap in front of her nose. She squealed and tensed trying to remain perfectly still. Clenching her hands on the boards lest she reflexively cover herself.
Crack Crack.
Crack Crack.
She let out her breath in a scream when he finished, barely able to keep her hands down, as he laid two lines across each breast. Bright red kisses pointing to her nipples. Mumbling curses as she caught her breath, gazing up at his giddiness.
Crack.
She howled and bounced on one leg as he caught her thigh.
Crack.
He stopped her bouncing with a strike to the other leg.
She gasped and half-glared, half-grinned up at him.
Then she saw the light bulb and he turned to get a different toy.
“Close your eyes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Her breath quickened as she strained to hear a hint of what he was getting. She could tell where he was, but there were so many toys there, and he was being careful.
She felt him return, closer than before, and he wasted no time.
Thwap!
She yelped as rubber floggers slammed down on her breasts.
Thwap. Thwap.
She groaned into the hits, keeping her eyes closed and her chin up to avoid the falls.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap!
Left. Right. Both. She gasped and moaned at the hits.
The he picked up a beat. And the rocked together. Single hits per beat. Double. And then triple. Six-count to the beat of the music. She started with a groan, building into a moan and ending with a scream.
He pulled back down. Double and then single hits per beat. Quarter notes on her chest. Pounding out gasps and moans.
“Can… I… Open… My… Eyes… Sir?” She managed between gasps.
His response was to pick up speed again until she screamed and tried to collapse, but there was nowhere to go. Pausing for a moment, he answered.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She managed through ragged gasps, and she opened her eyes to see his glowing face before her. Tears filling her eyes, but her smile matching his.
He returned to simple beats, staring into her eyes now. They moved together, breathed together, energy flowing free and joyful between them.
A new song came on, and he picked up the pace. Not too fast, but fast enough to send her humming into space.
Thwap gasp. Thwap moan. Thwap gasp. Thwap moan.
Into six count, her head fell back, eyes closed, hardly remembering to breathe in as it all came out in a long, moaning growl, fingers digging into the wooden cross.
Thwap!
A downbeat to end the song and she nearly falls, but he is there, hand in her hair, holding her up, kissing her.
“Good girl.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulls her off the cross and against his chest.
“I love you, Sir.” She wraps her arms around him.
“I love you, too.” He kisses her forehead and leads her off to blankets and cuddles.
Healthy, Happy Submission
March 19th, 2012
Very late posting, sorry about that. I was busy and sleepy the last few days. And well, three posts the previous week, I hoped would tide you over until I got down to work. Several things running around in my head today. Might get a couple posts again.
I’m trying to get myself back on track. Getting back into my exercise and meditation routine, this time with music to keep me going. Music without words so I don’t get distracted. I’m going to do a bit of research on meditation as well. I want to make this a sustainable, healthy habit. Not get stuck in my head running circles like I did last time. That wasn’t the intent and I want to do better now.
Working on eating better as well. I’ve been slacking in my own shopping, and while I do enjoy eating regular meals with him and with hubby, I have to at least eat more alkaline on my own. Healthier imp means happier imp means better able to do relationship work means healthier and happier relationships. Everyone wins.
The engineer asked me a good question the other night that I want to ramble about. She asked my why submissives get such joy and fulfillment out of kneeling and/or sitting at their dom’s feet. I answered her saying, it gives me a feeling of being in my place, of being below and looking up to him. So, where does this come from? Old systems of government where you knelt to your sovereign? Slaves kneeling before masters? It has always been a symbol of a power exchange. The one kneeling giving up power to or acknowledging the power of the one standing or sitting above them.
My mind wanders now, to kneeling for him. As a symbol of the power I give to him. Even when he is not there, in front of me. It was the reason, originally. To think of him and what we had, when he wasn’t there. I warped and twisted it as things got difficult. Used it as time to dwell instead of internally reconnect. I get so lost inside my own head sometimes, but that was not a healthy way to explore it. Kneeling is about the exchange between us, not about the problems or the confusion or even about communication. It is a symbol of my submission to him, given freely.
I have gotten a lot of joy from blacking his boots. I put my kit together specifically for his boots, with just a extra tin of polish just in case. I found a fun box for it at work, and soon the engineer will be letting me borrow a headlamp so I can do better in the dark club. My boots this Saturday and the angles I was at even allowed me to remain kneeling the entire time, which I haven’t managed often lately. That made me extremely happy. As did his playful rocking of his boots on my thighs that caused quite delicious pain. I still have a couple happy marks from it.
Through all the ups and downs, and busy times, and changes in schedules, this has been one of the constants. Taking care of his boots has been one way I can serve him regularly. It is something I can do at any of the venues the crew gets together at and it is something that is regularly needed. And I can do it while he works, observes or holds other conversations.
I am very grateful that I found bootblacking and that our local title holder was an open resource to me. She helped me and taught me when I first started out, and showed me how happy I could make him with such a simple service. As well as the joy I could get out of it. I have been called a baby bootblack, but really, it is more personal than that, I am his baby bootblack. And it makes me very happy.
My Friend the Blacksmith
February 16th, 2012
A great Valentine’s weekend. Hung out with folk at the poolhall on Friday. Got to sleep in on a Saturday. Then the big party. I had a new red dress with holes down the sides and my shiny boots. I blushed as red as my dress at first until I got used to it.
Halfway through the night, I tugged on his sleeve and asked about The Box. Can we open it? I hadn’t been drinking at all. I’d be careful. I got the box and we found a quiet room.
A while back, we learned that our friend was a blacksmith. About a year ago, he brought the blacksmith an idea. They started collaborating on the design of a metal shrew’s fiddle. Measurements were taken. Plans drawn. Pieces shaped and tested and reshaped. Hinges were built and broke and made stronger. The metal was heated, scrubbed and oiled to remove the shiny. Last month the blacksmith gave us the locking pin. Almost done. Last week the blacksmith gave me The Box: large and white, and sealed up tight. I gave it to him, but a busy week left it closed until 11pm Saturday night.
I handed him the box and he pointed to the floor. I knelt eagerly, only slightly awkward in the stretchy dress. He pulled up the tape and removed the paper-wrapped bundle. My eyes were shining as he unwrapped our new fiddle. I took the dulled pin from around my neck and pulled the string out as he removed the shiny place-holder pin from the device. I lifted my hair and he placed it around my neck. Left wrist, then right. I watched his hands as he slid the locking pin home and secured it tight. Finally.
We had the toy we’d been waiting for. Heavy and secure. Fit perfectly to my neck and wrists. Not so tight on the neck as to risk panic or immediate danger. The wrists deliciously squeezed in metal wide enough not to cut off circulation. Pure joy.
He watched me get to my feet, both of us full of grins, and head back out to the party. Smiles and grins and appreciative comments followed me through the dance floor. I headed upstairs to find the blacksmith. Tripped on the troublesome step, but no harm done. Got someone to pull my dress back down when I got to the top, stretchy material likes to ride up. Found him, grinning like mad. Wow. He loved the lines of the device, and even more seeing it in use. Our photographer wanted pictures, and then placed an order for three more. They chatted about design and care while I floated. The blacksmith doesn’t like the hinges, the next one will have it done differently, but the lines. So gorgeous.
My shoulders and wrists begin to ache, I set the end on toy’s shoulder. Ah, much better. A little relief from the strain is all I need, and I’m wandering again. So happy, such lovely weight and delicious pain. But I want it to last, so I set it on shoulders and hands and bartops as needed. I’m curious at one point and find a bed to lay down in. That’s more like it, completely comfortable.
Up again and round about. Toy feeds me a chocolate rum ball, and I’m off. He finds me here and there, tugs on the end to make me gasp. Grinning at each other. Not an especially useful position for anything other than restraint itself, but very good at that. No, I can’t reach the pin with fingers or teeth. I’m good and stuck. Others ponder ways I could escape, but it would take some serious doing.
Two hours in, one in the morning. Even having it braced by someone else, my shoulders are still hurting. Time to give in. He releases me and I put it away, wrapped and boxed once more. Arms now free, I give thanks all around. To him and the blacksmith. A wonderful Valentine’s gift from them both.
What’ve You Got To Lose?
December 1st, 2011
A journal entry from earlier this week:
The longer you’ve been around, the more you have to lose. As wife, before girlfriends exist, you have everything. All the love, time, attention, interest. Then comes girlfriend, and love multiplies, but time and attention are divided, and if you’re lucky, interest gets multiplied by the extra energy. Sometimes, though, NRE can make it feel like she gets more and you get less. It can take time to rebalance.
The cycle continues for girlfriend. You get all you can until second girlfriend arrives. Then, by the needs of reality, time and attention are further divided, love is multiplied, and interest fluctuates, hopefully ending up in the positive direction. As more partners are added, balance gets harder to maintain, and needs and wants are weighed more carefully.
One ripple causes waves throughout, and if it starts as a wave, storms can appear. Tidal pools of spiraling emotions, pulling everyone down until someone catches a life-preserver and pulls the rest back up.
So, how do you survive the divisions? By enjoying that which is multiplied. By believing the benefits outweigh the cost. By being heard, even when you don’t get everything you want. By being gracious, compassionate, compersive and by compromising. Life is a state of constant change, you have to keep up and ask for the love and support you need to do so.
This is relevant in two, completely opposite directions in my life right now. One, hubby is down to just me. This makes the time he has to spend with me greater, though my availability has not truly changed. It may, if needed, or as schedules naturally morph over time and situation. But he and I must find a new balance, as he will be home for time I’ve previously spent alone, and he may find a desire for more of my time than he currently has.
Two, he is up to a wife and four girlfriends, and his wife is changing to day shifts next week. For a while now, most of the time divided by him, has been time she is usually at work. Now, though, it won’t be, and I imagine she is feeling the sting sharper for the amount of time she now has available and the huge chunks of it already scheduled with us. So, we look for balance, not only of time between the five of us, but of place, to give her space in her home.
We don’t have answers for any of this, yet. But we are all committed to making it work. For the love we all share, and the community we are creating together, makes us all stronger and better, and fills our lives with incredible joy.
Rope Scenes
July 14th, 2011
I’ve posted a lot about rope. About why I like it, what I like about it, about scenes I’ve had with it, about buying it, about learning to tie it. There have been a lot of classes on rope lately, with more coming up, especially at COPE in September. The most recent was on Eeling. And he said he learned more about me by attending than about the subject, because he and I don’t play like that. Way back when we first met, he challenged me to get out of a tie, but not since. Our scenes are about other things that escape. So, it brought to mind today, what kinds of rope scenes are there, what kinds do I enjoy, and what do I get out of the different kinds?
Suspension is one, well, two really. There are high-flying suspensions, and there are static.
High-flying suspensions I have written about a few times, describing particular scenes or the freedom in it. The care for comfort of the tie, and the attention to detail of the rigging are very important. Swinging from a point 15-20′ in the air by thin ropes tied around the body is a feeling like no other I’ve ever experienced. We compare it to a swing set of childhood, or a roller coaster ride. But it is so much more than the first, and so much more sensual than the second. It is about trust and control. Giving it all to the person tying and flying you. One mistake and bad things could happen. But when it’s done right, with care and attention. The energy, the joy, the sense of freedom, is incredible. The dizziness from spinning well worth the feeling of the spin. The rope marks can last for days, bright red lines where the ropes lay, holding you in the sky. And for me, the scene doesn’t end when I’m back on the ground. I float as he unties, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, leaving burns with the lines. And then I sink back down to earth, surrounded by the rope, coiling it up, breathing it in. Landing mentally, only when it is all put away again.
Static suspensions share a lot of the same sensations and feelings with high-flying ones. But they tend to be more sensual for me. More about the rope touching and holding. More about the feel of him close to me, often playing with me while I’m suspended. Static lends to deeper space, less wide-eyed excitement. I sink into rope space whenever I am tied, but when left to hang in it, my mind sinks deeper into my body. Feeling everything. And floats out to him, feeling the energy and the exchange.
A similar state is achieved through floor scenes. When he ties me, not to a suspension point, but into a ball, or a hog-tie or some such, self-contained tie. These, though, have me grounded, literally, and mentally. I am not floating away, finding the freedom of being suspended. I am tied into myself, molded into the shape he wishes. I am made vulnerable in a completely different way. No longer is my life hanging by a thread, but rather, I am at his mercy. I am where and what he wants me to be. I am bound and helpless, and available for whatever he wants to do, with less safety concerns to distract. (Yes, there are always safety concerns, but not maintaining steady breathing, or a numb limb isn’t going to end a ground scene nearly as quickly as a suspension.) Floor scenes can be as simple as tying and leaving to melt, whether in a ball on the floor, or walking around with just the upper body bound. Or tying and then tormenting – whips, floggers, paddles, pinches, nipple clamps, tickling, what have you. A fully sensual and power exchange scene for me.
Coming off floor scenes, there are bed scenes. Tied down to a bed, for sex and torment. To be tied completely open and vulnerable. These have a different feel from ground scenes, for various reasons. One, obviously, if the intent is sex, is quite a bit different than the above feelings. But the other, for torment, is still different, too. Tied in a ground tie, immobilized and tormented is one thing. Often you can’t see what’s coming, or you can curl and squirm at the very least. Tied out spread eagle, unable to even pretend you can protect or defend yourself. Waiting, watching, often enduring torment that you can do nothing about. It is a similar, but uniquely delicious space. For me, there is far less sinking into the rope in these scenes. Sometimes I use pulling on the rope to process the pain, or as a focus point, but these scenes do not take me to rope space nearly as much as a ground tie.
The last type, I want to talk about is what sparked this post. Eeling. Getting out of the rope you were put in. I used to do this type of scene with the other a lot, or folks on the crew, just playing around when we were bored. See how long it took to escape a particular tie. Or tie myself up so the other could watch me escape. Or be tied up and left to escape on my own. Or one particular friend like to keep adding rope as I would untie the first few. These were interesting scenes for me. Scenes of challenge. I like challenges, challenging myself, being challenged. The ties were puzzles to be solved. And learned from. I love learning, too. I started learning suspension ties by untying them. I learned a lot about floor and bed ties by untying myself. There was discussion about what about eeling turns eels on, and about the rollercoaster that eeling scenes can be. For me – the joy of being tied, the thrill of the challenge set before me, the frustration of a difficult (or improbable to escape) tie, the thrill of getting a knot undone or getting some slack, the frustration that it did no good, continuing on to either end with the satisfaction of escaping, or the arousal of surrender. These scenes can be very tricky. The frustration can overwhelm, or the eel can cause themselves physical injury, or panic can set in (especially when combined with abandonment). But if the balance can be maintained, the frustration can be channeled and the panic controlled, and injury avoided, I enjoy these scenes very much if it is what the top is also after. I am not one to get out of any rope put on me just to see if I can. I like being in it far too much for that.
Are there any other types you enjoy? Do you have a favorite? What about the different types do you like?