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Thoughts and Communication

August 8th, 2013

What’s on your mind? What are you afraid to say?

Those two questions drive me to distraction sometimes. My mind is a twisted, fucked up, dark little thing, and I don’t always want to share its activities with the real world. Also, it takes running leaps of logic and word association that anyone, myself included, would be hard-pressed to follow when it really gets going. Sometimes I explain these out loud, because just saying what I’m thinking the moment they ask, would make absolutely no sense. I backtrack to what they said and give them the line of bounces along the way until they asked the question.

You said teddy bears are cute… I went to teddy bears, teddy ruxpin, talking dolls, chucky, nightmares, fear play, scary movies. So, you were talking about teddy bears, and I’m thinking about Saw. Makes sense, right? Oh, that’s not what you wanted? Sorry. Brain went for a run.

Another blogger friend talked about sexual desires and feeling embarrassed to express them. I have blogged about that at various points over the last few years, but that’s especially one of those times I don’t want to share what’s on my mind. Then I get mad at myself for being shy, meanwhile my brain keeps running further, and I get more and more embarrassed and if anything comes across my vocal cords it’s mumbled, quiet and fast. Those closest to me, who actually want to hear these thoughts can get quite frustrated by my hesitance at speaking them, others find sadistic joy in forcing me to slow down and speak them louder.

I am also quiet a sarcastic person, so I may not want to share my thought because it could come across as rude, mean, or at the very least, smart-assed. Most people have a vision of me as a quiet, polite young woman. Other people actually hear the comments that come out of my mouth. I’ve been called a brat, but I prefer to think of myself as a SAM. I make smart-assed comments, I don’t play the “you can’t get/top/hurt me” games.

One of my biggest communication hurdles is asking for things I want and/or need. Especially, if it is something I feel like I’m not going to get. Whether that’s because I can’t have it right then, or I don’t know how I could get it, or I don’t think the person wants to give it. If I think the answer will be no, or not now, I wait. I wait until I think the answer will be yes, or until I have a plan for how/when/where to offer. Or, if I’ve already been asked and been denied. I will rarely ask again, unless it seems the answer might have changed. And even then it is hard for me to ask, because I feel like I might be pushing, and if the answer really has changed, maybe I should just wait for them to offer it.

And this is exactly how I over-think things. So many things. Fear of rejection has me second guessing every need, want and desire before I speak them. Often even before I label them. Is it REALLY a need? Is it Really even a want? Or is it just a desire? Am I being selfish? Or is it reasonable? And on and on.

Thus, the learning of meditation. To calm the constantly running brain. To let go of the clutter and the double-speak. To just find calm, where rational thought and communication become much clearer. But I’ve had to pull this meditation out of my BDSM practices. There was too much else going on with it for me to really clear my mind and find calm. I had to pull it out of those things to just focus on me, and finding my center and my calm. Because it is from that space that I can go forth and do everything I want to do.

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What I Learned About Humiliation Play

February 7th, 2013

One of the first things they talked about was the different levels of humiliation play. You could play lightly with being shy, or a little harder into embarrassment, or harder still into shame, or further into degradation, or go all the way into objectification. Or you could run up and down the ladder in one scene. The first couple are about things you’re doing – shy about talking about sex, or embarrassed by being naked in public. In shame, you’re digging more into the person, the brain – feeling like a bad person for what you’re doing, or that you’re enjoying what you’re doing. Degradation is deeper tearing down of a person – being Told you’re a bad person, or a slut, or worthless. Then, you can get all the way to objectification – being treated like an object, with no rights, no voice, no humanity – you have become a piece of furniture, a thing to be used, or not worth using.

The next thing he talked about was how to create these scenes. How to find things you can humiliate a person about. Mostly here, he talked about conversations, and reading body language. If a person’s eyes dart away and back, or they blush or bite their lower lip. This could be something to play with. You can also tell what level of humiliation they are at by body language. When a person reaches shame, the eyes tend to stay down, and the body language turns away. Degradation and objectification lead to even more closed and small body language. He also talked about it being important, once you start down this road, to not let up or balk at the first sign of resistance. The bottom/sub generally wants a strong top/dom, not someone who is going to back down at the first argument or tear.

The third most important thing, in my opinion, that was discussed was reconciliation after the scene. You have to both recover from a humiliation scene, and it can be a lot more mentally taxing than other types of scenes. Some pretty horrible things can be said and felt. It is of utmost importance to remember that you love each other and that you played that way because you both enjoy it, and it gives you pleasure. You also have to figure out what kind of aftercare you require beyond these reminders. In the class, he said he has to leave her alone for 20-30 minutes because she reacts in anger, and has to come down from there on her own. For me, I need verbal reassurance and physical connection. Chocolate is never a bad idea either. 😉

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It’s a Crying Shame

December 2nd, 2009

Some months ago, I wanted to cry and I was ashamed of that desire. Not just cry, I wanted to be Made to cry. I wanted to be pushed so hard that tears came bursting forth in and uncontrollable fury. But I was afraid. I was afraid that this was a ridiculous desire. That it was childish to want to cry for no particular reason. That wanting the release and cleansing of flowing tears was simply weakness. I was afraid that it would change things, too, with whoever made me cry. I had never gone there before and it looked terribly dark. I did not want that unknowable change in my marriage, and that was a difficult decision and a difficult discussion. My lover, more experienced than either myself or my husband, became the giver of those tears. It was the release I needed at the time, and nothing was changed or broken in the giving.

Since then, my edges and the darkness have been moved and pushed and shoved. Tears are no longer shameful to me, but they still have a specific place in my play. There is still darkness when I think of bringing them into my home. The tenderness and love between my husband and myself seems incompatible to a tearful scene.

My lover, more often than not, gets the tears through fear these days. Threats of freshly remembered intense pain or of heightening the current level of pain can drive me over the edge. (Nipple clamps of various varieties are usually present in these threats.) Tearfully begging for mercy or for the pain to stop. Sometimes he grants it, and sometimes not, driving me further into tears or into complete surrender where the tears stop and soft stillness comes.

My other partner has only brought out tears twice. Both were corporal scenes, but they had a heavy mental elements that had more to do with the tearful response. In both situations, expectations were set, and tears came when I failed to meet those expectations. The pain levels were high, but it was the mental game that was more costly.

In the first, I was given a task, an object that was not to be dropped. It fell twice and tears fell swiftly behind it, but were gone again when he gave me another chance after a few choice strikes for the drop. It was an incredibly intense scene, the tears just one more spice in the delicious flavor.

The second, was a flogging scene set to music, and the final song came on, and he said he would flog the whole song at the same tempo and strength. I soon began to falter under the heavy strikes, and tears welled up as I thought I would not make the entire song. As I fell down and stood back up several times, his strikes never missed. Tears were flowing freely as I fell the final time, turning slightly towards him, but my back still raised to accept his strikes. He stopped then, accepting my surrender and my tears. His acceptance washed away my tearful disappointment in myself, and I smiled when he said I would do better next time.

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Bruises, Stripes and Kisses

November 13th, 2009

I am a girl. (Shocking, I know.) What I mean is, I was raised in a world where body image is highly valued and hard to come by. Very few girls grow up loving their bodies. Very few women don’t have something they’d like to change about their appearance. So, for someone who struggles with body image, marks are a particularly interesting challenge.

For me, it has been a journey.

I’m a clumsy person, accident prone. I bruise easily and they don’t go away quickly. Thus I’ve always had a bruise or two, usually on my legs from tables, counters and chairs. But those are small and explainable, and generally hidden by pants.

In college, I discovered biting, and occasionally came home with Very large marks on my neck. I’d wear a scarf when “adults” were around (Parent’s Weekend, twice), but mostly I just giggled because it had been really fun getting the “hickey.”

Then I joined the local community.

There were rope suspensions that left tiger stripe bruises. The discovery of suspension was so wonderful to me that I treasured these marks, the represented the incredible experience I was having.

As I moved into heavier play, there came more bruising, bigger bruising, whip kisses. If I was going out in public where these bruises would be visible, I would ask my partners to not bruise me. I was ashamed of the marks. They seemed to me to show how “bad” I was. Show the world that I do “inappropriate” things.

But the longer I stayed active in the community, the more I came to truly understand there was nothing wrong with what I was doing. That it was part of me. That it was part of my being. That what I was doing was coming out of love and trust and joy. The bruises, like the rope marks, came to symbolize the relationships, the happiness, the fun and the pleasure.

There were also pictures and a photographer that teased that the bruises were marring his shots. This was the hardest part for me. He is a good friend and his words struck old chords in me. That I was doing something “bad” and “wrong” and I should be ashamed. With the help of my partners, I dragged myself back out of this hole. Now when he asks if he’ll ever get pictures of me without bruises, I just grin and tell him Nope. They are a part of me, part of who I am and what I do. Some girls get diamonds, I think my bruises are prettier.

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