The Switch Is Not A Myth

Halloween is a great holiday. You get to — nay, are ENCOURAGED to — play dress-up, and you can gorge yourself on sugar. And that’s pretty much how kinky folks celebrate Halloween, too. Almost everyone dressed up to one degree or another; only A. and T. were in full fetish wear, while everyone else was in some approximation of a Halloween costume (non-fetish). And there was a mountain of sugary snacks, which was just a bonus.

M. asked me if I wanted to play with the violet wand, and we set things up, discussing the usual: sitting/lying down/standing; tied up/not tied up; fully clothed/partially clothed/totally nekkid, etc. (For the record: lying face down; tied to table with velcro restraints and rope; took my dress off but kept bra, panties, fishnets on.)

And this is the point at which EVERYONE — and I mean literally everyone who was at the party — decided to come over and watch. And all I could do was laugh. But then, B. decided it was time to judge the costumes, as there were prizes. That actually made people disperse, and so I didn’t have the entire party watching M. zapping me in various places with the violet wand, and my appropriate shrieking and yelping. (Having my legs tied down and not being able to kick in reaction to the violet wand is REALLY annoying and evil.)

And then it occurred to me that I really wasn’t enjoying the electric play as much as I usually do, and that what I really wanted was a good hard flogging. I just wanted some pain. I wanted to be hurt. And I’ve never wanted that before. But still, I asked M. if we could switch to flogging, and he said “I’m happy to beat your ass any time.” I said to M., “Really REALLY hard, please.”

What I forgot about was the cathartic effect of having the hell beaten out of you. By the time he was finished, my ass was red and sore, as was my upper back, and I actually felt….pretty good. Of course, a lot of the feeling good comes not from the catharsis of a good beating, but from the endorphin rush after a good beating. I felt buzzed when we were done. Drunk, almost. I changed my clothes, got a huge glass of water, and wandered out to talk to people, whereupon I realized that I was totally fuzzyheaded and stupid from endorphins. Seriously, I couldn’t think of the right words for things, and was really slow to respond when people talked to me, and I was suddenly very very tired.

K. made me stay around for at least 20 minutes before I could drive home. (Kind of like waiting after donating blood!) But she was right — I would have been WAY too stupidheaded to drive right away. As it was, driving home I was kind of….floaty. But with a sore ass.

I didn’t experience any sub drop the next day, which is a first for me. Normally I do, sometimes really badly. But I was good all day yesterday. A little dopey still, but fully functional and content. I also slept better Saturday night than I have for a long, long time. Which seems to mean that I need to get my ass beaten on a regular basis. Huh.

Sunday was the monthly BDSM group meeting, and the discussion topic was, as the subject line says, Fetish 201. Basically, it was a presentation on 3 different — I don’t know what to call them — aspects of kink, I guess, that are more elaborate, and less commonly seen, than your basic Rack ‘Em and Whack ‘Em.

(1) T. did a presentation on crossdressing, and what it means for him, what kind of mental/identity changes he undergoes; (2) a couple did a presentation on their 24/7, full-time Daddy/little girl relationship [both are adults, to be clear]; and (3) a couple did a presentation on pony play.

It was way too much information all at once for me, and I don’t know if my reaction comes from the fact that I’m still more-or-less new, or if it was legitimately too much. I was a little overwhelmed by the end, after hearing so much detail about more than one kind of extreme(ish) play. I can’t hold that much intimate information, psychically. It’s hard when it’s from just one person, so Sunday’s presentation was too much. At least for me.

That said, it was very interesting. At least, 2/3 of it was.

I don’t even know what to say about the Daddy/little girl relationship. Obviously I don’t understand it, but more than that, it’s the subversion of such a strongly defined relationship — a relationship that’s one of the core relationships of a society (as in, the family is the basic building block of society) — that making it sexual just squicks me severely. I will say that the Daddy explained very thoroughly his point of view, emphasizing that this relationship is NOT a sublimated desire to have a sexual relationship with an actual child. He explained it in terms of “the inner child,” saying that there’s such a freedom in being able to let the inner child out, and for him, he gets to be nurturing and caretaking for someone who’s full of that wonder of the inner child.

I absolutely don’t want to judge. My kink is not others’ kink. Some people are squicked by the idea of *any* kink, no matter how tame (i.e., your basic silk-scarf-tie-to-the-bed scenario). Squick is entirely relative, and since they’re two consenting adults, what they do and how they relate is up to them. I would never tell them that what they do is wrong (because it’s NOT wrong). But just the idea of *me* being in that type of relationship gives me serious heebie-jeebies.

T.’s presentation on crossdressing was….enlightening. Just in terms of learning new stuff, hearing about what it’s like, mentally, to crossdress and to be in that persona — and he was clear that he’s not just T. wearing a dress, he *is* a different persona — was really interesting. And….also weird. And also hot.

And the pony play couple — just….GUH. I’ve said before that, when I joined the BDSM group in February, the LAST activity I’d EVER have expected to do, let alone enjoy, was electric play. And now I really really dig it. Well, the second-to-last activity would have been pony play. But tonight’s presentation….yeah. Really REALLY hot. I’m very intrigued by it. When I was leaving after the meeting was over, one of the guys asked me what I thought of the presentations. I said that I was really intrigued by pony play. A different guy said “I could see you as a ponygirl….” Which made T. say, in that pensive/devious/dangerous voice, “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.” So, uh….yeah. I don’t see me doing pony play any time soon, but I’m really intrigued by it.

I feel like, the more I learn about, the more I want to try. And I guess I can. Huh.

(To that end, the group’s Halloween party is Saturday — the invitation said fetish wear or costumes [though those are the same for some people], and I opted to go as a 1950s housewife — cherry-print dress, pearls, white gloves, apron, fishnets, patent-leather Mary Janes, retro makeup, and my hair in pin curls if I can pull it off. And I just realized that my outfit might seem more “fetish” than “costume.” Heh.)

When I joined the BDSM group, almost 8 months ago, I hadn’t expected so many of the members to be in 24/7 master/slave relationships. But the majority — I think — of the active members *are* in 24/7 relationships, or are seeking such a relationship.

There’s a continuum of dominant/submissive behavior and attitudes (well, it isn’t a continuum, because that would be simple, and this is not — dominance and submission intersect with bondage and fetishes and edgeplay in about a billion different ways, which isn’t a continuum at all, but I’m still going to call it that), and I’m working out where exactly I fall on that continuum.

Being a slave doesn’t appeal to me. At least, not from observing the master/slave relationships in my group. And I absolutely DO NOT mean that those relationships are harmful or damaging or dangerous — on the contrary; of the master/slave relationships I’ve observed, they all seem *very* healthy and loving relationships. It’s the *structure* of those relationships, however, that really is not for me.

The thrill of giving up control, for me, wouldn’t be there if I was never going to get my control back, no matter how loving the relationship. Being able to make my own decisions is too important to me, and I wouldn’t be willing to give that up permanently, even in an erotic context. The exchange wouldn’t be worth it to me.

Though I guess what it comes down to, ultimately, is that for me, there wouldn’t *be* an erotic context. The idea of handing over all my control, all my decisions, 24/7 to a master simply doesn’t turn me on. I’d feel smothered, not aroused. K. has described it as a *need* that she has, to submit completely, that if she weren’t in a 24/7 master/slave relationship, she wouldn’t feel completely fulfilled.

And I don’t feel that need.

What *do* I need, then? More than just a casual play partner whacking my bottom at a party — which is (kind of) the BDSM equivalent of a one-night stand. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had one-night stands where I knew going in that that’s all they were going to be, and they were really enjoyable. Yes, indeed. And so far, in my kinky life, I’ve played a few times, with people who were basically casual play partners (i.e., “one-night stands”). Though not “one-night-stands” in the sense of hooking up with a stranger; the people I’ve played with are people who I knew somewhat before I was willing to play with them, people who I knew enough to trust. I guess (to continue the metaphor) they were more like a friends-with-benefits deal. Not a one-night-stand with a stranger, but not a *relationship,* either.

Anyway. Ultimately, I need more than that. I don’t expect to find what I need immediately, because inherent in what I need is the element of time and exposure. What I need is for my partner to know me well enough to understand what it is that I’m giving up — giving *them* — when I submit. It’s not about baring my bottom to be swatted; it’s about baring my soul enough to willingly give them control, for a certain time, in a certain way. And it takes time for me to *let* people get to know me, which is why I won’t find exactly what I need right away.

It’s okay. It’s good. I’m learning a lot in this lifestyle, mostly about myself. What I want, what I need, and what I don’t. AND learning that that’s okay. That whatever I want, need — and DON’T need — is absolutely okay.

And that’s good. Yes.

So, the party last night was good. T. wrote and drew all over my back, and the backs of my legs, and my arms. The good people at Crayola do not lie — it all washed off with no trouble at all. It was a little unnerving being so exposed in front of so many people — I was lying down on a table, so it was just my dorsal side that people saw, but still. And people wandered up and watched, made comments, read out loud what T. was writing, which was a little distracting. I think other people wanted to participate, but I had told T. beforehand that that was most definitely not an option, so he shooed people away pretty well. I think, all told, it took about 2 hours for him to draw everything. I think I was less self-conscious by the time we were done, but not totally.

I did bring an anthology of poetry, with pages dog-eared of things I liked — stanzas, or even just a line here or there. The compromise was that I would mark potential lines, and T. would decide which ones he wanted to use, and where he would put them. It worked out very well, in my opinion. And then he also just drew pictures, including DNA, a bat, and a butterfly.

We took pictures when we were done, which, oddly, made me more self-conscious than being painted on. In any case, I’m glad to have the photographic proof of my scene.

Play party tomorrow night, and the paint-on-me scene is all set. I’m amused — and also appreciative — that T. called me last night to talk about specifics of the scene, like, how was *I* envisioning it, what did *I* want out of it, what did I want him to draw/write. I told him that he should choose what he wants to write, b/c for me, letting him choose is VERY subby and that’s what I want. He said fine, but *if* I wanted poetry, I’d have to bring a book — he’d be the one to choose which poem, of course, but he isn’t poetry-inclined, so it seemed too much like homework to tell him to go to the library and try to find something — it’s a compromise I can live with.

He threw out some ideas that I had already thought of — like taking a picture of what he paints on my back (I’m going to the playspace after work today to help set up, and I’m going to talk to the guy in charge and explain the whole thing and what exactly I was thinking of in terms of the picture[s], and see if that will be okay), and did I want other people involved (a world of NO — I’m not even CLOSE to being comfortable enough with my body OR with the collective membership of our group for that to be a possibility).

I’m impressed at how thoughtful he was about it — I told him that it sounds like he’s been thinking about it more than *I* have. T.’s reply was “Well, I like playing with you.” So, yay.

Tomorrow night. Party time. I *am* excited. And also nervous as hell.

I had an interesting conversation last night with T., about cross-dressing. It’s one of the (many) areas of the kinkosphere that I really don’t know very much about. I mean, I know *facts,* but since I’m not inclined towards cross-dressing, I don’t understand the mental aspect of it — how much of it is a *mental* transformation, as much as the physical aspects.

When T. cross-dresses, he identifies as a woman, and goes by a woman’s name. So I asked him, when he cross-dresses, what mentally delineates between his everyday personality and his cross-dressing personality. Like, where/how does that mental change kick in?

The way he described it, what it sounds like to me is that the outside affects the inside. Like with feng shui — the way you have your home/office organized is supposed to have an effect on your energies and so forth. And it sounds like, for T., it’s the whole experience of being dressed in women’s clothes, right down to 5-inch heels, is what brings about the mental change.

It’s certainly not like he’s a completely different person, but more like bringing out a latent side to his personality. He said he’s more fearless when he’s cross-dressing, that there are things he would do that he wouldn’t do when he’s not cross-dressed. And I think I understand that, even though cross-dressing isn’t my kink.

We talked a little bit about how BDSM gives a person so much more room to play with identity/transformation/image than adults can get away with in the vanilla world. Maybe some people are drawn to BDSM because they think it’s ridiculous to give up playing dressup when they become adults. It’s kind of amazing what a vast range of potential for personal expression there is in the BDSM lifestyle. Though perhaps that’s an obvious statement.

T. came over last night and we watched The Pillow Book (which is way less fucked up than some of Peter Greenway’s other films, let me tell you). Afterwards, we came up with a plan to draw on me as a scene at the next play party — which is next weekend. Yum. Must go buy washable markers and paint/brushes.

There’s a definite prohibition against taking pictures at play parties, b/c — hello to the invasion of privacy. Nobody wants to turn up on the internet in nothing but collar and cuffs. (Or, actually, some people probably *do*, but it’s still an invasion of privacy issue.) I think, though, that as long as the person(s) in the pictures are aware they’re being photographed, and consent, it’s acceptable.

My point being, *I* am not going to be able to see what’s drawn on my back, and I really want someone to take a picture of it. I think if I clear it with a DM first, and maybe even go in another room to take the pictures, it’ll be okay. Man, I hope so.

T. asked me last night *what* I wanted him to draw/write. I don’t know, actually. I guess I really *do* want to be a blank canvas. After all, the canvas doesn’t dictate what gets painted on it. Sometimes it’s crying clowns, sometimes it’s water lilies.

I’d prefer no unicorns, though.