June 2007

The addictive thing about having a blog on WordPress is that you can see your stats — how many views, which specific entries are being viewed the most, what search terms brought readers here, etc. And as I am a shameless attention-whore, I check my stats all the freaking time.

Which brings me to the title of this entry. There seems to be a disproportionately high amount of search terms related to ponyplay that brought people here, and my (very few) entries on ponyplay seem to have gotten the most views, so far.

And I feel like I should apologize to the people who want all ponygirl, all the time, or My Life And Times As A Pretty Pony, or something like that. Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely love ponyplay, but I just don’t get to do it as often as I’d like.

And even when I do get to engage in ponyplay, anything I might to write about it is likely to be heavy on the introspection — the “what do I think about it” type of writing — and light on the description.

Plus, I’m also interested in a wide variety of kink-related activities, so I’m not likely to ever focus very heavily on one type (ponyplay, rope, flogging) over another. What can I say? It’s like being a switch — there’s too much fun stuff to do in the realm of BDSM/fetish/kink for me to ever just pick one (or two…or three…).

So if you’re here looking for entries on ponyplay, they won’t be frequent. Sorry. I’m sure I’ll have some from time to time, but for the most part, you’re likely to get a random kinky potluck-type assortment of posts. If you like it, by all means, stick around.

Among many, many other activities, Fetish Diva Midori writes a column, “Diva’s Debauchery,” for ErosZine. Her newest column is about gender fuckery/fluidity/switchery, and the whys and wherefores and oh-hell-YEAHs of it.

In her column, Midori describes a man who, in day-to-day life, was drab and unassuming; not shy, exactly, but not noteworthy or attention-getting, either. And then this man began cross-dressing, and in this femme persona, became the center of attention, outrageous, and one hell of a power domme.

I recognized the description immediately. Because, while Midori isn’t writing about my boy, she could be. At least, I seem to think so.

I really dig Midori. She kicks ass. She’s the bee’s knees, as the kids say. I love the way she views genderfuckery/role-playing: “Role playing of any sort, whether sexual, gaming or historical reenactment, offers a momentary relief from the daily roles we are confined to.”

People are multifaceted creatures, no matter how one-note they may seem. There’s no reason we should only ever be one variation of ourselves. Yeah, from 9 to 5 I’m Teppycat, good worker bee and (mostly) productive citizen. But my 9-to-5 self doesn’t allow for my messy, bratty, gleefully sadistic side to come out (though some days, I swear to god, my co-workers don’t know just how close they are to getting a serious ass-beating). Or my quiet, I-am-your-object-to-do-with-as-you-please, passive side to come out.

Or my inner pony.

It’s utterly important for all of our facets to shine, at least once in a while. I’ll quote Midori once more: “Through this vessel the person emerges and animates, enjoying newly visible facets of them selves. This new discovery is heady and potent like elixir served from the gods of the subconscious. Some people are frightened of this intoxication while some seek to drown in it. Most people, however, drink what they need, enough to give strength and quench the parched soul and imagination.”

And that’s exactly it, isn’t it? I don’t have to be a good pony all the time. Or a gleeful sadist. But because I can be those versions of me, sometimes, the result is that all my other facets — even the day-to-day ones — shine a little brighter.

I got my rope from Twisted Monk yesterday — 30 feet of the color of the month, which is described on the Web site as “strawberry red,” but really is more of a deep brick red, almost a burgundy.

Have you ever smelled hemp rope? It smells…almost edible, if that makes any sense. I don’t mean that it smells like food; it’s just a rich, strong smell, like a cross between newly mown hay and a woodpile.* And I know those aren’t edible, but something about the combination (and hemp rope really has its own smell, not actually a combination of hay and wood) makes it seem like Paul Bunyan should be eating it.

Uh, yeah. Somehow, I don’t think Twisted Monk will be hiring me to write their product descriptions any time soon.

I had far too much to do after work yesterday to do more than take it out of the box, uncoil it, and run it through my hands a little. And tonight? Well, if The Boy comes over, that’s a guarantee that the rope will get broken in. Don’t know yet if he’s coming over, though. Darn these real-life responsibilities that get in the way of kink! Darn them to heck!

Maybe it’s time to give self-bondage a try….

*(And if you’ve never smelled newly mown hay or a woodpile, you’re missing out, let me tell you.)

I’m loving Bitchy Jones’ latest post, on why switches are hot. (Okay, to be fair, she’s talking about male switches. But I’m egotistical enough to take my imaginary compliments where I can.)

But really — she’s right. Bitchy says, “…it is just a lot of fun to hurt a man who knows just what I’m doing. Who can tell me what to do.”

Sweet Lord YES. He knows exactly the rush I get when I’m the one wielding the flogger, because he gets the same rush when he’s on top. He knows what his submission does for me (GUH), because he knows how it feels when someone subs to him.

I’m a HUGE proponent of the flip side of this, as well: when T. is the dom and I’m the sub, I know that he knows what a singletail feels like on a bare ass, because his ass has been there. He knows how a rattan cane feels, and why swinging it too hard is going to get me to end the scene immediately, because he’s been on the receiving end of an overzealous cane.

I’m not saying that everyone, deep down inside, is a switch. I don’t believe that everyone is. But I do think that everyone has it in them to switch roles once in a while, which doesn’t change how you see yourself — you are still a Big Bad Dom even if you sub for a night. You are still a service-oriented slave even if you pick up a flogger from time to time.

There is enormous value in experiencing the other side of your normal role. A dominant who subs once in a while gets a much better sense of what exactly his sub is giving to him in their power exchange. A submissive who doms occasionally can understand what it’s like to be the recipient of all that trust, and what a rush it is, and realize how their submission affects their dominant.

And I firmly believe that — at the very least — a dominant should always test her toys out on herself before she ever uses them on a submissive. The dominant doesn’t have to actually be in a scene, doesn’t have to actually be submissive to someone else, but she does need to know what that rattan cane feels like on bare skin.

Because it’s just utter jackassery to learn how much is too much by observing what it takes to make your submissive bleed.

My BDSM group has a fair amount of e-mailing and other regular monthly communications, like a newsletter. Because I am INSANE, I offered to proofread/edit these monthly communications. It’s what I do for a living, you know? It’s second nature to me, and I figured it would be easy-peasy. I had NO idea what I was getting in to.

I have an inveterate loathing for the upper-case/lower-case alphabet soup that way too many kinky people use in their writing (i.e., “i am looking for my Master’s bullwhip that He lost last weekend. If A/anyone finds it, Y/you can reach my Master on His cell phone. Or, i will be home all day if Y/you would prefer to call me. Thank Y/you all — the whip is O/our favorite, so W/we really hope S/someone finds it.”).

Sweet fancy Moses, every time I read an e-mail like that, I want to jab my eyes out with a spork so that I never have to see such execrable treatment of pronouns ever again.

I hope it goes without saying that I do NOT follow this convention. Setting aside for a minute the fact that I’m a switch (what do I do — capitalize *every other* pronoun?), I just cannot do it. It makes my teeth itch. Ack.

So, in editing the group’s monthly newsletter, etc., I’ve tried to change things to be properly capitalized (or lower-cased). This started a fight that approached the intensity generally only seen during “mayo or Miracle Whip?” debates. I did not win this fight. I had one victory, actually, and it was the most important one to me, but I also failed to change the status quo on the rest.

Basically, I convinced the P/people W/who use the slashes in T/their writing to pick a case (ideally, the grammatically proper one, given whatever context it’s in) and stick with it. They can capitalize all the pronouns They wish when They are referring to Dominants, and submissives can even lower-case “i” (although I twitch every time I see it).

Unfortunately, for me to NOT use this convention (or, as an editor, not *allow* people to use it in their writing) is seen as disrespectful by some. I don’t agree with that — my intent is NOT to be disrespectful, just to be grammatically correct. But it still pisses off the P/people W/who demand respect through capital letters. So far, the only solution that *I* can think of is to beat them with a copy of Strunk & White. Which, I suppose, wouldn’t be taken very well.

But oh, dear god, how I want to.

(And, relatedly — though this is a spoken communication issue, versus written — “domme” IS PRONOUNCED “DOM”!!!! Not “dommay”!!! Jesus, is it THAT hard? If you want to be sure that someone understands that you mean a dominant who is a woman and not a man, then say “femdom,” if you must. But “dommay” is simply. fucking. incorrect. So just stop it.)

I have a birthday coming up, and it occurred to me that the best birthday present a girl could get herself would be some of Twisted Monk’s rope of the month. Come on — look at that color! I *had* to buy it!

And, given that I’ve just recently ventured into the realm of being a rope Top — at least, some of the time [g] — I have very little rope, and no hemp rope at all. That needed to be rectified. I’ve been tied with hemp rope, and used T.’s hemp rope to tie him, but this is the 21st century — a girl needs her own rope, no matter how much rope her partner already owns!

For his part, T. is very pleased that I’m getting Twisted Monk’s color of the month, because he knows that means that he’ll be getting tied up in it just as soon as I get it. I like that in a guy.

So, I’m slowly reading my way through Bitchy Jones’ Diary, which is fucking brilliant and so goddamn smart and — thank you, Lord — incredibly well-written. I’m totally digging her blog, because, while she’s a dom and I’m a switch, my switchiness means that some of the time, I get off on doing wicked things to T.

There’s a lot out on the Internet from a female sub’s point of view, and I’ve found some really valuable resources. But until now, I hadn’t found anything *worthwhile* written from a female dom’s point of view. Yeah, I found the standard “Grovel before me, worm, and don’t even think about going near my pussy!” femdom sites, but….that’s not my type of dominance.

My type of dominance is more of the “Gosh, you’re pretty when you’re suffering, and when you’re done suffering, you can get me off, gorgeous.” And that’s why I am loving Bitchy’s blog — because that’s more or less *her* type of dominance, too.

Granted, I don’t agree with every single idea/thought/what-have-you that she expresses. But then, it would be creepy if I did. Welcome to the world of independent thought!

And one area where I differ is the hypothetical Femdom Tea Party. Bitchy thinks it’s a ludicrous idea, while I think it’s pretty fucking hot. Although, to be fair, my vision of a femdom tea party is different than what she describes in her post. Here’s Bitchy’s version: “Okay, I want you to guess how many times I have had a tea party with all my femdom “friends”, with all of us dressed up in fetish clothing and uncomfortable shoes and we’ve all had a good old laugh about the hilarious (not *sexy* – hilarious) things we’ve made our subs do. Perhaps with a few lucky male subs on hand serving as footstools or dressed as maids. (Not *butlers*, not *naked*, *dressed* *as* *maids* – ’cause all women love that.”

And, yeah, that doesn’t quite hit the mark for me. My ideal tea party is me, my boy T., and maybe one other femdom. Dress code for the femdoms is whatever we feel like wearing. Me? I doubt I’d be wearing a corset. Probably just a comfy dress, or maybe a sweater and skirt. No shoes (I’m a hippie at heart).

And the boy? This is the best part: the boy is naked, on all fours, acting as our table. Relatively easy for him — just get down on the ground and stay there. And keep staying there. The view is entirely my pleasure, as is knowing that he’s there simply to please me.

It’s not the same kind of thrill as doing wicked hurty things to T., but, for me, it’s a powerful thrill nonetheless.

Oh, yes.