Showing posts with label justsayin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label justsayin. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Tabletalk.

Hey. Good to see you. Come on in.

I'm just out on the deck here, at the barbecue. Gorgeous night, huh?

There's beer in the fridge, but help yourself to the bottle on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet there. It's a really robust 2009 Tilia Malbec. Argentina. The new girlfriend picked it out for dinner last night, and I'm turned on by it.

You want cheese on your burger? Cheddar or provolone?

The new girlfriend?

Yeah. No, I haven't written about her yet, but she's fucking cool. And the really ironic part? She's mulâtresse. Actually, she dislikes that word and identifies as black, although I have to admit that the biracial thing is hot for me. And it blows my mind since it was just a short while ago that I was yearning at the stars, Aphrodite, for a black lover again. It's been since Pamela.

Those smell good. ...Hey, about your last post. Can I ask you something?

Go for it. Yeah, they do.

Alright, like, I know it's just a blog and all, but really, what were you thinking? I mean, you were pretty harsh there.

Mm. I love it when the flame embraces the meat like that, you know? Won't be long now. Yeah, I've been thinking about that, actually. Over the last day or two, I've had some interesting responses to it on the blog, in my personal email box, and even on FetLife. They run the spectrum.

Not everyone who reads the blog might be in the know as far as kink ideas are concerned. You said before that most of your readers seem to be women, and if someone found your blog for the first time and read that post, dude, you'd probably come off... well...

As an arrogant, misogynistic jerk airing personal dirty laundry in a public forum?

Well, kinda, yeah. They look done. You gonna toast the buns?

Already did. Yeah, that occured to me. But I'm hoping the context comes through.

Context?

Here you go. More wine? Just nudge her off of your seat there, she won't bite. Whoah, these look awesome.

Hell yeah.

So, yeah. I realize that that post was pretty volatile, but I was trying to make some important points. Normally, no, I wouldn't use the blog as a platform to target someone on some nasty personal level. I mean, sure, I've made the occasional snippy remark about my ex-wife, but even that's extremely rare and brief, and always, I hope, reflecting a bigger picture. And I've earned it. But to cite someone broadly like that? Not something I'd normally do.

So why do it to Little Ginger?

Well, for one thing, she kinda walked right into it. I mean, I was already wanting to draft some posts with my thoughts about the power dynamics behind topping anyway, but when she started targeting me with this weird nonsense, it just seemed like the perfect springboard to make an example with. I can be a little snarky anyway, but the writer in me just saw this delicious opportunity to use her actions as backdrop to illustrate that, for one thing, respecting Tops and Dominants is a pretty paramount feature to power exchange play. At least in my view. For me, the post really had less to do with her than it had to do with making that point. She became the perfect example of what not to do, and I ran with it. And it's not like she's going to be hurt by the post anyway, since, duh, her moniker is a pseudonym.

But don't you think a certain amount of detachment would have made a stronger point? Could I have the steak sauce? Christ, these burgers are great.

A friend actually suggested that very thing to me, and yeah, after more thought, I think maybe that's true. Being more objective does add to a strong argument, I agree. But, you know, at the same time... well, it's not like she didn't deserve some kind of punishment too, you know? It wasn't the main intent, no, but it's not like it was entirely accidental, either. Just not as much as perhaps some readers might have thought. Especially those who emailed me to say that I'm an ass.

Maybe some of those people were offended because they're SAMs too.

Sure, maybe. And SAMs generally dislike it when the jig is up for them and they've been called on their shit.

So, do you think then that any bratty sub is a SAM?

Oh, hell no. SAMs aren't just brats: they actively ruin a playsession or a scene because they're deliberately manipulative and personally hurtful. A bratty sub might totally enjoy whimpering and refusing to comply with instructions or do other things to play up the role, and I can easily see how a Top in that playspace could have scads of fun with it. But even in that kind of scene, it's still about the bratty sub's submission, eventually anyway, to the Top's playful "wrath." Being naughty to acquire "punishment" can be awesome fun. But SAMs are much more destructive: they say and do things that deliberately, consciously attempt to incite a Dominant into stronger and stronger retributive responses, and they'll do it with chiding, shaming, disrespectful remarks and taunts. That's just hurtful and sexually impolite. It would be like a man saying something shaming to his BBW partner about her bodytype when in the very middle of deep lovemaking, or a woman making a rude comment about her man's cock size in the same situation. It's just not something good, healthy, caring lovers would do. SAMs deflect their own inner demons by playing this you-can't-catch-me mindgame which is inherently unwinnable by a reactionary Dominant.

Why so?

Because it ruins the sense of power exchange. There is no power exchange: it becomes a battle of wills. A reactionary Dominant feels the need to stand ground, and so the matter just gets bigger and bigger. And most importantly, it becomes unfun.

At least for the Top. Is that like "topping from the bottom"?

Can be, I think.

So, what "context" was that last post written from? Or are you really an arrogant, misogynistic jerk?

I think the blog demonstrates pretty clearly that I'm anything but. Then again, that post...

Oh, c'mon. "Cuntswipe?"

Ha! Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. Not a word I've ever used before. Although, the new girlfriend I mentioned did tell me that she thought that was hysterical. But remember: that post was written in the context of a pissed-off Top actively in scene mode. I tried to indicate that by noting how my approach to Ginger changed when I figured her SAMmishness, and when I included the now-we're-in-scene warning label. I think I may write a post or two to help clarify things as well. Oh, hell, we're almost out of wine.

And the real violence you mentioned? You said your past BDSM mentors would wipe the walls with her, and that physical assaults could have happened.

I like to believe that the vasy majority of kinksters in the world are safe, sane, consensual-minded people, and I certainly count myself as among them. No, I certainly don't condone something like genuine physical assault. But, the fact of the matter is, SAMs push buttons on some people and sometimes, unfortunately, unpleasant results can and could happen. Now, that doesn't mean it's right or healthy or advisable or good, but it's one reason why fetish educator Laura Goodwin has even suggested that mortal injury can be a risk factor in those circumstances. Tops protect their territory; it's part of the whole point.

Have I witnessed genuine violence in such a situation? Yes. I've seen people slapped, backhanded, when something Really Ugly happened during a playparty or in a fetish club. People can be dramatic sometimes. People don't always think clearly.

I think it's important to remember that power exchange play, dominance and submission play, is about roles. Masks. It's supposed to be a game, like a grown-up version of "Cowboys And Indians" or "Cops And Robbers" or some sexually kinkified version of "House." Oh, it can get deeply serious, but there's something to be said, I think, relating those childhood roleplay scenarios to the naughty adult potentials.

So that also means that the game can, and often has, definite start and endpoints. Me, I'm a big stickler for ritual and protocol and symbols, so I use real and concrete ways to illustrate the parameters of a scene. It might be the gear I'm wearing: if that leather band is still on my left wrist, I'm still in Top mode, and if that collar is still around your pretty neck, we're still Playing. It might be a handsome candle that's burning: as long as it hasn't been blown out, the game continues. That sort of imagery allows players to sink deeply, and safely, into the skewed-but-scandalously-fun role dynamics happening during the scene. It also means that when the scene is over, we're equal partners again.

But it's all about roles, personas, roleplay. And people choose their roles, and how deeply or consistently they want to take them, based on their fantasies and experiences and what they want to achieve and/or release through the process. It's kind of like ancient ritual theater in that way; it's cthonic.

And that's also why there's a sense, at least a subtle one, of violence to Topping. In life, certainly no, I'd never dream of laying a hand on anyone. Well, not usually anyway. But to some extent, can't it be argued that a fundamental part of the mythology behind this whole Topping thing is the image, the hint, the whisper of a chance that he or she could fuck you up? Isn't that part of the playful element of danger to it all? And, for that matter, wouldn't any self-respecting Top possess some amount of arrogance? Now, that doesn't mean that I really believe that women can or should be threatened or treated with sexist disrespect... but it might mean that, during a pre-negotiated, limited, consensual, limits-respecting scene between trusting partners who know what they are doing is a game, a roleplay, yeah, I just might call you some nasty name when you've "transgressed" and "require punishment."

So, are you saying that taking on any role means you're basically faking it?

No, I don't think so. It depends and what you want out of it, no? Sometimes people wear one role because their daily lives are so entrenched with its opposite: the submissive male who, during the day, is a barking corporate CEO for example, and who seeks release from the stress of responsibility. Or, the other way around, someone with real authority in the daily lives who enjoys that authority so much that they carry it into their sexplay. And then, there are people for whom the roles are entirely and happily fluid, and can wield a riding crop just as quickly and easily as receive the strokes of one. Those sorts of kinksters, it seems to me, are more interested in the shared physical sensations of the toys than in delving into the theatric psychodrama of the power exchanging. But that's just me. In any event, it's all good.

What about 24/7 kinksters? And Ginger's remark about "true Doms"?

For me, trying to be in Topspace 24/7 would be a huge amount of work. Besides, I adore knowing that my intimate partners are, in daily life, my equals: I expect her to have her own pursuits, goals, and interests outside of me. I think doing extended play over a few days would be a blast, but then there are times when I don't feel like making all the decisions too. And, again, that's me.

And this whole "true Dom" stuff is, as far as I'm concerned, hurtful, splitting nonsense. I'm certain that even the haughtiest, slickest, most deliciously ominous professional dominatrix with a walk-in closet full of PVC and leatherwear has her days when she just wants to kick back and catch Sex In The City reruns over a tub of ice cream.

Ooo ice cream. Have any for dessert?




Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The tapping at my chamber door... only this and nothing more?

This is a rant.

Can someone fucking please explain this to me?

I see your profile. I drop a friendly note in your direction, you read my profile, and soon we're in this really creative, articulate banter. It's really nice. It's really good. We're relating, we're laughing, we're finding common ground on matters social, political, sexually conscious, and more.

"There's a part of me that wants to simply write a short note saying that I like you too much already," you write.

We arrange a date. We open up even further, Really Talk, and Listen. We discuss everything from social politics to raising children to our relationship war stories to my father the artist to your crazy exes. Just-some-wine on the pub patio turns into late lunch. I'm finding that I'm so distracted by how amazing you are, how truly cosmopolitan you are, how much I'm melting at the sound of your laugh that I actually ask you if you eat meat when we had just ordered a plateful of wings. We enjoy me making fun of myself after that brilliant move.

Late lunch turns into More Real Talking in the park. I am utterly floored with your sharp intelligence, the likes of which I haven't seen in years. You've written textbooks, for chrissakes. You've started your own fucking alternative school! And while the look on your face suggests to me that, ok, my background in kink may not be a place you'd be interested in going, the fact that your first response was to ask deconstructing questions about the why's and wherefore's behind my interests in it really twisted my brain in terrific directions.

Up comes the First Kiss.

"I so want to jump your bones right now," you say. The Second Kiss follows. But we've been out for much longer than either of us anticipated. Life beckons.

I suggest we leave something to look forward to. Your face tells me this was a Good Reply. You get on your bicycle, and I totally enjoy the sight of your round, pert behind under the sundress you're wearing as your leg swings over the frame and you settle on the seat. I have no doubt that it would smack firmly against my pelvis as I took you, hard and deep, from behind.

As much as I enjoyed your hair, as long and dense as the mane on a Peruvian paso. And this from a guy who fetishes shorthaired women. With your thick eyebrows, the black whispers at the nape of your neck, your hair told me what feral treats I might find under your navel, and in the back of my mind I imagined having opportunity to press my face against a rich, musky forest before curling my tongue around the round, red, thrumming, tender marble that I want you to have responding to me.

As you rode away, I realized that I had already become completely smitten with The Raven. That doesn't happen often.

...And then it had to come screeching to a halt.

Ok, you did say that you'd be away for a while. Fine. Ok, you did say that you've had some really, really bad "relationships" and you'd need to take your time. "I had trouble getting close to my cats," you said.

But, call me crazy, I didn't expect that meant you'd want to completely avoid contact after our date. No calling, no texting, maybe some emailing. ...Huh?

"Less is definitely more," you said.

Ok. So, I'm very much the support-my-partner type. Ok. So, yeah, if you Really Need This, I'm willing to help out. Uh, sure.

But, I gotta say this: there's a part of me that's wondering: what the fuck. You tell me that I'm the first guy you're interested in having a second date with after your last ten dates with dudes. Great, awesome, thank you, love to know it. But... was I wrong to tell you that, yeah, just maybe, I'd become smitten with you? I mean, isn't that, in the big picture, the desired goal? Is it possible that I somehow pushed you away because I decided that I Really Fucking Like You?

So, yeah, I'd still enjoy seeing you again. But, you know, it really sucked to have to suppress all that keen excitement that I was feeling the next day. Yeah, I am supportive, I'm doing it, but somehow that just didn't seem fucking fair.

Sometimes I think I'm too patient for my own good. I just don't get it. This one, I really just don't get.


Saturday, July 30, 2011

Abundance.

Lately, I've been shaking my head about something.

Describing bodytypes can be such a minefield, and God knows there are plenty of people out there who have trouble doing so with tact and grace, if not simple politeness. There are also those who, being at opposite ends of a spectrum, can either speak with beaming appreciation or horrible viciousness.

I'm talking about larger women.

Now, while it is true that, in my case, my first preference leans closer toward slim-to-average sized partners, that doesn't mean that I haven't had some spectacular experiences with women of the curvier or even BBW tribes. And yes, I do think that personal sexiness often has more to do with attitude, confidence, character, wit, and style than simply whether or not her dresses are size 8 or 18.

But I have noticed that it's the leaning-toward-the-larger of the species who seem to most often find themselves attracted to me. Or so it seems. And for some reason, lately the Fates have been blessing me with several new friends in my local kink community who meet that decription (hi, guys).

When I asked Aphrodite for abundance, maybe she decided to respond with a playful smirk?


Oh. And this sensual creature is my online colleague Coy Pink.
You really should check out her blog too.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Dear Life,

It's been way to long since I enjoyed a black lover. And with the Caribana Festival coming this weekend, I know I'm going to suffer immeasurably.

Love,
Rogue