Kink In Exile

There are two scenes from last week that I keep meaning to write about but just can’t seem to make it happen maybe there are some details of my life that are in fact not for public consumption. I topped in the first scene and bottomed in the second; both were amazingly intense. I was in a low tech mood, which for me means I don’t want to make it look pretty, tie you up, or wear a costume. I just want to push you up against a wall and beat, punch, and slap the hell out of you. I got to do just that with May (who also kindly agreed to be blogged about). A week and a half later my brain is still in a puddle trying to get over just how yummy this boy is. Possibly too yummy for his own good – I tried to cool down two or three times and kept finding that he was so much fun to hurt I didn’t want to stop yet. I really like knowing that on some level the person I’m hurting wants to be hurt. I definitely got that from May (and I trust he’ll forgive me for not tying him down on account of it?). I went at him with two very different toys. The first was the kind of intimidating thing you expect people to be sacred of – a piece of metal piping covered with heat-shrink. The second, an evil stick, looks very cute and dainty but leaves much more obvious marks. Both rate very well on my effort to pain chart. It’s funny, I have a lot of toys most of which spend their lives in the back of my closet — I guess I prefer a more hands on approach – but these two seem to always make an appearance when I make new friends. Have you ever simultaneously wanted to really hurt someone and protect them from the world? I think I feel this way to some degree every time I top, but perhaps because I got to hurt May more than I’ve hurt most other people in the past the feeling was especially pronounced this time. It’s an interesting headspace to balance.

The second person I played with that night had the interesting challenge of bringing me from top space to sub space while also dealing with the fact that I was in a fragile headspace due to outside factors. I would say that I didn’t believe it was possible, but he’s very good at what he does and I knew that. Sub space is a fairly new thing for me. I’ve bottomed for a long time, but I am fundamentally a pushy broad and given half a chance to take control I will. Good thing the person I was playing with didn’t give me any fragment of a chance I’m not entirely sure that I want to talk about my own vulnerability here. The kind of connection I make with my top when I actually hit subspace isn’t something I really want expose to the outside world, at least not yet. I will tell you however, that canes are very, very wonderful implements, and that the problem with having your backside be black and blue isn’t that you can’t sit per se, so much as it is that you will be awfully distracted for a couple of days…

[Originally written on January 25th 2008.]

This morning I got to the airport having forgotten my flight number, my booking number, and my frequent flier number.  Lucky for me I did in fact remember that I was flying to San Francisco.  I wonder what the guy would have done if I didn’t – “ok, can you think of any landmarks you plan to visit there, maybe we can brainstorm where to send you.” 

So logistics aside I am sitting in the airport waiting for my now delayed flight to SF, and listening to the fire alarm; maybe I should have gone to Kansas instead.  I should mention here that I have a one way ticket and no real plan beyond that.  I figured I spent a year in exile, and now I can try living in the kinky Mecca.  If you are really outraged that I haven’t renamed this blog yet you can either suggest a name or wait a year.  You see, while I was looking for jobs in San Francisco two other opportunities came across my desk.  One was in Uganda and the other in Bolivia.  I thought about it, I really honestly thought about picking up and going to Bolivia.  A year ago I did just that only in a different country.  I like doing that kind of hands-on field work as frustrating as it gets.  I also really love living my life with a different set of rules.  Deep down I love the lack of running water, the faulty wiring, the cattle in my front yard, and working in a language I’m struggling to learn; I love living with the exotic and I love being the exotic.  You go outside your comfort zone sometimes and it changes you.  You notice that you don’t get as caught up in the details once you’ve gotten a glimpse of just how big the picture really is. 

But right now I’m too tired.  As much as I love working abroad, as much satisfaction as I get from watching my nursery kids learn an English song or knowing that the health center I’m volunteering in provides vital services to a population that is far beyond the reach of the kind of hospitals and medical clinics you and I are used to, it’s exhausting, and I am not a healthy person just now.  Not only is it hard in terms of being in exile from my kink community, the importance of which only recently became apparent, but also in purely physical terms.  I gained 10lbs in my first two weeks in the United States.  The first thing I noticed is that my nails stopped breaking and then that my ribs were no longer visible — nutrition rocks. 

So yes, I am certain that I will do another mission.  I am certain that I will work abroad and enjoy the wonders of bathing in rainwater and sleeping under a mosquito net at some point in my future, now is not the time for that.  So instead I am moving to San Francisco with no job and no real plan.  Wish me luck.      

Oh, and rest assured that I am working on a nice juicy post about that last play party as we speak.

One of the things that is happening as I come back to my kink community and interact with potential play partners is that I am getting the feeling that as a switch I don’t count in this community. I’m dumfounded. In the last month I have heard people both assert that they would not play with a switch because switches are not serious enough, and appear to be offended because I play too hard on both sides of the spectrum. I don’t remember having this problem before I left for Thailand and I wonder if I’m not just more aware of it now because while this is my community I have also been away long enough to look at it as something slightly more akin to an outsider.

So what is actually going on here? One friend suggested that the underlying assumption may be that playing both sides of the field doesn’t let me spend enough time on each to be good at it. I can see how that would make sense but if we are simply clocking hours I’m sure I’m not far behind some of the domly dom types out there. And if you look at anything past my dungeon timesheet I would argue that bottoming makes me a much more conscientious top. What makes a good top is not just excellent technique, though that is important, but also a firm grasp for the bottom’s emotional process. The latter makes it possible not just to make sure that your bottom is safe but to also capitalize on subspace thereby creating a more on point experience all around. I have certainly met and played with amazing tops who have managed an incredible level of insight into my subspace without ever having bottomed themselves, but I personally learn from experience. I don’t bottom to become a better top or visa versa – both are immensely pleasurably activities in and of themselves – but I do believe that both are mutually beneficial. Which leads to my confusion as to why switching would make me both a bad bottom and a bad top.  Thoughts?  Ideas?  Polite suggestions that I am on crack?

And next in the blogging queue: an actually coherent post about the scenes I did last Sunday that goes beyond “yum.”

[I should be packing for a sci-fi con that I am going to this weekend and the accompanying play events, but instead I am scrambling to finish off a blog post...]

So you’re looking forward for a weekend long event, the scenes you’ll have, the eye candy you’ll see, and the sleep dep you’ll experience…

Arrive well rested:
This is something I have yet to accomplish usually arriving after a hectic day at the office when I try to cram 8 hours of work into a half day and still catch a plane or worse yet after a day spent at the airport encountering one travel delay after another. Still you should make an effort to arrive as well rested and well organized as possible. Pack in advance, throw a power bar into your bag to avoid those last minute dashes to bus terminal convenience stores with all your gear in tow, and make sure your phone, ipod, and any other electronics are fully charged.

Stay hydrated:
I carry a water bottle with me and make sure to keep it full. Scenes are physically draining, and all that coffee you’re probably pouring into your body isn’t helping any. Your body needs as much help recovering as it can get and staying hydrated will go a long way.

Remember to eat:
In the science fiction community we have something called the 5-2-1 rule, meaning five hours of sleep, two meals, and one shower per 24 hour period when attending conventions. I modify this slightly for kink events mostly to include more showers (a nice caffeine free way to reenergize between panels and play) and snacks after every scene. You might find that you have been snacking all day and aren’t very hungry come dinner time, however, I would still suggest a sit-down dinner. I usually opt for something light if I’m planning to play soon after, but this is a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with old friends, relax from a busy day of classes and shopping, and maybe even negotiate a scene.

Quality over quantity:
My biggest problem at these events is that I want to play with everybody: my partner, the friend I only see once a year at the fetish flea, that guy whom I saw do a beautiful scene last night and chatted with afterward…This can get really overwhelming. The good news is that this is probably not your last kink event, and there will be other opportunities. You will find the balance that works for you as well as how many scenes you can do spaced how far apart. Don’t be afraid to reschedule if you’re not feeling up for a scene either. If you’re going into a scene because you said you would not because you want to you won’t have a good time; better to try again when you’re more available physically and emotionally.

Consider what you pack:
If that cute pink latex mini-skirt hasn’t looked quite right since you stopped walking to work every day don’t pack it. It’s a good idea to try on everything you pack before you go. Not only will this save you space and prevent you from realizing 5 minutes before your hot date that every pair of stockings you brought has a run in it, it will also ensure that when you’re getting dressed every option in your suitcase will be flattering and well thought out, which is great for your self esteem.

Pens are useful:
So are personal cards with your name, and email address on them. If you feel comfortable doing so you can also include your phone number. You will probably meet a lot of cool people, and it will be a lot easier to stay in touch with them if you don’t have to look all over god’s green earth for a way to give them your phone number. I once made goodie bags for a friend’s play party (yes, I am kinky Martha Stewart. Why do you ask?) that included tiny little address books to replace all those scraps of paper people usually walk away with.

The bottom line:
Relax, enjoy, and don’t try to do everything because it’s impossible.

Pain to effort ratio:
So I have this belief that I should find the least difficult method to cause the most amount of pain. I think I get this from being a very petite girl with a taste for masochists. Last night I discovered that metal tubing covered in that rubbery heat-shrink stuff leaves wonderful bruises with very little work on my part. I started last night afraid I won’t hit hard enough and ended it afraid that my partner wouldn’t be able to sit today. I think I should worry less all around, and in the mean time I decided to improve my pain causing efficiency and purchased my first single tail today…let the target practice commence.

Negotiating aftercare:
So I learned a while ago that I need to negotiate for my aftercare when I bottom. I think I figured this out sometime between getting back to my hotel room at a kink event and sobbing for no good reason and walking up to a partner at a play party shortly after a scene and explaining that I can’t get from walking into the kitchen area to actually having food on a plate and eating it. Perhaps I require more aftercare than the average girl so in keeping with my theory that telling people all the bullshit up front so they can agree to it knowingly makes life easier I started negotiating for my after care. I have to say I am significantly happier with my bottoming experiences when I do this. Sub-space is strange, and when you are high on endorphins and completely out of your head or in a totally different part of your head you do silly things like decide that if you get untied it’s because people don’t like you any more or try to do things involving fine motor skills when you can’t walk in a straight line. Good aftercare really, seriously makes a difference. It gives me time to reconcile subspace with reality before I have to cope with reality and it also helps ensure that my body isn’t further stressed by things like cold or dehydration which I’m not good at recognizing immediately after a scene. Really I think this whole long paragraph was written so I can say yay for tops to carry Gatorade in their toy bags; I’m gonna start doing that too.

Home again:
Today I went to the NELA fetish flea. I got about 3 feet past the door and saw someone I knew, and then another person I knew, and then a few more until I felt I would spend half the day standing by the doorway hugging people I haven’t seen in a year. I did not in fact spend all day in the doorway. I walked around, ran into my old studio manager who has sold the space and moved on to other projects, reconnected with old friends and business acquaintances, met up with Maymay, and saw a woman I have a habit of boinking 2 weeks before a long distance move along with an army of other past (and possibly current) lovers. I bought a single tail (with Calico’s help), and avoided the Circlet Press table except to hug people I knew because moving books cross country is not so much with the fun (though you should totally check them out for all your bondage sci-fi erotica needs). I saw the Boston skyline coming in off I-95 and talked to people for whom all directions begin with the infinite corridor. Life is good, and soon I move again. (And this too is a good thing.)

I’ve been thinking and talking a lot about service of late and how I relate to it when I’m topping. I think it’s kind of a hard to explain concept for me. The assumption is that it comes from laziness in wanting to get basic chores done. I don’t get off on having someone clean my house; I get off on someone wanting to please me. I think a large part of it is that wanting to please exposes one to vulnerability and I find vulnerability to be really hot. When I want to top a service bottom I rarely want chores done (although if any of you want to catalog and then repack 12 boxes of books in the next 2 weeks email me). I usually want a massage, or a foot rub or something that is easy except that I can make it hard. I can be meticulous about how my books are organized or absurdly particular in how I take my tea. I complicate and ritualize simple tasks so I can take pleasure in watching someone struggling to get it right and so that the reward or the praise they get is more meaningful because the task was hard or because they are vulnerable and exposed. And yes, it is unfair to complicate things but if I just wanted a simple chore done I would either do it myself or hire someone for an equally simple business transaction. (And btw, the next time you think this is just an easy way to get the floor washed remember: the cleaning lady doesn’t require aftercare or ask for dinner dates.)

This is what I look like when I’m not wearing a hijab.

And this is what I look like in exile some days.

And just to see if I get any google hits for “sex + goat.” This is what I did while my boyfriend played video games.

This is one of those posts that seems too gushy to write but I really am overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends.  This is a times when I need to heal and recharge and while I knew I had some amazing people in my life but I’m just blown away.

Tonight a pretty naked woman made me pizza; over the last week I’ve had friends come to my house with groceries and make dinner, brainstorm for “warm” bars to accommodate my inability to handle the cold, give me hats, invite me to play parties, go out of their way at 3 in the morning to drive me home, and put up with my English having gone to shit.

I’m happy to be back in a sex positive environment, and I’m excited about all my upcoming play dates, but more than anything I’m grateful for my tribe.  I’m grateful for the people who are holding me together at the moment.

There is balance in the universe and there is reward in generosity.  It’s really nice to believe that if you take care of the world the world will take care of you and have it actually work that way.

Why is it easier to find someone who will pay to come over and give me a foot massage at a time that is convenient to me than someone who will come over and rub or kiss my feet without paying me for the privilege?   I may well be the only woman with this problem but I find it quite amusing.  I may also be really darn picky, which beats drama down the line any day of the week if you ask me.

Funny how I spend hours procrastinating on one bit of writing and am then moved to sit and work on something entirely different despite the fact that I intended to make dinner an hour ago.  This will be stream of consciousness; forgive me.  While procrastinating I sat and read the casual encounter posts on craigslist.com.  More specifically I did a search for men who want to clean women’s houses for fun.  I don’t really need any cleaning done, it’s just that those are the best to read (and we all know the gays have nicer things than we do so if I don’t filter for men seeking women I get depressed).  I got to grab a fist full of hair and pull a man’s head back by it the other day…it made me hungry.  You would think that a submissive man would be relatively easy to find.  If you are as picky as I am you would be wrong.  You see, I want someone who can rub my feet while talking about microwave background radiation.  I want someone who will not set off my anarchist child panic buttons by mistaking protocol and rules as sexual props for protocol and rules as The One True Way.  I want someone who, well, someone who is a human being first and foremost, then has some hobbies, and only after that kneels next to my desk and devotes an afternoon to making sure I have a hot cup of tea by my computer.  

I wonder if the problem lays in service being a more intimate thing and me looking for, well, a casual encounter.  The problem I’ve run into in the past is that I am expected to provide sexual favors in exchange for service.  I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way for me.   I provide the opportunity to serve in exchange for service…if you aren’t cleaning women’s houses for fun why are you doing it at all? 

Some days being a switch feels kind of odd.  Like when you want everything all at once.  Or when something gets flipped in your head and all of a sudden you want to beat the hell out of someone with a glorified metal stick. 

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So I got to back to the US on December 30^th, and within 48 hours had attended two play parties.  I find it really strange that with the exception of a slight bit of residual modesty, which should pass with time, I had no culture shock issues at the play parties.  I’m just as surprised by how much culture shock I’m experiencing within the rest of my life.  It looks like everyone is rushing around without any real goal to rush towards, and most people seem like they are unhappy with their lives but making no real effort to change them either.  I feel like I am walking through the world desperately trying to preserve my sense of openness and vulnerability while the people around me try for all they’re worth never to appear vulnerable all the while having more at stake than I can imagine being attached to.  I sat on the subway today and wondered if the people around me were actually dead, they certainly looked that way.  I’m not sure the convenience of safe drinking water is worth institutionalized depression.