Friday, August 03, 2007


I turned 21 yesterday.
Yes, I wen to a bar and had a drink. No, it was not the most monumentous occassion of my life, though it will make life easier from now on.
The birthday itself was sort of tough, for alot of reasons not worth going into. Tough with acquaintances, parents, and Boy, and the varying plans/lackofplans/expectations all of them and I had about what my birthday should be left me stressed out for parts of it.
But then I walked into the bedroom to get changed and found a beautiful hank of rope and a note, lying on the bed.
Boy is working on rope now. He ordered raw hemp, and has been going though the many steps that turn raw hemp into lovely soft rope you want to wrap around your skin.
He gave me a beatiful piece of the first rope he treated, because it was the first and because he loves me and because everyone needs some rope sometimes whether they're kinky or no.
Last year, not on my birthday but when he could, he gave me another thing he made me, a small turned brass piece of functional art that I've cherished ever since.
I love the gifts he makes me more than anything he could buy, and he's so skilled that they're fabulous.
And I realized after all this birthday fuss that I don't remember what I did for him last year for his birthday, if anything. Or what I gave him. Or what I could make to give to him, since he makes such lovely things for me.
So what do I make? I make words, I make food, I make people feel better.
I am not so advanced a chef that I could invent a recipe, really, but everything I cook I cook with him in mind. I know which flavors he likes and which he doesn't, and the only recipe I call my own was made out of two parts, and he was one. It's a pasta recipe with egg and cheese, because I cooked all one year for two friends, a crazy-beautiful vegetarian artist girl and a distant, lovely boy who made my heart ache and insisted that a meal wasn't a meal without protien.
Food, and words.
I write in this blog more often than any other forum, and this blog is for him. It's for me, as well, and for you who read it, but in the end, it's for him. The name I use to sign onto it is Switch.and.Boy. It's us. So this is my gift to him. For his birthdays that I missed and the birthdays to come and for everyday in between.
Food, words, and making people feel better.
Which is easier with people who don't make my throat constrict and my heart beat faster every time they frown. It's alot easier to make people feel better when they don't make up the better part of your world, but I want Boy to know that I will keep every secret he's ever told me, and hold him when he's small and needs to be held, and I will talk to him till too late at night and make him whatever foods will cheer him and help him through whatever work is making his life hard. I have been imperfect at this, and I'm sure I'll stay that way, but I'm going to try.
And that's a promise, come what may. Forever. No matter what we are to eachother, I'll be what I can to him.

So that's the schlocky writings of a girl who doesn't make anythign permanent to a boy who gives her the objects of love. Words, food and feelings. They won't tie up your bottom or sit on your dresser, but they're what I can give and I will.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007


One of the first things I knew about Boy was that he always carried a knife. When we were merely two randy college kids (which we still are now, but there's more between us) who used their mouths to get eachother off alot, he would always unload all the pointy things from his pockets when he walked into my room. Keys, often a wrench or screw driver, and always his knife, which was actually clipped to the waistband of his pants, not in his pocket. He later told me he only did this when he was certain he'd be getting some. Charming, ne?
Anyhow, Boy tries very hard to keep his knives sharp. Or if he doesn't, he knows how sharp they are. I, as a cook, have one or two good knives that I like to be kept very sharp. I have sharpened them myself and Boy has sharpened them for me, and some day I will get them professionally sharpened. I like knives that can cut a tomato without denting the skin or displacing the seeds.
This is to give you an understanding of what I think of when I think of knives.
Yesterday I saw someone insert a knive into both someone else's cunt and their ass.
When Boy tried, over and over again, to get this person to tell us about how sharp the knives where, the answer we got was "They're sharp".
Now, this fellow had quite a few knives. Some of them were very small (in fact, some of them were scalples) and some of them were not. In fact, some of them were those knives that have two curving blades and a handhold in the middle. They were mostly very shiny, chrome-like silver, and they were often ornate. The knives that fantasy buffs buy for too much money and display and feel tough about.
I'm sorry, am I letting my opinion of knives like this slip through a bit too much?
The thing is, I like knives. I like chef's knives and butcher's knives and hunting knives. I like pocket knives. I even like switchblades and butterfly knives, but I'm terrified of them and I know them to be illegal. I like knives that are knives, and if a knife is to be art, it better be art because it is so sharp and flawless and well made that it can't be called anything else.
Not because somebody embedded a glass jewel in the dragon's eye in the molded hilt.
I saw this person who had these knives drag them up and down the skin, and tap them across a very pierced cunt. Depending on the knife, it was sometimes hot and sometimes silly. And I saw him insert these knives, and bring them both out bloodless, and I thought: it would not be safe to do that with any knife I could respect in the morning.
And also: I want to be able to feel what's insert in my cunt, not try very hard to relax because it might cut me inside.
This fellow told us that he'd had ladies really go at it fucking knives, and I thought, gee. What sort of knife was that?
He instructed us never to practice with anything duller than what we would use in the actual scene, and that I thought was good advice. But it looked to me that the knives he was using were the sort of knives I'd use for dull practice. That's probably an exaggeration, but still.
Finally, he did two cuttings. One he did with a scalple. Just a tiny little cut, clean and bleeding mildly. It was beautiful. I have in the past had trouble keeping myself away from knives when I was unhappy, and I think I would enjoy giving that power to somebody else. And of course, I trust Boy never to do anything to me he thought could do me harm.
The other cutting caused us to leave earlier than we might have done otherwise, and upset Boy. Long time readers may have noticed that that is saying something.
This fellow took a short sword, carven of pomel and shiny of blade, and put it to this woman's breast, and dragged it down. It didn't do much, so he changed the angle and did it again, harder, and again, and again, and again. In the end, she had a red scratch, and no cut.
These were the knives he had told us, over and over again, were 'sharp'.
And waht is more, he was putting alot of force behind a kife in a position that, had the knife broken the skin, would have plunged it deep into her breast. Boy described it to me as a very effective and very hard to control way of cutting, and while I hadn't had a term for it (he does, and I can't remember it), I sort of instinctively knew that doing that was Bad.
We are Jay Wiseman and Lady Green. We spend our time educating people who know even less about this stuff than we do, and have even less experiance. Watching something poorly explained and uncarefully done in a demo just unsettles us to the core.

That said, I want to try knife play and fire play, both. We are also looking into Bondage for bondage's sake, harder positions without any sexual element during the scene to distract from what the rope is doing to the body. We are looking forward to Floating World and having a hardpoint again.

One final thought: This fellow, who showed us fire play and cutting and inserted knives into this ladie's orifices, explained that, for him, bondage is edge play. Apparently it causes alot of shoulder injuries.

How about that?