Thursday, May 29, 2008

Where's the line?

     In light of Switch's recent escapades with the Irishman (she's still sporting matching bruises on the chest and thighs), as well as the life changes alluded to in her last post, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about play styles and interactions, and what my own personal preferences and peculiarities are.  I've also been thinking about the kind of play that Switch describes, where he did pretty much what he wanted - with safewords and some negotiation - and essentially trusted that it would be OK with her because that's what she signed up for.  My first thought was "I wanna do that."  
     Like she says in her entry, we've always, or almost always structured scenes around the pleasure and desires of the submissive.  I wrote a little while back about wanting to be scary - suffice it to say that this latest round of changes and rethinking has brought that to the fore again.  And I'm really not sure I can just do what I want.  Sure I like pinning a wriggling Switch down and biting her shoulders and fucking her silly, and I really do want to do that most of the time, maybe with a little choking or hitting or poking thrown in.  But I'm not sure if I'd even consider that play anymore.  I likely should, but for whatever reason it's not where my mind has been headed lately.  
     I've been thinking about handcuffs and metal chairs and plastic bags and zipties, about lit cigarettes and knives and water.  And those are somewhat less acceptable, in general, than rough sex taken to a bruising extreme.  I don't even know if the same rules apply.  I don't think trusting that it will be OK is going to be enough.  I might get off on it, but how to make sure that Switch will too?  Because what I'm looking for in scenes might not be specifically carnal, there's not the shared satisfaction of orgasm to guarantee a mutually enjoyable experience.  
     There's really no way around negotiation, in the end, but it's something we'll have to re-learn.  It'd best be soon, though - I have a Switch to fuck up.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Don't Bite The Irishman

What can I say about The Irishman?

My ass is lumpy, my tits have gnaw marks, my thighs are bruised and my ears are sore. I'm really glad I suppressed the (nigh overwhelming) urge to bite back, because it would have gotten me in even deeper shit.

The Irishman is not actually from Ireland, but he's of Irish descent, with an Irish name, has spent time in Ireland, love whiskey and Guiness and almost learned Gaelic, so he'll certainly count for our purposes.

I met The Irishman at the little club we had here. Out of all the various people who came through that place, he was the only one who got out into the world of kink, the scary, grown-up, non college bubble world of Munches and the like, and looked around. I respect him immensely for that. He's also the kind of dominant feller who really likes to wrap the tips of floggers cuz it stings so much.

I had known him through the club for several years, but not very well at all, and it never occurred to me that, other than hanging out and, if I was lucky, getting to know each other a little better, we'd ever have any particular connection to one another. But then, through a strange and hard to explain series of events unique to the college that just this morning spat us both out into the real world, it transpired that he let me know he might be interested in something more. Something sexy.

The Irishman is probably just under six feet tall. He's built solidly, with a wicked smile, slightly demonic eyebrows, a mohawk that is in the process of growing out, a beard and a lot of body hair. He's not "my type," because he not excruciatingly underweight for his hight, and therefore does not fit in with the lanky, bone-y type of boy that tends to strike my fancy. But he's a hottie. Oh, lord, he's a hottie. So I said, yeah, sure, that'd be fun, and I invited him to come see a big rigging demo Boy and I did (a post he should write), and we hung out once or twice. We communicated about what he might like, and he told me he wanted to try a submissive role. I was game.

Mostly. I did poke him in the pressure points, and grab painful handfuls of his flesh, and scratch him terribly, and even hit him a bit. And it was honestly cute to see him try to get into a submissive mindset. But I didn't know what to make of this strapping lad in my bed, and I didn't know where I wanted it to go, and so I mentioned that I liked it when he had a bit of agency. Apparently he realized that he liked that too, and actually, he liked it when he had a lot of agency, heck, why not all of the agency, and then I was on my back with a growling, muscular dude on top of me.

Now, when I do s/m scenes with Boy, the have tended to be of a very specific sort. They are oriented toward whomever is playing the submissive role, attempts at ordered arcs of pain and pleasure, hurting and stroking by turns. When I am submissive, it is often a very specific type of deep tissue, thudding impact play with a heavy flogger, the sap, or good old fists. I tend not to like things that are too stingy or slappy.

The Irishman did not give a crap what I liked. The Irishman was going for what he liked. I found myself held by the hair and spun backwards and forwards, growled at a bitten, and bitten, and bitten, and hit where I had just been bitten. He smacked me, repeatedly, in the face. He spanked me repeatedly on the bottom. We played twice in a week, and the second time I made the incredibly foolish decision to let him know that I had a crop on hand. Hence, the bruised thighs and the bumpy butt. He was spectacularly carnal, intense and in charge. He explained hegemony to me in the context of his turning the tables that first time. The second night, he simply walked in and said "I am not in a submissive mood tonight."

Before The Irishman, I had literally never played in any way at all serious with anybody but Boy. And what with the stress of this semester, and the branching out of this past week, it has been far, far too long since I've played with Boy. It was very different to be with somebody who didn't care about what I wanted, who wasn't expressly making it about me, who I had to make a conscious effort to trust. The first night, he put his belt around my throat as a collar. It was terrifying, which was exhilarating, but it also took me thinking through the fact that it was far too risky a thing to do and he was far to responsible a person to do it without having practiced and known what he was about.

What I find most striking of all, though, was the fact that it didn't feel weird. A few months ago, it would have taken hours of conversation to get to a point where I might do a scene with somebody else, or be comfortable with Boy doing the same, but all of a sudden this fell into my lap and I just said, why not? Perhaps it has to do with that whole end-of-college thing. Perhaps it's because I know The Irishman from the setting of said college. He's not just a kinkster, he's a person, my age, my community, not just like me, but like enough. I didn't sink deep into subspace or scene space with him, but I didn't feel guilty about that. There were so many fewer expectations, so much room to breathe. There was also a certain degree of vulnerability, because there was so little knowledge. I didn't know I wouldn't fail him.

So now I think to my relationship with Boy. This past week we've been vastly more independent than we've been in almost the entirety of the relationship, and it's felt really good, and healthy. Right now, we desperately need some time with each other, but it's an option and a desire, not an expectation or a must. And we need to scene. And I want to. The Irishman hurt me how he wanted, and let me know that that could be really good in itself, the pain that wasn't at all pleasant, except that it was his demand. Boy wants that, and I can tell him he can have it. And hurting The Irishman (and one or two other fellers) made me figure out that when I hurt people, I want it because I want it. It rubs me very much the wrong way to hurt somebody because it's what they want. I like a bit of spunk, both as a sub and in one.

And, it was just good to see another body, naked and aroused. It was good, if utterly strange, to have a different face above mine, a different pair of shoulders, a different (stunning) cock. I got to do a trick or two he hadn't encountered before, and that made me feel pretty neat. And it was fabulous to find that somebody wanted me. I have lingering feelings, from middle school and high school, that everybody outside of my social group is necessarily cooler than I am. I may be the bees knees and the queen of confidence among my friends, but with the rest of the world I'm a loser. Which means that when somebody whose only overlap with me is kink tells me they want me, I have this urge to say... you know that might make you uncool. It's really uncool to like me.

I dunno if that's true, but The Irishman kinda felt like one of the cool kids on whom I was pulling one over. I think my encounters with him will help kickstart a return to play with Boy, and it's fabulous to feel comfortable and ok with Boy playing with others (he did, a bit, too, this week. More hook-up than play, but still, a bit). And it's fabulous for me, personally to feel like that's cool.

It's been a long week, a long semester, a long year, a long four years. I'm headin' out into the world, and I won't be by The Irishman, or most any of my other friends either. But I hope to try to keep in touch. Both with the community that has supported and loved me even though I'm a twisted, perverted girl who spends time teaching others to be twisted and perverted too, and to The Irishman himself. He'll be hitting some poor girl or other all the way across the country from me, getting into an East Coast scene as I get into a West Coast, and I want to know all about it.

And maybe, one day, I will succeed in letting (making?) him take a submissive role.