The Daring Adventures of Switch and Boy

Police Brutality

2009-04-23T17:37:00.011-04:00

Once upon a time, I and my strapping accomplice took a boy in off the street.

I threatened him with points,

And I threatened him with my pistol,

He was tied,

And he was frightened,

And hurt by my strapping accomplice,

And he was touched,

Deeply,

And it was good.

No boys were, in fact, kidnapped or harmed, nor any actual firearms used, during this production.
They were hurt quite a bit, though, and had trouble putting on their jeans the next day.
And they dripped all over my floor, too.

May in March

2009-03-14T16:20:00.003-04:00

Last weekend Boy and I went to Kink For All in New York City (where we introduced ourselves at Zac and Emms). We met people and heard talk and it were inspired and played with/as puppies and ate Chinese food and enjoyed ourselves, and when we left we brought back our friend, May.

He is an exceptional addition to our house, a force for tidiness and conversation and cuddles. In return for these things, we offer him an easy, semi-isolated space to write the book he's past due on, and to recover from sickness of the body and the heart. He sleeps in the office, and wakes slowly in the mornings, and works through the afternoons. He likes to sit in front of the heater, and adds Cayene pepper to all of his food (because we cannot supply him with fresh chilles). For the first three days here he drank tea by the potful, without ceasing, until a friend of ourse reminded him that drinking tea and nothing else can leave you dehydrated. Since then he has alternated tea, water, and a drink I made him one morning by pouring boiling water over sliced fresh ginger and honey and squeezing in a fat wedge of lemon.

He is sick, but cannot swallow pills, so we took him to the winter farmers market and bought him a tea to clear his sinuses and a tincture of echinacea and raw honey and vitamin C and other things too help his headache clear and his nose unclog and his throat tame its aching. Now he sits in the sunshine on the cushions in front of the heater, having removed his converse high tops, and codes CSS and eats Wheat Thin crackers, which he says he missed this whole past year in Australia.

I look at him alot. He is a strange new thing in my home, with big eyes and a big noble acquiline nose, and vibrant, mobile, tight little corkscrew curls the color of rust. I feel privaledged to watch him, lucky to be here in this time in his life, to lend a hand and love him while he puts pieces together in new ways. I feel as though I'm seeing a creature who hasn't existed before.

I watch him, and he watches Boy. May has lived in cyberspace and fastime since he was young, and watching Boy pull apart chairs and put their pieces back together in different combinations, or comune with metal and pieces of things that used to be, his eyes go wide and he points at Boy and says to me "He's magic!" I have known this for a while. I like especially to see May and Boy cuddle, these two slightly timid, ever-so-different boys who are so appreciative and so kind with eachother.

So it is March, and tomorrow is the first day of spring, and the sunshine is weak through the windows, and May complains about the cold, and snuffles, and washes the dishes, and cuddles with us, and shows us things we didn't know about the internet, and drinks tea. And we will keep him for a while, and when he goes, be here if he needs to wander back.

Mid-February, 3 years in

2009-02-13T19:22:00.004-05:00

I have never been one for choosing a dreary day in the middle of a dreary month as the most important moment of the year to express my love. I would prefer to dedicate a day in early June or late May, or possibly in September, if a day had to be picked. But best of all, why pick a day at all? Every day is a good day for love. Still it was cute to watch befuddled men wandering around downtown today, armed against the event with bunches of roses and balloons.

Boy and I are cleaning the apartment in preparation for an onslaught of friends, converging on our town for the famous Fetish Flea. Tyr and Maya will be here, with two friends of theirs whom Boy and I can't remember if we've met, as well as our old friend Dragon, the fantastic Gem, her habit Hobbit, and of course The Irishman. We have decided that we are not averse to picking up a few more strays along the way, and tomorrow night promises to be on the far side of epic.

In the midst of all that, who has time to stop for chocolate and roses? Certainly not Boy and I. The darling bought me a celebratory bottle of Prosecco, and I did nothing for him ... except clean. And in cleaning, find, and read aloud, all sorts of love notes and poems and adoring bric-a-brac from the past six months and the years before. The best bit of which I shall post here, in testamant to the amazing man I love and live with, and the awesome thing we have.

Everyone Should Be So Lucky

I hate that you always
take more food than you can eat
and I hate when you leave
dishes so I can't use the sink
I hate it when you're
cranky and I don't understand

I worry sometimes that you
love me just because
you've been saying it
so long
I think that I'm a habit
and wonder if it's a good one

But then

you look at me when I am
shirtless or smiling or
making us food

and your eyes are so intent
and you radiate some emotion
uncountable of good

and I forget the food and
the dishes and the blank
joyless moments

and I love all of you
from socks to split ends,
from back fuzz to belly
fuzz to beard and beyond

and I know, of course,
obviously, that you love me
completely -- it's right in
that look

I love even the parts
that I hate

End Poem. Love happy.

Top 5

2009-01-29T13:05:00.002-05:00

So I have been reading the article in the NY Times magazine about what women want, and now I think it is time to relay to all of you what it is I want.

1) I want sex without control. I do not want to be in control or under control, I want to be out of control. I want to meet my partner halfway and glue myself to him like I was coated in epoxy. I want to meet fully dressed, to be down on the bed when he breaks for a moment to pull of his shirt and reveal gorgeous, golden, perfect shoulders. I want to scramble to the top and kiss my way down from there. I want it all, hot and focused and with untouchable equality, touch for touch, scratch for scratch, bite for bite, moan for moan, beginning from two fully clothed people standing across the room and ending with two naked, sweat drenched, heaving people who can do nothing but giggle and, with any luck, eat ice cream. Not sex like the first time. Sex like the first time with him, sex like how the first time out to be, sex like in an alleyway or on a fire escape. Just plain, gorgeous, raw sex.

2) I want strength. I want a man in the archway between my rooms, spread eagled and well muscled and unbreakable, and then I want to hit him till he breaks. I want to rip away layer up on layer of stoic silence until I pull the whimpers and show the vulnerable, pale underbelly, the boy in the darkness. I want to start slowly, build slowly, stroke for stroke with never a not of hurry, adding pain to pain to ache to groan to skin red and blood at the surface and nerves on fire. I want somebody who doesn't want to want me to take them and break them into bits, and then I want to break them into bits and hand them back and I want the response to be thank you. Oh, thank you.

3) I want somebody who is small but naughty, interesting and wicked and in need of being bent over a cushion and taking for me strokes with the cane, stroke after stroke, rapid and fast, deep and slow, welt raising and skin searing and gasp inducing. I want to see the blood on the inside of his lip where he's bitten it through trying not to cry out (and he failed).

4) I want trust. I want to feel golden in my power, to feel I can do no wrong. I want a boy tied spinning in the archway, one foot on the ground and the other stretched near his head (which he can do because he stretched before hand), and I want to stroke and to touch and to add rope to rope until just holding it is pain enough, but so beautiful, and he spins and I spin and he believes I can place the ropes, believes I have placed them right and that he is lovely and that is my doing.

5) I want to be wanted. I want to be needed. I want to be under power, taken down, taken apart and put back together with patience, with confidence, with planning and care. I want to be beautiful, nude, tied, desired. I want to be hurt and comforted and hurt again. I want to be beaten bloody and screaming and broken and then taken care of for hours if need be. I want to hang from the ropes with the candle above me and say yes, light it, light them all, it will hurt but I want to see the glow. I want submit to something, but I need something to submit to. I want strength, my own. I want to hold it in my hands and give it to someone to trust someone with it and when they have my strength, they can break it till I'm weak, and when they have my weakness, they can give me back my strength. With kisses, the way they want and not the way they think I want. With the bits of my body they love and not the ones they think they ought to love. I want somebody who wants me for no other reason than that they do.

Yeah, that. And also sex.

Feeling Fertile

2009-01-29T08:57:00.003-05:00

It is 8:57 in the morning. I am about to do my daily round of chores -- a pile of dishes, preparing a meal so that it will be ready when the people I work with come to eat it, tidying. I have been reading blogs about changes of blogs, and about writing.

It perhaps will not come to you as a surprise that I have spent a considerable quantity of my life in writing. I wrote a small volume of a hundred pages, what a hope was a humorous history of food and eating in England from the Saxons through WWII.

I also write stories and even poems. I like words, a lot, but for one reason or another outside of this blog I have pretty much let them go.

But I was describing to a dear and lovely friend of mine his beauty, and how and why I wanted to touch it, and he asked me why I don't write more straight out erotica.

And I'm asking myself why I don't write more straight out anything. I used to post poems on this blog sometimes. Maybe I will again.

I don't have any poems or stories in my head right now, but I have a place for them again. I'm feeling fertile.

Gem and the Irishman

2009-01-25T18:12:00.002-05:00

I have always assumed that I would be no good at polyamory. I can handle the idea of having a lot of lovers who were also my friends, and Boy having the same, but somehow the idea of having more than one relationship, I mean capital R Relationship, I couldn't do. Two boyfriends I do not have, nor do I intend to.

I have one Boyfriend, and one Irishman, and at the moment that's more or less it. Not that I'm complaining, I'm blessed. I'm a happy girl. This is a thing that makes me happy.

Now when there is something that makes me happy, a book or a TV show or a meal or a song, I share it with the people I love. I like to make them happy, too.

And that I think, is why I decided that my old and very dear friend Gem needed to bone the Irishman.

In about those words, I informed both Gem and the Irishman of this fact, and the pair of them, they waffled, until finally Gem suggested that perhaps she might come down and visit us, and perhaps while she was at it I might invite somebody else, perhaps, somebody specific, to come and visit too.

So yesterday there we all were, in my sunny apartment, eating gingersnaps and hanging out. Sitting around and chatting, the Irishman and Boy and I occasionally sticking our heads together and plotting a bit, and then asking Gem over to stand just there, and maybe she might take her shirt off, and could I have her ankle, until she was half-suspended from the hardpoint in the arch between our two main rooms, rope-bedecked and spinning when she lost her footing.

It was a lovely thing, and we all had a go at her. Boy, as is his wont whenever he has the option, hung in the background, doing technical things, rigging and re-rigging and handing various implements of destruction to the Irishman or myself. I hit her in was I have hit her before and ways that I have not, and as ever when I play with her, I was overwhelmed by her big blue eyes and my desire to take care of her. The Irishman stood behind her and fisted his hand in her hair and held her, doing ever-so-subtle things with his hand to cause her to writhe and gasp.

And there were times that I thought that I wanted to be where she was, but the truth is that just changing places wouldn't have given me that. She was in a place where three people, two who knew her very well and one not at all, were slowly feeling their way through a scene with her at the center, and one of them had real potential and charge. If I had been tied up I would have been with the only two people I regularly sleep with and my sweet but definitively submissive best friend. Gem would likely have grinned alot and done her part, but the Irishman and Boy would not have been gently feeling things out. They would be on me like a hurricane made of grizzly bears, and I would be the frantic, turned on, terrified ball of energy I am when stuff like that happens.

Eventually we took her down and the night petered off into dinner and Dr. Who? and silliness, and Gem and the Irishman cuddled, sometimes with me or Boy and me, sometimes on their own. And eventually they shared a single bed, and they left together in the morning, and what exactly went on between then I don't know.

I am happy for them. They are two great people who could have a great thing, and by a great thing I mean great sex. Actually, who knows? Maybe more.

But it is an odd thing for me, to have decided that my lover needed to sleep with my friend, and put so much effort into making it happen. I have hooked my friends up with ex-boyfriends in the past, but I have never shared before.

I just hope that sharing it remains.

Less than a month ... let's get this ball rolling!

2009-01-24T11:27:00.002-05:00

It is January 24th. The Flea comes rolling to town February 13th.

We have less than a month, but the Great Sex Toy Project is rolling.

Boy has a brand new toy, and production will, we hope come thick and fast with it's aid. Now all that's left to worry about is packaging. Boy, ever one for aesthetics, has spent his every spare moment creating patterns and logos. As soon as we figure out how to get it printed, we'll be a go.

I forsee some packing parties in the future. Gem? Lend a hand?

January, 2009

2009-01-15T19:57:00.007-05:00

Dear Diary,
On Sunday I went to Boston to visit the Irishman, where we learned that the floor can be comfortable, Metal can be melodic, cheesefries are awesome, trenchcoats are cute and contrary to popular opinion, the Irishman is a deeply accomplished cuddler. The Irishman managed to combine Guinness, Metal, and Blowjobs into "Basically Awsome," and I looked very cute in SaranWrap, thanks very much.

Then I started a job, which began by hosting an Alaskan Native American boy in my house for two days, and feeding him and watching him hang by his feet. Also a crazy, zenlike, life-adoring old man brought me 5 liters of Franzia Fruity Sangria Wine. The job is disorganized, intense, inspiring, awesome.

Then I had house guests and talked about sustainability a lot. Wandered the Italian district. Made food. Watched "Yellow Submarine" and sang along and ate brownies and blueberries with lime juice.

Applied for and got interviews for two super neat, utterly fantastic and right-up-my-alley tutoring gigs.

Tomorrow I am going to Boy's home in order to help out with and attend Momzilla's amazing 60th birthday bash. It is "Black Tie Optional." We are totally going for it. One of our chores is to raid Boy's home town for all of the yummy food possible in order to feed an army of Momzilla's friends a smörgåsbord brunch.

On Monday Jugs -- actually, she blushes every time I call her that, and splutters and it's really quite cruel, so I think I'll take pity and call her Gem from now on -- Gem is coming down to visit, and there will be rope, and if I'm lucky there will be bungee cord, and fun will be had by all.

Next week, job for real.

Saturday, Gem and the Irishman both come down for something that is sure to be both sublime and ridiculous. The Irishman has suggested scheming, and I heartily concur. Sorry, Gem. Best of luck.

I lead a bizarre, spectacular, amazing, charmed kind of life some times.

It All Comes Together: Why Boy is Awesome

2009-01-03T23:06:00.003-05:00

Happy Secular Humantist Appreciation Hour (past), Happy Nondenominational Winter Festival Week (past), Happy New Year: 2009 (just getting started)!

Over the past few weeks I have spent quality time with my family and Boy's family and have finally returned to home-base, only to spend our first day here rearranging it in a rather important way. From a two bedroom (one for me, one for him) apartment, we have consolidated into a one bedroom (for us) one office (for us, and a bed for guests) home. Tonight will be the first night in Our Bed. We are psyched. Another little commitment, but in the end it felt like we only slept apart when we were grumpy, and we'd rather not program that into our lives.

While we were staying at Boy's house (read: Boy's Family's Complex of Barns and Workshops and Outbuildings and Stuff), on New Years Eve, I got to watch him turn a hunk of solid aluminum into a beautiful, polished butt-plug. He did this on a very large lathe, and was very good about explaining each step to me as he went, and I paid attention. Mostly. Occasionally my mind wandered and I watched his hands.

In order to turn things on a lathe, you have to move a cutting point in two directions at once. At the same time you must move it parallel to the item you are turning, from the tip to the base where it is grasped by the lathe and spun, and you must move it in and out to form the curves you desire. This is accomplished by turning one wheel with one hand and another with the other, at the same time, with very slow, very precise, very careful movements, so that you do not cut too much too deeply all at once.

Here is what he made:

(The one on the left. He made the one on the right by himself, while I was off with my family.)

And I looked at his hands, each operating carefully and precisely, separate from the other but in conjunction to create the same thing, working towards the same goal, and I thought: Oh!

No wonder he's such a damn fine lover.

Flotsam and Jetsam:

The Great Sex Toy Project took a left turn at Albuquerque , but will be moving forward as scheduled, if not as planned. We are psyched. If you know of anybody who had already seen some of the stuff Boy makes and would be interested in talking to us about it, please direct them to the comments section of the blog or to clockstone.studios@gmail.com, for the time being.

Since going on Hormonal Birthcontrol (Yazmin, or actually Ocella, the off-brand of the same) about 5 months ago, I have noted a marked drop in my sex drive. Of course, my life has turned itself over about 15 times since then, so it could be due to a wide variety of Other Things, but if anybody has any thoughts on this or on how to get it back (herbal supplements, perhaps?) please drop a line.

Visit http://kinkforall.org. It's very cool.

Send me love.

Switch Out.

Tricky Combinations

2008-12-15T11:27:00.002-05:00

So. Boy = Puppy.

Last night, Boy equaled Puppy all over the apartment. Boy chased ball. Boy ate dog food (lump turkey jerky, pepper flavor) and then lapped water from a bowl. Boy wagged his tail. Boy wagged his tail a lot. Boy pounced on my feet and had to be reprimanded and pulled around by his collar, and then Boy spent so much time sniffing at my crotch that I eventually had to undo my pants and let him see what was in there.

Boy is an adorable puppy, and he is so sweet he makes my heart ache and makes me want to give him scritches and knot my fingers in his hair and rub him and hug him forever.

He does not, so much, make me want to have sex with him. I don't really think sexy thoughts about adorable little puppies.

But I do think sexy thoughts about big, growly, angry dogs. Or, doglike things. Maybe humans who have lost their humanity and gone over to the wolfish side of things.

Ok, in fact, I have a kind of a thing for werewolves. Semibestiality. Monsterkink.

Last night, many gestures were made in that direction, but no definitive step was taken, no break through was achieved, no realization come to. But I have faith.

Boy loves to have a tail and be a dog, but he cannot ever really be a dog because in fact he is a boy. I like the idea of being roughly taken by a growling, guttural, bestial man-dog. Wolfthing. I see no reason why this beastie can't have a tail that's stuck in its bum. I see no reason why these two kinks can't coincide. It just needs some figuring out.

Suggestions?

Tidbits and Ruminations

2008-12-02T09:10:00.003-05:00

This is what happens: I let three or four posts percolate in my head, and none of them complete themselves, so none of them get posted. In my head, this blog is much more lively than it is in the computer. So I will start with the tidbits, the little posts I haven't written, and then get on to a bit of ruminating.

Tidbit 1: The Tiny Diet Coke Fairy

I am a diet coke fiend. I wish it weren't so, because I know the stuff is made of plastic and dead babies and if it were sentient and animate would probably come and kill me in my sleep, it's so nasty, but I love it. I can explain in quite a bit of detail why I love it, but I won't bother here unless you really want me to. In any case, I love it so much that when I buy it, which is always in smaller quantities and less often than I would really like, in a perfect and luxurious world, it disappears far to quickly and I am left without. Probably a good thing, as I drink water instead.
Recently, Boy and I were shopping and we discovered six packs of half-sized diet coke cans. I dismissed these as silly, but Boy slipped some (very obviously) into the cart anyway. And when we got home he spirited them off someplace, and when I ran out of the two-liter I had bought for myself, they started to appear. In the fridge, on the table where I was cooking when I had looked away. Sometimes even in Boy's hand, but that makes the game a bit obvious.
I am trying to be good and never ask for a tiny diet coke from the benevolent force that lives with me and buys me treats, but I have failed in that at least once. It really is so much better to have them given freely, and feel loved and watched over. Boy is pretty neat like that.

Tidbit 2: The Great Sex Toy Project

This is a tidbit I actually held off on intentionally. I am still not entirely sure that this will ever come to fruition, or more importantly, that it will come to fruition within the time frame we desire, but my part in the project begins here, so I feel I had better begin it.
As many of you know, Boy is a Maker. He is an improviser and an improver more than an inventor, and he has found a way to improve and create something beautiful for sex-play, something small and necessary and metal (of course). The product will be, at least when first on the market, at a higher price point than is perhaps desirable, but given that it will also be of better quality, and more beautiful, we hope that some of the more affluent members of the scene will not mind so much. It is a pricey subculture we live in, anyhow. The reason that this is a Project and not just a notion is that we've got a concrete goal: We want to have product to sell, and failing that, product to show off in an organized, planned out way, for the Winter Fetish Flea in February. My job is the organizing of the showing off, which means that even now, when our product exists in drawings in Boy's notebook only, I begin my talking-up-of-it. So send questions, guesses or suggestions this way. I can't guarantee you'll get answers, but I'll give updates as I can, and I'd love a bit of buzz.

Sundry Ruminations

It's December. My mother sent me an advent calender (we call them Opening Cards in my family). It is long and has a painting of the Met in front of a dark blue, starry sky, and when you open the little doors you see artworks from the museum inside. It is up in our living room, which is the room that used to be the dining room and used to be blood red, and now is the living room and is muted orange, and much more comfortable. We painted. I pot and re-pot plants. Boy works a full-time job that isn't currently what he wants but has possibilities. I work a part time job that is very confusing, but in the end is not what I want. I will leave it in a month, when I have not found any other work, in that time, to replace it. I will take a two-week vacation that I have not been working hard enough to deserve, and come home, and try to find a full time job that I want to commit to, that suits me, that pays all my bills and enough for a bottle of wine every now and then. I am scared that I am qualified for no such job, that my search is disorganized, that I don't know what I want or where my skills lie, that I'm not doing enough, that the time is out of joint. In the evenings I fall asleep on the couch sometimes and wake up when Boy turns out the lights to go to bed, and I am confused and small. Other times we wake up in the morning happy, have breakfast, explore the city. Things seem very hit or miss. I am trying to modify my behavior to change that, from getting up and cleaning the house in the morning to getting out, looking for jobs, contacting people, trying to make friends and keep in touch with my old friends. Everybody tells me about how hard a time this is, but I am trying to avoid the danger of telling myself it's ok to be unhappy because everybody's unhappy right after graduation. Better I should find out how to be a happy girl.

Sex is problematic. Somewhere in the past three years I feel like Boy and I have forgotten each other. People's bodies are bound to change, but when there is such a huge level of comfort, there seems to be little need to keep discovering. Or perhaps it's not even that we don't feel the need, but that we don't, at this point, remember how. My orgasms are harder to find, less overwhelming, less satisfying. I seldom have that languorous relaxed post-orgasmic feeling, where all the world is at rights. Mostly after I orgasm these days, I want to try again. To get it right. I haven't tied Boy up in ages, and I don't know how, and I am afraid that he won't be patient with me, because I know that he has a terrible time relaxing and trusting me with rope. I know that I've lost any skill I used to have with it, and will have to start over again, but he still seems much in advance of me... (and how often has he tied me up? why should that be true?)
I wish that we could admit that we've lost alot of skill with each other, turn away, and come back as excited beginners.

I feel my failures much more strongly than I feel his. I think he does too. Or rather, he has specific things that he wants. He wants harder than I do, and he can approximate asking me for things, but his wants change rather rapidly and I can't get good enough at any one thing to do it right. So I keep trying to respond and running a failed little scene because I've tried to put something of myself in and that has basically just meant taking out something that he wanted. And I can't say "I want to be a puppy, I want you to be my master, I want things in my butt." All I can say, if I could, is "I want an orgasm that I don't have to work for. I want you to remember my body so that you can tease me and I can build and when it's over be happy and relaxed, and not reach futilely for my vibrator again." I'm not being greedy when I do that, I'm just trying to get it right.
I haven't told him this yet. Not about the orgasms being sub-par. I told him about wanting him too pay more attention to me and my responses, and I asked him to approach me as though he didn't know me already, as though he knew nothing about my body. I know he has enough skill as a lover to leave me a shuddering, melting ball, but I don't know if he can access it. Or maybe he has accessed it, and has tried to do what I asked, and because I didn't know he was trying, or because it's not him but me, my body, the stress of life-without-purpose, the hormones, whatever. I hate that my sex drive is low. Not wanting sex makes me feel shitty. Like a bad partner and a bad girlfriend and a bad sex-positive-ist. And I can't help but think that if one partner wants sex and the other does not, it should be the sexy partner who puts work in to bring about desire in the other. And then I can't help but thinking that maybe he is trying really really hard, and I'm just failing to notice, and that would suck alot.

I keep thinking back to an afternoon a long time ago, I think our second year of college, before we were even a couple, officially. I went to wake Boy up, and found him in his bed, sorting through porn on his computer. I crawled into bed with him and we looked at porn all afternoon, and fucked twice, and eventually got ourselves some dinner, and maybe fucked again that night. I was so into sex! It was so comfortable and lovely to lie there with him, to be wanted by him and want him back. We are cyclical, Boy and I, and I know it will return, but it would make a lot of things a lot better if it could return right. fucking. now.

And Boy: You have gotten to the end of this post. Here are many things, most of which you already knew about, which have been on my mind. I read the note you left for me. Look there for my answer.

Fighting the Tide

2008-11-13T11:53:00.002-05:00

I was in my second year of college when I started this blog. That was, then, about three years ago, maybe a little more. It was some time within a year of when Goose and Gander started theirs, and well over a year before Mischief started his. I have been remiss in writing nearly as long as I've been writing, but I want everybody who still reads to know this right now:

I am not about to stop writing.

Since I've been blogging I've found that, as in every other community, blogging comes in waves. One day everybody's talking about gender, next we're all on about femdom and then later about how to relate to our vanilla friends. Or some such. The most recent wave, it seems, is not blogging at all... the more we write, the more we make each other think and want to write about the same things we were thinking about. The less we write, the less we provoke writing in each other.

That said, I started this blog three years ago because I could hardly deal with everything that was going on, with the fact that normal people, even my BEST FRIENDS didn't know that when I closed the bedroom door the folk-music-loving, argyle-knee-sock-wearing girl they knew crawled around on her knees for a Boy that really wasn't very good for her. Right?

I started this blog for me, I keep writing it for me, and for Boy. I never bit at memes, even when I wanted to, I never remember to update my blogroll (in fact, Boy made it in the first place). I think I never really became a part of the sex-bloggin' community, and maybe that's the only thing that's saving this blog. Because when I don't write for a long time, as has happened between nearly every post, I don't decide that means I don't want to write anymore. The blog is not a subject of such thought or guilt or worry, most of the time. Just a thing I do when I have things to write about.

I will miss the blogs that are going. I have loved reading them, have learned about myself because of them, have learned about my way of life and about the lives of both strangers and people I love. I have no idea if I'll post more often, but a long gap between posts doesn't mean I've stopped. I'm not stopping. Just slow.

Taken (care of)

2008-10-15T09:22:00.002-04:00

There is an old adage that everyone knows; you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. You also get your house all sticky and probably it's more of an "attract a lot of flies" than a "catch them so you can get rid of them" sort of thing.

But as an analogy to my submission, it's still a pretty useful turn of phrase.

If you are nice to me, I will let you be very, very mean to me. I will love you for being mean to me, so long as you are nice to me.

Yesterday Boy tied me up. Our apartment has a large open arch between the two main rooms, in which Boy (of course) rigged a suspension-worthy hardpoint, and attachment points for a person to be spread-eagled and very exposed. This is where he tied me up, asking me to fetch rope for him, taking my clothes off, tying first my wrists so high that to make it more comfortable I would stand on tiptoes as long as I could hold it, then tying one ankle, and after a while the other.

I haven't been that small/submissive in a very, very long time. I loved how he touched me, how he took care of me. I loved that, for that night at least, he didn't feel a need to hurt me beyond the discomfort of the rope, the coolness of the air on my bare skin, the exposure and submission of my position.

At one point he sat back on the floor in front of me and looked at me, and said that my being there, naked and tied up between rooms, in the center of our apartment, made the whole place worth it. We have lived here for about two months, and there are a billion little things wrong with the place, so that every day has something of a struggle in it. But he said that to him I make it worth it, and that, of course, makes it worth it to me.

What really sticks with me about last night is how he looked at me. I am sometimes threatened or made sad by the amount of bondage porn Boy watches. Not because I mind the porn -- I watch it with him, and enjoy it. But because he enjoys it so much, he so gets off on it and he loves the pretty ladies all tied up, but I so rarely end up in similar situations to those ladies. And I wonder if there is something not-good about me, that he would rather watch a two-dimensional image of a tied up lady being teased and hurt, than have a real-live, three-dimensional me to tease and hurt and use and care for.

But last night his eyes lit up when I gasped, and it seemed like he couldn't keep his hands off of me, like he finally saw that I can be just like the pretty ladies in the movies, only real and solid and available for his and my own orgasming goodness. Yes. There was orgasming goodness. But this is about the tying up.

And about how he took me down after a while when my wrists hurt, but not just the exact moment that I said my wrists hurt, and about how he held me and stroked me and then pinned me to the bed and fucked me, and about how sweet his hands felt in my hair as he held my head so that his cock stayed completely buried in my mouth.

It was very good.

Further Gender Musings

2008-09-20T13:39:00.002-04:00

Thanks and Greetings to all the wonderful bloggers who commented on my last post, and special thanks to Maymay for putting it out to the world. I was feelin' kinda lonely for a few days there...

Anyhow. Calico commented that androgyny, while pretty, is terribly hip just now.
Honestly, though, I think the world has always gotten off on androgyny. From the Greeks, whose tragic heroines were always played by men, and the stated "man-womanish"ness of Dionysus, the god in whose honor such dramas were written, to the constant gender-misidentification of Shakespeare's comedies, to the constantly recurring story of the woman who went to war dressed as a man, to save her people, or her family, or her life.
Of course, recently androgyny has taken a turn for the Calvin Klein, short-haired-waiffish-genderless-model side of things. And even more recently, there has been this horrible movement in which skinny boys wear skinny-legged, saggy-bottomed girl's pants, but that I think is more an affront to aesthetics than to the gender binary.
What I'm trying to say is that as long as there has been a strict definition between what falls in the space of Masculinity and what in that of Femininity, people have looked with longing and wonder at what might fall between.

Or have they been looking at what might happen if the spaces were combined?

Boy has commented to me, several times, that he is interested in finding and wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes. I asked him whether he wanted to dress as a girl in general, and he said no... just the shoes. Well, huh. His legs would look about two miles long, and his ass, always lovely, would be positively magnificent ... and he would tower over me. He would be so beautiful, but because of the added hight, he would have the potential to be so much more powerful.

That, I think, is where it's at. There is vast power in the space between genders and the combination of them. Giving strength back to femininity, grace to masculinity, would bring the same power to his dominance as it does to my submission.

For me I think perhaps it is because I can't live there. I am a girl. Boy is, of course, a boy. Life would be less pleasant and less complete if we tried to pretend that that is all there is to it, but it would be impossible to set the all-the-time, every-day part of life to that magical middle space, that powerful combination. I can't be all the things I am, all the time, and there is so much intensity in the ones that, for a hundred reasons, it is more difficult to be.

In the meantime, does anybody have access to a pair of size 11 or 12 heals? Nothing to girly, obviously... a nice pair of chunky- healed black boots would be perfect. There's a Boy who needs to be a bit more girl, here.

When I Was A Boy

2008-09-03T11:53:00.003-04:00

During childhood, as Dar Williams can attest, genders are not so staid and solid as they will later become. To be sure, I went through phases when I would not wear pants, and had names for the pink dress with three unicorns on the front, and the purple dress with tiny valentines. But probably before that, and certainly for most of childhood and life after, I was a different sort of kid.

I have a picture of me at my 10th birthday party, wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts with holes all around the bottom, with blood caked down my leg from some fall or scrape, and a huge grin on my face. I fell somewhere in the middle of the girl-boy continuum. I played with Barbies constantly, but mostly they were wild jungle heroines, saving Ken from some unknown danger. Other times Ken would rescue Barbie and they would fight along side. I made my own outfits for them, out of bits of handkerchief and clothes pins. And yes, I tied them up. Other times I was a superhero, and other times a harem girl, and I was aware of my sexuality from a young age. And I noticed early on that little girls have a cruelty that boys don't have. Boys can tease, and they can ignore, but they don't have the same calculated, planned unkindness that girls have for those that don't make the cut. I, of course, never did, and so I decided for a while that I would be a boy.

It didn't really work, but all through middle school I wore boys' pants, I hung out with boys, I worked hard to become One Of The Guys, and rather than fight the laughing misogyny of the young bastards I hung out with, I absorbed it. I have it to this day, meshing poorly with deep seated feminism -- a feeling that if women are just as smart and capable as men are, if only they would stop being so fucking irrational all the time.

And there I was, in college. I liked to wear wide-leg pants and small, tailored velvet blazers, and put my hair up into a news-boy cap. At the prom party, I went as another girls date, with my hair slicked back, in a tail coat and a collared shirt unbuttoned to show my wonder-bra-ed breasts. I love boys in corsets and girls with shaved heads, a helpless devotee of androgyny.

So, this is me. And then I met a Boy who liked to be fucked.

And here is where it gets interesting: I love fucking boy, I love strapping on a cock, but wearing a cock while I fuck him makes me feel... well, androgynous, yes. But very much on the Female side of androgyny. I am a woman with a cock, powerful and lovely. I love that feeling.

Recently, however, we began to be unhappy about the fact that with the glorious harness Boy made for me, I cannot be fucked while wearing the cock. We were unsure what to do to solve the problem, until Boy remembered the rope-harness we learned in Bondage You Can Use by Lee "Bridget" Harrington, the bestest of the best of Sex and Bondage Educators. It took a bit of modification, but suddenly I could wear a cock and still have my girlbits exposed. I could have a cock, and still be fucked.

In this submissive position, my cock meant a whole other thing. It never occurred to me that I was a girl in that context: I was a boy, submissive to a bigger, stronger Boy. And I LOVED it. I had never been a boy the way I was like that, even though vaginal intercourse made my girl parts very apparent. Nor had I ever felt submissive in the same way I did, with my hard silicone cock pushed into the bed and the base pushing against my pubic mound, turning me on even more as Boy fucked me.

So what does it mean, do you think, that when I wear a cock and am dominant, I remain a female thing, but when I wear it and submit I become a boything? I don't know how to parse it. I just know that I want more. I want to be a submissive boy and a dominant girl. Maybe not forever or exclusively, but this does a new pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of my gendering.

Plus also, funsex. More please soon.

In with a Bang

2008-08-26T22:38:00.002-04:00

Apologies to The Irishman for the lateness of this post. Life got in the way, babe. Nothing against you.

* * *

So, although we had been here for weeks, Boy and I had yet to truly christen this apartment with kinky goodness. Moving is hard, moving is stressful, neither of us had jobs, I was on my period, I was before my period... it happens. Some quite nice pegging, alot of growling and pawing, but nothing really top-notch kinky.
And then The Irishman visited. And all hell broke loose.
It happened like this. I hopped online a few nights ago and The Irishman asked if I had gotten his text. I had not. It said he might be coming to visit the next day. It was agreed that he would come for dinner, but because he needed to be on an early train, I assumed no sex.
Halfway through dinner (I made a hearty pasta, full of crumbled sausage and fennel seeds) his Boss texted him. Work, it transpired, began at 1:00. He could take a morning train.

Now, what was to be done? There had been no notice, so I couldn't very well ask Boy to leave the house and go amuse himself for a few hours with The Irishman and I played. Nor did I want the Irishman to visit, and stay the entire night, with nary a hint of kinkery to be found.
My thought had been that Boy would get out some rope, show The Irishman some ties, maybe we'd get a little raunchy.... and then my mind sort of petered off.
And, that is kind of what happened. The end part just got filled in especially... fillingly.
Boy did in fact bring out some rope, but rather than bothering to show any ties, he just sort of did them. And then The Irishman turned his I-Am-Going-To-Eat-You-Very-Soon face on me, and the pain started. There was a lot of pain, and hitting, and turning of the girl back and forth between the two boys. Then we headed into my bedroom.

Did I mention that Boy made me a bed? Perks of living with a crazed carpenter. He made it for me because I hate sleeping on a mattress on the floor, or even a low bed. Just, for whatever reason, can't stand it. So we went up into the attic of our new house, and he found a bunch of lumber and took it down and turned it into a bed. It has very high posts. In fact, they're a little too high, since the outer walls of our third-floor apartment slope slightly in toward the roof, and the posts of the bed are so high that, because of where they hit on the slope, the bed sits several inches away from the wall. Something to work on.

As it was, though, the boys had a nice tall STAKE to tie me to while they made merry with my bits. And they did. Stripped me naked and fucked me up, and pulled my hair and pulled my hair and pulled my hair and... well, basically, as soon as The Irishman gets the whiff of a scene about to begin with me, his hand fixes itself in my hair, and pretty much does not leave until the scene has been deemed over. I have been accused of feline tendencies in the past, but until I met him, hocking up hairballs was not one of them.

Either before or after that, we lay on the floor and one of them held me while the other worked the vibrator. I'm pretty sure Boy had the vibrator and The Irishman had me, but not certain, at this point.

Eventually we moved to the bed, and for the first time ever I had the pleasure of two cocks in two separate orifices. By the time they'd got all my clothes off, quite a while before, I had realized this was the direction we were heading, but I somehow had thought their places would be switched. As it was, The Irishman fucked me while I sucked Boy off, and I believe a good time was had by all.

Here are the things: There was no negotiation. None. I had played with both boys before, and I do believe that had anything rubbed any of us really the wrong way, we would have spoken up, and we didn't, and we're all ok, but it is food for thought. One of the earlier times The Irishman and I played, we talked about it nonstop over instant messenger and e-mail for over week. At other points, there has been much less discussion, but this did seem like a situation that would have warranted some talk, had there been any room for it. But there wasn't, the whole thing just grew organically into what it was.

And also, the dynamics were very odd. The Irishman, as I've said before, is like a steam-engine or a grizzly bear or lord only knows what. He stares at me when we play -- Boy later commented that while he was sure it was intense for the two of us, as a third party he had to work to keep from laughing. He's right, though. I am not one for such a literary turn of phrase, but it really does feel like his eyes are boring into me. And also they smolder. It's a thing.
So, when I play with The Irishman, I am prostrate, I am begging, I am pulled by my hair, I am sunk into submission. Some part of me spends the entire time wishing the scene was over, we were done, that it would stop. Other parts of me revel in it. It is complicated, and definitely something to be enjoyed occasionally. I could not do that three nights a week and survive long.
Boy is much gentler. Pain is deliberate, with him. He does not let me be uncomfortable, no ropes too tight, no strange position, because that would take away from whatever sensation he has planned for me. Also, he's just not as much of an asshole as The Irishman is.
So, who is top dog, in this scene? The one who is my partner, who lives with me and has rights to my body all the time, with whom I am happily in love? Or the one who is legitimately maybe twice as dominant and three times and violent, and with whom I grovel and aim to please so that I might avoid some of the hurt?

I don't know. They didn't know. None of us knew, and the answer differed as the night went on. I wasn't sure how to behave. My submission is so different with each of them. I would never tell The Irishman that a rope was too tight -- he would pull it tighter. But I would be remiss, with Boy, if I failed to let him know.

I felt like I was the only thing tying the whole scene together, and it was, quite frankly, glorious. And scary, and it made it a little hard for me to relax and go into any kind of subspace, due the strange balancing act I was doing, and hoping desperately that these two boys I care so deeply about were enjoying themselves. At the end, I was just worried that neither would get off staring into the face of the other.

But the did. It was fine.

I would do it again, if the opportunity arose, but I would vastly prefer it to have been orchestrated. A scene that the pair of them had discussed and prepared has the potential to be world-shaking, and I'd love to be a part of it. But, for most of the time, I think I like them separate. They are such terribly different people, and I am so different with each of them. I really value what I get out of the experiences I have with The Irishman, and of course I love playing with Boy, and those qualities were muted by mixing. But a new and different possibility was there.

And for the record, being fucked by two men at once did not, in fact, feel degrading. I felt pretty fucking awesome. I look at other girls, and I know what I can handle, and I feel proud. Helluva woman, me.

Settling In

2008-08-23T18:01:00.003-04:00

Hallo. Been gone a while, haven't I?
Well, there were adventures involved, and oh, they were daring. There was a u-haul! There were boxes! And more boxes! And job searches! And the beach!
We are now mostly settled in to a lovely little apartment in Providence, RI. I have a kitchen and Boy has a workshop (Kind of. He has a desk and a lathe, should he start using it, and it feels rather work-shop-y). We have a living room and a dining room and a bedroom a piece.
I have two (count them, two!) jobs working with children. Boy will probably be working with theater or cars or both, or maybe something else entirely.
I have a lot of posts in my head, both for this and for my other, entirely non-kinky blog that is entirely about food, currently called Basil on the Terrace. This is a misnomer from last summer, when I actually had a terrace on which to grow my basil. It is now in a pot by the kitchen window, and I will have to find a new name for the blog. One way or the other, check it out: but only if you are looking for a few recipes and some little essays about tiny daily pleasures or tribulations in life, all food-related.
More posts soon, about Boy and sex and such. But for now, I am back.

This Post Will Be Edited

2008-07-20T17:57:00.001-04:00

To include more information about how to fuck somebody who is tied spread eagled to a four post bed. Or, perhaps, tied with both their wrists and their ankles tied to the top two posts. Yes, that may well be what the post will be about, when it is edited.

Howzzat for a Whine?

2008-07-18T19:46:00.002-04:00

Thank you to everyone who called and commented. I've been using this blog as an emotional outlet for years, and its only recently that anybody who cared was reading the thing. It changes the nature of my bitch-posts. They can nolonger be just ranting into a space that only Boy and myself will be. The terror of the blog is that I let y'all into every little down, and I worry that you might not have a good hold on just how little they are.
That said, having read your comments, everybody seems to have a perfectly sound grasp on where I'm coming from when I do this. Utter, sincere, miserable dejection, but the dejection of a moment. Nothing more.
The Irishman commented to me that I seem to be having some trouble dealing with space and my relationship. Half the time I'm grabbin' for more distance, half the time I'm begging to be loved. I hope the swings are less drastic for Boy than they feel for me, but the truth is, I'll even out.
I graduated from university just a few months ago. I haven't yet started my new life with Boy. Everything is going fine, but still, living in the middle of a very long, very intense transition has got to be creeping in around the edges. I think for him as well as for me. Actually, I know for him. And for everybody in my like situation.
My goal is just to not freak out about freaking out. To ride my emotions, deal with the lows and enjoy the highs, and if I haven't evened out in a few months, when things are settled, well then I'll think about it. For now, I take for granted that Boy and I will be fine, we are in love, we'll make a happy home, and everything will work out eventually. It will bump and we will fight and I might do myself a mischief, but that's run of the mill by now, and as long as we keep talkin' we'll be fine.
So, just so you know. That's how I feel, really, basically, at the bottom of it all.

And in the mean time, when things are edgy and there's nobody around to talk to, I will spill my brief miseries to you here on the internet, and because I am embarrassed that I do, I will not take them down. Better to own to my idiocy than remove all trace.

Reunion with Boy in just two days. This time, no cramps, no bleeding, and extra hormones for the nobabies.

I intend fun.

I didn't post....

2008-07-16T01:10:00.004-04:00

Sorry.
And this is a fake post, too.
But, see... two or three years ago, I remember, Boy went away to Israel for 10 days. And at the time, although we didn't always see eachother, we had been ending our evenings chatting every night in recent memory. Or, at least, it was the end of my night. Boy's always been a night owl.
I've been gone just a few days, but yesterday evening we didn't talk, and tonight, I got online to find that he was on his way out. I begged him to stay a bit, only to get in a fight.
So now, I feel... less than adored, and like a stupid bitch for being antagonistic, and lonely. And tired.
And what it comes down to is I wish that either we were in a sweet lovey-dovey place where he was interested in talking to me on the internets or the phone even if he did have other things he'd wanted to be doing,
Or,
I was in a good tough happy place where I didn't give a shit what he was doing and could go to bed and masturbate thinking about someone else entirely and glad of the personal space that the miles currently between us provide.
But, instead, here I am, feeling lonely and crappy. I was feeling a little unloved before we started talking, and then I went and had to be a bitch, so now I'm feeling lonely and justifiably unloved.
And also passive aggressive for posting about this, but I don't care if Boy's got his own name to post under now, this has always been my blog and I've always posted when I'm feeling relationship-down, so I will do so now.
We'll be fine. I'm just not getting what I wanted out of space. I don't feel like he gives a damn that I'm gone, or a damn about how I'm doing or a damn about when I'm getting back, except that it oughtn't occur when he's got any other appointments.
And I spent a long time with Boy not giving much of a damn about me, and it's only allowed to continue if I can not give much of a damn about him, either.
Which, of course, wasn't an option then or now.
Standing in love with a partner who's far away and distracted far away, when your other play partner is out of touch and you've had a long day involving dental work just sucks.
I wish he coulda stuck around to make me feel better instead of reading this here. I wish I were feeling strong and independent and ready to go out and catch me another man when the main one got defective. I wish I hadn't been antagonistic at the wrong time. I wish I hadn't needed to ask him to stay and talk.
I wish that things were going in any one of the directions planned, instead of the way they are.

Edit:
I have spent the last half hour leafing through the blog of a woman I don't even like very much, and checking my e-mail over and over, and checking my buddy list over and over to see if anybody I am close to has signed on.
When I was younger I used to sit and call through the friends in my address book till somebody picked up and talked to me. I hated that and I hate this.
I don't know why I'm such a pathetic sot tonight, except that I wasted my brief time to talk to Boy in being a bitch, and then I saw a picture of Delano and Michelle and wondered about not being that for him, and him going to find somebody who is not antagonistic about how he deals with his ambitions, but is perfect and just fits all the time. Which probably is impossible, but it's always the impossible girls that are most terrifying.
And I haven't talked to The Irishman for like two weeks, and I miss him.

And, fuck it, it's been three days and I just miss Boy. I want to feel like he misses me too, and I want to talk to him about the leather boots my mom is giving me and the weather and his ambitions and talking to my dad and I don't want to sit here writing this in a blog because I've reverted right back into that pathetic and hated version of myself just as soon as I settled down from my independence streak.

This blog is the only person I've got to talk to, and I wish I wasn't desperate enough to talk to it.

I suck.

Edit Edit:
And his phone's dead, so I couldn't call him even if it seemed like he'd want to chat.

The Happiness Machine

2008-06-17T12:55:00.003-04:00

Pictured above is Seattle's International Fountain, which, it turns out, on sunny days in June, is a Happiness Machine. You can tell, because it sits there in it's giant, handicap accessible inverted concrete dome, and it sprays out wanter and steam in strange and ever changing patterns, and everybody within a 100 foot radius or so complete forgets their dignity and just gets happy. There are, of course, a plethora of children of all colors and shapes and sizes playing with the spray, running up to touch the shiny dome in its sparkly coat of water, running back and giggling and running around some more. And with the children, of course, there are parents, pleased that their little darlings are, for once, being darling, and getting wet and giggly themselves. But the people in whom the effects of the Happiness Machine were most evident were the teenagers. Disaffected, saggy-shorted, wallet-chained boys and too-cool, slouchy-jeaned, tank-topped girls were pushing each other in and out of the jets, and playing the same touch-the-dome game and the kids and the parents and the grandparents. They had succumbed. They were not, for that brief period, disaffected, or cool. They were simply happy, reduced the same level of pure, sunlit joy as everybody else in the area.

Boy and I, of course, were right there with them. This is a picture of little Switch staring transfixedly up at the water, utterly joyous, completely enraptured. What we thought would be a brief stop to look at a fountain became an hours play time which left us refreshed and not entirely willing to leave.

Hooray, Seattle. Hooray, the Happiness Machine.

We clearly don't get it, is all

2008-06-14T15:17:00.002-04:00

We have arrived safely in Seattle, and are being comfortably hosted for the next day or so by a lovely friend of mine from highschool and his lovely lady love.

We are three hours earlier than them, time-wise, and they hadn't gotten to sleep in for weeks. So today we got up early and wandered out to get our own coffee (because apparently we're staying with the only couple in Seattle that isn't addicted to the beans of life).

We went to Starbucks. We had cards for free stuff, and if not here, where?

Sitting there by the big picture window, we watched a little bit of Seattle go by. There was a very tall man with very blond rather long hair and a large chain mail neck piece, who may well have been Thor in disguise. There was a bickering constellation of people whose relationship to each other we could not figure out.

And then we saw a man in a track suit and a kid about six walking along. The man ended up walking ahead of the kid, and then another man, wearing a knit hat with longish curly hair, a sort of bum about town kinda feller, came up behind the kid and touched him on the shoulders, and then the kid ran to the guy in the track suit, who we figured was the dad, who scooped him up onto his back and crossed the street, and seemed to shout back at the other guy. We figured this was some sort of threat type thing, "You touch my kid again and I'll call the cops" or something. And then, later, the track suit guy and the kid were back! And chatting with another rough-and tumble sort of group, in hoodies with metal studs and other such items. And we thought, hum? were we wrong? The original guy wasn't with 'em, so we couldn't tell. Until he wandered up, and continued interacting with both dad and kid with no apparent trouble on either side, and we realized that we East Coast types are clearly just not in the loop here.

And that is all. Today we will I think visit the Utilikilt factory, and eat some food and see some stuff and maybe start to get a better feel for what is going on when people interact with each other out here.

It smells like the West Coast, but not as strongly as California does.

What is the Mecca of Kinksters?

2008-06-12T13:57:00.002-04:00

I'd wager it depends on how old you are, and what it is you're interested in, specifically. If you were, say, a 60 something gay man into leather and serious hierarchical D/s, your kinky Mecca would probably be San Francisco. If you were, say, a 40 year old heterosexual submissive woman from Maine, New York might be more your speed.

And if you were one half of a pair of twenty-something bisexual switches who are rather into rope and puppy play and pegging and corsets and some other stuff, too, well, you might just head to Seattle.

Seattle is home to Twisted Monk, the biggest (and hottest) purveyor of bondage rope this side of anywhere. It is home to the Center for Sex Positive Culture, which pretty much sets Boy and I agape every time we check out its home page. It is home to polyamory and femdom and people who fuck around with their gender and people hold to no consistent dynamic or even sexual orientation. People kinda like us.

Tomorrow Boy and I set out for Seattle, a place we might someday like to call home. We will stay with friends (one of whom has shown up on this blog before, and we hope will again), we will see this ex-WetSpot with our own eyes, we will eat fish and see mountains and even visit Portland. We are very excited.

Again: If you've got advice, give it, please! If you're there and you happen to read this and you might like to show us around, let us know, please! Either here or at switch.and.boy@gmail.com

Late Already

2008-06-11T19:41:00.001-04:00

And utterly uninspired. I hope to become inspired later on this day. I really do.

For now, a spot of poetry, which is apparently more my mind's speed right now:

Here's to the grass in the cracks in the concrete
Here's to the moss in the spots between bricks
Here's to the world that is tougher than we are
And the life that that keeps on
And unbeatable ranks of weed upon weed
Here's to cattails sprouting in ditches by roadsides
And algae in fountains
And mushrooms in lawns
And here's to the grass in the cracks in the concrete
And the stuff that will be here when,
(Finally)
We are gone.

That's where my head is right now. Also on my aching back, and it's own fuzziness.

Quick and Dirty Blogging? (And Some Longer Sort of Musings)

2008-06-09T14:36:00.003-04:00

Eileen has apparently decided to post a little every day for fifty days. Today is the... 9th. Of June. Fifty days from now is... not the 59th. July 28th. I think. Well, I'm not so sure I can do that not knowing entirely where I'll be or where the internet will be, so let us start with posting a bit every day for a month. Till July 9th.

Last week Boy and I were in Stratford, Ontario, watching plays with Boy's parents and eating delicious food and chilling out. We got back, and the next day I ran to Boston for a date with The Irishman, and he went off to play with a friend of ours, Vampirella. That story is entirely his to tell, but it sounds like he enjoyed it, and I'm glad.

With The Irishman I discussed life after college, how we came to kink and how much we both appreciate the level of communication it encourages (perhaps necessitates). We discussed our tendencies towards dominance and submission, and I discovered a few things that surprised and pleased me to no end. Also I was lead around a hotel room on a leash, had various orifices filled, and was hit a bunch. So, par for the course, really. It was endless fun, but I think next time I might opt for doing things my way.

I am musing on openness. It hit fast and hard in this relationship, and I'm left parsing out the reasons why. When I was a lot younger (the age where a lot of people were still considered too young to be going out with boys, but hooray for liberal parents) I was not much of a one for monogamy. I was flighty, and didn't want to be tied down, and so I didn't tie down those who got involved with me. Or that was the theory, anyway. Nonmonogamy at age 13 is not all that much more interesting than monogamy at age 13. But certainly, I was comfortable with the thought. And stayed so, although actual practice tended towards the monogamous, because that was the way things worked in highschool.

Then, in college, I met Boy. I fell hard and maybe he did or maybe he didn't. I know I kept my feelings locked away in layers, so I didn't have to deal with them or make him deal with them, for a long time. In any case, as great as the sex was, and important the friendship and eventual relationship, I didn't trust that he wanted to stay. Something in his word or lack of word or demeanor or action had me convinced for a very long time that he had one foot out the door, looking for that special, better somebody.

Now, we think there may not be one. I'm not afraid that Boy will leave me. And suddenly my independence, which for a long time I put away or subdued to my desire for a boy I thought did not desire me back, in whatever strange, consuming way I wanted him, has been found. For quite a while I haven't been afraid of Boy leaving, but I haven't been my headstrong, stubborn, independent self, either. And now I am.

I want to be strong and self sufficient, self-interested, even selfish. And I want Boy to get out there and do that, too. And he is. I've settled down a little bit from the manic week where first we tried this out. Right now, I've no clue where Boy is, but I wish I were spending time with him. I am a little sad that when I made it home from my visit he was nowhere to be found, but I'm glad that I feel that way... I was afraid that my wayward eye meant some change in how I feel about him, but not so. At least, nothing sudden. It is the eventual end to my coming to trust that he loves me, and I love him, and even if we share our beds with others, even if we don't spend every waking moment, or even every weekend evening, together, that will still be there.

So now I find myself with a partner who I love, and a lover who is endless fun, and the possibility to go after what I want, and do no harm.

I suppose the biggest thing that's been knocking around in my brain is the difference between being sexually open and being actively polyamorous. Part of being fiercely independent is that I am, in a certain sense, anti-relationship. Why by the horrible life sucking drama when you can get the sex and companionship for free? That said, neither do I much like, in most situations, the prospect of playing or hooking up with someone who I have only just met and will likely not meet again.

No, for right now, I don't think I'm interested in polyamory. I've got a relationship, and this whole thing got started by my desire for a bit of extra freedom. Adding another relationship, with all that that word entails, cannot but mean another thing helping to curtail said freedom. A lover (or, as The Irishman would have it, a fuckbuddy. Or an, ahem, cock-on-call) will fit the bill just fine. A friend. With whom I have sex.

And it's nice as well that I've also got friends with whom Boy has sex.

(P.S. We'll be visiting Seattle soon. Any readers in that area with suggestions on what to do, where to go and where to eat, should totally chirp up. Portland area, too.)

Where's the line?

2008-05-29T01:46:00.003-04:00

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.

Don't Bite The Irishman

2008-05-25T22:00:00.002-04:00

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.

While You're Gone

2008-04-26T17:52:00.002-04:00

While you're gone, working shirted or shirtless, teaching and straining and building somebody else's big idea, think of me.

Think of the sex we had last night, the way we sat naked and faced each other and touched. Think of how you rubbed sore muscles even sorer, because my eyes went wide. Think of you in me, deep and sweet. Think please of how much I had been needing that.

While you're gone think of me naked, think of me in sunlight, think of me stretching by body. As you sweat think of other sweat, my sweat, our sweat. Think of me tied and tortured, think of me high and torturing. Just think of me.

I am aimless and busy. I have so much to do, and I do it or I don't and I can hardly even tell which. My head is full of fog, and I think of you. I think of you not so far away, but working and thinking beyond my reach.

I do not think I am in your thoughts, so much as problems and solutions, nuts and bolts and washers of all different sizes, wood and chain and concrete and mud and water.

My thoughts as well are full of names and faces, people and dates and the thousand things I must and maybe cannot do. And books. And papers. And ceremonies.

Come back to me with a smile, strain against brevity, hold me. Come back to me joyful to see my face, grateful to feel my body. Come back to me and when you are here with me be here with me, not there, not with the work. And I will let my troubles go, for you.

I did not expect this to be such a time of absence, but expectations lie like carpets and dead leaves. I will be at peace, if while you're gone you think of me, and if when you return to me, you're here.

Without Words

2008-04-12T15:41:00.002-04:00

Sometimes when I am naked, or no naked, when I am being silly or serious, when I am paying no attention, I look up and find Boy looking at me.

He is smiling. Boy has a lot of different smiles. He has the smile when an idea has come together, the smile when he is walking behind a pretty girlie in tight jeans, the smile when he is about to eat delicious food, the absent sort of smiles of working with machines.

This is a smile that I never see anyplace else. This is a smile for me, of me, about me.

I don't know how long he has looked at me like this. For a long time people told me, when I was worried or upset, that they could see how much he cared about me in how he looked at me. I did not believe them. It felt foolish to put my faith in something as fleeting and easily misinterpreted as an expression.

But now the rest of our lives have tangled together, and he tells me with his words and his actions and the fact that there's no doubt left in us how he feels.

Sometimes I think that even if he never said it, I would know from that smile that he loves me.

And you should know: I did not expect this. I did not ever think, when they told me he looked at me with caring, that I would see it. I never thought he'd look at me like this.

a little thing

2008-04-04T11:26:00.003-04:00

We're still up and down. Final week. Work kills me.
When not working, I take care of friends with cancer scares and teach interested parties about my society and do other stuff. Not much rest.

I have read Hannah's wonderful post about drop, and dealing with it.

Boy, said I. That's very responsible. She takes good care of her mind, her body and her partners, both before and after scenes.

Maybe it is because we are younger, or maybe it is because we only really ever play with each other, and so its much easier to get lazy about such things, or maybe it is because college life does not well allow for taking a day of rest because of drop, but man are Boy and I not that good about such things.

The way we plan it, we don't have ANY time for aftercare scheduled at all. Recently I beat Boy as close to senseless as I could manage, and when we planned that scene we hoped to go out to a party afterwards. Now, we failed, of course, but if I'd managed to beat him up in less than two hours, I think we'd have gone.

I wonder how Boy felt after that scene? He seemed pretty ok. Usually after a I top a really mean scene, I'm the one who needs cuddles. All the Big just drains right out of me and I look at this boy turning purple and red and think "Oh. God. Did I do that?" And then he has to take care of me. Which he did. There was ice cream.

But I wonder if as I gain a bit of age and a bit of perspective, I will start to be better about all of this. Scene Drop didn't make it in to my earliest Kink education. We talked about negotiations and about aftercare and about safewords, but the aftercare I always figured was a sort of ad-hoc, for a few moments or an hour or maybe even two sort of thing. It didn't extend for days.

College is really, really fast paced. Yesterday morning is so far away I can hardly conjure it up. By this evening, I'll have gone through the mental equivalent of passing through four time zones and back. It makes it very hard to look at scenes and drop and aftercare as spanning hours or days. There's just so much.

But reading about it, it sounds good. It sounds like time to absorb, to reconvene, to pull together. It sounds like the way I always want kink to be, coming out of each scene a stronger, more layered person.

I have, as notices all over campus keep telling me, just 60 days before I cease to be a college student. I will miss having my meals paid for, I will miss living in a house full of my friends, I will miss this campus, this place, these people, the classes and the professors and the safety of having something in loco parentis. But. I am ready to look at my life on a scale not dictated by school breaks and what classes I have what day. I am ready for the weekend to be the weekend, the week to be the week, and months to slide into one another without a little break here and a little break there, until I choose to use some vacation days and take one of my own.

As long as I'm not in a cubicle, that will be fine.

And I will start to think about such things as long-term drop. When I can.

snips and snails...

2008-03-29T19:56:00.006-04:00

I think you know where this is going. For a long while now, puppy play of some kind has been a staple of our kinky repertoire. I love being on all fours, chewing on things, roughhousing, getting scritched behind the ears, and all those puppy-like activities. Given how much we like toys, you might think we'd have gotten something pet-play-like before now, but no. Well, we had a collar, but doesn't everybody? Masks were right out (the commercial ones are creepy and besides, Switch isn't much a fan of hood-type-things in general), bondage mitts are too expensive and vetwrap works too well for the same thing (and the pawlike ones are, again, creepy). But a tail... I wanted a tail from the day I first saw one for sale. I like things in my butt, I wag my ass when I'm a puppy anyway, and, well... tail! So, last week, we figured we could spare the money and went ahead and bought one. (here's what I'm talking about, if you haven't seen one yet). It came within the week, and soon after, so did I.

But that time isn't what I want to talk about here. Two nights ago, Switch was tired and a little out of it, and went to bed early. I wasn't quite so tired, and had just remembered that the internal camera in my Macbook can work as a video input for iMovie. One thing led to another, and now we'll see what Blogger thinks is offensive. (Switch thinks it's cute). These might not be up for long, so enjoy them while they last.

[photos removed for personal reasons. i'd be more than happy to share if anyone wants to see them, but wanted them out of the public domain]

In which our hero,

2008-03-27T03:06:00.012-04:00

having just gotten himself a brand new online identity, succumbs to a fit of angst and tries to muddle through what it is he's been missing, finding out that it's as much being scared as being scary. The lovely postscript is that after reading this, it was discovered that in fact the indescribably lovable Switch does want to do pretty much exactly what I've been wanting her to, and indeed likes hurting me a great deal. Tonight's going to suck, and that'll be wonderful.

Before you read further, be warned that there are angsty and unpleasant bits. The worst have been removed, but if you can't show your troubles and tribulations with random people on the internet, who can you share them with?

I know it's hard to be mean to someone you love. I know all your instincts are to protect me and keep me safe and happy and smiling. I know you don't particularly kink on seeing me unhappy. You enjoy it much more when you're pleasing me, when you know that I'm enjoying what you're doing to me. And I enjoy it tremendously. I've just had this growing need to be hurt. Not just to be hit and poked and stroked, all of which are lovely in their own right, but to be hurt. To trust you to know that I can take more than I think I can without being damaged; to trust you not to stop. I want to writhe and curse and scream and cry and have it do no good. I want to be abject and suffering. I want to try to breathe and feel your hand clamp down harder. I want to be choked, to be slapped, to be kicked - all of those bad and nasty things. I want you to be mean to me. I want you to push me until I'm sobbing and broken.
But I think in the end it'd be worse for you than for me... I don't think you'd get any enjoyment out of it, and you don't like making me unhappy. Just know that this is something I very much want, holed up here so as to take up less mental space.
(that said, the sex tonight was amazing!)

[and, a night or two later, the follow-up]

i keep hoping you'll stumble across this, today or tomorrow or someday soon, and say "i know what you mean, and i can see how that sort of catharsis could help you feel better, but i don't really know what to do or how to do it, so if you'd tell me what you were thinking of, i'll see what i can do." you'd maybe add that you sometimes did enjoy hurting me and being big, but that you'd also need a lot of aftercare as well, and might not be able to be mean. and then we could talk about it, and figure something out.
i think you know that being big is about more than stroking my hair and curling around me and trying to be generally reassuring. it's that i don't so much want you to be reassuring when you're big... reassuring is good, but it comes out of something else that's more what i've been missing. i want you to pay attention to me, in ways i don't ask for. i want you to do spontaneous nice things for me and pick clothes off my bed and get me things i was just looking for. i want to trust that when you're big, just once in a while, you'll go further than i ask you to, do more than i demand.
at the same time i feel terrible for wanting so much, for pressing demands on you, for making you feel bad for not doing things you have no obligation to do. you're doing much more in your daily life than i am, you're busier and more stressed and have more on your mind. i know this.
i also know that i don't feel like my mind works anymore. i know that sometimes, bdsm can offer an outlet for catharsis that wouldn't otherwise happen. at the moment i'm not doing very well, desperately want something to change, and would like a cathartic moment very much, please, if you can spare the time and mental energy. i don't know if it'll help, and it doesn't even have to be anything like i described...
i want to want possible things.
i wish i wanted less.

i'm sorry you're reading this instead of hearing it from me.
i don't think everything's broken, and i love you a whole lot.
--boy

Gratuitous

2008-03-24T17:19:00.002-04:00

As noted in the previous post, Boy and I are a little stressed out right now. We are also clawing our way back into communicating the way we find most healthy (most healthy is not easy and not always fun, so we sort of lapse without realizing it, and then have to get back to it, which usually takes a few hard conversations and some tears on either side).

We stay up late, we get our dynamic off track, and I have this stupid habit of bleeding for five days a month out of my vag... so we have not been getting to have sex NEARLY as often as we like.

Last night, apparently, it was time to remedy that situation with an, ahem, double-whammy.

What we were going to do was shower and then come back and have lovely sex and go to sleep.

But then I was lying down for a second and Boy decided he would really like to lie on top of me. And move his hips like that. And so I started moving my hips, like you do, and then things started moving sort of quickly. And he unbuttoned his pants, and reached under me to unbutton, unzip and pull down my pants, and there I lay, in a sweater and a t-shirt and boots and tights and pants and panties all pulled down to show nothing naked but my bottom.

I complained a bit. Usually I love this type of disheveled, half-dressed sex. I like it when Boy leaves some of my clothes on. It feels hot and desperate and high-school and like his want of me is big and scary and delicious. But I missed his skin, and I wanted to wrap my entire body around him because it had been so long. But I liked it, so I settled for taking off the sweater and getting fucked with my face pushed into the mattress in nothing but my T-shirt and my bra and my panties and my tights and my jeans and my boots, by a Boy who does not wear nearly so much clothing, but was still in his T-shirt and pants.

I tried not to scream. I dunno if I succeeded.

So then we showered off our sweat and came back and lay around and Boy said I could get another orgasm if I wanted. And eventually I said, well, sure, that'd be lovely. At this point we were both naked, having seen no particular reason to re-cloth ourselves after the shower when we felt so languorous and clean.

So Boy kissed my lips and my collarbones and my neck and my nipples and the undersides of my breasts and my belly and my hips and then things really started to get exciting. By the time I'd had my orgasm and then another orgasm and then we'd moved so that I was lying over the edge of the bed and he was kneeling on the floor, face pressed into me as I rocked and moaned, eyes wide, I thought he might like a bit of attention himself. And so I looked down and asked him if he'd like to be in me, and he nodded (which was fun all on its own), and then there came up onto the bed with me.

The lovely thing about a boy who's already gotten off once is that they really take their sweet time about getting off again, so there was time for much moaning and gasping and further gyrating until I came so hard my vision went sparkly and Boy collapsed on top of me and we sort of giggled for a while.

I really like having sex with him.

Crash, Rebuild, Repeat

2008-03-19T16:25:00.002-04:00

A friend of mine -- lovely boy, long hair, scruffy beard, skinny body, you know the type -- just IMed me with the sad observation that The Daring Adventures of Switch and Boy seems too have stopped updating.
Generally I would snipe at him to get off his metaphorical butt and update it with some of his thoughts, but today I am procrastinating anyway, so here I am.

I have no idea what all has happened since last I posted. I have crashed and burned a lot of times. We are both less than a month away from handing in writing projects larger than anything either of us has done before, and we are handling this somewhat differently. Boy slid into a slow depressed malaise and simply did not work on his for months, but he is correcting for that now. Luckily, his is not much more than a third of the length of mine (he did a big practical portion in the fall) so he can catch up without much trouble. I have been working more or less consistently, and getting progressively more stressed out, and then exploding in terribly dramatic ways that nobody but Boy really gets to see. He's very lucky like that.

Kink in our lives kinda sorta ground to a halt. I hate to say it, but I haven't had the energy. Not the physical energy, though that is a part of it, but -- and I hate to say this even more -- the mental energy. Like, all of my brain power and interest slots are taken up by the writing project and the emotional sponge gig and worry about the future... if my hobby was building model trains instead of having weirdo sex, I'm sure my trains would be collecting dust in the basement. As it is, I just feel pretty far removed from kink.

But: Boy and I had exceptional sex last night, and we have been picking up old habits from the very, very beginning of our relationship. Like making out, and starting sexual activity with our clothes still on, and giving back rubs that take a while, and generally just slowing the hell down in our headlong rush towards orgasm and enjoying the scenery a bit.
And he tied me up recently, and it was not sex or a scene, and it was nice. And I want to do the same for him, because the only thing I really really really miss most of all all the time is suspension, and that takes skill and practice. So I will practice, and let him practice, because I miss it so much.

Today is nasty and rainy and I wish I had more things to say about sex and kink, because that would mean they were more a part of my life right now, but as it is, they aren't. I need to work.

Now.

The Kind of Person I Am

2008-03-02T17:35:00.002-05:00

One of the folks who lives in my big, hundred year old house -- a sophomore and dear friend of mine -- just walked up to my room to ask me whether or not I was feeding him dinner tonight, having been given no particular reason to think that I was.

The answer was "Yes."

Now, I had sent an e-mail that he should have gotten telling him that I would feed him (and many other people) dinner tonight, but he hadn't gotten that e-mail. He had come, apropos of nothing but our previous interactions, to check to see if I was making him dinner.

And I was. I am.

Tell me, does the position of "Den Mother" still exist in the world?

late-night ramblings (boy's)

2008-02-21T04:22:00.006-05:00

A confession:

Sometimes i want to be scary. I've never been scary. Well, maybe I have, once, but it ended badly. That was the harshly-lit hotel room and the crying and while it was ok afterwards, it wasn't good (see the archives for more information).
But I like tears. I like fear and pain and broken begging. I know that doing something to someone that they don't want done to them turns me on. I know that that makes me, in the eyes of many and to some extent in my own conscience too, a bad person. But I know that it's true, and I know that, if there's any way to do it that's morally justifiable, it's in kink. I just haven't figured out quite how yet. Being scary is something that's not Good. It's socialized out of you at an early age. It implies not caring what you do to other people, being capable of doing damage and creating not only fear but suffering. It's threatening and terrifying and terrifically sexy and hugely, hugely problematic in the context of a relationship or intimate interaction. It's also about self-confidence, and self-presentation in a way that I'm almost completely unpracticed at. I suspect that if I'd figured out how to be scary, I'd have done much better in acting class. I don't think I can argue a logical connection, but I feel somehow that it's there. I've more or less made it a principle in my life to avoid interfering with the space of others' lives as much as possible, if that makes any sense. Keeping a low emotional footprint, to borrow a phrase from environmentalism. Being scary is the exact opposite of that. It's thrusting yourself into others' space and others' lives (or believably threatening to).
I had a strange moment, during a scene that Switch mentioned briefly an entry or two ago, that brought this to mind. I think I was hitting her thighs with an evilstick. That made her jump, which wasn't a good idea because the wood knob she was impaled on and the metal seat she was tied to were rigid and unforgiving. And so she started shaking her head and begging incoherently. I got hard, and then I stopped hitting her. I got hard because she wasn't enjoying it, and I stopped because she wasn't enjoying it. I got hard because I was hurting her, and I stopped because I was hurting her. I was getting off on something that was making her unhappy. That's not OK in the context of a relationship, or of normal interactions. That's beyond ethically complicated into wrong and bad. In real life. BDSM and the world of kink should, one imagines, be able to provide the setting to experiment with that, but I haven't been able to navigate well enough the intricacies of role and play, of scene-only dynamics and assumed roles and the dance between mindfulness and comfort and scariness and hurt.

It's a project. But it's worth it, and I've got a partner.

The Beetle

2008-02-19T16:48:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I forget about the beetle.

My father is one of four brothers, each in their own way quite as loud as he, quite as aggressive in some sense, quite as intelligent. We are truly the Jewish Intellectual breed... a noble prize winning physicist, a famous psychologist with a vested and personal interest in queer studies, my father the lawyer and professor of law, known for civil rights and anti-death penalty work, and the youngest, a playwright turned charity founder-and-director. All of them are prone to asking difficult questions, posing riddles, making their daughters and nieces (for my generation is all girls) think in ways they'd prefer not to.

When I was much younger, the youngest of these brothers, my uncle T, asked me how I could prove my existence. He posed that perhaps I was (and am) in reality a 10 legged black beetle, in some swamp somewhere, dreaming this entire life of mine.

I couldn't prove it wasn't so, and I was troubled. Because I couldn't prove it wasn't, some part of me believed that it must be true. But even then, I wasn't sure the question was worth asking.

The beetle's dream is all I've ever known, and I'll I will ever know. Unless someday the beetle wakes up, in which case mine will be a small and scuttling, many legged life, with very different interests than the ones I currently hold dear.

And just as I don't care too much about the beetle, I won't care about the dream I left behind.

I realized today that my own hair reminds me of Boy. It has gotten long, where I once kept it short, and when I let it down in class today, I thought of him. He is the one with long hair in my life. In his hair I bury my face, I feel safe, I hide and I smell him and all is well. In my own hair I can do the same, almost... all with the thought of him. He's in my hair; he's everywhere.

He has become the hero in the dream in which I am the heroine, the black swamp beetle's endless, pointless dream that is my life.

My House (at the Corner of My Street)

2008-02-18T11:32:00.002-05:00

Avid or long time readers will have realized a few things about my living situation.
1) I am in college, and as such live on a college campus.
2) But not in a dorm. Oh no!
3) I live in a big lovely hundred-year-old house with 24 of my dear friends, siblings of a co-educated society something like a frat, if frats tended to be geeky and sex positive instead of jocky and skeezy (by "tend to be" I mean "stereotyped as" here).

We are a house full of dramatic people who care about each other, about the house, about how each other care about the house, etc. We talk a lot. My job this semester, an elected position in the house, is making sure that when we talk to each other, we hear each other. That we can be remain kind and understanding to each other even when we feel hurt or angry. That emotions between the members of the house stay smooth and even, so we can be the siblings we've all pledged to be.

It's kind of a bitchy job, and it keeps me up late, but I love it.

Recently Sarah, a friend of Estra's and burgeoning blogger, came to this house.
Reading her impressions of the place this morning made me smile. It's rare that I get to hear the thoughts new people have on a place like this. Like all major organizations, the house has a bit of a reputation around campus, and so one can't exactly get a fresh and unbiased opinion from someone on the campus at large. And besides, my little school is a bubble itself, already warped to see the world one way when it might look another.

But this sweet lady was new, and I am overjoyed to see that, at least if you are looking for it, there's a lot of good to be found in my place. We are a group of very physical people. We make it clear to each other that touching, hugging, cuddling is ok. If you're dating, it's ok. If you're friends, it's ok. If you're dating somebody else, it's ok. This point that Sarah found so nice is a lot of what is getting us a bad rap in the world at large (and by the world, I mean the campus, here).

That makes me sad. I worry that I'll go out into the world and not be able to hug friends, or snuggle up with them for videos, or all the other things I do to show love-comfort-happy. But this lady, she gives me hope. She from the cold and windy midlands of the nation comes saying "Hey, I like this!". If she likes it, the rest will follow.

A nation of physical affection. A world that communicates with touch.

One house at a time.

(Mine first).

All I Need

2008-02-14T11:41:00.001-05:00

I never post about what I'm supposed to post about.
I should post about our scenes, which have been more ritualized, like we planned. I should talk about when Boy put a condom over a wooden tool-handle bolted to a stool made of a metal tractor seat, and sat me there and teased. I should talk about taking Boy bent over a bed and up against a wall with my big hard cock.
I should post about those wonderful scenes, but scene posting doesn't seem to be what I do, anymore.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. In an hour and half, it is Valentine's Day. We have no plans, other than watching episodes of Cowboy Bebop like we do every Thursday we can, with friends. Goose, over at her blog, is busily posting about loving her loves.

*A pause, in which I hit a tired and small Boy harder than ever before, until my poor little fists leave the possibilities of bruises on his back. And we sleep.*

Plans changed in the interim. We will try to get some sushi today, for a treat. And I have dressed up for him in tall black boots and a short school girl skirt and a low cut sweater. Just a little treat.
And what can I say? I was pushed to write because Boy's weariness felt overwhelming. My own did. And yet we've played much more in the past few weeks than we often have in the past. I think things are bleeding through into kink the way we always want them to: rather than the troubles of the day spoiling our perfect scene space, I find I can channel all the bits that get stored up in me through my difficult days and pour them out in pounding fists or Toppy attitude. That's nice.

I wore my big sparkly strap-on under my clothes the other day. Under my favorite pair of men's pants. It's too big for that in public, it was incredibly obvious, but it felt so much more real... this is my cock. This is the erection, wrought in silicone, sprung of the excitement of my Boy hurrying across campus to be with me. It is pressing through my pants. It is not subtle.
It has been conjectured that boys like girls with penises because the penis shows its arousal in a way that is more clear to them. If a girl has hard on, you know she wants you. And y'know, I kinda buy into that. Wearing my strap on under clothes made my own desire that much more palpable to me.

And other odds and ends. There are a lot of them. And I am not much of a one for Valentine's Day. I used to wear all black on this day, every year for ages. In relationships and out. Because the cruelty of this holiday for those of us who don't have relationships is not lessened by the fact that I happen to have one. But also because through most of the formative years, I was the one who only had valentines from those kids whose parents made them get one for everybody in the class. That's the real reason, I am sure. A more mainstream childhood and I'd be a joyous girl on this day.

Beh. Some years I'm sure I'll forget this day, and other years I'm sure I'll remember. This year I remembered and dressed up, but that has no bearing on what's important. And what's important is that I love Boy. I have leaned on him harder the past few weeks, and he's supported me. And I think he's leaned harder, too. And I think I've been there. And everything in the world is changing, except I've got him.

What more is needed?

Let's Go Again

2008-01-30T13:58:00.000-05:00

I feel nowish as though Boy and I had gone over the curve of a sine wave to find out selves at the bottom feeling uffish and unpleased about it, only to discover that we weren't on a sine wave at all, we were on a circle, and here we go again.

In recent months, over a summer of love and extraordinary comfort with one another, and then a semester of business and school and life and such, we had lost things. We let our little club here fall into ruin and thought to abandon it rather than making it a thing worth having. We let our play become less and less formalized, less and less planned. I seldom write about scenes anymore, because we seldom do them: all of our sex is kinky. We play with our toys and our rope, but we no longer set up experiences for one another. We have not pulled out the blindfold in ages, we have not asked one another to come to us, washed and in some specified clothing, to arrive at a room with lights dimmed and toys laid out and eyes downcast until we are told otherwise.

The sacred comfort and the beautiful feeling of knowing that Boy had planned my time, had things in store for me, that he was focused on me and the experience he was putting together, it is not there.

And moreso, we have lost the joy of Plain Old Every Day Sex. Someone is always the growly pinning bitey one. Maybe we'll go back and forth on who that is five times before we get off, but never do we just meet as two people who want to fuck each other equally much, equally hard.

And that I miss as well.

So we go again, back to square one. We have decided that we will now negotiate scenes, which we had somehow almost entirely stopped. Make sure we're on the same page and in the same mood. And then, when scenes are done, we will talk about how they went, and why. We are going to try, at least for the time being, to purge "kinky sex" from our lives, except where it follows directly a scene. I have this persistent feeling that there is only so much kinky energy to be had, and we've been frittering it away in small doses with all our toppy/subby/switchy/puppy sex, and never letting enough build up to do a truly great scene. So sex will be sex and scenes will be scenes, and we will, I hope, get more from all of them.

Of course, it's all just a plan now, but who cares.

And the club, which had turned almost to infighting as debated over and over and at length where we should go with it, as we poured out energy trying to plan discussions in which no one participated. And yet, when we chose to let it die, there was an outcry of disappointment, from those who had been coming for several semesters to those who had never yet gotten the chance. So we said screw it, lets go again. This time we won't plan anything, we'll just show up and chat about what we like. We'll make it even less formal, and if it should die when we leave, than we shall hope some other enterprising pervert shall have the same idea sometime later. Our safe space to talk and learn will still be there, and if nobody chooses to bring questions or ideas to us to chat about, well, that's their problem. We're doing our best.

I'm glad to know where I'll be this Friday afternoon, and why.

I feel very "back at square one". I feel as though we learned everything and then forgot it and must learn again. I have forgotten, to a great extent, how to relax and submit to a scene, and Boy has forgotten how to help bring me there. I have forgotten much of my skill with rope, and Boy has forgotten how to trust in what skill remains. So we must practice, and we must play, and we must formalize and ritualise and talk. We must talk, and talk, and talk.

I was struck when I first got into this how much communication the scene necessitated. Talk before a scene, talk after a scene, talk about the scene, negotiate terms and conditions and find your comfort level and spread the word. I'm sure in Poly and more actively open relationships the level of communication must be even higher. And we see first hand, now, how subtly that can break down. Not in one giant "Well you didn't say! You should have known! But I thought! You thought!," but in a slow slipping of understanding till you stop and compare your pictures of an action or situation and find just how far apart they have become.

I've been missing the time of our relationship that spawned this blog to begin with. The journeys of discovery. The feeling of trust. I'm excited that our work now is to bring that back.

And so pleased to know what heights we can achieve. We have friends. Here with us, in Mischief and Estra and occasionally May and Eileen and Maja and Tyr and Dov, and out in the internets, whether they know we're watching (as the amazing and lovely and utterly inspirational Goose and Gander surely do) or whether they do not, as perhaps Hannah, Teppycat, and even Monk might not have realized.

I Am A Lucky Person.

2008-01-27T16:30:00.000-05:00

There is a girl that Boy and I know, and she will be called Alli.
Alli is smart and sweet and curvy. She giggles alot and is absolutely adorable. In my experience, she is very sub-oriented indeed. She is the type of girl who will go and put on a pretty skirt and a lower cut shirt if I tell her to in the right tone of voice.
I like this girl.
Sadly, so does her boyfriend. And she likes her boyfriend quite a bit, as well. They like each other so much that they are totally wrapped up in that about 99% of the time.
But her boyfriend was out of town this weekend.
From what I understand, Alli filled her weekend with play dates so tightly packed she barely had time to shower and find a different low-cut shirt in between them, and I'm not even sure it's over yet. I also gather that there might have been a bit of too-much-birthday going on with that situation.
But I am a Lucky Person. I got to play first.

Alli showed up at my room exactly on time. She was very good. We are not so very good (it's not our job, in this context) so Boy was actually out taking care of another obligation, and I was sitting around watching TV-on-the-Internet.
Previous to her arrival, I has asked that she e-mail me with her interests. In response, I got this:

i like getting tied up. also i like getting
hit with things, although i like stingy/teasy things a lot a lot as
opposed to thuddy things like the boy likes. ummmm in not hitting
terms i also like teasy things in general. very much. general evil, i
suppose. i am bad at this game! is this enough email?

Which cracked me up and made me go "awwww," but did not tell me very much that I didn't already know.
So when she arrived I asked her if she wanted to be suspended, or merely tied to the ceiling. She opted for suspension, and she opted to be suspended face-up, so I got working on a chest harness that would be comfortable for that type of thing. I was just finishing up when Boy arrived to help rig the hip harness and get her in the air.

From there it is sort of a blur. There was a lot of use of a magic want and a lot of use of the variac, a lovely machine which takes a magic wand from being a two speed vibrator (that's "high" and "too high") to an infinitely adjustable instrument of sexy torture.

At this point I should mention just how much I like giving girls orgasms. I love giving girls orgasms. I got to do so with our friend S a while back, and it was most excellent. I have had very few opportunities since, and so when I get the chance I tend to make the most of it. My magic-wand-and-variac combination really helps.

Playing with Alli was simple. Tie her up, hit her, make her squeal, stop hitting her, take out the magic wand, make her pant and moan and squeal some more, untie her, and do it all again.

She informed me that it is difficult to make her come, and also informed me that I succeeded. I had fun demonstrating that once you've made a lady orgasm once, if you know what you're doing it only gets easier to make them orgasm again. And again. And again.

I don't know how many time she came. I'm not sure she knows how many times she came.
I do know that when we were finally done we were happy and exhausted, some hours had passed, and Boy and I didn't know whether we wanted to collapse or jump each other.

I am so lucky to have gorgeous girls with gorgeous titties that I can play with on occasion, and so lucky to have a gorgeous Boy to help me play with them. I am lucky that I got to go first in Alli's weekend of insanity, and lucky to have her in my life in general.

I hope the rest of her weekend goes well.

I'm going to bask in my good fortune for a while.

Invisible Man

2008-01-19T22:40:00.000-05:00

Who is it that keeps posting comments and then deleting them? This has happened quite a few times, and I'm puzzled. Why post a comment and then take it down? Why is it that I never see these comments, I only see the places where "This comment has been deleted by the author"? Is there anything I can do about that? Who is this invisible man?

If you are the rogue commenter, and do not wish to make your presence known publicly, you can always get in contact with me at switch.and.boy@gmail.com. I'm prompt in responding, and I'd love to know what it is you apparently have to say.

Also, anybody else can e-mail us there for anything else, as well.

Hopin' to hear from you!

Ok, Ok, We'll Spill

2008-01-19T16:10:00.000-05:00

Truth is, we made a pact with Mischief. He and Estra showed us (and the world) theirs, now Boy and I will have to pony up and show them (and the world) ours.
So here is ALMOST all of our toys:

You'll notice, first off, how much of the picture is taken up by rope. And cable. And hardware. Take particular notice of the large item made out of iron that is nestled between the three big coils of natural hemp and the smaller coil of red hemp. Notice our ring and swivel (not connected, sadly) within the circle of cable.
All of the leather stuff in the bottom right corner comes from when we were first getting in to this stuff and hadn't quite realized how much we like rope. Well, almost all of it: there is a small nylon cat collar and a bigger nylon dog collar that are from when we discovered how much we each like to give up on being human sometimes. And the simple strip-and-D-ring restraints we won in a kinky bingo game. But the small padded leather restraints Boy bought before we were a couple, before he was my Play Partner, before we were doing anything but giving each other mindblowing oral sex. They are from when kink was merely a twinkle in my wonderful lover's eye.
Note also the lovely soft leather flogger with the blue handle: it was Boy's present to himself last holiday season, at the very last Fetish Flea in Boston and our very first kinky event together. It has brought us much joy.
And similarly, note the sparkly silver cock that is our very newest acquisition. It is a Leo (a shout-out here to Goose&Gander who's review of it pointed us in the right direction), a more-or-less replacement for the red cock next to it. We decided that the bend at the end was simply too limiting (it makes it difficult to be rough at all, and it is almost impossible to fellate, much to Boy's dismay). I thought I didn't like the sparkly silver when I bought it (which is another story in itself, and I will tell if you ask nicely) at this years Flea. But it was the only one Miko had, and it was twenty dollars cheaper than I'd found it anywhere online, so I went with it. And it turns out that I LOVE the fact that my big, thick cock is sparkly. I almost never indulge in sparkles, and somehow this is just the right arena for me to add a bit of pizazz to my life. Don't ask my why, it just makes me happy.
And it makes Boy happy, too. Oh, does it make Boy happy.
And finally, a little plug for craftsmanship and do-it-your-self-ing: The red leather harness next to both cocks was made for me by Boy, as was the slim leather collar with the simple D-ring. Boy made the two white-handled rope floggers (they match the ones we gave to Mischief, in his photo) and I made the two nearly invisible black-handled ones. A decent portion of our rope Boy bought raw and conditioned himself (the rest of course is courtesy of the wonderful Twisted Monk). Boy also made the small leather slapper and the collection of evil sticks that are in the same vicinity. And many of our more artistic and beautiful home-made items sadly did not make it in to this photo, so there will be upcoming pictures of all those things that MIA in this one.
Like Boy. He's pretty important... I can't think how we managed to miss him.
Our toys have come from acknowledged kink vendors like Monk, from boating stores and hardware stores and steel yards and leather stores and airline flights and barns. We've perverted more poor innocent little objects than I care to think about, and spent FAR more money than I care to think about (especially if you count my corsets and boots and such, also not pictured here).
It gratifies me that we play regularly with pretty much everything we've ever spent money on, and haven't really abandoned the things we made ourselves, either. And yet it baffles me when I think how often our play, these days, is as simple as a bit of rope and a whole lot of beating on each other with nothing more complicated than our own two fists.
Or feet.
Or nails.
Or teeth.
Or elbows.

Interlude on a Monday Afternoon

2008-01-14T16:23:00.000-05:00

boy has just zip tieed my thumbs together. now he is touching my boobiesand breathing on myneck and um== wow. it'ssirt of hard ti type and he is touching ke and thosse are my nippples and that is my neck hee's biting. my bra!
those are my owne personal nipples andowowowowowow
boy is big big big
owmyboobies
mythumb
s
ow.
iamwee.

Out On My Own

2008-01-10T18:06:00.000-05:00

Ok. So, since Christmas there has been three days and four dinners at the Cabin In The Woods with a dear friend and his dearest. These included venison and mushrooms in a soy-balsamic sauce, with potatoes and the beans from Christmas, a big fat roast chicken, brined for two hours before hand, stuffed with cloves of crushed garlic and bruised rosemary, with potatoes in the roasting pan frying in the chicken fat. I think we had something green with it, but I cannot for the life of me remember. There were lamb shanks braised with more rosemary and garlic and canned whole organic tomatoes, served with mashed potatoes. There was pasta with with bolognese flavored with dried wild mushrooms. There were pears poached in mulled wine and something made of whipped cream and chocolate wafers, there was lots of cider and eggnog and cheese and crackers and chocolate, and the whole thing ended with potato-celery-leek soup.
Then there were three days at Boy's parents, full of time in the shop and absorbing stress and then working it out and then absorbing some more. A poor-to-fair dinner at what I wanted to be a decent restaurant, some potstickers that I made which were well received by all (but not quite to my taste) and a dinner of such strange and epic proportions that it will either not be discussed or have its own post.
Now we are back at school, our rooms twin messes of failed unpacking, our diet vegetarian in deference to Mischief and Estra, and our thoughts taken up by about 50/50 work and play. Classes don't start up for over a week. We are here to get a head start on our thesies and hang each other in the air.
All of which would work a lot better if Boy didn't have a bloody wedding to attend on Saturday. He'll be hopping a plane tomorrow and hopping another on Sunday, during which time I will not see him, he will not get off and he will very very much not be accompanying me to the newly relocated Fetish Flea.
Bugger.
At first I thought I just wouldn't go, and two years ago, I wouldn't have. Because two years ago, I'd have been going alone, and I wouldn't have seen anybody I knew there. But this year I will be going, without my Boy but not alone. I will be going with Mischief and Estra, or with a friend we'll call Darla, or by myself. But even if I drive myself there and back, alone in my car with my music, I'll see friends. I'll walk around with friends. I'll say hello to Monk and Alex, and there might even be a glint of recognition in their eyes when they say Hi back. And I can hold my own in the bondage lounge, and I'll even survive in the whip lounge... I wouldn't hit anybody with a single tail yet, but more practice would be nice, because someday, I'd like to.
It's nice to have friends in the Scene. It will be a fun thing to do. But Boy'll be in my thoughts every second. What little I buy, I'll buy with him in mind. If I learn new skills, they'll be to use on him. If I go to lectures, I'll be taking notes for him. I can't imagine a better way to jam the maximum of missing him into such a brief separation, but it'll be worth it. There are, indeed, purchases I need to make, and I do, indeed, want to learn new things for him. And it will be an interesting experience to be out there on my own.
I never have before.
I'll miss him.

Christmas Cheer and the Like

2007-12-25T01:36:00.000-05:00

Vignettes of winter time.

In the English building, turning in our final papers of the semester, Boy and I ran into one of the drivers of our campus van service, The Ride. His name was Mark and he was trying to turn in a paper for a girl who is on crutches, and would have had a terrible time getting up the stairs. He couldn't find the offices he was looking for, he was confused, we said we'd turn in the paper. He was so surprised and grateful, and I thought how funny it is that the people who are the friendliest and most willing to go out of their way for others are often the most surprised when it is done in return. We had to wander back and forth between a few buildings before we decided how best to hand in the paper, and on our way back we passed the same Ride van. Mark-the-Ride-driver slowed down and opened his window to thank us again, and the girl on crutches, who was in the passenger seat, thanked us too. It was all so classical holiday heartwarming. And it felt just like it was supposed to.

Christmas dinner. My family has a flexible tradition. We always eat roast beef with some good, rich gravy. We always have mashed potatoes. We usually have peas, but this year, my mom branched out. She blanched tiny haricot verte till they were just tender and still snapping fresh, and set them aside. When the beef was mostly done, she cooked onions and cored plum tomatoes and garlic slices in butter and olive oil and a little butter till the tomatoes were just beginning to get mushy at the edges and lose their skins, and the onions were getting translucent. Then she added the beans back in and heated on low, tossing it till it was mixed together and warmed through. They were, of course, delicious, the onions and tomatoes silky and rich, the green beans crunchy and fresh tasting, all of it bound together by the flavor of the garlic.

Her switch from tradition gave me comfort, because it is my task to make a dessert, and I had decided to change things up, too. Generally we have some sort of cake for dessert. In the past several years it has mostly been a cake that is composed of a layer of chopped fresh cranberries on the bottom covered with a rich, buttery golden layer of cake on top. It is easy and wonderful, but I made it at Thanksgiving and I was looking for something new. I had seen something interesting over at Jefferson's blog a while back. It was a simple idea: take one ripe pomegranate. Remove all the seeds and put them into a pretty bowl (I chose a dark blue one with a faint pattern of leaves), making sure there isn't any white skin clinging to them. Over this, grate dark chocolate, the darker the better (mine was 60% cacao Ghiradelli baking chocolate). Stir to combine. I didn't remember if it said to let it sit, but I did, because it was easier. I didn't remember if it said to add any liquour, but I decided to toss in a teaspoon of Calvados, which added just a little complexity to the flavor. I didn't remember any serving suggestions, so when I planned this I came up with my own. Last night I put together the custard base for vanilla ice cream, using whole vanilla beans for the first time outside of a restaurant. I chilled it in the fridge overnight, spun it this afternoon and firmed it in the fridge. The vanilla flavor couldn't be beat, but I left it a little over long freezing, and froze it in the wrong container, so it ended up a little too icy for my tastes. Still, in blue bowls with the garnet jewel pomegranate seeds spooned over it, it looked beautiful and tasted fresh, complex and delicious.
My family loved it. I wasn't really afraid they wouldn't... but I bought a bag of cranberries, just in case.

I am at home. I am missing Boy, who is in Dallas with extended family. I am feeling peaceful and a little dreamy, like I always do when I visit the home where I grew up. I am reading fantasy novels again, taking long showers, seeing old friends. I will focus on work for the semester only a little bit, and then go back to hiding from it for my reunion with Boy and college friends and the East Coast.

Christmas in my family is a sacred day, but not because of any particular religious affiliation. It's a time of family traditions, as mentioned above, a day when even when my sister didn't get along with my parents and my parents hadn't gotten enough sleep because they were up late wrapping and I got everybody up at 8:00 am, everybody in the family was patient and nice to each other. My family has only two present giving occasions a year, Christmas and Birthdays, and so we each get quite a few presents, mostly small things along the lines of books, articles of clothing, perhaps a piece of jewelry. We unwrap and oggle, and then mom and I cook and Dad cleans up and my sister goes off somewhere of her own. We reconvene for dinner, we read or nap or walk. In the evenings we often watch a movie, sometimes out, this year my mom's new "Planet Earth" dvds. We admire and congratulate each other on our tree, laden with ornaments even far back on it's branches, with glass icicles and butterflies attached with wires and tinsel and gold and scarlet beads and tiny white lights. It is perhaps the most overdone christmas tree on the planet, and we love it more every year.

Today has been a peaceful, joyful, happy day for me. I hope it has been for all of you, and I wish you all many more in the future.

It's good, when winter is cold and the sky is gray, that there is an excuse for all of us to cuddle in doors, be extra nice to each other, play with new toys, eat delicious food, and love.

Catching up I: Love and Adrenaline

2007-12-24T13:16:00.000-05:00

I have been remiss in posting. Don't think nothings been going on. Rather, it's been going on so fast I couldn't possibly keep up. Now I'll try to get it all into words, bit by bit.

The first major thing has already been posted about by my good friend and newcomer to the blog-o-bandwagon, Mischief. It just so happens that Boy has access to a large space with a grid in it. It also just so happens that he has way too much in the way of rigging supplies. And it just so happens that he, myself, Mischief and Mischief's lovely play partner, Estra all had a bit of a break in our finals madness on the same evening.
Estra had never been up, and it's a pity. The girl is so slight and charming, with the biggest smile and the sweetest face and a cute little boy-short haircut, it might be worth considering that she's what the fairies left when they took away some human child. She is adorable and amazing (and also ridiculously intelligent, and amazingly kind, and I more or less just can't get over how great this girl is). It was pretty clear that this fairy needed to fly.
And I happened to have a pair of pixie wings just, y'know, lying around.
We rigged her up in pretty red and orange rope, with pixie wings on her back, and hung her from our suspension ring, which was on a cable at least 10 feet long, which was chained to the grid. Mischief took her hand and ran her around like you would lead a pony around the ring, and she flew with her bright blue-green wings. Mischief wore his sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, and he looked just like a little gnome, to me. They made me smile from head to toe, and they were all smiles as well.
It is such a pleasure to put people in the air for the first time, or even the second or third. It's such fun to be up, and I love more than anything being able to share that with people.

And that is not even what this post is about. Because after we'd taken the glowy Estra down so she and Mischief could retreat to a corner and cuddle, Boy put me up. Estra had been face down in a very basic suspension, but I much prefer to be face up, so we rigged it like that. Now, we discovered, again, that a harness that works excellently for a face down or sideways suspension does not work so well for a face up suspension. We were using a really great harness we'd learned from the inestimable David Lawrence at his advanced rope work class at Floating World, and for what it's good for it's the best we've come across, but because of its configuration, it works less well for how weight distributes in a face up suspension.
But, we worked around it.
And we did something we've never done before. Something we can't do on the hardpoint in my room, or on the hard points in frames. Something that was space specific and amazing.
I swung. My body described a circle 15 feet in diameter, perhaps 6 feet off the floor. I swung back and forth and to the sides. Boy pushed me this way and that and I was so terrified I couldn't do anything but laugh. I was so happy. We've never had the space to do that before, but I love momentum. I love to swing on things, or to fall and be caught. It is one of the most exhilarating, amazing experiences I can imagine. I adore it. And this was the first we'd ever really explored that. What a way to start, right? And to know through all of this that I was held by a suspension ring, by climbing webbing and a climbing swivel and a big thick chain a cable nearly half an inch thing and climbing, locking carabiner and of course, good rigging done with Monk's good hemp rope (though soon, we'll be doing it with ours. Boy's been going through the slow and many stepped process of treating 300 feet of 6mm hemp).
In short, it was more like flying than anything I've ever done.
What it felt like, actually, was those rides at fairs and carnivals where you swing around in chairs. But I hadn't just paid and got on a ride. I had the amazing knowledge that the entire thing had been constructed especially for me, that this was my ride, my flight. And then I swung, and swung, and was caught and gathered in to Boy's arms and stroked and kissed and swung again by the same boy who had put me up, who had rigged this spectacular ride just for me. I have rarely felt so special and so loved.

He took me down, eventually. I didn't want to come down, but it's a dumb idea to wait until you really want to come down, because by that time it's hard to get down fast enough. He took me down and we packed up all the rope and went home and I believe I made quesadillas that night, still aglow.

There are a couple of pictures, but they are mostly of Estra and Mischief, and are therefore not mine to post. But if you use your imaginations, you should be able to see me, swinging through the air and bubbling with laughter, my hair streaming, my hands either flexing open or closed or grasping the ropes that attached me to the ceiling. Full of love and adrenaline.

Snow, Study, and New Things That Are Not Really New

2007-12-14T02:28:00.000-05:00

We are in finals studying and paper writing time here in my neck of the collegiate world, and it is amazingly pleasant. Today I advertised my room as a place to write or study, and from the time I settled down at about 3:00 in the afternoon until this very moment, when I have knocked of but Boy and our friends have not, I have had pleasant, studious company here. Through most of the day, and all of last night, snow fell in small soft flakes, accumulating high enough to slip into the tops of ankle boots. The snow outside my windows made it that much more wonderfully cozy here in my study pit.

The denizens of the den of sin are not so much, today.

Last night, though, there was a little mini scene. A practice scene, if you will. Boy and I have been doing those: scenes which work pretty well, but don't really click, in which one or the other or both of us tries to pick up skills we have not used in a while. Recently Boy attempted his first honest-to-goodness Topping-and-Domming scene in recent memory. He tied me up in a few positions, did some stuff... it didn't really work, because I didn't remember how to give up control any better than he knew how to take it, but it wasn't unpleasant and it opened the door. We haven't done a proper scene with him in charge since, but the mood has changed. I have been able to trust that he can take care of me in a way I hadn't in a while.
To return to last night: it was simple. It was basic. Except for the Florentine flogging. That was exciting. I have been practicing it for quite a while, and this is the first time I had used it in a scene context. It worked just fine. And I got back into the mode of using toys, of hitting him, which he had needed.

We're exploring the use of safewords. Well, actually, what's happening is that Boy has discovered, or perhaps rediscovered, a love of begging and not getting. He discovered this first a long, long time ago, when our version of D/s was getting together to get each other off. This we always did by the tried and true Oral Sex method, and we got so that we could halt each other on the brink of orgasm. Over and over again. I remember the elated feeling the first time he begged me to come, and I remember the glorious light bulb that turned on in my head when he gently informed me that I didn't have to say Yes. He likes not to get what he wants. He likes, these days, to beg me to stop hurting him, and he likes it when that makes me hurt him more. For me, this is a little difficult, but I'm getting into it. It really does pull the power exchange out into the open. This boy lets me hit him, on my terms. I can wale on him just to get out my frustration with the day, till my arms are tired and his back is bruised and he's chanting "stopstopstopleasestop", and that'll leave him cuddling into my belly, thanking me profusely and grinning like a fool.
Once I get used to that, a girl could get used to that.

More updates as procrastination, and I'll leave you with a question I need answered:
I recently changed the title of this blog to reflect what I want it to be: a journal of my observations on life and my adventures with Boy (and his observations on such, should he choose to put them here). Also about kink, often and even mostly about kink, but not such that I should feel bad about posting the rest of the world in here, too. And yet, my URL remains eyehooksandleather (.blogspot.com). We have since nabbed up the URL switchandboy (.blogspot.com), which better reflects the blog, but I don't know if it'll be a pain for all of you to have to find your way to a new address. What if I loses my readership? I will DIE without my VAST and ADORING readership.

Seriously. To move or not to move? This is the question.

Thoughts and Such

2007-12-07T16:42:00.000-05:00

I wanted to write an entry about The Great Dirt Disaster, or: How I Can Hold Domliness Better Than My Curtain Rod Can Hold Plants, but that's about the entirety of the interesting bit. I also did dirty things to Boy, but I do that a lot.
In fact, we've recently been coming to terms with exactly how much I do that. Too much. Not because I could ever have too much of scritching my puppy or beating my Boy, but because I am a switch, dammit. I like to be submissive too. I think. To be honest, this year we've been doing far fewer scenes than we liked, and the majority of them, I've been topping. So much so that I have no idea how to give up control anymore, how to trust Boy as in charge and in control of the scene. It's combined with feeling a terrible need to be taken care of, and not knowing how to let myself be. And with not knowing whether or not Boy even really wants to dominate me at all, or knows how to or cares about comforting me, or, or, or.
I have been getting trapped and confused in my head, and it's icky and disgusting. And of course, as long as it's been since I subbed, it's been that long since Boy Dommed. So he spends lots of time looking at pictures of tied up girls, and pointing out girls he'd like to tie up, and he is very pleased whenever some sweet little thing calls him sir, and I get all grumpy because I feel like he doesn't want that from me anymore.
Which I'm sure isn't true, but I've been so Big recently that it must be hard to see me as Little. And he's used to being Little with me, and so of course he's having trouble being Big.
The problem, is that of the two of us, I'm the more pro-active. Solving interpersonal problems is what I do. I give advice that is not solicited, I poke my nose where it's probably not wanted, and when I think some part of my relationship needs fixing, by gum, I try to fix it!
But, I can't make him feel Toppy. I can't make him Dom me. I can't even make him see me as Little... half the time when I try to be Little, the part of him that's Little gets jealous and before I know it I'm giving him scritches. Which is wonderful and comforting, but generally not what I am going for.
The past two nights I've tried to orchestrate scenes in which I am, if not submissive, at least bottoming. I got my back beaten till I called stop one night, and I got tied up and messed with another, but it didn't work. What I want has to come from inside him. I can only help by changing my self.
I can try to be Little and cute and submissive, but that leaves me vulnerable, and if he doesn't respond then I've lowered my defenses for no reason. It is no fun to be little without somebody to be big, and I'm not really willing to risk it.
So what do I do?
Nothing, I guess. Do the Toppy scenes I've got in mind for him, hope that playing that way is better than not playing at all and we will be set on the right track. Hope that the escalating nature of or switchy relationship will get back, and someday he will plan something wicked for me.
To top it all off, I think I'm PMSing.

So, here is the other problem: I have had the terrible good luck of making friends. Friends who are into Kink. Friends who have blogs. Friends who READ THIS BLOG.
And the thing is, this is only sort of a blog about kink in general, and only sort of a blog about the world at large. Really, it's a blog about my relationship. The good and the bad and the dirty. And I do about 97% of the writing, which means that it's terribly one-sided. And while I'm fine with y'all knowing how loud Boy screamed that last time I pegged him, I don't know how I feel about your knowing every time we have a fight. The ins and outs and ups and downs are confusing and difficult enough for us to handle, let alone you. I don't want to get sad comments every time I write a post that looks like this one. I don't want to have to explain whether or not Boy and I are really on the outs this time. We probably aren't. We haven't been so far.

Anyhow. Boy is sitting here kissing me and I don't want him to stop, but it's hard to write and kiss at the same time.
And also, he came and gave me scritches behind the ear without my having to do anything much in particular except butt at him in the shoulder with my head, so probably all will be just perfect in a bit.

It tends to be.

Fame

2007-12-03T12:05:00.001-05:00

What is Fame, in the World of Kink?
I'd venture to say we have a few stars and superstars. I'd also venture to say that ever person asked would count some different people. For me, the are the Big Names I heard about as I began getting in to the scene. So Fetish Diva Midori is a kinky super star to me. As is B. Harrington, Mistress Matisse, and the author of the blog (and creator of the rope) that started it all: Twisted Monk.
He may not know he's a celebrity, but he is.
I know that he reached true celebrity status in my life, because on a long drive home last night, Boy used him as his answer in a game of Animal-Vegetable-Mineral. Not him, actually. His blog.
I think that blogs should not be legal, as they most certainly don't fit into either of the three categories. But it's ok. I got him back with a virus.
Anyhow, about Monk:
See his blog! See it now. See it here.
I am famous too, now.
Thanks, Monk.

(P.S. Tied Boy up and pegged him last night. He begged me to stop and not to stop at the same time. That is just so adorable, I have to say. Hooray, rope!)

Shiny New Name

2007-11-28T15:57:00.000-05:00

So, here's the truth. I've switched rooms, and no longer have the bed with all the eyehooks in. And on top of that, neither Boy nor I have a particularly strong leather fetish. It's pretty, but we're a bit too poor and a bit too lazy to really love the stuff. What's more, while I still consider myself to be at the beginning of my life and the beginning of my experiences with BDSM, it's been a few years. It's not the very beginning anymore. I'm not sure that the fact that we're close to the beginning is what's important anymore.
And on top of that, I don't really have a food blog anymore. And I don't really have a daily journal anymore. This is the only blog I love enough to keep up at all, and I think I would like to share with the people who read it some things that are not expressly about BDSM. Thoughts on the world and such.
And even yet another good reason to change the bloody name already: I am entering the blogosphere. Last night I spent a contented few minutes clicking from the links Boy put up on my blog to other people's blogs, and then clicking back. And apparently there'll be some pictures of me up on Monk's blog, as we sent him a few of myself tied up in a rope slut shirt. And I actually know several of the people on my blogroll, and they know me, but there are people out there who read them (and might read me!) who I don't know. Who they don't know.
And so? A New Name. I like it. I do feel very daring, yes indeed. And like a dime-novel heroine.
In other news, I have been in a sour mood all day, and it's spoiling everything. There was just one too many things: a shift of work, a meeting that starts at 10:00pm and will likely run till 4:00am, the need to buy snacks for said meeting, and lots and lots and lots of work, all due more or less Friday. Coupled with crappy interactions with Boy last night that spilled over into today, and I am just a fun fest (in the way that means exactly the opposite of that).
BUT, a friend is taking my shift of work, which means I can just work till I need to buy snacks and do that right before the meeting, I'm actually fairly on top of work, there's just a lot of it, I discovered that I've done much better on previous work than I had expected, and things will ok.
Wish me luck, I may even get to have sex tonight.
Oh, gods, I'd better.

the soft sounds of breathing

2007-11-15T02:55:00.000-05:00

Boy is lying in my bed, more or less sleeping. I am awake, finishing up work. I was kept late at a meeting, and still left before the part I most needed to be around for. Well, they shouldn't have spent four and half hours doing other stuff first.
It has been a rushed and busy few weeks, and they aren't over yet. We stay up late a lot, we are stressed out a lot, we have trouble doing work how and when we want to.
In the middle there are sweet parts: friends came from the city for the weekend, five of them. It deserves a post in itself, and I hope it gets one. They are good, even if I did end the weekend somewhat shell shocked from sheer volume of people.
Other ups, other downs.
Mostly I'm blogging because my Boy is so sweet, with his little breath sounds, and the fact that he came here to my room instead of to his own, when he went upstairs to work. I am blogging because the room is lit by tiny lanterns, lights from the quad outside, and mostly my computer. I feel like the strong, grown-up one. Sometimes I am forced into this role, sometimes I force him into it, and sometimes we each get it naturally. Tonight ended up a natural night. It feels good and strong and natural to be here, blogging, having more or less finished my work, all clothed from the day while my Boy lies all naked for the night, sleeping in my bed and breathing softly.

Well then...

2007-11-04T15:27:00.000-05:00

It must have been over a week ago, but he's still got the bruises.

How about that?

Boy

2007-10-09T16:19:00.000-04:00

Today is Boy's birthday.

This is the 4th birthday that Boy has been in my life.

The first birthday I did not know about. It was right around the night we first really talked, at the annual Goth party at what would be come our House. He told me about troubles he was having with the girl he had been kissing, about a lack of desire to continue kissing her and how to best handle that. It began what I am now convinced was a necessary period in our relationship. We talked a lot. We gave each other back rubs. Our feelings were uncertain and to a certain extent undiscussed, but through accident and happenstance we built a very sturdy foundation for the relationship we never thought we'd have.

The second birthday was bad. It came during a terrible period in all our lives, and on a particularly, drastically bad night. A night that stands out in infamy. I had bought him 'bondage rope', which was simply black nylon marked up ridiculously and sold at the local sex shop. But the sweetness of the gift, what there was, was pretty well drowned out by misery, complications between myself, him, and a 'mutual friend', and troubles that ought to have had nothing to do with it, but in the end had everything. Anyhow, it was a bad night, and marked one of the least healthy periods in our relationship.

The third birthday stands out to me now because I can't remember it. I don't remember what, if anything, I bought or made or did for him. It was his 21st birthday, and I seem to recall thinking I would more or less leave celebrating it to those who could take him out to the bar. I think that he had a huge quantity of work to do, and planned to get himself ruinously drunk as soon as it was over, some bit of time after his birthday. But I think that by the time the work was done, the drinking had been forgotten about.

This is the fourth birthday. I have purchased two presents (2 15foot lengths of pumpkin orange 6mm Twisted Monk rope and 3 months access for both of us to Lee Harrington's amazing site, Ropelover), and will be making another in the form of a feast of a meal for us and some close friends. He was allowed to make any requests or demands he wanted, but not to put any work into planning it. I am planning a scene.
He has a paper due tomorrow and a paper due Thursday, but I am attempting to help organize my life and his so that both of these can be done with a maximum of efficiency and a minimum of stress. The feast will be on Thursday, when all the work is done. Friday begins our short fall break, one night of which we will be in NY, and with luck will get a fabulous meal, somewhat birthday-centric, from my parents.

A final present, then. Here are some but not all of the things that I love about Boy, without any premeditation at all.

I love his hands. They are calloused and thick fingered and in the winter he has to put udder cream on them to keep them from cracking, but I love them because they are workman like and because they are comfortable on me and electric on me, and because they just exactly fit my breasts.

I love the noises he makes. All of them. The grumbly working noises and the gaspy playing noises.

I love the look on his face when he figures out something that's been bugging him for ages.

I love that he was the first boy I was with to wet his fingers in his mouth before sliding them into me, making him the first boy I was with to finger me in a pleasurable way. (In fact, he's the only boy to do either of these things)

I love that he didn't understand when I told him this was a rarity.

I love that he doesn't know how rare he is.

I love his feet.

I love his eyes, which are deep set but not sunken, and unlike mine, which are colorchanging conglomerates, are one pure striking brown. The color of root beer jellybeans.

I love that he lets me wear his clothes.

I love that we are still working on this relationship, and he is working on it with me.

I love that he is constantly scavenging for interesting bits of metal or machinery. And that he brings them back from the dead, when he finds them.

I love that he makes impossible improbable unlikely amazing plans for the rest of our lives with me.

I love the patches on his pants, the pain that gets in his hair, I love how he looks when he's concerned and I love how he kisses me on the neck and only ever gives me hickies when he's intending to mark me, I love that he marks me, I love him.

Happy birthday, Boy. I hope I am with you for four more, and them for the rest of them after that.

A few things

2007-10-05T13:55:00.000-04:00

The internet is running slow and I am running out the door to a weekend of family and folk music, but I have a few things to say:
1) There's now a hardpoint in the ceiling of my room. Boy put it up, and Boy will I hope post or explain how it's done, because it's close to being the safest thing I've ever been suspended from, and I'm so very very pleased.
2) I was suspended from this hardpoint. A face-up suspension, which we have hardly ever done. We used the hip-harness we learned from David Lawrence at Floating World, and it was the most comfortable, amazing experience. I flew, I just flew, and I stayed up for something like fifteen minutes, which is a really long time. When I came down I really really had to come down, but it was so beautiful and wonderful. We had been waffling between a rope scene and nice cathartic impact type scene. I suggested that perhaps rope could be cathartic.
Oh, oh, it was.
3) I am apparently on several amazing people's blogrolls! I didn't know this, because it never occurred to me to check for my name. I am flattered, I am honored, I am way late in creating a list of the blogs I check regularly, but I am going to. Soon.
When I get back from this weekend in the cottage in the woods in the fall with the music and the family and the food and all the joy.

Getting It Right

2007-09-27T15:12:00.000-04:00

Boy and I have been getting it wrong a lot, recently.
We've been failing scenes. Occasionally we've been failing scenes really spectacularly. One when I was supposed to be Domming ended in me crying and refusing to let him touch me. Last night he was Domming a rope scene that ended instead in his needing to be fed Mac&Cheese and petted a bit.
There are a lot of obstacles to be overcome before we get to easy, excellent scenes again. Our hands are currently unused to rope -- at least in scenes. At Floating World we put a series of people up in the air, but that's a task that takes nothing but simple skills. If you know every step and how to check that you've done it correctly, its easy as pie. Tying up someone you love so that they can get lost in the rope, doing something creative and interesting without having to rig and re-rig, check and re-check till the position can't be held anymore ... that's different.
Boy edges towards puppy whenever he feels submissive, which isn't good either. Puppy play is sweet and simple and endlessly fun, but it can only go so deep. The careful set-up of a scene, the slow progression of sensation that leads to perhaps the best of all scenes cannot be done with your squirming ball of puppidy goodness.
And we are having trouble with our schedules. Late mornings are excellent, but it means that there hasn't yet been an End Of The Day. My obligations start around three in the afternoon and can continue until midnight. Boy is less-so, but still sort of, the same. We do our homework late, we piddle away free time in the afternoons, and we are too tired to really scene most nights. Which would be fine, but we're also too tired to just play around with rope and improve our skills.
I miss pegging him. I miss being hung from the ceiling. I miss submitting to his will -- but in order to that, he needs to have a will I can submit to. He needs to have the brain to plan a scene. Not just WANT a scene... we both want scenes very badly. But when you want a scene and can't plan it, you end up with, well, a failed scene. At least a lot of the time.
But we've dealt. He knows he needs to take better care of himself, eat enough food, get enough sleep, do his work reasonably early so that we aren't getting our work finished at 1:00 AM and then trying to scene there after.
We're working through all this.
We're getting it right.

Inner Child - 1, Thesis Monster - 0

2007-09-19T11:05:00.000-04:00

Take that, busy-stressed-out-not-eating-right-not-getting-enough-sleep-type-schedule!
Last night at around one or two in the morning, after working all night, Boy and I pulled our harried selves together and did what needed to be done.
We built a fort. Boy built it, actually, out of my big purple blanket and, of course, some rope. There's a big tent over his bed, now. Of course then we didn't have a blanket on the bed, so I had to go get my comforter. Then we curled up in our little fort and shortly after that we fucked.
I have a feeling I'm going to have to start apologizing to neighbors again.

This was not a scene, but it came after two scenes. The more recent of them was a fairly intense role-play scene. Here is something that does not come out way too much: Boy is a puppy. He is my big, fuzzy puppy. This is a very private, but very important, form of play for us. He recently expressed interest in, in his words, "a visit to the vet". A more impersonal form of play with the puppy. This we did, and it was fairly exceptional. I examined him for prowess and ability in all those things that my puppy needs to do. My puppy does not need to be able to fetch, particularly. He needs to be fit and healthy, and I did examine all parts of his body, from legs to teeth. But he also needs to be able to preform his boy-puppy duties. So we used the inflatable butt plug to test his ability to take things in his bum, and we tested how well he could use his mouth, and we tested how well he could fuck. I was very pleased with the scene. It was a nice melding of concepts, and we kept up roles for the entirety. It was fun to be the Nice Lady Vet instead of the doting or disciplining owner.

Puppy says he'll need to continue to have regular visits to the vet every couple of months, which sounds good to me, as well.

This came after, a few days before, an intense rope scene by the Boy. I seem to recall being tied into a little ball, rolled on my back and fucked. There were other ties before that, and I know that I stayed in difficult bondage for a longer time than we usually leave it, which is good. Boy and I practice Comfort Bondage much of the time, but I think it's definitely worthwhile to have to really work for it every once in a while.

So: last time I posted about missing scenes, I got a comment from Tyr saying that we'd have plenty of time to scene when the thesis was over. That is unacceptable to us, and while I'm sure we won't always have time to scene once a week, I don't think we'll be waiting till the end of the year, either.

So take that, Thesis Monster.

Things I Miss

2007-09-09T14:03:00.000-04:00

1) Doing Scenes.

In my head, there is a distinct difference between Kinky Sex and Doing A Scene. Boy and I have a lot of kinky sex. In fact, Boy and I rarely, if ever, have non-kinky sex. Somebody is generally dominant, wrists are pinned, maybe a bit of rope employed. Nails are used, pressure points, a lot of growling. We're just kinda, y'know... kinky.

Doing a scene is a different thing. Scenes involve planning on the part of the Dominant, the submissive, or both. Scenes involve more elaborate bondage, or various different implements, sensations, or lack of sensations employed. Scenes might have some role play, and almost certainly have more defined roles. Scenes take some time, and have quite a large non-sexual component, be it flogging or punching or suspension or whatever it may be.

Scenes take up quite a bit of the Brain.

Boy and I are running on about 5% brain capacity. We both have theses, we're starting classes up, we've got this society/house that takes up a lot of time and energy, everything is up in the air, we can hardly remember how to study, hell, we have to put plans into our little kink group -- we have no Brain left for scenes.

But we miss them.

So here's my thought: Strict Thesis Advisor, Lazy and Ill Prepared Student role play. It's a whole new twist on the School Marm thing. I can punish him for not working! He can punish me for not working!
Or, wait. That probably wouldn't be very good incentive for either of us to work.
How about: Over Joyed Thesis Advisor, Very Hard Working Student role play. I can reward him for working! He can reward me for working! We'll never, ever have to stop thinking about our thesis! Food will explode out of my brain! The Theater will never be the same!

Ok. Breathing. Breath in, breath out. Perhaps combining Scenes with Theses is not the best way of solving this problem. I think actually it will solve itself. As bizarre as it seems, we've only been here a week. We will figure out our schedule and when we have time: last year we had Wednesdays put aside for scenes. It was a bad idea, because then Wednesday rolled around and neither of us was feeling inspired, when on Saturday we'd been raring to go. I think we'll just say "look, two hour a week we'll be Sceneing. It'll happen when it happens, and we'll accept it as a necessary use of time for our continued sanity."

There'll be little enough keeping that in place this year.

Oh God I'm Tired

2007-09-06T17:24:00.000-04:00

I fell asleep on my floor. I was reading a book, propped up on some pillows, and then I was out for about half an hour.
I have a whole helluva lot of work to do, but my brain is not going to be bent to it, and that's that. I must rest in the belief that my brain will get fixed and time will somehow make itself available.
Why am I so tired, you ask? Well, I haven't really stopped. Not since Floating World, that most fabulous of events. Where I learned how to properly throw a single tail, a skill which I hope to improve to the point where it might, at some point, be useful in play. Where I met amazing people, made friends, reached out, and mostly just hung an alarming number of lovely individuals in the air. With a chain hoist. Our first shot at non static bondage. It was pretty great to be able to actually stand beneath the stomach of somebody we'd hung in the air.
I sadly did not get to go up so high, but I was put in a suspension on my side, and in an inverted vertical, both of which were fun and cool, if a bit hard on the body. After the event, we came back, packed up the apartment, drove out of New York City in a U-Haul, moved into our rooms (mostly) and attempted to get classes and help handle a lot of situations that have been stewing here all summer.
So I'm exhausted. Happy, but exhausted.
Tomorrow is the first meeting of our little group. It'll be good to have it a reality again, and to discuss all the cool possibilities that Floating World opened up for us. It'll be good to eat pizza after.
I hope to blog more often as I've got huge amounts to say. But I can't promise.
Right now I can't really promise I'll be awake at dinner time.
Still: I exist. And a shout out to all of the fabulous folks we met, the short one and the tall one, the sweet one and the one that calls him hers, and the Bear who showed us around, showed us the ropes, and generally helped to make the trip exceptional.
Boy and I both hope to see you all very soon indeed.

Gifts

2007-08-03T11:54:00.000-04:00

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.

Knives

2007-08-01T16:54:00.000-04:00

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.
So?
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?

Still Here!

2007-07-26T13:31:00.001-04:00

I'm alive. Kicking and kinking. But VERY spotty internet at home and probably should not post from work. Am doing so now anyway because honestly I should post sometime. More, I swear, when back at school with regular internet, etc.
Stories before that.
Two weeks till end of job. Then I'll definitely post.

The Rest of My Life

2007-06-26T09:22:00.000-04:00

I have a rest of my life. Bits of it trickle through into here. Lots of it have to do with food. If you want to read about the rest of my life, the food bits and the city bits and all of the more PG bits that make up the time between scene and scene, check out www.basilontheterrace.blogspot.com .
It's new.
I figured since I've been so very good about posting on this blog, I could totally handle posting another one, too.

Check it out? Leave a comment, perhaps?

Read about food.

URGENT!

2007-06-24T13:58:00.000-04:00

Boy just snuck up behind me as I was catching up on the fabulous Goose and Gander, and savaged my neck. He asked me very politely (while pinning my arms to the chair) what I would like him to do if he were to do a long, formal scene tonight.

SO! If you are lookin' at this on the afternoon of the day it is posted, please! You have an opportunity to help make me a writhy, beggy, moany little Switch.

Comment with your ideas, you twisted fuckers.

Make me regret this post.

Folsom East, Etc.

2007-06-22T20:04:00.000-04:00

I just sent Boy out to get cash to pay for pizza. All last year we would eat pizza with the kids in our little kink group after we'd talked or tied or whatever we were doing that Friday. So Boy and I are used to gettin' our pizza fix on Fridays. It's a nice tradition.
Last weekend was Folsom Street East, a New York leather event. We went to see what it was like, get our fix of kink society and generally scope the scene. We saw a lot of bears, an otter or two, some an amazing pair of gladiatorial lesbians, a drag queen or two, boys in collars, men in leather pants, etc. It was much more gay-oriented than the Fetish Flea, but it was also much smaller and we did see some het couples. We were one, in fact.
And we were the one with the rope.
I always forget how much a niche rope still is. We got into it as early as we got into kink, and we hold it dear to our hearts. Boy is a rigger in the theatrical sense as well as the kink sense, and I work hard to be a capable rigger as well, partly because too few girls are. I wore my Rope Slut tank down there, and we brought several hanks of hemp. Having wandered the length of it and back, I brought it out. I intended to do a very simple tie, putting Boy's hands behind his back and wrapping to a chest harness. But we just had so darn much rope with us, it didn't stay simple very long.
Most of the people wandering with cameras stopped us for pictures. Some of them we won't see unless we search the web for them, but some of them are up here:

http://homepage.mac.com/joewehry/folsm/index.html

Can you spot the Switch?

It was fun, and very hot, and we paid three dollars for water and rubbed shoulders with more beefcake than you could shake a huge, throbbing stick at.

We have also scened since then. Yes, I tied Boy over his own improvised spanking bench, and yes, I caned him till his bottom was bruised and tortured him with an inflatable but plug and made him cum all over himself (he got it in his beard!). But that's not what I'm here to talk about.
I'm here to talk about Alice. And the restaurant...
No. I'm not here to talk about that either.
I'm here to talk about the night before last. Night before last Boy tied me up. I did a bit of yoga first and we lit candles and we made it nice and calm and mood-y. The plan was for him to tie me into yoga positions, but until I'm better at yoga or he's better at tying on the fly, that's impossible. Still, it did get me very relaxed for when he started tying.
And tying.
And tying, slowly and deliberatly. Just a basic chest harness, and my ankles in a two column, and later a two column on my knees. But I was relaxed to start with, and he was so intent, letting me feel the rope so much, that I just left. I lost track of time. I didn't know what was going on. I knew he was touching me, but I can't for the life of me remember how. When I came out of it, it was like waking up when you hadn't realized you were sleeping. Apparently I was only gone 15 or 20 minutes, but once I came out of it, it was time for me to be untied. It took me a while to get used to having a body again. Freedom was strange.
I felt sort of floaty all night.
I've never been that far gone before, I don't think. Maybe when suspended, but that's a different thing: because of your weight on it, the rope focuses you much more, you're much more aware of it. This was just plain old every day shibari, done with such perfect skill and such well tuned feelings that it sent me sailing.
Yet another benchmark in our fabulous kinky journey.

(P.S. Comment if you want to see pictures of me in said ecstatic bondage)

What's been up

2007-06-13T19:04:00.000-04:00

Ok. So I suppose I am going to update first on my life, and then on my sexsexsex life.
I have relocated. From my Mystery College (is it mysterious? do I actually name it elsewhere in the blog? I have no memory) to, and I'm not even going to attempt to be mysterious about this, New York City.
I am spending the summer interning at a white-collar job, which indicates that I make copies, file other peoples' stuff, attend meetings I don't understand, and generally have a fairly good time because it's all stuff I'm more or less interested in, and there is usually enough work to keep me busy but not so much that I am constantly pressed for time (that is to say, it's not my last job or the job before that). It's very cushy, really.
Boy is interning doing technical theater stuff, which seems to mean that he does basic building and mostly sorts hardware alot. I'm sure it will get more interesting when they're actually working on a show.
Those are our jobs. Our lives are more interesting. We are in a lovely little one-bedroom apartment, with a terrace-porch-thing upon which I grow herbs in pots. This means that we have our own space (ours, not his or mine), and more important, that we have a kitchen. Mostly I am the one in the kitchen, though Boy does the coffee making (and, I am ashamed and grateful to say, most of the dishwashing). I am cooking dinner almost every night, planning menus, thinking about groceries, and having tremendous fun with it all.
We have friends in the city and enough time and all seems to be more or less right with the world.

And we are playing. Not as often as we'd like: we've been moving and settling in and getting used to our schedule. At school we designated Wednesday scene night, here I think we'll pull of two scenes a weekend, but probably none during the week. Not real Sceney scenes, anyway. Alot of kinky sex, and possibly also some pegging, but not scenes.

We have, though, initiated the apartment into mutual oral sex, pegging, a fair amount of Boy curling puppy-style at my feet, and a quite decent quantity of my rolling around, batting at things and getting scritches, and of course, hot, hot sex. Sex in the living room, sex in the bedroom, sex that I think probably alerted everybody in the building and all the surrounding buildings that there are some new and different people in this apartment.

I have yet to run a real scene here, though I do plan to. I am quietly planning ways to tie him and things to do to him, things involving a cane. I'm growing to love the cane. It's a good way to produce a large quantity of pain in a very personal way. I find that it's hard to keep a good connection during flogging, due to the distance you have to be from your submissive. A cane keeps you pretty close, and you can really feel in your hand the sort of impact you've made.
As if the gasps and moans didn't tell you.

He, on the other hand, improvised a spanking bench, tied my thighs together, tied the magic wand to them in a way that I am having trouble describing, but did the job fine, thank you, and went from there. He didn't turn the damn thing on for quite a while, just left it there, pressing just a bit, and hit me with stuff. He tried out two different canes, the bamboo one and a thin steel one (we decided that one was probably a bad plan), and I'm pretty sure there were other things involved, but I was pretty far gone. Eventually, with absolutely no begging at all, I swear, he turned the vibrator on and let the inevitable happen.
Twice.

Much bucking and screaming was had by me.

He snickered, mostly.

That was a good night.
There will, I am sure, be many more. For this I am grateful, and will, I swear, relay them on to you significantly more dutifully than in recent history.

I missed this blog.

It lives...

2007-06-10T12:47:00.000-04:00

Hi. This is a very small post to say, if any of you are still checking this after over a month (gah!) of absence, I'm not dead. The blog is not dead. I have not become disgusted with my sordid lifestyle.
I've just been busy and exhausted and going through finals and moving and all that crazy stuff.
But now Boy and I are safe and sound in New York City, where we hope to do kinky things about town, as well has having screaming amazing obliterating sex in our new bedroom, on the living room floor, etc.
We are happy. We are still kinky.
I will talk to you soon, with an actual entry about what has actually been happening, but I'm getting kissed on the back of the neck and there are declarations of love so I think it may be time for me to go get my coffee now.

(life here is quite nice, yes, indeed)

Skink

2007-04-28T22:41:00.000-04:00

So we have this little club right?
And most weeks we send out e-mails to remind everybody that it's happening and let 'em know what we'll be talking about, but this week we didn't.

Wait. I rewind.
To a week ago or so, when the Boy put the hard point up in the attic. There's a suspension point in the attic, now, weight bearing and with the hardware so that you can spin your victem (I'm sorry, bottom). And mattresses on the floor and room enough to walk around. It's lovely.

Right. So. This week we didn't send out an e-mail, but we told all the members we saw. I meant to send out an e-mail, but I'm busy these days. So in the end, it was myself, Boy, the other fellow who runs it, and two of our best friends, a playing couple whom I shall call Dragon and Jugs. Jugs reads this, and I fully expect her to come and hit me alot with her little fists when she figures out her nickname, but what can I do? It's apt and I need to differentiate my friends without exposing them.
Besides, she's subtacular, so I'll think I'll survive intact.

Anyhow, it was the five of us, in a room full of mattresses in the attic. We hung up Dragon, which was awesome. Boy and I got to rig a suspension together, instead of one on the other. We haven't lost our knack: indeed, we appear to be improving! Despite being a very different hight-weight ratio from either of us (he is perhaps 5'9'', an broad-set. Not even pudgy, in fact rather muscular, just not bone-skinny like Boy), we got him up quickly and comfortably, and he spun and twisted for quite a while before we let him down. We also played with knotwork, Dragon tied Jugs up interestingly, we discussed Kink as a sexual orientation and decided that we think that rather than being one, it transcends them, and we ordered pizza and ate it and smoked.
Also M gave me an awesome backrub, and there was much wrestling.

It was just awesome. It reminded me of Goose and Gander and their little kinky circle of friends, who play together light and more heavily in pairs (Dragon and Jugs are a playing pair: not dating, but well nigh exclusive when it comes to nonsexual BDSM. Romantically, Jugs has a boyfriend whom she loves, but when it comes to the scene, Dragon's her dude. Complicated but comfortable.)It was good and amazingly comfortable and fun, and we talked more and were more interactive than ever before.

Boy and I cuddled and shared a bed that night, and got up this morning and he bought me breakfast and then we went on a series of very fun totally unnecessary errands, drinking in all the things we love about the place we live. Hanging out later, he snapped together a few of the old clothespins I'd made into a poem-sculpture sometime last year: HIS ECSTASY IS HER.

It was lovely. We had a lovely day. And a lovely night together the night before, with some non-school friends. I think we are discovering a joint love of martial arts movies.

By they by, we celebrated our anniversary. This is how we did it: we stayed up too late working on papers, and then I was really tired and grumpy and didn't want to celebrate at all, but once I was out of paper-mode I calmed down and Boy bought me a card that is perfect (la chat gourmand, I mean really) and a surprize bottle of Asti, and we drank and smoked and it was really late, just like it was when we got together. We said it was a pity, it would have been absolutely perfect if only we'd had time to have sex. But we didn't have time we didn't have time we... had sex. Great, awesome, amazing, deep, wonderful sex. It was wonderful.

So tonight I am a sleepy Switch, hiding from people and taking some alone time, but Boy and I are fabulous, even if we both have more work than is in any way reasonable.
In two weeks it'll be over, one way or the other.
And outside of work and school, in the parts of life that are actually important, things are great.

April is the Cruelest Month

2007-04-25T11:43:00.000-04:00

As noted a few posts ago, tomorrow is Boy and my anniversary.
Spring is a time of getting-together-ness.
Two of my best friends have their anniversaries within a month of ours.
Just a little bit later.
Just out of the crunch.
So they are happily planning gifts and romantic things, and coming to me for advice, and I'm looking at tomorrow... I work all day, and then I finish the draft a paper due Friday. Boy does the same.
Today I work all day on starting said draft. He is in meetings all day.
Friday? Who knows. We have our little club meeting, we maybe relax for a day in the midst of everything. I am fairly certain that there is something I am forgetting about that I need to do that day. Maybe it's just the ever-present work.
We don't have the time for an anniversary right now. We were going to go to M's house, but we don't have time. We were going to go to dinner, but we don't have time or money. We were going to do a scene, but we don't have time. If we're lucky we won't be too exhausted for a quickie.
Boy and I are generally doing very well right now. We are in love and happy to be with eachother and the relationship is pretty well ballanced at this point. And I think that probably I prefer being happy and in love right around our anniversary to being in a worse-place relationship wise and having the time to celebrate it.
I'm only grumpy because of the extremity of the situation, really. If we had time to sit together, to pour cider into glasses and toast ourselves, do a nice cathartic scene and then cuddle, that would be fine. I don't need a huge date, I need an hour and a half. But our anniversary fell in the two days when an hour and a half isn't to be found.
(True, we could just put it off, but I know the Boy and myself. If we say "We'll celebrate it next week", we won't celebrate it.)
So that's my ranting.
It's been a year and it's been sweet and bitter and difficult and excellent and I hope that we have alot more to come, and once it has passed I will be alot more zen about not being able to comemorate it, but today it makes me grumpy.

Today

2007-04-23T01:52:00.000-04:00

I wanted to post about how Boy cut his hand open and had to get stitches (he's fine, I promise) and then because he had to keep it dry I made a scene out of washing him in the shower, and how lovely it was and how service is something I think I could quite get off on, and also about how beautiful the Sun today was and how it felt lovely to be around my friends and outside and grilling, even if it meant that I have a million work that I need to get done... but then late night happened and a good friend of mine and the Boy had a spat due to silly meeting-ness, and I cheerfully plonked myself right in the middle even though they both very smartly told me not to, and now I have made her mad at me as well as him, and I feel guilty and in need of comfort but one cannot easily take comfort when guilty, especially not from one of the people one feels guilty about.
So today was lovely until the end, which is horrid. Boy and I long ago figured out that it is the end that counts, in a day. Soon he will come upstairs and we will cuddle and distract eachother, but I think it will be bittersweet at best.
I am sad that this day had to have a horrible end.
It was a beautiful day, before that.

The Wages of Bingo is Canes

2007-04-17T01:35:00.000-04:00

I don't care if that's not how the phrase goes, that's how it happened.
About a week ago the Boy wrote an entry that never got posted, a private little note to me about his sadness at the lack of sceneing in our lives (due to the previously mentioned time constraints). He said he missed hurting me, the doll.
Well, he got his chance.
At the munch, during kinky bingo, I got bingo first. Among snap-crotch leather shorts, two boxes of needles, various pieces of 'bling' (that's beaded necklaces to all you cretins who think bling only refers to diamond studded gold medalions or over sized rings and such), stuffed tiger and and evil stick, there were two canes, a thin one and a thicker bamboo one.
I'm not stupid, but I do like to try new things: so I chose the thicker one.

Last night the Boy tied me to my bed (remember when we used to play in my room, with all the eyehooks and such?). He tied my knees apart, and then put me in a chest harness and tied it to the frame over the bed, so that my weight was taken partly by the rope and partly by my arms.
Then he caned me. He'd never done it before. I'd never had it done before. It hurt, it was intense, it was amazing. He started light and got harder, and stopped several times, convinced he must be hitting harder than I liked. He wasn't. Eventually, after much longer than I think either of us expected, I did call yellow. He played with me at the edge of too much for a while, and I went pretty far into subspace, hugely enjoying the depth of the sensation and the care that my Master was taking in giving me the punishment.
When he untied me, we lay around and giggled.
And that's what was most remarkable: it felt like we'd just had sex. It was post-orgasmic, lying around and cuddling and chatting, but there hadn't been any orgasm. Just a scene that was intense for both of us, new and different and deep, that left us happy and breathless and slow to come back to earth.
It was pretty bloody lovely.

That said: I have not forgiven him for using my cane before I got to, and I have a feeling I will need to take it out of his hide with, natch, the very same.

Since Last Post...

2007-04-15T21:35:00.000-04:00

We got the time.
And we did some scenes, of course.
He topped me at least twice, in fun ways. One of them involved stealth caning! We had never done caning before, and he was very careful to make sure I was doing ok. It hurt, but he had set me up pretty well gone in subspace, so I liked that it hurt, and it was all very nice indeed.
A different night, I topped him, a lovely little thing that was slated to involve pegging, only to hit a snag when we discovered my strap-on harness needed to be washed. No Problemo! Rigger-Switch can make herself a harness out of rope! (Thanks, Lee Harrington!) It was pretty neat, to do some on-the-spot rope work, all by myself, quick and effective, and then get to screw the Boy senseless.

At the last meeting of our little university group the third member of our triumverate, M, did the talking. He went over kinesthetic theory and the language of touch. How to pay attention to somebody, in a scene or a massage or both or anything, and know when they appreciate how you're touching them. How to be sensitive and still confidant in how your body interacts with somebody elses. How to inspire trust by gentleness, which you can then use to take your bottom farther into pain and subspace than either of you expected.
So the Boy and I have been playing around with that. We are remembering to communicate as much as possible. We are back into regularly negotiating scenes, either immediately before or just as archetypes and ideas for the future, and we are doing a much better job of going over them after.
And remembering to cuddle. That's paramount.

And today we went to the Munch. And brought a friend. That was nice. She had a good time, and liked everybody she met. And they liked her, of course, because she's pretty and spunky and loves rope and has the rack of Doom and Justice (no. really.)
Like wolves to a kill, they will swarm around her.
But she's a tough cookie, she knows what she wants, she'll be fine. She'll be better than fine, if she sticks with the group and it interacts with her the way it's interacted with us. If she sticks with them and they stay the same, she'll be golden.

(Please, kinksters, read that as I meant it, not as your twisted little minds can pervert it.)

So, that's about it. We are doing better. I knew we would, but it takes time to let that sink in. Boy made a comment, as we talked about our relationship and the future and such. Something he'd heard in a play. Essentially, if you're making eachother miserable and you still want to be together, then you know you're doing well.
And even when we're miserable, with life or eachother, it seems that what we want is to be happy together, never not to be together. So hoorah for that!

P.S. We love the group.

P.P.S. We are planning campus wide guerilla suspensions as soon as the weather gets warm enough. We intend to tell Public Safety that we're doing performance art.

P.P.P.S. 4-26 = one year since the Boy and I gave up and made it official. Any kinky ideas for how we should celebrate our prolonged failure to not be in a relationship?

Sweet and Bitter Don't Always Make Bittersweet

2007-04-11T11:39:00.000-04:00

Waiting, waiting.
College is BUSY! And you know what that means? Boy and I can have deep talkings one night, steal time from papers, show and restaurant to hash-out where things need to be worked on and why each of us might be having some wobblies about the relationship, and get it all mostly figured out... and then the conversation ends, and we don't have time to spend the rest of that night together, nor see eachother for more than an hour the next day (and that in the midst of Boy's last huge and immediate piece of work), and now it is today and it isn't looking like we'll have much more time than the past two. And poor Boy slept maybe two hours, probably less last night. Weather The Storm is not a good analogy for this. It's a drought, more like. Believe there will be a chance to make things better. Believe that we will take that chance when it comes.
This, compounded with the slow build of my stress, and the truly horrendous overlap of the bad point in my hormonal cycle and not getting enough sleep, equalled a crying little Switch last night. Poor Boy! He flat out did NOT have time to give to me. I'd taken the extra the night before, with the conversation! He came and held me anyhow, but it's hard. I'm very, very bad at asking to be comforted, and knowing he had work I asked him as a last resort, after several friends had not realized that there was desperation under my requests for company. So good to be comforted, but not as effective as it should have been because I always manage to compound it with guilt. Silly little Switch, full of issues like a magazine.
So we are waiting. To relax, be together, get things going good again.
One of his perennial problems is that he has trouble forming close bonds, and we have managed to form one, and so he spends much of his time with me, because it is so easy. He needs to spend time with other people, without me. That was the last thing we talked about, after I had thought our talkings over, and now, again, I worry. He has a good point, and it's important: but I worry that we'll try to tackle that problem first, and in doing so not get to any of the issues in the relationship itself. Send him off to spend time with other people, get to know them and form bonds with them, and the bond with us will weaken and become a symbolic shell of what it is supposed to be. Worries. He as much as told me last night that he's not planning on doing that, but this is where I voice my worries.
Some hours I am full of joy and faith and optimism, others full of worry that edges on despair. This hour I am well. I think that the wellness will win out.
I wonder why I feel the need to publish these feelings?
I suppose because I don't have a confidant, really. You who read this, far away and without meeting me, with your own relationship struggles and such, posting this and giving it to you is the best way for me to get it out, give it to somebody, know that it is being heard, and yet not feel guilty.
I want somebody to say to me "I want to be with you when you are sad, and make you happy. Of course seeing you cry isn't fun for me, but I would prefer to be here than to be anywhere else, and have you crying alone."
Of course, that's what I tell people when I am comforting them, and I always mean it. They don't always listen, but I always mean it.
(Which is to say, told to me it would be my own words coming back, and therefor, despite my knowledge of my own sincerity, it would ring false).
These are musings.
I have faith that today will be a good day. I hope hope to resume my partnership with my lover starting today: because we have been on shaky ground, and I have not felt that bond, that he relied on me and I on him. That is partnership to me, and there's been a gap. But I know that, at this stage in life and our relationship, all of that can be turned around in a day. And so I have faith, and I have hope.

I really do.
Things will get better, they'll be fine.

I love to see him smile.

What We Did with S

2007-04-08T13:55:00.000-04:00

As mentioned in last post, we stole a trick we learned from Goose and Gander.
But that's the end of the story.
The story starts, as all great stories do, with porn.
A week ago, the Boy and I and some friends were, for no particular reason, watching kinky porn in the basement of our house. The Boy, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, has a truly amazing library of porn (all of it kinky). And, as will happen when you are watching porn, we all got a little bit randy. A while ago we had done a photo shoot with a friend of ours, S, which had turned into a bit of a scene. Last week after hours of porn, we asked her if she might like to come up and play with us again.
She said yes.
It's been a week, so we are having some trouble remember what exactly we did to her, and in what order. It is mostly a happy blur.
I know she showed up a in a charming little sundress printed with little ducks, a thing she had told me was supposed to be a little girl's nightie.
We-ell, I had to discipline her a bit for dressing as though she was dear and sweet and innocent when we all knew so much better. She wound up a little dishevelled. I think she may have been spanked a bit. Or possibly pulled around by her hair. You know. Things happen.
Then we stripped her naked and put her on the bed. And tied her in a ball. Now, S is significantly smaller than either the Boy or I, which means that she is basically a little toy. I am fairly certain we more or less rolled her back and forth for a while. And then we hit her on her bottom with a paintstir (oh, HomeDepot, you are so good to us).
We had been told that actually inserting things into her pussy was offlimits, because her fiance (heh) says that's his territory. So we got out the buttplug. Last time Boy was home in his shop, he made a little round metal ball with a neck and then a ring, the cutest little buttplug you ever did see. So in that went, and she started making the most delicious little noises. We also had her hitachi magic wand going, and the ring on the buttplug that takes the place of a flared base. One can grab this ring very easily, and spin the buttplug. Man, does that get a reaction.
There was another buttplug, and more hitachi magic wand. Through all of this, she was not allowed to cum.
Then we untied her from the ball, and tied her ankles to her wrists, so that her vulva was nice and spread out.
And I took our nipple clamps and put them, ever so gently, on her outer labia. And then I did something with them, but we are having trouble remembering exactly what. I seem to recall attaching them to a string threaded through her nipple clamps and then doing some other nasty thing, but the Boy thinks that the nipplerings and pussy clamps were independantly attached to her toes. For the sake of making us look as wicked as possible, I'll say we threaded a string through the nipple rings and attached the whole shebang to toes on either side. All of this leaving her lovely pink pussy all exposed.

At this point I got a little bit mean.

We inserted the Boy's inflatable butt-plug, and I told her not to scream (this girl can be heared all over the house when she's having fun, so I was asking something difficult of her). I told her if she screamed, the butt-plug would get bigger. Then I took her magic wand and I spread a bit of lube over the end and then I pulled back the skin of her vulva and place the buzzing thing directly on her exposed clitoris.

The butt-plug got quite large quite fast.

The rest of the night was a pleasant haze of making the poor girl scream and then gasp and then scream and then gasp, of putting my mouth on another girl's pussy for the first time in my life, and generally taking away cognitive function as much as possible. Eventually, after well over an hour, I let her cum.

THEN, Boy hog tied her on the floor (hands in front), blind folded her, gave her her wand, and we proceeded to attack each other like a pair of lovers who have spent the night creating their own porn. This is the bit we stole from Goose and Gander (if I could link to the entry, I would, but suffice to say they did it first and probably better). We fucked like cats in heat, and we hear her cries and she hear ours, and we tried to race to see who could keep from cumming, but that didn't last long.

Eventually we stopped shuddering, untied her, and we all cuddled on the bed for a long time and talked about it.

I don't know why this works so well. She's not my best friend, this girl. I've known her for a while, and we haven't always related very well, but sexually, we just connect. I've done scenes with her in public and private now, and they have always been dynamite. In this one thing, I can trust her implicitly: she'll let me know that she's enjoying things, and let me know if she isn't, she'll follow my lead and trust me and is just generally a pretty darn awesome sub. I do things to her I had never imagined, because we build off eachother that well. And then there's Boy. He is always in the background of the scenes the three of us do, taking my lead and doing some playing, but mostly doing the rigging and putting objects in my hands, and as far as I can tell very much enjoying watching. And having him there gives me the performative aspect I love, and just being a fallback thing that I love and know and trust.

We arent' in any sort of relationship, and it's not something I could do every week, but as an occasional joy, it's lovely to have a third that we can play with.

I think there is more to be said here, but I'm not sure what. The shallowest layer is that we did wicked things, made a girl scream like a banshee, got our rocks off something fierce, and had an awesome time. The layers below that all show good things, but they take unpacking for another time.

I'm sure it'll end up here.

Pictures!

2007-04-04T00:44:00.000-04:00

Ask us to tell you, later, about how we stole a trick we learned from Goose and Gander, and all the wonderful crazy things that ensued, including but not limited to my own vastly grown appreciation of the fun inherent in a ladys hidden bits. Well, a different lady. I alwasy appreciated my own bits just fine.

But that is not for tonight. For tonight, pictures!

Look, the Boy made me a pretty rope corset!

Here is a closer look at it. Nothing fancy, but nice.

I told you our toybag was ever-expanding. We've actually more or less reached a stopping point, but we've done well for ourselves. At some point I swear I will go find the original entry listing what we had and what we did and do a redux letting everybody who doesn't already know what's changed (what hasn't! ) .

This last one is a special treat. Recently the Boy pulled out candles for me. But I had to hold them for him.

Well, that's what's happening. What do you think?

Now with a soundtrack!

2007-03-25T22:49:00.000-04:00

Let me just say, in case I somehow failed to, I LOVE our kinky friends.
Last night Boy and I reunited after a week apart. We'd left eachother on a fabulous note, and we returned to eachother on a pretty good one, as well. A bit of low-level grumpiness, but nothing a quickie couldn't fix. And as soon as that was done, it was off to spend time with our fabulous kinky group.
Everytime we walk out the door just as our college friends are settling down to a night of drinking, smoking and hilarity, I wonder if it's the right thing to do. It always, always is.
Highlights of the night:
We learned florentine flogging! Boy knows enough about poi from firespinning that he picked it up almost immediately. It took me much longer, and I definitely need to get in a lot of practice, but I got the hang of it in the end. It is SO much fun. For me, though this may be just because it's new, it's alot more enjoyable to do than normal flogging. I really like having both hands involved. Really alot. I also qutie enjoy the faster, double-beat sensation of being flogged like that.
We also learned alot about sensual boot blacking. I've been doing Boy's boots for a few months now, but I didn't know much more than how to polish them, which does not a scene make. I didnt know, for instance, about washing them first. DUH! And Boy's boots tend to need it, friends. What's more, if you get a buffing brush and some wax, though, you can do coat after coat. Also, there's no reason not to use your hands, which makes it much more sensual, both for the bootblack and the booted. So that will be experimented with more fully soon.
And I did a, um, suspension demo. I didn't know I was doing a demo. I just wanted to suspend him properly, because last time I did it at the group the job was abominable. But then the lovely Dominant lady who was organizing the get-together proclaimed loudly that there would be a rope demo, and that was that. With a better knowledge of how to do it, excellent advice and two strong men (thanks guys!) to hold him up during the process, I got Boy into the air in record time, and from then on it was funsville. He tells me he was into subspace deeper and faster than almost ever before. We discovered, or I suppose reinforced, that we both love, as submissives, to have the dominant's hand on our throat. Not hard enough to cut off or even restrict breathing, but there. That came into play alot. And a few lovely ladies had fun with ice and tickling and, one of them being a single-tail enthusiast, scaring the shit out of him without actually hardly touching him.
The best part of all of this was that, at said get-together, there was live music, in the form of a lovely gentleman (and sometimes our lovely TV friend) with guitars. And as I put him up, he played the tune of "Free Falling", but the words were all his own. They included something along the lines of "She's a good girl, but she'd better not drop him".

At other points in the night, Boy and I recieved foot-soaks and massages, sitting side by side on a couch like a couple's day at a spa, I got my eyebrows waxed, and Boy florentined me within an inch of my life as "Amy" played in the background and everybody sang. Well, I didn't sing. Or Boy. But everybody else did.

We smoked with a few folks, enjoyed their company and hillarity, talked about the group we run and how to make sure the NextGen is as communicative, inclusive, educational and all-around fabulous as the last one is.

It was an excellent and educational night. We left late and happy, having learned and talked and played and smoked and spent a bit of time with this group of peoplel that, nearly a year ago, opened their arms to us as total with little in the way of knowledge in the scene and less in the way of skills. We have learned, and taught, and will continue to do both.

And we will never forget the people who first taught us.

The Census Lady

2007-03-14T11:56:00.000-04:00

So the Boy and I have been busy, but not so much in the post-able way. More in the midterms job interviews show-going-up-soon sort of way. We did manage to slip away for a few days, which was mostly necessaray because it gave us room to have one of those discussions we have in place of fights, which was a long time coming and made us both feel much better afterwards. What precipitated it, in some ways, was the scene with the Census Lady.
We were doing a scene. We were out in the little cottage we go to sometimes, and the Boy and realized that with proper one could hang somebody from the rafters. The previous night we had made use of that on friends, but I really wanted to go up. So he put me up, and took me down, and as soon as that was getting done there came a knock upon the door. The scene had not reached it's organic end, yet, but it occured to both of us that if it was the caretaker we had better meet him in the hall so he didn't walk into our rope draped living room, so out we went.
It was not the care-taker.
It was a woman from the U.S. Census Beureau.
The little cottage in the woods had been randomly selected to be part of the census.
That's right people, the U.S. Census Beureau interrupted our scene.
I can officially blame the Government for almost everything, including extremely specifically messing up my sex life.

Still, we give thanks. If that scene had continued tolerably well, than the yechy discussion would not have happened and we would not have been able to come out the other side.
On the other side, fun things happen. For instance, I put Boy up into full suspension for the first time ever in my life. It's amazing how going slowly, without a huge crowd of people, and having just a few very important pointers can help. That was lots of fun.

The next night I hog tied him and tied his feet to his hair. The scene wound up awesome, but there was some difficulty in the middle because the idea for the position was his, and so I hadn't given it as much thought as when I think of them on my own. I tried to work around this by asking him about it before I put him in the tie, but we were already sort of in scene, so he went from taciturn to flat out reticent, and my plan more or less failed.
Which meant the position I put him in was less comfortable than it could be, and I of course got frustrated, but I didn't stop, and I'm glad. There was use of an inflatable butt-plug. There was use of this device as punishment/relief, as I desperately tried to remember every infantesimal little thing he had done during the day to punish or reward him for.
Later on, of course, I pegged him.
Whatever I may have said in other posts, the Boy can be loud.
Definitely.

I'm still waiting on the other side of this, though. I've had alot of fun putting him up in the air or down in the mattress, but as readers may have noticed (and I think I've explicitly said) there's been a trend away from equality-of-switching and more towards me domming. It'll be a while till I'm satisified that we've moved back to center, and I'm certainly ready to be dommed. It's hard, because you can't really demand it of somebody and I'm unsure how to inspire it in them. What I want out of a scene is the attention. We lead very busy lives, and had wierd and difficult origins, all of which make scening terribly important. When I'm submitting to him, it should be my time when nobody exists but us, and all his attention, even when difficult to take, is focused on me.
I want real scenes. We forgot that they take work. We need to get back into the habit of clear and careful negotiations, and of planned for and remembered aftercare. And I want it focused on me. But, I know, that has to happen in him. I have faith, mostly, that it will.

Aside from that, between a friend of mine visiting and the theater keeping him busy, there wasn't time for sex yesterday. And the day before that was pegging. And I'm just coming off my period. And, basically, I want sex. I'm leaving in two days and we won't be able to have sex for a week. I want sexsexsex. And also a scene, but one can be forced and still enjoyable (and I really need to word that so it doesn't sound like rape), and the other really can't.

Pictures soon. And a huge mondo up-date post about where we are and what we have and what we're doing now, to mirror a much earlier post of the same nature.

Um. More suspension, actually.

2007-03-04T20:38:00.000-05:00

It looks like we're kind of turning into a one-trick-pony.
But oh, man, it's such an awesome trick.
I put boy into partial suspension for the second time. I actually didn't do a very good job of it: not enough rope on the orgional chest harness, so it was uncomfortable the whole time. The best part was that this time I lifted his other leg so that he was fully in the air. I just held it in my arms, and slowly walked in a circle, spinning him.
This was at a play part, and by the time I had him all the way up we were litterally surrounded. HUGE crowd of people.
I think that girls doing rope is sort of a rarity, and girls doing rope on boys is even more so. Plus we are probably the youngest couple in that set by maybe a decade (a few of them were happily chatting away about their our-age kids), and I flatter myself and Boy to say that we are both relatively attractive. On top of that, I'm an attention whore. If people choose to look at me, especially when I'm domming, I do my best to give them something to look at.
So we tend to attract a bit of attention when we play, but this time was ridiculous.
When I took him down I got lots of comments and congratulations. Which was nice-ish, but I really hadn't done a fabulous job, so it felt a little wierd.
Oh, well. He and other ropetops there gave me alot of helpful advice, so with luck the third time will be the charm.

He put me up once that night, as well.
It was a face-up suspension, but something about it meant that unless my head was being supported, I was very uncomfortable. So ou beautiful TV friend came by and held my head for me during the scene, while the Boy took an evil stick to my feet and a paddle to my bottom. It was really really intense: having someone hold my head immediately sent me deep into subspace. It makes me feel taken care off and safe, but the knowledge remained that if she hadn't been there I would have been vulnerable and aching. That feeling combined with the Boy's ministrations made for an incredibly intense scene that I still have't quite figured out.

When I came down I was wobbly and had to sit down, and then discovered I couldn't get up again for quite a while.
So I talked about dentists with various folks, and it was lovely, and eventually I came down.
It's funny how long the lag was between when he took me down and when I finally got back to earth.

We drove home refreshed and happy, and ate MacDonalds, which will kill you dead but is very tasty on rare occasions, and watched the best porn EVER, with a charming Brittish Dom doing horrible things to a little Asian sub, and then to top it off we had amazing sex.
I stumbled up to my bed at 5:00 AM, very pleased with the events of the night.

Soon pictures, and a post about something other than suspension.

P.S.! We have a blog-o-email, which is also our e-mail for all things that relate to both of us, or to either of us and BDSM. Send us messages or questions at switch.and.boy@gmail.com.

Suspension, Mostly. And Everything Else, As Well.

2007-02-27T01:17:00.000-05:00

Well, that's done.
Boy and I had our conversation about summer, which was, as with most of our hard conversations, mostly me talking and him nodding. In the end, the truth is he got started late and he's trying, I was over reacting due to a tendency to react to future possibilities (ie, thus far he has looked at a few internships far away and none close, if we assume that he goes far away and never does look close, then the worst possible out come of that is .... and so on. Too good at seeing the worst possible outcome, I am.) Either we'll be together this summer or we won't, and we'll deal with that when we come to it, and it's ridiculous for me to decide that the relationship has an End Date on it now, when nothing at all is certain. Plus I love him. That bit is really, really important.
So I'm convinced that he'll try, and that if he fails we will find a way to work around it. My resolve to keep trying until the bitter end has been returned.
I hope and I believe there isn't a bitter end coming anytime soon.

On, then, to all the amazing and fun things we've been doing recently.
I literally don't know where to begin.
We've done all sorts of scenes that need commenting on, and we've run another play party and we've been to our first ever explicitly NextGen party, and there's been sex and pegging and pet play and everything else in the world, but what sticks out most in my head is the suspension.

We are getting good at it, friends.

At the NextGen party we went to, we were the only playing pair who knew anything substantial about rope. There was a girl there who put herself into a lovely full body rope harness (like the tortoise shell (kikkou) pattern, sort of), which was especially amazing when you saw the knotwork on the back, but that was about it.
And the space had hard points.
I did my first ever partial suspension of the Boy. We're getting very good at putting me in the air, but he's still the better of us with rope in general, and the same principles don't apply to male as to female suspension (different center of gravity, I think). But I put him one leg in the air, chest harness to the ceiling, bent over, and then tied the lines to the leg and the chest together, so that there was considerable tension...
His face changed. I watched him go from active party to full on submissive in a split second. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
That same night he put me in the air three times. Once face down, twice face up.
I love face up bondage. The muscles of the back of my body take my weight so much more easily. It may be harder to tie, but I wind up feeling as though I could stay up for hours on end. It's like a climbing harness, I can just sit up in it.
I am trying to convince the Boy that he wants to do more things like it.

So, there is all the suspension practice.
At the play party (the one that we ran, which went quite nicely, though it was considerably smaller than I had imagined) we did our first full-on suspension scene.
We had done miniscenes before, a little hitting of the foot with an evil stick (if you don't know, ask). In fact, we've even had sex while I was suspended before: a little too fast and hard for me to get off, but it was an experiment, and if it worked for him it can certainly be made to work for me. And it worked for him. Whoooboy, did it work for him.
Anyhow. This is about the scene.
It was meant to be a dishevelment bondage scene, that lovely Japanese style full of ladies with kimonos tied half on, half off their body, their mouths a perfect red o, their hair artfully, carefully disarrayed. So, off went my clothing and on went my pink rayon kimono-style dressing gown, and on the rope and up I went.
Did the dishevelment work? well, no. I mean, sort of, but not really. It's closer to a bathrobe than it is to a real kimono, and I am no lovely Japanese lady, so it failed.

...
I'm sorry. I went looking to try to find a nice picture of dishevelment bondage to post, and got captured by this:

http://www.fetishdollies.co.uk/welcome.html

It's terrifyingly excellent.
...

The dishevelment may not have worked as planned, but the scene was lovely. I was up in the air in record time, and though the tensions were all wrong to begin with, they were quickly sorted out, and after that it was the most comfortable face down suspension yet.
As soon as I was comfortably in the air, Boy crouched down near my face and said "I love you." It's rare that this gets said in a scene, as it's not really growly enough to come from the Dom, and not nearly worshipful enough to come from the sub, so in that moment it was just totally magical. I don't have very clear memories of the scene. I know it was beautiful and wonderful and good, but I was pretty far gone, so I can relate few specifics.
There was kissing, and some spanking, I think, and certainly more evil-stick foot-torture (I think I'm discovering a foot fetish in myself. More on that another post). There was alot of kissing and the strange feeling of seeing my Master looking up at me as I hung in the air above him.
The rules we impose on the play party are that there is to be no genital nudity, but application of fingers over panties can do wonders.
For the first time ever, I came swinging in the air.

After he let me down, I refused to move for perhaps 10 minutes. I made people bring me pretzelss and chocolate and water. I glowed alot.

I am not yet 21 years old, unable to go to most kinky clubs and play spaces. But in the past year, boy and I have gone from using leather restraints and carribeaners to being fully comfortable doing scenes in which I am entirely in the air. In the remaining time before my 21st, we will only practice and improve more.
And when they finally let us into spaces together, we will wow the pants off the people who worried we wouldn't know what we were doing.

That's a nice thought.

College Girl Woes

2007-02-26T18:41:00.000-05:00

I have a billion things to post about, seriously. It's been an incredibly kink-intensive few weeks, and generally lovely, but at this precise moment the Boy and I are less than thrilled with life and eachother.
Details are in no way necessary, but suffice to say that while it may be harder to meet people after your college years, all you older folks should feel grateful for the fact that you don't have to deal with summer. Boy and I have been more or less together, and definitely seriously involved in eachother's lives, for at least a year and half now, really going on two years.
And last summer we saw eachother rarely, and he was surrounded by friends but I was alone and quite depressed.
And this summer is looking like, despite promising ourselves that it wouldn't happen again, it'll be just the same.
I am not sure how to handle this: 3 months of not seeing my lover, my love, is not acceptable to me. He's not good enough with the phone or the internet to make it even mildly passable.
So I think we're going to work around it and figure something out, but if it comes right down to it, this blog may not be long for the world.
Without my Boy I simply have nothing to blog about.

(So all of you who don't have to worry every year about three months apart, look at your lover and smile. The working world may be tough as hell, but here's one one thing you got on us.)

Real post later tonight. For now, wish me luck in keeping my life together.

Put In My Place

2007-02-17T15:32:00.000-05:00

There is a treat at the end of this post.

So, in recent memory, there's been a strong trend toward my being the Dominant party in scenes. Boy started out more dominant (waaaay back when he first turned me on to this stuff), and I more submissive, but his ideology makes that hard. He's still not always comfortable with the fact of himself, a male, dominating and throwing around and fantasy-raping and administering pain to me, a female. And he is getting much more comfortable with his own desire to submit, and I much more comfortable with my own ability to dominate, and so recently, that's how events have tended to turn out.
But I'm a Switch, and until recently I thought of myself as more subby than Dommy, so as much fun as it is to pull him around by his hair and make him kiss my feet, the lack of give-and-take had sort of been getting me down.
So last night we talked about it, and it turns out that his desire to dominate me isn't by any means gone, he just satisfies it in little pieces by being quite dominant every time we have sex. Intercourse tends to translate into Boy fucking me into the mattress. Which I love, but I don't want or need sex to be like that every time, and I do need a chance to really let go and submit. Once this came out, he gave up on any desire he had to sub last night, and decided, instead, to give me what-for.
It was quite a night. I was more far gone into sub-space than I've been in months. He had me on my knees whenever there was waiting, often with his foot on my neck. He dragged me around by my hair and he fucked my mouth, and he hit me very hard with our pretty new flogger, and tied me to a door frame and hit me with the flogger more, and with our horriblewonderful flicker whip, and then he put clothespins all over my breasts, and poked them with a pointy thing we call villanelle (which was the highest level of prolonged, constant pain he has ever put me in, and I was so far gone I couldn't even figure out what he was doing, just that it really fucking hurt and that was good. Bad, but very very good.)
We had been thinking that we needed some sort of predicament situation to really get me into subspace, but it turns out that's not necessarily the case. We just need to play alot fucking harder.
It turns out that, kinkily speaking, we're starting to grow up.
I'm very pleased about last night. It was a pleasure to finally feel really dominated again, and I think finally seeing me really submissive reminded him what he's been missing. I know he didn't give up on girls being tied up and tortured, because he still loves the same old porn as ever. I just think that for a while, I became the girl who let him be submissive, a role he can't take on with anybody else (I wouldn't let him, for one thing), and he forgot that he really likes being able to do nasty, perverted, twisted things to me, too.

A final note: I just realized a change in my possessiveness: Boy always promised that he would not submit to anybody else, and I used to care much less about that. When I was more often submissive, what I really wanted was for my Master to be mine alone. At this point we are starting to get more comfortable with playing in a light way with other people, and I'm comfortable with him being a sort of Dominant-about-the-Play-Party. But nobody touches my Pet exept me. And I think it's the same with him: he likes to see me hitting some lovely girl or tying up some charming boy, but he wouldn't like to see somebody else putting restraints around my wrists.

And I like that. I also like that for Valentine's Day, instead of buying me flowers or candy, he bought me twelve tiny brightly colored mice. They are real rabbit fur (only as biproduct of the food industry, and I eat rabbit so I may as well play with the leftover softness), and are bright green, blue, orange, and pink and the cutest things ever. They are meant for cats. These days, we always peruse the cat-toy section of the grocery store.

The Treat: I am putting an effort into posting more pictures on the blog.
Here, as Frank would say, is One From The Vaults:

I was dressed as a Catholic school girl at the time.

Pictures

2007-02-12T15:50:00.000-05:00

I promised you lot pictures, and I do not break my word. Much. Well, I'm not breaking my word this time, anyway.

My Corset:

My RopeSlut Shirt:

And, although he has no idea I'm putting this up here, My Boy:

He was so charming in this tie. He absolutely could not get out, could not move, could not do anything more than wiggle around a bit and make the sweetest little desperate noises.
Shortly after that I had to remove the tie, sadly.
I couldn't seem to get his pants off without doing so...

And, not that most of you have been good or commented AT ALL, but here is a bonus picture just because I'm very kind.

Suspension!

There. If you don't comment on that, then you haven't a reaction left in your empty little head.

Coming Out

2007-02-06T20:25:00.000-05:00

I have just been given cause to think a bit about the prospect of Coming out.
It isn't a phrase that is usually applied to more-or-less-straight girls like myself. But then my lover and I started tying eachother up, and after that we found we rather liked hitting eachother and playing out the roles of Dominant and submissive.
Suddenly I discovered that I'm kinky.
And now I am faced with the prospect of coming out.

I am blessed by being a University student at an incredibly liberal institution, and more than that by being a member of an organized group of friends who are amazingly open and permissive and loving to those (many) that they consider their own.

When we first got into the scene I was secretive, terribly so. No one was to know. I took pains to make sure nobody knew about this blog, for instance. Indeed, at that time, hardly any of our friends even realized that the Boy and I were lovers at all. But I have always spoken freely of myself, and it leaked in. Then the Boy and I decided to hold a play party here, and we had officially come out.
Here.

Now we hold workshops and encourage other people to explore the kinkier sides of themselves, and we are happy and enjoy every second of it. Kink is a huge part of my every day life. I love and nurture both the Dominant and the submissive in myself, and I do the same for my Boy, and we, jointly, do the same for all of our just-getting-kinky friends.

And still, even from our friends, we keep some things mostly secret. Very few people know of our position in the kink world outside of the school. They think we learned all this from the internets! The sillies. And as we tell a few more people, I feel more and more that, in that, we were correct in our origional caution. It is not something I want discussed with the world or our vanilla friends. It is private, seperate from this place and these people, and I would prefer it to stay that way.
Those who are closest of all to us can know, but even one level down from that I prefer it kept more or less behind the veil.

And then there's the Real World, looming ever closer beyond these hallowed halls. I can go two directions: devote my life to kink, do photoshoots for fun and profit, perhaps write books and run workshops and try to become a Figure in the kinky world -- or not.
I feel as though I can't go halvsies. I can't be open about kink, but work a vanilla job. It can be all, or it can be basically nothing.

My sister knows, but doesn't know how much, and doesn't really care to. My parents do not know at all, and I am sure they prefer it that way, and that is where I prefer them, as well. It is no fun to leave huge gaps in my reports of my life to them, but I have tested the waters and found them decidedly unwelcoming, so gaps there will be. It is better than trying to bend their brains into understanding.

I suppose I should just value this place and the honesty it allows me. How wonderful that no one bats an eye to hear smacking sounds and whimpers from behind my door! How lovely that we can hang our floggers on the wall! How darling that our kinkclub is allowed to meet in our house every week!

And how sad to think that in a few short years, none of that may remain.

I wonder if Monk and Matisse's families know, and what they think.

Readers: I am curious. How do you stand in the world? Is your kink open to all, or to only your closest, or to no-one who you didn't meet through the scene? Does the secret hurt you?

Let me know. I need some help situating myself with the rest of the kinky world.

Three Posts

2007-02-03T15:43:00.000-05:00

This post is at least three different posts. Two specific, one general. Feel free to read one, and then go away, and come back and read the others at other points.

Post # 1 : The Flea

Was awesome. It was so big, and so shiny! I saw people in latex body suits, and there were corseted bossoms as far as the eye could see, and people in full pony-play gear, which I had never seen before, and it was great. Such good people watching. I got my steel-boned corset at Brute Force Leather's room-boutique (it is red and black and beautiful). Boy got an absolutely LOVELY flogger (which we've only recently played with, and I took as much as I could and for once he wasn't hitting as hard as he could, so now we have room to expand, huzzah!) at another room-boutique. The vendors out-side of the main arena were much less mobbed and tended to be a little cheaper, which was great. They also had more time to talk, and so could vend their wares a little better and help you pick out the item that you wanted.
We also bought rope from Twisted Monk, and a suspension ring, and we gave him and Alex little chocolates full of coffee and then Alex gave me a free Rope Slut shirt, which I wear proudly, if not to class.
We met alot of friends and had alot of fun people watching and bought the extortionally expensive hotel food. We stayed at a Motel 6 and watched crappy TV and played a little bit and ate Dominos Pizza because it delivered right to the room. We went to Lee Harrington's hair and face bondage demo, and then we went to Midori's thing on Cathartic v. Catylitic Scenes (interesting, but not overwhelming, I thought).
All in all, we had a great time, and will definitely try to be back in the spring. Possibly we will stay in hotel that's holding it and go to whatever pretty party there is, because we won't be needing to make major purchases this time.
I left with big crushes on Lee Harrington, Midori and Alex. Though I wouldn't want to play with Midori any time soon. That woman scares me.

Post # 2 : The Photo Shoot

So, about as soon as we got back to school, a friend of ours asked the Boy and I to tie her up and take pictures, so that she could send them to her boyfriend for Valentine's Day. What a nice thought. Obviously, we agreed immediately.
We talked alot about it and came up with alot of ideas and few plans. We tied her up in gorgeous, gorgeous ways, and she brought along her Hitachi Magic Wand. So, as we rather predicted, at some point photoshoot and scene ran into one another, and we teased her and I forbid her orgasm for half an hour or more, and then allowed her orgasm, and then didn't take the vibrator away and forbid it again, and then allowed it, and then didn't take the vibrator and forbid it again, and then allowed it.
After the second time I asked her, "If you were me, and you had a sexy girl tied down like this, would you stop now or would you go for three?" And she said she'd go for three, and I thought that is what I would do too, so I did it.
That third orgasm was amazing.
The whole thing was amazing. The first time I'd brought someone two orgasm with another person in the room. The first time I'd done a scene with anybody other than the Boy that ended in orgasm. It felt like I'd put a huge wall up, and then casually walked around it without hardly even noticing. It felt good the whole way through, and I think that that's good. Planning is the eternal enemy: I can do, I will do and I want to do, but the more I think about doing the harder it seems to be.
Nike apparently got it right.
The bastards.

P.S. We hope to have her sign a limited model release form, and I would love to post some of the more anonymous and less graphically pornographic shots. It was lovely to do the shoot, and we both saw a possible, eutopian future for ourselves doing things like this forever and ever.

Post # 3 : Everything Else

Is also going very well. We have new toys and are doing more playing. It nolonger feels like it's been forever since we scened, and I know that I, especially, am much more feeling like I've got more scenes in me. I am getting back into the love of rope, which makes me happy, and I am feeling my Dominant side come out, and feeling like I have the energy to submit to more complicated scenes in which I am submissive. So, really, it all seems good. We are both very busy this semester, but I think we'll find time to play and time to be together, and niether of us will die of stress.
I am feeling reciprocity alot these days. I feel like we are both so much better off for having eachother. He helps me, I help him. We both have the exta energy to help the other, but might not have had the energy to go our ways alone.

This is good.

So, a much happier post than last time. And tonight is the party, and there will be playing, and then I come home and dress up as a Bond girl for another party tonight.

For today, all is going quite well.

FFF

2007-01-24T12:43:00.000-05:00

The Boy and I will be at the Fetish Flea in Boston this weekend.
See if you can spot us. I know I haven't given you that much to go on, but I sort of like the idea of being looked for, and more of random people walking up to other random people who are not me, and asking if they are.
More likely this will not happen, as it I think most people who both read this blog and would be going to the Flea actually do know me.
In other news, no real scenes as of late. Nothing planned. Some very Dommy/subby sex of various flavors, and we did some very brief, fully clothed suspension, but no scenes. No hitting. No blindfolding. No roleplay.
I am hoping the Flea will inspire us. I would prefer not to be the couple that runs that one little kink club, and talks about kink, and thinks about kink, and are nominally members of that other kink club, but do not, in fact, participate actively in BDSM.
I know we love theory, but I'm really starting to miss the practice.

Ah, well. Either we will find time or we won't, either we'll be inspired by such things as the Boy's new room arangement (floorspace! airspace! playspace?) and the Fetish Flea, or we won't.
I hope we will, but I've learned it's better not to depend on such things.

Anyhow, hope to see you all this weekend!

That Seatle Crew

2007-01-07T14:14:00.000-05:00

One of the things one comes to learn about the Boy (relatively quickly, actually), is that when he likes something, he researches it. I wouldn't call it obsessive, but I probably should. Part of the reason we got so advanced (not actually advanced, but farther than most people who'vve only been doing it a year or so) in Kink was that we researched. We did our homework. And when I say we, I mean the Boy. He got books and read them, he looked at hardtied and other BDSM porn sites, and used them as much for inspiration as for jerk-fodder. He read blogs.
Twisted Monk, Mistress Mattise, Alex of The Red Sneaker Diaries, Goose and Gander, Nerdy Girl. All of these people, these giants of the altsex blogosphere, are just one tiny little group of friends. An artisan rope maker, a professional domina, and the rest of what amounts, more or less, to their seatlebased polyamory cuddle. One big luvin' swingin' floggin' bindin' riggin' sort of family.
They represent the new face of Kink, in alot of ways. Not the Old Guard bike crew of 50's-80's San Francisco, all gay, very exclusive, not the professional domina-oriented het groups of aroundd the same time, nor yet the slightly sickening web-based, Gore-loving communities that begin to grow up today, but something else entirely. They are all real people, who use the web not to meet people but to publish discussions about actual happenings. They are, indeed, masters of their crafts, but they are young(er), they are hip, and they are the beginning of their kink community, and not the end.
I'm not entirely sure, though, that I want to be like them. I mean, of course I do! They're superstars of blogging, of writing, and of kink, all at once! But I am not ready for polyamory, and it colors much of what is discussed. Every time Monk blogs about Dancer and doesn't mention Tambo, I feel a little tiny ache inside. I don't want that in my life.
Goose and Gander, though, are another story. If I had to grow up into Kink, I'd want to grow up into them. They are married and in love and live life and have kids, and they still play, still like it, and only now, after years, have they taken (as a unit, they, the couple), a new play mate. The Boy and I are looking at that, and I think about the honesty with which they blogged the fear and unsettledness that bringing a third into what had been a duo can bring, and the joy they had in playing with her. The idea of a threesome is of course interesting to me, who was once a bisexual, but the nature of my relationship with the boy is unnecessarily, and sometiems unfortunately, complicated. The idea of adding a third to something I still have a hard time believing really is a duo is scary. It helps to think of it as the pair of us and her, instead of three seperate individuals. Looked at as a set of two and a one, it is an opportunity for the Boy and I to combine our wicked skills to bring another person to extreme pleasure, to take joy from mutual dominance or create positions in which one of us puts our loved one into a situation with another person and can watch the pleasure it creates from the outside. Looked at it as a set of three, it's an opportunity to watch my beloved lover make love to another. And that, of course, hurts.
I don't yet have my thoughts on this Seatle Crew really worked out. I admire them and respect them and in many ways want to be like them, but I also value the importance of certain types of monogomy (emotional, mostly), and the more comforting environment we've found with the group. I am taking bits from both of them in forming the little tiny group the Boy and I run, and I hope, someday, to pick a home and create or meld into the kink community there. And I know, for certain, that I don't want it to be entnirely like what I've read about the Seatle Crew. I also know, for certain, that there are alot of things I would wish to be similar.
I just don't want how we think about kink to be totally overshadowed by one group of perhaps 10 people who live across the country. I want to find our own way, and the compare notes once we've figured out who we are. I got these blogs from the Boy, and I've recently found that they are in my site-history, that I visit Goose and Gander and Twistedmonk and Mistress Matisse's blogs every day. And I'm not entirely sure yet how I feel about that.

Well, partly I am. I may be new, and I may be young, and I may bounce around from Michigan to New York to Connecticut, but if I read their blogs religiously, I think they should do the same for mine!

So. Internet-Scanny Seatle-Based Kinksters. If you stumble across this little gem of sex and love and kink, come back to it. Maybe, just maybe, you'll find that I've got something new to bring to your cuddle, just like your writing has brought new things to my life.

Ramble

2007-01-06T02:41:00.000-05:00

I went to his house.
The wonderful scene I described last post didn't happen -- club was closed on New Years, which, in the end, was good.
We celebrated it not by being gothy-fetishy in a way we aren't, ussually, nor by being out at a crappy concert, but by doing something deeply, truly US.
We cooked a really fabulous meal (I cooked, he chopped and tasted and advised and companioned) listening to Flogging Molly, we ate it by a fire, we went up stairs and ripped eachother clothes off and went at it like nigh-nymphos who'd been denied eachother for a week, we wandered out, glowing, to the hill outside his house, and as the wind gusted up and the rain began to fall on this warm warm New Years Eve, we watched five or six fireworks displays in surrounding towns, all at once. Instead of champagne we shared a bottle of our favorite hard cider, and went in when we were too cold to stand it, and the fireworks were mostly done.
Later on that night, having been sated once already, he tied me spread eagled to the bed in the guest wing. Either we had sex or he gave me head or both, but I recall being thoroughly sated and happy to be able to burrow into him again.
I see to recall trying to be silent, and having a hard time with it. But that might have been the next night. At times I crawled on the floor and we played like animals, at times I was servile and at times I was dominant. I cannot now recollect any night in its entirety, but all of them were lovely.

The only real note is the acquisition of smartballs. They are much like the chinese zen balls one has as child, either laquered or chrome, that jingle gently and are to be moved in a circle around eachother in one hand, either always touching or never (I forget). They have the same deep inside jingle, which is some small ball or something moving around. There are two of them, silicone rubber and attached by a tough, flexible bit in the middle, and have a cord for withdrawl:

They are inserted vaginally.

My first impression was, I can't feel them. Then, yes I can. That feels weird. I started out sort of waddling, but soon realized I didn't have to. They vibrate, silently and unpredictably. Sometimes they're moving and sometimes they aren't, but they're always strengthening up your vaginal muscles. They are fun for bouncing, and good when one has the leisure to think sexy thoughts. They are not fun at a club especially one at which you want to jump up and down: although they do not tend to for everyday use, they can fall out. And that sucks. But for wandering the house, doing laundry-with-a-tingle, they should be amazing. And I think that in combination with a judiciously used vibrator, they could be really earthshattering.
I will get a new vibrator and tell you all about it as soon as I can.

(A final note: they can be used in anal play, but as they have no taper they are VERY hard to put in. We had the most fun with one ball in and one pressing against the opening: I begin to see the fun of anal beads, but I think something smaller or jelly is necessary. These were pretty intense, and maybe not entirely good.)

Generally, a wonderful sojourn with the boy, and fun new toy, and nothing more to add for a while. Hopefully there will be a week and half of cybersex before the real stuff resumes again.

New Years

2006-12-29T17:31:00.000-05:00

Much like last year, I will be seeing the Boy on New Years. Unlike last year, when we went to a nice out door Canadian folkrock concert in Niagara Falls (Canadia side, of course), this year there is a good chance we will be going to a Goth Club.
I've never been there, but the Boy has (I'm visiting him in his home town), and one time he met a nice lady setting up for quite a large fetish show of the variety in which midgets get hung up by hooks in their back. So I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be many problems if I took him in on a leash, and kept him close by my side, perhaps kneeling when I sit, for the whole night. I'm pretty sure if we chose to stay in role all night, that would be just fine, and I think that he's quite beautiful and would look sweet by my side. Well dressed, well behaved boys make very nice accessories for lovely, tall, impressive Ladies like I can be when I try.
And then, because if I've kept him in role all night I shall have to give him some sort of treat, I suppose I will have to take him home and tie him up, perhaps tie his elbows to his knees as he kneels on the bed, and then I shall use toys and fingers to make him whimper (I tend to take this a little farther than is strictly kind, because I love to listen to his whimper getting higher and higher and more and more desperate). And then, if he has remembered to bring my strap-on home -- I seem to recall he did -- I shall peg him, and he can muffle his shouts in the pillows.
I just want to put my hands on his boney, beautiful hips and look down the line of his back, and slowly push on into him. I want that a whole lot.
And I want to do it when I've kept him waiting all night, when he's had to interact with people, with strangers, knowing what's in store. I want him to be so fully my pet that by the time I get home I don't have to hit him, I don't have to talk to him or tease him very much; the scene will have been going on all night. By the time we get home, it will already be nearing it's finish. The entire sexual aspect will be the release (he's not been touched in a week, unless I miss my guess, and will be wanting from the moment that he sees me).
I think that would be nice.
What do you think, Boy?

(Final note: Boy, if the spirit moves you, I would not be averse to being on the other side of this scenario.)

Time Apart

2006-12-23T01:21:00.000-05:00

Last year at this time I wrote a post like this one, but it mattered more. This is the post that says, the Boy and I are mostly apart for the next month, with a visit in a week and cybersex in between. This time last year I was blogging almost weekly, so it mattered to my supposed readership. Now, I only blog about once a month anyway, so who cares?

I DO!

No scenes for a month?! Un-ac-fucking-ceptable!

Well. We shall simply have to have truly amazing cybersex, and do intense little scenes during our visit. And then more cybersex.

As the Boy has become more comfortable subbing, I have begun to take greater joy in domming. The only downside to this has been that we've moved across the spectrum, and recently I've been dominant far more often than I've been submissive. I worry that I've forgotten how to really let go of control, and I miss it.

I find that what I really need to run a scene is not to plan for it, but to be in the right mood fo it. What the Boy needs is to plan. To remain flexible, as well, but definitely to plan.

And we both need to be able to do scenes when we're relaxed and rested and fed and have a bit of time. Because with the stresses of school, even when he does run a scene I'm not a blank slate, so there have been times I know when he had something great planned and I couldn't get into going the direction he wanted, so we did something else.

Well, no headaches the past two days (I think they might have been tension related?), so maybe, hopefully, when I see him in a week he will have planned and I will be able to bottom and sub without any restrictions on what scene he does, and the bed at the hostel will be stury and have good posts for tying little girls to, and it will be great.

Well. It will be great no matter what.

And who knows? Now that I've got nothing to do but sit around and think about stuff, maybe I'll blog more often, even if I'm not playing. These things happen.

Happy Hollidays, all.
May your bums all be cheery and red.

KinkSex

2006-12-04T12:46:00.000-05:00

So. A bit of background. It's finals and my room is a pit and I've alot of stuff to do that including writing a paper or three and maybe an exam thrown in there as well.
Clearly, this is the perfect time to blog.

So a while back I mentioned the fact that the Boy and I have been edging away from ending scenes with sex. Scenes tend to be self-encapsulated, often followed by sex, but as its own thing rather than the endpoint of the scene itself.
Last night we did it the other way round. Rather than scening without sex, we had seriously kink sex, but without the scene.
We were tired, and I wanted to top him but I had a terrible headache all day and it just didn't seem possible.
And then the headache went away.
I had been teasing him, knowing I was being mean because I couldn't fuck him, and then I realized that actually, I probably could. My teasing was fierce. I pinned him, both on his front and on his back. On his back, I pinned his wrists and lightly bit his offered throat, and ground my pelvis into his. On his front I thrust against his butt, bit his bac and neck and growled into his ear. He writhed a bunch, and made the sweetest little gasping noises.
I didn't use any restraints, because I wanted to be able to move him as I liked, and I wanted to do all of the restraining physically, with my own hands or feet or legs or whatever. I wanted it to be me holding him down, not rope or leather.
The specifics of what I did to him are none of your business, you nasty little things, but thumbs are a good lenght and the prenium is a wonderful (if possibly misspelled) part of the body. I teased him and I teased him and I kept him talking. Telling me about how what I was doing felt, and telling me what he wanted me to do to him, and I made him beg and keep on begging.
And finally I strapped on my cock and let him suck it for a while (because damn, does that boy love to sock my big red dick), and then?
I went back to teasing him. I teased him till he was bucking against my hand and begging, and then I fucked him.
I took him from behind for maybe the first time, and I sort of like the height discrepency. In order to be low enough that I, with my shorter legs, could fuck him, he had to be pretty well pressed into the mattress. That was nice.
But slightly to difficult to really get off, so eventually I ordered him to flip over, and I grabbed his ankles and held them in the air, and I fucked him.
I was careful to make sure my cock was actually moving in and out of him; it's very easy to just push my pelvis against his butt and not get much friction going.
The friction is good. Love the friction.
I fucked him and he writhed and moaned and then he begged me to fuck him deeper.
This has never happened.
I might have maybe lost it alittle.
I let him touch himself and held his ankles and fucked him about as hard as I could (I'm sill learning. This whole thrusting thing isn't as hardwired into my brain as it is for boys.) and I told him to scream when he came.
And he did.
He came for a long time.

Later on he gave me some very enjoyable head. But the highlight of the night was watching him spasm through that orgasm.

wee.

Go Go GloRoMo!

2006-11-16T15:24:00.000-05:00

So, the amazing Greydancer has set out a goal for the entire ropebondage community. I believe the figure is 55,000 feet of rope used, as a community, in a month. With little weekly challanges and prizes and all sorts of fun stuff, plus an awesome showcasing of the rope work from amateur to masterful from all over the place.
We just posted our first picture. The stripey legs are mine, the ropework is Boy's, and we plan to get more up with every passing day.
I should point out, though, that "colors" is not a fair weekly category, as it doesn't take any sort of skill, just the money to get the rope. Or the time to photoshop it, which we considered... You'll see what we went with when you go check it out:

http://www.graydancer.com/gallery/

Click on the GloRoMo gallery.

Look for my legs (they're on the third page)!
And if you read this and you like rope, contribute, please! And if you read this and you have suggestions for me, either to tie up the Boy or to have him tie me, leave a comment! And if you read this at all, keep an eye on that page, because there will be more pictures of the both of us (and I don't believe any have yet been posted of Boy, anywhere).

In summation: Go, Go, GloRoMo!

How did I miss that?

2006-11-12T14:30:00.000-05:00

Somehow when I wasn't looking I passed a thousand site hits. WOW!
For those of you who've been quietly passing by and noticing not a lot getting posted, the Boy and I have been busy in the worst sort of way. Our schedules work out all wrong, either we've got too much time together or none at all, and when we've got too much we use it poorly. All of which adds up to not alot of sceneing, but we are both missing it, and we will try to bring it back, if we can.
And I should add, there is definitely stuff going on... it's just that this is a blog about BDSM, and not about the fact that he bought me roses for the first time, or that we are getting well known at the place we go for breakfast once a week, or even the way his face looks when we're tired out and and we've been talking long after we should have stopped and his eyes are starting to get wet.
There's been stuff going on, alright, but this is not the place for it, so I've been keeping pretty silent.
Well. Here are a few things we've been finding:

We love pet play. Adore it. It was something I recognized in myself before I got to be comfortable with it, so it's actually been going on a little while, I just didn't know if I wanted the world to know. We don't go in for bowls and such (well, I don't. He might be a different story), but we've tended to wrap our hands up with vetwrap so they're more like paws, and we wrestle and give scritches and play fetch. I try not to think of it in terms of puppy play or kitty play, but he likes fetch alot, while I prefer to bat at things and get tangled up in rope.
There's something incredibly soothing about letting go of humanity entirely, and just letting somebody take care of you without even having to speak.

Of course, I also miss being completely dominated by somebody elses will, while remaining human. It takes more effort on the part of the Dominant to run a scene like that, more planning and a bigger change in attitude. It's less relaxing, but I think it can be just as rewarding.
Only, if things don't work, it's crippling. One can never fail to toss the ball for one's pet, but one can fail pretty amazingly at doing a good job with shibari or even flogging, or at making a scene like that run smoothly.

And sometimes, we're both animals, and those times are maybe the best times. One or the other of us asserts dominance, closes teeth lightly around the offered throat, growls. We've had sex where niether of us spoke, where it was mate and mate instead of boyfriend and girlfriend or Dom and sub. It's a matter of mood and that's all there is too it, but it's pretty mindblowing when it works out.

Um. We've also been doing some sensory dep stuff, and I'm getting into it. I like being truly blind, no light beneath the edge of the blindfold, nothing. I think it heightens my senses alot, works very well with sensation play. And leaving people alone when in sensory depp mode can be great, but if you've stopped their ears, be very careful that they hear you when you say you're going away and will be right back. The Boy was just a little too quiet, and instead of hearing that he would be back, I went from being touched to not being touched, with no information as to what was going on. I panicked, called out for him several times, and when he came back (he'd only walked a few feet away from the bed) had him let me out. It's something I'd like to try again, but carefully. It was pretty scary, that time.

We need to do more with shibari, because we both love it. We hadn't used our restraints at all for ages until we did a small scene yesterday. I think we've basically agreed to try and do some shibari stuff outside of scening. When it doesn't work out in-scene, the Dominants confidance is just shattered (well, mine is. Boy's alot better with rope than I am, just yet) and it can ruin the mood entirely. But I do want to get better, and I love rope even, I just need to get more comfortable with it, both being tied up and tying.
I think we need to do scenes with our restraints, and our floggers, but mostly with our words and our minds. We've been trying to advance technically, and have lost alot of our skill with words and with setting up a mood. Used to be, the scene was entirely planned and set up when the submissive arrived, and we always began scenes the same way. The sub would be told to strip and stand, eyes on the floor, while the Dom touched them in all the fun ways they could. If the sub couldn't stay still, they were in trouble. It was amazing to know that I was being held in place by my Master's will alone.
The first time I wrote about BDSM, I described crawling across the floor towards my Master, my restraints dangling from my mouth, knowing that he was going to put them on me and then do terrible things to me. I felt totally at ease, I felt comforted and taken care of, I didn't know what was in store for me but I knew that my Master had it all planned, that he would make me moan and scream and make me happy. I was dominated, I was servile, but I was cared for and taken care of.

That is what we need to get back to. I don't know how we'll accomplish it. But I know we can. I know it might take a little while, I know we're out of practice and we don't know where to start and as finals approach our schedules aren't getting any easier, but I know we care about it, and I know we both need it, so we'll manage it somehow.

We'll get back there. We'll start soon.

I can't wait.

Hillarious Moments in BDSM, vol. 1

2006-11-01T02:12:00.000-05:00

Today I was feeling a bit out of sorts and needing some sort of release, so the Boy very kindly agreed to give me a quick flogging. He started heavy and upon my urgings got heavier and heavier, till at the end, he told me later, he was literally hitting me as hard as he could, and I ate it up and finally called "stop", and we curled up on the bed I'd been bent over. And I banged my ankle, lightly on the bedpost and cried out "OW! FUCK! owww...." and he looked at me, and we both just cracked the hell up.

Rope

2006-10-20T00:26:00.000-04:00

Boy here, writing under Mistress' watchful eye (actually, she's studying on the other end of the bed)... deciding she really wanted me to write about one of our scenes, she's not going to let me get her off until I write about what she just did to me. First, I should mention that for my birthday a few weeks ago, I got Midori's book on Japanese bondage from a like-minded friend, and gave myself a few pieces of wonderful hemp rope. While I'd used the rope on Switch before, she hadn't gotten a chance to try it out on me. So I asked her to tie me up, expecting to be played with, probably hit, and maybe fucked. In one of the nice little rituals we've established, I put my butt plug in a while before she came over... it's been a while, and I'd forgotten both how intense the sensation is, and how clear a reminder it is of what's to come. It's much more D/s than S/M, which is a really good direction for us, and a lot of fun. Well, maybe fun's not the word for the butt plug, though Mistress would argue that the noises I make when she plays with it are lots of fun. Either way, the real fun of the scene was the rope. I love rope, both in kinky and vanilla settings, and I'm rediscovering just how much I like to be tied up. So Switch tied me in a chest harness and a set of beautiful diamond patterns across my torso (naturally, with rope between my legs resting on the butt plug), and ended up just leaving me lying on the bed for a while. That, in a way, was more freeing than anything else - I could just relax, feel the way the rope tightened around me as I breathed, and enjoy being helpless and immobile. There was teasing, too, eventually, and other little games, but the feeling of giving in to the bondage, as trite as it sounds, is what sticks with me. Hopefully more posts to come, and more playing to be done, but now, I go to get my Mistress off.

Play Hard

2006-10-08T13:34:00.000-04:00

Three nights. Three in a row, Thursday Friday Saturday. The first night we did some Shibari but I was restless, and I curled over so my back was towards Him and said "hit me". And He hit me. And I said "harder", and He hit harder. And i still wanted harder...
At the end of the night we were happy and amazed, and I thought about it all day. It hurt, and I like it. It hurt, and I knew it hurt and identified it as pain, but for the first time it was really a good thing.
The pain that isn't pain.
The night we tried it again, and hit maybe even harder, Boy says, and I liked that too.
At the party, we tried it again, and we figured it out. I can take a thuddy better than stingy, because the pain is less immediate so I can go farther with it. I like being hit to the rhythm of a song. I like the hitting to increase in intensity, to come and go, and I really liked doing the impact scene at the party where we just took it till I finally couldn't take anymore, and then stopped. And was groggy and fabulous and let down for cuddles and I got a drink and it was just great.
Tonight I'm going to see if the fact that I like alot more pain than I expected means that maybe he likes alot more pain, too.
Finally, I should note this makes me happy. I hadn't known how far we were going to get with the Scene, if niether of us really liked doing anything too intense. It turns out that we should go ahead and try stuff (no, really?). But I guess only when we want to? Because I doubt I'd have been as happy if he'd jut started hitting me really hard, instead of my asking for it before hand.
Well. We'll see. In anycase, it makes me happy, yes indeed it does.

Even if it makes Boy's arms and wrists ache.

P.S. I want brownies. Anybody have any brownies?

He Pastures His Flock Among the Lillies...

2006-09-27T22:52:00.001-04:00

There is something in the Song of Songs that is sexier than porn, sexier than beautiful movie stars, as sexy as my Master's hand twined in my hair.
"I am my beloved and my beloved is mine"
And I am feeling clean and lovely, and I am not wearing a bra, which is only a rare thing for me yet. I now love the feeling of my breasts moving bellow my tanktop, I love the look of them, unshaped, shapely in the mirror. I am pleased with my collarbones and my long thin arms. Many things, at this moment, are pleasing to me, in a strange, sexy, biblical and lonely sort of way.

So, not actually a BDSM post, but not one I could put in my vanilla LJ, either.

Swinging!

2006-09-18T14:17:00.000-04:00

Last night at 12:30 we decided that maybe we weren't so tired after all.

Yesterday day we found http://www.partnersentwine.com/. Wow, says I! And it's like the shibari switch has been clicked. Why let him do all the tying? He may have more know-how now, but I can learn, and if I actually stop and take the time to tie him up, I'm fine at it.

So, I tie him up with his knees bent and tied to the center-beam, thus that he cannot move this.
He retaliates by tying me up with my legs suspended, but my back lying on the bed.

He gets home late. We eat some frenchfries.

And then we do our first full suspension.

It wasn't a scene, I was fully clothed. There were rope bands at my ankles, knees, at each thigh where they meet my body, around my lower waist, and I believe one above and one below my breasts, though I might be making one up. The two thigh bands were tied to the one near my hips, so that the weight was at my center of gravity, over my hips.

It took two pulleys and a fair amount of thinking and reworking, but I spent perhaps five minutes suspended a foot above the bed.

I can't really describe the rush. We just felt so accomplished and fabulous and I got to swing around and it was great. More tonight, probably... we want to practice alot over the bed, making sure we're comfortable with bands and weight distribution and everything, because if we take half an hour or an hour doing the tying and getting me up for a few minutes every night or so, in two weeks we can probably do it at our party.

Hu-fucking-zzah.

Rope enthusiasts reading this blog, write in with questions or comments, or if you want to see the pictures. They're not great, but they're something.

Final notes: more rope will be useful, so that the bands are wider, and if we're going to do it for any length of time over 5 minutes, we'll need to find some way to hold my head up.

In anycase, we've started, and it's great, and I simply can't wait to do more!

Domming

2006-09-15T13:57:00.000-04:00

Y'know what's fun? Domming.
Y'know what's silly? How incredibly difficult it was for My pet to pick up even the simplest lessons. How hard is "Don't give advice unless you're uncomfortable or I ask for it?" Apparently, really hard.
But it's ok. The more he fucked up, the more I got to hit him.
Bad pets = good pets. Isn't that funny?

It was a very intense scene. He should tell you about it sometime.

Handcuffs and bootblacking

2006-09-13T23:10:00.000-04:00

A SCENE!
He was Master and I was pet. He told me to come to him without my panties or my bra, so I went down to his room through the house knowing in an odd sort of way that I was naked under my clothes (I am a girl who always has her undies on). He had me pick toys out of the toy box that I wanted to play with (I picked various restraints, the handcuffs, a feather) and then he had me point at every one of our impact toys and say where I wanted it. That's three floggers, a carriage whip and a crop.
Then we got started.
He cuffed my hands in front of me and he had pushed my shirt up over my breasts and unzipped my pants, but left it there. It was difficult for me, this sort of disarray, with my pants constantly slipping down over my ass and my breasts jutting awkwardly from beneath my bunched up tanktop. He teased me a bit, obviously, and then he had me get onto the floor and black his boots. Which I did as best I could in the cramped position and poor light. Bootblacking is still a bit of a struggle: I care much more about the eventual state of his boots than he does. There is no threat of imminent punishment if I don't do a good job, and there is no chance that I wouldn't do a job good enough to please him. Still, I like to make things pretty and I like to be of service, so blacking was fun, especially with the added obstacle of the cuffs connecting my wrists.

Here my memory fails. Somehow my hands got cuffed behind my back, but I'm not sure for what. I think that probably it was so that I could suck his cock. I have a very nice image of kneeling on the floor looking up at him, all disarrayed, and sucking his cock, hands cuffed behind my back, while he fists his hands in my hair and moves my head back and forth as he likes it.
I hope that really happened.

At some point it began to hurt to kneel (I twisted my ankle recently, and it's been giving me some trouble) so I asked him if I could lie down. He said yes, which I did, on the cuffs. He said something I couldn't hear, and then repeated it: I was to roll over. I hadn't known it, but lying on handcuffed wrists is a good way to injure yourself. In the end he uncuffed me and had me strip and put on restraints. Then he blind folded me and restrained me, spread eagled on the bed, and started hitting me. I know that at some point in the night he had me spread eagled face down, and that he hit me with the a flogger that we made by unraveling nylon rope and knotting the little ends (a sting and a thunk, all at once), and I know that he smacked me with the crop and with the flick, and I know that at some point in the night I was spread eagled face up and that the flick was on my breasts, as was a small flogger, and I know that at some point I was on my hands and knees, but I cannot at this point remember what the order was.

Oh! I remember a huge portion. I think before any of the spread eagle-ing, He clipped my ankel restraints together and atached them to a rope attached to a pulley attached to the hook in the center bar of the bed, and then he clipped my wrist restraints together around them, and pulled on the rope. So I was lying on my back with my nethers in the air. I recall a fair amount of crop use in this position. It was very, very nice.
Less nice was the bit of anal play we did. I decided I wanted to give it another go, based, oddly enough, on my most recent visit to the gyno. She had done a rectal exam, which I'd never had before. And, oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. So I thought, Ok, Boy's interested, let's go ahead and try it.
My gyno has much smaller fingers than my Boy. On the other hand, she also had a thick gel lube, which is said to make quite a bit of difference. So I'm figuring I'll get a small thing of good lube (I can use it on him if nothing else) and we'll give it one more go.

Anyway, in the end he fucked me, spread eagled and face down, a position that I like because I feel so surrounded by him. And then he called me lover, and it was very nice indeed. A real scene.

Boy is starting to push me painwise. I called Yellow maybe three or four times last night, and that was good. I'm really glad I'm able to do that now. It's nice to have the edge there. The SM aspect is rising a bit, and I'm comfortable with that. What I'd really like is to see teh D/s aspect rise more. I'm not sure how that could happen. I'll have to ask the Boy what sort of headspace he's in when I'm Domming.
One very nice thing I saw people doing at the party was pushing incredibly hard, and rather than being cruel Masters/Mistresses, helping their pet along. Like, it hurts and I know it hurts, but look at me. I care about you. Depend on me, I will not injure you. I will take care of you.

I'm not sure there's anything we can or might be doing that would work like that. It takes either constant communication or the Top really knowing what they're about.

Anyhow. All random thoughts.
It was a good scene. It's my turn now.

Rope!

2006-09-09T14:43:00.000-04:00

Fun for the whole family, it seems. We ran our little workshop, and indeed, it was little. But it was very nice! People came and practiced some basic stuff, I met the new folkes who saw our fliers and e-mailed us, life worked out well. It was alot of fun, if a little disorganized. Today, at some point, we meet and discuss such things as when we will hold our first party.
We are discovering that administrative duties are hard.
BUT! We took a bunch of kids on a fieldtrip to our favorite toy store, and I very nearly bought a steel-boned leather corset, and then didn't because it was almost five hundred dollars and didn't fit quite right, even if it did make my waist little like I were a wasp. We did buy a carriage whip type thing, and our friend bought a cybergoth shirt, and I bought two pair of suspender pantyhose, which were not as nice as I wanted them to be, alas.
The whip, though, is just exactly as nice as I wanted it to be. It is very stingy, which I love, and brings me to calling Yellow in a way that I can accept. Sting, Sting STING STING TOO MUCh and then I call Yellow and it goes away, which is neat. If I got to the point of calling Yellow with something like spanking, the pain'd just stick around and be no fun for anybody.
But I like the whip.
That said: We. Need. To. Scene.
I miss it. I get really excited about it when we plan it at 10:00, and then when we stumble up stairs at 3:00 I'm usually at least somewhat altered, and incredibly tired, and I can't face the hour or more of it, I just want to collapse.
And at the end of the night, after another sort of pseudo-scene and what is invariably really great sex, I still miss it. I miss Domming as well as subbing, but either way sometime in the next... well, tonight. Maybe tomorrow, latest, we need to go up stairs before the fun is over, and make some of our own. I want emotion. I want set up. I want a reallio truelio scene.
All that said, yesterday was a fabulous day, and life is going very well, even if I am all crazy and emotional, and I'm sure everything will be fine forever and ever.
Also, this is the third post since last the Boy even commented. I vote everybody else who reads this writes in and tells him how remiss he's been.