Once upon a time, far off in a remote kingdom, there lived a young princess whose only wish was to feel true happiness. She searched far and wide, looking for happiness, but after traveling to the far corners of her kingdom, she still had not found it. So she called upon scholars, artisans, minstrels, and jesters from around the kingdom, and welcomed them into her castle, hoping one among them could make her happy; but none could.
Feeling desperate, she invited the three most renown and exalted wizards in the world to her castle, and promised them whoever could make her feel true happiness would win her hand in marriage and share her throne.
The first wizard was an arrogant man who was used to thinking himself right about all things. After contemplating the princess's tale of woe for all of two minutes, he decided that the lady was suffering from acute loneliness. So he pulled out his magic wand--a thick, heavy tool--waved it in the air, and immediately, all the men standing around the princess became infatuated with her. They began to sing her praises and cry out their love; they tripped over themselves in their attempts to kiss her toes.
This was not what the princess wanted. She kicked the men away, and when that didn't work to subdue them, she ordered her guards to carry them out. She ordered the first wizard out with them, too. And so went the first wizard.
The second wizard was a scornful, chauvinistic man. Thinking the princess's unhappiness stemmed from her natural stupidity born from being a woman, he pulled out his magic wand--not as heavy as the first wizard's, but twice as long--and waved it in the air. Immediately, the princess gained new insight into the hearts and minds of all her subjects. She knew all their dirty little secret indulgences and fears.
This was not what the princess wanted. She ordered all her subjects away, including her guard. She also had them kill the wretched wizard outside the castle walls in order to break his terrible spell. And so went the second wizard.
All that was left within the castle was the princess and the third wizard. Now it just so happened that this wizard knew the princess very well. He had, in fact, been in love with her his entire life. He loved her for her elegance, her wit, her charm, and her determination. He also knew this was his only chance to claim the princess as his own, and was not about to let the opportunity, or the princess, escape him.
"My lady, I can help you find true happiness," he said. "But you must do exactly what I say. Kneel down on all fours."
With no one else there to witness her degradation, the princess did as told, and knelt on the cold stone floor like an obedient dog. A second later, she felt her skirt being ripped away; and before she could stand to protest, she felt her wrists being tied smartly behind her back with the material of her skirt.
The wizard pulled out his wand--a thin, wippy rod, not as heavy as the first wizard's nor as long as the second's, but sturdy nonetheless--and began to whip it across the sloping haunches of the princess's very smooth, and very delicate, ass. She hollered and she cursed, but he held her still, and with each snap of his wrist, a new red line appeared across her satiny flesh.
Once she was done with her yells and shrieks and lay inert upon the floor, ass up but face resting on cool stone tile, a dreamy smile playing across her face, he ordered her up, doffed his clothes, and ordered her to straddle him. She did so without protest, sitting atop his pelvis right there on the floor of the royal hall, and when he lifted her hips and planted her right on his unyielding cock, breaching her vaginal cunt in one single penetration, she barely whimpered.
He rocked her hips and ground her slippery cunt against his groin until she got the hang of it, found her natural rhythm, and took over. As the grimace that had masked her pretty features disappeared, becoming a look of stern concentration, the wizard sat up, grabbed his wand, wet it with his mouth and tongue, and then unceremoniously poked it into the princess's tight-ringed ass. The princess let out a high-pierced shriek as he did, and lifted up nearly off his prick, but the wizard pushed her back, and she bounded up and down his glistening cock with growing desperation.
The wizard twisted and gored his wand up her rear channel with grim determination as the princess fucked his cock, milking him with her virgin cunt, until they both came in thunderous explosion, bucking their hips and grinding against each other in quivering, shuddering need. As the princess collapsed over the wizard's body, breathing like a filly after a spirited race, a tranquil smile spread across her lips. She was completely, and perfectly, happy.
After cleaning themselves off and making their attire once more presentable, the princess called in all her subjects and declared the third wizard to be the winner of her hand in marriage. And they lived happily ever after.
Moral of the story is this: it's not the size or shape of the wand that counts. It's not even always the magic it can do. It's the strength, and control, of the hand that wields it.
:P
And here, for your enjoyment, is the Alligator King song from Sesame Street, in case you feel like a trip down memory lane.
Showing posts with label Cause Not Everything Has to be Kink. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cause Not Everything Has to be Kink. Show all posts
Thursday, January 30, 2014
The D/s Relationships Nobody's Talking About
This post is (partially) in response to Sylvanus's Post, How D/s Relationships Work, and Sub Girl's post on the subject.
While I've been married for a long time, I still have single girlfriends, and a single sister, who sometime enjoy telling me their "matchmaker date" horror stories. They'll be set up with a guy through a mutual friend, and go on a blind date with him, only to find that not only did the two of them not have anything in common, but the mutual friend should have been able to realize immediately the match would never have worked.
And then they go back to the friend who set them up in the first place, and ask what the hell made them think it would be a good match. Inevitably, they get a stupid answer like this one:
"He's short, and you're short, so I thought it would be a good match."
"You're both a bit...plump? So I thought you'd go well together."
"You're both red heads, I thought you'd make such cute kids."
"You both seem so smart to me. I thought two smart people would have a lot in common."
"You're both vegetarian."
Hopefully, you're reading these answers and also rolling your eyes. After all, it's silly to think two people would be a good match simply because they have the same dietary restrictions, or look relatively the same, or have the same IQ.
But too many times, people don't recognize they're using the same over-simplistic approach when it comes to BDSM and kink. They assume if two people share the most general of fetishes (anal sex, foot fetish, etc), or have a couple basic needs that complement each other (Dom/sub, masochist/sadist), then a relationship will automatically fall into place.
This is bullshit.
BDSM is only one aspect of a relationship. Granted, how big an aspect it is depends on the couple. When Husband and I first started "getting serious," we had some pretty honest discussions about our views on religion, politics, family life, and the like. With some of those things, there was no room for negotiation: we either agreed, or we did not. Had we not, the relationship would have ended.
Even so, through time, our views have changed and adapted. That's life. But there are some things that a couple must stand united on, or the foundation of the relationship is built on sand. In the end, it will crumble.
For some people, aspects of their kinks are "non-negotiable." They are looking for someone who can fill their kinky needs. Which is fine, if they are being honest and forthcoming about what their needs are.
But that doesn't mean anyone who can fill those desires, complement their kinks, is automatically the person who can have a long-term, meaningful relationship with them. It just means there's a possibility there for a good, strong, foundation. Building a relationship takes time, and effort, and not just in the bedroom (or whatever room you use for play).
On the other hand...
Thinking that D/s relationships are somehow more doomed to fail because they are D/s relationships is silly and narrow-sighted.
BDSM is about power exchange, granted. Many D/s relationships are TPE, total power exchanges, although I don't know how anyone could fathom a guess how many BDSM relationships are also TPEs; it's not like there have been studies or statistics done on the matter.
What I can tell you is that many, MANY people out there have D/s TPE relationships and don't belong to any "scene," have never even heard of "BDSM," and frankly, don't give a righteous fuck. How do I know? Because I associate with these people every day.
Wives who give complete control to their husbands. Husbands who expect their wives to obey and submit, naturally, no questions asked. Women who are punished, one way or the other, when they refuse, argue, or talk back to their Dominant males. These are D/s relationships, whether they know it or not.
But they don't think of this as TPE, and they certainly don't define their relationships in terms of Domination, submission, power exchange, or any other words those in the BDSM world use on a regular basis. To them, this kind of relationship is completely natural, as it should be between man and wife. They don't put it in terms of kink; it just is the way it is. And if you suggested to them that maybe what they have can be put into kinky BDSM terms, they would not just be surprised, they would be affronted.
I get the feeling many people in the BDSM world think kinky people have some kind of monopoly on TPE relationships. That's hogwash. Just because others don't show themselves and advertise their lifestyles in clubs, on Fetlife, or what have you, that doesn't mean they're not out there.
And guess what? Their relationships are doing fine. Better than fine, I would argue. These are people who get married young and stay married forever. I guess one could argue that being married and staying married does not signify a healthy relationship. But then, I could argue that a divorce does not signify a failed one, either.
For instance, my grandparents got legally divorced when my grandfather had to go into a nursing home, so my grandmother wouldn't be left destitute. But they remained religiously married, and she visited him every single day in his nursing home. I would not call that a failed relationship. How many other marriages end on paper for one reason or another, while the relationship itself continues? Does anyone know for sure? Has anyone done any research? I think not.
D/s relationships are difficult, yes, but I would argue, no more or less difficult than any other type of relationship. It takes trust, and honesty, and open communication. It takes time, and work, and let's face it, it takes luck. There needs to be that certain chemistry there that no one can define, even though we all know what it is, because we've all felt it at one point or another.
For those who know that BDSM and kink will need to be an integral part of any relationship they have, looking for someone who shares their beliefs from the get-go is a good idea. But it will not automatically save a relationship doomed to fail, nor will it doom an otherwise healthy relationship. It will just be another aspect of day-to-day living the couple will have negotiate and decide for themselves.
While I've been married for a long time, I still have single girlfriends, and a single sister, who sometime enjoy telling me their "matchmaker date" horror stories. They'll be set up with a guy through a mutual friend, and go on a blind date with him, only to find that not only did the two of them not have anything in common, but the mutual friend should have been able to realize immediately the match would never have worked.
And then they go back to the friend who set them up in the first place, and ask what the hell made them think it would be a good match. Inevitably, they get a stupid answer like this one:
"He's short, and you're short, so I thought it would be a good match."
"You're both a bit...plump? So I thought you'd go well together."
"You're both red heads, I thought you'd make such cute kids."
"You both seem so smart to me. I thought two smart people would have a lot in common."
"You're both vegetarian."
Hopefully, you're reading these answers and also rolling your eyes. After all, it's silly to think two people would be a good match simply because they have the same dietary restrictions, or look relatively the same, or have the same IQ.
But too many times, people don't recognize they're using the same over-simplistic approach when it comes to BDSM and kink. They assume if two people share the most general of fetishes (anal sex, foot fetish, etc), or have a couple basic needs that complement each other (Dom/sub, masochist/sadist), then a relationship will automatically fall into place.
This is bullshit.
BDSM is only one aspect of a relationship. Granted, how big an aspect it is depends on the couple. When Husband and I first started "getting serious," we had some pretty honest discussions about our views on religion, politics, family life, and the like. With some of those things, there was no room for negotiation: we either agreed, or we did not. Had we not, the relationship would have ended.
Even so, through time, our views have changed and adapted. That's life. But there are some things that a couple must stand united on, or the foundation of the relationship is built on sand. In the end, it will crumble.
For some people, aspects of their kinks are "non-negotiable." They are looking for someone who can fill their kinky needs. Which is fine, if they are being honest and forthcoming about what their needs are.
But that doesn't mean anyone who can fill those desires, complement their kinks, is automatically the person who can have a long-term, meaningful relationship with them. It just means there's a possibility there for a good, strong, foundation. Building a relationship takes time, and effort, and not just in the bedroom (or whatever room you use for play).
On the other hand...
Thinking that D/s relationships are somehow more doomed to fail because they are D/s relationships is silly and narrow-sighted.
BDSM is about power exchange, granted. Many D/s relationships are TPE, total power exchanges, although I don't know how anyone could fathom a guess how many BDSM relationships are also TPEs; it's not like there have been studies or statistics done on the matter.
What I can tell you is that many, MANY people out there have D/s TPE relationships and don't belong to any "scene," have never even heard of "BDSM," and frankly, don't give a righteous fuck. How do I know? Because I associate with these people every day.
Wives who give complete control to their husbands. Husbands who expect their wives to obey and submit, naturally, no questions asked. Women who are punished, one way or the other, when they refuse, argue, or talk back to their Dominant males. These are D/s relationships, whether they know it or not.
But they don't think of this as TPE, and they certainly don't define their relationships in terms of Domination, submission, power exchange, or any other words those in the BDSM world use on a regular basis. To them, this kind of relationship is completely natural, as it should be between man and wife. They don't put it in terms of kink; it just is the way it is. And if you suggested to them that maybe what they have can be put into kinky BDSM terms, they would not just be surprised, they would be affronted.
I get the feeling many people in the BDSM world think kinky people have some kind of monopoly on TPE relationships. That's hogwash. Just because others don't show themselves and advertise their lifestyles in clubs, on Fetlife, or what have you, that doesn't mean they're not out there.
And guess what? Their relationships are doing fine. Better than fine, I would argue. These are people who get married young and stay married forever. I guess one could argue that being married and staying married does not signify a healthy relationship. But then, I could argue that a divorce does not signify a failed one, either.
For instance, my grandparents got legally divorced when my grandfather had to go into a nursing home, so my grandmother wouldn't be left destitute. But they remained religiously married, and she visited him every single day in his nursing home. I would not call that a failed relationship. How many other marriages end on paper for one reason or another, while the relationship itself continues? Does anyone know for sure? Has anyone done any research? I think not.
D/s relationships are difficult, yes, but I would argue, no more or less difficult than any other type of relationship. It takes trust, and honesty, and open communication. It takes time, and work, and let's face it, it takes luck. There needs to be that certain chemistry there that no one can define, even though we all know what it is, because we've all felt it at one point or another.
For those who know that BDSM and kink will need to be an integral part of any relationship they have, looking for someone who shares their beliefs from the get-go is a good idea. But it will not automatically save a relationship doomed to fail, nor will it doom an otherwise healthy relationship. It will just be another aspect of day-to-day living the couple will have negotiate and decide for themselves.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Some Changes are Afoot.
Well, if you've ever visited this blog before, you'll see right away all the links to my titles are gone.
This is because I've decided to take the advice of the lovely Molly, who I would kiss back if I could. Apparently my blog is suffering under something of an identity crisis, and I did not realize! Poor blog. :(
So I'm going to be making some changes to (hopefully) fix things and make it easier for readers who stop by and are looking for advice, information, or just some playful kink.
Perhaps the biggest change of all will be the blog title. Molly is right, the title does not reflect the blog, but...I have no idea what to name it.
SO! If you have any ideas, and would like to share, please send me your suggestions.
Winner gets a free copy of all four stories in Masters of the Hotel Bentmoore! (Once they are out.)
Losers will have me cringing like this!
So thanks again to Molly!
To everyone who's just joining: thanks for the visit, hope you'll stay awhile! I'll be adding categories in the next few days to make it easier for people to navigate the blog, so do come back!
One more quick note: If you are planning on submitting a picture for the COVER CONTEST, please make sure it does not show girly-bits. And please make sure it is not something so inappropriate I will be arrested for showing it. This is a serious contest, I do not need submissions like this one:
Thank you!
This is because I've decided to take the advice of the lovely Molly, who I would kiss back if I could. Apparently my blog is suffering under something of an identity crisis, and I did not realize! Poor blog. :(
So I'm going to be making some changes to (hopefully) fix things and make it easier for readers who stop by and are looking for advice, information, or just some playful kink.
Perhaps the biggest change of all will be the blog title. Molly is right, the title does not reflect the blog, but...I have no idea what to name it.
SO! If you have any ideas, and would like to share, please send me your suggestions.
Winner gets a free copy of all four stories in Masters of the Hotel Bentmoore! (Once they are out.)
Losers will have me cringing like this!
To everyone who's just joining: thanks for the visit, hope you'll stay awhile! I'll be adding categories in the next few days to make it easier for people to navigate the blog, so do come back!
One more quick note: If you are planning on submitting a picture for the COVER CONTEST, please make sure it does not show girly-bits. And please make sure it is not something so inappropriate I will be arrested for showing it. This is a serious contest, I do not need submissions like this one:
Thank you!
Sunday, January 26, 2014
*FOLSOM!*
I arrived in San Francisco early yesterday, about 9:45 AM, and took a cab from the train station to Folsom Ave. so I wouldn't have to walk it. Boy, was I sure glad I did; it started to drizzle as soon as I got there! After all the work I had done fixing my hair at home, the rain ruined it. :( Oh well.
I got a coffee at a local diner, called @winsome_gypsy, found out she and her group was still at the hotel (because duh, the fair started at 11:00 and not at 10:00 like I'd originally thought), and hung out to wait. The street was pretty empty, booths were still being set up...and the light rain was keeping people under whatever cover they could find.
Finally, around 10:30, things started to happen. Most of the booths were basically open for business, and people were starting to show up.
And then, all of a sudden, I felt like I had entered another planet.
A planet where every single fetish under the sun can come and play.
There were the ponies.
The puppies.
There were the dress-ups I had no fucking clue about.
(Yes, that's the key chain Husband bought me. I asked this guy to hold it for the picture, and he was afraid to touch it; I realized too late he was worried about where it had been, like he was afraid it was my sex toy or something. I thought it was hysterical that the guy was ballsy enough to dress like that, but cringing at the thought of holding my key chain. I think he was cringing. It was hard to tell with the mask and all.)
There were these naked dancers, doing some kind of strange modern-art dance, which frankly I did not understand AT ALL and thought quite boring after just a few minutes.
After a while, I realized something: I was fascinated by all the people/kink/fetish around me, but that wasn't what I was looking for. That wasn't what was exciting me. No, what I wanted to see was some BDSM action. I wanted to see some SPANKING.
I wanted to see some BONDAGE.
I wanted to see people propped up against a St. Andrew's Cross and worked over.
I got a coffee at a local diner, called @winsome_gypsy, found out she and her group was still at the hotel (because duh, the fair started at 11:00 and not at 10:00 like I'd originally thought), and hung out to wait. The street was pretty empty, booths were still being set up...and the light rain was keeping people under whatever cover they could find.
Finally, around 10:30, things started to happen. Most of the booths were basically open for business, and people were starting to show up.
And then, all of a sudden, I felt like I had entered another planet.
A planet where every single fetish under the sun can come and play.
There were the ponies.
There were these naked dancers, doing some kind of strange modern-art dance, which frankly I did not understand AT ALL and thought quite boring after just a few minutes.
So I hung around the spanking sections for the most part, when I wasn't doing my shopping or meeting up with people.
I got some really nice stuff there. Cuffs, a new gag, a cane...I got a really cute mini-flogger for five bucks, not because I needed one, but because it was too adorable not to buy. I told the guy, it looks like two big floggers got together and bred a little baby flogger. He had a good laugh.
Some of the highlights of the day:
I found a guy with a rather unusual hebrew tattoo.
I asked him about it, and he said it's the first three letters of God's name in Kabbalah, or something funky like that. I was just kind of like, 'oh.'
Then he told me that he was aware of the fact that the tattoo could also be read as a word, Sho'ah, which in hebrew is the word for the Holocaust. But that was not how his tattoo was supposed to be read. Then he showed me how his friend has the same tattoo--like that makes it all okay.
What I wanted to say was, 'hey, whatever floats your boat, man. I mean, if you want to have a tattoo that could be read as Sho'ah (but not really, you're missing a letter in there, if you actually knew some hebrew you'd know that), then whatever, it's your skin. At least it's legible; which, when dealing with hebrew tattoos, is a crap-shoot.'
What I said was, "it's nice. Thank you very much for letting me take your picture."
The other funny thing that happened was in a store called Mr S Leather, which I visited upon recommendation. It was filled with gay men, mostly young; understandable, given the store and the day. But many of these men looked at me like I was somehow intruding on their turf just by walking in the door. Some looked at me and turned away, others looked in surprise; but a few actually sneered at me.
Inside the store, I started checking out their selection of butt plugs, because I'm always checking out butt plugs whenever I see any available (anal slut, hello).
A couple of guys came up to me; I didn't notice them right away, until one of them said to me,
"Thinking of buying one?"
Without turning around, I said, "No." Then I heard him snickering, and looked up to see him passing a smug look to his friend, as if to say, see?
I sighed, looked down at the plug, and said, "I have too many already. Besides, this one is way too small."
The shocked look on both their faces was priceless. PRICELESS.
I hope I taught them that gay men do NOT have some kind of monopoly on anal sex. Straight women enjoy it, too.
Overall, the day was awesome.
Tomorrow: What I Learned
Taking the Skirt Back
School had a strict rule: girls had to wear skirts. The skirts had to cover the knees while sitting, and they couldn't be too tight. If the skirt had a slit in the back or sides, the slit could not rise above the knees.
If the skirt was too short, or deemed too "immodest" by any teacher, the girl was sent home to change.
The thing was, the school expected the girls to follow the dress codes out of school, as well. Now, if you were caught by a teacher or school administrator outside of school wearing pants, that was frowned upon, but overlooked.
But if you were caught wearing something more immodest, more revealing, like a mini-skirt? That could get a girl into a heap of trouble, not just with the school, but with the other girls. A girl who wore clothes like that was a slut. She was asking for it.
As I'm looking back on it now, it disgusts me to even write those words.
After I graduated and moved away (far, far away) I began my long farewell to my skirts.
First I only wore them if they were comfortable; when they all stopped being comfortable, I only wore them if I was going somewhere where I was required to wear a skirt; then I stopped going anywhere where I was required to wear a skirt, and started wearing jeans all the time.
By the time I met Husband, I hated skirts. Hated them. To me, they represented everything I had walked away from when I left Orthodoxy behind.
For years, I did not own more than one or two skirts.
Then I came into the kink scene. All of a sudden, skirts looked…different. They were long, short, billowy, skinny, bright, dark…but more importantly, they were sexy. They weren't worn to be modest, oh no; they were worn to show off the female figure, and flaunt a woman's curves.
Pants were suddenly modest attire, compared to the skirts I was seeing around me.
And I started buying some.
Now I have a whole collection of skirts again. Some are short, but still cover my knees. Others barely cover my thighs. I have a couple that are very long and wide; I wear those under a corset, with no panties. They are perfect for lifting around the hips for a spanking.
My skirts make me feel sexy. Womanly. Confident.
Ironically, the last thing they make me feel is submissive.
It has helped me realize submission is something a woman must feel within; it is not something a rabbi or teacher can dictate with clothes. Dictating how a woman should dress for modesty's sake is forcing her to don a costume of someone else's choosing. It is an abuse of power.
I am a kinky, submissive woman, and I will wear what I want…even skirts.
Jewish Christmas
We had planned on going to a nice Chinese restaurant; what we hadn't counted on were their jacked-up prices. So we took a walk to Panda express, which was only a short distance away.
As we walked side by side, Husband took my hand, and entwined his fingers with mine.
"I'm so lucky," he said, looking at me.
I looked away and grumbled, "I'm not wearing enough makeup."
"You're wearing too much clothes," he quipped back.
My eyes went wide, my cheeks blushed, and my mouth opened in a wide O—which, by the expression on Husband's face, was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. He smiled and squeezed my hand.
Unlike the nice Chinese restaurant next door, Panda Express was comfortably empty. We ordered our food, took the containers to a corner table, and sat. We talked about our kids, our parents, our work, and the mundane going-ons of our week in review.
We talked the way best friends do.
I opened up my fortune cookie first. Kindness makes for happiness, it said. "It's true," I had to admit. "When I'm kind to you, you make me happy."
"I thought I always make you happy."
"You do, but…you're nicer about it when I'm kind."
"If 'being kind' is your euphemism for blow jobs, then yes, I agree, I'm nicer. I let you come, too."
"Shh!" I said, glancing to the right. "There are children at the next table."
Husband smiled devilishly.
Then he opened his fortune cookie. You take criticism as an opportunity to grow, it said. "It's surprisingly accurate," Husband said. "You criticize me, I punish you…and I grow. You can literally watch me grow." His eyes danced with lecherous glee. "I guess they skipped the middle part."
"You are awful," he hissed at him, trying to stifle my smile.
"Are you criticizing me?" He asked with raised brows.
I couldn't hold back my laughter.
We walked back to the car, hand in hand again, and started the drive home.
"This was nice," he said.
"Yes, it was," I replied.
The rest of the drive was passed in cozy silence.
Someday—if we're lucky—we'll live long enough to see our parents gone, our kids away, our work forgotten…but we'll still have each other.
And, for that, I am blessed.
A Jewish Woman and Her Period, Part III (The End)
(Not much kink here today. You want kink? Go follow this guy.)
He took me by the hand and pulled me into his bedroom. The bedroom was very large: in the corner was a small couch and lounging chair, across from them a desk, bookshelves and a wardrobe
(Oh My God I just realized where the inspiration for the wardrobe in all the Bentmoore stories came from Holy Moses)
and in the center of the room, a heavy king-sized mattress on the floor, serving as a bed. He was in between beds at that time (long story), but I thought the mattress on the floor was great. It seemed stylish and more cozy.
He pulled me down to my knees on the mattress and continued to undress me, stripping himself at the same time.
"We can't do this," I hissed. "I have my period." This must have been the six or seventh time I'd said it since walking into his apartment.
He stopped for a minute. "Is it very bad?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "It's almost over, so it's not very bad. But I'm still bleeding."
He walked to the bathroom, by now completely naked--I got a great view of his ass, to this day that man has a great ass--got a towel, and laid it across the mattress.
"There," he said. "Why are you still wearing your bra?"
At this point, inside, I knew we were going to fuck, period or no. He had a way of seducing me into compliance, just by his charisma and authoritative attitude, that still works to this day. I couldn't outright refuse him, I couldn't think up a good argument against him, and the sight of his naked ass walking across the room had tipped me over the edge.
But when we were done, there was blood everywhere, not just on the towel. The whole sheet was stained with drops of blood.
"Oh, God." I started stripping the sheet off the mattress, both to keep the stains from going through, and to hide the evidence of my disgrace.
And then, from behind me, I heard Husband laughing. Laughing.
"This is what you were so worried about? A few stains on a old sheet I probably should've gotten rid of by now anyway? Well, if this gets you to make my bed and do my laundry, by all means, go ahead." He laughed harder.
I wanted to throw the bundle of sheets at him. I wasn't just angry at that point, I was hurt. He clearly wasn't even trying to understand what I was going through. I dropped the ball of sheets on the bed and walked into the bathroom.
He came up behind me as I was waiting for the water in the shower to warm up. I turned to face him and said, "I don't think we should have sex anymore while I have my period. We'll just have to wait."
His answer was swift and emphatic.
"ARE YOU CRAZY? Why?"
"Because." I got in the shower, and he followed me in.
"Hey. Hey," he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "This whole period thing really bothers you, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he sighed. I think he finally began to realize that this was one of those things in any relationship he did not have to understand, he just had to accept. We could talk about my reasons and fears and beliefs later, but at that moment, I needed to know he took my stance on the matter seriously, whether he agreed with it or not. This was about hard and soft limits, and although we didn't have the vocabulary for it yet, he certainly grasped the concept.
"Did you enjoy the sex?"
"Yes, but now I feel gross."
"Physically or mentally?"
"Physically. Mentally too, I guess. It's embarrassing."
He didn't ask why this time. I think he understood the "why" of it was a topic of conversation for another time.
"As far as the physical goes, that's easy to deal with. You're already in the shower--" he began to soap my inner thighs, making me gasp--"and I can clean you up. The sheet we can wash, or we can toss, whatever you want. Now, as for being embarrassed, I don't know why you have this thing about the blood--"
"It's not just about the blood--"
"But I really, really don't care. I think you're beautiful--" he kissed my nose-- "no matter what--" he kissed my brow-- "and your period is NOT going to stop me from wanting to make love to you. So if you feel very, very strongly about this, I won't push it, but I don't want you twisting this around so you think I'm the one who doesn't want it."
"How can you not care about the mess? It's so gross--"
He grabbed the soap and shoved it between my legs, rubbing it inside my pussy.
"This is how much I care," he growled. "I'll get up in there myself and wash you inside and out if that's what it takes to convince you. THIS IS NOT A REASON TO NOT LET ME TOUCH YOU. Understand?"
"Understand." My voice was rather breathless at that point. He was rubbing the soap everywhere, inside and out, just like he said he would.
The "period issue" still comes up every month. I still consider the ick factor as totally gross, and won't have sex on my heaviest days. But I don't think having my period makes me a disgusting person anymore, and I don't let it stop me from getting intimate in other ways with Husband. He can touch me all he wants, I can certainly touch him all he wants, and when the blood is not so bad, we just put a towel down on the bed and consider the problem solved.
Although we stay on the towel. After all, I am the one now who changes the bedding, does the laundry, and buys the sheets. We have very nice sheets; I'm not so willing to toss them.
I guess, my point out of all of this is, one of the jobs of a Dom is to help a woman feel good about herself and help her grow out of any misguided notions that serve to constrain her. He's got to strip away all the self-loathing and guilt and recriminations women feel (we all do, at some point), and make her see herself for the beautiful, sexy, worthy-of-love woman that she is. And that usually involves a lot of listening, and guiding, and sometimes a healthy dose of pushing and prodding, but a good Dom will know it's all worth it.
He will know when one of her limits is based on a legitimate concern, and when it's based on misplaced fear and, as was my case, a ridiculous perception of self-disgust. He will help her see her own weaknesses and face them head on, because he wants her to be a better, healthier, happier person. That is what makes a great Dom, and part of what makes a great foundation for any D/D relationship.
He took me by the hand and pulled me into his bedroom. The bedroom was very large: in the corner was a small couch and lounging chair, across from them a desk, bookshelves and a wardrobe
(Oh My God I just realized where the inspiration for the wardrobe in all the Bentmoore stories came from Holy Moses)
and in the center of the room, a heavy king-sized mattress on the floor, serving as a bed. He was in between beds at that time (long story), but I thought the mattress on the floor was great. It seemed stylish and more cozy.
He pulled me down to my knees on the mattress and continued to undress me, stripping himself at the same time.
"We can't do this," I hissed. "I have my period." This must have been the six or seventh time I'd said it since walking into his apartment.
He stopped for a minute. "Is it very bad?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "It's almost over, so it's not very bad. But I'm still bleeding."
He walked to the bathroom, by now completely naked--I got a great view of his ass, to this day that man has a great ass--got a towel, and laid it across the mattress.
"There," he said. "Why are you still wearing your bra?"
At this point, inside, I knew we were going to fuck, period or no. He had a way of seducing me into compliance, just by his charisma and authoritative attitude, that still works to this day. I couldn't outright refuse him, I couldn't think up a good argument against him, and the sight of his naked ass walking across the room had tipped me over the edge.
But when we were done, there was blood everywhere, not just on the towel. The whole sheet was stained with drops of blood.
"Oh, God." I started stripping the sheet off the mattress, both to keep the stains from going through, and to hide the evidence of my disgrace.
And then, from behind me, I heard Husband laughing. Laughing.
"This is what you were so worried about? A few stains on a old sheet I probably should've gotten rid of by now anyway? Well, if this gets you to make my bed and do my laundry, by all means, go ahead." He laughed harder.
I wanted to throw the bundle of sheets at him. I wasn't just angry at that point, I was hurt. He clearly wasn't even trying to understand what I was going through. I dropped the ball of sheets on the bed and walked into the bathroom.
He came up behind me as I was waiting for the water in the shower to warm up. I turned to face him and said, "I don't think we should have sex anymore while I have my period. We'll just have to wait."
His answer was swift and emphatic.
"ARE YOU CRAZY? Why?"
"Because." I got in the shower, and he followed me in.
"Hey. Hey," he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. "This whole period thing really bothers you, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he sighed. I think he finally began to realize that this was one of those things in any relationship he did not have to understand, he just had to accept. We could talk about my reasons and fears and beliefs later, but at that moment, I needed to know he took my stance on the matter seriously, whether he agreed with it or not. This was about hard and soft limits, and although we didn't have the vocabulary for it yet, he certainly grasped the concept.
"Did you enjoy the sex?"
"Yes, but now I feel gross."
"Physically or mentally?"
"Physically. Mentally too, I guess. It's embarrassing."
He didn't ask why this time. I think he understood the "why" of it was a topic of conversation for another time.
"As far as the physical goes, that's easy to deal with. You're already in the shower--" he began to soap my inner thighs, making me gasp--"and I can clean you up. The sheet we can wash, or we can toss, whatever you want. Now, as for being embarrassed, I don't know why you have this thing about the blood--"
"It's not just about the blood--"
"But I really, really don't care. I think you're beautiful--" he kissed my nose-- "no matter what--" he kissed my brow-- "and your period is NOT going to stop me from wanting to make love to you. So if you feel very, very strongly about this, I won't push it, but I don't want you twisting this around so you think I'm the one who doesn't want it."
"How can you not care about the mess? It's so gross--"
He grabbed the soap and shoved it between my legs, rubbing it inside my pussy.
"This is how much I care," he growled. "I'll get up in there myself and wash you inside and out if that's what it takes to convince you. THIS IS NOT A REASON TO NOT LET ME TOUCH YOU. Understand?"
"Understand." My voice was rather breathless at that point. He was rubbing the soap everywhere, inside and out, just like he said he would.
The "period issue" still comes up every month. I still consider the ick factor as totally gross, and won't have sex on my heaviest days. But I don't think having my period makes me a disgusting person anymore, and I don't let it stop me from getting intimate in other ways with Husband. He can touch me all he wants, I can certainly touch him all he wants, and when the blood is not so bad, we just put a towel down on the bed and consider the problem solved.
Although we stay on the towel. After all, I am the one now who changes the bedding, does the laundry, and buys the sheets. We have very nice sheets; I'm not so willing to toss them.
I guess, my point out of all of this is, one of the jobs of a Dom is to help a woman feel good about herself and help her grow out of any misguided notions that serve to constrain her. He's got to strip away all the self-loathing and guilt and recriminations women feel (we all do, at some point), and make her see herself for the beautiful, sexy, worthy-of-love woman that she is. And that usually involves a lot of listening, and guiding, and sometimes a healthy dose of pushing and prodding, but a good Dom will know it's all worth it.
He will know when one of her limits is based on a legitimate concern, and when it's based on misplaced fear and, as was my case, a ridiculous perception of self-disgust. He will help her see her own weaknesses and face them head on, because he wants her to be a better, healthier, happier person. That is what makes a great Dom, and part of what makes a great foundation for any D/D relationship.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
A Jewish Woman and Her Period, Part II
(Also long, and probably not very interesting for those looking for kink. You want some funny kink? Try this. Or this.)
When I got older and broke away from the stifling, oppressive lifestyle I had grown up in, my views and habits went through some drastic changes. But some of the basic beliefs, I just could not rid myself of them, and the belief that my period made me dirty and disgraceful in the eyes of God and men was one of them.
For 23 days out of my cycle, I was flirty, alluring, teasing, and fun. I knew I was sexy because I felt sexy, and guys responded to that. But for the other five days, I would become a different person. I would turn shy around men. I dressed very blandly, and covered everything up. It was like I didn't want a man to find me attractive while I had my period, because that would be somehow leading him into sin.
I had a few boyfriends during this time, and when I got my period, I would not let them touch me. At all. They were not allowed to hug me, or give me a kiss hello. It was just one of those things; I think they chalked it up to a woman being in a bad mood during her period, and not wanting to be touched. They didn't realize my beliefs were based on some twisted theology that said if they touched me while I had my period, I would be tainting them with my uncleanliness. Looking back, it all seems so ridiculous; but back then, I felt like I was almost saving them from joining me in abomination. I was doing them a favor.
Then I met Husband.
From the beginning, I think we both knew what we had was something special. We weren't into the whole BDSM lifestyle then, we were both very young and ignorant about a great many things, but even so, the Dom in him and the sub in me were already a set part of our personalities, and we completed each other in ways we'd never found before.
But I still would not have sex with him during my period. At first, the issue didn't even come up. He was traveling a lot back then on business, and he always seemed to be flying off somewhere just when I had my period. In that sense, it was a relief for me not to have to explain to him why he could not fuck me. The topic simply never raised its ugly head.
Until the month he came home three days early from his trip, and I still had my period.
"Why am I home and you're not here?" He called and asked, slightly worried. It had become our ritual that he would tell me when he expected to be back at his apartment, and I was expected to be there, waiting for him. (Again, back then we weren't using words like Dom or sub, but even so, I was submitting to his wishes, obeying his orders to please him, and we both loved it.) He had called earlier to to tell me he was almost home, but I had not gone to his apartment to greet him.
"I can't come," I said. "I have...." I couldn't finish.
"What?" He asked. "A test? A project due? A place you need to be? What?"
"My period," I whispered. "I have my period."
He was quiet for a second. "So? Are you sick or something?"
"No, but...I have my period." I couldn't understand why we was being so obtuse about this. Wasn't it obvious why I couldn't come over?
"If you're not sick, and you don't have any other reason not to be here, then get over here. I haven't seen you in over a week, and I want to see you." His voice was an order, one I could not refuse.
When I got to his apartment, he immediately kissed me, hugged me, and began his gentle intimate touching of my body that he did after a long absence. It was almost like he had to re-claim my body as his own.
I pushed his hands away.
"Don't touch me," I said.
He stepped away, shocked. "Why?"
"Because I have my PERIOD," I said, getting exasperated.
"So what, I'm not allowed to touch you?" He asked.
"You can't," I said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm disgusting," I wailed.
"You look fine to me," he retorted. "You look beautiful. Look, is there something else going on here? Because I'd really love to kiss you, and if you're not going to let me, I'd like a real reason why."
Believe it or not, it was the first time a guy had ever argued with me after I'd refused his advances. Others had protested, some rather rudely, but no one had ever argued about it with me before, and insisted on an explanation for my strange attitude.
"I. Have. My. Period," I emphasized each word, like I was speaking to someone with a hearing disability.
"So what?" He repeated. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
And then this lightbulb went off in my head: he really didn't give a damn about my period. He was taking my refusal to give him access to my body personally.
"I'm gross," I said, ashamed, and slightly angry for having to humiliate myself by explaining this to him. "I'm dirty, and I smell weird...believe me, you don't want to touch me."
Now he got really pissed off. "Do not tell me when I do or do not want to touch you," he said, an edge to his voice. "I've been thinking about seeing you for over a week, and I finally get to have you in my arms again. You are not dirty, you are not gross, I don't know why you think you are but it's not true, so GET OVER HERE."
He pulled me into his arms, and this time, I let him. He didn't care about my period, not one bit. I was the one making him angry by my obstinate behavior. He had been looking forward to this moment all week, and I had was taking all the joy out of it by focusing on something he clearly didn't think was even an issue.
So I kissed him back. We made out for a while, there in the living room, and it felt like I had gone through some sort of epiphany.
I could touch a man during my period. Husband didn't mind; he didn't even care. He didn't see any unholy corruption and filth on me. I was the same me. I just happened to have my period, is all.
I realize this sounds like a big deal over nothing, but for me, given my upbringing, it was a drastic shift in beliefs, and it took me a while to accept it.
But then Husband started unbuttoning my shirt.
"What are you doing?" I screeched.
"What does it look like?" He peeled the shirt off my shoulders and admired the cleavage in my bra. "God, I've been waiting too long for this."
Next: A Jewish Woman and Her Period, the End
When I got older and broke away from the stifling, oppressive lifestyle I had grown up in, my views and habits went through some drastic changes. But some of the basic beliefs, I just could not rid myself of them, and the belief that my period made me dirty and disgraceful in the eyes of God and men was one of them.
For 23 days out of my cycle, I was flirty, alluring, teasing, and fun. I knew I was sexy because I felt sexy, and guys responded to that. But for the other five days, I would become a different person. I would turn shy around men. I dressed very blandly, and covered everything up. It was like I didn't want a man to find me attractive while I had my period, because that would be somehow leading him into sin.
I had a few boyfriends during this time, and when I got my period, I would not let them touch me. At all. They were not allowed to hug me, or give me a kiss hello. It was just one of those things; I think they chalked it up to a woman being in a bad mood during her period, and not wanting to be touched. They didn't realize my beliefs were based on some twisted theology that said if they touched me while I had my period, I would be tainting them with my uncleanliness. Looking back, it all seems so ridiculous; but back then, I felt like I was almost saving them from joining me in abomination. I was doing them a favor.
Then I met Husband.
From the beginning, I think we both knew what we had was something special. We weren't into the whole BDSM lifestyle then, we were both very young and ignorant about a great many things, but even so, the Dom in him and the sub in me were already a set part of our personalities, and we completed each other in ways we'd never found before.
But I still would not have sex with him during my period. At first, the issue didn't even come up. He was traveling a lot back then on business, and he always seemed to be flying off somewhere just when I had my period. In that sense, it was a relief for me not to have to explain to him why he could not fuck me. The topic simply never raised its ugly head.
Until the month he came home three days early from his trip, and I still had my period.
"Why am I home and you're not here?" He called and asked, slightly worried. It had become our ritual that he would tell me when he expected to be back at his apartment, and I was expected to be there, waiting for him. (Again, back then we weren't using words like Dom or sub, but even so, I was submitting to his wishes, obeying his orders to please him, and we both loved it.) He had called earlier to to tell me he was almost home, but I had not gone to his apartment to greet him.
"I can't come," I said. "I have...." I couldn't finish.
"What?" He asked. "A test? A project due? A place you need to be? What?"
"My period," I whispered. "I have my period."
He was quiet for a second. "So? Are you sick or something?"
"No, but...I have my period." I couldn't understand why we was being so obtuse about this. Wasn't it obvious why I couldn't come over?
"If you're not sick, and you don't have any other reason not to be here, then get over here. I haven't seen you in over a week, and I want to see you." His voice was an order, one I could not refuse.
When I got to his apartment, he immediately kissed me, hugged me, and began his gentle intimate touching of my body that he did after a long absence. It was almost like he had to re-claim my body as his own.
I pushed his hands away.
"Don't touch me," I said.
He stepped away, shocked. "Why?"
"Because I have my PERIOD," I said, getting exasperated.
"So what, I'm not allowed to touch you?" He asked.
"You can't," I said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm disgusting," I wailed.
"You look fine to me," he retorted. "You look beautiful. Look, is there something else going on here? Because I'd really love to kiss you, and if you're not going to let me, I'd like a real reason why."
Believe it or not, it was the first time a guy had ever argued with me after I'd refused his advances. Others had protested, some rather rudely, but no one had ever argued about it with me before, and insisted on an explanation for my strange attitude.
"I. Have. My. Period," I emphasized each word, like I was speaking to someone with a hearing disability.
"So what?" He repeated. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
And then this lightbulb went off in my head: he really didn't give a damn about my period. He was taking my refusal to give him access to my body personally.
"I'm gross," I said, ashamed, and slightly angry for having to humiliate myself by explaining this to him. "I'm dirty, and I smell weird...believe me, you don't want to touch me."
Now he got really pissed off. "Do not tell me when I do or do not want to touch you," he said, an edge to his voice. "I've been thinking about seeing you for over a week, and I finally get to have you in my arms again. You are not dirty, you are not gross, I don't know why you think you are but it's not true, so GET OVER HERE."
He pulled me into his arms, and this time, I let him. He didn't care about my period, not one bit. I was the one making him angry by my obstinate behavior. He had been looking forward to this moment all week, and I had was taking all the joy out of it by focusing on something he clearly didn't think was even an issue.
So I kissed him back. We made out for a while, there in the living room, and it felt like I had gone through some sort of epiphany.
I could touch a man during my period. Husband didn't mind; he didn't even care. He didn't see any unholy corruption and filth on me. I was the same me. I just happened to have my period, is all.
I realize this sounds like a big deal over nothing, but for me, given my upbringing, it was a drastic shift in beliefs, and it took me a while to accept it.
But then Husband started unbuttoning my shirt.
"What are you doing?" I screeched.
"What does it look like?" He peeled the shirt off my shoulders and admired the cleavage in my bra. "God, I've been waiting too long for this."
Next: A Jewish Woman and Her Period, the End
My Response to the Editors at Good Men Project
Dear Good Men Project,
I've always been a fan of your site. For one, it's eye-pleasing, and two, the content has always been above grade. And let's face it, with a name like "Good Men Project," and a lofty goal like "enlightened masculinity," how could women everywhere not love it, or at least condone it? You want to show your readers what it means to be a "good man." You want to lead by example.
So here's my question for you: What the fuck happened?
I'm talking specifically about this article. You know, the one written by the guy who admits raping a woman while drunk, then tries to explain it away, just so that he can justify his need to party.
Drunk. And raping.
Let's take on a few interesting points from the article you put up as your featured fucking content, shall we?
Even as he's telling this story, the author has to explain that it seemed ok to rape at the time.
The woman been flirting with him. Yes, actual flirting!
He was too blurry and fucked-up to realize a kiss is not an invitation for rape.
His friends were cheering him on. He had to please the crowd, damn it!
Her boundaries with her boyfriend were fuzzy...and everyone knows, no protective boyfriend=fair game for rape.
But here's the real kicker: he can't even bring himself to call it rape. No, it was a "particularly harsh third base."
It hurt her, physically and emotionally. He violated her body. But it wasn't real rape.
Which I guess is one of the reasons why he feels justified to "run the risk" of doing it again?
The author later goes on to say how it's even possible he was raped. He's not sure, of course. But it's possible! He might be a victim here, too! But he's willing to take that chance, and keep drinking and partying.
I've accepted a certain amount of rape as the cost of doing business, and so have most of the people I know.
And if he's willing to take the chance of getting raped, then by God, all the women he parties with should be willing to take the chance of getting raped by him. Because partying is what's most important.
I'm not surprised there are men like this author in the world. I'm not naive; I know plenty of men think rape is no big deal--did I say rape? I meant a particularly harsh third base--and women should just accept that if they're going to party, they have to accept responsibility for their actions. Actions that might get themselves raped. If rapists can take responsibility for their drunken misconduct--kinda--then the raped women should too, right?
This is the rape apologists' attitude, anyway.
But why is the Good Men Project defending it? For god's sake, why?
Oh, you put a disclaimer above the article, yes.
Do you really think this disclaimer absolves you? Let's take another look at it, shall we?
Editor’s note: This is a difficult article to read, and to publish.
Do you think it being "difficult to publish" exonerates you from doing so? You published a rape apologist article. You made that choice. You could have published an article like "Why I stopped drinking: because I raped" or "Why men need to stop blaming their actions on alcohol" or "I will never make up for raping while drunk." Or how about publishing an article from a woman's point of view? "I was raped by a drunk man at a party. Here's what happened."
But no, you guys chose to publish an article written by a rapist who admits he raped a woman, knows he might do it again, and doesn't fucking care, not enough to take whatever steps necessary to not rape again. Because it feels too fucking good.
We at the Good Men Project do not endorse or support the author’s worldview
You don't endorse his worldview. But you published it as featured content. So what would you call it, if not endorsement? I guess if we can play around with words like "rape" and "boundaries," we can fudge the definition of "endorsement," too.
but it does speak to a very common experience that is often taken for granted
Yeah, it's a common experience. One that has to stop. That's not what this article is about.
We thank the author for being willing to speak openly about it, and share his struggle with his own experiences
I guess if you get a writer who's articulate and can write about a difficult topic poignantly, it doesn't really matter what his viewpoint is, does it? You'll publish the article. Because he's sharing his struggle with his own experiences. Only...it wasn't just his experience, it was also the woman who got raped. Remember her? And I really don't think he's struggling as much as she is. But hey! He's open and honest about what he did! He deserves a cookie!
we want to make very clear that we do not agree with his conclusions.
I'm so glad you don't agree with his conclusions. Seems kind of weird, though, you published the article anyway.
And that's the kicker, isn't it? You guys didn't agree with the "conclusions" of the article, and you felt the need to tack up a disclaimer...but you posted it anyway. Why? Because it's sensationalist writing? Because you knew people would be talking about it? Because you needed the publicity?
Well, mission accomplished, Good Men Project. I'm devoting a whole post to you guys. I'm letting everyone know how disgusting, abhorrent, and chauvinistic your featured content is. Your name is forever tainted with your readers. You are not the "Good Men" project anymore. You are the website that posted an article defending drunken rape, and sent a clear message to your readers that if you're a guy who rapes, but you feel kinda bad about it, and you can write well, then you'll have a platform waiting for you.
Is that the message you wanted to send? Good job.
But if not, then you guys got some thinking to do.
My advice: pull the article while you think, and offer your readers a damn big apology, because dudes, you fucked up.
I've always been a fan of your site. For one, it's eye-pleasing, and two, the content has always been above grade. And let's face it, with a name like "Good Men Project," and a lofty goal like "enlightened masculinity," how could women everywhere not love it, or at least condone it? You want to show your readers what it means to be a "good man." You want to lead by example.
So here's my question for you: What the fuck happened?
I'm talking specifically about this article. You know, the one written by the guy who admits raping a woman while drunk, then tries to explain it away, just so that he can justify his need to party.
Drunk. And raping.
Let's take on a few interesting points from the article you put up as your featured fucking content, shall we?
With what I’ve learned as an adult, I’m pretty sure I’m technically a rapist. Technically nothing. One woman told me herself. Our encounter was years before—I’d been in a drinking contest and she’d been drinking and flirting with me (yes, actually flirting) all evening. As blurry and fucked-up as I was, I read her kiss of congratulation to me as a stronger signal than it was, and with friends hooting and cheering us on, I pressed her up against a wall and… well. Call it rape or call it a particularly harsh third base, I walked away with the impression that it had been consensual, if not really sensible. (She had a boyfriend at the time, but their boundaries were fuzzy.)
Years later, she was in a recovery program—not for alcohol, ironically—and she got in touch with me during the part where she made peace with her past. She wanted to clarify that what had happened between us was without her consent, that it hurt her physically and emotionally, that it was, yes, rape.
Even as he's telling this story, the author has to explain that it seemed ok to rape at the time.
The woman been flirting with him. Yes, actual flirting!
He was too blurry and fucked-up to realize a kiss is not an invitation for rape.
His friends were cheering him on. He had to please the crowd, damn it!
Her boundaries with her boyfriend were fuzzy...and everyone knows, no protective boyfriend=fair game for rape.
But here's the real kicker: he can't even bring himself to call it rape. No, it was a "particularly harsh third base."
It hurt her, physically and emotionally. He violated her body. But it wasn't real rape.
Which I guess is one of the reasons why he feels justified to "run the risk" of doing it again?
The author later goes on to say how it's even possible he was raped. He's not sure, of course. But it's possible! He might be a victim here, too! But he's willing to take that chance, and keep drinking and partying.
I've accepted a certain amount of rape as the cost of doing business, and so have most of the people I know.
And if he's willing to take the chance of getting raped, then by God, all the women he parties with should be willing to take the chance of getting raped by him. Because partying is what's most important.
I'm not surprised there are men like this author in the world. I'm not naive; I know plenty of men think rape is no big deal--did I say rape? I meant a particularly harsh third base--and women should just accept that if they're going to party, they have to accept responsibility for their actions. Actions that might get themselves raped. If rapists can take responsibility for their drunken misconduct--kinda--then the raped women should too, right?
This is the rape apologists' attitude, anyway.
But why is the Good Men Project defending it? For god's sake, why?
Oh, you put a disclaimer above the article, yes.
Do you really think this disclaimer absolves you? Let's take another look at it, shall we?
Editor’s note: This is a difficult article to read, and to publish.
Do you think it being "difficult to publish" exonerates you from doing so? You published a rape apologist article. You made that choice. You could have published an article like "Why I stopped drinking: because I raped" or "Why men need to stop blaming their actions on alcohol" or "I will never make up for raping while drunk." Or how about publishing an article from a woman's point of view? "I was raped by a drunk man at a party. Here's what happened."
But no, you guys chose to publish an article written by a rapist who admits he raped a woman, knows he might do it again, and doesn't fucking care, not enough to take whatever steps necessary to not rape again. Because it feels too fucking good.
We at the Good Men Project do not endorse or support the author’s worldview
You don't endorse his worldview. But you published it as featured content. So what would you call it, if not endorsement? I guess if we can play around with words like "rape" and "boundaries," we can fudge the definition of "endorsement," too.
but it does speak to a very common experience that is often taken for granted
Yeah, it's a common experience. One that has to stop. That's not what this article is about.
We thank the author for being willing to speak openly about it, and share his struggle with his own experiences
I guess if you get a writer who's articulate and can write about a difficult topic poignantly, it doesn't really matter what his viewpoint is, does it? You'll publish the article. Because he's sharing his struggle with his own experiences. Only...it wasn't just his experience, it was also the woman who got raped. Remember her? And I really don't think he's struggling as much as she is. But hey! He's open and honest about what he did! He deserves a cookie!
we want to make very clear that we do not agree with his conclusions.
I'm so glad you don't agree with his conclusions. Seems kind of weird, though, you published the article anyway.
And that's the kicker, isn't it? You guys didn't agree with the "conclusions" of the article, and you felt the need to tack up a disclaimer...but you posted it anyway. Why? Because it's sensationalist writing? Because you knew people would be talking about it? Because you needed the publicity?
Well, mission accomplished, Good Men Project. I'm devoting a whole post to you guys. I'm letting everyone know how disgusting, abhorrent, and chauvinistic your featured content is. Your name is forever tainted with your readers. You are not the "Good Men" project anymore. You are the website that posted an article defending drunken rape, and sent a clear message to your readers that if you're a guy who rapes, but you feel kinda bad about it, and you can write well, then you'll have a platform waiting for you.
Is that the message you wanted to send? Good job.
But if not, then you guys got some thinking to do.
My advice: pull the article while you think, and offer your readers a damn big apology, because dudes, you fucked up.
Friday, January 24, 2014
:(
Husband is away on business. I'm unravelling. I'm shooting off my mouth to everyone in listening distance, sending nasty and passive/aggressive messages to people I don't even fucking know, making hasty and stupid decisions, and basically being the smart-assed masochist I am naturally, without anyone here to stop me.
I'm miserable. I'd rather get fifty swats with the silver-tipped belt, on each ass cheek, than go through this.
So no Kink Meme today, no serious post. Just a funny video of the Swedish Chef from the muppets. Cause as an anal slut I can tell you that sometimes, when you're about to take it up the ass, you feel like this turkey: get a little smooch, and then it's on with the skewering!
I'm miserable. I'd rather get fifty swats with the silver-tipped belt, on each ass cheek, than go through this.
So no Kink Meme today, no serious post. Just a funny video of the Swedish Chef from the muppets. Cause as an anal slut I can tell you that sometimes, when you're about to take it up the ass, you feel like this turkey: get a little smooch, and then it's on with the skewering!
A Jewish Woman and Her Period, Part I
This series of posts was inspired by the talented and beautiful Molly, over at Molly's Daily Kiss. You should check her out. She's on Twitter, too. She lives in the UK, but we can forgive her for that.
I've decided to divide this issue up into two or more posts, because I have a lot to say, and a lot of background information to give. Feel free to skip this stuff if it bores you. No kink here today.
In Jewish Law, there are very strict rules governing when a married couple can have sex. I say married couple, because single people are not supposed to have sex at all. In fact, they are not supposed to touch a member of the opposite sex. Unmarried people who follow the rules prohibiting any form of touching of the opposite sex are called Shomer Negiah. Keep in mind, it doesn't matter how old the single person is, how long they've been "dating" other people, what their plans are for their future together...as long as they are not married, there is supposed to be NO TOUCHING.
(This has led to a true crisis among Orthodox singles, who are growing older and older without finding their "soul mate," and are remaining completely celibate because of it. It is sad, and it is wrong...but I digress.)
Once you are married, of course, you are allowed to have sex. Sometimes.
When a woman is having her period, she is considered a Niddah, one who is unclean, impure, in a state that prohibits her husband from having sexual relations with her. She cannot have relations with her husband until she has counted down the proper number of days of "cleanliness," and then has gone to the Mikvah, the ritual bath. The trip to the Mikvah must be done at night, it must be kept a private matter, and once she returns home, it is considered a positive commandment by God that she have sex with her husband as soon as possible.
The rules surrounding the laws of Niddah have changed over thousands of years, making them even more strict. It used to be that a woman counted seven days from the first day of her period, or until the last day of her period, whichever came last, to go to the Mikvah. Over time, the Rabbis decided that wasn't good enough, and instructed women to count seven days from the last day of her period before she could go to the Mikvah.
So let's say a woman's period is five days. 5+7=12. So from the first day of her period, she cannot "be" with her husband for the next twelve days. But that works only if her period is five days. If she has ANY fresh blood come out of her vagina, even a smear on the toilet paper, then that is considered another day of her period, and she has to wait another day to start counting the "clean" days.
During the time she is in Niddah, she is not allowed to touch her husband in any way. Yes, you got that. NO TOUCHING. The married couple is expected to sleep separately, or create some sort of boundary between them. They cannot kiss, they cannot hug...he cannot even hand her a cup of coffee, because their fingers might brush together.
Of course, all this changes once she goes to the Mikvah. Then, she is clean, she is ready for the miracle of her husband's sperm, and she is obligated to be a vessel for it once again.
The whole point of this, of course, is to make babies. Because if you know anything about the female reproductive system, you know that a woman ovulates about fourteen days after the first day of her menstrual period. If she starts having sex with her husband on day 12, it is most likely the optimal time to get pregnant.
(Of course, female sperm live longer than male sperm, so typically women who ovulate two days later end up having more girls, which is why you see so many Orthodox families having more girls than boys...but I digress again.)
The point is, sex between a married couple, at least while the woman's reproductive system is still working, is about making babies. When she has her period she is unclean, she is scorned, she is spiritually looked down upon because she is not pregnant.
This is the education I grew up with. Yeah, you can imagine the hang-ups I had regarding my period. Dirty. Shameful. Sinful. An abomination in the eyes of God.
Next: A Jewish Woman and Her Period, Part II
I've decided to divide this issue up into two or more posts, because I have a lot to say, and a lot of background information to give. Feel free to skip this stuff if it bores you. No kink here today.
In Jewish Law, there are very strict rules governing when a married couple can have sex. I say married couple, because single people are not supposed to have sex at all. In fact, they are not supposed to touch a member of the opposite sex. Unmarried people who follow the rules prohibiting any form of touching of the opposite sex are called Shomer Negiah. Keep in mind, it doesn't matter how old the single person is, how long they've been "dating" other people, what their plans are for their future together...as long as they are not married, there is supposed to be NO TOUCHING.
(This has led to a true crisis among Orthodox singles, who are growing older and older without finding their "soul mate," and are remaining completely celibate because of it. It is sad, and it is wrong...but I digress.)
Once you are married, of course, you are allowed to have sex. Sometimes.
When a woman is having her period, she is considered a Niddah, one who is unclean, impure, in a state that prohibits her husband from having sexual relations with her. She cannot have relations with her husband until she has counted down the proper number of days of "cleanliness," and then has gone to the Mikvah, the ritual bath. The trip to the Mikvah must be done at night, it must be kept a private matter, and once she returns home, it is considered a positive commandment by God that she have sex with her husband as soon as possible.
The rules surrounding the laws of Niddah have changed over thousands of years, making them even more strict. It used to be that a woman counted seven days from the first day of her period, or until the last day of her period, whichever came last, to go to the Mikvah. Over time, the Rabbis decided that wasn't good enough, and instructed women to count seven days from the last day of her period before she could go to the Mikvah.
So let's say a woman's period is five days. 5+7=12. So from the first day of her period, she cannot "be" with her husband for the next twelve days. But that works only if her period is five days. If she has ANY fresh blood come out of her vagina, even a smear on the toilet paper, then that is considered another day of her period, and she has to wait another day to start counting the "clean" days.
During the time she is in Niddah, she is not allowed to touch her husband in any way. Yes, you got that. NO TOUCHING. The married couple is expected to sleep separately, or create some sort of boundary between them. They cannot kiss, they cannot hug...he cannot even hand her a cup of coffee, because their fingers might brush together.
Of course, all this changes once she goes to the Mikvah. Then, she is clean, she is ready for the miracle of her husband's sperm, and she is obligated to be a vessel for it once again.
The whole point of this, of course, is to make babies. Because if you know anything about the female reproductive system, you know that a woman ovulates about fourteen days after the first day of her menstrual period. If she starts having sex with her husband on day 12, it is most likely the optimal time to get pregnant.
(Of course, female sperm live longer than male sperm, so typically women who ovulate two days later end up having more girls, which is why you see so many Orthodox families having more girls than boys...but I digress again.)
The point is, sex between a married couple, at least while the woman's reproductive system is still working, is about making babies. When she has her period she is unclean, she is scorned, she is spiritually looked down upon because she is not pregnant.
This is the education I grew up with. Yeah, you can imagine the hang-ups I had regarding my period. Dirty. Shameful. Sinful. An abomination in the eyes of God.
Next: A Jewish Woman and Her Period, Part II
Thursday, January 23, 2014
What I'm Up To
First, some writing news: the second story for the Masters of the Hotel Bentmoore series, Samantha, is out, or should be out soon on Amazon and B&N. I think it's already showing up on B&N; Amazon typically takes longer for titles to show up on products pages, but it should be there within the next few hours.
So YAY on that! Go check it out!
Second: I've been somewhat busy this week trying to prepare for Folsom. This will be my first year going. I wanted to go last year, but one of my kids ran into a wall the day before and required stitches in his head, which kind of ruined any plans I had for the rest of the weekend. This is why I always tell people of my plans with the caveat, "unless something weird happens." Because, you know, shit happens. sometimes literally.
Really hoping something like that does NOT happen again.
I was stressing about what to wear, until I spoke to the amazing Winsome Gypsy. She calmed me down a bit, and reminded me that the point is to have fun, not stress out about my clothes. It's Folsom, not the company Christmas party. All I should be worrying about is wearing a comfortable pair of shoes. And if I decide to wear ANY clothes beyond the shoes, well, I'll already be more dressed than a whole slew of people there.
By the way, if you're planning on attending Folsom, and want to meet, send me an email. I'd love to see you there!
Edited to add, many hours later: Husband just called. Some idiot son-of-a-bitch fucking bastard piece of shit truck driver crashed into his parked car. Thank God Husband wasn't inside. I have no idea what the protocol is now, if Husband has to have the car towed to a shop, or home, if he gets a rental now, or what. And I don't know if this is going to affect my plans for Folsom. I hope not. ::sob::
So YAY on that! Go check it out!
Second: I've been somewhat busy this week trying to prepare for Folsom. This will be my first year going. I wanted to go last year, but one of my kids ran into a wall the day before and required stitches in his head, which kind of ruined any plans I had for the rest of the weekend. This is why I always tell people of my plans with the caveat, "unless something weird happens." Because, you know, shit happens. sometimes literally.
Really hoping something like that does NOT happen again.
I was stressing about what to wear, until I spoke to the amazing Winsome Gypsy. She calmed me down a bit, and reminded me that the point is to have fun, not stress out about my clothes. It's Folsom, not the company Christmas party. All I should be worrying about is wearing a comfortable pair of shoes. And if I decide to wear ANY clothes beyond the shoes, well, I'll already be more dressed than a whole slew of people there.
By the way, if you're planning on attending Folsom, and want to meet, send me an email. I'd love to see you there!
Edited to add, many hours later: Husband just called. Some idiot son-of-a-bitch fucking bastard piece of shit truck driver crashed into his parked car. Thank God Husband wasn't inside. I have no idea what the protocol is now, if Husband has to have the car towed to a shop, or home, if he gets a rental now, or what. And I don't know if this is going to affect my plans for Folsom. I hope not. ::sob::
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
We Interupt this Meme to Bring You a new Video: Simon's Pussy Chasing a Cute Piece of Tail
Cause, you know, it's not like my whole LIFE is about kink. And this video is just too damn funny not to share.
The Drama Beast
I know your aversion to "drama." I understand you don't want people looking at you for all the wrong reasons, to satisfy some nasty little need to be fascinated by something. I know you don't want people judging you, or worse, pitying you. You've heard me use the quote,"pity is always laced with a little bit of contempt," and I hold that to be true.
(Which is why I do not pity you, and will not, ever. Because, my friend, if you hear me say I pity someone, you can know I mean it as the dirtiest insult.)
I also understand you don't want to burden anyone with your thoughts, your feelings, your concerns. The world of BDSM is blanketed with land mines of fallen reputations, twisted with labels and innuendoes. At its core, the thing that helps us keep marching on to find our own way, the thing that unites us, our most cherished ideal, is this: consent.
Forcing another to go through pain, fear, humiliation, intimidation, any of the sensations we subs relish in the proper circumstances, become the ultimate taboo if there's a lack of consent.
So I get it: you don't want to share your "drama," because it might make others feel uncomfortable. It might make them get angry on your behalf, or question things they don't want to have to question. It might make them afraid.
And forcing them to feel those things without their consent might construed as, oh, let's say, rude.
But here's the thing, my friend: you are not saving anyone by keeping your emotions locked inside. Not your friends who care about you, not the people who would appreciate the chance to support you, and certainly not yourself.
Life is full of things we'd rather not see. It's tough that way. Sometimes we have to turn away, just to save ourselves. But most of us,
(I'd like to think most of us)
always, always, would rather hear what is going on...not to get some weird sense of fascination from it, not to find glory in it, but to try to make things better.
And there will be some who deride you. Some who will call you a liar. And yes, some disgusting immature people who will call you a drama queen.
Ignore them. They are not worth your time, your effort, even your contempt. They are not worth a single brain cell needed for thought. Because they do not understand life is not handed to you on a silver platter, already cut into bite-sized pieces with the gristle carved away. Life does not ask for your consent. Life is hard that way.
I pity them.
But there is so much beauty in the world, too: so much color, and wonder, and joy. Hopes, and dreams, and impossibilities being made possible, every day.
You are a joy, my friend. You are part of the beauty I see in this world. You, with your pain and despair, I hold dear to my heart.
So if you need anyone's consent to let loose the beast inside you, I give it you, freely.
Let the beast run, my friend.
Let the beast run.
And then let it go.
(Which is why I do not pity you, and will not, ever. Because, my friend, if you hear me say I pity someone, you can know I mean it as the dirtiest insult.)
I also understand you don't want to burden anyone with your thoughts, your feelings, your concerns. The world of BDSM is blanketed with land mines of fallen reputations, twisted with labels and innuendoes. At its core, the thing that helps us keep marching on to find our own way, the thing that unites us, our most cherished ideal, is this: consent.
Forcing another to go through pain, fear, humiliation, intimidation, any of the sensations we subs relish in the proper circumstances, become the ultimate taboo if there's a lack of consent.
So I get it: you don't want to share your "drama," because it might make others feel uncomfortable. It might make them get angry on your behalf, or question things they don't want to have to question. It might make them afraid.
And forcing them to feel those things without their consent might construed as, oh, let's say, rude.
But here's the thing, my friend: you are not saving anyone by keeping your emotions locked inside. Not your friends who care about you, not the people who would appreciate the chance to support you, and certainly not yourself.
Life is full of things we'd rather not see. It's tough that way. Sometimes we have to turn away, just to save ourselves. But most of us,
(I'd like to think most of us)
always, always, would rather hear what is going on...not to get some weird sense of fascination from it, not to find glory in it, but to try to make things better.
And there will be some who deride you. Some who will call you a liar. And yes, some disgusting immature people who will call you a drama queen.
Ignore them. They are not worth your time, your effort, even your contempt. They are not worth a single brain cell needed for thought. Because they do not understand life is not handed to you on a silver platter, already cut into bite-sized pieces with the gristle carved away. Life does not ask for your consent. Life is hard that way.
I pity them.
But there is so much beauty in the world, too: so much color, and wonder, and joy. Hopes, and dreams, and impossibilities being made possible, every day.
You are a joy, my friend. You are part of the beauty I see in this world. You, with your pain and despair, I hold dear to my heart.
So if you need anyone's consent to let loose the beast inside you, I give it you, freely.
Let the beast run, my friend.
Let the beast run.
And then let it go.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
New Book is OUT
As of now, the book is out in ebook format.
It's available on Kindle here, and on Nook here. Please go check it out!
(It should soon be available on Kobo, Apple, and in print. It's a-comin'.)
It's available on Kindle here, and on Nook here. Please go check it out!
(It should soon be available on Kobo, Apple, and in print. It's a-comin'.)
Monday, January 20, 2014
Sometimes I'm Sick In the Not-So-Kinky Way
So I've been dealing with a cold for the week. And I don't know about you, but I consider having a cold for a whole week a Long Fucking Time. That rule about guests staying for three days? It should apply to colds too, you guys.
Unfortunately, like extended family, colds seem to put their fingers in their ears and do the la la la, I can't hear you song when you insinuate it is time for them to move on.
This morning I was texting Husband how sick and tired I am of being sick and tired.
He responded with one simple question: "Did you take Robitussin?"
DO'H! No I had not. But then I did...and man, is this stuff awesome, or what?
I feel so much better now!
I could run to the moon and back!
I could learn Russian in a day!
I might be a little high right now.
Not high enough to be completely non-functional, thank God. Just high enough to send an email to a friend letting him know I cannot forward him a link to a website, because I do not have his email address.
Yes, that just happened.
So I think now would be the perfect time to remind all you guys I'm giving a class at Folsom Fringe this year, it's exactly one week away, and I've decided I'm going hand out M&Ms at the end of my class. Maybe even M&M cookies.
Cause this is the dark side. We're supposed to have cookies.
Also, as I've been doing the last few years, I'm going to be live tweeting Folsom Street Faire, but this year, I'm going to bring a bag of googly eyes with me, and every toy I buy, I'm going to put googly eyes on it before I take a picture to show you.
Because...why not?
KINK IS FUN!
Unfortunately, like extended family, colds seem to put their fingers in their ears and do the la la la, I can't hear you song when you insinuate it is time for them to move on.
This morning I was texting Husband how sick and tired I am of being sick and tired.
He responded with one simple question: "Did you take Robitussin?"
DO'H! No I had not. But then I did...and man, is this stuff awesome, or what?
I feel so much better now!
I could run to the moon and back!
I could learn Russian in a day!
I might be a little high right now.
Not high enough to be completely non-functional, thank God. Just high enough to send an email to a friend letting him know I cannot forward him a link to a website, because I do not have his email address.
Yes, that just happened.
So I think now would be the perfect time to remind all you guys I'm giving a class at Folsom Fringe this year, it's exactly one week away, and I've decided I'm going hand out M&Ms at the end of my class. Maybe even M&M cookies.
Cause this is the dark side. We're supposed to have cookies.
Also, as I've been doing the last few years, I'm going to be live tweeting Folsom Street Faire, but this year, I'm going to bring a bag of googly eyes with me, and every toy I buy, I'm going to put googly eyes on it before I take a picture to show you.
Because...why not?
KINK IS FUN!
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Versatile Blogger Awards
It means a lot to me to hear how others enjoy my posts. It surprises me sometimes, too, which posts people find the most inspiring, the most entertaining...or the most kinky.
The VBA is unique, because it can be passed on from blogger to blogger. Here's how:
1. The receiver of the award thanks the award-giver for bestowing it upon them, with a link back to their post.
2. The receiver then shares fifteen things about him/herself (hopefully, kinky things?).
3. They pass the award on to another fifteen blogs, and lets the bloggers know they have been chosen.
Fifteen Things about Me
1. I have been coloring my hair blonde for over ten years, when I started noticing grey hairs coming through (in my twenties!). I don't even know what my natural shade would be anymore. My eyebrows are still naturally blonde, though.
2. I love guys with an Irish accent.
3. I do not find guys with major muscles hot. I like a leaner physique.
4. I suck at math. Horribly. People think I'm faking being stupid, cause they can't believe I'm that bad. But I am.
5. I don't like cats. I think they're sneaky motherfuckers.
6. If I didn't think I'm too old for it, I would wear nothing but converse sneakers every day.
7. If I didn't think I'm too old for it, I'd streak my hair pink.
8. I'm sick and tired of people asking me, in front of my three boys, if I'm sad I don't have a girl.
9. I am proud of the things I did in my younger days, even if others find them wrong and stupid.
10. Teenage girls drive me crazy. But then, they drove me crazy when I was one, too.
11. I have very strange toes.
12. I have broken each one of my toes at least once.
13. I lost one of my closest friends to a brain tumor, and I've never really gotten over that.
14. My nipples are really pink.
15. I have pale skin, to the point of translucency in some places, and I love it.
The Fifteen Blogs I've Chosen. In no particular order.
1. _sub_girl: lost Blog of a married kinky sub, trying to figure out who she is and where she's going in life.
2. A Master's Viewpoint of the BDSM World Well written blog by a knowledgeable Dom, it is chock-full of wisdom and useful information.
3. thewinsomegypsy Blog written by my friend, Winsome Gypsy. She's raw, honest, kind, and full of great surprises.
4. Remittance Girl She writes hot fiction, and posts straight from the heart.
5. Sir Stompsalot Blog from the long-time Dom point of view. Always a good read.
6. My Life as a Cum Slut Blog from a slave's point of view (namely, Stompsalot's slave). I especially enjoy her photos of the day.
7. The Adventures of a Pangdon Blog written by a long-time married man who's on the road to becoming a great Dom to his wife, even if he sometimes seems to doubt that.
8. PaperMirai Blog of Pangdon's wife, who's probably been a sub longer than she realized. She just didn't know it yet.
9. Saynine Predator. Sadist. Owner. A Dom full of (dare I say it) grace.
10. My Bottom Smarts Blog written by the amazing Bonnie. Nothing but links, kinks, and spanks.
11. Housewife Raven Blog written by a "normal" housewife. Not.
12. Lady Laid Bare Blog of JillyBoyd, fellow kinky erotic writer.
13. Being Bedlam Writings of a kinky woman and sub figuring out her life and relationship. She doesn't post often, but when she does, it's straight from the heart.
14. The Curvaceous Dee Blog written by a beautiful, curvy lady who's not afraid to show herself to the world.
15. The Quadrant Blog written by S.J. Reisner, also known as Anne O'Connell, famous best-selling author. Her BDSM posts are straightforward, and usually spot-on. Her posts about writing and being a self-published author are great, too.
So thanks again, Molly, for choosing me. Now I have to go tell the other fifteen bloggers I've chosen them!
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Not All Art Speaks To You
Writing a book is a lot like trying to create a piece of art. You don't just work hard at it, you put yourself into it. Your time, your emotions, your dreams, your fears...you lay its foundation with a piece of your soul. And hopefully, if all goes well, when it is complete (or at least, when you think it is complete), you can stand back, wipe off your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, and stare at it in wonder.
You can think, "this is a marvelous piece of work."
Riding on the heels of that thought is the cloudy fear: "Will anyone else like it?"
All artists dream of seeing their work in places like the Louvre, the Metropolitan, the National Gallery in London. They--we--want it to be loved, appreciated, given the respect and admiration we think it deserves. But often, that does not happen. Our work is passed on, dismissed as something lower than "true" art. It is cast aside.
We get angry. We have worked so, so hard for our art; we don't want to be told all that hard work amounted to nothing. Nobody likes to be told that. But we forget that hard work is never pointless. Sometimes, it just takes a little longer to see the rewards, and often, those rewards are not what we thought they would be.
We don't always know when we're done, when we've reached the end. Nobody is waving their arms wildly at the finish line, letting us know where that line is, how much farther we have to run. Sometimes, we have to just keep ourselves going, convince ourselves to take just one more step, one more step, go a little bit farther, that line is just around the corner. Blind and ridiculous hope is often the only thing that keeps us going.
We're crazy, of course. There is no finish line. (Or maybe it's more accurate to say, life is full of finish lines, and when you've crossed one, it only means there's another on the horizon.) But we're used to be called crazy. We're artists. It kind of comes with the territory.
We're crazy, of course. There is no finish line. (Or maybe it's more accurate to say, life is full of finish lines, and when you've crossed one, it only means there's another on the horizon.) But we're used to be called crazy. We're artists. It kind of comes with the territory.
Then there are the times we go visit other galleries and museums, looking for inspiration, hoping to meet other struggling artists like us. Instead, what do we find hanging from the exhibit walls? Nothing but crap. At least, we think it's crap. If that's what's being called art, what do we know about what art really is?
And we think to ourselves, how can anyone like this? How can anyone find this worthy for public viewing? How is this work better than mine?
The answer is, it might not be. Or it might manage to affect some people in a way you can't feel. It might have a story behind it you can't see at first glance. Or it might have just gotten lucky, plain and simple.
None of us wants to be the creator of the painting people look at and say, "Why is this considered art?" But is it better to be that person, or the person whose art is never viewed at all? I don't know. All I can say is, it takes is one heart, just one, to touch with our art, and it's all worth it.
This whole post has been my longwinded way of saying I got a rejection letter from a literary agent today. It wasn't the first. It won't be the last.
It never hurts less.
But that doesn't stop me. I'm going to keep going, push myself further, run a little harder...that finish line might very well be just around the corner. I have to keep writing.
And we think to ourselves, how can anyone like this? How can anyone find this worthy for public viewing? How is this work better than mine?
The answer is, it might not be. Or it might manage to affect some people in a way you can't feel. It might have a story behind it you can't see at first glance. Or it might have just gotten lucky, plain and simple.
None of us wants to be the creator of the painting people look at and say, "Why is this considered art?" But is it better to be that person, or the person whose art is never viewed at all? I don't know. All I can say is, it takes is one heart, just one, to touch with our art, and it's all worth it.
This whole post has been my longwinded way of saying I got a rejection letter from a literary agent today. It wasn't the first. It won't be the last.
It never hurts less.
But that doesn't stop me. I'm going to keep going, push myself further, run a little harder...that finish line might very well be just around the corner. I have to keep writing.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Spreading the Words of Others
This week has been very busy in the blogosphere. Lots of issues have been raised, opinions have been shared, and things have been written that frankly, I'm still trying to process it all in my own head.
It started with Remittance Girl writing a post, Baby You're A Star. If you haven't read it, you should go read it now. Basically, it's her thoughts on BDSM and "The Scene" in today's modern world, and how BDSM has found its way mainstream, but not in a good way.
(I left my two cents in the comments section, if you want to see that, too.)
She then put up a post by a guest blogger, I_Sadist, titled Sorry Its Already Been Decided For You. The comments are still going strong on that one; lots of people weighing in (including me). I thought the post very timely after reading The She-donist's post, What's Your Flavor?
It seemed to me that while I_Sadist was lamenting how extreme kink is now being frowned upon in many clubs and dungeons, The She-donist was bemoaning how some kinks/fetishes are now being snubbed at because they are seen as too vanilla, a "gateway fetish."
Big Poppa responded to Remittance Girl and I_Sadist with his own blog post, I Am A Predator. It's a great read, but the end is what's haunting:
It started with Remittance Girl writing a post, Baby You're A Star. If you haven't read it, you should go read it now. Basically, it's her thoughts on BDSM and "The Scene" in today's modern world, and how BDSM has found its way mainstream, but not in a good way.
(I left my two cents in the comments section, if you want to see that, too.)
She then put up a post by a guest blogger, I_Sadist, titled Sorry Its Already Been Decided For You. The comments are still going strong on that one; lots of people weighing in (including me). I thought the post very timely after reading The She-donist's post, What's Your Flavor?
It seemed to me that while I_Sadist was lamenting how extreme kink is now being frowned upon in many clubs and dungeons, The She-donist was bemoaning how some kinks/fetishes are now being snubbed at because they are seen as too vanilla, a "gateway fetish."
Big Poppa responded to Remittance Girl and I_Sadist with his own blog post, I Am A Predator. It's a great read, but the end is what's haunting:
"I am going to only warn you once more. I am Kinky, I am Dominant, I do horrible things to tender prey like you. I am a Predator. And I am taking back that word."
(I have one thing to say to Big Poppa's warning: I don't think anyone in their right mind thought for one second he had ever abandoned the title. And if they did, I have a feeling they are very sorry right now.)
So there's been a lot to think about, a lot of great discussion going on...but I'm not going to write my own blog post in response to it. Frankly, I don't feel like I'm in the same league with these people: they've all been in "The Scene" forever, have seen it all and done it all. They've paid their dues and have the right to their own opinions. (Well, you know, they'd have the right to their own opinions anyway but their experiences make their opinions more valid and legit.)
I will say that I found myself nodding at some of it, frowning at other bits, and feeling downright uncomfortable with some of the things I found in the comments sections. But most of all, I found myself feeling very blessed and lucky that I have my Dom, that he is my Husband and we've been together for over fifteen years now, and we're still happy being together. So much of what's written in these blog posts boils down to people trying to find what they're looking for in someone else, someone who they find compatible with their kinky needs. I have what I need, or better stated, who I need, and he's downstairs right now playing with our kids. So like I said, I'm very, very blessed.
Edited to Add: Sir Stompsalot has written his own post, I believe in response to everything else that's been written but I might be wrong. It is a great post, touches on a lot of things I was thinking but couldn't quite articulate, and adds in great ways to the discussion. You should go read it.
Edited to Add: Sir Stompsalot has written his own post, I believe in response to everything else that's been written but I might be wrong. It is a great post, touches on a lot of things I was thinking but couldn't quite articulate, and adds in great ways to the discussion. You should go read it.
In other news, we went to a Renaissance Fair the other day, and I managed to get a chevron collar and some leather straps with hooks. The collar looks something like this:
It is very pretty and I love it.
I also scrounged up the courage to try on another corset, and you know what? This experience was very different from the last time. Last time, the dresser was very quick with me, and now I know, tightened up the laces too far too fast. This dresser took her time, communicated with me during the whole process, and kept making sure I was okay. By the time she was done, I looked...good. Better than good. My globular tits were on proud display, and my waist was smaller than I'd seen it in years. She said I'm "easily compressible." She meant it as a compliment, and that's how I took it.
(My kids like to call it "very smooshy," but that doesn't sound so nice, so I'll take "easily compressible.")
Husband's car is still in the shop, but they've told him it might be done as early as tomorrow. If it's not, I have a feeling that will put him in a very, very bad mood.
I'm already preparing myself for it...and kind of hoping it's not ready in time.
I am Bothered Because I am Bothered
Wesley: Does it sting you, my betrayal?
Illyria: Betrayal was a neutral word in my day, as unjudged a word as water or breeze. No. Or perhaps...I am only bothered because I am bothered.
Wesley: That sounds very close to human.
I realize I left you on a hanging thread there, and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry I will not be cutting you down from the thread today. Perhaps I do in fact have some sadist in me.
I'm writing this post fast, and will put it up without polishing, because I simply don't have time to make it look all pretty and shiny. Time is running away from me faster than my five year old runs away from his underwear, and right now, I look just as silly trying to run after it.
But there is something that has been on my mind lately, a lot: how much judgement we put on concepts in the BDSM lifestyle. Words like sub, Dom, predator, and prey. I suppose that's normal, these words act like labels that suggest behavior and reaction. But the one word that doesn't fit any label and yet intrudes on every nuance of a D/s lifestyle is this one:
And if you don't know what I'm talking about, let me ask you this: What is the opposite of pain? Pleasure? That is not right, because pain itself can be the catalyst for pleasure. For some, pain is the pleasure. They are not opposites. If you are not in pain, are you "fine?" But then, can't you be fine if you are in pain? Not just in spite of it, but because of it? Being "fine" is not the opposite of being "in pain."
There is no word to describe the opposite of pain, because it is a noun, not an adjective; just like there is no word that acts as opposite to chair, or water, or breeze. Pain is its own thing. Pain is neutral.
And yet we treat it so negatively. When one is in pain, that is BAD. One has to qualify if the pain is good. One has to explain oneself. Because it is not natural, it is not normal, and it is not what general society accepts.
We have rejected the idea there can be a noun that means "the feeling of not being in pain." That all the words we use to describe this absence are unsuitable, because they suggest the absence of pain is a good thing, when sometimes, for some of us, it is not.
Pain can fill a person's heart like heady emotion, or take root in the mind like thought. The void of pain can bring a feeling of emptiness and longing, like something is missing from the person's soul. It is far from positive.
Judgement stems from emotion, and we are all too quick to attach emotion to labels we don't think through. Why does pain have to be judged as something negative? Or for that matter, why do other BDSM labels have to be treated the same way?
Sub, Dom, predator, prey. Can they not be muttered as fact without feelings spilling out, too?
Illyria: Betrayal was a neutral word in my day, as unjudged a word as water or breeze. No. Or perhaps...I am only bothered because I am bothered.
Wesley: That sounds very close to human.
I realize I left you on a hanging thread there, and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry I will not be cutting you down from the thread today. Perhaps I do in fact have some sadist in me.
I'm writing this post fast, and will put it up without polishing, because I simply don't have time to make it look all pretty and shiny. Time is running away from me faster than my five year old runs away from his underwear, and right now, I look just as silly trying to run after it.
But there is something that has been on my mind lately, a lot: how much judgement we put on concepts in the BDSM lifestyle. Words like sub, Dom, predator, and prey. I suppose that's normal, these words act like labels that suggest behavior and reaction. But the one word that doesn't fit any label and yet intrudes on every nuance of a D/s lifestyle is this one:
PAIN
And I don't know how to explain it, and I don't know how to describe it, because the word is so general and simplified and injected with so much judgement, we don't have the words in the English language to pick it apart.And if you don't know what I'm talking about, let me ask you this: What is the opposite of pain? Pleasure? That is not right, because pain itself can be the catalyst for pleasure. For some, pain is the pleasure. They are not opposites. If you are not in pain, are you "fine?" But then, can't you be fine if you are in pain? Not just in spite of it, but because of it? Being "fine" is not the opposite of being "in pain."
There is no word to describe the opposite of pain, because it is a noun, not an adjective; just like there is no word that acts as opposite to chair, or water, or breeze. Pain is its own thing. Pain is neutral.
And yet we treat it so negatively. When one is in pain, that is BAD. One has to qualify if the pain is good. One has to explain oneself. Because it is not natural, it is not normal, and it is not what general society accepts.
We have rejected the idea there can be a noun that means "the feeling of not being in pain." That all the words we use to describe this absence are unsuitable, because they suggest the absence of pain is a good thing, when sometimes, for some of us, it is not.
Pain can fill a person's heart like heady emotion, or take root in the mind like thought. The void of pain can bring a feeling of emptiness and longing, like something is missing from the person's soul. It is far from positive.
Judgement stems from emotion, and we are all too quick to attach emotion to labels we don't think through. Why does pain have to be judged as something negative? Or for that matter, why do other BDSM labels have to be treated the same way?
Sub, Dom, predator, prey. Can they not be muttered as fact without feelings spilling out, too?
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