Kind of an awesome weekend.
Thought about f-locking this, don't see the point.
In what may be a recurring engagement, I attended a BDSM play party on Saturday. Never been to one before, was exceedingly nervous, but wanted to go in support of a friend and also to satisfy my own curiosity as well as hopefully make some useful connections. I figured I'd mostly just observe quietly and not really get involved. Yeah. About that. One of the more interesting features of Naamah is that she does not have a halfway setting.
I'm not submissive (this was brought home to me even more strongly on Saturday). However, it's been a long-term goal of mine to acquire a BDSM sensation library. The purpose is twofold: 1) I want to know what things feel like so that I can write about them accurately and 2) I feel a moral obligation to experience anything that I am going to ask someone else to endure. Because I enjoy certain kinds of pain, this turned out to be a pleasurable endeavor on its own.
So now, in addition to spanking and strapping experience, I have experience with a variety of floggers and paddles and a couple of different canes. All in one night. Because I evidently have an iron ass.
I wish to point out before I go on that submission is not about how much pain you can take. It's not about being the toughest person in the room. It's not about proving anything, any more than being dominant is about proving anything. I want everyone to understand that.
I also want to point out for people who aren't versed in this subculture that the power to begin or end an interaction of this sort resides with the person who has the safeword, not the person who has the whip. Exceptions to this can be negotiated, but the basic assumption of all BDSM encounters is and always should be that either party has the right to terminate an interaction at any time, and that the submissive's safeword trumps anything the top wants to do. This is meant to be pleasurable for everyone. We wouldn't be doing this, either on top or on bottom, either giving or taking orders or pain or humiliation, if we didn't get something out of it. If it didn't give us pleasure. (Yes, there are dysfunctional examples of this sort of relationship. Yes, while kink subculture as a whole emphasizes inclusion and accomodation, there are deep issues within some groups including but not limited to sexism, transphobia, ableism, racism, etc.)
I am a weird mix of dominant and pain-seeking, not quite a switch, not a submissive. While the urge to pigeonhole people as top or bottom, dom or sub, is strong, in real life these identities are not always discrete; I would be a really good example of this. Sometimes I really, really like pain. However, ordering me to do something or expecting me to respond like a submissive doesn't really work, and will probably net you some gentle and humorous push-back. There's nothing wrong with being a submissive. I have loads of respect for subs. How could I not? I'm just not one for the most part, and you won't get far treating me like one.
And, last of all, this is not exclusively a sexual thing. For me, it's related, but apart. For others, it's very closely intertwined. Either way, for me, that night, there was nothing I perceived as explicitly sexual being done to me. It didn't get me revved that way. I was not turned on, although I found the physical sensations pleasurable in an interesting way. I'm just pointing that out because I find it interesting that people automatically assume some level of more intimate sexual interaction must be going on, and that is not true at all. (Yes, I am aware this post is tagged with "sex." Like I said: related, but apart.)
There. Disclaimers are out of the way.
So. Saturday. A very generous and kind gentleman agreed to let us play with some of his toys, so we all went for it. I was the second up on the table, and I had just about everything in his toybag used on me. Some of it hurt. Some of it hurt kind of a lot. It was all wonderful, and I would be hard-pressed at this point to say what I enjoyed most. (I wish I'd thought to ask him to just open-handed spank me, though. I do love that.)
I apparently have a really high tolerance for this shit. Being that it's not a contest to see who can take the most pain, I feel odd reporting this, but it made an impression on me.
The gentleman in question kept getting out the next worst thing and using it on me, and I kept finding it all perfectly wonderful. Either of the ladies who were there, who may identify themselves if they wish, will be able to tell you, there was a lot of "No, I'm fine!" and "That was great!" and a lot of happy noises and, frankly, laughing. Yes, a lot of yelping and swearing too, but mostly it was delighted yelping and swearing, and the whole thing felt like being played with. In a good way. Especially since our guide was very good about body contact, always letting me feel where he was, touching me very respectfully and gently. That was soothing. The whole thing was kind of soothing.
I wasn't making an effort to tough it out, it was just really, really enjoyable. Every time something new came out I was like a puppy being shown a new toy. Use it! Use it!
Even when he got to the Weapon of Ass Destruction (I lol-ed!) which was a truly nasty five-strand braided leather flogger that had more than one person present putting their asses to the wall in alarm, I cried mercy only once, when our lovely trainee domme managed to lay one just perfectly across my ass, clear from one side to the other side, and the length of the stroke (my ass is WIDE) meant that it hurt quite a lot. That thing came really close to making me Officially Concerned For My Behind, and it has my respect independently of the people who used it on me for whom, I must stress, I have nothing but the greatest respect and gratitude. And yet, right now, I want to ride that ride again.
At one point, our gracious instructor leaned down and whispered in my ear "You have an absolutely extraordinary ability to accept and process pain, and you have my congratulations. If you stay in the scene, you will go far." This from a guy who has been doing this for . . . Jesus. Forty years? He was not a young man.
I have had a very mixed reaction to that. I mean, I wasn't trying for that. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I mean, Jesus, it's just . . . look, it's just a little bit of pain, delivered in short, easily overcome doses, and it's good pain besides, not the bad pain that says "Something is wrong." I don't feel like I should be commended for that, and I shouldn't feel proud of it, since it isn't hard for me.
But I am proud, because part of what I get out of all this is feeling strong, which is -- because I am so often so weak and so helpless when it comes to the shit that is wrong with my brain, now THERE'S some pain for you -- something I need to be able to feel from time to time. That this is one way in which I and pain are a match for one another, and can even be friendly. It feels so good to not only be able to do something, but to be told by someone who knows what they are doing that you've got a real knack for it.
And I also feel sort of awkward for reasons I can't really articulate. There's the vaguely embarrassed frustration of realizing that you would be really good at something that you don't necessarily want to dedicate yourself to. A high pain tolerance would be a damn fine thing to find in a sub if you were a certain kind of pain-giver. I'm just sayin'.
There's also this pair of horns: I'm quite happy to allow my ass to be a canvas for a friend of mine who wants to hone her skills, but I may not be the best test subject. I'm like a Jeep, and she'd go to the next person and suddenly she'd be trying to offroad in a Porsche, and there would be tears and recriminations and maybe a broken drive shaft. And when I get into dealing the pain, which is one of my ultimate goals, my scale of what is painful is calibrated differently enough that I'm concerned I may have a problem hurting people too much.
Anyway, it did bring home that I'm not particularly submissive. And that's okay. I knew I wasn't. At one point our delightful novice domme popped me a REALLY good one and said "What do we say?" and I replied with, I believe, "That was GREAT!"
I'm sorry, darlin'. I wasn't meaning to be disrespectful. (It would have felt way more disrespectful to fake yes ma'am/thank you mistress, frankly.) You were great, and I think you have killer instincts. That you got that reaction out of me is a compliment.
Anyway. It was great, and I am hoping to be able to work things out so that I can attend regularly.
I would have gone on but I had monopolized the table long enough, and also didn't want to risk causing myself harm because, between the endorphins and my high tolerance, I might have passed the point of being able to tell when I'm being hit too hard. I wanted to go on, though.
I was probably right to stop. I was absolutely wiped out the rest of the night, and had to go home early, and I was wiped out the next day, too. Just dead tired. No pain anywhere but my shoulder, where I agreed to participate in a caning demo that I knew would leave deeper marks -- in many ways the most illuminating part of the night, because it completely rearranged my apprehension of just how little force is necessary with canes. The bruises were uncomfortable for about a day, but I definitely, definitely want to try more of that because I don't feel I understand it well enough yet.
Interesting thing:
I felt no fear. Not once. Not of any person. Not of the group. Not of stripping naked in front of strangers. Not of stripping naked in front of two (HOT) people I knew. Not of being watched by people I did not know. Not of any implement that was used on me or shown to me. Not of any pain I received, not of the last stroke which still hurt nor the next one I knew was coming. From the moment I walked in, I felt completely in control. For someone with anxiety issues that regularly keep me from leaving the house on bad days, this was an absolutely extraordinary thing. For someone with agonizing body issues, the fact that I did not hesitate to let it all hang out is even more extraordinary.
Unexpected side effect, and unexpectedly the best thing about the night:
Since Saturday, I have not felt bad about my body. The internal hate beast has grunted a couple times, and both times I crushed it flat. What the fuck does it know? Nothing. Fuck you, hate beast.
In what may be a recurring engagement, I attended a BDSM play party on Saturday. Never been to one before, was exceedingly nervous, but wanted to go in support of a friend and also to satisfy my own curiosity as well as hopefully make some useful connections. I figured I'd mostly just observe quietly and not really get involved. Yeah. About that. One of the more interesting features of Naamah is that she does not have a halfway setting.
I'm not submissive (this was brought home to me even more strongly on Saturday). However, it's been a long-term goal of mine to acquire a BDSM sensation library. The purpose is twofold: 1) I want to know what things feel like so that I can write about them accurately and 2) I feel a moral obligation to experience anything that I am going to ask someone else to endure. Because I enjoy certain kinds of pain, this turned out to be a pleasurable endeavor on its own.
So now, in addition to spanking and strapping experience, I have experience with a variety of floggers and paddles and a couple of different canes. All in one night. Because I evidently have an iron ass.
I wish to point out before I go on that submission is not about how much pain you can take. It's not about being the toughest person in the room. It's not about proving anything, any more than being dominant is about proving anything. I want everyone to understand that.
I also want to point out for people who aren't versed in this subculture that the power to begin or end an interaction of this sort resides with the person who has the safeword, not the person who has the whip. Exceptions to this can be negotiated, but the basic assumption of all BDSM encounters is and always should be that either party has the right to terminate an interaction at any time, and that the submissive's safeword trumps anything the top wants to do. This is meant to be pleasurable for everyone. We wouldn't be doing this, either on top or on bottom, either giving or taking orders or pain or humiliation, if we didn't get something out of it. If it didn't give us pleasure. (Yes, there are dysfunctional examples of this sort of relationship. Yes, while kink subculture as a whole emphasizes inclusion and accomodation, there are deep issues within some groups including but not limited to sexism, transphobia, ableism, racism, etc.)
I am a weird mix of dominant and pain-seeking, not quite a switch, not a submissive. While the urge to pigeonhole people as top or bottom, dom or sub, is strong, in real life these identities are not always discrete; I would be a really good example of this. Sometimes I really, really like pain. However, ordering me to do something or expecting me to respond like a submissive doesn't really work, and will probably net you some gentle and humorous push-back. There's nothing wrong with being a submissive. I have loads of respect for subs. How could I not? I'm just not one for the most part, and you won't get far treating me like one.
And, last of all, this is not exclusively a sexual thing. For me, it's related, but apart. For others, it's very closely intertwined. Either way, for me, that night, there was nothing I perceived as explicitly sexual being done to me. It didn't get me revved that way. I was not turned on, although I found the physical sensations pleasurable in an interesting way. I'm just pointing that out because I find it interesting that people automatically assume some level of more intimate sexual interaction must be going on, and that is not true at all. (Yes, I am aware this post is tagged with "sex." Like I said: related, but apart.)
There. Disclaimers are out of the way.
So. Saturday. A very generous and kind gentleman agreed to let us play with some of his toys, so we all went for it. I was the second up on the table, and I had just about everything in his toybag used on me. Some of it hurt. Some of it hurt kind of a lot. It was all wonderful, and I would be hard-pressed at this point to say what I enjoyed most. (I wish I'd thought to ask him to just open-handed spank me, though. I do love that.)
I apparently have a really high tolerance for this shit. Being that it's not a contest to see who can take the most pain, I feel odd reporting this, but it made an impression on me.
The gentleman in question kept getting out the next worst thing and using it on me, and I kept finding it all perfectly wonderful. Either of the ladies who were there, who may identify themselves if they wish, will be able to tell you, there was a lot of "No, I'm fine!" and "That was great!" and a lot of happy noises and, frankly, laughing. Yes, a lot of yelping and swearing too, but mostly it was delighted yelping and swearing, and the whole thing felt like being played with. In a good way. Especially since our guide was very good about body contact, always letting me feel where he was, touching me very respectfully and gently. That was soothing. The whole thing was kind of soothing.
I wasn't making an effort to tough it out, it was just really, really enjoyable. Every time something new came out I was like a puppy being shown a new toy. Use it! Use it!
Even when he got to the Weapon of Ass Destruction (I lol-ed!) which was a truly nasty five-strand braided leather flogger that had more than one person present putting their asses to the wall in alarm, I cried mercy only once, when our lovely trainee domme managed to lay one just perfectly across my ass, clear from one side to the other side, and the length of the stroke (my ass is WIDE) meant that it hurt quite a lot. That thing came really close to making me Officially Concerned For My Behind, and it has my respect independently of the people who used it on me for whom, I must stress, I have nothing but the greatest respect and gratitude. And yet, right now, I want to ride that ride again.
At one point, our gracious instructor leaned down and whispered in my ear "You have an absolutely extraordinary ability to accept and process pain, and you have my congratulations. If you stay in the scene, you will go far." This from a guy who has been doing this for . . . Jesus. Forty years? He was not a young man.
I have had a very mixed reaction to that. I mean, I wasn't trying for that. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I mean, Jesus, it's just . . . look, it's just a little bit of pain, delivered in short, easily overcome doses, and it's good pain besides, not the bad pain that says "Something is wrong." I don't feel like I should be commended for that, and I shouldn't feel proud of it, since it isn't hard for me.
But I am proud, because part of what I get out of all this is feeling strong, which is -- because I am so often so weak and so helpless when it comes to the shit that is wrong with my brain, now THERE'S some pain for you -- something I need to be able to feel from time to time. That this is one way in which I and pain are a match for one another, and can even be friendly. It feels so good to not only be able to do something, but to be told by someone who knows what they are doing that you've got a real knack for it.
And I also feel sort of awkward for reasons I can't really articulate. There's the vaguely embarrassed frustration of realizing that you would be really good at something that you don't necessarily want to dedicate yourself to. A high pain tolerance would be a damn fine thing to find in a sub if you were a certain kind of pain-giver. I'm just sayin'.
There's also this pair of horns: I'm quite happy to allow my ass to be a canvas for a friend of mine who wants to hone her skills, but I may not be the best test subject. I'm like a Jeep, and she'd go to the next person and suddenly she'd be trying to offroad in a Porsche, and there would be tears and recriminations and maybe a broken drive shaft. And when I get into dealing the pain, which is one of my ultimate goals, my scale of what is painful is calibrated differently enough that I'm concerned I may have a problem hurting people too much.
Anyway, it did bring home that I'm not particularly submissive. And that's okay. I knew I wasn't. At one point our delightful novice domme popped me a REALLY good one and said "What do we say?" and I replied with, I believe, "That was GREAT!"
I'm sorry, darlin'. I wasn't meaning to be disrespectful. (It would have felt way more disrespectful to fake yes ma'am/thank you mistress, frankly.) You were great, and I think you have killer instincts. That you got that reaction out of me is a compliment.
Anyway. It was great, and I am hoping to be able to work things out so that I can attend regularly.
I would have gone on but I had monopolized the table long enough, and also didn't want to risk causing myself harm because, between the endorphins and my high tolerance, I might have passed the point of being able to tell when I'm being hit too hard. I wanted to go on, though.
I was probably right to stop. I was absolutely wiped out the rest of the night, and had to go home early, and I was wiped out the next day, too. Just dead tired. No pain anywhere but my shoulder, where I agreed to participate in a caning demo that I knew would leave deeper marks -- in many ways the most illuminating part of the night, because it completely rearranged my apprehension of just how little force is necessary with canes. The bruises were uncomfortable for about a day, but I definitely, definitely want to try more of that because I don't feel I understand it well enough yet.
Interesting thing:
I felt no fear. Not once. Not of any person. Not of the group. Not of stripping naked in front of strangers. Not of stripping naked in front of two (HOT) people I knew. Not of being watched by people I did not know. Not of any implement that was used on me or shown to me. Not of any pain I received, not of the last stroke which still hurt nor the next one I knew was coming. From the moment I walked in, I felt completely in control. For someone with anxiety issues that regularly keep me from leaving the house on bad days, this was an absolutely extraordinary thing. For someone with agonizing body issues, the fact that I did not hesitate to let it all hang out is even more extraordinary.
Unexpected side effect, and unexpectedly the best thing about the night:
Since Saturday, I have not felt bad about my body. The internal hate beast has grunted a couple times, and both times I crushed it flat. What the fuck does it know? Nothing. Fuck you, hate beast.