Tribal Solutions To Old Problems

Once upon a time I was assaulted. Three times, the last time I fought back and punched him in the head. I learned like all niafs in the BDSM scene that not everyone respects you. I grew up. I first made a space without him, got braver and called him out.

In the mean time he raped someone. Allegedly. Anecdotes piled up. Nothing really came of my honesty. Then he popped up in my other life, as a nerd.

Most of the people who deal with this turn to flight reactions, but something about this, and him, turns to fight. I check the people going to my nerdy event and he’s listed himself as interested. I know he is still out there bit I was not expecting this.

Everything gets super sharp. I tell Wildcard. I thumb open my contacts and explicitly tell the club admin who this person is and what they do to women.

My heart beat is heavy, and I make myself eat dinner. Salmon sashami, I need the calories. I message my brother and tell him I may need his help.

He’s six feet tall, with a deep voice. I’m 5’5″ in my stocking feet. Sometimes it goes tribal, old ways. I know how far people trust tiny, squeak voiced girls. I know if nobody believes me we are going to make a scene.

I don’t do this just for me, I fight because other women were hurt.

The admin hears me out, but wants more proof. I give names, but he needs in the club for reasons I understand but don’t agree with. I take a break from the conversation. I am reassured that I am believed, but this will go much easier if I have… Tribe? That is what it boils down to. I am not a reliable witness on my own. I know that.

I know that enough people believe me we will stand him down. But he is only “interested”. We don’t know if the war party is needed. I wonder who in mt extended circle knows him and invited him.

The admin gets back to me. A witness, in the club, speaks to corroborate my story. And elder member who walks in both worlds.

I rant for a few minutes about the unfairness. Wildcard listens, disagrees that it is my gender that required the second witness.

The person who assaulted me is quietly dealt with.

 

LARP Boys & Sexuality

I am awash in LARP boys.

I am seriously concerned if I show up for one of the conventions, it’s going to be spontanious bukkake with the amount of attention. Which brings up the same thing I have talked about before, one’s relationship to the voracious desires others have for you.

Wildcard remains with a steady rotation of “kitties” some of them closer to him than others, all hands off to the point he likes, harvested from the local kink scene. Occasionally he bats them away from his penis, like small children being kept away from the breakables. He wants their upturned asses to beat, and maybe to jam a hitachi against them until they come. They are invariably at least a smigen younger (or like a full decade), cute, usually dark brunette- assigned female at birth but respected for their pronouns. To get off with them spoils his control.

He keeps a steady stream of IMs with the favourites, always a little gunshy about me knowing, like he isn’t entirely sure he has my explicit encouragement. This is his sexuality, what he needs to be happy. He’s making them happy too, so where is the harm?

At first I was a bit jealous as the transition to pursuit of kitties came with a natural drift from his obsession with me, but I have seen it is basically water seeking its own level. This is who he is, living geniunely, to have me as a part of his sexuality but not the entirety. That is kind of important and fits what I told him as one of my rules, which is that he should choose what makes him happy.

But me: LARP boys are just as kinky as BDSM scene boys, but more inclined to lead with their vulnerability, not their dicks and kinks. While my fetlife inbox is a trickle of “can you get me off to that complicated itch I need scratched, just so?”, with LARP boys, there’s a sensitive sweetness, a big eyed emotional hopefulness superceding the evident rampent erections.

Wildcard was a LARP boy once. I met him when my character boldly wandered into his troupe. As soon as the whole world I unlocked became evident to him, a wild wonderland of sexual freedom, he jumped and I don’t think he looked back. We still play games together, but to be honest I don’t think he likes mixing sexuality into story the way I do. His characters are asexual or delibrately distanced.

I bring sexuality with me, and flirt and charm and try to be as honest as possible. The attention I get is mostly a challenge for the contextual social situation outside the game. First off, I want story. I need story, and I have learned the hard way that boys prefer me to fantasy. Characters get abandoned when they realize there is a mind behind the mask. I don’t mind them getting to know the real me, but it kind of feels disappointing if it comes at the cost of my creations. Strong did that to me, trading out an interesting story for lurid sexual fantasies and then burning out all together. It kind of hurt.

Secondly, there is the whole slut-ego thing. I am not supposed to acknowledge my participation in attracting people. It is supposed to be an externally applied objectification people feel sorry for. Oh how sad, Pearl gets boys going! Mention “I get a lot of attention” and people treat it like street harassment or cruel manipulation. Victim or femme fatale. Take your pick.

Attention you can control and escape is not the same thing as attention jammed down your throat. I might be the sort of person who responded yesterday to a guy whistling at me and going (literally) “hubba hubba!” with “Seriously?!” (because it was in front of a Tim Hortins at 2PM. I mean jesus fuck, oggle at what I offer to the world but have some fucking decorum), but I also am the sort of person who acknowledges that there is more than  demeaning objectification in the scope of casual interest. But you aren’t supposed to. The princess is always pretty, but she always needs to wait for the hero to tell her how special she is. Tits sell everything from computer software to perfume, but God forbid you add your own to the conversation on your terms.

That is how a lot of the other LARP girls do. They have their turgid bleed-romances like everyone else, but discreetly, carefully, and hidden. We have girl talk and they are guarded about the sexuality in our hobby, scared of the men and pushing the envelope. And they have a point, some of them are rapists, more of them are coup counters who gossip who fucked you, as if your exposure to sex diminishes you a bit at a time. Lord save me from virgin chasers. I cast off mine as soon as possible, and I won’t be bound by guys whose goal is to be the cock with no point of comparison.

And the other trick, outside the coup counters, is that LARP boys, as a rule, don’t like acknowledging that they are not the only guy seriously strategizing getting you into a hotel room at a gaming convention and making the maid service hate them forever for the mess that would result. It’s either itchy fists directed at the other guys, or hurt feelings at you. If you notice the other men, how can they be special? 

Thing is, the 20th time he’s “never met a girl like you before” maybe you aren’t being full of yourself to see a pattern? My brother is furious that people keep messaging him to tell him his sister is hot. Wildcard gets peppered with squeeing “omg Pearl!!!” from the kitties who see us as a package deal. And I notice back. I like men. This isn’t a one sided thing where guys are sexless and icky.

I guess that is the other taboo. I like men. Really. They are fun, with their jaws and their swingy shoulders and their careful socially forced repression and power fantasies. And I think I am missing I guess the uh… misandry? Fear? That is supposed to blot out my ability to acknowledge them as just as much objects of desire.

But, these days when I get praised, I answer with “I know”. I put Wildcard’s presence and my ego into the conversation early, to lay out where I stand, almost like a challenge. Want me? Acknowledge me as I am. Then we can talk.

Being a slut, in that awkward kind of way where I don’t actually get fucked all that much, but I play with desire, is hard. The attention turns me on. The sweetness turns me on too- I like watching them worry if their voice is goofy or react to me discovering something special to them.

I like making them feel good, with sincere compliments. I might have a predatory streak (worship me! worship me!) that goes straight to the core of my dominance, but I actually like LARP boys. These are my people. Fun.

But there isn’t really a space to say that you get turned on by the attention. It doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat when a LARP boy carefully unpacks himself in front of you. It’s a strip tease.

And I won’t pretend it is not a delight to tease right back.

Sickness and Idleness


It’s been two weeks since I went into the emergency room, my stomach so pained that I was crying with it. Two months of hurting, escalating from a week of bad things pushed on me.

They scoped me out, found nothing in my guts by MRI, and a non-threatening cyst on my left ovary. I had the worst time in the hospital- the IV caused a vasovagal reaction and dry heaving, then the fluids used to make my guts show up of course make you even more ill. It’s not sexy, but it is my body.

The doctor called it stress. Stress so intense my appetite’s shuttered and I wake up in pain every morning. I’m thirty-one. I lost 15 pounds in 2 months. I don’t even feel hungry anymore.

I’m on sick leave. Temporary disability (paperwork ahoy!) paid for out of premiums I was just signed on for at tge job I am tired of.

I miss wanting to eat, I miss having stamina. It’s Canada so all of this is free.

Wildcard, who lives to feed me cooking that would make a professional jealous, watches with wary, sad eyes. He doesn’t know how to help me. He wants to help.

I spend about an hour every day in the shower. It relieves the cramps and turns my brain off under the thousand drop prickle massage of the water. I do laundry because I hate being useless.

I will get better, I think? I’m mending slowly.

I’m Number 42!

Top 100 Sex Bloggers 2016

So it’s the end of the year, and there’s the usual little puff of awards to waft us out. I deliberately skipped the kinkly awards this year (not even the winners were exactly happy with them) but got picked for something I actually hold in a lot of esteem- Molly’s Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2016.

Oh yeah, and in other amazing news Domme Chronicles won this year. Ferns is not just the pre-eminent lifestyle femdom blogger, but she’s a pillar of multiple online communities and forums. She would probably appreciate a congratulations- she earned it.

As for why I care about this award- this is one of those things were all the other people on the list are properly hand picked and curated on sensible factors ranging from proper art attribution to frequency of updates. There’s a diverse crew (could use more guys, but men are in the minority in sex blogging and they are better represented than in some lists) of sex toy reviewer, share all vanillas, kinksters and other sex positive people.

Molly also included everyone’s twitter handle, so if you’ve got a lonely feed, you’ve got a hundred chatty people talking about cool things to check out- I’m certainly expanding my list based on who I’m sharing a spot with.

The Crown & Home Cooking

It was a Tuesday, but not a #PunishTuesday.

I came home and I don’t think he’d left the bed since I went to work that morning. It’s his vacation and I want him to rest, but like many humans with a streak of perfectionism, idleness is deleterious to his emotional well being. As a person with a chronic physical ailment, not having the energy to do things is an all too common experience for him.

For myself, my mood has slipped a notch since the last week of October. What is generally the favourite part of the year for me has been marred by a heavy measure of frustration, anxiety and sadness over various things. It’s given me less time to notice that Wildcard’s been a bit droopy too.
He’s not been on the outs, health wise, but my persistent battery at the norms of looking the other way in the Montreal BDSM scene when someone is (allegedly, always ALLEDGEDLY) sexually assaulted has been his burden to carry as well as mine. It’s really hard, you push and push and people call you a hysteric, a liar and a monster.

I mad November about inaction and self care.  If he was too under the weather too cook I’d let him rest. I’d bought piles of vegetables the night before and went about sorting out the long skinny egg plants, enoki mushrooms, bright crisp carrots and all the appropriate other things for putting together a stir fry. By the time I was sectioning the eggplant into neat diagonals, he’d rallied.

I still helped him, asking questions every step of the way, while he added other things to the process, mincing and mashing garlic, creating two bowls of fresh and savoury vegetables and tofu on rice.

Afterwards, we cuddled up on the couch for Netflix & “The Crown”

I’ve been watching The Crown, and intensely self-indulgent Netflix series about the early reign of Queen Elizabeth II. It is of course, very obviously one of those made-by-math stories, like House of Cards was a product of looking at how popular Kevin Spacey and the original series was. I am being pandered to with lush, vintage sets and darling but relatable female characters.
Someone crunched the numbers regarding who was spending their time on The Kings Speech and Downton Abby, and decided that what we needed was to feel intimately the challenges of a woman who wears fabulous clothes, is waited on hand and foot and wants her husband to kneel to her.

I do not mind. It is good to be pandered to.

I think that the series occasionally suffers from attempting to worship everything it touches with a reverence that occasionally shades to the absurd. I also feel a little odd being presented with a real (living) person’s life, as an object of objectified and packaged desire. But there hasn’t been any sharp notes from the Queen’s press office about depicting her husband as a fuck object, so I can assume she is unruffled by this love letter to the monarchy even if the Royal Consort’s body is being showcased as a perk of the job.

It is not a femdom story with whips and chains and beatings. But it is a meaningful examination of women and power, and this is something missing from contemporary femdom. Everyine talks about making your sub happy, but very little time is taken to look at a femdom’s personal complexities and vulnerabilities.
That night’s episode was about feeling empowered and rife with little femdom hat tips and jokes, as we watch the new Queen get a measure of control in her intimate life and the subtle yet central role she plays in sustaining her government. For a while we forgot our respective black moods, and the post show cuddling turned to kissing and giggling.

Femdom life is like that. I don’t know anyone who really has orderly protocol 24/7. I know FLRs where she has ultimate say, but even so, there is more of moody cooking and cuddles on the couch than titles and slave positions.

It’s a good life, if you can find it.

A Sex Shop Date With Wildcard

sushiLast Saturday, Wildcard identified my doldrums as needing fixing, s we went out to watch Dr. Strange and then gorge on sushi, the latter activity almost  meaning a visit to the nearby sex shop, called “Romance“.

Every relationship has its rituals. I have an undying love for salmon, particularly raw or smoked. Wildcard has a tradition of eating his feelings in delicious all you can eat buffet omnoms. Having a favourite fishing hole, and being fond of me, he shared the location and now we make monthly pilgrimages. Faces get stuffed, then we invariably go sex toy shopping.

At first the shopping trips were an accidental extension of geography. The store just happens to be between us and where we always park. Honestly, showing up there started with very little expectation other than having a giggle at the hilari-bad porn DVDs.

This branch is open absurdly late, which was probably the first draw.  Plus, in addition to the breast shaped macaroni and strawberry flavoured lube (euch), they have an upstairs BDSM and fetish section. It’s an Adult Novelty style shop, but it is more than dick hats and copies of Pink Eye 2.

Still, why pay the markup?

You might wonder our motive for being there. After all, it is never going to be as cheap as shopping online. No brick and mortar store is going to beat a fresh-from-the-warehouse site like pinkcherry.ca in cost. If I want a bouquet of a half dozen riding crops,  I will never argue meatspace is cheaper.

I keep going back to Romance, because they beat even my favourite online retailers in immediate customer engagement. The staff cares about and is knowledgeable about all their stock. And, while online sites offer reviews, at a certain point you can’t beat actually touching the merchandise.

Going Hands On

Does it bounce well in the hand with a fleshy weight? How strong are the stitches in the leather? Can you slap it against your thigh to feel the thud or the sting? How does it stand up to my personal tastes? You can tell right away what will and won’t work for you.

For example, this time I wanted a cock ring for Wildcard. We’ve basically maxed out on vibes and insertables, but I wanted to take my teasing game a little further and make his erections more persistent.

Sure cock rings are a cheap grab. They seldom cost more than $20, unless you are moving into the territory of elaborate gilded ornaments. Still, I could have bought multiples online for the price of the one I got.  I paid the store markup because I wanted to actually handle the products properly, and get Wildcard’s immediate feedback. After all it was his penis about to be cinched.

At Romance, anything is available for reasonable in store testing, and I had six or so different sizes and models to play with and figure out which was best. Otherwise, I would either need to borrow a friend’s personal items (assuming I knew someone who did have one), or try my luck with buying before I try. Why gamble and create waste?

Curation Matters

Romance doesn’t stock the super high end, gold plated luxury brands, and while they have a few of the lower quality toys, they are carefully screened for skin safe material. The quality and price point runs a range, but nothing will cause a rash. They have recognizable brands, like Tantus, and various versions of the standards in less recognized brands: glass, masturbation sleeves, bullet vibes, etc… Nonetheless they have their share of the cheap quality stuff.

However, what makes me trust in the quality of their offerings are how they handle duds and poor purchases and how they constantly make purchasing a conversation.

corsetback

For example last shopping trip, I impulse bought a Music Legs branded corset back fishnet tights set. That’s not a band I’d expect much from, but even so, the quality was terrible, neither matching the claimed colours on the package, nor coming laced. Indeed the wretched things gave you your lace as a single length of uncut ribbon- unacceptable for an item fragile enough that the first wearing was likely the last.

Online shopping, you write an irate review, and maybe process a return with shipping at your own expense. The smaller ones have time to address you complaints, but there’s a lot more time and distance involved. Here, you get the immediate feedback and from the staff, checking if it was a one off and pulling the defective product, as well as making a note to discuss the problem with the supplier.

And their relationship building also works in the opposite direction. I admit a certain degree of entertainment in getting a post purchase inquiry into the effectiveness of other toys. As much as they are ready to take unsolicited feedback, when you shop they ask questions- and if they know you bought something in the past, they ask you about what your experience was.

So in all, I might buy most of my toys online or seek out pervertables from cooking supply and hardware stores, but the post sushi sex shop date isn’t going to stop any time soon.


Disclosure: I affiliated with pinkcherry after I realized I was giving them a bunch of business from simply bulk ordering cheapo toys and talking about it. Romance and Priape offer no compensation for being mentioned. The sushi pic is free stock photography from clker.com

 

Femdom Life: NO-vember Begins

A sleepy femdom made out of free clip art.November is prostate cancer and men’s health, diabetes and national novel writing month. It’s also the first quiet period I’ve had in a long time. Thus begins the month of Pearl Not Doing Things.

A major vanilla project I’m working on has started to wind down. I’ve dealt with the whole (alleged) serial rapist in the community and pitched a friend from my social group for less severe but definitely horrible things. Those of you that follow me on social media know it was an intense experience that drained a lot of my energy. That and I’ve got one of those persistent low grade health thingees that I need to spend some Canadian Healthcare on. And I was a bridesmaid, which did not entirely agree with me for various reasons mostly to do with being surrounded by happy other people’s families makes me sad mine sucks.

My job has suffered around all that, and I kind of need to focus harder on it. Bleh.

That being said, it hasn’t been all bad. Phantom review sent me a lovely package. You guys were incredibly supportive through the Herr Kommandandt thing and made a serious difference to getting the word out.

But I’m very, very tired, so I am taking the remainder of this month to catch up. I’ll still be on social media but I am adamantly refusing to organize any parties outside the pre-scheduled monthly munch, or worry about accomplishing anything with any sort of plan, deadline or performance expectation. Of course 99% of this is just removing hiatus guilt, since this blog has never been on any sort of sensible schedule, but I’m hoping to do crafts, read novels and if I write or make art, have it be for fun.

Although a part of me is super excited to start cleaning my apartment. Because of course that’s the kind of weirdo I am.

Oh and I want to make more time to actually have sex and less time to writing about it, or scolding people for being terrible about consent.

… I freely admit that about a week in and I’m still getting “omg I need to be USEFUL” jitters and trying to find something to plan and work on.

 

Fall, Projects, Relationships and Stuffs

cozyIt’s cuddling weather! <Squeeeeee>

Summer heat saps my energy, zapping my will to move and probably putting me at my most emotionally meh. Yeah, I have air conditioning, but then there’s a noisy fan and that weird dry-cold draft.

For me, the encroachment of fall always comes with a little burst of enthusiasm for life, something about the colour of the light, and the cool air. I’m about as far from Agrarian/Pastoral as you can get without living on the ISS, but the moment I can put on thick knit black tights is the moment I start skipping and hopping about.  And it’s the time when Wildcard stops scuttling to his side of the bed with a “don’t touch me you’re too WARM!!! T_T”

So what’s up with me?

The massive (vanilla) project I embarked on at the start of 2016 is starting to settle down, so as of February 2017 I have actual breathing room to work on other projects. The blog overhaul is basically done, although I might look into a better mobile browsing template and tweak a few things, for example making the title and logo smaller. I like it, but yes it occur

Again, a big thank you to the various people who helped out, particularly the Phantom Reviewer and the people who drove themselves crazy trying to figure out the source of the mystery space in my sidebar design. That’s resolved and my general web presence is much more part of a connected unified whole. I know because I’ve started getting messages on fetlife and elsewhere from blog fans going “ZOMG IT’S YOU!”

For such things does one write.

Yeah, yeah what about the porn?!

Writing-wise, as of January, I have a few projects I want to work on, including finishing up some story requests from people- JT is due for a misuse-of-professor story, while I have a second chapter of this superman porn parody 3/4 done, and of course that sequel to The Pet Gentleman is languishing, waiting or me to sit down and finish it already. Part of my goal for the first 6 months in 2-17 are setting aside time to bash what’s written into some semblance of sharable- something that’s been embarrassing delayed in a George RR Martin fashion for far too long.

That’s not even mentioning that I’d really rather be creating more general femdom stories for the blog than my current once every three months output. I suspect I’m not posting as much because I am getting exceptionally focused on perfection. The Friday femdom fiction in particular tends to stretch too damn long when I start writing them, which is the antithesis of what started as 500 word shorts to be dashed off in quantity. I managed one last week, but I can’t say I expect to have breathing room until October has passed.

Also video

In the mean time, I’ve also gotten into doing Periscope live feed videos, with an eye to eventually creating a youtube show. The trick is, of course the topic as I am currently just rambly, which is a topic in its own right, but I feel like I need more effort. Maybe I’ll vlog! Part of that is I finally said fuck it and put myself out there- I spent a good part of the last decade being careful “just in case” and have come to believe that while I don’t want to be stalked and harassed as much as the next person, I am never going to be vanilla-important enough to be penalized if I get recognized at my day job.

For the record, my day job is something that uses all those obnoxious high school math things I was very sure I wouldn’t need. Basically imagine me wearing a giant pair of headphones and hiding in a back cubicle somewhere slapping data into shape, not exactly the career path that gets derailed when someone sends your boss a nasty letter telling them that they employ a woman who likes certain aspects of sex. Also I’m out to my parents (my dad approves of my art as long as it makes money, I’m estranged from my mother, but she knows this exists).

So yeah, if you do Periscope, you can hear my voice and watch me flop about in hilariously low res. Also see the derp-tastic thumbnails the app captures. o_-

Love? Kink scene?

Wildcard and I are moving towards year 3 of our relationship. The official date is fuzzy, since we basically fell into bed shortly after he broke up with his ex, but held off putting a precise label on it for a while after, even if I have basically been living with him since November of 2013. We continue to be a part of the Montreal kink scene, with me running my monthly munch for four years, more or less. (Eeesh)

My love life goes as it should. It is not a D/s or M/s relationship, but it is a femdom relationship in the sense that I am a female dominant and I am in the relationship. Yeah, it’s complicated, but honestly if other people’s anecdotes are anything to go by, an explicitly power exchange dynamic isn’t really easier or more smoothly role defined.

Meanwhile the 18 to 35 meetup is one of Montreal’s more popular, long running events, filling a much needed niche and spawning other events. I won’t call them “copycat”, but they’re certainly on the same theme:  a 25-45 event, and 45+ exclusive thing. Although they are by function exclusionary, they end up creating more participation by serving one or more specific groups, sometimes accidentally- 1835 ate the flailing QueerNonBinaryLesbian bits that weren’t all supported at the time, and although there’s now a woman only munch (M.E.O.W.) I benefited from being a good space for lovely people.

Now we’re continuing to evolve as the kink scene in Montreal continues to get larger and larger. My biggest challenge for the coming months will be maintaining the great culture of the group, which is not a bad problem to have. That and at 30 I eventually need to consider phasing out of this and finding qualified volunteers to take over.

So I’m very much looking forward to what the end of the year will bring, but also the potential to hunker down and take a well needed break.

Art is borrowed from Hannah Hamilton of Verbal Vomit.

Busting the Burglar

It was (punish) Tuesday again, and I’ve been itching to try something. Usually, I’ve taken these preplanned interludes to practice my topping skills. They end with Wildcard in shuddering convulsions, the sign he’s taken his limit of cruel, hard hits. It’s very rewarding in its own way, the warm up, the steady pattern of ever increasing intensity and then finally the painful pulverization. He always asks to have his wrists bound and I tease my masochist when I check in, to see where he’s at, asking “more weight“, the defiant last words of the only sane man in Salem.

But it wasn’t a night for that. I could read, mostly from his desultory masturbation, that his stamina was limited. I had a long day too, and after spilling my guts at a therapist was in no mood to build a carefully accommodating psychological trap to compliment whatever implement I was going to pulverize his butt with.

I got him to put on all his clothes- he has starting in just a shirt. He didn’t know what to expect, although he knew I was taking control.

Then I ordered him to pick up his laptop and stand by the window, as if trying to escape.

While he had dressed I’d found a plastic water pistol, the safe, orange kind designed to not fool passerbys into a panic, and armed myself to defend against the “home invader”. I held him at gunpoint and berated.

He took a moment to understand, looking puzzled, but back in the day he was captain of his college improv club, and we met at a LARP, so he’s a quick study. Honestly narration comes easier than dialog- I’m impressed with myself too. I took the lead and he fed off my “reactions”, making himself into the scared thief I wanted.

I threatened to shoot him and made him put the stolen computer on the bed. Considering my prey, my talking turned from briskly intimidating to giving him glimpse of hope. By appeasing me and stripping, I made him feel he could escape the police or worse, a bullet. He was forced to accept my examination and fondling, play with himself until he was hard enough to meet my satisfaction.

I pushed him up against the wall by his throat and nudged his balls with the muzzle. I told him about my neighbours who would love to take advantage of a naked man in this bad, bad neighbourhood. I bent him over the bed and bare handed spanked him. Whenever he started to lose the least little focus, the gun was there as a reminder, pushing him into compliance. I needed to believe that I could scare him enough to make his strength stay suppressed.

In the two years since we started dating, Wildcard has put on muscle and confidence. I’m a good girlfriend and a good dom- campsite rules apply, and he’s better than when I found him- although I admit the work has been his and I’ve merely made a supportive environment for him to grow into. The change is that the man I’m dating now is not the sick, skinny and shaken person I could pin and lift and beat in a physical fight. I no longer have to worry I will steamroll him by simply expressing myself. Hence the orange plastic gun is a fig leaf, a symbol of the sincere submission and surrender he is giving, and I hold it in my hand with a great deal of joy.

I threaten him, pushing him all the way into the vestibule until he’s close enough to the smoked glass to see through the fog and pick out details on the street. He’s just a little terrified, like a roller coaster makes you think you’ll fall, he’s able to see the risk of being shoved out the door for everyone to see his nakedness, and feel like it’s real.

I talk up the risk. Through my words he knows that there is an involved, aggressive “sorority” down the street, an invention based on the female neighbours in my own past college residence, who reacted to a real, harassing flasher by rising together to prepare for battle. I’m keeping things light even as I talk about killing him, layering on the erotic with an eye to how his fetish for exposure gives me leverage.

There’s two tracks of dominance- one where there’s an angry woman blackmailing a burglar, and one where Miss Pearl knows every one of Wildcard’s buttons and just how to push them.

Bu the time the scene ends, and I give him only his shirt back, to cover himself in a clutched grip before banishing him to whatever fate awaits him on the street, he’s full of happy energy. In the vestibule, freed, he picks me up and bumps his crotch to mine, both of us giggling as he almost tipped over and dropped me on the floor. This is love.

On Tantric Massage And Teasing

Tantric massages meets dark tantraTantra is a meditative practice using the sex between two people as a transcendence, a way of blurring the self/other boundary. It’s an infectious idea that slithered it’s way, cross colonial style, along with the Tao-ist sexual practices it blends into. When I talk about integrating tantric massage into my bedroom life, it is first important to acknowledge that it is a spice, like cumin and chili and cinnamon, imported and used in ways that the people who discovered it probably never intended.

But sex between humans is a beautiful perversion of a simple bodily function, more than just the raw exchange of genetic information. Leave the instinctual simplicity to fish and cows, even if you are about as spiritual as a rock, we are all deviants. Even the vanillas. You can’t talk about orgasm or romantic love without shades of something bigger than you behind it- it’s the doorway through the profane to the same divine chased with supplication and worship. The same enveloping bigness of Jesu, our Hearts Desiring or Hare Krishna ecstasy spring from a genital, venal root. Why wear robes of priests and clergy and sit in drafty temples, when you can open yourself in the naked comfort of your bedroom? Touch. Taste. Kiss. Torment. Fuck. This is the way we pray.

And D/s, and BDSM play are very much about energy and connection, and even the most materialist and rational kinkster still feels that rawness, exchanging power in a hierarchy of our own construction. The principles of tantra are particularly alive in the tease, that key component to briefly obliterating the anxious, busy, distracted self into the erotic.

I make things ready.

The first thing, as in an scene at home, I clean. I strip the bed and change the sheets, fluff the covers flat, and knowing that I’m about to get messy, I take a smooth, clean, wide top sheet and stretch it out over everything. I do things topsy turvy, because I am me. Some couples, the sub does the setting of the place. Either way,  the foreplay begins long before we first touch, in thoughts and plans and this preparation.

A lot is said about achieving a submissive mindset. There’s a knack to it, tricks and shortcuts through those everyday fetishes, power symbols and ritual. But when you take on the lofty perch above someone, you take those same tools to elevate yourself. If I am to feel myself and in control, I want the space to be perfect. I want to prepare myself with a shower beating down on my naked skin, washed and fresh, dried with care. The first secret to feeling attractive is to treat yourself like you love yourself, and this is where I start.

In dominance, I bring the comfort I have in my own skin to my partner. I am, when I dominate, beautiful, and I share that beauty with him or with the room. How could I not be, when I am my most happy self? With an audience, I can make them into my tools, adding them to the pull and push on the submissive, or I can block the eyes from my mind, cloaking myself in confidence.

You can see why I speak of seemingly fuzzy concepts like tantra when I talk about my sex life, because the ability to do that is a magic trick that mystifies people. I’ll tell you a secret, my secret of how the trick is performed: bring an utter openness to the moment and be prepared to take what your bottom or sub can give or reject it as suit you.

I started this time a day early, telling him I wanted to give him a proper massage.

I mixed fresh herbs from my window boxes, mint and rosemary, with warm sweet almond oil. I laid out cloths, and my tools: a knobbly thing for working tough spots and glass marbles for the rolling pinpoint sensations. I started early because I wanted to avoid surprises, and have things flow.

We had a conversation through my fingers, finding him locked up, tensing at any stimulation. Nothing was wrong, per say, but everything was a little askew We connected through touch, him touching me in return, finding places in my hip that when pressed loosened and turned to pleasure. Rosemary is a wonderful scent, mellow, ungendered, almost musky without being cloying. It suffuses us both, making sure we are on the same page for tomorrow.

Then, Punish Tuesday … Plus Fun

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