Nov 152010
 

The Dominant Guy nudged me a few days ago about writing something. This immediately popped to the fore, but the past few days have been too thick with Things to focus on it. Thankfully the short hop from SeaTac to SFO cleared me enough to get this out. SO, here’sfor you, sir.

 

 

Sometimes it is three hours. That’s pretty standard. Or two, occasionally one. It has gotten up to six, but then dropped back down to five due to the vagaries of the calendar. Occasionally, there is no difference.

 

I track this with a fairly simple device: my ESQ padlock watch, and what I’m talking about is the difference in time zones between the places I find myself vagabonding and where The Dominant Guy resides.

 

Not long after the first (and last) time I was in his presence I decided to leave the analog watch on his zone. At first, it was a quick way to connect with my sense of where he might be. Sleeping, or at work, maybe online. I felt a little dumb, mooning around imagining what some guy on whom I had a crush was doing. Idly staring at my watch until our planet’s rotation shifted, until our Venn spheres slowly o’er-lapped to reasonable alignment for real-time communication.

 

It felt a little obsessive, and I don’t necessarily like to foster that sort of shit. Continue reading »

Oct 112008
 

Since the first Munch was held in 1992 in the South Bay, perverts have been getting together casually over coffee tea and food to shoot the shit and try to hook up.

I attended a Munch today that had me in a bit of a contemplative mood.

A friend was exchanging messages with their new owner. It is pretty amazing when people decide to put name, words and commitment into action and into the world. My heart smiled at the joy I could see on their face.

A newbie gal was literally surrounded by four dominants immediately after the “Introduction-go-round” was complete. Of course, the older, and the more experienced tops always ALWAYS zoom in for the fresh meat when it is presented!

When I first entered the Leather Scene, I was an available and solo free-agent for no time at all. I went straight from BDSM bookworm / student / online researcher / wistful dreamer into a Formal dominant / submissive Protocol based Leather Household, within 60 days. Slaves-in-training and all that goes with that emotional packaging. I’ll go into that some other time. Let us just say I had no Pervy Rumspringa. I went from run of-the-mill free-agent freak to locked down ascetic and stayed there for 2 years.

I wonder what might have been different if I’d had that initial burst of freedom that comes to those discovering their sexual selves, but this time, as an adult and with many more years of experience, baggage, prejudices and apprehension.

My first dominant was pleased to point out that I had been corralled before I’d had a chance to run wild.

Watching a new girl bask in the glow of new-girl-ism, with no-one to answer to, and her whole kink life ahead of her, I wonder.

I finally overcame my paradoxical shyness and chatted with a few people. I put a body and flesh to an online acquaintance while I was there. She seems a delight: thoughtful, engaged, energetic, and a likely new friend. She asked when I might be playing in public again, as she was curious to see what playing was like for me.

THAT, my friends, is a BDSM cherry popped. Usually people want to watch the dominants in action. Bottoms, submissives and slaves, alas and often, are merely the props. I wish I knew when I might next be getting my ass kicked in public! Playing in a Dungeon space with a really connected partner is one of the few environs in which I feel me, uncensored.

Oct 022008
 

I have observed, over the years, a passive-aggressive tendency among perverts to denigrate one another’s choices within the Leather Lifestyle.

For me the MOST insidious behaviour is the posturing of some people who self-identify as slaves. They are the ones most often referring to themselves with the dubious title “True” slaves, and farting in the general direction of anyone who disagrees with their Fundamentalist Leatherview.

They love to make blanket judgments as to what a slave is, how a slave behaves, what a slave wears, how a slave walks, how a slave slaves.

Too often have I seen a person on a forum or mailing list hold forth about how “Only slaves can be truly collared.” Or nattering on about how “Submissives just don’t have the slave heart.” and of course Ye Hoary Olde “I started as a submissive but grew into slavery.”

As though being owned property is like getting to put on the Big Kid Underpants.

Dominants are guilty as well of laying on the funky-ass head-trips.“If you were a real slave, you would obey me!” straight to the head, regardless of whether or not you’ve even MET the person.

A recent discussion on FetLife, (a really cool website started up by some Canuck Perv named John Baku) raised my hackles. And not in a good way, you know I loves me some hackle raising shit, but this was decidedly NOT erotic.

On a forum (a forum FOR SUBMISSIVES, mind!) a person smarming over their collared slave status was disparaging those who wear collars simply because they like them as, obviously , not taking collars as seriously as those who would only wear them because they were owned.

They liken them to a wedding ring. And say that, like a wedding ring, they would never wear one if they weren’t married. Because it goes against tradition.

Uh…whose tradition, exactly? Wedding rings are a largely European custom. And fairly recent. And, until VERY recently, (historically speaking) men didn’t wear ‘em.

As far as touting collars as a “traditional symbol of ownership”, I call shenanigans again. Dogs do not wear collars because you are demonstrating your dominance. They wear them so that they can be actively controlled.

In SOME Leather traditions, a collar is a mark of inexperience or recalcitrance. The collared slave is a slave who needs the reminder that they ARE property.

A trusted slave, like a trusted horse, needs no physical reminder. Obedience is a given. The master knows they are in control.

TYPICALLY, in the United States, slaves were collared for shipment or punishment. Collars were not a day-to-day standard. There might be a “Dress collar” for fancy occasions, to display the wealth of the owner. “BLING! Look I am so fucking wealthy my horse has a gold-chased bridle, my dog has a diamond studded harness, and Mammy here has a dope-ass silver collar. Booya, motherfuckers! THAT is how I roll.”

So to blather about how Old School you are because you “hold collars to a higher regard” is simply a pile of smoking offal. Collars, like any symbol, only possess the magic with which we imbue them.

Didn’t we come to form a “Leather Community” because we had to do this thing, this love, this sex, this play, this lifestyle, OUR WAY? Since when do you get to smear your smug absolutism all over my fucking love life? All over my spiritual practice? How the HELL do you have the temerity to cast aspersions on my level of respect for a symbol because i do not regard it in precisely the same way that you do?

Well, I suppose they have the gall because they know that THEIR way is the “One True Way.”

Fundie Perverts.

Un-Fuck ‘em.