Today is my little pet's birthday, so I'm going out to his house to make him dinner. Yes, Lola does occasionally cook. When I lived overseas, I cooked a lot more often because I had more time and I enjoyed making Western food. I generally think of cooking as something men should be doing (for me), but I will sometimes cook for someone, if he particularly deserves it.
After the cooking, there will be a lot of playing. We just recently set up a harness under his bed so I can tie him to it, and my pet took to bondage like a duck to water. His eyes light up when I tie him down.
I've been incredibly busy lately, finishing up work for school and getting a huge project done at work. I hope to write more next week, but for now, this is as much of an update as I have time for.
But to my favorite, well-cherished and spoiled little pet: happy birthday. All your sweetness, patience and obedience has made me very fond of you. You're a unique and fantastic boy.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Fantasy v. reality
Everyone comes to this lifestyle by a different path. Mine has not always been linear, but there has always been a forward momentum to it -- I have never really had any significant periods of time where I retreated back into vanilla for too long. If I dated vanilla, it was out of sadness or disappointment in the submissive men I had been dating previously. It wasn't because I wanted to date vanilla.
So, I was looking at the Elise Sutton website today and thinking about fantasy versus reality. I would say 90% of the submissive men I've dated up until this point in my life had a problem reconciling fantasy and reality. To wit: they were always disappointed by reality because they expected it to be too much like fantasy, even if they didn't want to admit that's what they were doing. I've been involved with some very intelligent, self-aware men, who should definitely know better, and yet they couldn't get past their online-inspired fantasies of female domination.
And what's interesting is how Dominant women -- like Elise Sutton and even yours truly, really -- both contribute to that problem even as we try to solve it. We're online, writing about ourselves, seeking partners, providing a construct of our identities made in our words that submissive men take literally. However, what else am I supposed to do? I'm a writer, after all, and I can't exactly walk down to the BDSM bar down the street and meet a nice guy. (Thanks Rudy Giuliani, for making the law tough on kinky folk.) So, I go online, although drastically less than ever before.
But I really do think the problem would exist even if the Internet didn't exist. The Internet is not the cause of our problems, it merely amplifies them. It reflects us back to ourselves as we sometimes are, unflattering though that might be, and if we find we don't like what we're seeing, perhaps we should start with that.
For me, that was a realization that I won't trust men who approach me solely on the internet. You need to experience me in person, you need to know me as an every-day entity, not just some idea in your head of a red-headed Southern vixen with a whip in her hand. I mean, I am that person, but not the way you define it. Its the way I define it, and if you can't live with that, I don't really want you in my world.
I also want to know that a man has a healthy relationship between what he thinks about when he's not with me, and how he feels about what we are doing. I approach sex very much as a process to build intimacy, not an end in its own right. If it isn't perfect every single time, I don't freak out, and my boy can't freak out either. He needs to realize I can't be 100% on all the time, sometimes I'm tired and I just want a foot rub and a hot shower, and that to me is sexual intimacy for the night. But people who spend the majority of their time online, in fantasy mode, are really not able to see that.
Fantasy is there to inspire you, to give you ideas, to make life worth living -- but that's just it. You've got to live life, not live it in your head. If you spend all your time thinking about serving a woman, and no time actually serving the women around you, you are no closer than you were when you fired up your computer and went online to stare at femdom porn. And I, for one, can't use you.
So, I was looking at the Elise Sutton website today and thinking about fantasy versus reality. I would say 90% of the submissive men I've dated up until this point in my life had a problem reconciling fantasy and reality. To wit: they were always disappointed by reality because they expected it to be too much like fantasy, even if they didn't want to admit that's what they were doing. I've been involved with some very intelligent, self-aware men, who should definitely know better, and yet they couldn't get past their online-inspired fantasies of female domination.
And what's interesting is how Dominant women -- like Elise Sutton and even yours truly, really -- both contribute to that problem even as we try to solve it. We're online, writing about ourselves, seeking partners, providing a construct of our identities made in our words that submissive men take literally. However, what else am I supposed to do? I'm a writer, after all, and I can't exactly walk down to the BDSM bar down the street and meet a nice guy. (Thanks Rudy Giuliani, for making the law tough on kinky folk.) So, I go online, although drastically less than ever before.
But I really do think the problem would exist even if the Internet didn't exist. The Internet is not the cause of our problems, it merely amplifies them. It reflects us back to ourselves as we sometimes are, unflattering though that might be, and if we find we don't like what we're seeing, perhaps we should start with that.
For me, that was a realization that I won't trust men who approach me solely on the internet. You need to experience me in person, you need to know me as an every-day entity, not just some idea in your head of a red-headed Southern vixen with a whip in her hand. I mean, I am that person, but not the way you define it. Its the way I define it, and if you can't live with that, I don't really want you in my world.
I also want to know that a man has a healthy relationship between what he thinks about when he's not with me, and how he feels about what we are doing. I approach sex very much as a process to build intimacy, not an end in its own right. If it isn't perfect every single time, I don't freak out, and my boy can't freak out either. He needs to realize I can't be 100% on all the time, sometimes I'm tired and I just want a foot rub and a hot shower, and that to me is sexual intimacy for the night. But people who spend the majority of their time online, in fantasy mode, are really not able to see that.
Fantasy is there to inspire you, to give you ideas, to make life worth living -- but that's just it. You've got to live life, not live it in your head. If you spend all your time thinking about serving a woman, and no time actually serving the women around you, you are no closer than you were when you fired up your computer and went online to stare at femdom porn. And I, for one, can't use you.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
If you want the rainbow
So, I've started loaning my coworker my DVDs of the British TV series, "The Office." I couldn't believe she hadn't seen it and it makes our working life difficult, because I can't do my impeccable David Brent impression for her. ("If you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain -- do you know which philosopher said that? Dolly Parton! And people say she's just a big pair of tits!") But we are redressing the imbalance, and I can call her extension up sometimes and mutter "yer a cock, yer a cock!" and now she understands.
That has nothing whatsoever to do with kink, but it does explain why, after I've done something particularly good, I sometimes crack, "And people think I'm just a big pair of tits!"
I think I got on this topic because it did rain particularly hard this morning. I'm really just free-associating here. I don't think I can keep a blog unless it blends my offbeat personality with my sexual orientation, so there will just have to be moments of levity, folks.
Tonight we have a little informal graduate student contest: we all meet at a bar after class and everyone contributes a 300-word story on a particular topic. This week's theme is "wolf boys" -- left deliberately vague so you can interpret it as you will. I'm planning to write 300 words of plushie porn. The cheaper the shots you take, the more likely you are to get the votes that make your story the best of the night. Explicit sexual content, slapstick humor, bad puns, smack-talking: these are the ingredients of a winning story. Perhaps I'll post the results of my efforts here.
In other news, it looks like I'll be doing a sissy training demo for ClubFem in April. I'm excited about that, because it gives me an opportunity to talk about why I love sissy-training as well as allowing me to create an environment where I have a room full of sissy boys doing my bidding. My goal is to make it pleasurable, even for the women who aren't into sissies necessarily -- they'll enjoy the service they're getting even if they aren't turned on by boys in frilly clothes. Not every boy can give you what you need, but in the world we're trying to build, the boys should be at least useful on a basic level to every woman in the room. So, the whole thing will take place in the midst of a Victorian tea. Little sissy maids will walk around and provide food, drink and attention. I have about a month to pull it all together, so I'm sure I'll be writing out my ideas here.
That has nothing whatsoever to do with kink, but it does explain why, after I've done something particularly good, I sometimes crack, "And people think I'm just a big pair of tits!"
I think I got on this topic because it did rain particularly hard this morning. I'm really just free-associating here. I don't think I can keep a blog unless it blends my offbeat personality with my sexual orientation, so there will just have to be moments of levity, folks.
Tonight we have a little informal graduate student contest: we all meet at a bar after class and everyone contributes a 300-word story on a particular topic. This week's theme is "wolf boys" -- left deliberately vague so you can interpret it as you will. I'm planning to write 300 words of plushie porn. The cheaper the shots you take, the more likely you are to get the votes that make your story the best of the night. Explicit sexual content, slapstick humor, bad puns, smack-talking: these are the ingredients of a winning story. Perhaps I'll post the results of my efforts here.
In other news, it looks like I'll be doing a sissy training demo for ClubFem in April. I'm excited about that, because it gives me an opportunity to talk about why I love sissy-training as well as allowing me to create an environment where I have a room full of sissy boys doing my bidding. My goal is to make it pleasurable, even for the women who aren't into sissies necessarily -- they'll enjoy the service they're getting even if they aren't turned on by boys in frilly clothes. Not every boy can give you what you need, but in the world we're trying to build, the boys should be at least useful on a basic level to every woman in the room. So, the whole thing will take place in the midst of a Victorian tea. Little sissy maids will walk around and provide food, drink and attention. I have about a month to pull it all together, so I'm sure I'll be writing out my ideas here.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Anticipation
I had a critique last night, for a piece of creative writing I've been working on. The work is relatively fresh and challenging for me -- I've essentially been using the energy from a recent incident in my life to fuel a story which is ostensibly about something else. And in struggling to talk about these things, a lot of unexpected twists emerged. My instructor last night pointed out a lot of the potentials of this work I hadn't quite seen yet.
The story explores what it means to have a fetish, whether it is possible to love someone as a result of pursuing that fetish, what it means to lose that love, how people manipulate their own memories and experiences in order to persuade other people, and it mixes in race and gender in ways I didn't anticipate when I started. I also flirt, very openly, with the fact that this story -- or some parts of it -- may be my own experiences. The instructor warned me about the ramifications of that, even as he suggested that it was intriguing. I learned the most from him about what was working in the story by what he warned me about -- the warnings were a sign to me that I was onto something potentially dangerous, which is what I want.
Afterwards, I went out with two of my favorite classmates and we had a long, interesting conversation. Both of them are gay men, and they got me talking about sadism. We got into the specifics of what I enjoy about inflicting pain. It was strange to describe it in such detail -- the tingle in your hand when it slaps skin, the eroticism of someone gasping in pain, the desperate, lost, dependent quality of a man who both longs for and fears you putting nipple clamps on him (or taking them off), the sight of him bent over for you, the knowledge that you could do it harder and he would take it happily, the freedom of being cruel when cruelty is so forbidden to women socially. In some ways, I can't even put words to the way I'm feeling when I'm being sadistic -- it is probably one of the moments in my life when I am the most wordless. I act, I don't speak very much.
I came home to find a sweet little note from my pet telling me that he missed me. Those small little gestures of longing and vulnerability are exciting -- knowing that he can't wait to serve me again adds a little spring to my step that I wouldn't otherwise have. Feeling that hunger to use him again soon, and knowing that I will see him in a few days. The anticipation is an important part of the fun.
The story explores what it means to have a fetish, whether it is possible to love someone as a result of pursuing that fetish, what it means to lose that love, how people manipulate their own memories and experiences in order to persuade other people, and it mixes in race and gender in ways I didn't anticipate when I started. I also flirt, very openly, with the fact that this story -- or some parts of it -- may be my own experiences. The instructor warned me about the ramifications of that, even as he suggested that it was intriguing. I learned the most from him about what was working in the story by what he warned me about -- the warnings were a sign to me that I was onto something potentially dangerous, which is what I want.
Afterwards, I went out with two of my favorite classmates and we had a long, interesting conversation. Both of them are gay men, and they got me talking about sadism. We got into the specifics of what I enjoy about inflicting pain. It was strange to describe it in such detail -- the tingle in your hand when it slaps skin, the eroticism of someone gasping in pain, the desperate, lost, dependent quality of a man who both longs for and fears you putting nipple clamps on him (or taking them off), the sight of him bent over for you, the knowledge that you could do it harder and he would take it happily, the freedom of being cruel when cruelty is so forbidden to women socially. In some ways, I can't even put words to the way I'm feeling when I'm being sadistic -- it is probably one of the moments in my life when I am the most wordless. I act, I don't speak very much.
I came home to find a sweet little note from my pet telling me that he missed me. Those small little gestures of longing and vulnerability are exciting -- knowing that he can't wait to serve me again adds a little spring to my step that I wouldn't otherwise have. Feeling that hunger to use him again soon, and knowing that I will see him in a few days. The anticipation is an important part of the fun.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Fantastic weekend
I had a surprisingly good weekend. I say 'surprisingly' because, at the start of it, I was not feeling very well. My menstrual cycle, about half of the time, is quite painful, and I woke up on Saturday in a good deal of pain. I spent a good chunk of the day wrapped around my heating pad, feeling sorry for myself.
However, Domme duty calls, so I rallied, packed up my stuff, and met my little pet for dinner before the ClubFem play party. One of the wonderful things about my pet is that he's very thoughtful, and he showed up with flowers for me, and a fantastic present: a pink riding crop he bought me, from an equestrian outfitter. If he's trying to stay in his favored position at the end of my leash, he's doing a very good job so far.
We had dinner and then went early to the party to help the Headmistress set up. I helped lace another Domme into her corset, ordered a few boys around, and got changed myself. Since I wasn't feeling that well, I didn't dress up as much as I wanted to, but the power surge of so many eager little submissive boys definitely improved my mood. By the time I got dressed, I was feeling a lot sassier. I wore a black bustier under a sheer top, a miniskirt with a slit up the side, and black suede platform boots. And I made my pet wear his special little ruffled panties, as well as my collar and pink leash. That was a particular honor for him -- one that he thanked me for profusely.
The party was a lot of fun -- especially towards the end, when the masochists started lining up for me. I haven't been able to let my inner sadist out that much in a good long while, and it felt incredible. The Headmistress loaned me one of her boys, who can really take a beating, and I used a new red-and-black flogger on him which is particularly nasty. I made him bellow quite nicely, and left him with some nice purple welts along his hips and ass. I also just let myself go -- I went into that floating, happy, sadistic headspace, and I can tell from the soreness in my biceps that I really used nearly my full strength.
At one point, after I'd beat the Headmistress's boy, I turned around and saw a number of eager, slightly terrified little boys' faces. Some of them are probably less interested in me than they were -- because now they know I can really pack a wallop. But a few of them are a little more interested -- for the very same reason!
And now my pet knows just what I'm capable of. He's not a masochist, so I would really never do that to him, but he does know he'll get punished if he doesn't obey. It isn't a bad thing for him to see just how much power and authority I can have when I want it.
On the train home, he gave me the other half of what I need -- cuddling and service. And then the next morning I woke up and got the pampering I deserve. We put his foot-worshiping skills to good use once again, among other things. He knows I'm quite pleased with him so far.
So yes, I'm a little smug and happy today. People ask me how my weekend was, and I can't answer them honestly -- I can't exactly say, "Well, I spanked four or five boys this weekend, and really beat the hell out of one of them, got my feet worshiped, used my little pet as much as I wanted, and generally feel quite rested, thank you." But when I say, "my weekend was quite nice, thanks for asking", all of that contentment is definitely in my voice.
However, Domme duty calls, so I rallied, packed up my stuff, and met my little pet for dinner before the ClubFem play party. One of the wonderful things about my pet is that he's very thoughtful, and he showed up with flowers for me, and a fantastic present: a pink riding crop he bought me, from an equestrian outfitter. If he's trying to stay in his favored position at the end of my leash, he's doing a very good job so far.
We had dinner and then went early to the party to help the Headmistress set up. I helped lace another Domme into her corset, ordered a few boys around, and got changed myself. Since I wasn't feeling that well, I didn't dress up as much as I wanted to, but the power surge of so many eager little submissive boys definitely improved my mood. By the time I got dressed, I was feeling a lot sassier. I wore a black bustier under a sheer top, a miniskirt with a slit up the side, and black suede platform boots. And I made my pet wear his special little ruffled panties, as well as my collar and pink leash. That was a particular honor for him -- one that he thanked me for profusely.
The party was a lot of fun -- especially towards the end, when the masochists started lining up for me. I haven't been able to let my inner sadist out that much in a good long while, and it felt incredible. The Headmistress loaned me one of her boys, who can really take a beating, and I used a new red-and-black flogger on him which is particularly nasty. I made him bellow quite nicely, and left him with some nice purple welts along his hips and ass. I also just let myself go -- I went into that floating, happy, sadistic headspace, and I can tell from the soreness in my biceps that I really used nearly my full strength.
At one point, after I'd beat the Headmistress's boy, I turned around and saw a number of eager, slightly terrified little boys' faces. Some of them are probably less interested in me than they were -- because now they know I can really pack a wallop. But a few of them are a little more interested -- for the very same reason!
And now my pet knows just what I'm capable of. He's not a masochist, so I would really never do that to him, but he does know he'll get punished if he doesn't obey. It isn't a bad thing for him to see just how much power and authority I can have when I want it.
On the train home, he gave me the other half of what I need -- cuddling and service. And then the next morning I woke up and got the pampering I deserve. We put his foot-worshiping skills to good use once again, among other things. He knows I'm quite pleased with him so far.
So yes, I'm a little smug and happy today. People ask me how my weekend was, and I can't answer them honestly -- I can't exactly say, "Well, I spanked four or five boys this weekend, and really beat the hell out of one of them, got my feet worshiped, used my little pet as much as I wanted, and generally feel quite rested, thank you." But when I say, "my weekend was quite nice, thanks for asking", all of that contentment is definitely in my voice.
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