And Now For Something Completely Different (guest post)

SP graciously agreed to my suggestion that he do a guest post.

"But what shall I write about?" he asked.

"Anything you feel like..."

He took me at at my word (as well he should.) I like the the change of scenery and hope you do, too. So, without further ado, I give you: 

IN THE LAND OF INFINITE CORRECTNESS

Things you have to know:

Infinite Correctness, another term for what in a seminal South Park episode was referred to as “Where People’s Shit Don’t Stink”.

Elephant Pharmacy, a now defunct pharmacy at the foot of  the Berkeley Hills where one could go for a quick, on the spot chakra cleansing and where every product label contained a word like “organic”, “holistic”, “macrobiotic”,  or “ayurvedic”.

     The Berkeley Hills rise on the east side of San Francisco Bay, facing the Golden Gate.  The moist west winds, coming straight through the Gate, are forced up against the hills, releasing rain in winter and moist fog that is caught and brought down by majestic redwoods in summer.  Things grow very well here and in great variety.  Also, UC Berkeley is partly in this area.  All of this has led to a large neighborhood with a funky living atmosphere, where eccentrics are still common. 
      As the neighborhood matured, the laws of real estate took their inexorable course so that when an eccentric dies nowadays, her heirs will put grandma’s “classic North Berkeley fixer-upper with rustic outhouse and Golden Gate view, waiting for an infusion of good taste” on the market for no less than five hundred thousand American dollars.  The recent market crush has done little to the area which remains highly popular with those who can afford to express their Infinite Correctness in the comfort of cash.
      Many enjoy gardening, competing in the growing of all kinds of delicious fruits and vegetables some of them common, some of them exotic, some of them illegal.  The deer living in the large nature area (Tilden Park) right behind the neighborhood have been quick to find out that many things they love to munch on are produced in copious amounts through sustained efforts with the best of organic soils and fertilizers.  At first it was cute to see a deer or maybe three.  Then they started to really ravish the gardens and cause ugly traffic accidents at night.  Something should be done.
      Now, one can’t give out hunting licenses willy nilly in such a densely populated area.  So, at social gatherings I would suggest to the People of Infinite Correctness that they hire qualified wild life control specialists who could cull the deer population, in this case especially shooting the does to diminish proliferation.  Also, the meat could be distributed to the soup kitchens serving the needs of the many homeless and hungry people in and around the area.  It would seem what is called a winwin situation.  The People of Infinite Correctness would stare at me, the Bambi killer, with more hatred than they can muster for your average Unabomber or parentally/socially misguided terrorist.  The rest of the evening I would have an invisible do-not-cross line three feet around me  --  okay with me, because the PICs compete in pouring excellent wine and I can be obnoxious across far more than three feet.^(NB)  Anyway, the deer now parade in groups of four and more through the streets in broad daylight and give you no more than an insolent eye when you try to stop them from eating your precious roses.
      The natural predator that should control the deer population is of course the mountain lion, but they are very reclusive animals who avoid people as much as possible.  They don’t come down from the park.
     Until finally, one brave - or hungry - mountain lion could no longer resist the veritable candy land of venison and came into the neighborhood, feasting on bambies and an occasional pet.  This dangerous situation created an uproar because the predator could easily snitch a juicy three year old right out of his Toddlers’ Yoga in the Yard class.
     When the animal was sighted again, the police was called.  The officers shot and killed him.
     At the bottom of the hills, in the parking lot of the defunct Elephant Pharmacy, the People of Infinite Correctness held a memorial service and candle vigil for the mountain lion.                 

^(NB)which I can personally attest to, after 29 years of transatlantic amour and cross-continental friendship  -Jz

Who's Your Daddy?

One of the things I've found most interesting in my tenure as n00b is seeing how people relate to each other in an arena where we know things about each other that people generally just don't.

Speaking from the perspective of a sub, this knowledge is a great relief when talking to other subs, because we are free to talk about things most of us wouldn't mention to our vanilla pals.

It sometimes becomes a bit problematic when talking to Doms, however. Because that tacit recognition that you are each, on some level, a the complement of the other can lead to a blurring of boundaries. Not inevitably. But there have been one or two uncomfortable moments when a casual e-quaintence has come out with a "Do it. NOW!" sort of remark.

Now, I can certainly understand that from a Domly perspective, there's a temptation to push. I would suspect that often, it's not even intentional but just a thing that slips out and then you go, "oh, well. Let's see where that goes…" And that's OK. It's an integral part of the wiring, after all.

But it puts me in an interesting quandary, nonetheless. Because in my little world, Domly status does not automatically confer rights. I'm not offended if you try, per se, but I also expect you to respect a refusal to play along. No one but BG is the Dom of Me and I'm not likely to let others play that card. (And when I have, it's been because of who that person is and the relationship we have established, not simply because of what they are.)

So, how does one respond appropriately to this type of casual, exogenous domming? A lot of subs can refer the question up to their Doms. But that's not the way my dynamic works. As I've said before, he's not a micro-manager. Self-defense is my job, not his.

Unsurprisingly, the method I've chosen to deflect most unwanted comments is humor. This is pretty much the safest course for me, (altho' still risky in it's own right - my teasing does not always come across the way I mean it to. ) Most of the time, however, it has worked well and I've been impressed by the grace with which my response is received. Sadly, there have also been reactions that greatly diminished the particular respondent in my eyes. But whichever way the chips fall, over all, it's a pretty effective approach for me.

I'd be curious to hear from others about how they address this situation, both subs and Doms. (Because although I only addressed one side of the equation, I'm sure that there are subs who blur the boundaries, too.)
How do you handle it when one of the "other" makes you uncomfortable?

I Resemble That Remark...

Someone wrote me that they loved the new toy post and that I am totally shameless. (Yes, I know you were teasing and no, I'm not offended.) But I am going to springboard off of that comment.

Because after I got done giggling over the teasing, I started to think.
"Shameless..."
And, do you know what?
I think I am!

Firstly, because what I have to be ashamed OF??
Telling an amusing story?
Enjoying sex with my guy?
Yeah, right.

Secondly, there's the fact that I'm pretty much an open book, your basic WYSIWYG type of gal. There are certainly things that I consider private and would prefer not to expose to the world but, still... ashamed?
I don't think so.

It's true, however, that I consider almost anything fair game for a story, altho' I strive to balance that with my firm belief in the concept of TMI. No one wants to be bludgeoned with details that they'd just as soon not know - and sexual preferences generally fall into that category. So even if my taste for hyperbole and the absurd holds very little sacred, I still try to tailor my tales toward my audience. (Meaning that "ginormous vibrator" stories never make it into the staff lunch room.)

Fortunately, however, in our little blog-o-world we congregate in order to share these salacious details. Not so much out of prurient interest but for advice, community, and simply a place to understand that there is no need for shame. Here, submission is simply another facet of everyday life - one with it's own fair share of absurdities to enjoy.

So, grab your sandwich and pull up a chair, 'cuz this is where I tell the story of how Fucktoy Meets The Screaming Hot Pink Vibrator.
And there's plenty more where that came from...

(Ooh! I think I just got an idea for a serialized graphic novel!!)

I *Almost* Get to Abdicate...

So, I got myself a new toy last week.
Bought, apparently, when I was either drugged or comatose. Because I clearly did not read the details tab on that thing. Mind you, it's a very nice new toy. Pretty hot pink color, stylish "citrus reamer" styling but -- it's BIG. Inhumanly big. Like, my eyeballs about popped out of my head when I opened the package big.

I mention this fact to BG, along with my firm conviction (based on preliminary experiments) that full immersion will require much patience and time. (Yes, I am a weenie about hurting myself. I've told you guys this already...)

(Can you guess where this is going?)

"When I arrive tomorrow, you will be using..."

*sigh*

"OK, but I still haven't managed..."
"Just do your best. But be... using... it."

hoooookay, then...

I am in the correct place, in the correct position, doing the correct things upon his arrival. But I wouldn't exactly say things are going "smoothly". (*wiggle*...*wince*...*whoops!*)

"Uh, Sir...?"
"I don't care. Sit on it if you have to, just keep it in."

Now, the good news is, I'm allowed leeway in how I accomplish my tasks, as long as they get done. So, yes, I figure something out. Nothing that involved comfort but then again, that wasn't one of the goals, was it? And once I'm situated so that I no longer need to wrangle the reamer, I can return my attention to it's proper place. Which I do, with due concentration. Then just feeling. Soon, I slip deeply into oblivion.
While he slips deeply into me.
...
And so does the Juicer!

I am flushed with triumph!
I am giddy with success!!
I am no longer Queen of the Weenies!!!

I brag a little to a Dom friend.
"Cool, so you're ready for fisting now..."

*buries face in hands*

You guys, like, take classes together, don't you?

A Circuitous Syllogism

Or,
I Struggle Mightily Only To End Up Where I Started...

I was mulling over a couple of posts by Pygar that dealt with sensuality within BDSM.  The questions were whether sex and sensuality had any place in BDSM and if sensuality was simply too vanilla to count as play.

I know how I feel about this. For me, D/s and  S&m are deeply entwined with sex and sensuality. To the point that I don't know that I could ever pick them apart - and am profoundly grateful that I don't need to, thank you, BG.

But while pondering Pygar's posts (sorry, couldn't resist!) I wondered if it wasn't time to try a little unraveling. More as an academic exercise, really, but I was curious as to where it might lead.

I hit my first snag almost immediately, when I tried to zero in on exactly what it was that makes BDSM so satisfying to me. Is it the pain? The submission? Is it my relationship? (Meaning, do I enjoy this simply because it's what BG and I do together?)

OK. Break it out...

There's spanking. A lot people talk about needing a spanking to calm them down, or center them, or boost their mood. For them, it is a need unto itself. I can understand that, but I cannot empathize. To me, spanking is part of foreplay. I adore being walloped as a warm-up, but to have you whale away at my rump and then leave? Nope. Satisfies nothing... (yeah, ok. I know. Nothing for me, that is...)

Then there's bondage. Now, I loves me my rope. (Or, more accurately, his rope.) Bound hands, bound breasts, bound arms, legs, feet... yum.
I love the way being tied up feels and how it makes me feel. But the best part is the look on his face - and knowing what that look means.
Again, foreplay.

Clips and clamps? These are the things I'm most likely to crave physically, it's true. Because I find them very arousing. Which puts me in the mood for ...? (Anyone wanna guess?)

As for submission, yes, I miss that when he's not around. That fluttery melting you get when you're accommodating your Dom and he's purring his approval? Mmm... love that ... and miss the buzz when I'm not getting it. But still, it's a mind-fuck, which turns thoughts to a body-fuck. It may be a thing by itself but it does not stand alone.

So, basically, all roads lead back to sex and sensuality.
And I find I don't ache for any one of them, anyhow.
There's no jonesin' for a spanking, or the ropes, or the purred approval.

Rather, what I want is My Guy. I want the hugs, the closeness, and yeah, the sex. The really great, hot sex. Which is so great and hot because it incorporates... (see above)
So, not even the sex stands alone. It needs pain, bondage, and submission to make it fulfilling.

Oh, look. What does this say? "Square One"??

Rules That Don't Exist But Should

1- People over a certain height should not be required to work in and/or on furniture designed for the vertically-challenged.

2- Shopping buddies should never be more than 4 inches shorter or 20 pounds lighter than you are.

3- Comb-overs should be punishable by law.

4- Chirpy morning-types should be required to wear a bell, so the rest of us can hear them coming.

5- Retail therapy should be covered by insurance.

Thank you. I feel better now.

Milton vs. Marvel

I don't know about you but I loved to play action heroes when I was a kid. As Green Lightning and Tiger Girl, we would rescue the deserving, foil evil-doers, and kick bad-guy butt (with frequent pauses to strike heroic poses.) I didn't even mind being the side-kick. Hey, I was benefitting mankind - while wearing a cool costume. What could be better?

Fast foward to adulthood.
In a somewhat unanticipated turn of events, I have become a submissive. Yes, Tiger Girl is now a card-carrying member of a group whose motto is popularly thought to be, "They also serve who only stand and wait."

That is facetious and exaggerated - but you really do read a lot of advice out there about submmission and service and most of it is couched in terms that strike me as very zen and passive. Admirable, soothing qualities and I do NOT belittle them. But Tiger Girl is all about action! Submission is simply not passive to me. Instead, I see it as an active process, one that I am continually reviewing, redirecting, and refining. So, as you can probably guess, I am constantly being tripped up by the word "service".

I don't disagree with the concept, mind you, but to reconcile the discrepancies within my head, I have to frame it differently. I can't picture myself as the graceful lily, sitting with head bowed, waiting for directions. Rather, I am the tiger, crouching in the veldt, poised to spring into action when needed.

     You need a bolt-hole? -- I can do that.
     A pressure-release valve? -- Send me in, coach!
     Whipping post? -- Where do I sign?

The end result is still the same. My Dom knows I am there for what he needs, when he needs it.
It just might arrive by a different means than he was expecting...

New cohort, new name.
I'm thinking of putting it on a T-shirt. Whaddya think...?