Arachne's Web

Annie B: Not a novice any more

2007-08-03T21:58:00.000-07:00

I went to a caning workshop at my friendly neighborhood play space this evening, and I realized, with some startlement, about halfway through the lecture portion of the presentation that I already knew almost everything that the presenter was talking about. It was lovely to see her enthusiasm for her topic, and some of the toys she passed around were exciting or wicked or both (a cane made out of a real rose stem, thorns and all? Ow!). But I didn't need to keep the handout, because it didn't tell me much that I didn't already know, other than that one can make canes out of a great many natural materials, such as apple tree shoots or forsythia branches. Or bull horn, which is what I think she said the big scary solid thing was. Or a foot-long, inch-wide cylinder of solid rubber, if you can even call that a cane and not just an implement of ow.

My very first toy that got any consistent use was a cane, or at least a stick that I called a cane for lack of a less generic description. One of the very first demos I ever saw at a kinky con was a caning demo that left bleeding welts on the thighs and ass of the very happy demo bottom. I think I've gone to at least one caning demo at every kinky con I've attended since. At this point I can rattle off a great deal of theory about cane care, and about playing safely with said toys, and how the rules can be gently bent if you both know exactly what you're doing. And so, on the one hand, I agreed with the smartass top who joked that you can cane any part of the body, because in theory you can indeed do so, if you put no force behind the strike and don't use an innately painful object as your cane (cf. the thorny rose stem). On the other hand, I wanted to grab him by his ill-fitting (and ugly, IMbiasedO) fetish wear and smack him upside the head for hijacking the presentation for even a short discussion of why it is, no seriously it is, you smartass, a bad idea to cane someone's hands using force. (I happened to be sitting right behind the smartass top in question, and I was momentarily tempted to smack him on the head or neck with the little cane that I was holding and see what he thought of his own statement. Of course, I did not. But I was tempted.)

All that being said, I know I have a great deal more in the way of technique to learn. But I'm not new to this any more, and I've reached a point where I'm refining certain skills, rather than newly acquiring them. And that, somehow, still surprises me. I feel about the same as I did when I went to my second year of Witchcamp, or my second year of home-grown co-created rituals. "I'm still relatively new to this -- but I'm not a 'baby witch' any more."

I think it's all too easy to lose sight of the vast middle ground between "novice" and "expert." There's a long way between me and the famous names in either witchery or kink, but if I had been doing what those folks have been doing for as long as they've been doing it, and had been doing it as well as they have been, I'd be pretty damn good at what I was doing, too. And, at this point I'm still under 30. I hope to have a very long time in which to become that good.

And yet, despite the experience I do have, I sometimes compare myself with the leading lights of the witchy or kinky worlds and think, "Gosh, I'm nowhere close to being that good. Therefore, I must not be good at this at all." This is clearly false; I wouldn't even need to ask my dear partner for confirmation of that any more. But it's as if that middle ground temporarily vanishes, and since I'm not an expert, therefore I must be a novice.

And so I leave you with this piece of unsolicited advice, dear reader: Do what I say, not what I do. Embrace the middle ground, for it is truly a vast place, and there is much good company therein.

Bonus paragraph: I would love to make a direct connection between the above statement and the Iron Pentacle, because I feel like these things go together in some obvious way. However, it's late, so I will leave that as an exercise for anyone who feels like taking it on.

Introduction: Annie Blackbird

2007-07-03T20:18:00.001-07:00

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
--Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Hello, readers of Arachne's Web. Annie Blackbird here. Miriam asked me a while back if I would like to make the occasional guest post to this blog, and I said yes before I had really thought about it. Then I thought about it, and thus ensued the few months' delay between the time of her asking and the time of this writing.

You see, I'm not a rope person. I appreciate the aesthetics of rope bondage, as well as its functionality when it's intended to be functional, but for me, the return isn't often worth the effort. I don't have much experience at all with rope of any kind, and right now it simply takes me too damn long to rig everything the way I want it. By the time I've finished, I've usually lost the momentum of the scene, which is entirely counterproductive, at least to my way of thinking. And therefore, at least for the time being, I don't think of myself as a rope person.

I am, however, an experienced witchy-type person, a stealth queer (by which I mean that I am a bisexual woman whose primary partner is a heterosexual man: I'm not visibly queer when we go out for a walk together), and a dyed-in-the-wool kinkster. With regards to the latter, I've been a top all my life; I was a dominant sadist, as per Midori's excellent definitions of both terms, long before I knew what either of those words meant, or even what sex was. These days this part of my life is lots of fun, now that I like who I am: I have a wonderful partner who complements me in all the ways that matter, many supportive friends, a healthy local kink community, a membership to a truly excellent play space, and a lot of fun toys (all of them of inanimate natures, at least thus far) to play with. I even switch with my partner on rare occasions, which is a thing I hadn't ever considered before we got together. Life is very good.

In any case, to return to my point: there's more than one way to be a spider, and more than one way to put spider silk to good use. I'm more of a wolf spider than an orb-weaver type, but I like to think that I'm at least as skilled at weaving the web of closeness and connection between my partner and myself, or between myself and others, or between one community and another, as any other spider out there. Thus, this introduction; thus, this writing. May it help to bring together those things that are meant to come together.

And, canes

2007-06-12T17:50:00.001-07:00

The black and blue marks are still working their ways out of my butt and thighs.

Why yes, I do switch, thankyouverymuch. And gods I've missed the dirty end of a cane. Nasty things, those.

Nope, that radio silence has not been do to a lack of play. No, ma'am.

Knives

2007-06-12T17:25:00.000-07:00

One of the things I love most about my D/s relationships are the ways they suffuse the rest of my life. When I admire the sparkling floor, or look down at my hennaed feet, I get something more out of them than their inherent pleasure. They also function as forms of connection.

My girl has taken on keeping my knives sharp as a piece of her Work, as of the last time she was here. There was a bit of sneakiness involved, I'll admit. I was planning to get her a set of good knives for her birthday, and wanted her to take on maintaining them as sacred work. And, of course, it gives her something to do while I make dinner.

I still can't get over the pleasure I feel every time I take those knives to garden-fresh produce, and effortlessly slice them through.

And so I find myself looking very carefully at the homework I give her, and give my service submissive. On the one hand, it seems a waste to do something too prosaic. But there's something else, too. Reportedly, someone once criticized Feri witch Cora Anderson for cutting an apple with her athame, and she replied that she wasn't desecrating the knife, she was consecrating the apple. And that's how it feels to choose this work.

Even mopping the floors is sacred Work, if you make it so.

Floors and Foundations

2007-06-01T05:27:00.000-07:00

Or, Witch/apprentice as the new D/s paradigm?

So, I've recently returned to a kabbalistic project of mine, poring through medieval and modern texts on kabbalah, cabala and qabala to learn as broad a perspective as I can, using the sephirot as a structure. Having recently returned to this, I'm starting over at the bottom, reviewing and researching the bottom two spheres of Malkuth (Kingdom) and Yesod (Foundation), as well as adding to the pile new books that I hadn't covered in my previous research. So, that was my planned magickal work of the evening during my service session.

Coincidentally or not, I decided that yesterday's session would be about my floors. I hate doing floors. Hate, hate, hate sweeping them. Hate, hate, hate mopping them. I probably would have chosen that service regardless, but the magickal parallelism was too great to ignore.

And so it was that I opened my session again this week by talking about the magickal work I had planned for the night, and how my submissive's work would feed into that. I gave him just a very rough overview of the work, and asked him to pay special attention to the floors in three spots in my house, and then set him to work.

Other magickal stuff uncovered itself, as it will. In order to clean the kitchen floor, he had to move the coins and offerings I had to Legba behind the door. As he was putting things to rights again, I asked where the coins had gone and briefly explained why they'd been there, and why he had to be the one to put them back and how to do so. I explained that he can, in making those offerings, ask for assistance at any crossroads in his life.

Later, when we were having our chat at the end of the session, he mentioned that he is at a lot of metaphoric crossroads right now, and seemed amazed that I had keyed into this for him. "Well, darling, that's what happens when you choose a witch for your dom." We talked a bit about how Legba might be able to help with his choices, and about how to build that relationship. I added extra attention at real and metaphoric crossroads to the between-class homework, and we made plans for our weekend session.

I'm very pleased at the direction this is taking.

Unsurprisingly, I got to my email afterward to find that the Pyrate Lass, who knows next to nothing about the kabbalistic work I'm doing, had sent me a painting she worked on last night. It is completely filled with colors, symbols and objects that I associate with Malkuth and Yesod. Life is very funny that way sometimes.

Kinky calendar, and more on service

2007-05-28T18:30:00.000-07:00

Big week ahead. Service session Thursday, my girl comes to visit for the weekend Friday, another service session (getting my lawn did) Saturday. All that, plus fitting in my D/s relationships in a non-kinky event setting Sunday, which should prove amusing.

I was fairly solitary for the long weekend, bummed out at not going to Shibaricon after all but also happy with what I accomplished here. I was amused to realize toward the end of the weekend that I no longer have that strange sense of resentment to do my own housework when I need to. I used to go around grumbling, "I need a service sub." Well, now I have one. Which changes everything, reinstating my feeling of choice in what I do. (After all, I choose what makes it to my 'to do' pile, and what makes it to my service submissive's, and what makes it to my girl's.) That psychic freedom may in the long run pay far more dividends than my satisfaction in the actual work (which is not inconsiderable).

Rope dreams

2007-05-23T05:35:00.000-07:00

In my dream last night, I was tying a big guy into a strapedo. One of my bi leather boy friends (and I realize, writing that, I seem to have a lot of those) was holding said man down, a knee shoved into his back, and his hands holding the man's wrists into the strapedo.

I asked the man not much later if he played with rope at all, and excused myself to grab my rope kit (and quickly peek to see if anyone had a "recipe" for a nice strapedo in their book -- I've never tied one yet). I remember wondering if I'd have enough 8mm in my kit to use that, because his arms were so big and muscular. And then I woke up.

This might mean it's time to process the 100 ft of 8mm I have waiting for me, you think?

It probably also means that I'm really disappointed that I'm not making it to Shibaricon after all. I gave my passes to someone I hope will get a lot out of them (and who I hope will write it up for me - we'll see!)

Yard

2007-05-21T05:39:00.000-07:00

Not only did I have a perfect weekend (more about which in another post), but I pulled into my driveway yesterday to find a perfectly trimmed and edged lawn. I am very pleased.

Toes

2007-05-19T07:11:00.001-07:00

Little things please me.

We decided almost flippantly, that weekend that felt so fragile to me, that painting my toenails would be part of my girl's Work. I've never been the kind to paint my own; it feels fussy to me and I'm not terribly good at it.

It has turned out to mean more than I expected. I find myself looking down all the time to see my toes arrayed in color, to be reminded of her. It's another small piece of connection that we have despite the fact we're in different cities, as I hope having her collars is for her.

Yesterday, she told me excitedly that she bought a new color, just for me. I look forward to seeing it.

Service

2007-05-16T05:26:00.000-07:00

The first service session went very well. My new submissive has history as a woodworker, and so it felt right to have him sand and oil my wooden kitchen island as a first task. Given that I also treat my kitchen island very much as an altar for kitchen witchery, this was also a way to test our ability to integrate magick and service.

I set to my own homework for the night (reading a new magickal book), never lacking for hot chai. The boy got to work in the kitchen, doing far more than I expected. By the time he was done, the island was smooth and well oiled, the floor clean, the compost and trash removed, the compost bin rinsed in the garden, and my book was very nearly done.

It's all about intention: not the sanding and oiling of the wood, but the act of devotion behind it, the way that sanding and oiling is in service to me and the powers I serve using that space. And it's on that level that I'm most satisfied with last night: the way that the boy clearly paid attention (as asked) to things on an energetic level. I set some homework on that, accepted the gift of an extra session to tend my yard when I'm next out of town, and went to bed feeling like I do after good magickal Work.

I think this is going to work out just fine . . .

Knots

2007-05-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

I'm about to head out to see the Pyrate Lass for a nice kinky weekend of my ordering her to sit on the couch while I do service topping things. New direction in our kink? Not so much. She's on bedrest at the moment, and I'm just the tender du jour.

We are preparing for boredom: books and crafts, and some garden-fresh herbs so I can do a bit of cooking.

This being us, she asked me to bring books so she can practice some ties.

And being me, I've also thrown in my proper knots books on top of the shibari books, and a bit of nylon rope to practice the stuff in the Two Knotty Boys book. (More on that in another post, probably.)

I often quip that I do Japanese-style rope bondage mostly because it doesn't require fancy knots. If you can do create a larkshead, an overhand knot, and a square knot you're basically good to go. I'd started out trying to learn a lot of knots, realized I didn't really need to, and stopped learning them. A Foole's Cuff is probably as fancy as I get, and of course I'm always making up weaves on the fly to get harnesses to lay flat. I think I can tie a Camel's Hitch, but I usually end up just doing one by accident and recognizing it after the fact.

Perhaps I'm being reactionary (that article yesterday said something about not becoming a knot geek) but I'm feeling again today like I really want to learn some proper knots and hitches. Even if I don't end up using them in bondage, I might in my house or garden. And of course it's always going to be useful when the ex-Boy Scouts start trying to use knot language in the SIGs, so I can look at them a bit less blankly. And so in go the books.

Which makes me wonder what knots other bondage afficionados think I should start out with? Anyone? Anyone? Graydancer?

On Finding Good Help, pt. 2

2007-05-04T16:53:00.000-07:00

So, one of my sweeties hopped over to the blog the other morning to see how the interview went.

I'm not sure I have a lot to say, at least not publically. The interview went well, and we are going to move forward into an initial service engagement with an option for his earning a collar and more responsibilities down the road. Mostly we negotiated, sipping tea at the wobbly kitchen table and working out some terms and concerns. Toward the end, I gave him a tour of the house and garden and a few high points.

He has skills I knew I was looking for and several I'd never considered, such as being able to teach me to play the guitar I own but can't play. His carpentry skills are much more advanced than I'd realized; I've played on some dungeon furniture he built without having any idea it was his work.

And, I feel like I have a lot that I can teach. He knows landscaping, for example, but nothing about permaculture. Over time, that might be a place he can apprentice.

I came out of our meeting excited and inspired. I gave him a bit of homework, and we'll be setting up a proper session soon.

And, oh yeah. My kitchen table no longer wobbles. I think this is going to work out just fine.

Dirty South Blogs

2007-05-04T16:35:00.000-07:00

I'd been recently despairing that unlike Seattle and San Francisco the Dirty South doesn't really have any kink columnists.

Well, go figure. One of the new blogs out of Austin has a kink columnist, who just put up a decent entry on playing with rope.

And no, it's not me in Yet Another Writing Guise. Although, would that I'd thought of that!

On calling the scene

2007-05-02T05:09:00.000-07:00

Lest I lose my switch credentials (I know, bloody unlikely!) I also have a few random thoughts on bottoming.

Tops, seriously, a word to the wise from a covert operative:

Trust your bottoms to call the scene.

Seriously.

If you don't trust your bottom enough to call the scene, you should not be playing with him or her.

Now, of course this implies you've set up means to call the scene. You have, haven't you? Maybe there's a safeword, or a color system. Or maybe you play one of many variations on "the counting game". (Mine is what I use at the very end of scenes when I want to go for the nasty wallops: Pick a number. Count only the "good ones". When we hit that number, you're done. Of course, when this game is played on me I am liable to start making up imaginary numbers just to be a brat.)

But unless or until you hear that call, or unless or until you're done (you being the Domly Dom and all that), or until you have fairly solid evidence to the contrary, trust that your bottom is with you.

Seriously.

One of my first play parties, I was co-bottoming with my then lover. We were both being played sadistically hard by two co-tops. It was harder than I'd ever been played before, and . . . I loved it! I loved it, loved it, loved it. It was challenging. It hurt like hell. And I think my lover (who generally had no reticence to caning my ass black and blue when she couldn't see my face) kept seeing me in pain, and asking if I needed her to call the scene for me. No, I didn't. What I really needed was for her to trust me enough to know I'd call it if I had to. And I have to say, the only major downside to that scene was that her concern for me kept pulling my energy back down, and made it harder to give in and fly. She meant well, but it had exactly the wrong effect.

I recently heard something similar from another bottom, who was playing the counting game with a top who was beating her to the point of tears. "Do you need me to stop?" the top asked. "Have you heard my number yet?"

Seriously. The reason we pervy bottoms do this stuff is that we like it.

I know that doesn't make sense sometimes, particularly if we are crying, or making pain faces, or screaming, or calling you a rat bastard or a bitch. I know it's hard sometimes.

But you know, crying is not a safeword. "Rat bastard," and "you stupid little cunt" are also not safewords. 3.14, 42, or 93 if your 'number' is 7, is not a safeword. (Although technically 23 might be. But I digress . . . ) No, the safeword is what we've agreed on.

Until we get there, I'll agree to safeword if I need to if you'll agree to stop fussing over me in the meantime.

On Finding Good Help

2007-05-02T04:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the hardest thing about getting what you want is actually realizing that:

a. you've been asking for something
b. the Universe (sometimes in the form of other people) has been listening
c. you're getting it
d. figuring out what the hell to do now

And so it is with my recent adventures in finding a service submissive.

I've been joking so long that "I need a service submissive," that I'm not sure I was even really hearing myself. But someone was. And so it was that from the most unexpected quarter, I found a very capable and service-oriented gentleman offering his services.

And so I did what I normally do in such situations. I stalled like hell.

To be fair to myself, I was on a retreat when I had the offer, and I have a policy to make no major life changes until a month after my retreat. Which I am, now. I sat with the decision for a couple of weeks, ran it by my lovers, sat with it some more, and then sent out the application. Which has now come back to me with enough "extras" to really delight me. (As it turns out, my applicant has experience as a landscaper!)

And, I feel like I'm pushing myself a bit every step of the way, through my own inertia. I know that this doesn't make me sound much like a domly dom, but it's true.

And I know what the inertia is about, because it's something that you hear about all the time in the professional world as well. "It will take longer to train someone else to do this than it does to do it myself." That's my reticence to start explaining what it is that I do (or don't do): how to fold and put away the laundry, how to clean the floors, how to deal with my composting and greywater systems, how to tell the deliberate weeds from the noxious ones, how to deal with my cranky old cat. And in a very real way I would like the house to be already perfect when we have this talk, which may or may not happen and is frankly a bit silly.

At least, that's part of the inertia. Another very real part is scheduling, which is the reason I've had a couple of lovely lasses offer to rope bottom to me for months now, and haven't managed to make time to set up sessions. Lately my schedule is clear for the first time in months, and I am very reluctant to pencil anyone in beyond my "short list" of very close friends and lovers.

And again, that's a trap. In the long run, retaining a service submissive will -- like any well planned new endeavor -- save me time and free up my energy. Ideally, it will help with my lower two tiers on Maslow's pyramid so that I can focus more time higher up the chain (on things like, say, having those girls over to tie up). It's always getting through the short run that's trouble.

So, I did what I do when I'm finally ready for something. I just made the appointment. I don't feel "ready," but if I wait till I feel ready, it will never happen. No, I set the appointment and that will give me extra incentive to be ready.

And so it begins.

Yes, I have an incredible girl. And no, she's not going anywhere, at least if I can help it! But while she is many things to me -- the perfect 105-pound rope slut, a sweet and attentive friend, giver of fantastic pedicures, amazing lover, and all around darling girl -- she is not and simply isn't going to be a service submissive. Which, as I've said before, is just fine with me. I think we get far more out of working with a bottom's inherent skills and performance capacity than we get from a one size fits all solution.

Hurray, Hurray, it's the First of May!

2007-05-01T05:23:00.000-07:00

Happy Beltane, y'all.

Timely post on submission

2007-04-25T16:47:00.000-07:00

Sitting down to write some queries to a new applicant, I find one of Betka's submissives has a few things to say about what it means to be a good submissive.

Not a bad starting point for what one might want in a submissive, at all. Points 1, 2, and 5 ring out most true for what I want, and 7 and 9 least so, but I'd have to say that all are true for me in some way. (And, every dominant wants something a little different -- and I'd further say wants different from one submissive compared to another.)

Sore

2007-04-23T05:25:00.000-07:00

I wake up this morning happy and accomplished, but sore everywhere.

There is the spot on my hand where I stupidly tested out that bamboo Saturday, and then another Sunday. (I really don't learn sometimes.) The several spots on my ass where my friend the rat bastard did deep acupressure on me when I was in an ebi and a hogtie yesterday afternoon. Sitting will be very interesting today.

And then there are my arm muscles and my abs, both of which I'm really feeling after my little adventure in self-suspension yesterday. That was quite a workout, and by the end of it I was slick with sweat the way I would be after any day at the gym.

I am delighted to realize that my back and thighs are actually not so sore from the suspension itself. I didn't stay in my two early versions long enough to hurt myself, and the third version was fairly comfortable despite having only four major load bearing bands. Good learning there.

And oh yes, somewhere in there I did a massive load of gardening.

Who needs a gym membership? Give me a suspension point and a spotter. (And have the spotter remind me not to test bamboo on my hand anymore, k? Thanks.)

In which Miriam suspends herself . . .

2007-04-22T18:12:00.000-07:00

. . . and lives to tell the tale . . .

Maybe I can blame boredom. Folks were pretty low energy today, and there wasn't a whole lot of tying going on at the time. I was antsy, like a kid whose friends won't come out to play. It might have just been curiosity, or a sense of the perverse.

I'd been half-helping a new SIG member, consulting on some of his ties, when he mentioned, "Last month, some girl suspended herself."

Huh.

Immediately, my mind starts turning this idea over and over, and from the first instant I can tell this is probably a Bad Idea. It's not been too long since I did my first suspension of anyone, you see.

Then I start convincing myself. The guys won't let me fall and crack my head open, right? I mean, I can't actually hurt myself, Pyrate Lass would kill me. The new guy quips that he's a wheelchair salesman, but by this time, it's not deterring me. Those words were there before me, a little gauntlet, a challenge. Moreover, I can almost but not quite see the engineering before me.

By this time, I'm laying out rope.

I started with a hip and crotch harness, which was originally tied off to a couple of garters on my thighs, and then threw in a chest harness (with my hands free, obviously). That worked . . . okay. Not so well. In version 2.0 I'd rigged the thighs through the crotch harness and chest harness. That took a little of the pressure off, but looked ugly.

By then, I really, really wanted this to work. I'd managed to get myself off the ground twice, but it wasn't pretty and I couldn't stay in it more than a few seconds.

Off came most of the ropes. I got the thigh ropes completely off, resecured the crotch ropes, and redid the chest harness with a nice big looped handle in the front. I secured the crotch ropes directly to the chest harness and used them to cinch off the chest ropes so they wouldn't move quite as easily. And then I retied the thighs entirely, making proper cuffs with a square knot and a loop for each. (Once again, I'd screwed up the first time by starting with a larkshead like I do for floor work. I know better, really. Or, I should.)

And then, up again. This time, I got the chest harness nice and secure as I stood. I put my left leg firmly down, and then ran the chest harness rope through the hoop and then through the right thigh harness, and pulleyed that leg up pretty far. Then, I bore down hard to sit up on that right thigh rope as I pulled the rope back through the hoop, and through the left thigh rope, pulleying that one up as well. I secured the ropes with a few passes and then -- Wheeeee!

This one, I could get around in, and I did. My foot found the spanking bench, and I used it to push myself to swing back and forth and twirl a bit. It was awesome.

On the upside, I could really work to my own comfort. While I mean this as no critique of the riggers who've suspended me before, it was an entirely new level of "instant feedback" to feel instantly where any pressure points were and to be able to correct those immediately.

On the downside, I really couldn't let myself fly. I did get a huge endorphin rush, don't get me wrong. Both my rigger's brain and my rope slut brain had to be fully engaged to pull this off. But I couldn't get too loopy, with the challenge of getting myself down safely always at mind. And, I had to do my own aftercare, which was fun. I had really exerted myself, gotten sweaty, and worked out my brain. And, there was the extra adrenalin rush of knowing what I was doing wasn't entirely safe, even though I had a fairly strong looking spotter at hand (who also gave excellent engineering suggestions).

So again, I went to the SIG planning to take it easy and really seriously pushing my edges. Which I'm happy about. I didn't sit outside pouting that my friends didn't come out to play. I made my own game, had a blast, and seemed to amuse a few others in the process.

No matter how tired I am going in, I never leave the SIG disappointed.

Kink permaculture

2007-04-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

A friend came up to me excitedly last night. "Oh, Miriam, I have something for you." The something turned out to be several lengths of bamboo that he'd salvaged from an art project, and thought I could turn into canes or whatnot.

I honestly don't know if they'll make good canes, although I'm chasing up some articles on cane making to see. I'm concerned that they're regular bamboo and not specifically rattan. This other site suggests that because bamboo is hollow, it's only a good choice for very light or medium play, and that hard play might split the cane and create instant and razor-sharp edges. Given that I have broken some of the canes on my birch bundles over asses, this might not be a good idea for me . . .

If they won't work for that, I'll probably cut them to lengths for use in rope play. One of my friends and mentors does amazing things with bamboo, creating extra columns, bamboo bit gags, and other toys that look just gorgeous with rope. And I hope to see him today. So perhaps that's the better way to go. We'll see.

So, I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I love that my friend thought of me. Another friend may gift me with her (rather large) dog crate when her dog outgrows it. Neither of these folks are in the scene, but they're my friends and they're supportive.

Out of the blue yesterday, I got an amazing and touching gift. A friend who demo bottomed for me at the auction last month hand crafted a magickal oil for me to say thanks.

I started this entry to talk about the canes, but the more I write the more I touch on something else. And that's the value of being open.

It's a fine line I walk. I want to be open and honest about my life, and I don't want to squick anyone.

My friend with the puppy cage is an excellent barometer. I think I've erred on the side of TMI in the past, and also wrestled with the temptation to give too little information - so little information that she might not understand the landscape of my life and relationships. Slowly I've learned to give her a broad overview. She can know that I'm negotiating with a service submissive without knowing the details of our contract. She can know what's going on with Pyrate Lass without having to know exactly how we play. And she gets the really good stories, the ones I can tell without too much squickage and play for laughs.

In my magickal community, I really can't talk about my magickal practice without talking about rope. Rope is in part something I am working with as a magickal tool. And so I try to push my edges, and my community's edges, gently. I can show off my rope work making art projects, or helping ease a donated refrigerator down a ramp. And when it was appropriate I did use my chest-tying powers for good at auction, pushing the envelope just enough and I think safely for everyone. But this is part of being seen.

There are places where I really feel no need to be out of the closet. I can't see a benefit of speaking about these things at work, for example. (The tradeoff, of course, is that I don't have close friends from work, either.) But mostly, I need to be seen to make connection. Rope, play and D/s are major parts of my life, and aspects that are pretty important to really knowing me. They're not all of my life -- you get fair amounts of magick and gardening and music geekery, too -- but they're also not just side interests.

And the gifts of that are that you make real friends and real connections. Sometimes those gifts are very tangible. It's Earth Day - reuse, reduce and recycle, and all that. In the garden, I am always taking on things that would otherwise be trash -- newspapers, cardboard, coffee grounds -- and turning them into productive garden beds. These gifts are the same to me, a little kink permaculture. That bamboo, that puppy cage? Both would otherwise have been trash or garage junk to someone. But to me, they are both useful and also signifiers that my practice itself has value in my friends' eyes, and that they recognize kink as important to me in the same sense my gardening is. That's no small thing.

TwistedMonkTV

2007-04-20T05:32:00.000-07:00

If you liked Monk's lovely instructional videos from the Twisted Monk website, you're going to love his new YouTube section.

If you act now, you get ten new instructional videos, including the body harness, the hog tie, and a chest and leg harness.

But wait! There's still more! If you act now, you get Monk's hair tie absolutely free!

Now how much would you pay?

Well, the answer is free!* That's right, just direct your browser to "TwistedMonkCom" on YouTube and you get all these videos and more absolutely free!

* Rope not included. Offer not available in all states. Must be able to at least tie your shoes. Must be 18 or over and of legal age to watch rope videos to qualify. 14.4k modems are unlikely to display videos correctly. Pyrate Lasses pay a surcharge of learning to tie your Daddy up for Teh Hott Sex. Ties as shown may not hold effectively under nylon rope. See TwistedMonk.com for further details.

Going sideways, part 93

2007-04-20T04:59:00.000-07:00

We didn't go to the party last weekend. We'd already decided to play whether or not we went out, and do to a bit of practice for the SiG. So we stayed in and Pyrate Lass spoiled me silly with home cooked food, a pedicure, and lovely blue toenails painted to match the kimono.

We did our practice for the SIG. And then the lass, being the extremely helpful and sweet thing she is, offered to beat me.

Confused yet? Eh, don't be. The way I figure it, if I'm the daddy I can ask to have my toenails painted and my ass tanned to match, which is in fact what I needed. I'm a dominant sadomasochist, and my girl is a submissive sadist who loves to please me. Once she reckoned I could use a beating, she set out to give me one at every opportunity. She's a very good girl, if disappointed that she didn't leave my ass bruised.

Then there was rope School, in which we learned the ins and outs of cock bondage. More on that, and more on going sideways, to come . . .

Costuming

2007-04-13T05:38:00.000-07:00

As my darling friend and fellow Leo says, "Sometimes, it's all about the costuming."

I've been pretty low energy this month. I have a fair amount of stress hitting on all fronts. And so, I've been pretty ambivalent about whether or not to go to a play party this weekend. (The SIG? That's not in question. I never miss School if I can avoid missing.)

I've been in cranky Daddy mood for days; being on my period does not at all help. So the idea of going to the party has alternated between feeling like a lot of fun and like a lot of work: the packing (which I always enjoy once I start, but was cranky about ahead of time), the planning (ditto), and also the costuming. I had finally decided on a leather top that didn't quite reach my leather skirt, not least because the idea of any kind of cincher or corset made my cramps twinge.

In the course of doing other packing this morning, I noticed the kimono. I never wear the kimono. Mostly, it's just cheesy for most Western rope artists to wear a kimono, for reasons Graydancer lampooned brilliantly at his ARS2 keynote last year. I am not a 'nawashi,' and I don't want to pretend to be one. But worn with that in mind, it's also camp, and I just haven't been in the mood to do camp for a while.

But there it was. Oh so pretty, in a fake kimono kind of way. Lovely with the custom obi a friend made me. And . . . gods it looks so comfortable.

I've been idly thinking for days that I do want to do to the party, but I don't want to work. I don't particularly feel like doing a huge caning scene, or having to discipline anyone. Mostly, I want to sit around and talk with kinky friends, perhaps while idly tying up a pretty girl or two. And then, I want to sit in the hot tub.

So yes, the kimono went into the bag.

And I have to say: sometimes it really is all about the costuming. I am feeling much more like I want to go to the party now than I did before, when I was contemplating the Fuckoff Boots and the little leather skirt. Odd thing, that.

Community

2007-04-13T05:20:00.000-07:00

I've been threatening for months to write a big rant on Why We Do This Work in Community (whether I'm going to write this about the kink community, poly community, pagan community or some combination, I've not yet determined).

In the meantime, Mistress Matisse lays down some of the high points.

One part rang particularly true for me:

Some people take the information I give them and run with it, and I've observed something about them: They're usually different in some way aside from being kinky. Like pagans, or poly people, or—especially—queer people. Queer people have often already gone through the process of finding and participating in the queer community, and they know that when you have a nonmainstream sexuality, you're going to structure some of your life choices around it. So my advice makes sense to them.

I hadn't given that any thought before, but it seems blindingly obvious now she's pointed it out.

But that was just my ephiphany; the rest starts getting into the whys and wherefores. Go read. Particularly if you're not a pagan/queer/poly/whatever person for whom working in community seems pretty obvious.

Packing

2007-04-12T19:17:00.000-07:00

I have to say, I love packing day.

First, let me back up a bit.

I think when it comes down to it for me, the difference between seeing kinky and non-kinky folks is in the planning. It seems to me that many non-kinky folks (and especially non-kinky women) value a "spontanaeity" that is in fact very structured: a highly orchestrated dance of getting it on while pretending you never really intended to. And that's a very hard game for me to play.

Me? I love planning ahead.

First, I like the honesty of it. I like play; you like play; let's get together and play. And wouldn't it be even more fun with a bit of thinking ahead? For lack of a better word, there's something innocent in it.

As a magickal person, I'm fond of how it sets my Will. I put my desire toward an intent, and things follow in that direction. Now, that's not to say things might not change my desire in the interim. I could get sick, or have a terrible night. Bad news could come. My energy might be off. There are a million legitimate reasons I might plan with the best of intentions to play, and not have it come off. That said, I feel better off going in with Will than without it.

I like the way that planning ahead gets my mood revved for days ahead. It's taken me a while to reclaim my sex drive; even now that I have a fairly high one, it's not a bad thing for me to go through a day or a few (or perhaps even months) thinking about an upcoming play date. On weeks when I might feel emotionally down or physically under the weather, such revving might help me "get there", as compared to counting on a "spontaneous" desire that will never come.

Of course, the architect in me likes the scheming. Hmmm. Shall we do some wax play? Shall I use my knife? Ooooh! The bondage tape! Yes, I'll pack that. There's something about the sheer act of having to pack when I go out of town that helps me narrow things down. I can't pack my full arsenal these days; paring down goes hand in hand with intention setting.

So yes: here I am on packing day. I am freshly shaven, and have had a bit of a spa day. I have packed the Fuckoff Boots. I have plans for the SIG, and for some other play. And I'm wearing a big old Daddy's grin on my face.