greenstorm | Entries tagged with bdsm

Running today. Sunny out. Lots of homework but feeling above water; really I end up feeling above water whenever I do things un-school-related and manage to hit school goals at the same time. Today's un-school-related? I went grocery shopping. There will be ribs for dinner tonight (I'm enjoying my instant pot very much, thank you) and I'm contemplating going back to buy seville oranges for mead. The urge to brew, well, it's good to feel it again. It means hope for the future.

Yesterday I made soap. Actually, I taught a mini-soap workshop. I have some friends who have scent sensitivities, which I'm getting very sympathetic to as my own scent sensitivities get worse. We got together in a space that was safe for all of us to breathe (!!) and played with fat and lye. One of us was allergic to coconut, so my normal recipe (tallow, olive oil, coconut oil) was out of the running, and I don't like palm oil (which normally replaces coconut oil to make soap bubbly and extra-cleaning) so we all brought the oils we had and played around with an online soap calculator for awhile. We ended up making one soap with butter, which was fun and experimental, and one with just tallow and olive oil. It was so nice to bring a framework of knowledge and then just play with that knowledge for awhile, basically like getting instant colleagues or co-hobbyists or whatever, rather than doing a hierarchical knowledge transfer. It was, however, exhausting.

Day before that was some play that ended in a reminder that, as a top, I definitely need aftercare and reassurance. Fun though.

That said, it was a rough-feeling weekend; my reserves are depleted and so everything threatened to feel really awful when it didn't go just right.

I have some time to myself this weekend and I'm thinking of filtering and bottling some of my two-year-old apple boozes and starting a mead or two; maybe a seville orange and either the red currant or blackcurrant from my freezer. The apple boozes are long since unlabelled but I should be able to figure out which are which by taste (I'd better be able to!).

There's also a slow avalanche of homework deliverables now, but I find boozemaking and homework complement each other nicely; I do well at both as punctuated focused efforts which weave one to the other as I get tired of each.

I really miss gardening.

More another time; be well.

An interesting situation has arisen lately.

I've been pretty toppy of late. This means I've been not only scening privately, but also kink-flirting in a million subtle (and I do think it's stayed relatively subtle lately) ways which draw complimentary folks to me in everyday life.

I'm good with being in this space right now. I enjoy this dynamic with many folks, I've enjoyed it in the past, and it's good to be able to explore it a little more right now.

I've also been thinking a lot about consent, coerced consent or consent under duress or pressure, assumed consent, and non-consent in the last six months or so. Much of kink definitely involves entering an altered mind-state, especially (if I'm doing my job as a top) the bottoming end of things. Well, no, when it's intense it's just all altered. So it's important to me to have a framework for consent around my play that was created outside that play, in the unaltered state.

So on the one hand, I feel like there is a large act of communication about what's consensual within a scene and about where that scene begins and ends that is in itself an act of consent; it is necessary but not sufficient for clear, uncontrovertable, and explicit consent outside scenespace.

On the other hand, when I think about the concept of ownership, of another person giving themselves to me, I think in terms of enthusiastic consent from second to second. Submission or surrender is not a single act: it is a series of moments of choice. It is not one gift, but a gift renewed every second. I find this gift infinitely moving, precious, and intimate when it comes from someone who has enough ownership and knowledge of themselves to actually *give* it. The alternative, someone who doesn't have their own hand on their rudder but instead drifts around hoping someone can grab it for them and give some sort of direction, is somewhat distasteful to me.

But so much of the conversation I've seen, and the automatic concern in this kind of power-play, does talk about the consent of the bottom or submissive partner. It's a real concern of mine; I worry that even in vanilla relationships my strong personality tends to create a dependence or sap my partner's sense of volition or selfhood.

It's only very recently I've come to realise that giving consent as a top is much more complex than saying: yes, I will engage or no, I won't engage. And of course I realise this in a situation where I suddenly realize I am not giving what I feel to be full consent.

I met a potential new play partner over the internet very recently. He's enthusiastic and, on meeting in person, we get along very well and have a bunch to say to each other and the chemistry is there. He's also, if this means anything (I'm not sure it does to me) a 99% on my okcupid profile. We've been discussing our boundaries and interests in scening; he's been presenting his to me in a very submissive way, as though we're already in that type of relationship. This should be great and exciting, but instead I'm feeling deeply uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure I feel uncomfortable because I have not agreed to be in this space; I haven't agreed to receive the surrender he assumes has happened. We're discussing the terms, but that must be done in straight space for me, and further it requires me to take his measure and find him capable of what I consider to be meaningful surrender of his volition.

Then, having discussed terms and learned who he is some and figured that he *can* do what I want, I must actually *want* him in this very deep and personal way: not just for sex, which can be a lovely fun close collaboration, but for an entire experience that I can create and control.

I certainly have not come to this point with this person. And so when this stranger is ultra submissive and eager during our communications, my hackles rise and I get uncomfortable. I think, is this person capable of standing on their own feet? Are they good at it? Do they understand that my control of their experience is a gift, as is their submission to it? Why won't they speak to me as an equal outside the situation?

But I also think, angrily, that I will not allow this precious sharing thing I do with people to be taken from me. It can't be manipulated or coerced out of me. I absolutely will not allow it to be taken. And it's that anger that I just figured out, that I just came to understand through this writing. That anger is my response to my nonconsent. And, having figured that out, I think I have an email to write with some boundaries.

Thanks, guys. So good to have some space to figure this out.

I still feel it peeking around the edges. It comes when it's inconvenient: when I'm in a crowd of strangers stuck on a rush-hour skytrain, when someone who would be inconvenienced by my breaking down is speaking of something altogether else. I am, of course, a fucking world champion of stoneface when I need to be. I spent many years breaking down that skill, living outside of it, and now a year or two of practice and it's walled me inside.

Inside, outside, apart. I don't know. Metaphor breaks down and I am apart from myself.

I sometimes use music as a tool to break through this. I have not done that. When I had finished the tattoo sitting and Angus came in and I was worn out from resisting the pain I knew it would break when I looked up into his face (so warm! and I can be so, so cold) and it did, but only for a moment.

I think I am avoiding it. I am avoiding some people, for sure, because I'm afraid of being inconvenient. My pain very much wants to be inconvenient, it wants to be a storm or a flood and it won't thus far be contained in a quiet room where I can sit patiently and wait it out.

I find myself fantasizing about a good top who cares about my well-being, someone who could draw the pain out of me (it wouldn't take very much; physical pain is a very open gateway here. I amost broke down in the doctor's office when she drew blood) and revel in the process, who could a big enough, sure enough safe space to contain the storm the first time until it passed a little. I have even thought of asking some people.

But while my pain wants to be inconvenient, I do not. And. I. Feel. Inconvenient.

I guess that's my word right there. Other people don't like to be called bad, or wrong, or irresponsible, or whatever that trigger is that's been built into them. This is the trigger that's been built into me surfacing right now.

It occurs to me that I should think of ways I'd like to feel, words of power for myself. I've been trying during these last two paragraphs to think. I don't want to be necessary, helpful, needed, not even really desired. But-- wanted. I want to be wanted. I want to be liked. I want to be cared-for and cherished. Interesting comes and goes. Correct I reject wholeheartedly. Admired? Yes. I like being fascinated by myself, but not fascinating. I like feeling interconnected, I can tolerate feeling self-sufficient (that is where I'm sliding, these days).

And, I like to feel... sufficient. Enough. For everyone, myself included and especially.

Wanted and sufficient. I'll think about that more later, but for now I will feed myself like a good girl and go curl up under the protection of Kynnin, he who has loved me longest and knows as much about my history as anyone. I am enough for him as I am, and he will not allow me to be inconvenient. So there we are. Maybe I will even, finally, be able to cry a little.

So my classes have been aimed at improving my model of the physical world. That is, directly (by teaching me how the world works) and indirectly (by showing me how to use tools which offer more information on how the world works) the simulation of the world in my head has been refined and now better approaches some theoretical consensus of objective reality which seems to map pretty closely to observable outcomes.

The scope of this model is pretty broad. It covers a great deal of the world: the sky (not astronomy, but some climatology), the ground and the bits that make it up (geology, which is the study of the more-or-less solid bits: how they formed and what they're doing and what makes them up and how to recognise them; earth science, which is the study of the loose bits at the top and how they move and what *they're* doing and how they formed and how to recognise distinctive parts of them and what that means), and this funny layer in between which contains a number of biotic elements (plants, animals, soil, water to an extent) and some of the processes involved (like fire). The tools at my disposal range from imap (which is an incredible tool) to statistical analysis to digging a hole and putting a bit of dirt between my teeth or noticing the shape of pebbles or a hillside. Some are very low tech or just very old and unappreciated tech; some are very high tech.

This doesn't mean I don't make errors in how I think about the natural or physical world. It means I am more likely to be right in the first place, more likely to think to check my assumptions, and more likely to know how to check those assumptions against the world effectively.

At the same time in the last couple of years -- let's call it three or four -- I've been making a lot of progress on refining my model of myself. I'm admitting to things, like my very strong drive for multiple partners, my need for certain kinds of independence, my better flourishing with certain kinds of food and sex and friends in my life, my sub-superhuman limitations on some hands and my nearly limitless capacity on others, and my ambitions, all of which are not necessarily convenient for me but which allow me to live a better life as myself. And I am myself. Not much I can do about that; I evolve, but I don't evolve unless I am unfolding in a direction which draws me.

This doesn't mean I don't make errors in infusing my life with meaning and joy. It means I am more likely to be right in the first place, more likely to think about a course of action, and more likely to know how to check that it's the best course of action for me. And like everyone, of course, sometimes I am just indifferent to the correctness of a course of action.

Then-- you know, the world has a human element. You know this; you're part of it. Today I'm having trouble with that human element. I have no consistent model for it. I have been learning how to make and keep friends and how to choose kind and caring lovers; meanwhile bad things happen to little girls in the states and to women in Canada and everything in-between and is to a certain extent condoned by this human element. My home country makes a mockery of democracy, etc and my adopted country isn't much better and sometimes seems plain crazy but at least, you know, isn't engaged in an all-out war with itself on my reproductive health with a side of making women in some places into Handmaid's Tale-style incubators and here too and all that sort of thing.

I don't know if it's that I'm becoming better at dealing with these other things in my life and so this human element is a problem by comparison, if we really are living in the end of times as was suggested in a comment on the post below, if I need an outlet for adversity, I could put a million possible explanations in here and it wouldn't change that I just don't know. I don't know if things are getting worse or better. I don't know if they will ever directly affect me, though I expect so. Any way you look at it, this portion of my world is a jumble and I don't know how to order, organise, and empower myself around it. I am tempted to flee, but there are people in my life I love too much and I have some sense of responsibility.

I'm going to put a cut here because the meat of this post is my musing about my sexuality, rape in the real world, consensual rape play, and how I feel about all this stuff, and people have kindly taught me that they appreciate the ability to avoid that sort of thing.

( Read more... )

There's nothing more to write.

Crazygonuts weekend-- play play play, work work work, interpersonal interpersonal interpersonal. I'm glad the latter's going more smoothly cuz this week's not going to allow me the luxury. Two finals happen this coming week, midterms and some new classes the next.

I'm satisfied with my degree of social interaction generally and tentatively okay with how I've been keeping up with classes, though not thrilled. Next week, which is going to be demanding work-wise, will tell as to how well everything is doing in that regard.

School continues to make me happy; I come home after almost all my classes glowing. Math with a well-intentioned but very unhelpful teacher is the exception. Maps class today involved doing stream profiles, drawing contour lines onto elevation grids, and defining watersheds. This is stuff I could do as a dayjob if offered the opportunity. It's so relaxing; I love it.

This weekend is the apple festival, a meetup with some classmates to put together a presentation, tea, and a housewarming. Everything else will be modified forms of doing homework. Hell, I might bring something with me to the housewarming.

I'm remembering to keep a hand in at my hobbies, too. It's good to have my brain engaged. I'm loving it.

That was brief. Now to bed.

So I've had reason to think about what I've to; tongue-in-cheek called "play: the grown-up kind" quite a bit lately. Specifically I'm talking about kink, BDSM, deviant shit, perversion, hurting and being hurt for pleasure and fulfillment-- whatever you'd like to call it.

First, it's something I do, and it's something I am. There are a significant number of fuzzy lines around what the particulars are, especially when I'm writing to as diverse an audience as you; this particular thing may be inside the definitional line for some, and that same thing outside for others. That's not important to these thoughts. It's indisputably true that I'm kinky; I derive real actual pleasure from hurting people. That pleasure is unmixed when I'm hurting someone who I like, who wants to be hurt, and who is going to be long-term undamaged in a mutually agreed-upon definition of the term from it. That pleasure occurs from both mental and physical pain, and from fear and apprehension. It is considerably complicated and always counterbalanced by nonconsensual situations but it does remain in those situations as an undercurrent of which I am sometimes only aware after the fact. I also derive fulfillment and peace from having such things done to me by people I trust who are acting in ways sensitive to my responses.

I take the whole thing very seriously. When Kynnin and I broke up I moved in with Tillie, who is an educator around kink and also many people's kinky fairy godmother. I absorbed a number of ground rules before I even began to explore my tastes in that regard. With a sexual relationship I expect a certain amount of give-and-take, of self-advocacy, of each-stands-up-for-themselves if need be. When I'm topping I assume responsibility for my bottom's entire well-being as much as I can determine it as well as for my own consistent ability as a caretaker. With sex you're playing with fire, no doubt about that, but with kink you're in many cases actively setting off high explosives.

None of this is to say a bottom has no responsibilities. Communication is key in every interaction, especially in heavy-duty emotional and physical button-pushing things like this. When I bottom, though, I so easily go beyond the ability to give clear and comprehensible verbal instructions that language may not even exist for me anymore. There is a whole nonverbal realm a top needs to not only be aware of but to be able to read in order to be effective without damaging and without overstepping and making the whole experience actually unpleasant. Some of this can be covered by negotiations beforehand, but not even close to all of it can be. That reading requires absolute focus for me, and that focus is part of the pleasure of a structured kink scene. A person's body is a verty complicated instrument to play, and many -- not all, maybe not most -- of these scenes are about exploring the tolerances of that instrument without breaking it.

I find that with sex the stakes are lower. There is less chance of damage, spontaneous explosion, or even boredom. It's easier to communicate during sex: a little more here, a little harder there, turn this way, I want you to say that. Yesterday I was reminded that I don't like to make gross generalisations and I have just made one there-- it's not always true, and with some activities in particular I tend to focus quite intensely indeed. Still, I don't have that same sense of owning the situation, of responsibility, that I do for my bottoms.

When I'm topping, I feel a sense almost of ownership and also of great tenderness. This person-- my whole world for the moment --is my child, toy, lover, my precious thing. In those moments there is no ambiguity and if ever there's a question every protective hackle I have is raised instantly. It's fair to say this is one of the most viscerally emotional connections I have with people; it's primal and immediate, it pushes all of the buttons that make me feel human. There may be irony in that to some.

Certainly in afterthought, only after having written this and thought about it from the point of view of someone who doesn't swing this way, it may be strange to be protective of someone I myself am hurting; it may seem ridiculous or beside the point to be intensely concerned with their well-being and, yes, enjoyment.

All that said, it may be surprising that I don't fall in love with my bottoms as a general rule. I fall in love with my lovers all the time, and especially at first in a sexual relationship the sex is decidedly less intense than a kink scene would be both emotionally and physically. I feel love, awe, and adulation freely for my tops; those feelings spill out freely in scene, and I will not scene with someone who is unworthy of those feelings even just for a short time. I can walk away from topping, though-- blood sugar is stabilized, cuddling given if necessary, a follow-up call or two arranged if it was intense enough or if it's new enough to seem to require it (and I do like follow-up calls; my world is interconnected) --but then I can go back to my life, perhaps with pleasant anticipation of the next time 'round, but without feeling emotionally sticky.

Having said what I want to say, it's time for me to go do homework. What are your thoughts?

Here I am, home again. I know I've posted since I got back, but not a real post. This will be a real post.

First of all, I survived the trip. The show was actually really nice, between the people who were there and the fact that I didn't bring rats so was able to do things like eat and judge. I also love love love that road-- the I5 from Seattle to Portland and then the road over to Boise was really spectacular. It's amazing watching terrain change through the window, and awesome as well to see so many wind farms.

There was definitely some over-peopledness and some tension about getting back, but in the end it all worked out.

That's not really what I wanted to write about, though.

I did the piercing photoshoot with my friend-- well, with a bunch of friends the other day, Estry and Travis did the piercing, Cabbit did the photography, the Writer did handholding and general assistance. It was absolutely amazingly wonderful. The first picture is up here and is really lovely; there are tons of other nice ones which he is messing with and will put up as he finishes that. Not only do I look incredibly beautiful in these pictures, but we had an absolute blast doing the play-- as you will no doubt see in some of the pictures. I loved that and want to do it again. I had forgotten how much fun a group kink session can be. I was having so much fun I didn't even feel sad when the needles came out.

So I went on the trip with some needle bruising on my face-- it looked like oddly symmetrical acne with weirdly geometric bruising, but it wasn't excessive.

I got back very very late on Sunday night-- originally we'd been planning to sleep a couple of hours in either Tacoma or Everett, but I was really getting antsy to get home and Lizzy was willing to go for it, so we did. The US customs guys had forgotten to give us our passports in all the excitement about rats coming up, so we had to park, walk in to US customs, pick up our passports, and walk out before driving through the Canadian part of the border. Let me tell you, 1am's a creepy time to be wandering around the border on foot.

Made it back and into an improbably welcoming and wonderful place to sleep off my quarantine and most of Monday besides, then meandered towards work for a couple of hours of the most necessary watering before I hit movie night. Since Monday morning I've been wandering around feeling like I've just woken up, you know that feeling when you come up out of a deep sleep? Though I'm still very tired; the last week was one long series of four- and five-hour nights.

As a result I worked a padded-out ten hour day today and will do the same tomorrow, but Canada Day on Thursday gives me a day off that-- then another long day Friday and the week will be done. So too will my tuition pay period, and then I can relax a little.

I've found a new writing outlet in my life, which is really what I came here to confess, but it's been an hour and a half since I started this post, a time period full of interruptions by food and rats, and so I've lost the inspiration to speak of it. Perhaps next time.

You know, I came home from work today and didn't even stop in the house first, I went straight to the garden, and it was awesome. There's so much mint that needs harvesting, there's so much stuff exploding awake in there-- though the tomatoes and okra need more heat or they won't do anything this year. Then I came in and got a hug and stuck my hands in rat cages for awhile while trying to whip my laptop into shape, and here I am.

Life is good.

I may be more coherent when I'm less tired. I should do something about sleep soon.

I view possessiveness, both the physical and mental 'you are mine' attitude, exactly how I view rape-- really super hot when it's consensual, or when you're playing. Explicitly: ( Read more... ) I put this in the same category as wearing a collar for someone, letting someone touch my collar or even wrap their fingers around my neck in any way (collar symbolism hits me very very strongly), and also in the same category as saying I'm yours or letting someone else make any decisions about my body-- from what I wear or whether I shave something to whether I can sleep with someone or am allowed to orgasm.

That is to say, I don't mind a relationship with implied ongoing consent (and can often love it) as long as I can safeword out when I need to. I may not need to, but I need to know I have the option-- and I always assume I do.

Needless to say, this wreaks havoc in conventional romantic relationships. It's been an ongoing issue, though I have had the blessing and immense pleasure of dating many people who, with a fair bit of personal effort, adapted to this and figured out ways to fit me into their lives anyhow.

On the other hand, people who have come close to me are undeniably a part of me, have undeniably marked me. That's another part of ownership, it's in the depths below conscious thought and so doesn't trespass so easily on my ability to make my own decisions. Here's something you don't know: it's been years since I wrote this but I still think of people I love very much and who I want to be in my life solidly and forever as bedmates and companions and spiritual partners and co-conversationalists and as another wing on my soul as 'my Kynnin's, like someone else would say 'my love'. It's a fingerprint-- like you can't avoid leaving fingerprints when you've been playing in the mud, you cannot avoid leaving fingerprints after a relationship that long when it's your first.

I was going to talk about other marks from other relationships-- I have so many. There has been so much love and intimacy and sharing in my life, so much intertwining. I've been wandering through old posts, though: this and this (and I suppose I do still believe that 'people throw you away'- not all fingerprints are quirky or shiny).

Oh, look how I fracture, how I coil up inside. I remember this:

Speaking of desire--
to dive into life like a wave
not sure about coming up for breath;
how a kite is nothing
without string.

I have thought that so often in the intervening years. A kite is nothing without a string, it just stuck there. A few weeks ago I started thinking a kite without a strong is a bird. It just changed, like that, a personal epiphany of some kind.

Oh, and there's the intimacy post.

And there's the most beautiful and meaningful exchange I've ever had with my mom, whose fingerprints are all over me.

There was the head-shave.

I am reminded to read Kazuo Ishiguro's books again. I am reminded of the quote by Henry Morgantaler: "My father told me it was possible for everyone in the world to have a different opinion from you and you all to be right." I am reminded that I once wrote: "oh, fuck, hopefully I don't need to cut everyone I've had deep feelings for away just because they're emotionally unavailable pricks. Or, wait... hee. Okay. Hopefully everyone I've ever had deep feelings for aren't emotionally unavailable pricks."

I remember this poem: ( Read more... )

and posting this in response. I was not writing to anyone I then knew, perhaps no one I now know, perhaps no one I will ever know.

This was my first post about CrazyChris, who is still in my life (though not as a lover) and who still loves me, and who I still love very much. (In a later post about him I wrote: we'll just call him Chris. Not PretentiousBlonde, not EnviroDreads, but just Chris. Thus is my life made easier.)

I remember this, and when I read it I can safely say I am closer to achieving mastery of my life, but life is still not always safe.

This post is getting incredibly long, rambling, and inward-looking. It's been the proverbial walk down memory lane, it's been a wander through places where I no longer reside, and it's beautiful. My life is, and has been, beautiful.

I will leave you with this and a song: ( Read more... )
I will leave you with an image of me as a machine built, in my muddled way, to love things. And I will leave you with a poem and go out into the world:

There is earth
that never leaves your hands,
rain that never leaves
your bones. Words so old they are broken
from us, because they can only be
broken. They will not
let go, because some love
is broken from love
like stones
from stone,
rain from rain,
like the sea
from the sea.

-Anne Michaels

(but I'll tell you a secret: I like it here. I don't want to go into the world quite yet; I'm just getting bored with my own voice and there's no one else here)

((but for the sake of completion, which is an illusory and ever-retreating goal but perhaps means something, I will say: if you read all this, follow all these links, how can you doubt that I am the only one who can own the root of my being? Even if I give it, I am giving it; how could anyone else even really know what's there? There has been so much))

Endorphin crash? Duh.

Current Location: Canada, British Columbia

Travis cut me a leaf/plug last night. I got all silly and snuggly. I will post pictures later under a cut.

This weekend, hook pull.

Wednesday, shoulder re-scarification, and my body should have enough to think about then that I heal slow and messily.

Travis brought me quinoa salad last night.

I have been well and thoroughly snuggled this week.

I feel warm and fuzzy.

Next Thurs will be an interesting workday though.

Current Location: Canada, British Columbia

Excuse me for spewing love songs all over the internet, but this is what's playing in the background right now and it needs to be here. I'll cut it a bit for ya.

Well you've done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted
I fell right through the cracks
and now I'm trying to get back
Before the cool done run out
I'll be giving it my bestest
Nothing's going to stop me but divine intervention
I reckon its again my turn to win some or learn some
( Read more... )
No I won't hesitate no more, no more
This cannot wait I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours, I'm yours

Basically right now my life feels like dancing in warm rain. I am enjoying it so much, and even learning to relax a little bit about that. I have done cool things, spent more time than I believed imaginable with cool people new and old, learned so much interesting stuff, gathered and accepted so many opportunities, been presented with so many workable challenges... If I had ever been in the habit of being optimistic about the future I'd say my dreams are come true, but to be honest I'd never have thought to aim so high. And don't get me wrong, I am high right now, I'm riding very little sleep and a spring surge and hormones and the trailing edge of this chaos wave. Don't worry, I'm a pro. When it all goes over I'll try not to breathe too much water.

I want to tell you about all the highlights that have happened lately, but I need you to realise I haven't been sleeping. Normally this isn't possible for me. I self-destruct. Lately I haven't been able to settle, and even when I go to sleep at 4am I wake up at 6 and pop out of bed, so a lot has been happening.

One of those things was the Bridging the Gap Engineers Without Borders Conference which I went to on Saturday with CrazyChris. At the beginning of the day they gave us a sticky note, and they asked us to write on it what got us out of bed in the morning, and then during the course of the day stick it on the board. I wrote, "I live the world and I get to be a part of it!". Normally I'm not a fan of chirrupy engagement-building exercises (if I'm there, it's because I am engaged, I don't waste time and money on things I would only engage with because a man in a banana suit started a chant or something), but I was pretty solid on that one. Not only did I get to hear some amazing speakers say some incredible things-- no punches were pulled, there was little in the way of shock-rhetoric but also little sugar-coating --but I got to meet some cool people, get some great info, and spend some time with my birthday twin who's been mentally on vacation in the land of theatre and internet memes for the last couple of years. Chris and I were frothing at the mouth together, grabbing each other's legs, making muffled choking sounds, and otherwise engaging deeply with both each other and the content-- and I had missed that so much. He's the guy who started me down the urban part of my path, who's half-convinced me that big cities may be worthwhile and desireable enough that it's worth the administrative hell of keeping them around, who introduced me to ethical eating and also to basically all the people I'm friends with now, and who... well, he's just very special to me. I had missed him, and there he was, back with me for a whole day. I had missed eating with him. I had missed his high level of reaction. I had missed his engagement with the world around him-- so many people are so very ignorant or head-in-the-sand.

Also Hans Rosling compared Christopher Columbus to Hitler, showed a trade-deficit thingy of the world and commented, 'in the US, they always give the black man the crappy job', and otherwise blew my mind. Then there was the guy from Bangladesh, who was super hardcore. He gives us some figures: land area of Canada, land area of Bangladesh. Population of Canada, population of Bangladesh. Then he says: "30% of Bangladesh will be under water in 20 years." He talks about this for a bit, including things like climate refugees. At the end, during question period, some kid puts up his hand and says in effect: I don't want to accept refugees, that problem's pretty hards, so maybe in Canada we'll be doing enough of our part if we just buy new cellphones less often (note: the 'new cellphones less often' were his own worlds). Iqbal responds, and I swear I don't know how he did this, "Thank you for your question." Then he mentioned that his government was willing to do basically anything that would help, but was also focusing resources on poverty reduction and there was some question as to priorities there.

Oh, that does not do the conversation justice. Here's how it felt to me. Guy: we have little land and lots of people. You have lots of land. Soon our land will all be underwater. Kid: We could replace our cellphones less often in Canada, then we'd have done our part. Guy: Thank you for your question. My country will be underwater. The people actually need places to stand. We are willing to look at all assistance however. Chris and I: *stare in horror*

In addition to that, I've been reconnecting with other people. I looked up Bevan the other day and chatted with him for awhile. He's generally a little awkward, and I was pleasantly surprised that a lot of that had dissipated and we could just talk about cool stuff. I am also always thrilled when someone I haven't talked to in two years doesn't hold that against me.

Tillie too has been re-entering my life. There was an impact play workshop at her place (slapping, kicking, punching) to which I brought Angus, and afterwards she beat him up a little bit and I watched and it was all super shiny. We agree that family dinner will start again. It would not be family dinner without her.

I worked at the Pan overnight between a couple of those things (did I mention I have NOT been sleeping?) and remembered how cool my bosses are. It's comfy to talk casually with them during work, and that means so much. Also I got to be a plant ninja, which would be more fun if I was not half-dead with sleep dep but is always kinda cool.

What else has been happening? Cameos at social events, some settling in and coming to terms with the relationship stuff going on in my head including a very new and very shiny someone (his handwriting is so beautiful) and the surprising slam into familiarity of someone else, little bits of chatting with Angus and no fretting there. I notice that there is such a depth of love with my old friends, where the breadth might have been worn away with lack of contact the thing still feels so very powerfully anchoring-- while with new people the challenge of engaging and figuring them out is so very strong and stimulating. I may be coming to accept endings a tiny bit more, and not to let them angst the whole experience of everything ever in advance. Maybe. (see: song)

And on top of all of that the air today felt like soft blankets in a cradle-- not cold, very soft, very present, and it smelled so lovely.

What else could possibly go right? Well, Twitter is apparently a wonderful source for permaculture info-- as it should be, considering the distributed bottom-up nature of it. When I have a spare moment I poke around there and it's neat to see what's around. I've also found it to be a good outlet for my activist side. I guess the length and immediacy of it seems appropriate to comment on things that pass me by or that I notice in the gardening/food/ethics world where there's not time for an lj post or where a facebook status update feels... weird.

I've also custom-ordered a mask for the masquerade, and discovered and bought the proper skirt. My outfit will allow me to go barefoot if I like. Now I just need to bug andi_sunrider about the corset. This is fun. I adore costuming. Adore, adore, adore.

Did I mention that there's a permaculture community garden by my place? Of course I did. I mentioned the chestnut trees. There are also pecans or walnuts or something-- I'll need to actually stop and look for a proper ID on them. Did I mentioned I may have seen an apricot tree growing in a back alley today? How freakin' cool is that?

And now I'm looking forward to many things this upcoming while: sleeping a full night or three, sex, my natal mahoganies arriving, beating up a boy, reading more permaculture stuff while on the bus, spending a weekend cut off from media paganizing, peoplepeoplepeople of the very best sort, puzzling out more about my shiny thing, alcohol-ing the ass off the scale at that one account at work, deciding what to wear to the big hippie pagan festival, maybe being beaten up (face slapping ftw!), more time with my ratty babies, regular mealtimes, sleep, and did I mention sex and sleep? And people? And what about wearing my super comfy sweaters? And maybe even having time, or not having time, for more lj posts.

So much love. Be well. Thinking of you.

:D

(Woah lj is acting weird and sorta-double-posting this)

So I've spent the last two months in my head, more-or-less. There have been a couple reasons for this. Some of them have to do with work, especially doing graveyards when I had to deliberately disregard anything my body was telling me. Others have to do with sex, or more specifically with desire and the way that pulled me out of the here-and-now in this particular case. Some of it has to do with stress, and with the way power dynamics operate for me. I'd bet the new phone has something to do with it too.

Tonight I got put back in my body. I'm gonna describe it a bit under a cut, and then ramble on for awhile.( Read more... )

So there I am walking home and I am noticing the air particularly around my legs. It feels like rain. It's a little chilly. It's not quite cold enough to worry about, so my body is vibrating between being cold and comfortable, poised to do something-- either to settle or to be uncomfortable with the temperature --and I am particularly aware of the distinction between the inside of my body and the outside. My skin is, all over my body, a very particular sensing membrane that is the limit of my body. It's not just where my awareness ends; it's a thing in itself.

That was nice.

Here's a freewrite, fifteen mins, not supposed to make sense.
( Read more... )

Cut for explicit weird body stuff:
( Read more... )

Hm. Who do I know who might be into topping this?

Current Location: Canada, British Columbia

So last night I went to a play piercing workshop. This was my first time as a needle top. Unsurprisingly, I loved it. I'm gonna cut for some details: ( Read more... )

It was a wonderful experience. The guy teaching the workshop, Elwood, is super fun and also really really knows what he's doing. It was a small workshop, five couples in a friend's house, so nice and intimate and cozy. Playing with blood and sharp things has many ways to go bad, and that was all covered and allowed everything to feel super safe. My bottom was communicative about his boundaries, he wanted to go pretty much as far as I wanted to but not beyond so neither of us was left with a 'that's it?' feeling, and he made awesome faces both hurty and grinning.

And today I feel more awake and alive than I have in a bit. I know I tend to be super cyclic with many things, and for the last while I've been on the down part of a cycle with this. Now I think it's time for some of it again. And you know what? It's about time. One of the things about this type of play is that I find it fun. When it comes right down to it, I'm a very serious person. I can enjoy and approve of many things, but I don't play a lot. This is one of my ways of playing. There's a fluidity of existence to negotiating these roles, to diving into our emotional and physical selves and seeing how they work.

I also really get off on hurting people. I use the term 'get off' advisedly -- it's not an overtly sexual thing by any means (I don't want to sleep with my bottom, though I do wanna see about doing other evil things to him like ( Read more... )) but I have a very emotionally satisfied or content feeling after something like this-- something where it's consensual, where no one has been harmed, where we both enjoyed it, and both people go home purring but pain has been involved.

Having said that, I've been fighting with top drop today. No matter how much it was all good, every once in awhile part of my mind pops up and says, 'you did what to him? Dude, you can't do that to people'.

I wonder if that's the part of my brain that says girls can't be farmers?

I had also forgotten just how much I liked that particular friend. Sigh.

Trevor came over.

Two nights ago Anthony and Nick came over, and I got massages and dinner made for me and snuggles, but the next day I was jangly.

Last night Trevor came over, and we went out for all-you-can-eat at Shabusen, and came back and chatted and more-or-less passed out in a food coma until he had to leave for work this morning. I feel renewed, tenuously put back together in one piece. There is a lot to be said for things that endure.

I shocked him several times-- he's my oldest friend, I've known him since grade 10 or so, and so he knows me pretty well. So I said I'm still feeling super monogamous, though I'm not very happy about it, and he was shocked. I told him that I got my learner's license, and he was shocked. It made me happy. No one here seems to understand the import of these things, and so I guess I had to import someone from Abbotsford to do so.

He's doing well. There's the potential for him to do a half-sponsored trip to boulder on Baffin Island next year, which is stupidly exciting.

The roommate thing is potentially going to work.

This morning, I saw this at the Libido Lounge:

July 31 Thursday 7:00 - 10:00pm
Predicament Bondage - a hands on class

What is the essence of a predicament? What are the four basic types of predicaments? How does motivational psychology apply to predicament bondage? What are the unique hazards and benefits? Come learn the principles of predicament bondage, including a live demonstration of each type of predicament!

Perhaps it's time to wander down to an event finally/again; keep my hand in, you know? Anyone interested in going?

In the beginning, the very beginning, I said: you're gonna break my heart someday, boy.

The title of this journal is watching the cycle: leaves to mulch to soil to leaves. It's because that's the only thing I can count on.

This week I talked to Eva about what-ifs, backup plans, and I tried to stay open and not close myself off to him in case I was wrong.

Last night I took the twenty up Victoria for 'a talk' that, when asked, he admitted I should have a friend around afterward for. I knew to ask that question. I was angry on the bus ride there, and I dreaded waiting for the bus because then I'd have to think. Luckily there was no wait.

He was upfront and straightforward. He made no excuses. He doesn't love me, he wishes he did, but he doesn't. He's not the sort of person who can continue on just like that even so, despite my many wonderful qualities. It's maybe the second time in my life someone's been so upfront about a breakup with me, and the first time was when I was thirteen. He held me, he cried, I cried. He said in the next couple weeks I could go to him for comfort if I needed. I said don't do this to me-- I didn't mean to say it, because he was being so good about it, but I had to, just in case it helped. He said he really wanted to be friends. I said when I get over the angry phase, I'm not there yet but I'll let you know when I get to it, so yes, comfort, but please could he not do this to me?

When I first came into the room he asked me what I meant when I said I loved him. I said no, just say what you need to say, and he did. Later I tried to put it into words: he's the shining thing that my life sudenly and inexplicably organised itself to hold up, rather than just curling and tumbling in an attempt to stay up with no particular focus. He is a reason for things. He is beautiful. He is... I don't know how to describe, it's a spiritual thing, he makes me ring. It's like a flower at the top of my head with a lacework all down my spine. Still when he smiled at me it gave me butterflies in my stomach.

He doesn't feel any comfort when I hold him in my arms. When he holds me, even now, even after that, it's still the best place ever to be.

It was seven months to the day from the date we had decided was the beginning. That was the day he came over to talk about rats, after the first family dinner where things sparked and Eva brought us together. We talked about rats for a long time, then things went silent and he looked up at me. I looked back. Eventually I went around behind him in the chair and bit his shoulders, and that was that. I took the day off work to see him get his tattoo and we went to the park and made out for hours, then hesitated before going to his place.

We waited to fuck for what seemed like forever, waiting for test results to come back (I do try to keep my STD tests up to date before the fact).

It was private. I called him babydoll, puppy, my love, sweetie, Mister, every pet name seemed to fit him. He called me ma'am and my tummy did bellyflops. I beat him with a cane for the first time and he liked it. I cried sometimes, after sex or during, because it was like god coming down. His body was built for mine-- ribcage fashioned to fit the length of my arm, his arms designed to curl around me just right to trigger all my safe feelings. His cock was exactly right. I loved the little bit of soft on his belly, the way it pooled out a little. I loved the flame tattoo on his arm, and the grapes. I loved the way he looked at me when I hurt him, his eyes got so big and soft. They were usually blue eyes, with a ring in the middle the colour of his year. He's a redhead. I notice redheads more on the street now, and people dressed in construction-worker clothes.

I didn't write much about it and I regret that now because it will slip away, but at the same time I couldn't.

I don't regret the thing, because it was spring itself. I think I'll be okay. I didn't, on the way to his house; I thought of bridges and knives. I don't do that, it's not my style. When I was there, though, the network kicked in. I thought of the people waiting for me-- Mom, my brother, Eva, Bob, and the web caught me, and I couldn't just lie down and roll over.

On the way home it was a feeling of unreality, like the last seven months had been a little miracle. They're over, sure, and I'm back to my regular programming.

I wanted to have his babies. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to do all those silly things, carve his name into my flesh, you know?

I don't really know what to do now. I still want a job that I can have children in. If men are fickle, dammit, I still want to raise a child. I have work - retail today, which may be awful but better than an empty day. It's the second-last shift, and 10-8, which is long. Then there's dinner with Eva and/or karaoke. Ryan was home last night. He held me, which felt weird -- he's so tiny compared. He let me talk, and he talked, and it was diverting. That was important. Diversion.

When people said they love me to that last post-- thank you, it helped. Sympathy would be a problem for me right now though. Love, yes. Caring, yes. Sympathy, no.

I'm a bit of a mess. I hate spring.

I never showed him Secretary, or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

We never had sex in public.

When he was really sick I used to hold him and he'd feel better, but later on he wanted space to deal with it. A sign, I guess. He woke up at the same time as me, in the mornings. At night he'd tell me he was going to stay up, then fall asleep. Id' poke him and he'd sit up sleepily, trying to look alert, and say, 'I wasn't asleep'. Everything he did was adorable, odd on a six-foot-something construction worker.

He _was_ my springtime. When it snowed he'd get up, all excited, and put on his clothes and go out into it. It's snowed a lot this winter, and after awhile I started to smile too when it snowed. There's more to say, perhaps -- he was in Vegas for New Years, and I still have the message saved on my phone that says he wants me to be his forever. I want to save that message, but I don't want to listen to it for awhile.

His hair is still wrapped around the ring of my black collar.

His hands were much bigger than mine, a full joint plus some. Something about his cheekbones and lips was a song, a poem. I look at him all the time, even after seven months, just for the sheer pleasure I took in it. He does his best, he feels guilty a lot of the time over not living up to his personal standards which are high, sometimes unrealistic. He tried really hard in this, and he tries really hard generally to be a good person.

I don't know. This morning before work will be long.

I've done this to other people. Jan, I remember you didn't say much. I know why now. I'm sorry. I am so sorry.

My ears are still ringing from dancing last night. Wow. I'm not sure if Graham's voice sounds slightly different in addition, or if it's just me.

Apparently this is the time in my cycle where I get annoying. Graham, as one of these anthropologist-women's studies people, has been tracking this stuff a little better than I can. He noticed that my annoying bursts seem to come cyclically. Great. I have no argument with the annoying bit (indeed, I annoy myself when these bouts come on) and I'm not sure whether to be relieved or frightened that I have a "cause" for them.

I went to a lunch with my Vandusen guides today. I love my work-- being able to take a couple-hour-long lunch to get across the city is great. It wasn't even a bad day to be working outside in the drizzle, which is what I was doing when I wasn't listening to the ladies discuss their garden tours and cruises and nursing experiences over wine.

I am now really officially sore, but in a much better way than the muscle-pain I had when I was sick. Today was bending-over-in-the-cold day at work, which coming right on the heels of dancing, marathon sex, and more work has given me a new appreciation for bed, warm baths, and stillness.

Commercial appeal note: I notice that I need much more aftercare as a sadistic top than I ever did as a traumatised bottom. If I do something mean to someone, it's me that needs the reassurance of a follow-up call the next day. "Are you alright? I mean, really alright? I mean, that was awesome, but I just want to be sure..."

So while I've been having the best month of my life to date (there are too many good days days lately for me to leave it at a week, and they all complement each other nicely), a net-friend has had his house struck by lightning. I love the internet. Without it, people I know wouldn't die in undercover work in small Central American countries, nor would they get their houses struck by lightning.

Um, yeah.

I was gonna write a post about sex and how I ejaculated all over a boy's face the other day (for which the technical term is 'fucking hot beyond belief'), but somehow the juxtaposition of all these things is frying my brain. Glad I'm going dancing tonight. Family dinner before then, c'mon out to my house and bring fruit for fruit salad.

I think I might not be sick anymore. I want to do something to celebrate. Half-thoughts of a random trip to Vancouver Island. Maybe I should just luxuriate. Mmmrrrr. Breathing! Almost no muscle soreness! Headache gone! No cough! Pain in throat vanished! Yayyayyayyay!

I also got to poke enormous needles into Tillie last night. The texture of sharp-through-flesh is still lingering on my fingers. It was the first play piercing I've ever done.

I'll be a piercing bottom soon for a photoshoot with feathered needles.

I want to talk to Bevan, dammit. I think he's the only person with whom I can properly discuss my reaction to some of this stuff. There is a particular shape that some people's (all people's?) mouths get when they're in sharp pain, but happy-- desired pain. Does anyone know that shape?

Ahwell.

Stuff going on. Thinking it through. There will be a post sometime. I'm happy and in good places any way you look at it though.

So in the midst of this sex/emotion/BDSM tangle that I've been picking at for the last few hours, there is the topic of Anger. Here's the thing.

I don't get angry. When I get angry, I feel bad. I don't behave in angry ways towards people willingly, for the most part. Anger is something I'm immensely uncomfortable with in myself, and I'm tons better now than I was before.

In the last few scenes where I've bottomed, I've felt flickers of anger, one scene in particular comes to mind. I really like this feeling, anf it's also scary.

I guess some of this stuff, the controlled-scene-BDSM stuff, is like bungee jumping, except the chasm and the elastic are mental, vast spaces and anchors which I use to explore myself. But! Enough babble on that front.

So one of the things that happens when I get angry is that I get worried. OMGOMG, I think, Imighthurtsomeoneandthenwhat? Juggler's pretty strong, and I know he'd be able to deal, but this is not the voice of rationality I'm talking about. So, I get to experience anger a bit, and that feels really nice and intimate, as exploring new places with someone always does, but I can't take it the full distance.

So I think, finally, I've found a good non-symbolic use for bondage in a scene, finally. If I get tied up, I can get angry enough that it can become physical, I can express it as much as physically possible, and the bondage provides the safety net, the reassurance that no matter what I do I'm not physically free to hurt anyone. So, with the elastic of that reassurance, I can... jump.

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greenstorm

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Greenstorm's Journal

watching the cycle: leaves to mulch to soil to leaves

Entries tagged with bdsm

Slow Motion

Consent, Kink, and the Surrendering of Self

Mute

Model of the World

(no subject)

Beating People Up

Spinning

For The Record

Oh Wait

Leaf/plug

Cup Runneth Over

Body/Head

Saline

Oh Yes.

Yes.

I knew it was coming.

Silver Static

Whew.

w00t!

Anger and Experience.