wyrdbyrd's nest

The benefits of being stood up.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 18:29:01 GMT

Yet another guy stood me up yesterday: a friend of John's who'd agreed to meet John at a certain time to be swooped up and brought to Seattle for The Grind. Meh. Whatever. Instead, John and I went to The Grind and went hunting yesterday and found a different willing vict- er, bottom. I learned a few different techniques, got corrected on a couple of things, and felt generally comfortable in the student role without feeling as though my toes were being stepped on. It was pretty much perfect. The bottom was someone I'd played with a few times in the past, and who John had been fantasizing about playing with for about a decade. We didn't do anything particularly nasty to the guy, though he did leave happy and with a few marks. I got some education, John got some fantasy fulfillment and we both got to release a lot of grumpiness at the flaky friend. whee! P.S. It sound seem as though the Fairy of Freak On traipsed through my department yesterday afternoon and sprinkled my co-worker and I right before we left for the day. We both had interesting evenings!

One fun thing to do during a funk.

lordbyrdie — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 20:08:35 GMT

I've been peeping at my mail archives here and tribe.net invitations I have stored away on email: there are some delightfully flattering people out there that got me smiling a little bit today. Thank you.

I'm too sexay for my hats.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 23 May 2008 19:37:16 GMT

http://bunnywarez.com/catalog/product_info.php/cPath/21_30/products_id/33 http://bunnywarez.com/catalog/product_info.php/cPath/21_31/products_id/31 They just arrived today. I even paid for extra squeakers. I think I'll pack the small one for the trip.

I'll be seeing my boy ...

lordbyrdie — Mon, 12 May 2008 22:22:54 GMT

-- in less than two weeks. If I'm smart, I'll write up a packing list, get most of my stuff stowed away and actually get enough sleep beforehand that I won't be too wasted by the time I get to Vancouver to have any fun on Saturday. I wonder if he'll get my birthday letter to him before I get there? I keep trying to remind myself that a lot of what I'm feeling still counts as NRE. This is only our 5th date, really. But still, he feels like he's mine in a way that other people either don't or have a hard time agreeing with on their end. He wrote up something sweet about me online. Yes, I'm smitten. I have a boy. He asked me if I thought that the acknowledgement of romantic love in dymanic was going to change anything between us. I think we'd have to be pretty damaged for it _not_ to, but I also don't think it's much to be concerned about. We both suspected, if not actually knew, before the words were spoken aloud. The main change I've noticed is simply a willingness to be a bit more free with how I describe my feelings on what goes on between us. It got a bit ... woo-woo, I suppose, but I also noticed that he didn't seem to mind that at all. Given what we've encountered so far, I think we'll survive the Swoony Mush Factor. Especially after I put him through his paces in a few weeks.

Visit of the Boy Maid.

lordbyrdie — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 04:29:05 GMT

"Everybody ought to have a maid. Everybody ought to have a working boy, everybody ought to have a lurking boy to putter around the house. "Everybody ought to have a maid. Everybody ought to have a menial, consistently congenial and quieter than a mouse. "Oh! Oh! Wouldn't he be delicious, tidying up the dishes, neat as a pin? "Oh! Oh! Wouldn't he be delightful, sweeping out, sleeping in? Everybody ought to have a maid! "Someone whom you hire when you're short of help, to offer you the sort of help you never get from a spouse, fluttering up the stairway, shuttering up the windows, cluttering up the bedroom, buttering up the mistress, puttering all around the house!" - paraphrased from "Everybody Ought to Have a Maid" via _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum_ by Stephen Sondheim. My boy had family commitments in Seattle, so he came down to visit last week. He spent the first two nights at my place, and the moved on to his own boy's place one town over for the weekend. It was odd to have him staying over on the weekdays as I'd never left someone so new to my life alone in my home before; but he's got an good reputation in the local sex positive community, I've known him as a friend for over a year and I've been to his place three times so far. As I trooped off to work with regrets, he stayed and cleaned. My bathtub is *shiny*. It might have been shiny once when I moved in, before I started dumping Lush bath products in it. My bathroom mirror, sink and toilet were clean. My stove-top was clean. The dishes were done. The trash and recycling were taken out. The carpet was vacuumed. My bed was made. He cooked my dinner. He hung the sling I'd bought from him this past Summer. I'm wondering how I lived without having a houseboy before. My goodness. He really wanted to clean my home. He'd been looking forward to it, to seeing me smile, to being told that he was a good boy, to getting head pets ... among other things. I knew this, but it was different to come home from work and see my place clean. Actually, I cheated after I got to work: I remembered that I'd already cleared with my co-worker to leave early, so I snuck home to find him in the bathroom and bent over my tub. He thought I was going to be mad for him not having finished earlier, and I was standing there saying, "It's shiny!" None of my other partners has ever gone through this much trouble for me with housework. If I lived with them, housework was generally my job unless they wanted to feel special or less put upon and carefully picked a task they didn't feel too distasteful ... in the hopes that I would brag to my girlfriends about how they "helped out." If I didn't live with them, in most cases their housecleaning skills would freak me out enough that I'd just start cleaning in order to feel comfortable. He cleaned for me! At this point in my life, that's better than jewelry. =}+{= I conquered one of my personal timidity-demons by waking him up a few hours before my alarm went off just because I was awake, horny and wanted to be amused. I was pretty gentle about it, stroking his chest hair and feeling his muscles as he purred and woke up. Since I have so much trouble getting back to sleep after being awakened and really detest being woken for anything other than an emergency, I'm loathe to do this to other people even with their enthusiastic encouragement (in the hopes that it will be for sex). Some part of my brain insists that this can't possibly be okay to inflict on someone else. It's interesting how a season of being a dominant has me pushing my own boundaries a little. He was my plaything, and I tormented him a lot. I also had him service me in the sling before sending him off to prepare breakfast. On Thursday morning, I had him walk me down to the bus stop to see me off. On Friday morning, I let him sleep in so that he'd be fresh to finish cleaning, pack up his stuff and come see me to return the spare apartment key before he went to visit the rest of his family. Everybody ought to have a maid. ;)

Back from Vancouver, BC.

lordbyrdie — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 00:21:04 GMT

My sits-bones ache. purrrrr. poppet and I have a couple of service conversations coming: nothing particularly bad so long as we address it early on, just wonderful and scary at the time, and potentially confusing after the fact. I think we got into trouble with pillow talk again. I bruised his earlobe. hee. I like being bitey. I really am going to have to work him over at Kinkfest, though -- I think he wants to be pretty much purple by the time the event is over, and I want to get used to that being close to our default if not exactly it. Of course, Kinkfest will only be our third date, so I'm trying to cut myself some slack. We proved this weekend that our dymanic does indeed include switching. It involved his sling, a dildo (or maybe a plug, I'm really not sure) that I've nicknamed "The Haddock", my favorite dildo -- the Unicorn, an incredibly bumpy one of his, me screaming myself hoarse and so much lube that afterwards I felt it oozing out of me every time I giggled. One of the things that I know that I need to start learning to do is stop apologizing so much. I get teased about how much I apologize in standard daily life, but the potential for goober moves is so much greater as a top that I've caught myself apologizing repeatedly. Eh, he'll learn me out of it. And the same goes for poppet, who has been out of practice with submitting to others. He's used to following his instincts, but no matter how charming or complimentary they are I've tried to call him on it when he hasn't bothered to ask before acting in ways that affect me. We don't do punishment play per se -- I dominate him, but he hasn't given himself to me for anything past fun and education -- but I find that simply pointing out a discrepancy is enough to motify him and get him to adjust. So, I'll learn him out of it. We'll learn each other.

Leaving on a North train ...

lordbyrdie — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 01:04:18 GMT

Tonight is frantic-packing evening, as I'm heading up to Vancouver, BC bright and early tomorrow morning to see poppet. If all goes according to plan we're going to be going to a party in his neck of the woods. I wrote up a packing list this time, and even remembered to grab some Canadian cash from the bank. At this point, I think that I should have a non-John booty call about once every two weeks. I think that Chew Toy could manage that even if I don't end up with anyone else who feels comfortable to me. I expect to sleep rather hard on the train in and also catch up on some class reading. I'm staying a day less this time, bringing less stuff and actually have a plan for what we're doing. Bets that it's not going to be what ends up happening? Yeah, I thought so, too. heh.

Am I capable of vanilla?

lordbyrdie — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 00:12:39 GMT

I've gotten asked this a few times by men -- always men, oddly -- who seem to be simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the idea of a kinky woman, especially one who switches or tops. I mentioned this to John, who immediately stated, "Well, yeah! Most of our sex is vanilla nowadays!" "Well, yes ... if you define vanilla as holding your partner down, dragging them across the bed and into position, smacking their genitals lightly to get the blood up, biting on their neck, growling in their ear, chasing her cervix around her innards as though one was on a fox hunt, and not entirely bothering to comply with cries of 'No more! No more!'" after they've come." " ... See! Exactly! Vanilla sex!" Yes, I do adore torturing cocks and balls, but I'm usually not receiving direct sexual stimulation while it happens. It makes me wet, but it's not a required stage of foreplay for me. I'm bitey, but I don't try to collect trophies early on. I think that being kinky adjusts people's idea of what "vanilla" is. For some, it stays the same. For others, the baseline becomes rough sex. There are some who don't consider a session to be actual sex much past wondering if they should paint the ceiling biege unless blood is drawn. For me, a good fucking involves nearly giggling every time I sit down the next day. Go figure.

A new body.

lordbyrdie — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 20:15:38 GMT

The other night, I bussed home with a friend. I mentioned my ideal way of introducing myself to a potential, interesting bottom: "Can I sit on your lap and bite your nose!?!" Evidentally it wasn't as much what I said that got him laughing so hard that he bent over, but the childlike enthusiasm with which I said it. Someone on my list here recently posted about the Portland Love Tribe's "Rapture" party, which is kinda like a cuddle party that expands into sections where grounding, dancing, and sex/bdsm play can happen without freaking other people out. I have a hard time in cuddle piles where I haven't hand-picked the cuddlers -- I don't relax when someone I haven't personally invited is cuddled up in the same pile I'm in. I stay tense, ready to sit bolt upright at any moment. While the party itself sounds nice, I don't believe that I'm the sort of person they need there. The more I thought about it, though, the more I began to wonder how I could make myself more comfortable. I came up with a possibility, but I don't know if it would end up being too sexual for the cuddle section: I'd basically want to feel the person up. Not necessarily primary or secondary sex organs, but I'd want to get a feel for them while they were the passive partner -- the lay of the land, as it were. Arms, chest (right in the middle, say), tummy, legs, back, maybe butt , stroke the scalp, play with the hair ... all of it before they laid a finger on me and before I committed to pressing my body against theirs. It's rather one sided and not really fair: I'd be asking a lot of someone else for the sake of my own comfort. But I'm not sure of what else I could do. But at least I got this far in my observations. That's a start.

The problem with being shy ...

lordbyrdie — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 00:40:53 GMT

-- is that it can take me forever to respond to replies to my, "So, wanna meet for coffee and disucss me busting your balls" mail. sigh.

On being "real."

lordbyrdie — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 15:33:21 GMT

This is a big codeword in the personals world, it seems -- at least in the kinky ones. "Is anyone here for real?" And I get the frustration somewhat -- enough people who balk at the idea of actually interacting with another human being face to face, or people pretending to be in Seattle when they're actually in Brooklyn ... yeah, it's tempting to throw both hands up. However. Last night I met up with someone from another site for coffee to feel out whether or not we'd be compatible. My initial idea from seeing his photo was pretty much correct: we're not. I had no desire whatsoever to touch him. It wasn't that I found him repellant, I just didn't find it him attractive. It's sort of the difference between not liking someone and actively disliking them: it wasn't a strong aversion, there was just no spark. However, I realize that I shouldn't base things on just a visual -- hence, the coffee. At the point where he started going on, to my face, about how so many people weren't "real" because they dropped contact with him, I commented that folks might have their reasons: something came up, a partner objected, they found the person of their dreams and got distracted, etc. He agreed that this was a possibility and we continued our conversation. But that "real" business bugged me. There was something about it that I took to mean, "Someone who is REAL will give me what I want. We've finally met up, so come the rest of the way to prove that you're real." It may not have been what he meant; he may have just been expressing happiness that we'd finally even met for coffee, that I had -- as he put it -- a "commanding presence". O.o But the evil, manipulative term had been used and any light left behind my eyes dimmed. "A slut is a woman who'll sleep with anyone, while a bitch is a woman who'll sleep with anyone but you." I wonder what the definition of "real" will become?

Silly online personals project.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 18:19:19 GMT

So, I was answering some email on CollarMe and it occured to me that I should seriously consider finding more local submissive and bottom playmates. Since CM allows for free contacts between members, I looked up submissives who'd been on in the last year, one's with remotely intriguing profiles, and sent them email asking if they were members of CSPC and / or wanted to get together for coffee sometime. As I worked, I thought about the fact that I'd be going to Kinkfest next month. I adjusted my search criteria on CM and now have it set to folks close to Portland. It'd be nice to have more people who look familiar to me to talk to, sit near during workshops or even play with while poppet is otherwise being entertaining. I'm not terribly used to putting myself out there, but there's too much mincing around on how to approach a dominant female not to try to make it a little simple. Also, if I initiate the conversation I'm likely to feel less preyed upon. Then there's simply requesting information or a coffee date without assuming a persona --if that's a turn off for whover I contact, then that tells me a great deal about how well we'll get a long. Still, there was something about it that felt like sending out resumes when job hunting. Maybe I should get used to that. Wish me luck?

Hey, Nancy ...

lordbyrdie — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 07:27:31 GMT

I responded to your previous comment, but couldn't do it directly. I just finished this ... article, I guess, on female dominants and thought you'd find it interesting. From Bitchy Jones' Journal: http://bitchyjones.wordpress.com/2008/01/29/the-complete-bitchy-jones/ As I mentioned earlier, just make it your own. :)

Scream and leap.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 00:36:33 GMT

On Saturday, my stunt bottom came over for negotiating more intense scenes. Oddly, this is his idea: he wants more pain, more sensation, more exploration. I'm not complaining, mind -- this could be a pretty cool way to inspire myself to learn the basics of a bunch of activities and figure out which ones I enjoy enough to persue. That's a biggie: puzzling out what I want to to do, as opposed to what I think will make me a more sought-after top. Considering that I'm a bit of an introvert and need a fair amount of downtime, I tend to vape if I'm too much in demand. Therefore, limiting my collection of skills with what I feel I need to have, what I crave to do and what I'm curious about will probably give me a pretty good collection o' tricks. His interest in fireplay is going to be my big bugaboo. I have a healthy respect for fire in that I haven't had much experience with it. I fear it a little, but not to the point of phobia. I'm just not sure if I'd be able to handle it well if something went _wrong_ with fire use, which is why I'm intrigued with learning fire play. poppet has taught workshops on it and has offered to teach me. :) Maybe if I get comfortable enough with it up close and personal I'll learn to do things like build a real fire in a BBQ or firepit, figure out where to test out my fire extinguisher and get better versed in how to put out certain types of fires. I think it's mainly the idea of fire getting out of control: it falls on your clothing, you die. It crawls up the drapes, you die. You leave a candle burning unattended, you die. Logically, I know this isn't the case. I'm not even phobic of fire: gimme a fireplace during a non-burn ban time and I'm right there tossing stuff in, sitting close until I overheat or at least close enough to stare into the flames. I love orange morning light, and firelight is a close second to it. I just don't, you know, stick my hand too far in. And I roll up my sleeves. And I close the grating very quickly. And I look for embers on the carpet when a log pops -- you know, in case we're all gonna die. Hopefully I can get over the "we're all gonna die" part. I think learning fireplay will be good for me, even if it doesn't become one of my favorite things to do. The trait that makes my relationship with this guy, Chew Toy, unique is that he's very reciticent. It takes a while for him to warm up into conversation, and when he has to stop and think about an answer to a question he tends to be silent for a a minute or so before answering with anything other than a sigh or a "hmm." He understands that it's incredibly easy to overlay ones own desires or assumptions onto him, and this is an issue that he's been trying to work on -- both by himself and with professionals -- for years. Daddy's commented that Chew Toy is a bit of a cypher, and I tend to call him a "blank reg" ala "Max Headroom." I find it difficult to crave him when he's gone because there's not too much about him to capture my memory. But when he's nearby he puts off a prey vibe so well that I immediately want to land on him. Chew Toy is a BIG GUY, but he puts off "eek, i'm a small, furry mammal" so well that it's incredible. I find that making him blush, giggle, yelp or gasp is incredibly satisfying. I tried behaving myself on Saturday, and suceeded pretty well. I didn't jump him until after I was sure we were finished with negotiations. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I straddled him and had my way with him. No toys, just my hands while rubbing my crotch against his thigh. Every so often I'd lift my shirt, lead forward and demand, "Be nice to me." He would. :) Along with being a great deal of fun and scratching an itch I've had since mid-February, I also developed a few tricks. BDSM really does feel like play when it's done right, and his body was my toy. I created a sensation for him that he'd never experienced before, and one that I think made him fly a bit. I was selfish without guilt or reprimand. Afterward, we were both satisfied. And I initiated the play, which hadn't been planned for that day. Me. And it didn't go horribly. We both had fun. yow. I can get into this whole experimentation thing, I think. whee.

On gender superiority.

lordbyrdie — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 20:44:13 GMT

I don't get it. Really, I just don't. Maybe it's being raised during the 70's by parents who grew up through the Depression and the pinnacle of the Civil Rights Movement, but the idea of someone being superior to someone else by luck of genetics just doesn't make much sense to me. I get that, in some cases, the gender or racial superiority angle was created in response to someone else's suggestion that their own race or gender was actually the superior one. I've joined at least one femme domme community elsewhere that espouces such beliefs, and I can see how it'd be useful in building up one's nerves initially for working up the nerve if one is a skittish beginner -- that little boost to even the playing field, perhaps. But I still get uncomfortable when people express, even if it's just for the purposes of roleplay, the idea that they're better than someone else simply by the outcome of their birth. I believe that there are, in some ways, superior people: the sort of people who sometimes I aspire to be somewhat like when I grow up. People who can laugh at themselves, are competent, well-spoken, can put others at ease, are regularly working within their element -- people who've usually either been raised right and / or worked their personalities in such a way that they became the sort of people they fantasized about being. Unless someone goes through gender reassignment, tanning or skin bleaching, there's no effort to becoming a certain gender or race -- you just ARE. It's what one makes of their lot and how they choose to interract with their environment that reflects the kind of person that they are. poppet is not a worm. I don't play with worms. Chew Toy is not scum. I don't play with scum. Why should I sully my hands and my time with what I don't want near me? There's a quote I tried to find in my teeny quote books, but I can't find and thus can't attribute. However, the basic statement is: "Any man who says that he doesn't deserve you is likely telling the truth." It hurts on a level that I find hard to describe to be putting more effort, more attention, more compassion, more energy, more thought -- damn near more everything into a relationship than my partner is. The very idea of taking on a submissive who advertises that he's not worth whatever I trod on this morning to get to work horrifies me. What does that say about my own self-worth to take on damage goods that brags about being damaged? The idea of a strong, competent, man (or butch. hey, I'm not overly picky of the connection is there) who I find attractive wants to give up control specifically to me is a rush that I'm finding highly addictive. I don't find that desire to release control a sign of inferiority. I find it a indicator of a willingness to bottom, to submit, to explore and to trust. What's so inferior about that?

Taking in hand.

lordbyrdie — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 23:35:03 GMT

I have two different associations with this term. One comes from the website that promotes male-directed discipline in an otherwise vanilla, monogomous, heterosexual marriage as a given. That one I'm not particularly interested in. The other I first read about in the "Marketplace" series, used as a term by a UK citizen to Chris Parker, suggesting that he test the mettle of a young, seemingly competent slave. That one interests me more. Poppet has mentioned several times that he's put himself in my hands, both physically and emotionally. Obviously, there's CBT: to my mind, any play partner of mine who'd claim to be a masochist and put his genitalia in my hands is giving me carte blanche and telling me that his body is MINE, at least for that scene. (I demand clear negotiations beforehand, lemme tell you.) But then there's also cupping his face in my hands as he knelt before me. One lover, long ago, did this to me a few times and it had a powerful effect. It was, perhaps, the only time that I truly felt that they loved me. It nearly hurt, because I think it brought up things that I hadn't dealt with yet. Or maybe it just made me feel less lumbering and clumsy next to them. I don't know. That person cursed me when we broke up, hissing "I hope that you miss me!" In doing so they cursed themselves a little. I didn't miss them, but I missed a couple of things about them: a curious look when they tilted their head, and their hands cupping my face. I have no illusions that I can bring up such powerful emotions in others by using the same gesture, but I remember what it did for me at the time. Tears would lodge in my throat and I would widen my eyes in an attempt not to make a scene that I couldn't quite explain. No amount of yelling, of un-negotiated and unconsentual pain, could do what that simple gesture did for me. When I am touched by others who kneel to me, I want to touch them that way. When I am tender to those I kneel to, I want to reach up and caress the face of my tormentor. It hadn't occured to me that such a gentle ritual could come out of such a disasterous relationship. I developed a habit in the early 90's of sniffing the pillows where my lovers had lain, wanting to keep their scent in my memory and being somewhat sad when it finally faded away. Sometimes, to make a target squeal, I'll play at being a dog or cat long enough to just sniff at them. Cats are much more gentle and slow about it than dogs, and thus get a less frantic reaction from people. Which method I pick seems to depend on how hyper I'm feeling, but the excuse to lean in close to someone and decide if I want to keep taking in their scent is well worth any goober points I score with them. About a year and a half ago, my primary and I ended up being adopted by someone who we occasionally used as a chew toy. We did this at a pool party once: each of us grabbed an arm and started gnawing on her inner elbows until she called, "Yellow!" When I looked up from what I was doing, one of the local wisemen looked dead into my eyes, lifted and eyebrow and said, "Oh, you're one of US." While taking a partner's -- play or otherwise -- face in my hands, I've leaned forward to breathe them in. If they smell particularly heady to me I'll expose their neck and taste them until they scream, or past the point where they swoon. Perhaps the allure is the continued feeling of entitlement, the rush of power that comes with that little bit of force or simply the thrill of an intimacy that I successfully initiated. Ultimately it feels like saying, "MINE." "I take you in hand, I catch your scent, I mark you, I hurt you. If you please me then, I teach you to please me even more for my troubles." I think that's a good plan for the next month, at least.

Fantasy fulfillment.

lordbyrdie — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 22:33:03 GMT

I was talking to poppet last night about a tiff I got into online recently, and he cautioned me on something he predicts that I will trip over again and again: people looking at me as little more than their personal fantasy fulfillment. I've already been there a little: "Gosh, I've always found Voudou so ... erotic" and "Wow, I've always wanted to be with / top / be topped by / be dommed by a black woman." As a previous partner of mine, Khan, once said, "What you want is what you want, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's how you go about getting it that's the issue." If my hair texture, eye color, skin color, body shape or some other trait is an extra bonus for a potential partner of mine, great. But the important word here is EXTRA. I'm not sure of how I feel about only being flavor of the month but it's not real high up there on my list of preferred activities. I'm keeping this in mind because I'll likely be at a play party as a domme for the first time in a few weeks, at at my first kinky convention in a month. I've been made painfully aware that I represent a specific niche within a rare breed, the female top and domme, and that I should keep in mind that going out to play is just that -- MY going out to have what I consider fun. Making up for other people's past disappointments, giving sympathy scenes, overworking myself or doing scenes that make me uncomfortable because someone tries to bully me into them or manufacture some obligation on my part ... no. What's the point of playing with someone if I can't even work up the enthusiasm to touch them? What's the point of learning to top if I know that I'm going to be faking my way through scenes? What's the point in being intimate with someone who will scowl if I say or do anything that shatters their idealized image of what they want me to be for them? I don't think that I have terribly fierce requirements of play partners: - I have to WANT to touch them. Having to sit on my hands to keep from doing so is an added bonus. - Conversation, including negotiation, that can warm into easiness is a must. If I can't have anything to talk to the person about at the time, what are we going to say during the hypothetical morning after? - That they're at least a mid-level masochist. - That they don't expect a service top. I don't think that's unreasonable. And even if it is, what I want is what I want ... and there's nothing wrong with that.

Could it also be chakra work?

lordbyrdie — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 20:34:57 GMT

Someone who reads my blog did some chakra work on me last year at a gathering, and mentioned that my throat chakra was blocked. I'd never really thought about it in that way before, but I'd been raised to keep thoughts that would upset others to myself ... until I finally couldn't stand it anymore and blew. Seeing the upset this caused allowed me to view such truth telling as a weapon, and I used it as such for many years until I learned now to moderate it: speaking up earlier, calmly, clearly and with detail when appropriate caused much less furor -- even if I was saying something the other person wasn't thrilled about. It was a slow, painful, embarrassing and terrifying process. I keep alluding to working without a net because somewhere I developed a literal fear of falling ... possibly because I've never broken a bone more crucial than my smallest toes. A little upset now can save a lot of fury later. For me right now, being dominant involves stating or even just asking for what I want and still being mildly amazed when I get it promptly without any flack. I'm still at a stage where my sense of entitlement comes from even being able to make the request or demand without ridicule. I could detail my painful previous experiences -- indeed, I nearly did -- but I bore myself with my own whining. Let's just say that I am at a point where I feel like I'm being given a gift when someone fetches me something to drink. Granted, by the time you read this my bar for gifts may have risen considerably ... or not at all. It's the asking that's always been the difficult part. There's always seemed to be a vulnerability to making a request or demand. Understanding that "No" wasn't the end of the world would have been the simple part, but I also needed to understand how to recover from "No," and that I not only didn't have to put up with any additional belittling that went with the "No" but that such treatment could easily be the end of the relationship. That people are commonly crucial and wonderfully expendable was an attitude that I had to develop over years: walking away from a relationship wasn't the end of the world. A good faith effort that it wasn't salvageable was enough. Listening early on to what I was told and use common sense rather than apologetic selective hearing would save me a lot of grief in the future. I am not obligated to share my body or time with anyone out of pity unless I choose to accept that obligation. No matter what the backlash, it is physically possible for me to just walk away. Avoidance is a valid boundary setting strategy. Following this path will be putting all of that to the test a great deal, I think. I've known for years that I have a lot to offer, but the idea of seeing physical proof of that in my partners -- built out of acts of devotion and simple loyalty -- blows my mind. I apparently have this lopsided smile that develops when my teaching-sub is cooking for me that sends him into sudden shyness. Oh, the blushing! It's so CUTE! This is a 50+ year old leatherman whose been both a Daddy and a boy and I can get him to blush simply by leaning against his kitchen doorframe and watching him putter around naked. Which reminds me, I was going to look into finding him a white frilly apron. I think it'd frame his butt beautifully. But I digress. He's not the first man who knelt to me. The first fell to his knees in awe when I came out wearing a set of lingerie that I can only describe as stately. He was not behaving submissively so much as surprised, and my pretty fabric was removed by him post-haste. But I remember and cherish that reaction even though the relationship has long since ended. No, my poppet was the second man who knelt to me, spine straight and hands clasped behind his back. I was charmed and took his face in my hands, smoothing his close-cropped hair, leaning in to drink in the scent of him, getting used to the feel of him under my hands. I rubbed noses with him, kissed him softly all over his face as my hands roamed. With each touch I reminded myself, "Mine. For now, for this moment, MINE." it was a conscious statement, and not one I'm used to admitting to myself. I yanked on his nipples because his dazed expression pleased me. I bit his neck because I wanted to taste him, wrapping my thighs around his waist and pulling him close to me and he shook and cried out. I took suggestion from him from time to time because I'm a top in training, and he has responsibility for my education -- in such a way, he serves me. And I'm learning to both accept and expect that service. It's a peculiar relationship because my poppet isn't really mine: there's no collar, no contract. I dominate him because I managed to drop him into subspace within less than an hour of my arrival in his home, but I am not his Domme. He submits to me because he enjoys my delightful, childlike glee and realizing what I can do, in exploring the power he's offered me, but he his not my submissive. Based on a previous relationship he told me about, I have it remembered as this: S. is teaching me how to top. poppet is my boy. There may come a day when poppet exists no more, or only very occasionally. I can tell I'll be sad on that day, but that will hopefully mean that I've graduated to a point where I don't need training in the very basics. I may be able to claim intermediate skills in some things. But I digress. One of the challenges in opening up my throat chakra has been to call people on potential problems before they race forward and become serious relationship problems for us. I noticed a few from poppet during my stay and, eek, said something. He admitted to some weak points and I offered him suggestions on how to overcome them before his current coping mechanisms lead to more disappointments. At the very least, he's taking my statements under advisement. In a way, we're teaching each other. He's teaching me topping, and I'm teaching him me. Along with a school book (I'm taking a short class serious from a local continuing-education college), I'm reading Master Fire's "Manual Creation." She's someone whose posts I've seen on CollarMe and I felt it important to support an author who I'd been familiar with in an arena where I didn't detest them. Compared to Rubel's "Protocols for the female slave," Fire's book is a downright vacation. It involves a chapter by chapter explanation of her own Master manual and introspection exercises for both masters and slaves to figure out what they want, where their boundaries and deal breakers are, etc. It takes a big-picture view of D/s relationships. Together with Rubel's more details-oriented manual, I think that they're the perfect manual creation system for someone who isn't entirely sure of what to do with a submissive once they get one, or who isn't good at setting a groundwork early on. Rubel's book had already started giving me ideas on actual actions and behaviors I wanted, while Fire's book is turning me more towards thinking about the sort of person -- temperaments, politics, spirituality, etc -- that I'd want in someone when how much I'm willing to compromise probably shouldn't be that much of an issue. I have neither the space, lifestyle or knowledge to start putting together a kinky household and advertising for 24/7 live-in slaves, but these books will be nice practice and daydream fodder for me. I can see sitting with both and my laptop in a cafe, creating section after section in Word while sipping tea and gazing out the window. And maybe if I have it down in writing, it'll be easier to say in person. Gods, I hope so.

Why I ask for photos.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 23:46:10 GMT

I am a very visual person. My private library is shelved by where I'm best able to reach my favorites, by topic, by author if applicable and then by height so that they are visually appealling on each shelf. There is no alphabetizing, no library system to give it a general sense of order. The order is mine, the logic is mine. I am similar with my choice in lovers. I used to think I was biased against certain people, particularly ageist. But then I realized something: I've had a few year flirtation with a man in his mid-50's who I is generall considered hotter than hell locally: he dresses in silks, and his mostly white hair varies between flowing loose and tied into a pony tail. The man will flirt with almost anyone who'll give him a pleased or indulgent smile. My oldest lover is in his early 50's and detests his nose: well, it is pretty darn big. And yet, when he kneels to me, I'll happily bite him ont he nose because I can get such a good grip. I found myself amazed in January, stroking his skin and noticing how weathered it was ... and realizing that I didn't care so much as just continued learning his body. He's trained under old school leathermen and survived HIV thus far. He's funny, sweet, handsome, nasty and has both a lovely dick and a shudder-worthy laugh. I can make him blush with simply a smile. Hurting him gets me wet. I once described my 33-year old primary partner's fashion sense as, "The kinda guy who spends all day in his workshop with powertools making a new toy, and then rushes out without even showering or dusting himself off so that he can go to a party and try it out on someone." He eyed me after I confessed this and said quite sincerely, "Hon, you know just how to flatter a guy." He's had his nose broken once or twice, but I'll be damned if I noticed. He hates his smile because his mouth doesn't normally curve upwards: he looks a bit like Charlie Brown getting tickled when he smiles. When he does laugh enough to pull his mouth up, he lightly complains that his face hurts. He works full-time at a fish-packing plant and goes to school full time, usually sleeping only 3-hours a night. He often comes to my home for a date weekend without showering or shaving. His long hair tends a bit towards being dry and frizzy, though he's working on it. His feet usually hurt. He's covered in scars and now, thanks to welding school, burns. And he is the most beautiful man I've ever loved. I tend towards the freaks. Give me the scared, dreadlocked, fat, long-haired, tattooed, pierced, funkily-dyed haired, and branded and I'll show you the people who make me feel as though I'm in good company. The people who I can relax around, trade desires with, wonder about touching -- don't look average, generally. That's part of why I thought I didn't like older people: most of the older men who'd contact me asking about play tended to look very mundane, as though they wanted to use me for a tryst that their wives hopefully wouldn't find out about. That I'd be this extra bit of spice in their humdrum lives, a dirty secret that nobody else could no of. And to this day, the idea of having sex with someone who looks ... well, frankly, bland simply leaves me dry. I am as likely to get wet over pictures of Forest Whitaker and Ron Perlman as I am photos of Mos Def, Vin Diesel, Jude Law and Cillian Murphy. It is possible that I will look at a photo of your face and think, "Oh, what amazing eyes" or "I really want to run my fingers through that hair" or even "Ooooh, I wonder if he'd shudder if I ran my nails over his bald head?" It's also possible that I'd look at you and think, "Yep, he looks like he works in the corporate world, alright. Pity." I say this not to say anything against "normal" looking people or to somehow fetishize people who don't fit that mold -- it's just how my brain works. On the flip side, there's also the attraction of minds. One of my requirements for lovers is quickly becoming that we have to be having so much fun talking to each other that stopping a conversation is difficult. I can usually figure out pretty quickly if I'm going to have much of anything to say to someone the morning after, usually because I'm having so much difficulty finding common speaking ground the night before. I don't see the point of sleeping with someone I find uninteresting just for the sake of saying that I bagged someone who fits a certain type. I don't necessarily go out playing for keeps, but I do tend to hope for more than a one-night stand. I have no problem with being called a slut so long as that word is qualified with "picky." I've never publically admitted this before, and I think that the more I get used to doing so the more I can relax about it.

In a weird mindset right now.

lordbyrdie — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 20:08:42 GMT

So, I'm discovering my domme side. Discovering, hell -- we've been introduced formally and I realized that I've met her before and have been working along beside her for years without even realizing it. In some ways, I want to write about this and what I've been discovering, but then again I keep thinking that I don't have that many questions to ask. I have a lot to learn, a great amount of it face-to-face and hands on. But the actual situation feels right to me. I came into the scene as "a switch with bottom rising" and continued that way for quite some time. I got surrounded by sadists and am starting to understand why -- I was new and curious to figure out what I could take, and the people who seemed the most interested in me SUCKED at build-up either due to lack of skill or lack of caring. My endorphins tend to meander in anywhere from a few hours to a day after the such a beating, usually when the bruises are visible, so I'm not much of a masochist. A friend who read the Kushiel's series called me a "Pain Bearer." I suppose that's nice and all, but I want to _fly_. I have a much better idea of what how much pain I can take with some small amount of grace and that's good to know. But knowing how much pleasure I can take, how much I can believe in entitlement to someone else's body, how much service I can accept gracefully ... that's proving to be its own challenge. When in a sling, if I get dangerously close to orgasm, I cramp up. I've never had a clitoral orgasm during intercourse, and have noticed that I have a habit of shifting when I feel it starting to stir and thus lose the sensation. I've ejaculated with only a few select partners. I'm terrified of the backlash that could come of relying on someone to come in and clean my home without making me feel like shit about it. My sweetie in Canada says that I'm "accepting my power" now, but I don't feel powerful outside of play. I feel like I'm working without a net. He's training me to be a top, but there's a lot of risk and exposure to giving out orders and forming a plan and hoping to high hell that I have the skills, reflexes and people around me to pull it off. To be graceful -- or at least make things look good while frantically trying to adjust for an oops -- and there for those who are serving me in whatever capacity. yeek. I'm not looking for a persona to fit into: it's a fascet of my personality that's always been there. Every relationship where I've had to quietly take the lead from behind as a: - mentor - teacher - cheerleader - amateur healthcare professional - MILF - moral compass - armchair psychologist - guide - public relations specialist - administrative assistant - researcher ... all for no credit, barely a thank-you and usually in exchange for largely dismissive treatment. This is how highly I've valued myself, based on being raised by people who valuved themselves about as much. I've been working out of it by increments, but it's slow. "Acknowledge the Goddess in you." "You deserve it." "You have power, girl." All that's lovely, but it's new, scary and vulnerable territory for me. Why do I shut myself off to pleasure at a certain point? Can I unlearn this? How comfortable should I be with someone before I let them into my home to clean it? I got burned by taking a risk on someone once. And if I do decide to give it a go, will I spend my time curled up with a pillow stuck in my mouth to keep from shrieking with the effort to not apologize for the condition of the place? And a biggie, ala Woody Allen: would I really want to be the dominant of anyone who would be my submissive? The answers I keep coming back to are: do it when it feels right, do it when you can't stand to not do so, be myself and trust in myself; admit a mistake, make it right and don't dwell on it; those who feel right to me on a primal level are those to persue or accept, while those who don't aren't going to be the ones I'll be able to bring myself to touch. I want to fall a little in love with my bottoms, my submissives. It'll hurt, but it'll also give meaning to what I do with and to them. Without that feeling, I don't think that I can feel the level of comfort and entitlement necessary to truly relax, let go, ravish, enjoy and accept. Observers may consider me a snob, but that's not it ... I'm just not good at believing in "any port in a storm" when it comes to chosen friends, lovers and play partners. If I'm that desperate, I've got a lovely vibrator, a nice selection of dildos and some creative ways to harness them to otherwise innocent looking objects. I can do this. It scares me, but then change has ultimately always treated me well.

Affinity towards BDSM quiz.

lordbyrdie — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 19:43:06 GMT

Switch - 100% Sadist - 93% Dominant - 89% Experimental - 79% Masochist - 71% Bondage - 57% Degradation Lover - 54% Submissive - 43% Exhibitionist / Voyeur - 39% Vanilla - 36% (((Note: This quiz is not totally comprehensive because of the length such a quiz would be. I kept it sex-based because I felt that psychological profiles and motivations were too complicated and vary too greatly among people that practice BDSM.))) You know what you want but it has nothing to do with your own role in the bedroom. You have the ability to be flexible in that area which can be useful for exploring you sexuality with your partner. - http://quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=136192N