Both sides, now!

Side A: "Hurt"
A week or so ago, I had a session with RHF, who I am renaming Hephaestus. After he caned me for my first time, a while back, I realized that there was a Place I wasn't quite getting to, a Place of catharsis and tears. A Place of release and cleansing. I was teetering on the edge of this Place when he caned me. When we talked about plans for last week's session, I decided that I wanted to fall over that edge. We agreed on a rough session, an "endurance" session, not so much about pleasure as about me allowing my limits on pain to be pushed, me taking what he gave.
I was already emotionally shaky, that day. There was a lot going on, and Apollo and I had been Talking quite a bit. I wondered if this was something I should be doing when I was already in an iffy place emotionally...but decided that the catharsis might be just what I needed. Hephaestus got me up on the cross, and he began. I can't remember the order. I can't remember everything he used on me. Nipple clamps were first, I remember. I was not crying yet. I remember the fierce little rubber flogger, so ticklish on my breasts and so unendurable on my back. He had me beg him to use something else. I begged him for the black thuddy flogger, begged him for that satisfying impact, that sure trip out to Liminal Space, out to Zen Pain Space, out of this blinding pain. My nose was running, and my eyes dripping. I was weeping as he continued to use that demonic little instrument on me. He eventually granted my request, and brought the black, thuddy flogger back out. For a moment, it was better. For a moment, it was ok. But, oh, my back was already so worn, so laced with pain, that even that became agony. There was the paddle. There were other, harsher floggers. There were more tears.
Then there was the moment when he told me to come, and I had to choke out, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I can." And I cried harder, for the realization. Me, not be able to come? It was unthinkable. But it was true. There was too much pain, too much turmoil, too much wild grief for my body to consider giving itself pleasure. I remember that I expected to be punished, though I didn't find it very fair, but he only went back to hitting me, with whatever he was using at the time. The last thing I remember was his braided flogger (I think it's a cat...I'm not certain) striking me...and suddenly, it really was too much. Too much crying, too much pain, too much emotion at once. I flashed my hands at him, our agreed-upon signal for STOP. He asked me, "I was going to end with three strokes of the cane. Can you do that?" What the hell, I thought, three with the cane. Can't make it any worse than it is already. Three biting strokes on my back, wrapping to leave raised lines on my arms, and it was over. I wanted to cry more, but it was over, so I didn't. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and laid on his bed, recovering. I was numb, but dangerously close to both laughter and tears. I left, eventually, and went home.
That night, Apollo wanted to have sex. I had been listening to my body, waiting for myself to click back into Normal Functioning Modes, wherein I am very present in my body, very desiring, and quite willing...but I wasn't there. The idea of sex was almost repugnant. Pleasure? In this body? This same space where all of That Pain happened? No, I did not want to be present in my body. It was a Bad Place, a place of endurance, a place of pain and tears, a place that had stopped functioning as I expected it to function. I couldn't. There are some Moods that can be pushed aside in deference to a partner's desire - headaches, tiredness, and the like. This was not one of those. I simply couldn't find it in myself to be touched. I had to tell him no. And tell him why. And that was hard, because it has been my goal to see to it that what I do with others doesn't affect our sex life (negatively, that is), and here it was, doing just that.
Now, a week and a substantial amount of processing later, I'm pretty ok with the fact that I'm not ready for that. That sort of play is more than I can handle right now -and that's alright. That's proper for me right now. But I do feel a little weak. A little failed. It was just pain, right? I should be able to take pain, right? It's not like it was humiliation or degradation play. It was just pain. But it was too much pain. And I Do Not Like how it made me feel afterwards, how I related to my body afterwards.

Side B: "Everything's Alright"

That night, I had a movie date with the Magician, the Cloaked Norseman, and CN's wife to watch Hellboy, in anticip......ation of the second one coming out. I went, expecting that we'd watch the movie, and for once, the Magician and I would essentially keep our hands off of each other, as I was so out of my body, so unwilling and unable to feel sensual pleasure. I was off. I knew it. I rubbed the Magician's back, played with his hair - usual movie-watching activities. But I felt closed-off. Cut off. As the movie progressed, this faded a bit. I faded, my issues and aches faded, into Story, into the images and characters. Still cut off, but time and Story were doing their work, helping me away from the pain.
The movie ended and CN and his wife left. The Magician led me back to his room, as was rather usual, as I tried to form the words to tell him that No, I can't connect like this tonight. In his embrace, I managed to whisper that I was feeling Off. Not Right. He asked why, and I shared that I'd had a bad session. That it was more than I could process properly. That the place right in the center of my solar plexus was in knots, and I wasn't connected to my body, and could he please just hold me and not expect more. This last part came as a shock. I realized that I felt safe. I was far enough away, in time and in mindset, from the experience that touch was healing, rather than oppressive.
He was so patient with me. His hands on my body, tracing my curves, avoiding overtly sexual touch. Brushing away the pain, the need to hold tight, the need to endure. Whispering in my ear that I am safe. Comfortable. Loved. It felt like a sacrament. It felt like a benediction. Slowly, wonderfully, he helped me settle back into my body, helped me feel it as safe, as sexual, as sacred again. I felt myself shine again.
The next day, he told me in an email that he'd thought of lyrics for me, which he should have sung last night, but were better late than never:
"Try not to get worried,
Try not to turn onto
Problems that upset you,
Oh, don't you know
Everything's alright,
Yes, everything's fine.
And [I] want you to sleep well tonight." - "Everything's Alright," Jesus Christ Superstar
Oh, perfect. A song of healing and anointing, of soothing the wounded spirit. Myrrh to my soul.

Bonus Track: "Love Me Two Times"

The Magician and I have progressed to having intercourse. This is a bit of a big deal. Right now, intercourse carries more weight than some other sexual acts. It carries more risks, and thus requires more caution and care. It is, for Apollo, a slightly more thorny issue as his emotions go. For these reasons, I will not ask about having intercourse with a partner unless I want it so badly that I cannot see straight. Otherwise, I'm perfectly content with less risky, less emotionally loaded acts. I'm easily pleased, I love skin, and I come easily. It's not difficult for me to be quite satisfied with something waay short of full-on penis-in-vagina fucking. But, sometimes, I want it. I do. And when I want it, I Really Want it. I want it because I'm comfortable. Because I'm safe. Because I find the other person incredibly hot and/or compelling. Once I want it this much, I'll talk to Apollo about it. It's not worth bringing up otherwise. Really, why push his comfort zone if it's not something I Really Want? That just doesn't make good sense.
So I asked. And we talked about it, and Apollo agreed. And, friends and readers, sex is a good, good thing. Sex is so unique. Sex is inescapably different with every different partner. Different angles and positions suddenly come into their own with the Magician, while some that I adore with Apollo take a back seat. Different internal spots emerge, trumpeting their own glory. Different sounds, different glances, different words whispered. I am astounded by the brilliance of the differences.

Musings on Kink, Power, and Accoutrements

Today, I went over to RHF's place. And hit his girlfriend, Columbia, with various floggers and paddles - which was excellent practice. She's a lovely bottom - more responsive than the Cloaked Norseman. Then, after my arm was tired, and RHF had cooled her down with judiciously applied ice, I bit her. Hot damn. I am hesitant and very much still finding my way with regard to impact play, when I'm on the giving/topping end. But when it come to biting and hair-pulling, that I can do, confidently and joyfully, given an enthusiastic subject. And Columbia was quite enthusiastic. I learned, in college, that there are several boys who melt into a little puddle when you firmly grasp the hair at the nape of their neck. I learned that these same boys tend to make very pretty noises when you sink your teeth into their shoulders. Oh, I love that. I love the rush, knowing I'm awakening those pretty, pain-filled pleasures in them. I looked at Columbia, nekkid on the cross, and relished the thought of those shoulders, bare to do with what I pleased. I wrapped my hand in her jet hair, and pulled, tight and firm. I bit into the top of her shoulder, above her collarbone, wide and hard. And I felt the protectiveness well up in me, the caring. The profound knowledge that I have responsibility for this creature, that she's trusting me to hurt her, to push her, and to bring her through safely. I stared in wonder at her hair, the curves of her back and ass, open to me. When I top, that's what I want to feel. That wonder, at the gift I'm given. That enthusiasm for giving sensation. The profound satisfaction in the care and safety I provide.
I am, I believe, still primarily a bottom. But it was interesting to find what triggers the top in me, what pushes me to lose myself in action rather than reaction. And to observe how I top, what my goals and feelings about it are. Mm.
After I left Columbia and RHF's place, Apollo and I went to meet Church Goth Boy, hereafter Eldil, and his wife, hereafter Pomona, for dinner and gaming. Pizza, wine, ice cream and Munchkin made for a lovely night...then Eldil took me to his room (not like that you perverse people) to see the flogger he offered to loan to me (he found out, over lunch one day, that I was kinky and eager to learn to perform the skills I enjoy receiving). It's pretty. It's purple, and not too light, not too harsh. Not quite as spongy and thuddy as I'd like - but it'll do very well for a practice flogger.
Then he asked me, "How do you feel about collars?" "Um, well, I've only worn one once, for a very short time, when I was at my friend's house and she was showing me, very informally, all her tools...but they're something I'd like to explore..." Next thing I know, he's pulling a very plain black leather collar out of the closet, and telling me to turn around and lift my hair. As he fastens the collar and locks it, I feel the weight of subspace start to descend. Eldil is not a playmate. Since, to my knowledge, he is not poly, he will never be a playmate. As such, I should probably not let him put a collar on me again, even so informally. The weight descended, and my latent attraction to him rose. He commented on the fact that it fit me perfectly, where it's not quite right for Pomona, and proceeded to remark that I now had something new to wear to the upcoming fetish event.
"Oh...er, I don't want to appear as though I'm actually collared," I said. Really...I don't want to look as though I'm off-limits - that might spoil potential fun! "Well, you could turn the collar around so that the D-ring is out of sight, or you could attach a chain to the D-ring, then attach it to your own wrist, showing that you own yourself." My immediate reaction to this was, "That's what a fluffy sub would do! Someone who just wants to wear the pretties, not walk the walk that goes with them." But I've been thinking. I really like the idea, at this point in my exploration, of the collar, of my collar being first and foremost about my sovereignty over myself. My right to say where and how and to whom I give myself (of course, this is tied, at a higher level, to spirituality, with my first binding and commitment being to Deity - and I give myself in accordance with Her wishes for me). When I put it on myself, I am signaling that I am in control. When I permit someone else to put my collar on me (if I permit it - I have not yet decided), I have given that control willingly into their hands for a fixed time, a scene. I am not ready to commit my collar into the control of any one person, any one lover. Granted, once offered, any lover to whom it is offered will have the option to use it or not, as they see fit...but they are not the sole owners/users of my collar.
I feel, on some level, that I'm misusing the symbol that is the collar by making it about my own control and sovereignty (under Deity, of course). This, though, stems more from my fear of public opinion and what others will think about "that sub who owns herself" or "that sub who carries the key to her own collar" than about any personal objections. Hm. I'd appreciate thoughts on this.
On the note of personal sovereignty, a word about the Magician. In the midst of my kinky exploration, there is RHF and my Lovely Long Distance Friend/Mentor who are very much helping me explore what my submissive side is all about, helping me feel out my boundaries for giving up control, and helping me relish the sensation of surrender. By contrast, the Magician doesn't play power games. They don't interest or amuse him. He is all about sensation, and, more relevantly, about asking for what you want. In that sense, he is all about personal sovereignty and owning your own desires. And while it might be strange that I care so much for such diametrically opposed relationships, I care for them precisely because they are so different. They are causing me to grow in equally important, wonderful ways. RHF and My Mentor push me to learn about endurance, about giving up control, about taking what I'm given, and serving another's pleasure. The Magician pushes me to name my own desire, to search myself and ask boldly for what I want. He pushes me to find my voice, so often silenced in arousal, to give words to the longings in my heart and cunt. I am so very grateful to have this sort of balance in my life, in my exploration.

In Which Joy Goes To A Party

So, I'm not fortunate enough to live in/around NYC, where sex parties are sort-of normal. Where people like Jefferson and Adam have Those Parties on a semi-regular basis. However, there is, in my local community, a couple who throws one of Those Parties (tm) every so often - every three to six months, depending. And they had one on Saturday.
Originally, when I heard about this (from the husband, hereafter Hedonist), I thought "Wow! That's a great opportunity to get Apollo out into this community...let him at least see some of what I've been enjoying." Because, as Hedonist explained to me, the parties are low pressure, high on consent. No one will be pressured to "participate" at all, much less to do anything beyond their comfort zone. And, unlike Jefferson and Adam's parties, He and Shedonist's parties are really Parties At Which Sex And BDSM Happen rather than Sex And BDSM Parties. Granted, most folks there are there for the sex-and-bdsm factor, to one degree or another...but you could also keep your clothes on all night and just stand around the bonfire talking. Of course, you might be talking to a naked girl...but you could just talk. So, I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to allow Apollo some exposure to the kink/non-monogamous community. We'd go together, observe, talk, and not play unless we both agreed to. It would be wonderful.
Too bad Apollo's job had him working this weekend. Fuck. Working both Saturday and Sunday, even, so no chance of even going for a bit, early on. Curses. And I had really been looking forward to it. He and Shedonist are wonderful people and hosts, so any chance to go to their lovely abode and partake of their hospitality was an opportunity I wanted to take. Especially as the Magician had offered to go with me, and my friend Ceres had urged me to go with her.
So I asked. Making it very clear that, since we had been thinking of this as an "us" event - something to give Apollo a chance to get integrated into What It Is I Am Doing - that I would absolutely Not Go if he had any objections. But he didn't. Granted, he wished he could go - but saw no reason for this to hold me back. So I went.
It was, according to all outside opinions, pretty tame as Those Parties (tm) go. There was no fucking on the coffee table, or around the bonfire (though, I'm sure the upstairs beds and couches saw some play). There was no blood drawn in the BDSM room. But, damn, it was a good time. As soon as the BDSM room was set up - the cross for impact play and the bench so the Magician could use his violet wand - I got a Crash Course In Topping, with Hedonist as the instructor and the Cloaked Norseman as my bottom. The last time I had been at He and Shedonist's abode, CN had informed me, in a voice that brooked no dispute, that at some point I needed to whip him. He evidently has a thing for being people's First Time Topping experiment. So I went through the gamut of instruments - the rubber flogger, to the deerskin, to the slapper, to the crop - and back to the deerskin, finishing with the bullhide flogger. It was fun. Not as fun as being hit with those things, but it was fun. I think I would have preferred fewer spectators for my first time topping - but so it goes. I wasn't aware that I had the ability to kindly request that they get the hell out of the room during my scene - but now I know. CN was very patient with me, giving his preferences when asked and letting me know how I was doing. I found the deerhide flogger to be very heavy - it has a helluva handle on it - and the weight combined with the length of it made it very difficult for me to control. Which resulted in quite a bit of wraparound. But, as first times go, it was fairly good, with only the requisite bit of Awkward.
After that, CN and I cuddled and bit (well, he bit me) while the Magician finished tormenting his first victim of the evening - a lovely, slender girl who seemed like she could come from the electricity alone. When she finally left the bench, the Magician asked if I'd like to take my turn on the cross. But of course! I stripped out of my shirt and bra, and mounted the cross, sliding my hands into the fantastic cuffs. He began with his rabbit skin flogger, which I'd never experienced before. Oh, it was delicious. I was a bit amazed at the satisfying amount of force - not pain, but force - which it can deliver. When he switched to the deerskin, I had been hovering on the edge - but now I flew. Off, off into the land of Liminality, of Incoherence. Oh, the steady beating on my back, the rhythm giving the pain a trance-like quality. The occasional, much sharper blows, disrupting, while at the same time deepening, that liminal state. I opened my eyes, once, to see a face below mine. The Goddamn Gorgeous Asian Man that I met at the fetish night was present at the party. I had seen him downstairs, talked a bit - he remembered me - and had observed me topping CN. He was standing, looking at me with a slight grin. I believe he observed that I like being hit much more than I like hitting, and I think I nodded. I don't know. Then, his face was replaced by CN's. CN thrust his hand into my hair, pulling firmly, and asked if I was enjoying myself. "Yes," I said, "very very much." "Very very much?" CN queried. "Yes. Very very much," I repeated. "Good," he said. Their faces. In that state, seeing their faces while being transported by the pain and the rhythm...was shockingly powerful. The intimidating beauty and strangeness (as I don't really know him at all) of the GGAM sent me reeling, spinning with mingled delight and confusion. The bearded face of CN, framed by his looong, soft locks made my breath catch, and his voice sent me further, further Out There into the stratosphere. I want him, very badly. The predatory look in his eyes right before he bites me - oh, it makes me tremble. And the force of that desire combined with the flogging to put me Right Out of normal modes of functioning. When I finally came down off the cross, the Magician cuddled and helped me ground down (a bit, at least. Enough to function. :P ). And it was sweetly lovely to come down into his arms - a safe, stable place, still filled with desire.
The rest of the night was a melange of people and experiences. There were continual bites from CN, kisses and hair-pulling from the Magician, good coffee, and roasted marshmallows. There were cool girls to talk to, and the Magician's redheaded friend who asked very nicely for access to my breasts - and was most gracious when I told him that I wasn't sure about that, as I didn't really know him at all. Though, if his attentions to my neck and ears are anything to go by, I think I may acquiesce to his request the next time he makes it. On a trip to the upstairs bathroom, in the very wee hours of the morning, I was ambushed by CN. We ended up fooling around on the breezeway above the living room, since the upstairs couches and beds were already taken by other partygoers. Not for the first time that weekend, I cursed the fact that the moon has a cycle, and so do I - and I was On It. So it was hands only. Probably for the best...but, oh, did I mention how much I want this man (Did I mention that he wears a kilt?? Hot!!)? Not that I particularly want intercourse with him, but simply that I want to be able to fuckin' roll around naked with him. And the really neat thing about this is that several times, when I had my hands up under that kilt of his (Oh yes. That's right. It's true about what they don't wear beneath their kilts.), people came wandering upstairs, mainly for the bathroom. But, it was ok, because it was one of Those Parties. And being "caught" at Those Parties...is ok. It was still a little embarrassing for me...a little strange...but neat to know that no one was judging me for it or thinking that I should "get a room."
When we finally detached ourselves from one another, I looked at the time and realized that I would not be getting back home (I had ridden with the Magician because it's out in BFE and gas is expensive and I don't do well with finding places in the dark) until after Apollo had gotten up and gone to work. Oops. I had not realized that this would happen. Had not realized just how late/early it was. So, I called Apollo and apologized profusely. Fortunately, he was very understanding, and told me not to worry about it. By the time we finally got back to the Magician's place, I did not feel competent to drive, even the short distance to my home, and dawn was breaking. So, I burrowed down in the Magician's bed and...well, we did eventually sleep. But, oh, it was pretty before then. Again, I cursed my period. But even so, it was beautifully fun. And the Magician...now, him, I want intercourse with. As much as he turns me on and makes me come, I also feel very comfortable, safe with him. He's lovely and patient - except when he's passionately telling me just how much he wants to fuck me. But he wouldn't ever try unless I told him it was ok, that I had permission. And knowing that makes it incredibly hot - knowing that he wants me so badly, but will wait until it's truly alright, expressing desire but not pushing. It makes me want him even more.

In conclusion, my right arm and shoulder muscles are very sore, my body is spotted with bruises and marks, and I slept twelve hours last night. It was a good, good weekend.

There is no smoking in the fucking theater...

- and no fucking in the smoking theater!

I leaned against the railing, breathing and allowing the Frankenfurter's voice to become background noise. Waiting.
"This is a loud venue, so hand signals will be important," he reminded me.
"Ok. One for yellow, two for red, yes?"
"Yes. Ready?"
"Yes."
Waiting. Then the thud begins. I can tell, even after just these couple of times, that he's hitting harder, faster. Not giving me as much warm-up time. And that's ok. I am pulling back, into the flogger's path, into the rhythm, encouraging a deeper hit. I feel myself floating away, easing out of normal space. He pauses to check in. I am still very good. He resumes. Suddenly, there are hands pulling at my hair while the flogger strikes my shoulders, ass and thighs. I gasp deeper, but don't look up. There are teeth in my neck, teeth on my shoulder. A hand, under my chin, raising my eyes. Oh, beautiful Cloaked Norseman, more serious than I'd previously seen, eyes half-lidded. He briefly confirms with RHF, that yes, it's is alright and even appreciated that he add his efforts to this scene. Then the hands in my hair, and the teeth on my neck, and the flogger on my ass. And suddenly, the flogger licks between my legs, my fishnet-and-underwear covered legs. I tremble. The sensations continue, building, until at some point, there are three sets of hands on me, for RHF's girlfriend has joined, and I'm shaking from the stimulation. Shaking.
"Are you good for now?"
"Yes. Oh yes."
"If I sit you down somewhere, will you stay there for a while?"
"....Yes. Yes."

I am seeing why one doesn't necessarily go to Rocky for the movie...you go for the kink and the company. Time to flirt, time to play, time to drop the seriousness of GradStudentTA self, and be Shining, Touch-Loving Joy.