Rivers of Snot

Over the past year, I have both cut out a considerable amount of my social involvement with my local kink community and acquired an in-state sex partner (we'll call him ISSP).  This has left me with less fodder for writing here, unless I were to turn my asexuality blog into a sex blog.  Which, for numerous reasons, I don't want to do.  An elaboration on that might be a post for another day, but not today.

Today I'm going to write about rivers of snot.

ISSP and I were talking the other day, and wandered onto the topic of crying.  Specifically, bawling like a three year old, rivers of snot-style crying.  He was using this as a description of unsexy crying.  I maintained that more context was required to determine whether it was sexy or unsexy crying.  He looked befuddled.

Don't get me wrong.  Uncontrollable sobbing, in and of itself, is not particularly sexy.  It's messy, it's graceless, it's profoundly awkward*.  No argument there.

So what's hot about it?  The rawness.  The vulnerability.   I really dig emotional intensity.  For me, I think that the emotions themselves end up being secondary to the intensity.  Delving into that sort of intensity in a reasonably controlled and safe setting is just fantastic.

To get that messy and graceless is to let some pretty substantial walls come down.  Forcing those walls to come down in an erotic context is absolutely hot- at least for me.

Even if it does involve rivers of snot.

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*Know what else tends to be messy, graceless, and profoundly awkward?  Fucking.  Seriously.

What We Say, What We Do

Different people have different skill sets.  Some folks are skilled with needles.  Some folks are skilled with rope bondage.  Some folks are skilled with psychological play.  And while we can all generally improve our skill sets, some of us are going to max out in a less adept place than others will.

And we only will be cognizant of that some of the time.  It's one of those things that's pretty tricky to to be meaningfully self-honest and self-aware about.  Hell, it's one of those things that's tricky to get solid, objective feedback on.  So very, very few people will think of themselves as a dumbass.  Or a predator.

And yet, "Don't be a dumbass" and "Don't be a predator" are often given as stand-alone safety/logic warnings.  Which would be would be perfectly great and sufficient were it not for that part where nobody self-identifies as such.  It will damn near always be read as a warning for somebody else.  You know, those other people over there.  The dumbasses, the predators.  Not me.

I have no qualms with people putting information/content/ideas out there that are not appropriate for all skill levels.  I support greater access to information and education, from introductory through advanced levels.  Breath play is a particular area where this has been in my awareness.  While many folks argue that breath play is simply too dangerous to teach, it's also the kind of play that many, many people- both in and out of the kink scene- practice at home.  With or without education.  Given this, I think that more information is the decidedly preferable option- questions of legal liability for the educator aside.  Recently, my thoughts on this trajectory have gotten complicated.

In addition to pictures of funny cats, the internet has brought us all sorts of photos of edge play.  Since most of my photo-perving time is devoted to rope bondage, that's what I'm most familiar with in this regard.  We have strappado suspensions, predicament ties with bottoms perched precariously on tall structures, and suspensions in which one of the primary load-bearing points is the throat.  All carry very real risks of injury requiring months to recover- or worse.  And I firmly believe that all of those are risks which people can assess and choose to accept.

In addition to Bondage101, kink education has brought us all sorts of techniques for edge play.  We have classes on gun play, abductions, and explicit limit-pushing.  It's the latter that has sparked a discussion that keeps popping up on my kinky internet feed.  The discussion started after a friend of mine attended a class on this topic by at a conference.  Based particularly on personal accounts from folks who have played with the presenter in question, the discussion does not seem to be about the presenter's ability to do these things in a way that is as safe as possible.  The focus seems to be instead on the danger of putting these tools and techniques in the hands of a mixed audience.

So what's the sweet spot?  How can information be made accessible to those who can use it well, without unwittingly encouraging people to make higher-risk decisions which they really are not equipped to make?

I know that I, for one, am interested in more information on things like breath play, higher-risk rope bondage, and limit-pushing.  Preferably all at once.  But only with highly trusted partners.  And my partners and I should be able to make those decision for ourselves.  Because we're not dumbasses or predators!

Oh, right.  That again.

I don't have an answer.  I'm extremely uncomfortable with the notion of censorship (whether external or self-imposed) in the name of keeping people from ideas and information that have been deemed unacceptably dangerous.  On the other hand, we are social creatures prone to imitation.  I know that I'm often inspired by play I see in the dungeons, classes, or represented online- I expect at least a few others are as well.  As subsets of the kink community race to one-up each other with the next edgy, dangerous thing, I expect that the baseline of perceived risk will shift.

I expect that this is a conversation which will continue to unfold both in my own mind and the broader kink community.  Hopefully it will unfold with minimal harm and maximum hotness.

Negotiating On The Fly

I kind of love pet play.  Not in a sexual way, not even in an erotic way.  But in the way that it totally shakes up communication and expectations between people.

Last year's kitty room at Shibaricon left me thinking about this trajectory, and it popped into my awareness again the other night after going to a local party with the MOST ADORABLE (human) PUPPY and her human friend.  They'd sat next to me for a bit in the dungeon as I was watching some hot ropey action.  The pup was on the floor between the chair that I was sitting in and the chair in which her human friend was sitting.  Since, as we've covered, I kind of love pet play, I leaned over and asked human friend if I could pet his puppy.  And he said yes!  And so I reached down and started scritching behind her ears.

In this case, the pup in question leaned right into the scritches.  I told her what a good girl she was and moved behind her other ear.  More happy leaning and nuzzling against my hand.  No words.  No traditional negotiation.  But clear communication.

And here is where I think some of the real beauty of pet play is.  I think that we all take for granted that non-human animals don't really need to bother with social niceties.  If they're into it, they'll tell you.  Clearly.  By leaning into it enthusiastically.  By play bowing, pouncing, by rolling around at your feet.  And if they're not into it, they'll tell you.  Clearly.  By growling, by hissing, by disengaging without any need to apologize or explain their reasons.  And it's totally okay either way.

And sure, in theory, humany humans can also growl, walk away, or otherwise disengage without any need to apologize or explain their reasons.  But I think that many of us, for any number of reasons, are uncomfortable giving such a blunt no.  Receiving such a blunt no isn't often a terribly comfortable experience, either.  I think there's quite a damn bit of room within our culture to get better with "no."

But within this little niche of kink, things seem to be moving along a-okay in that department.  I'm unsure how much of this is my own perception, or if others have picked up on the same thing.  I will say this though- hanging out in the kitty room at Shibaricon is a fantastic study in nonverbal interactions.  It's a room full of people navigating interactions with very, very few words.  Kitties negotiating play and belly rubs with humans, negotiating kitty schenanigans or brawls with one another.  On the fly.  Without a word.

Snippets

What I need, as a bottom, is somebody who takes pleasure in hurting me.  Not just somebody who's doing it because it's what I'm into, but somebody who really enjoys the process of methodically working me over and seeing me in pain.

I'm not that into BDSM.

You're in my bed.  That says something.

That was the first time I've cried like that- full-out sobbing for an extended period of time?  That was new.  

Really?

Yeah.  It was the sort of catharsis that I needed.  Thank you.

I finally figured out the trick.

Oh?  What's that?

Not feeling remorse.

In Defense of Exhibitionism

Exhibitionism seems to have gotten a bad rap in my local kink scene.  It's a tirade that just keeps popping up.  The arguments against exhibitionism seem to go something like, "People that pay attention to showy technique, or care if people are watching, are totally missing out on intimacy and connecting with their partner in a meaningful way.  They are doing it wrong!  I look at them with a mix of disdain and pity."

As an exhibitionist, I would like to dissect some of what's packed in there.

Showy technique.  Yup.  I dig it.  As a bottom, I love feeling that I am in exceptionally capable hands.  And as a top, I love being able to work my partner over smoothly, efficiently, competently.  Turns out, doing something well can often look good.  And guys, that's okay.  It can actually make play that much hotter.  I've had somebody comment to me, after I tied her for the first time, how hot it was for her that I was able to solidly tie her up without putting laborious thought into the mechanics and technical details.  As a result, I'll bet it was kinda showy, too.  'Cause competence is sexy.

Caring if people are watching.  I'll be honest, the wee! chemicals are a big part of why I like BDSM.  I'm pretty sure that's why a fair number of us are here.  Getting my hurty on gives me those wee! chemicals, but so do many types of activities in front of a crowd.  It's relatively rare that I want to engage with bystanders, but glancing up mid-scene to see a sea of faces?  Yup, there's that adrenaline rush.  I've also had more than a few scenes where somebody commented on the number of people watching, who I had no idea were there because I was too focused on playing.  But hey, even if I don't notice people watching me play as it's happening, I still feel good knowing that people were watching.  I like to think that what I'm doing is interesting and engaging enough that people are inspired to watch it unfold.  I guess I'm just an attention whore like that.

Connecting with my partner.  I like connection.  Going on a suspension bender earlier this spring, where I tied pretty much everybody that asked, served as quite the reminder that I really am much happier playing with people who I have that kind of connection with.  Wooing or being wooed by technical abilities helps me connect with my partner.  Sharing the rush of adrenaline that comes from performing helps me connect with my partner.  I connect with my partners in a multitude of ways, the specifics of which may or may not be obvious.  But I do hear through the grapevine that said connection tends to be pretty obvious.

And you know what?  Connection is hot.  Watching other peoples' connections is hot.  For me, as a voyeur, that's going to be what determines whether I really camp out in front of a scene to watch it start to finish.  That's where the magic is.  I might pause in front of a showy scene for a bit, but unless it's showy and the players are going exciting places together, it's not going to hold my attention for long.

So please, don't look at me with disdain and pity.  Don't assume that having an audience trumps my connection with my partner.  Don't assume that the ways in which you connect with your partner are the only ways in which two people can meet in playspace.  Are you uninspired by my dynamic ropework, or loud moaning?  That's pretty okay by me.  I hope you'll wander on to something that you are more inspired by, rather than sniping from the sidelines of the dungeon or Fetlife.  You focus on what gets you off, and I'll focus on what gets me off.  Deal?  Deal.

Risk Tolerance

It has recently become clear to me that my risk analysis for sex and sexuality-related endeavors is considerably different than that of most people.  I've known for awhile that I was well outside the middle of the bell curve on a few different fronts.  The full extent of my apparent discrepancies in what I consider acceptable personal risk had never quite clicked though.

I am exceptionally jumpy about STIs.  I'm not entirely sure why this is, though I have a few theories.  I have multiple people who are close to me who have been affected directly and indirectly by STIs- in some cases as a minor temporary inconvenience, and in some cases it's been tangibly life-altering and permanent.  I don't consider STIs to be something that effect other people, over there.  They aren't statistics and data.  I consider them to be a very real phenomenon that affect people that I know and care about.  I know folks that have had to take a round of antibiotics, and that was that.  And I know somebody who has died as a result of HIV.  I consider yet-to-emerge diseases to be a wildcard variable which I cannot possibly plan around.  But I still wonder about them because I know somebody that was affected by a now-prevalent STI before it was well known or understood.  Combine all these personal-to-me anecdotes and a brain that easily goes into hamster wheel mode, and you have a recipe for anxiety surrounding sexual health.

So... I'm prudent when it comes to genitals and fluids.  Especially when I'm a middle node in a web of people, and my decisions with one person could affect another person.  I decline opportunities to have sex with people I like in ways that I'd like to because of my exceptionally low risk tolerance in that regard.  It's entirely my own decision, and I am more than willing to accept the consequence of further restricting my already limited pool of potential partners.

And then there's the non-sexual decisions I make.

As I type this, I have bruises on my neck.  They were put there several days ago possibly by biting, or more likely by choking, by somebody that I had met but a few hours prior, after we'd been drinking.  Yup.  Let's count the BDSM no-no's packed into that.  I violate one major safety guideline or another almost every time that I play privately.  I generally trust strangers on a multitude of fronts.  I've utilized the concept of a safe call exactly once, and it was for a modeling gig very early into my career as a naked chick.  I self-suspend when nobody else is home.  I pretty much piss all over what is often held up as common sense when it comes to safety.

When bottoming, I seem to have an exceptionally high risk tolerance.  This is particularly true with partners who I trust to respond intelligently in dynamic and unpredictable situations.  I'm much more prudent as a top, but my delight in breath play and willingness to tie a struggling partner seem to put me in a category of much higher risk tolerance than that of many.  In all scenarios, I weigh possible consequences, and do mitigate risk in a variety of ways which are not necessarily obvious.  Still, I make decisions which are considered inexcusably dangerous by some.

Does it all come down to payoff?  Perhaps.  I can pretty comfortably go months without partnered sex.  Skip out on the kink for long, and I start getting seriously crabby.  Or does it come down to personal experience?  Sure, I've read horror stories on the internet of breath play gone terribly wrong, or models being drugged and raped.  I'm hard-pressed to come up with a single first-person anecdote from somebody that I personally know who has had shit go south with the more noteworthy risks that I choose to take.  Or is it that, for whatever reason, I feel a greater sense of control over non-sexual variables and interactions?  I do feel more grounded  in my ability to weigh and analyze those risks, and that may well inform my willingness to scoot right up to the edge of what I consider reasonable.

I'm aggressively in favor of letting people make their own decisions.  I can't imagine asking others to jump right on board with the conclusions of my own risk assessments any more than I can imagine following the lead of others without my own analysis.

How I Got Here

I'm a 26 year old female (by both biology and psychology).  I have poured countless hours into rope bondage, erotic photography, and many corners of the BDSM playground.  Most of the time, the idea of throwing genitals into the mix kind of freaks me out.  And so this is where I find myself, writing about my experiences as a gray-a kink practitioner.  How the hell did I get here?

It's only been within the past several months that I began identifying as gray-a, or asexual-ish, though it's been a long time coming.  With very, very few exceptions, my sexual interest in partners has tended to drop off pretty quickly.  Unsurprisingly, this phenomenon has resulted in much hurt, confusion, heartache and compromise.  I'll spare the details for now, but I've tried a whole slew of approaches to coax, cajole, trick, allow, or otherwise get my sex drive back into the range of "normal."  No dice.  These days, I don't experience much in the way of sexual desire with partners at all.  It seems simple enough.

But once you take genitals out of the picture... game on, baby!  I love erotic energy.  Pushing tension back and forth, physical and emotional challenges, the rush of racing right to the edge.  I love connecting with others in this realm, taking them intense and exciting places, or being taken there by others.  All of the fiery passion that others seem to feel for sex, I feel for BDSM play.

It's been a bumpy ride, and I'm surely not past all of the curves I'll face.  I'm hoping that this outlet will give me a means to explore places that I've been, and places that I'm going.  I also write with the goal that it might give some hope, comfort, or sense of fellowship to others going through a similar journey.  So here I am.